COLONIAL PREMIERS.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXII, Issue 4732, 14 August 1902, Page 2

COLONIAL PREMIERS.

HOW LONDON RECEIVES THEM. MR SEDDON’S WELCOME. (Travelling Correspondent “Now Zealand Times.”) LONDON, June 27. The several Premiers of Britain’s vast oversea dominions are received and treated in London as persons of prominence. The hard-and-fast rules of political red-taj)o provide that each shall have special official recognition and provision. The reception of one is the rule for the rest.

It poured in torrents of rain. The atmosphere was warm and oppressive. The London sky was that dirty yellowish brown known as stale pea-soup colour. Underfoot was greasy slush. It was not tempting to go out of doors. The misty, murky air hid distant objects from the view. But what did the weather matter? The prominent Premier of the popular colony was duo—and some of us hastened to Waterloo Station to meet him.

Tt is peculiar, when you sit quietly and think over it, that no matter what happens, either politically or warlike or otherwise, New Zealand takes the lead. In clubs, in hotels, anywhere where brainy men congregate, the name of the Maoriland colony takes pride of place.

Waterloo Station is always crowded when a mail train arrives bringing friends from foreign parts. It was crowded when we went to meet the Right Hon. R» J. Seddon. Prominent near the platform were two Royal carriages, with splendid horses and heavilygilt harness. Each was driven by a clean-shaven, fat, rosy-facod coachman in rnval scarlet and gold livery, covered this morning with long white waterproof coat. Standing rigidly at attention at the door of each carriage was the six-foot stately footman, clad as the coachmen, with faces about as immovable as that of Egypt’s sphinx. There were only a faithful ffew of us to meet the Premier. Lord Onslow, witli an official clerk, and Mr John Holmes, of Wellington,' had gone down tho previous night to Southampton to await the arrival of tho steamer. On the station platform the first on the scone was the i\gent-Genoral and Mrs Reeves; Mr H. C. Cameron, the Produce Commissioner: Mr E. C. Richardson, of Auckland; Mr Weddcl, of meat fame; and the representative of the “New Zealand Times,” tho' only pressman present. At 11.15 the train came in, and in a saloon carriage at the rear sat the colonial party. A dozen or more stalwart police soon cleared tho way, and formed a cordon around the party. Mr Seddon, looking somewhat pale and fatigued after his journey, was evidently pleased at his reception. Mrs Seddon rosy and fresh as a daisy; Miss Mary Seddon suffering from a slight cold and a little hoarse in voice; Mr Frank Dyer travel-stained and tiredlooking, but sunburnt; and the rest of the party evidently glad their trip was ended.

After a few seconds’ quiet chat, - a move was made to the carriages. The Royal servants, lifting their heavily gold-braided top hats, stood at the salute. By this time fully twenty police formed a line of .defence on either side to keep back the crowd. The party embarked, the footmen covered their heads, and then the crowd of many hundreds learned that an important Now Zealander had arrived, and loud and hearty cheers wore raised for Mr Seddon.

The son,, Captain Seddon, was left behind at Southampton in charge of his men, whom he has to take into camp at Muswell Hill Bark.

Tho Hotel Cecil, in the Strand, is, one of the biggest things in hotels in K'.uropo. You enter from the Strand through an archway into an immense quadrangle, about half an acre in extont. The hotel is built, on the four sides of it.

As you enter the quadrangle, on your right* hand, side you see a colonial trooper, bronzed by tho veldt’s burning sun, full-uniformed, with rifle, doing a steady sentry-go in front of one of the many entrance halls. On tho stops of the hall itself is another trooper, wearing side-arms only. You march on into an inner hall, and. here is a non-com-missioned officer in the same old khaki dress, with his side-arms. Tims are tho military prerogatives of royalty extended to visiting representatives of Britain's colonies.

One little episode at Waterloo Station showed tho kind relations existing between the Government House in Wellington and the colonial Cabinet. • A tall, stately lady, bearing a most aristocratic name, came rapidly driving up, one moment too late to meet the party, saying: “I came, as the representative and on behalf of Lady Ranfurly, to welcome Mr Scddon on his arrival in London.”

Only a delicate little but so thoughtfully carried out, it was fully appreciated, not only by the Premier and bis party, but by the loyal Mow Zealanders who hoard the message. V

At the “Cecil,” as the big hotel is called for short, two royal carriages are on duty daily at tho Premier’s beck and call. Inside are four -six-foot footmen in scarlet and gold, with powdered hair, to wait attendance. All the colonial Premiers, as well as other distinguished guests, are given the same honours.

The “Cecil” is long since full up with visitors. Owing to the several official guests of the King: housed here, each having many apartments, the visitors’ space is rather curtailed; and yet 900 is the exact number of residents at the- present time.

I took a few colonial friends around the hotel the other day. One was a retired New Zealand hotelkeeper. He saw the big glass verandah, the band in a strange uniform, the dozens of outside tables, tho multitude of lounging chairs, the cosy couches of rattan, the crowd of chattering foreign fashionables of either sex, sipping tea, drinking coffee, enjoying strawberries and cream or multi-coloured ices, the palms, plants and flowers, tho open bar with its barman on the outside, the many black-clad waiters, the gorgeously attired hall porters, tho small boys in buttons, the swagger sub-managers—a rich, mowing picture of wealth, ease, comfort and self-conceit.

“Ah 1 this ain’t like shearing time in tho tussock country, with nothing but long beers,” softly sighed my southern ex-publican, and his emotion was too deep for further utterance, as he gazed upon the bill of fare for Coronation Day; “Luncheon, one guinea l)cr head.” “Ah ! I had to give them a jolly good feed for eightcoupencc in my days; but here—well, London's a bigger sight worse than Canterbury to spend money in.”