LIFE IN LONDON.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LV, Issue 14013, 18 September 1909, Page 6

LIFE IN LONDON.

(Chronicled by Henry W. Lucy.) Not since the days of the Abolition of the Corn Laws by the Government of that stout protectionist Sir Robert Peel has a State secret been so well kept as that of the intentions of the Gc.ernment with respect to tbe foui conditional battle ships. The pareHel is closer by reason of the fact that whilst Ministerial circles were invulnerable there was leakage outside. In the Corn Law case' it was The Times that startled the country with the announcement of the coming revolution. In the matter of the four Dreadnoughts it was a signed article in a Sunday newspaper that lifted the veil of secrecy. To a certain extent the incident was embarrassing to the Government. The disclosure Ted to excited commentary in the press and a flood of questions in the House of Commons nightly threatening to swamp the First Lord of the Admiralty.

Air. M'Kenna went through the ordeal with an adroitness that distinctly improved his position. As appears from his statement on Monday, it was impossible for him to contradict the precise detailed statement in the Observer. To confirm it would be to upset the ingeniously devised plan by which open revolt of the influential section of Ministerialists opposed to further expenditure on armaments was deferred. Through a period of four months, during which the process of interrogation intermittently went forward, ne did not once give himself away. So recently as June 10 the writer in the Observer, having repeated the announcement of the Cabinet's decision with some fresh particulars, the passage was cited in the form of a question, and the First Lord bluntly asked whether there was any foundation for it. "So far_ as I am aware," said Mr. M'Kenna with an air of innocence that impressed a crowded and keenly observant House, "it is the offspring of the talents of the writer," a dark saying that came as near to contradiction a« conscience would permit a Minister of the Crown to stray.

In a secluded room in the Foreign Office history has this week been amaking. The Mother Country has called lier children around her, and in the strict privacy of family council plans are being formed for the safety of the Empire. This has been a year of conferences, in which the colonies, formerly kept at arm's length by martinets at the Colonial Office, have prominently figured. For significance and importance, what is known as the Imperial Defence Conference exceeds all. It means that at lasi a scattered family, peopling all the ends of the earth, will bo drawn closely together, bound by the steel chain of preservation. The sentiment of unity has always existed. Now we shall have the reality. It was a colonial paper, a leading Canadian journal, that, speaking, it is true, for its own people, admitted that hitherto loyalty to the Mother Country on the part of the colonies had been conducted on alluringly cheap terms. Great Britain found the protecting fleet, and Canada up to a recent date declined to contribute a sovereign, much less a ship, to its colt.

li was doubtless this condition of things, the responsibility and expenditure/attached to colonial possessions, that led to that great apostle of Imperialism, Dismeli, giving utterance to the wish that the painter might be cut. A great deal has happened since Diray died. Under the truly Liberal, farseeing statemanship that has during the last few years controlled the destinies of the country, the colonies are no more children to be scolded of petted according to the humour of the moment. After a fashion common enough in the commercial world, they, grown to man's estate, are admitted as active partners in the old firm of Empire. We shall be having a new expedition in search of the South Pole. At present the last word of the Antarctic story is in the mouth of Lieutenant Shackleton, who is. still the hero and idol of I^ndon socie'ty ,' happily unspoiled by toe flow of adulation. But Captain Scott tells me he is finally resolved to make another effort to complete an endeavour five years ago almost crowned with success. His services have not been -unrecognised by the Admiralty. Ranking as a commander when ho set forth on his voyage, on his return he was promoted to a captaincy, and placed in command of a fine ship. This may be regarded as only the commencement of a career that might lead to the highest rank in the navy. But the lure of the icebound Antarctic seaß is ii-risistible. He has already completed his plans for a fresh expedition, and hopes to enter upon it, if not this year, before the new year is advanced. Tho essential condition of financing the enterprise is practically arranged.

Some interesting manuscripts were sold at Sothebv's recently at what is practically the laßt book auction of the season. One is a copy -of the first edition of the poems of George Meredith. Inserted is an autograph letter dated from Boxhill, Dorking, September 12*' 1890, which reminds us how recent ib the established fame of one who came to be regarded as the literary giant of the Victorian era. "The reading of your little book," Meredith writes, "has given me pleasure. It is a surprise to me to see verse of mine attracting notice. I no longer send copies for review." Nine lots wore books formerly in the possession of Lady Blessington. Several are inscribed l>y the authors. A handsomelybound edition of Walter Savage Landor'B works in two volumes, bears the inscription, "To Marguerite, Countess of Blessington, from Walter Savage Landor, ever mindful what he owes to her hospitality, to her genius, and to the unrivalled graces of her conversation." Briefer is the note of Ewgeno Sue in presenting copies of his works to Count d'Orsay. "A vous, mon cher d'Orsay. Eugene Sue." A scrap of paper containing a line scrawled by Abraham Lincoln, dated September 22, 1863, recalls with curious minuteness of parallel *he journey to London of Jeanie Deans, as told in "The Heart of Midlothian." During the American Civil War the sister of a young soldier, who had fallen asleep at lus post and was straightway sentenced to be shot, travelled from Indiana to Washington to plead with the commanding officer for the life of her brother. The general refusing even to see her, the girl made her way to the White House, and. obtaining access to the President, told him her story. "Will General Spinner please see and hear this young lady?" Lincoln wrote on a half-sheet of notepaner. Even as he signed it the general entered the room, and, more obedient to the President's command than to the sister s pleading, he remitted the sentence. The good work accomplished, Lincoln crumpled up the slip of paper and threw it into the waste-paper basket, whence it was rescued by Colonel John Hay, at the time Lincoln's secretary, later President Roosevelt's right-hand man at Washington. At the parting of Macbeth and the Witches on the blasted heath, inquiry was made — "When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" Had rendezvous been given in London this last week of the season, the interesting company might have depended upon all three accessories. Thunder, lightning, and rain, the latter in torrential force, have, more or less agreeably, marked our so-called summer time. Society saves itself up for Goodwood. It is tho last opportunity of displaying the newest thing in frocks, the largest circumference in hats. Tuesday was the opening day, graced, as usual, by the presence of royalty. Also, thoimh uninvited, came the rain, turning- the racecourse into a sodden marsh, drenching to the skin indomitable onlookers. It has been a fitting close to what, in respect of weather has been the' most disastrous season of the still young century. Ono turns with sympathy to our visitors from summer lands, and futilely cndeavoura to npoloirise for the weather. , It i» unexpectedly pleasant to find

that apology is not always needed. In the case of the family of one of the delegates from Capetown, in whose presence well-meant attempt was made, it turned out that they really enjoy our weather. At home they have, as in India, two seasons, one pen**"?, l y wot, the other persistently hot. They call our rainfall summer Bhowers. ana joy in the occasional recurrence ot Bunshine, all on the same day-