PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXII, Issue 24, 24 February 1912, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

THERE is trouble in the Islands of Fiji now that Edwin Bartlett Clark has arrived to continue his honeymoon. According to a letter from the adventurous youth, who wedded the brunette Princess, he was met on arrival by the numerous relatives of the bride,and much language ■ensued, and it was as well that the personalities hurled at Edwin were .'mostly in the Fijian dialect, otheri wise he might have blushed to find how little his new relations thought of him. The upshot of the vehement domestic korero is that the young bride is reft from the side of her true love and hidden in a native village where Edwin wouldn't find it healthy to go. walking. The hardhearted relatives refused to deliver the letters of Edwin to his Taupo Mary Hoamafaleono Lala, and so he had to get the assistance of the Magistrate, through whose agency they are now sent, though even that doesn't make it certain that the abducted wife gets them.

Meanwhile, Prince Ratu Kadavu Levu, the previous betrothed, refuses to have anything to do with the distracted pair and won't speak to Edwin at all. In the interval Edwin Bartlett Clark ifi waiting developments, and has accepted a situation in the meanwhile. What Mrs Edwin Bartlett Clark is doing or thinking is not ascertainable, and what her numerous relatives and their friends and the friends and relatives of the prince are going to do can only be suspected. The Prince, it is said, is very worried - about the loss of the Princess and her comfortable dowry. It doesn t seem as though the climate of Fiji will be healthy for E.B.C.

Admirers of that gallant swashbuckler, Captain E. ft". W. Lascelles —who used to be a Major here, and staff-officer for mounted duties in N.Z.—will pity the officers' mess of the 3rd Dragoon Guards, which is losing the Napier man, who becomes brigade-major for a Devon Mounted Brigade. Captain Lascelles was rather remarkable while he served in New Zealand for his scorn of the forces from which he was drawn, and his vivid remarks (especially to officers who had the honour of his instruction) were sometimes resented. He referred on one occasion to a number of officers who had distinguished themselves on service as " old women," and humorously declared that a squad (which comprised a colonel man C.M.Gr.) as resembling " Chinamen carrying bamboos." He was remarkably free with, his lectures, and if he is given his head he will easily transform the British Army.

The prevailing idea one got about the gallant dragoon was that he was very much more British than the stray British officer who is sent into exile here, and that New Zealand was very lucky indeed to have him in it once more. He wrote advisory military matters voluminously whenever there was a scrap of paper handy, and probably the reason why the British War Office hesitated about employing Kitchener in a high military position for so long, was because it wasn't quite sure what position E. ff. W. might demand. The following story is not true. E.ff.W. was a non-com, in one of the N.Z. regiments in Africa. A man approached him. " Staff officer wants to see you at once, sergeant," lie said. " Good heavens," said the sergeant, " is Kitchener dead ?" To. give Lascelles. his due, however, he has been a remarkably goed "book " soldier, and has torn hie way to promotion in a highly skilful way.

Rumour is the first principle in the art of conversation, and Wellington has been making talk lately by alleging that Bank of New Zealand Chairman H. Beauchamp is to be the next High Commissioner, which is vigorously asserted to be a terininalogical inexactitude. The Honourable Roddy, denies that he is going to be 'fixed in the position, but unscrupulous anonymities retort that he's waiting to be aske;l. Certainly the whiskers and the dimensions of the veterans .would .lend dignity to the position. . Surely though Harle Giles, and p'raps Mister Nerheny, should have a place in the running.

A rising author is Rev. Daniel Cross Bates. We anxiously read his masterpieces every day in case the weather should not be suitable for that picnic, that voyage, that haymaking, that holiday. Since he stepped into the sandals of Captain Edwin he has proved that a hobby if nurtured arid cultivated will produce good colours of goM, for Daniel wasn't born a meteorologist. In his curatical days he dabbled in scientific mysteries, had a penchant for topography, was keen on zoology, liked chemistry — and preached. He became a spiritual guide to soldiers in the field, and went sick with a bad throat. It was probably the condition of his throat that majde him burnish up his knowledge of meteorology, until it shone like a shilling. Daniel negotiated the purchase of the lion " King Dick" for the Wellington Zoo, and that unmarried monarch lived in lonely splendour for years, aching for 6ociety. Daniel was warned one day that a dingo had escaped from custody, and he rushed for his trusty rifle, got on its trail in the wild hills surrounding Wellington, and made a bull's-eye, probably saving the lives of a number of sheep. It was Mr Bates who settled the

point as to whether Pelorus Jack was a whale, a dolphin, a shark, or just plain schnapper. He, if we remember aright, declared emphatically that Jack was a griseus grampus. For several weeks after this accusation Jack absented himself from duty, and probably rubbed his barnacles off against a rock instead of on the sides of the ships.

One of our best-known inn-keep-ers—the one with the name that came over with William the Conqueror—struck a country race meeting the other day, a freqiient habit of his, and got his dignity outraged frightfully by a small boy. "Monty " (we can't disclose his identity) soiled his collar in the struggle for the tote, and being particularly anxious to look his best he strolled into the local drapery emporixrm, and to the diminutive youth behind the counter said " I want a collar to fit me." " The saddler's shop is next door, sir," said the youngster without hesitation, and we ignore the rest of the conversation which was conducted by the sport.

Our gentle and well-beloved Laurie Abrahams, with Bob Noton in tow, struck Wellington the other day, and roped in one or two other energetic male folk of the entertaining variety, who had been previously notified, and set off for the West Coast with the desperate intent of amusing the West Coasters. Some curious holidays have been invented, but we reckon that the original brains that conceived this musical missionary business has beaten the band. Every hope is held out that Laurie and Bob will survive the hospitality of the West Coasters and the rigours of the climate, but there is a grievous fear that success may incite them to go missionising in the islands.

Gisborne loves a Governor, and treated His Ex. to a bonzer eight when he struck the town the other day on his turf-turning expedition. They spare no expense in Gisborne, where they are so used to lavishing money on harbour works and such things that money has lost its attractions. The Gisborne " Herald" says that " the announcement that Lord Islington's apartments were to to be illuminated with electric lighting from the new mxmicipal powerhouse, the initial installation, aroused much interest. The entire frontage of the hotel- wae brilliantly illuminated with powerful electric lamps, whilst his Excellency's suite of rooms had also been illuminated." The wonder is they didn't illuminate His Ex. and serve out special privilege tickets for the spectacle. It must have been a rare treat for Gisborne to observe His Ex. in his illuminated apartments.

Tom Wilford, Mayor of Wellington, who lias taken Home a complaint in order to show it to a specialist (and the Observer hopes the specialist will cure him), as a lawyer, has dramatic methods all his own, and might have made a second Gaston Mervale if the bar had not reached for him. He can sing a good character song, play his own accompaniments, tell a story much better than many who make a livelihood at the game, and confound witnesses with sudden stage effects. For instance, he was handling an important case and a hard witness. No one knew why he did it, but he suddenly called two men into Court from the outside, paraded them in front of the witness, said "that'll |do," and sent them out again. For reasons unknown, the sudden, appearance of these two men upset the witness, and he became clay in the hands of the legal pctter.

When Tom defended the Te Awaite murderer Ellis, he worked every effect known to the accomplished actor, and there appeared in the press a rather remarkable literary letter, " from the pen of Ellis "— who was an untutored bushman — which may have moved many to, pity for its eloquence, its knowledge and its appeal. It is remembered that the man who had probably , never read anj'thing but Deadwood Dick*, concluded an impassioned, literary appeal with Hamlet's words, " The rest is silence." As a matter of fact, the rest was without soutyi for Ellis, but Tom knew who wrote that laet letter.

Mr Wilford went to London once before, and told a good story of Marie Corelli. Seems that Tom was permitted to stay in the same hotel as Marie, and found himself one day in the lift with her and other guests. Tom, of course, naturally let his eyes rest on the celebrity, and was looking at her when the lift boy asked him in a subdued voice, " What floor, sir ?" Still gazing abstractedly at the " Sorrows of Satan," he said, "My suite." " Sir," indignantly retorted Marie. "Of rooms, boy," concluded Tom. Marie smiled indignantly.

Talking about stage effects reminds of Mr Justice Connolly and the Auckland Supreme Court. The man in the dock was about sixty years old and deaf. " Ask him what his name is," tempested the _ judge. The sergeant roared in his ear,. "Phwat is your-r-r name ?" The man who was there because he had bit a mate a friendly clout over the head with an axe, remained unmoved and unhearing. The sergeant obtained a sheet of double elephant brown paper, rolled it into a cone, put the small end in the ear of the defendant, filled a pair of very useful lungs, and bellowed, "Phwat is your-r-r name ?" Defendant turned on the sergeant like a tiger snake. " Yer a liar," he retorted. As hecould neither read nor write, couldn't hear, and had one eye in a sling, by the time the judge sentenced him, the amiability of the Court could have been accommodated on m threepenny bit.

Mick Walsh is the possessor of a private, still. This scandalous piece of information is not so serious as it seems though, for it was purchased quite unknowingly and Mick hasn't the slightest intention of using it in the furtherance of trade, the law being averse to such. How it happened was, according to one absolutely unreliable informant, that Mick Walsh was giving Spot the air on the beaches of Kohimarama when Spot, scenting . trade probably, showed great partiality for a particular cottage, and Mick was thereby moved to buy it. The likelier yarn is that the dispenser of liquid contentment bought the ancient residence and the land on which it stood as a "spec." Having bought he decided to remove the time-worn homestead and erect a sea-side mansion on the plot.

It must have been some prescience on the part of Mick that causojd him to haunt the cottage while its demolishment was proceeding! Anyway, he discovered that .the mantel-piece of a fireplace was peculiarly adapted for easy removal, and had it removed of course. A deep dark aperture was observed, which discovered itself to be a cave, or a sort of rough-hewn cellar, when the chimney was shifted, anfi the cave on careful examination revealed an old and home-made whisky still. This relic of roaring days had been most ingeniously concealed, and the mystery which fretted the oldest inhabitants in the years gone by, as to why trading schooners so frequently put into. Kohimarama for water is now solved.

Sir Edward Grey, who has been K. Geejl, is the personage who manoeuvred the 'most difficult bit of internationar diplomacy in modern times. While most fellows would have been in a state of wet towel and nerve tonic, -this calm personage played steady games of golf and directed the foreign policy in between the puts. Like all the eminents, Grey is not beautiful and in a recent photograph he sent to an Auckland relative, the picture shows that golf socks do not become attentuated limbs, anjd that the nose that pries into German se-

crets is long and - inquisitive. K.G.ships are not scattered around like the common or garden K.C.M.G. baubles, which are kept in the wholesale department at Downing-street. One must have cerulean blood or be guilty of really useful statesmanship to annex the few of the greater baubles that are left.

The Order of the Garter is a Countess of Salisbury's fault. Edward 111. gave a little dance one evening and the Countess was quite a good dancer, and his Royal Nibs thought so too. He danced with her so strenuously that her garter was shaken off (dreadful sensation among the Little Bethelitee !) His gallant Majesty retrieved it and with kingly grace first lovingly placed it on his own royal leg, before buckling it in its proper sphere. To show that he had been rather well educated, considering his disabilities, he murmured '' Honi soit gui mal y pense," which everyone-knows means, "Shame on the it.i;i v»ho thinks evil " —a rather t'leo translation. The incident did not close there, for courtiers worked up the business for all it was worth, even without the aid of the newspapers.

The garter became the badge of the top-notch order of knighthood, and the garter itself ? which costs quite a lot of money still lias the words attributed to the royal gallant. As the wearing of the Order makes it necessary for Sir E. Grey to assume pants related to the golf variety, it will be necessary for us to gaze on the photo of his unfortunate legs again. When the ordinary labourer buckles his bowyangs round the knees of his moleskins, he will please think of that charming Countess, whom a king honoured.

Taranaki " News " states that two big blow-outs occurred at Moturoa last week. They were not given to Great Henry or Petroleum Brown—they were due to pressure of gas in an oil bore (no unusual thing in oil-bores—their numbers are increasing), but possibly the presence of Petroleum Brown caused the gas pressure.

Little George Grey, the Australian youngster, who is just out hiss teens, and who is making haclfli <4f Britain's best billiardists, is a modest kijddie, and like all specialists in any line, Jiis methods are his sole property. English writers, who have watched him banging them into the middle pockets otf the red, hour after hour—a dreary way of spending half a day—pretend that he is devoid of nerves. It is wrong to suppose that a specialist of any kind excels because he is " without nez-ves."

George is typically nervous in appearance ; hatchet faced, with eyes like a bird, long thin quick fingers, thin lippad mouth, and all the rest of it. No one else could play in the same position, for he puts his pointed chin right down on the butt of the cue and aligns his body in a way that would be most awkward to anybody else. Last time he was round New Zealand with his billiard-play-ing pa, he was so young that he wore knickers and looked so ridiculously "tlhat everybody who had ever handled a cue wanted to " take him on."

His staff of managers, parents, trainers, advisers, servants -— or whatever they were—treated him as if he were something breakable and when he had finished pushing the red about, there was a rush to hand him his thick overcoat, his muffler, his hat, stick, gloves, and other impedementa. It is rather quaint that this boy lias accepted all the adoration without becoming spoiled, and if you were told that Little Georgie was the prize good boy of the V.M.C.A. you'd believe it. And it is quite likely he is a much more pleasant youngster than the average prize good boy.

If you have ever seen John Anderson Gilruth talking cow to cockies or imparting a specially selected yarn to a specially selected crowd, you will agree that he is a very special man. The Commonwealth Government thought so when they gave him a bit of land about seven times the size of New Zealand—the Northern Territory—to administer. When he was in New Zealand nobcfly fully appreciated the point that he was big enough for anything, that he was worth, keeping in this country, or wortih paying a big price to. We claim him for & New

Zealander, of course, because he was' Chief Veterinarian here, but we now know he wasn't a typical civil servant because he fought politicians and political ways vioienciy. tie was a Scot from Jb oifarshire — and spoke the language. it was his special delight to verbally puncn into thick heads scientic truths aoi.ut cows and sheep and horses in terse, powerlul language. bometiines las sentences were trimmed with brimstone, and before he had done with his groups of stubborn t aimers he h*i cussed his Knowledge into them.

At heart he is something of a barbarian, a man who hates those days of "'hush!" goloshes and flannel next tiie skiu — something of a Kitchener of his class, and capable of Empire building. Once he invaded a newspaper office and spoke of bulls. " Hadn't we better refer toithem as the ' male animal, , Mr Gilruth V" asked the editor. The big man said a few things in the picturesque idiom of Forfarshire, tore his article to shreds, and strewed it on the floor. " What a very violent man 1" said the editor, selecting another peppermint. ■ - .• •

John A., just before iie got that professorship in Australia, had a nwjteoric military career, for he was made lieutenant-colonel commanding in chief the Veterinary Corps of New Zealand. It didn't really matter, because he left the army a week or so after the promotion from nothing to boss of the horse department—having been advised from Melbourne that the blosjsoms on the boodle tree that season were much larger than the .New Zealand variety. It is a better job to be Administrator of the Northern Territory [than Prime Minister of Australia, for who knows the name of the Prime Minister for February, 1913 ?

Thus P. H. Hickey in the "Maoriland Worker " : "Are we Industrialists ? Are we Revolutionists ?' If we are, let us act accordingly and toss every agreement to Hell." Well, why not anyway P That is about their worth, and " agreements/ , judging from recent experience, made -by Labour are fit fuel for the final abode of the disciples of Ananias. To Labour leaders, apparently, an Industrial agreement is a thing not to agree to, something in?.'. l '. 1 ■• l>e broken.