THE COSY CORNER CLUB.

Otago Witness, Issue 3148, 15 July 1914, Page 64

THE COSY CORNER CLUB.

“The world is too much with us, late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers."

July 15. —Papers to be in by July 4. How far are these lines of Wordsworth's true of the present day? Do we indeed spend too much time over the business of life, or are we thinking more of higher things than was the case when he wrote?

You will. I think, agree with me that this meeting has proved a very interesting one. I have been looking forward very much to hearing the views ot members on this subject, because opinions in general are so contradictory. On the one • hand wo have the , charge of ( materialism levelled against the present age, and on the other, as one member points out, the eagerness with which any new religion or philosophy is followed shows a spiritual hunger and a seeking after higher things. For my own part I do not think that this age is any worse in the matter of worldliness than any other. True, we seem to think a good deal of ease and comfort, hut when was there an age that did not? Our forefathers were just as fond as we are of what comforts they possessed. It is only by contrast to ours that their lives seem hardier and less luxurious. The desire for material improvement is an instinct deeply implanted in the human race, only it is counterbalanced by that other instinct for better things, that yearning towards the unknown and unattainable which finds expression in the cry of the pioneers, - Not the delectations sweet, Not the riches safe and falling, not for us the tame enjoyment. Such heroic souls are not peculiar to . any age or clime, and we have our share of them, fortunately, as much as other generations. I do not deny the truth of what the poet says, but I think his words are applicable to humanity in general, and not to the present or the past in particular. In one way Wordsworth’s reminder is less necessary in these days than in his own, for there is more genuine love of Nature now, judging by the literature of the times, than there was in the artificial and stilted eighteenth century life. Yet we do need his reminder, too. Such a pace we live at nowadays! Such a noisy world it is that we do not find it easy to get away from it. We scam bound to have it always with us. Therein lies the danger of our age, that in the wild race for material gain we may get whirled off our feet and lose our hold of the everlasting things. This, has not happened yet, but the danger is there, though, I think, our better instincts will save us from it. Of course this meeting does not mean that the last word has been said on the subject. There will, I hope, be some interesting correspondence and discussion of the different papers.

Dear Elizabeth, —Please accept “A Lay o’ the Day” for my obntribution to this month’s meeting. I am sorry I was unable to put in an appearance earlier, but hope to be a little more regular for the rest of the session.Wishing you a very happy and successful meeting.—HOCHELAGA. A LAY O’ THE DAY. Oh, I’m homesick for the old days, the slow days, the days that used to bs, When the stagecoach held the highway, and the frigate ruled the sea. We go scuttling over land. Skyrocketing through air On our spitfire devil waggons, Getting—where ? Give us back the long days, the calm days, the days when men could dream, When the town was still a village, and there wasn’t any steam. Though we carry round on wires The live Promethean spark. We are rather more than ever In the dark Though truly these be live days, and brave days, days when strong men grind On the flints of circumstances, cutting edges to the mind: Yet the stroke that whets a hatchet ■, Turns a razor edge; L-'st we blunt the .finer spirit, Batter hedge. Better give ourselves -an off dav, a whole day. a day to -size u» things. To weigh the fact that, after, all, the soul was born with wings, And might, had we the courage left To break its prison bars, Out-soar these aeroplanes, and float Among the stars. If ever dawns a new dav, the true day, the dav when we are through With this ragtime, tango living—oh, I know what I shall do: I’ll sot me on the quiet grass TTnder a quiet tree— I’ll ait. and very like I’ll whistle—- , Quietly. J. B. Fletcher. Mnnv thanks for the poem you have quoted. Hochelaga. It expresses so well the spirit of the age, the feeling that these he “live dav* and brave days.” and yet, that we now and then want time to stop and think what it all means, and where we are getting to, and a longing for an ‘‘off day” occasionally. Dear Elizabeth, —There is a great deal of the materialistic spirit in the life of the present dav —that spirit of -sordid gain that Word-sworth so strongly regrets in his beautiful son-net “The World is Too Much With Us.” By the majority we are judged by what we possess of worldly goods, bv the money and possessions we, or someone before us, have amassed. This -shoo’d not be. though money has great influence. We cannot do much

without it. Even the most desirable things in tile can be in part denied us by the want ox moans. It is a wise thing to appreciate and to amass money, but very unwise 10 make it tno aim ox our existence. Vet in tiieso days of concentration, and hurry, business competition is „o Keen that hundreds spend all their waking hours — late and scon. ' as the poet expresses it —working tor material success. They pass by unheeded all the beauties of life, the wondrous loveliness of A a lure, the lit-ie pauses in life when they might lend a helping hand, say a kind word, or do a good deed to help to brighten the lives of those they come in contact with. The development oi soul and character is not advanced by what they spend, for a great deal of it is spent in show, and in selfish pleasures. But, so far as can be roughly estimated, we have advanced since Wordsworth's day (1770 to 1850). Education has Income more widespread, the general conditions of the people much better, and the moral /standard higher. Still, while we deplore this spirit of undesirable worldliness, we must not forget the numbers of beautiful lives that, as it were leaven the groat ipass of materialism—lives of self-sacrifice arid renunciation — lives that uphold, and strengthen, and bless, the magnitude of whose sweet influence can scarce be measured until the final summingup of all things. VAL. Your little paper is full of thoughtful suggestions, Va 1 .. You warn us of the dangers attendant on mere money-getting, and, at the same time, cheer us by your reminder of the many beautiful lives from whom we may take example.

Dear Elizabeth,—The subject for this meeting is one in which I’m very much interesied; it touches very closely, to my way of thinking, the one of last year dealing with our modern education. And at present that system is at the bottom of a great deal of our pis;scut restlessness. . No parent can watch his or her child at lessons without noticing the continual drain cn the nervous system. No time can be spared to teach children the beauty of what they try to learn; it is a case of get all out of the brain, never mind the seeds of restlessness and want of thoroughness which are sown to bear a dread crop later on. How many are taught to fully appreciate the beauty of the English masters of literature they study ? To many, and most, it is a case of a few day lessons that are extracted, and if they are ever taken off the shelves in later life, in many an instance it is out of mere curiosity, not to read, linger and pour over the great depth and beauty of their pages, for the taste to do that has never been cultivated. Again, we are too much taken up at present with the things which immediately concern out material we'fare : there is no time to be wasted to watch that glorious sunset, or to linger over that lovely flower —“pretty, yes.” If one could only forget the hundred and one things to be done in the house; and the strange part is the more “conveniences we have the less time we have! If we cried halt, and only did what was really necessary, how much richer in happiness we would be. They say we arc a frivolous but I think wo are a very serious people. is as important as though the fate of empires rested on the amount of work we get through in a certain given time; and what an amount of useless work we really do in a year! Is it really necessary that we women should cook .as much as we do? Would the bottom fall out of this weary old earth if our children did have fewer clothes, and if we ourselves were not quite so well dressed as Mrs So-and-so? We are all out in the chase -after happiness, and, whilst we rush out of door, and pursue here her, there, and everywhere, w© have left her sitting at our own fireside if we but. recognised the fact. One of the greatest joys of my life is to gather round the big log fires when the wind howls outside, and to read or have read the stories which the children love. The little ones never weary, and we find in ministering to their joy a peace and happiness of our own. The great pity of all this is that it is only in a very, very few instances that we have the power to le=sen the tense hold of life we all have —“getting and spending we lay waste our powers.” If we feel we have laid waste a.I our own. then let us do our utmost to try and. preserve these of the children by giving them an interest in the common things around, and showing them that the whole world of Nature is a storehouse of pleasure and enjoyment if we hut try to appreciate her in nay moods. In -this respect men such as Minister, in his column, are doing a w’d of good. ELSIE. You touch on EC point which has been a puzzling thing ever since the day when “Martha was cumbered with much serving," and, no doubt, before. Most women have a great deal of sympathy with Martha, who was doing her best for the loved and honoured Guest .in the direction in which her talents lay. Her mistake was in not seeing that this was no time to lay undue stress on material things, but an opportunity not to be lost for learning something cf spiritual things. It is in knowing just how much is due to th" body end how much to the suirh that our difficulty lies. We can but do our best.

Dear Elizabeth, —Doubtless there is always a tvndhiey to exaggerate the evils of the present time when these are perceived or acknowledged at all. We know the present evil, but we do not know the past, a,nd thus in every age there is a crv that society is cori'upt, that the race is decadent, and the world go’ng to destruction. In the present age there is abundant evil to make us despond if we focus our attention on it; but if we compare our time with the past, and if we consider its good as well as its evil, we may wed take heart. Such an impartial survey. I think, must lend us to the conclusion that the world is growing better not worse; that the good in human nature t-mds -o conquer the evil; and +hat the England—the English world—of our day is better than the England of a century ago. Yet. granting this. T find Wordsworth’s complaint of the worldliness and materialism of his dav fullv as applicable to ours. Each age. like each coun*rv. has it characteristic merits and defects. Morally, our greatest advance since Wordsworth wrote has been in humanity. The spectacle or knowledge of human suffering is more painful than it was, and there is far more general and persistent effort to remove and prevent it. But in some other directions there has been little or no improvement; in some, perhaps, a falling off. I do not think that we are more fervent lovers of truth, more publicspirited, more self-sacrificing, than our forefathers. I rather suspect a falling off. Our special virtues are mainly of the easy kind. And while there is much and noble idealism. tbe prevailing spirit of the age is materialistic. I do not see how anyone can doubt this who considers the nature of the things which the great majority of people by their conduct show that they regard as of first importance. Bodily ease and luxury, handsome houses and clothes, pleasure, change, excitement, a good standing in the society open to themselves are all important. How few comparatively place their happiness in the pursuit of truth or of intellectual beauty, or the carrying out of duty! Even our humanity and tolerance are tainted by selfishness and materialism. The spectacle of pain is unpleasant to ut, so we hasten to relievo it, or put it out of sight,

heedless whether the best interests of humanity are thus served or no. And we are beginning- to take it for granted that no man or woman can keep honest or virtu■ons if there are difficulties in the path of lonesty and virtue. .Bad environment exP ams and excuses all bad conduct. Our °‘ *-ne perfect state is one in which •■P, 011 ® w ‘ll be we b-fed, well-housed, and f. lave abundant pleasure and amusement. i ( Se ’ there has been much of this temtUPl r and Rt Present there is not » set . against it. But I think the' dio-nlt, -^ ! an outs have better perceived , ~ y °f the Unman soul, and have ni/ritv lo 'w and truth, justice and purity. We need the message of Words?ven more than did his contemporaries, for if these higher ideals do not regain iheir ascendancy, our boasted humiuiitananism will not suffice to save us from social corruption We heed to hearken to Wordsworth’s gospel of duly rather than to that of comfort, of yielding to instinct =o insistently preached by the most favoured, teachers of recent davs. ALPHA. In a note accompanying her paper Alpha remarks that the somewhat gloomy viewexpressed at the end of her paper may seem inconsistent with what she said' at ihe beg. of improvement in the world. 1 But ~ . n ?* ; *bink,'’ «he says, " that there is I B3 ' con radiction. The wmrld improves oy the new knowledge and the material progress of each generation, as well as by higher moral ideals and actual individual improvement m men and women. There is ~ 3 ignorance, less debasing poverty now inan 100 years ago But Ido not'think that tie general world improvement is such as to e exultation, find, coming to individuals, n do no i find nobler men and women now “EL ln , th ~ P E f” I think your point is q .ite clear. Alpha. You admit a material improvement m the world, and also a greater humanitarian spirit; but you think that in !w; PUr5U,t °*-, sl ',fh high things as ‘• truth. m«‘ lCe 'v r pm l ty s ur a S' e is inferior to the L ns 'i" Is s > / V > tdl,ere 1 c bsagree with you entirely. It seems to me that there never was an age when' men sought so earnestly after truth as they do now. That very fact lies at the bottom of a good deal of our ■easy tolerance in re'igicus and other matters; .ncervain where the truth lies, wo are will,ng o iciieve it in the most unlikely places until we can find it for ourselves. We suffer, too, from the defects of our qualities. V\ here you have kindliness you will have tolerance, just as with the sterner virtues of our forefa'hers there went a certain amount of bigotry. The age which learns to combine backbone " with kindliness and s rength with sweetness—a combination we meet occasionally in individuals.—will have learnt the best lessons both of this and the one preceding it.

Dear idizabeth,—l write you this time from tile Black Sea. The aun is slowly sinking to rest, and the different shades of pearl and ros-e, purple and grey, waver and fade and ''■row until at last they merge into one—the deeper purple which heralds tne night. I sit on deck and muse over the topic for this month. As I sit wondering what to say a picture unfolds on the veil before me. There, standing alone in all las majesty a noble piece of architecture—l see St. Paul's Cathedral—a beautiful sight, with its pillars and blocks of old 1 stone set_ in and contrasting with the background of dark purple. I stand on the steps and watch, as I watched before, the people sauntering in from the beautiful carriages and motor cars which are crowding up to the pavement below. Prosperous and welldressed men, beautifully-dressed women, all trying to Ifcok a trifle more prosperous, a shade better dressed than the others. Presently I turn and go into the exquisitelyfinished interior of the Cathedral. The lights, flashing in innumerable shafts of colour from the windows, give them a rich and noble appearance, while <the rest of the furnishings are carried out in the same pleasing and rich style. And to think that this great and noble building is being made a den of money-changers 1 Surely we are not being slowly changed from truly noble men and women to worshippers of Mammon! I hope not. But even as I saw it grow, the picture fades, and at last it changes. Now it is dim, and the lines are changing. It grows clearer, and now I see the picture of a little church—just a tiny village church, ivy-covered and a lit To weather-worn here and there. The red bricks, the green 'vy, and, again, the purple—indeed, a wondrous nicture! And, again, I stand at the gate while the good and"’ kindly folk pass in. Here, a stranger, I am cheered by the gentle smile or the kindly ' Good-night!” of some of the elder folk. I love those folk. In their quiet, dignified way they make you feel at home—a quaint contrast to the sleek city man, who is your friend to your very last penny, or his wife, who won’t smile at you even on the street in case .you are not 'in her “ set.” It appears to me that the true philosopher, the true and noble man, is always to be found in the country, because in the town the competition for life is so keen, and the opportunities for gratifying every want so plentiful, that the town peonle become selfish. Every thought is “ self,” and this is the lowest standard of thought in existence. My word, it,is getting near time for dinner. I think I will go below to the excellent meal my sailor-s-oward cook always has prepared for me. Until next month adieu. THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. You think, Scarlet Pimpernel, that .the better part lies in the country. Perhaps you are right. One vs nearer there to the real things than in the towns, where there are so many di9 ? ractions and so many opportunities for luxury and self-indulgence, and where the strain of life is so much greater. And yet there is something good, too, in the close contact with our fellows that life in towns ar.d cities brings. We need to keep in touch both with Nature and with human nature to bring out the best that is in us. Dear Elizabeth, — The world is too much with us, late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers, Little we see in Nature that is ours; This sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be passing at all hours’ And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers For this, for everything, we’re out of tune It moves us not. After years of thought and toil Peary returns from the top of the planet to find himself forestalled by the adventurer Cook; or put it the other way about if you think it, so. After long hazard Scott sees upon the icy vast the goal of his desires; but a flag is fluttering there —the adventurer has been before the hard-wrought man who labours for the higher ends. So it is the planet over—those who live the real life, the life of the family and the fireside, are hustled hack by those who are greedy for place and prominence. To loop the loop and plunge headlong through the void, to drive the car at speed on unknown roads—this is life and the zest of it; but for what ends. Fitzgerald’s much-read “Omar Khayyam.” The love of Nature herself becomes a craze and we see and listen intently that we might tell in racy style for hurled reading. The ’phone and the kinema are ours—our thoughts leap the oceans, and as

Titans we stand astride the continents; but we dimly realise that our fevered existence is not the best life, and, fitfully, we hear the old call, “Back to Nature.” But who, do you think, is going to be the rustic drudge to go back to the soil and let the great world of life go by? “Not me ! Not much!

All I want is a motor car, A sealskin rug, and huge cigar, etc., etc.. Our very art partakes of the spirit of the times—literature becomes a babel, music a maddening jumble, the resonant voices of the elder poets are no longer heeded; but (thank God, there is always a but), w© will come back to saner things by and by. We will come back broken in health; perhaps too late to do more than realise that we have given our birthright for a mess of pottage. Or, doubtless, I exaggerate, and there may yet remain Among us a steadfast and sane proportion—enough to leaven the whole lump —quiet livers, fathers and mothers who amid earthly things have not missed the immortal touch —the domestic trials and tendernesses, and, after all, this fevered unrest is a sign of seeking—alas! in wrong directions a seeking for the great, eternal good. Nor is tins restlessness -an evil, only misdirected endeavour, for wo partake of the nature of tne Eternal Energy—to seek, to yearn, to strive, to battle without end, and, also, at intervals, to rest and realise The soul’s immensity Moving about in worlds not realised; Our noisy yoars but* moments in tho being’ Of the eternal silence: truths that wake To perish never; Wliich neither listlessnesa, ox mad endeavour, Nor man, nor boy. Nor all that is at enmity with joy Can utterly abolish or destroy. OSCAR. I am glad you can see the ' soul of goodness in things evil” underneath the present mad rush which we call life, Oscar. I think with you that a groat deal of it is only misdirected energy—that there is something divine in this discontent, only we cannot help wondering sometimes where it will lead us, unless we remember that we have still a leaven of steady quiet spirits, clear-sighted enough to see the best and cling to it.

“THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US.’’ Dear Elizabeth,—We owe a debt of gratitude to Wordsworth for bringing poetry into harmony with Nature, instead of adapting Nature to the artificial needs of poetry, as the tendency then was. It is well to remember this, and to be grateful for the “Immortality, "Tint-era Abbey,’ and the rest; but, much as I admire Wordsworth at his best, the sentiments expressed in the lines you have set us to discuss do not appeal to me. How can the world be too much with us when we come into it for the purpose of living among our fellow-creatures, and not alone, on mountain tops, or in caves. If any of us become too engrossed in the passing shadow-show, the fault is ours, and not the world’s. If we are not pleased with the world as we find it, then the more reason why we should remain in it and try to remould a wee bit of it nearer to the heart’s desire. The accusation of worldliness is as old as the oldest philosopher, and we need not be unduly disturbed by . it. We hear far too much about the greed, wickedness, and worldliness of the world, and not half enough about the real goodness, charitableness,» and kindness displayed before our eyes every day we live in it. The world may not be all we could wish, but it is very far from being saturated with worldliness to the exclusion of other-worldli-ness. Think ot all the strange doctrines and philosophies that are not only accepted but welcomed by a world hungering and thirsting for righteousness. Think of the dear souls daily deluded by false teachings,and be humble, hut do not blame the world, because all the humbugs are not dead yet. Rather be pitiful and very kind, because spiritual knowledge has not kept pace with spiritual hunger. We hear a great deal about empty churches and neglected geniuses, but pitifully littje about the genuine Christianity at our own doors, and in our homes that makes no parade of its devotion, but sweetens and blesses every day of our lives. I ‘.simply cannot bear the kind of superiority that would hold itself aloof from the contaminating touch of the world, while it studies its own small soul with a microscope. Interest in spiritual matters is deep and earnest, if largely secret and silent, and the mistakes made by seekers after truth are due to a lack of right knowledge rather than of right feeling. It is well for us to live in the world to love, study, and seek to understand our fellow-men, and wrong and selfish to try to escape from the perplexities and difficulties that having the world with us entails. Wordsworth himself wrote much that was unworthy of his genius, and. Had he b»on more in touch with his time, more in sympathy with the harmless follies of mankind, and conscious of some slight human failing in himself, his collected works would have contained less that is uninspired and prosy. It is not at all certain that in getting and spending we lay waste our powers. Getting and spending are necessary and saintarv experiences, and those who give honest work in return for what they get and spend are the useful, happy people of the world. There is honest satisfaction in doing good work—in sweeping floors and'baking bread, in building bridges, sowing wheat, or doing any of the thousand things hy which men live and justify their existence in a working world. I could not be happy in a world which denied me the privilege of working, of getting that I might spend, of living among my fellowcreatures and doing iuy humble best to help along the world’s work. Maybe I am an incurable optimist, and think better of human nature than my observation of it warrants; still, I think, to a great extent, we find what we look for. and if we expect and look for affection, gratitude, and kindness we shall receive a much more satisfactory share of these desirable goods, than if we cultivated a superior attitude, and tried to live apart from the world. SHASTA.

Shasta confesses that she was away from home when she wrote her paper, and -so had not her Wordsworth with her; otherwise, 1 don’t think she-wonld have been quite so hard upon him. He does not -suggest that we should scorn the world altogether—he only says that it is “too much” with us, and that in getting and spending we lay waste our powers, an accusation which, as Shasta says, is as old as the oldest philosopher, just from its very truth. It can hardly be denied that the aim of most people’s lives is to acquire money, simply with the obicct of geting rid of 'it again, a somewhat senseless procedure, when van come to think of it. It is just the usual human tendency to mistake the means for the end. All the material side of life -should be kept in its proper place, that is all: it should not fill our lives to the exclusion of the ideal and the spiritual. All the same, I admire Shasta’a quick championship of the workaday world, and if she is, as she says, an incurable oufimist the more that catch her complaint the better. Dear Elizabeth, —The Question that is onen for debate is these lines of the poet Wordsworth : “The world is too much with us, laie and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste empowers.”

How far are they r true in regard to the higher things of life? I have read the sonnet that these lines are from, and the poet seems to think w© miss tne great beauties of life in cur getting and spending. This paper is a little more difficult than the previous ones; but it will prove interesting to hear the opinions of the members. I agree with the poet that with a great many of us the world is to much with us, and we lay waste our powers. A gentleman told me a story the other week which is a good example of the point in question. He said there was an American millionaire who, though he kept a staff of clerks, went to the office the first thing in the morning, and was the last to leave the and he said, “ I do not care for and heo said, “ I do not care for books or music. All I care about is making money," One thing, we live in a world that has moved greatly ahead since the poet wrote those lines, and life and duties have many calls on us. While on the on© hand they are true, ,on the other hand there are many, like myself, who are lovers of Nature, and we like to have a share of the good things of life after we hay© done a fair day’s work, and like time to think about the higher things of life.' Many people are lovers of flowers and Nature, as was the case with Wordsworth, when he thought we miss the beauties of Nature and the sea in getting and spending. •* We may be worried by business or domestic troubles, or we may be depressed in mind or body and careless of the finer interests in life; but a breath of upper air and the sight of the moors act hi a marvellously restorative way as if beauty cast its joyous power over us and suffered our being with healthy grace. Surely the world is a beautiful place, and we need but to open our eyes and our souls to receive of its wealth of joys and gladness. We need to understand that our life consists not in the multitude of our possessions, but rather in the way we possess them.. For to hold

a few things, granted their worth, in a simple, direct, strong way is better than to have a slender grasp of a great variety of very worthy things. The beauty which hovers about the fields, valleys, uplands seem to invite us to the life of great simplicities. Even apart from the moral values of natural beauty, there is the sheer spiritual appeal which stirs our emotions and gives us an exalted joy. The meadows of soft rolling country or the great stark spaces of the plains, or the sweet homeliness of cultivated valleys, or the naked splendours of the heights, or the ineffable witcheries of the sea have a wondrous power of resolving discords of heart and mind and bringing us into states of happy peace.” The foregoing represents 'my feeling in the matter, for out of the heart flow the issues of life. Rather than spend my life in getting and spending, I would far rather be- content with a little of the good things of life so that I might have a little time to enjoy the beauties of Nature and the higher things of life that lie all around us. LEX. It is good to get a word from such as you. Lex —one of those who, while not neglecting the claims and duties of everyday- life, have yet a deep love for other and higher things, and especially a keen appreciation of the beauty in Nature. I have kept your paper to the end, because the statement of yonr philosophy with which you conclude seems to me to sum up the whole situation, and to express what at any rate the C.C.C. members feel on the matter.

In time for this meeting comes a very interesting letter from Seventh New Zealand, describing a curious incident in one of his voyages. He sends a post-card showing the home of the “ Waving Girl,” a neat white cottage, surrounded by low growing palms, with the signal station showing at the back. Another curiosity that he encloses is the prospectus of the “ Genoa Artistic Novelty Store,” kept by one “ Wellington Franklin Grazzine, the well-known New Zealander." ll© is apparently an Italian, who was born in Newtown, Wellington, and he evidently thinks his connection with this country worth advertising. Now, Seventh New Zealander has a proposition to make to the C.C.C. members. " I a-m,” he says, “ an engineer in the English and American Shipping Co., of London. We trade to seven countries in Europe, and also to XT.S.A. and Canada, and to get papers that are mailed to you is more than difficult, especially in the Latin countries. Should they get through the post all right our agents, who are generally British, commandeer them, especially anything in the

pictorial line. All my letters are registered by our London office and enclosed in the firm’s large envelopes, so they always manage to get through.” Seeing, then, that it is almost impossible for him to get papers, he would be glad if some member of the C.C.C. would cut out all pertaining to the club affairs and post them to him addressed to W. Stewart, Lochhead, care of New Zealand High Commissioner, Westminster, London. In return for this kindness h© will defray all cost, and if the sender has any hobby in the way of collecting stamps, post-cards, etc., he will be only too pleased to send them anything he can. Will some member, then, undertake this? It would be a real kindness to a far-away New Zealander, and would also be some return for his breezy letters, which give us glimpses of the great world. And, please, will anyone who wishes to do this kindly let me know, for fear of more than on© sending. Here is Seventh New Zealander’s story of the “ Waving Girl ” of Savannah: — Ss. Inca, Western Ocean, bound to New York from Hr;elva (Spain), Sunday, May 17th, 1914. Dear Elizabeth, —To get a start is the trouble, or,’ to be more correct, what excuse to us© for not having written before is causing farther. Dozens form up, and to choose one is somewhat difficult, to say nothing of it proving unsatisfactory. Apologising for my neglect, I shall attempt to get under way. My weather optic has always been on the lookout for some little detail that may prove of interest to the C.C.C. Some three months ago we were steaming up the Savannah River (U.S.A.), bound for Savannah. It is all low, marshy land .for miles, and the river is anything but straight. Rounding a sharp bend, we came suddenly on a trim little cottage. It looked so neat a:-d yet out of place in that swampy wilderness that it sort of sets one guessing, when our old chief engineer (Scotch) tapped me

on the. arm and said, “ Ah, mister, ye 11 see the wee lassie tlia noo.” Just then our whistle gave three - hearty blasts. There wasn’t _ another ship in sight, but the old chief was waving his handkerchief like one demented, and with the other hand directing my gaze to a girl waving from the end of the verandah. Needless to say, out came my hankie to join in this waving act, and, on looking round the deck, all hands and the cook were doing the same. Just look at the post-card herewith and you will see exactly what we all saw. In its surroundings it is an impressive sight. We went within 40 or 50 yards of the house. This is the chief’s story, corroborated by our pilot;—“Fifteen years ago she was a, bright and cheery girl of 19, and her whole mind was occupied with the thought of her coming marriage, which was to take place immediately upon the return of the American schooner Robert Henry. Her lover was second mate. On the last visit of the schooner all arrangements had been made for the wedding, and the most comforting thing of all, he was leaving the schooner on her return to take a pilot’s berth on the river. This fact caused the pilots to take more than ordinary interest in her. They almost looked upon her as on.© of their own cloth already, more especially as she assisted her brother in tending the beacon lights at the river mouth when the weather was at all stormy. Her skill in a boat was far above the average. At last news came that the Robert Henrv had left Boston, bound for Savannah with a cargo of coal. As the time drew near for the Robert Henry’s arrival, you may depend more than once the lassie scanned the horizon from the signal station beside the cottage. [You will see the station in the post-card.] Day by day slipped by, but no sign of the schooner. The Robert Henry was then posted as overdue, and eventually missing. Still, she did not give up all hopes. There was .still a. chance that some passing vessel may have rescued the Robert Henry’s crew and continued on her voyage to some foreign port. Time alone would tell. It was through these weary months of waiting that she started waving to all in coming vessels, hoping against hope, that one perchance might be carrying her lover up river to bavannah, and he would see her waving on his arriva l . Ella Wheeler Wilcox expresses aptly what must have been uppermost in the girl’s mind when she writes; O skies bo calm! O winds blow free— Blow all my ships safe home to me! But if thou sendest some a-wrack To never more come sailing back, Send any—all that skim tire eea; But bring my love ship back to me. The pilots noticed this waving, and to cheer

her up used to blow three blasts of the whistle in answer to her waving. About this time one morning at daybreak from the signal station she saw a barque coming to frief at the mouth of the river. A hurricane aving sprung up, very quickly piled the barque on a nasty leesnore, and swept her fore and aft. At once the waving girl and her brother set out to assist; but upon their arrival found the barque submerged and four half-drowned men in the rigging—all that was left of the crew. With the heavy sea that was running it was impossible to get their small boat alongside, and the men were almost too numbed with the cold to swim. Her brother kept the boat as close as possible, and the brave lassie, taking a light line, swam to the almost exhausted men, and with her assistance they all got safely to the boat; but here fresh troubles arose—an overloaded boat. Still, with her skilful steering, they made a place of shelter, and later in the day they got back to the little cottage. The shipwrecked , sailors were put aboard a passing boat bound for Savannah, and, needless to say, the people of Savannah did not let this brave act go unhonoured; neither did the pilots, who were more than proud of their lass. From that time every pilot, when passing (no steamer passes without a pilot), day or night, gives her three blasts of the whistle, and she answers by day with a whit© hankie, and by night with a lamp. Her bedroom is next to the verandah. No news was ever heard of the ill-fated Robert Henry or her crew'. Still, for 15 years the “ Waving Girl ” of Savannah has saluted every ship passing the cottage. We came down river at 1 a.m., and no sooner had the three blasts gone than we could see the waving lamp, and every movable lamp on our ship returned her salute. This brave woman is one of Savannah’s boasts, and as well known as Pelorus Jack is to the average New Zealander. She is

the most-saluted person in the United States of America. v , Another case where all passing vessels saluted was that of “ the old man of the Mediterranean,” sometimes known as *' The Hermit of Cape Malea.” Now, I must close, with all good wishes to the C.C.C. SEVENTH NEW ZEALANDER. AUGUST MEETING. MUSIC. August 12. —Papers to be in by Atigust 1. We all know the opinion of Shakespeare as to the man with no music in his soul. I should be loth to think of any of our members as fit only for “treasons, stratagems, and spoils,” so shall expect a large array of papers on this subject. Music in some form or another appeals to nearly everyone, but probably the views of the unmusical on the subject will also make interesting reading.