PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXIII, Issue 1, 14 September 1912, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

THOMAS MASON WILFORD, MP., who has never been Premier of New Zealand in his life, was a few months ago hailed as "the only man.in Parliament who could keep the Liberal Party from disruption ", (or words to that ettect). It was freely circulated that Thomas, who had been abroad to get his health back, was racing o'er the wave to become Premier. Tarn McKenzie, however, played a nice cool hand and entered Premier lane which leads (it necessary) to the High Commissionership. The supposition is, therefore, that if Thomas had become Premier for a few months, he would have become High Commissioner for a few years— and it's very hard. The Liberal Party still wants a leader, and Mr Wilford is still available. He has, however, played another little card by withdrawing himself from the Liberal Party altogether, because he cannot, agree with the "extreme views of a section." The question is would Mr Wilford, if he had become Premier, instead of Mr McKenzie, have noticed that these views were " extreme ? Another question is, Is there room for Mr Wilford in the Massey Ministry ?

Apropos of Paeroa. floods, a rolling stone gathers no moss, but a rolling flood may. In the ancient days of long ago 14 or 15 years—when Tracey Moresby was a slim young man and George Crosby wasn't, and Edwin Edwards was the local literary giant, there was a flood that tore bridges away like straws and flooded the main boulevard feet deep. The "gutters in the boulevard were about 5 feet deep, and the water quite covered them and the road as well. Rescue parties were afoot early. E. G. B. Moss, the barrister who has since been in Parliament descended from his perch in the hills on rescue work bent. E.G.B. essayed to cross the road with the deliberate intention of getting to the other side. He stepped boldly out— into the 5 feet ditch. There was a large gurgle, a bald head bobbed momentarily on the top of the waters, and then disappeared. Mr Moss did not reach the other side that day.

Apropos of Paeroa mud, in those dreadful days, stilts were the only reasonable device for crossing the road. A gentleman of unsober habits essayed to cross. Twenty minutes later only his head and shoulders were in sight. Jerry, the -constable, 'was advised. Jerry built a bridge across the road with boards, and hauled on the gentleman. The gentleman his most necessary garment didn't, and the constable carefully drew the partly clothed breaker of the law up the sludge channel to the safety of the lockup. A late visitor to Paeroa says that he saw nearly a handful of metal on that road last week.

Captain Wallingford (who had to wait for his commission until the army lent him to New Zealand) is the crack musketry man of the army. Seems as if the War Office must be finding out where New Zealand is when it thinks it worth while to send its finest musketry man to this outpost. Captain Wallingford is a "frother, and being a rifle-shooting specialist, makes the rather astonishing statement that it " was only the marksmen who counted in modern war." As a matter of fact, a large number of the careful black and white target perforators with their waterproof sheets, their exactly marked distances, their flags, wind 'gauges, orthoptics, peephole sights and their irritating deliberation, would be less use than many recruits in time of war. There is no record of a war having been won by shooting, and nearly every victory has been gained by ultimate shock. In fact, even when most soldiers have been taught to bowl over a moving man at 500 or 700 yards, there wi.ll be infinite use for the man who is a poor marksman. As a matter of fact, the big shooting picnics at Trentham . have never helped general shooting — for they have taken very little cognisance of anybody but the few cranks who play rifle-shooting precisely for the same reason that many men play billiards.

Mr Peter Mackay is esteemed in Auckland for his unostentatious kindness, and perhaps it was a surprise to him the other day to receive for Mrs Mackay a choice silver tea and coffee service, and a useful inkstand, together with some handsomely bound volumes of the Life of Gladstone. Some years ago, a friend of Mr Mackay (a wellknown and honoured Auckland business man) was overtaken by unforseen liabilities. Mr Mackay made a liberal cash advance, but subsequently refused to accept any interest. That s why the friend has taken the opportunity of showing his gratitude.

J. Oakley Browne (generally known as "Jim") is the press warhorse who was entertained li£e anything by the Press Gallery of Parliament, the other day, because he is sixty-one, and still waving a fluent pen. He has been haunting the gallery for a generation or two, and growing prize cabbages in the intervals. Feeling pretty young, a few years back, he hit out for Australia, and edited papers in the Victorian wheat districts, returning, however, to his New Zealand inkpot convinced that this is a comfortable little country. Every year "Jim " has been a leading feature of the big Trentham Rifle meeting, where his chief remark in racing round for "copy" is that

he is representing 60 (or more) papers for he is the gentleman responsible for the Press Ass", summary. Mr Browne is the parent of H. O. Browne, who has risen from butcher boy to a -lucrative job on a windy city paper, and whose chief distinction is that he is generally on the spot half-a-minute after the fire or the murder happens. Old, "Jim" has in his spare time (he is of literary tendencies) been compiling a dictionary of Shakespearian quotations.

One of the most interesting men in Parliament is Mr Isitt, mainly because he generally addresses the House as if it was a collection of naughty, little boys, and he the stern headmaster. He is apparently under the impression that the country is aching to hear what he has got to say about everything, and that a Parliamentary dictator is a necessary adjunct. There are men in Parliament who are frequently quite as rude as Mr Isitt. The other day, for instance, the Only Good Man in Parliament inclined his ears to the words of David Buick. He ejaculated " Can't hear ! " Then said the refined and cultivated Buick :— Go down and get your hair cut and your ears cleaned, and then you 11 be able to hear." Isitt, without his accumulation of hair, would be almost useless as an advertisement of Isitt's spotlessness.

Three cheers for Arthur Myers, who stands contpssed a political free lance, ready to whirl a trusty blade in defence of the people of whatever colour. Mr Myers with his customary frank gentleness points out that Reform has found the policy of its benevolent enemies a very nice little groundwork for Reform activities, that Reform really isn't showing any desire to drag the country through the mire of Toryism, and therefore, may be supported now and again if it is a nice, reasonable Liberal Reform. Which is refreshing. If Mr Myers will become the founder of a group of politicians who are really concerned more about the people than their political jobs (or chances of jobs) he will achieve quite as much distinction as he could have done by remaining a minister pledged irretrievably to a set formula. * * *

" The sign your articles" war in New South Wales caused a' member of the Mother State Circus to burst into praise of journalists. He said, that if article manufacturers were forced to add their names to the foot thereof they might probably become politicians ! There's something to live for ! No wonder a lot of scribblers are fighting for anonymity. Lots of scribblers (or men who control scribblers and therefore journalists withm the meaning; of the Act) get into Parliament without signing their articles. For instance, old Robert Loughnan,one of New Zealand's "lords," is still in harness as a journalist, and has been a scribbler most of his life, except for the time when he was manager of a sheep station. That "Father of th© House," who for so many years wore the white flower of a blameless life, Sir William Steward, was successively editor of North Otago "Times," Waimate "Times" and Ashburton " Mail." Also, he has written signed poems and these may have got him into Parliaments

George Jones, whose strenuous advocacy of the old-fashioned style of making M.L.C.'s is still proceeding, is a printer, who is also a journalist, and William Jennings, now no longer either a lord or a commoner (although he'll come again) still dabble 3 in journalism and one time made bread and butter at the game. Even that great man, the Hon. C. M. Mills, was a journalist on the Marlborough side, and John Stallworthy, now no longer an adornment to the "Reps.," wielded the Wairoa "Bell." The list isn't complete even with Henry James Greenslade, formerly M.H.R. for Waikato, whose earlier literary labours at Thames and later in the Waikato entitle him to a place among the Parliamentary journalists. None of these gentlemen, as far as is known, got into Parliament on signed articles. * * *

It was incorrectly stated in a small appreciation of the late Miss Ellen Yon Meyern that she had been a pupil of Mr Goldie. Her relatives wish it tobe said that she was never at any time a pupil of Mr Goldie.

That lustrous statesman, George Warren Russell, being politically dead as far as Ministerial power goes, still speaketh. His selection of bombs with which to blow up the present Ministry indicates the calibre of the big gun that throws them. Virtuously indignant, George rose in Parliament the other day to taunt the Ministry with having their photos in the School Journal—for obviously it is a heinous crime to let children know who are the men who govern the country, or to be told anything about them. George seemed to conclude that either Mr Massey or Mr Allen had waited on the doorsteps of the Journal with photographs in their hands ready to implore the editor to insert them. Quite a lot of brilliant badinage took place among the statesmen relative to frock coats and bell-toppers. George belonged to the Ministry that was the. dreariest looking expression of the photographer's art ever given to New Zealand. If every resplendent bell-topper had been, a Damoclean sword it could! not have made the group look more unhappy, and it rushed through New Zealand only a few moments after the oaths had been taken. George, in reply to an interruption relative to this Top Hat Photo., said he had been taken by surprise at its publication. The assumption is that he was an unwilling victim to photographic publicity; that he got into the picture (and the bell-topper) in error, and that he valiantly struggled, without effect, to be kept out. To have robbed the poor little school children of a chance tohave George Warren Russell's photo, as a priceless heirloom would have been highly wrong of George.

Henry Brett probably felt very good on Tuesday night at the extensive compliment paid him, for quite a lot of Aucklanders flocked to the Town Hall with the intention of subscribing to the compliment, and incidentally enjoying the excellent concert. Henry Brett is an enthusiast for music, who has done as much as anyone to make this city a." home of music," and his benefaction to the Liedertafel and other musical associations are as notable as his gift to the city of the Town Hall organ, so that when the large mass of Scott Colville reared itself up and called for cheers for the esteemed benefactor, the response was loud, unanimous, and vigorous. Mr Brett then came modestly forward and thanked his complimenters, mentioning that if the concert was in honour to himself, the shillings of the audience were for the benefit of the city, in that they were intended' for the purchase of a new set of orchestral instruments.

He further remarked that if there were not enough shillings to make the purchase, the City Council would be respectfully requested to part out additional cash, and he insinuated that he was prepared to subscribe a little— he didn't so, but he said that the required instruments would be possessed by the end of next year, which was, taken to infer that if the worst came to the worst, he would foot the bill himself. Loud applause followed his remarks, and when the noise had subsided, Dr Thomas brandished his baton, and his Liedertafel team burst into song. The subsequent proceedings were music.

It is gladdening to notice that Magistrate Cutten reads his Observer, and has supplemented this paper's accusation that Auckland horses don't get a fair deal. The magistrate", in making an excellent plea for humanity to draught slaves, spoke about " the formation of public opinion." The fact is there is no such thing in relation to cruelty. The average citizen does not understand the limitations of a horse, and although he may boil with indignation when he sees flagrant cases of cruelty (common every day on every misshapen road in Auckland) he is

very careful not to make any move. A large experience of this matter has convinced the writer that the complaining citizen is almost useless as a means for the abolition of cruelty, merely because he refuses to appear in court in cases that may be brought. The law prescribes punishment for the man who cruelly flogs a horse or works him when he has apparent sores, but it takes no cognisance whatever of his strength, size, or the size of the load. Mr Cutten may be thanked for his evident intention to do something to right a very grievous wrong, but magistrates, to effect any lasting benefit, must use the weapon of imprisonment. Perusal of the report of the R.S.P.C.A. will show that sentences up to four years " hard" have been awarded to men who have been viciously cruel to ani■mals. The help of influential persons like Mr Cutten is urgently needed to remove the desired stigma that Auckland is more cruel to its horses than any city in Australasia. * * *

While there's life there's hope—for spinsters. Miss Grahame Sime, of Christchurch, has just decided to be a maiden lady no longer after 75 years of spinsterhood. The giddy bridegroom is one of the " light brigade," of whom the late Lord Tennyson remarked " someone had blundered. ' Mr James Drysdal'e Wilson is 85 years of age. The young couple are away honeymooning at present. There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream.

An extremely popular locomotive engineman, Gerald Alfred Byrne, was accidentally drowned in Judge's Bay on December 17, 1911. He was only 24, years of age, a kind, and dutiful son and much beloved by his comrades m the railway service. To show thenadmiration of his fine qualities and to keep green his memory his comrades have erected at their own expense, a lasting monument over his grave in Waikumete cemetery. The tombstone and the surrounding stone and iron railing have just been completed and his comrades have also placed two very beautiful wreaths of immortelles on the grave. Gerald Byrne's relatives have been deeply touched and gratified at the affection shown by his comrades.

Auckland is again reminded that it is rapidly becoming " the artistic centre of New Zealand," by the fact that "Iron Duke" John Duthie has just given a couple of famous pictures to Wellington. -There may be a rush of wealthy Aucklanders to " cut out" old John by awarding the best of the Baillie collection to this city. John Duthie, who was one of the sharpest thorns in the side of the Liberal Government in the House for along series of years, landed in this city 49 years ago, from his native Scotland, but probably misjudging the possible-ex-panse of Auckland, staked his cash in New Plymouth, afterwards transfering to Wellington, where he now has a banking account that would take one s breath away.

Naturally, Mr F. G. Ewington was a little annoyed at the reported remarks of Christchurch. Magistrate Bishop, who seems to deride the Prisons Board, of which he is a member. MiBishop has lately been, bidding for notoriety by suggesting " that there is none that deoth good, no, not one— except me," and his threat to whip into the political arena, and reform everything within sight, or hearing, is fresh to the people. When Mr Bishop derides the Prisons Board, he is questioning the common sense of the Chief Justice, which is rather insubordinate of him and tantamount to the attitude of a junior lieutenant who is annoyed with the general commanding, and says so.

Mr Ewington himself is not without honour as a sound reasoner, and a man of sense and experience. He has been a most useful writer on Social questions besides being a " doer," which is better. Mr George Fenwick, another member of this despised Board, has time after time shown his ability to understand Social questions, has understanding and humanity and broad, sensible views. Mr J. R. Blair, the Wellington member, is one of New Zealand's plainest, most sensible, men without frill or side of any kind. He has been thought worthy of the mayoralty of the capital city, and chairman of 'the Education Board, has deeply studied the wastrel and derelict, and has a fine record of achievement. Nobody knows what great wrong the other members of the Board (Dr Hay and Mr Recce) have done to annoy MiBishop, and it is not likely that they will be superseded by a sole arbiter m the person of the rather angry magistrate. On the whole, Mr Bishop might perhaps remember the old formula, "before you speak, count ten, tor a gentleman in his exalted position has the power of minimising the influence of a Board which is a highly capable and satisfactory one.

The question is, " What are the picture proprietors of Auckland going to do ? " Crush Chief Inspector Mulgan ? Mr Mulgan who wants night continuation classes to be made compulsory (howls from the active and passive resisters), says that they are for the youngsters who loaf about the streets, " and haunt picture shows." The picture showmen might like to prove that the Doings of Daring Dave, the Demon of Doggone Donga, were of more educational use than compulsory .swatting of subjects likely to turn in some extra salary. By the way, seeing that pictures are " it" in these days, why couldn't the educationists put on educational films at their continuation classes ? Perhaps the romance of science might attract the youth who is being taught that nothing without a big hat on its head . and a large " gun," in its belt is worth looking at.

Jack Barr, the New Zealand journalist, who is the bright and clever "sub" of Sydney "Bulletin," is coming home with a lung that needs looking after. Jack lately struck a patch of pneumonia and was ordered away to Cobar for a dry climate. A visiting Waler, the other day, said that Jack was as poor as ever as he still persists in the habit of giving his wages to anybody who is down on his luck. He is president of the Australian Journalists' Association, and probably the most popular press man in Sydney.

Professor Picken is the gentleman who holds a professorship at Victoria College, Wellington, and who has been sprung on the public because he made some rude remarks to the University Senate about the university colleges sending students away rather worse off intellectually and spiritually than when they entered. It isn't all true, of course, and the " Herald" said so, in a lengthy leader, whereupon the professor retaliates with a letter, in which he accuses the "Herald," or its leader writer, or the editor, of a childish attack and insinuates that what the editor, or the leader writer, or someone, dosn't know about journalism, would fill books. It is very wrong of the little professor to make rude remarks about an eminently respectable paper like the "Herald," but he is brave. He is also correct in saying that students want degrees because of their commercial value, people think the degree implies training, but the training is not the sort the public wants, and what the public really wants is not what the student has in his mind when he goes after his degree. It isn't nice, but it's true.