PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXII, Issue 23, 17 February 1912, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

MAJOR ANDREW, the bright New Zealander- who is already a personage in the Indian Army, is an example of successful application. Before he " took a scarlet coat and eword as bright as bright could be," he wielded the supplejack and the primer in New Zealand. His martial instinct overcame his educational inclinations and he had no difficulty wnea it came to rubbing intellects with the n.ost capable British officers in the Indian Army in keeping his end up. He has been frequently chosen tor special service, and it is supposed that his early passion for swat induced him to proceed with his already full education when he reached the land of brandy pawnee and the "Taj Mahal." Language is the ex-schoolmaster's strong point, and it has been said of him that when disguised as a native he can easily butt in and takepart.in the family conversation without being suspected of whiteness. , p

Funny, too, that the Major both writes and lectures well, for the bom lecturer-is nearly always a failure on paper and the brilliant screedmonger a painful blot on the platform When Major Andrew invaded this country on long leave awhile ago, he flipped hisip en pretty early and as far as the stay-at-home New Zealand swashbuckler was concerned, " could tell 'im a lot that would save 'im a lot on the things •c ought to know." It was hoped that in some quarters—and like fury in other quarters—that he would stay right along in this country"to catch hold of a large mihtarv position, but the " noes " had it. ,t was lucky for Andrew, who has since " made good " in India, and who is an authority on tactics, strategy, native languages and dialects and Indian customs. • It is because re is a diplomatist that "he has _ b.'eii warned to politically missioMse among the innumerable elements that make up the strange and entrancing land of India. The pen is mightier than the Lee-Enfiell, md the voice of the diplomatist much more useful than cordite. • • •

C. N. Baeyertz, the mighty the impeccable;, the law giver, at whose word the world of art trembles and the mighty abase themselves, was in Auckland a few days ago, combining business with pleasure. His capacity for getting the fulness of the earth, good times and good business is even more remarkable than his critical dogma. It would pay if he could be induced to give the "Triad " an article on " How it is done. l^

People who do not forget "Tiny" Knyvett, and who remember prominent military personages connected with a rather famous incident, will be pleased to hear that one of the very prominent military personages has been promoted by an old Auckland lady nearly seventy years of age—and shortsighted. The potentate was about to proceed to a distance in order to allow his gorgeousness to 6lowly sink into the soldiery who were awaiting him. The car was crowded and the Most High stood on the back platform and dug his spurs into the rear of the apron —or words to that effect. He glared fiercely from under the penthouse of his be-laurelled staff cap. The car pulled up at a stopping place. The dear old lady climbed aboard. She had a penny in her hand. She gazed kindly under the staff cap, tendered the "brown," arid said, " One section please, young man." Unfortunately the " Gazette has not noted the promotion Ton shall pick the personage in one guess. '

The London ■•Financier," which might know something about the operations of our Premier baronet, but doesn't quote " the best official sources," says that despite Sir Joe's denial the feeling in England regarding his taking over the - High Commissionership is stronger than ever. They very possibly know more over there than we are told. After all we can't forget that the term of office of Sir William with the hyphen has expired, and that he was asked to hang on to the job for a bit just as the elections came on. But two and two make four only in mathematics. The ** Financier " alleges that the ponderous Bill Massey would give Sir Joe the job and a .double handful over if he would only get. Quite likely.

F. J. Pullen, who has just returned from a jaunt around Australia, isn't looking particularly bronzed, though he admits having struck some sultry nights. The people of Melbourne, he says, have had to take to the simple life, and the open air cure, whether they were devotees to the doctrine of Dr. Wagner or violently otherwise. According to the returned pilgrim, recent Melbourne night's entertainments were conducted in a turkish bath atmosphere of 110 degrees overproof, and the people of St. Kilda, and anywhere where there's some sort of water-front, have ben dossing on

the beaches at night, clad in the graceful simplicity of kimonos, pyjamas, bathing suits, and less. Sydney, says F.J., is warm, but Melbourne is hot, very hot. Asked if the nocturnal surf-bathers and balcony dossers took precautions against onslaughts by strange cats, the returned one muttered something about "close season" and disappeared, giving us just time enough to gather that though his face isn't like the tan he didn't have such a very rotten time.

Alf. Whitaker, almost the only surviving member of a family that, in the old days, were all good sports, is still inspired by the true sporting instinct himself. Though not by any means as young as he was, but still young enough to enjoy an exciting cricket match, he took train the other night, disregarding the discomforts of overland travel, and journeyed all the way to Christchurch to witness the contest of the Auckland team for the Plunket Shield. This is not the first time that Alf. Whitaker's love of the game has caused him to do this sort of thing. As far back as 1882, he travelled South to see the matches of the Auckland team's memorable tour in that remote year. At an earlier period, if we mistake not, he was one of the representative team that played against the Australian Eleven.

J. S. Reid, erstwhile and quite recently manager for D. Bowmar ix'c Mangawai, in which position he spent eight years in capturing the interest and the goodfellowship of the Mangawaisters, feminine and masculine, and incidentally and consequently doing good business, " has chucked his job and left it and the reason that he's here," is to have a holiday before starting in to use up his superfluous energy on another job. The male Mangawaisters in their enthusiasm to prove that he was the best chap they had ever met, and the most capable filler of public positions, ' thrust a banquet, lavishly decorated with champagne and speeches, upon his retiring self. Theladies showed their interest in him by surrounding him with a social, and nearly caused him to break his iron resolution and remain in Mangawai for ever. But with great fortitude "he pulled out and had to pay excess on account of the presentations -making such, numerous luggage.

After passing an eye over the representatives of the oil monarchs, who have invaded this Dominion, lately, the meek and lowly New Zealander irresistibly concludes that it is very good of them to come. The contrast between Petroleum Brown, who is at present somewhere in the Taranaki oil fields, and Great Henry, who has left it, is almost painful. It cannot be decided which is the greater man, but one suspects that J. D. Henry knows. Photography by wireless has not yet been invented, but should it come, we may have Mr Henry every morning. with the ham and eggs. He smelleth the oil fields afar off, and his picture is as familiar to the people of Galicia as to the prints of this admiring country. Petroleum Brown is a different kind of celebrity — large arid commanding and much used to being obeyed. He is sogreat that he has been drawn by " Spy " for " Vanity Fair." He is as much at home in a mud hut at the back of Mukden as he is in the marble halls of New Plymouth. Although he has strained his eyesight a little looking for " indications " he has a piercing black orb that turns the meek colonial investor inside out. • • *

When he came to New Zealand this last time, he did not tell everybody about himself—and Mr Henry was not on board. It got known among the very first-class passengers that Petroleum Brown, the "oil-wizard," was on the ship, and people used to hide behind stanchions and lifeboats to catch him at his incantations. They coudn't search his luggage because it is illegal, but they knew he had a swag of divining rods that would put the collection of our reverend water diviner in the shade ._ He became a celebrity. He is still a celebrity, large, brown anjd deepchested, with London clothes. He thinks New Zealanders are rude, but that is merely a temporary notion.

At Motorua, there are two large cones —the "sugar-loaves." Mr Brown has threatened to build a great wall between them in order to make calm water for the tank steamers that will lie alongside and suck sustenance from the bowels of the earth. • If he and Great Henry were given a free hand there would be a bridge from Auckland to Devonport in no time. In contrast to the two oil monarchs herein respectfully referred to, there is Mr Christopher Carter, the retiring gentleman who is a grocer by occupation and an oil king in parenthesis. He has been to London, and is now the proud associate of Petroleum Brown and Great Henry. To these three—and incidentally the shareholders —Taranaki and other provinces of oleaginous tendencies look to make the Cow a producer of secondary importance. Oil " bores " are sometimes met in Queen-street, but as yet the historic thoroughfare is unsullied by the presence of the great wooden derricks, which indicate the presence of '•spouters," "gushers," an*J other phenomena.

Labour Member Hindmarch, who was himself very angry and made his fellow , Councillors in Wellington as angry as hornets oyer the tram strike the other day, is.a bit of a mystery. He showed alarming political symptoms about eight years ago, and as far as can be remembered butted in and begun his career at a meeting where the electors of Newtown were guying little Artie Fulford, the amusing plasterer, who is not yet in the House. There's nothing extraordinary about a lawyer being a Labour member and associated with the " horny handed " (and those who take good care to keep the corns away), but Hindmarsh certainly i isn't . " bred " Labour. He is one of the South

Australian Hindmarshes, and his grandpa was an aristocratic baronet-

ted or knighted admiral who was

Governor of that" State (when it was just a colony).

Although the Wellington sprig of the family throws his arms about and may be presumed to shout " Down with Capital 1" several times an hour, he has never been a wharf labourer. In private, Hindmarsh is a mild and interesting personage, and reads and writes very well, without stumbling over the long words. He is related to the Napier family of Hindmarshes, in which there are fifteen girls ranging from maturity to infancy, and who look very engaging in a photo. Another example of an aristocrat who has risen in the social scale is Minister Millar, whose pa was at least a majorgeneral if not more. One finds bluebloods everywhere, even in politics.

Mr Arnold, who used to be M.P. for Dunedin Central, is out of gaol again. You quite mistake the Observer's meaning. The convicts of New Zealand are sorry when Mr Arnold is not buzzing round the gaols and that presentation from the profession all over the Dominion, tendered to the sonorous Arnold is unique. He was the chap who worked on the idea of " give him a chance," and

who fought tooth and nail for justice to the immured. In the House, Mr Arnold was parsonical. There is no other word to express his intense solemnity the monotone of his voice and the deliberate method .by which he made one feel that everyone was a miserable sinner except Mr Arnold. Although the least intellectual M.P.'s used to fade out of the Chamber when Arnold was fairly into his " fourthly " (thus leaving the Chamber almost empty), he had a grasp of the political situation hardly less wonderful than Mr . Glover's. Magistrate Kettle the other day confessed to having stumbled upon the fact that a grandfather of an unlawfully begotten grandchild is responsible for the partial maintenance of the said child should it be consigned to an institution, and should the immediate parent be unable to weigh out the necessary funds. This interesting by-product of Parliament should assist the cause of the Curfew clamourers when it gets known.

Mr J. T. M. Hornsby has left the Wairarapa, where his rotund waistcoat and his curly black locks were known to every man, woman, child and politician, and has descended on Petone (where the prevailing sniell is meaty) to edit the " Chronicle ." The " Alphabetical" is best known for his Chesterfieldian suaveness in private life and his vigorous fightableness in politics and journalism. The Observer remembers him gratefully in chargu of a Parliamentary party in the Wairarapa, and refuses to forget that throughout the trip he wore a smile—and goloshes. It was a very wet trip—but Masterton is now—but there, why exhume the past ? J.T.M. has during his career been one of the forty odd editors of the New Zaland " Times," and for a while controlled " The Railway Review," which has lately been making a name for itself in the hands of Charlie Wheeler, who is only one-third the size of the Carterton Adonis anyhow.

Arthur Leopold Raven, the affable gentleman who sells valuable suburban estates to wealthy capitalists, has resolved that when in future he engages a salesman he will be carelui to stipulate tnat the gentleman wnl refrain from entertaining friends in his motor car. The episode wiiich has brought him to this practical frame of mind happened a little wnile ago. Tlie salesman, who had also been a chauffeur, got into'dimcm ties with the car in tne neighbourhood of Ihumata, wherever tnat may De, and iound his way home, witn his friends, by other means oi conveyance. Tne liaven party had some trouble to locate tne car, but eventually discovered it in solitary grandeur on a countiy road and containing substantial evidences of the previous night's entertainment, and even more substantial evidences of the disaster tnat had terminated the expedition, it the salesman or chauffeur had paid tor the damage and had looked pleasant, Prince Leopold might have looted pleasant too, but the chauffeur preferred a flutter in the S.M. Court.

One of his points of defence was ingenious. He was in Raven's employ, he pleaded, and the employer being responsible for the acts of his servants, he declined to pay. Incidentally, he also argued that he had permission to use the car. The law, however, from his point of view, was squint-eyed and unjust. It failed to take a fair and reasonable view of the matter. Be that as it may, he was required to pay for the damage to the car, and it was suggested to his guests by a callous magistrate that they were also liable, which prompted them to volunteer their share of the bill. Prince Leopold locks up his motor car of nights now, so that parties in search of moonlight diversion in the suburbs have no possible hope of getting .it on the same terms.

He is a kindly and elderly gentleman whose principle interest (one might say principle and interest) is in manufacturing condiments and suchlike hot stuff, and he engaged to show two charming ladies over his factory on a sunny Sabbath noon. It was not in the least his fault that

one of the damsels should have. the spotless white of her lace frock besmirched witli a splash of condiment, nor could he conceive any harm in allowing her the privacy of his Oiiice wnne she dotted and cleaned the garment. It was most unloiouiiiite tiiougii that tne eminently proper son of the kindly anfcl elderiy gesnoieman should chose to visit the woiKs on tnat particular hour, and tnat his strong leanings towards the higher life should receive such a shock. To find the factory occupied by a young lady and a, dumb, beetcoloured parent is not nice, .as any son will admit, but to stride from such a sight into the presence of beauty adorned in diaphanous and berib boned lingerie gave the filial feelings and nonconformist conscience of the son a severe blow in the diaphragm. The parent's incoherent endeavours to explain the apparition have only increased the gloomy suspicion of the offspring, and now they are scarcely on speaking terms.

Waihi falls /didn't crush N. J. Evered, though he was assistant underground manager, but maybe »they shook his nerves, for he haß shaken the gold dust of Waihi from his boots and wends towards Canada.

The death of W. Lyons, "Bill" Lyons to most who knew him, at Sydney a couple of days ago.removes another old identity of the turf. The late William Lyons was a New Zealander, and a bookmaker and horseowner of the old school—a thorough man in all his ways, and straightforward. At one time he was in partnership with Mr Robert Blaikie, of Auckland, as horseowners. Their first horse was " Too Soon," and proved so as far as they were concerned. The late W. Lyons didn't confine himself to horses ; he distributed his energies and interests in a variety of sports, and played most games well, his favourite pastimes being billiards, cricket, bowls and shooting, and all who knew him know that pure love of sport was the reason of his sportsmanship. His wife predeceased him some years ago, and the family he lecvrcs is r! 1 ~r~-vn up.