A COLONIAL IN LONDON

New Zealand Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 6315, 16 September 1907, Page 8

A COLONIAL IN LONDON

A SKETCH OF CITY LIFE. THE PARTY OF REFORM. (By Pierce C. Frceth.) LONDON, July 22nd. London’s stable population is estimated at five millions, but I should [ think, on the general average, she must 1 generally carry six; in "the season/'j probably, six and a half. London has | as many faces as there are days in the j year—a constant panorama, an over- j changing shadow show. Walt Whitman j might have been thinking of London j when ho wrote of "the place of the, ceaseless salute of newcomers, and the | anchor-lifters of the departing." All | roads lead to Rome, and all routes lead: to-London. Imagine what it would be if one could rise into the far cerulean and witness th© cleavage of th© waters by the myriad ships, with bows pointed to London I. "All things precious or useful, or amusing, or intoxicating, are sucked into commerce and floated to London," and all people who desire to be informed, or amused., or intoxicated, —or are inebriate from that queer absinthe which mortals call ambition — como to London as inevitably as the fame-thirsty Englishman of ancient days ; went to the Wars of the Roses and tn© Holy Land. All that can feed the senses and passions, all that can succour the talent or arm th© hands, all that can aid science, gratify taste, or sooth© comfort, is here in the open market. '■ Whatever is excellent and beautiful in civil, rural, or ecclesiastic architecture; in fountain, garden, or grounds, the Englishman crosses sea and land to see and copy at Home. The temples and pleasure-houses which Inigo Jones and Christopher Wren built, the wood that Gibbons carved; the tast© of foreign and domestic artists are in the vast auction to-day (as when Emerson visited England at th© beginning of last century), and the hereditary principle heaps upon tho owner of the present hour the benefit of ages of owners/ People of all inclinations and all tastes are drawn to London as by a magnet. They gyrate, peregrinate, run in circles and semicircles, are lost in the throng, and the dazed Australasian travels for days in a city, full of Australasians without meeting one of his kind. He is merely a wisp of straw, whirling and twisting in a soa of troubled waters. No day is anything like another day in London, and even thef familiar streets become unfamiliar in changing scenes and lights. The traffic is th© most interesting thing. They say that London does not hurry; but with tho advent of ; the motor there has com© an undeniable element of bustle and rush. Theoabby menaced by th© motor taximeter, instinctively drives faster; and even th© phlegmatic 'bus driver is stirred to emulation at sight of the quick-revolv-ing spokes of his petrol-speeding rival. They say that New York # sets the pace of the world, and American hustle has become a .synonym. Personally, I have never been able to detect, either, in Chicago or New York, as great precipitation as prevails in the British metropolis. ‘As far as motor-cars are concerned, there is, no comparison. ■ If New York chauffeurs tried to emulate the reckless audacity of their English confreres, there would be a thousand arrests a day! ' But though London is subject to flux and change in so remarkable # a degree, there is no sign of a reciprocal movement in the inhabitants. Let who will hurry, your typical Londoner will not. He goes in cogs like the pioneer .trains of inventor Stephenson, The American merchant will* see his client, pick him clean inside of ten minutes, and "turn hiqi over" to a head of departments. The English trader will keep him waiting a week. A solemn engagement will be entered in the commercial doomsday-book, and entree is impossible until th© appointed time. There can scarcely b© more formality at Buckingham Palace. The trade customs are th© same. They are based on the usages of time immemorial. It is a matter of pride with, the trading community to stick undoviatingly to th© ancient customs. People profess to find one of thechiefest charms in London that they can consume their chop in an aroma of antiquity beneath the identical cobwebs that sheltered their grandfathers. It is a rare compliment to be so banquetted, and beshrew the crack-brained vandal who shall assert that there were ever such chops or better cuieinery! x It was a sad day for the typical Londoner when th© party of reform prevailed in the movement for better and broader streets and hygienic, highwalled Thames Embankment. There are thousands who still cherish malic© against the London County Council for their clean-sweep policy. Mere colonials say that the reformers have made wonderful improvements, but the orthodox Londoner repines the loss of ancient landmarks, and wreaks vicarious vengeance by a steady, unflinchingly censorious criticism of all L.C.C. enterprises. But the County Council is going steadily forward with its advance policy, making new streets, forming new parks, increasing transit facilities, ' building public and technical schools, erecting model dwellings, and performing a number of eminently utilitarian services for th© community. They seem to get just as much thanks for their labours as similarly public-spirited men in other communities, ,

The glory of London is in its public parks. I saw them first in the spring of the year; when the chestnuts were throwing out their delicate new leafage and the English hawthorns were dispensing a wealth of delicate bloom. Without these oases, j London would be sepulchral. As it is, it is a city of pleasant surprises. You turn a dism’al corner and come upon a luxurious wealth of vivid greenery, with high-flung topmast waving ever so gontly in the breeze. And there are cosy nooks and corners awa# from the roar of the world, where one can rest a while in arcadian quietude, and obtain the mental healing that is so grateful, so essential. Here come tho lovers, the students, and'the spent sojourners for congenial surcease; and groups of vagrant children, truant from their dust-strewn habitudes, revel in the cool luxuriance of the fountains, and the sweet lush grass. “Not infrequently the sound cf subdued music greets the ear, for it is a genial dispensation her© that bands play often in the parks. Regimental bands and bands maintained by the municipality give frequent concerts—none of your noisy contestations in brass, but toned and mellowed into harmony in appropriate consonance with tho restful spirit of th© scene. Thousands gather and lounge -comfortably in tho vicinage of the performers, and savour their enjoyment with congenial I intercourse. I One of th© most frequented of the parks is St. James'* opposite Bucking--ham Palace. Her© the populace may disport at leisure, looking out over a lake of garden islands at the various wild fowl which make sanctuary here, or watching the stream of stately ve-M-ilies which ply to and from th© ivajg’s residente. Hyde. Park, a popular rendezvous for colonials, is another interesting place, for here nobility doth disport itself in the Rotten Row of time immemorial, and "dukes are two a penny." Here is seen also equestration of sorts, and visitant democracy is hugely entertained at times to witness the evolutions of horsemen, ambitions to excel, but to whom the designation Centaur shall never be ascribed by truthful chronicler. Of museums and art galleries London is replete. Her© you shall find America, guide-book in hand, drinking in th© wisdom of the ancients. London should. I

in all justice, erect a monument in Piccadilly emblematical of these industrious itinerants from across the wide Atlantic. And, if a suggestion be not misplaced, 1 should prescribe a guide-book couchant and a tourist rampant as the: sculptor's theme. There is, in th© general atmosphere of business London, a cheerful element. The frock coat and the top-hat prevail, and the old conservatism of the mournful tie has given place to brighter and Xffeasanter colourings, at the same time that sartorial arbiters give countenance to cheerful waistcoats which could hardly survive a Puritan dispensation. ‘London, between the hours of eight and twelve at night, is to the sightseer a world apart. Then the houses, hotels, and restaurants discharge their gay occupants into carriage© and cabs; tho streets arc filled with hurrying throngs; the theatre doors are flung , wide by gikic-d functionaries, and the scene is one of brilliant animation. Oxford street, Piccadilly, all the converging streets, are ablaze with carriage i lights, and tho wealth and beauty of I a dozen continents comes swiftly into view. Seen from the top of an omnibus, there are miles upon miles of lights, all in sequence, all in unbroken order. They file into place, discharge their laughing occupants, and pass silently on, on cushioned tyres, mindful of ' but one control—the policeman with up--1 lifted hand. (Oh, Sculptors, think of him I) After twelve o'clock, and until two, there is respite and a lull. London is officially asleep. The streets are not deserted.' Women pariahs, with hectic faces and dreadful eyes, patrol th© pavements in twos and threes; old women proffer matches to belated pedestrians; lean men, propped by Ijimp-posts, croakingly extol the dead-sea fruits of yesternight journalism ; and the watchmen, staidly pacing, try the doors. Down on tho Embankment, old men and maidens, young men and children, i sit, row upon row, on the hard seats, with bent bodies and low-bowed heads. In the painful attitude of exhausted repose. Yes, London is asleep.