PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

Observer, Volume XXXV, Issue 6, 17 October 1914, Page 4

PARS ABOUT PEOPLE

IT'S a terrible misfortune nowadays to be just past medium height, solidly built, and the possessor of a round and' red-tinged face. In 'the eyes of the average constable that's enough to prove thiat any man is a German spy, and. therefore a fit subject to arrest. Foster, the "Herald" advertisement canvasser, of jovial mien, was collared the other night, or rather in the ea'riy hours of Saturday morning to be accurate, at appears that Foster, is m the habit of going for a gallop through Devonport at odd hours of the night and this fact, along with his facial characteristics, aroused the suspicions of the locaJ police. Accordingly a close watch was kept upon him, and at 2.30 a.m. on Saturday last the vigilant constable reckoned the hour of the final coup had arrived. The arrest was effected without trouble and th<e constable pictured to himself the headlines the dailies would have above the exciting story he would supply to the reporters. Explanations followed, however, and, much to the constable s disgust the advertisement man, who hails from Devonshire, and later from Canada, had to be released. & ' Q> Q>

The genial Wesley Spragg, president of the New Zealand Alliance, has been the unwitting cause of bad blood between two newspapers published not a hundred' miles from Dareaville One of these unhesitatingly declared that Mr Spragg was a "poor speaker," which evoked from the other the following spirited retort- "Our contemporary, with quite a lapse of good manners, referred a day or two ago to Mr Wesley Spragg as being a poor speaker. The President of the Alliance is not a poor speaker. We should be pleased to arrange a public debate between Mr Spragg and the editor of our contemporary on the subject or Prohibition—or of courtesy. We might then judge as to 'poor speak-

Field-Marshal Sir John French and Field-Marshal Sir Evelyn Wood furnish the only instances in our military history of an officer quitting the Royal Navy to rise to the highest distinction in the sister service. As a sailor, Sir Evelyn served with the Naval Brigade in the Crimea and greatly distinguished himeelf at the Redan, but Sir John French saw no active service during the four years he was in the Navy. One of the most remarkable examples of a man leaving one career to achieve eminence in another was that of the late Archbishop of York who was originally an Army officer "'E don't bark, but, my Gawd, 'c's a beggar to bite," was how a Tommy Atkins once summed up the leader of our expeditionary force. _ «£>« r&y f%)

Why is it that drapers are so ready to rush, to the front? Is it because they are so used to the command, "forward please!" Noted' that Major A. A. Corrigan, at present in London, but generally of ■Wellington, reported himself at the War Office, and that the experience of modern warfare he has gained , as CO. a Wellington infantry battalion are at the service of his country Mr Oorrigan was formerly manager of the D.1.C., a gigantic emporium of tihe "needle t-o an anchor" brand, but which he deserted a few years since to set up for himself. The supposition is that Mr Cardigan may have gone to the War Office to sell them something or other, and, being unsuccessful, offered himself. In discussing fighting drapers, it is not to be for-gotten that General Hector Macdpnald

("Fighting Mac") was a draper's apprentice when he "took the shilling." In New Zealand the ways of promotion are plain and' pleasant. To-day a man may be a godfearing, law-abiding greengrocer or leader of a choir. Has he got a motor car? Yes. Well, send him his colonel's commission to-morrow! Make him a Petrolier!

A gentleman of unimpeachable integrity from the Thames tells the story of the German brain invasion. It; seems that one of the Thames schools has (or had) a teacher who, although trained under the NewZealand system and born in this country, is of German extraction. For quite a long time, according to the respectable informant, the colonial German gentleman has prepared the tender minds of young Thamesites for the conquest of the Dominion by fhe Kaiser. In order to fertilise the seed so carefullysown in the virgin soil Herr Schoolmaster lately earnestly implored the children to believe that German rule was inevitable, but that all the people of New Zealand would' be much better off under it. than under the present British system. The result? The boys time instructed showed unmistakably that a pursuit of the subject by Herr Schoolmaster would lead to unpleasant results, and a large number of exceedingly indignant parents are now holding

a council of war to decide what to do with the enemy.

Most of the papers break into peals of admiring literature when the son of a politician goes to the war. Why shouldn't he, anyhow? Harry Lander, the Scottish moneygatherer, got an extra advertisement by saying, "Ma son is a lootenant in the Fifeshire Yeomanry. Ah oanna go to the waur masel—bit 1 sent him—God bless him!"—and you are supposed to drop a tear and 10s 6d into Hairy's bank account. This gives one the opportunity to remark that Noel Boss, son of Malcolm, the celebrated Samoan journalist, will proceed to the front. There is no reason on earth why he should not—thousands would be glad to have the chance. Noel (who is described by an admiring contemporary as "a blond giant who might easily be mistaken for a Russian prince," was a reporter on Auckland f 'Herald." Bill Bloggs, the bushman, is also sending a son —but no reepectable paper would mention so plebian a circumstance!

There died at Napier, the other day, the big, bluff, hearty sailor man, Captain J. Carvossoe Tonkin. The old skipper hailed from Cornwall, and it may be remembered that a long line of illustrious sailors have hailed l from the same direction since the days of Elizabeth. He sail-

Ed the seas as a master mariner for - a whole series of years, and it's agood many years now since he anchored at Napier, founded the Wairoa and Mohaka Steamship Com--pany, and became a Lloyd's surveyor. He was typically sailor like bluff, hearty, and hospitable. Thereare five sons and two daughters left. The Tonkin this scribe knows is. "Bill," also a scribe. Bill graduated in the newspaper business in Napier, and went into Wellington "Times" melting pot, where he sizzled successfully for four years. He was, with one exception, the best recorder the "Times" had during, that period. He is now sub-editor-of Dannevirke "News."

A merry party of fourteen or so missionaries set out for Rangitoto in the Southern Cross' launch one 6unny afternoon [recently—priests, deacons, and a liberal sprinkling of sister-workers. All went very well for a start; they looked in at Kohimarama for a friend, and went on their way rejoicing. Something queer happened, however, as they passed the Bastion fort. A number of youths in uniform on the cliffs were seen to put their rifles to their shoulders—there tame the crackle of half a dozen shots, and the water spat up small geysers! Several exclamations, mild indignation. "How careless! .... Now, I do> think that kind of thing ought to be reported! .... They ought to know those bullets are coming quite close!" They put on another halfknot or so, and chugged out of the danger-zone. Such a lovely afternoon it was! Far too nice for animosity ! Someone started "Shall we gather." It went with a vim; fourteem voices vretra carrolling "The bee-00-tiful, the bee-00-tiful the river," whteoi Biff! Bang!! 'Something hurtled overhead, and struck the blue waves twenty yards ahead in a leaping geyser of spray! Abrupt end to the bee-00-tiful. Several screams —not all feminine, and excited comment. "SheM practice! . . . Disgraceful on a Saturday afternoon! .... I do believe they're firing at ue! .... Stop the boatt .... Go on quicker; . . . Don't you—they'll fire again!" Amid an interesting chorus, the rev. gentleman in charge of the engine dashed inside and stopped l it. "Dear me, I wonder if we ought to have reported to somebody somewhere?" cried a lady missionary in sudden belated inspiration. And then several seemed to remember they had read something of the kind in the papers.

No one knew just what ought to happen next, co they drifted round aimlessly, until someone spied a grey vessel away down off Takapuna. Off they went. "Dear, dear, what a nuisance! We'll never get to the top of Rangitoto this afternoon," went up the cry. And all too truly they didn't. Down on the Lady Roberts a gentleman in uniform greeted them sternly. "Whattya trying to clear out for?" he shouted hoarsely. "What's the game?"

A thin, subdued voice replied softly over a clerical collar that ihere was no game—they were merely going for a little picnic to Rangitoto, and were quite ignorant of the fact that it was necessary to report —as to harbour limits, they didn't know they'd passed them I" "Didn't know! Why, the very dogs in the street are barking it! Don't y' ever read the papers? And what right have you to go out in a launch without finding out the port regulations? D'ye know each o' those big shells cost £10?" Very uncomfortable pause. "Well, we'll let you off this time, but don't you ever do it again, or . . . I" Tne rev. gentleman started the engine with nervous relief!. "Who are ytou> anyway?" came the parting shot from the gunboat. "Southern Cross launch," oame the meek but dignified reply. "Southern Cross! Why, daeh it, you've been fired at before! Two months out in, stream there, too f Here, I say!" But the rev. gentleman, with a tense but nervous smile, made a clattering racket with the engine, and the parting words were lost as the launch sped on her way.

"Are we downhearted? No-o-o-o! How many remember the origin of this inspiring phrase, which has become the slogan of the British Army in the field. Out of all the flood of words poured forth ten years ago by that great Empire enthusiast, Joseph Chamberlain, during his Tariff Campaign, little is remembered 'to - day besides this famous phrase. Even so, it would have pleased Joe if he could have heard of British Tommies marching with his words on their lips.

When W. J. Napier starts in on Scriptural quotations he is wandering on dangerous ground, and he usually puts his foot in it. His latest exploit of this nature occurred dit Huntly, where he credited the Apostle Paul with the familiar words, "A reed shaken in the wind." The Apostle would probably have been somewhat shocked at Gredit being given to him for a phrase which originated with one whom he regarded as a far higher authority than himself, but Paul did not know our own W. J. N. We do, so these little mistakes don't count for much. Another of these little errors took place some years ago, when William Joseph, at a meeting, assuming a most impressive attitude and manner, which, he can do so readily, and so effectively declared, "The immortal Bard of Avon tells us that 'In the multitude of councillors there is wisdom.' " A ripple of laughter went round the room, and the orator was rudely informed by one of his auditors that the words had been uttered nearly 3000 years before the Bard of Avon saw the light in Stra/tford, and that they were attributed by most people to a man named Solomon. William J. should be a little more careful.

It goes without saying that even Christopher James Parr, C.M.G., Mayor of this great and prosperous city, does not know everything. This majr be, to some people, a most surprising statement to make, but it is nevertheless a lamentable fact. It

is even true that he does not know all he thinks he knows, and this statement may be surprising to Christopher James Parr himself. Nevertheless, this also is a lamentable fact. He does not even know all he thinks he knows about Old Colonists, and this may seem almost incredible to everyone, and probably will oome as a shock to all. It is, however, sadly true, and when he assurred the old colonists last Saturday that the late Mr Wily, who died at the age of 99 years, held the record among old Auckland residents for age, it was clear that he had never known Hercules Solomon Short. Short was a very familial' figuz'e in Auckland many: years ago, and fought on Nelson's ship, the Victory, at the battle of Trafalgar, and after he had passed: the century mile post, he was still garrulous and extremely interesting about the ship, about Trafalgar, and about the great Admiral. He lies buried somewhere in the Symonds Street cemetery.

"Brownie" — otherwise Howard Oakley Browne, professional scribe and secretary to Sir Joseph Ward— alleges that a fortnight spent in this fair city is a busy period. "Brownie" being a newspaper man by profession is addicted to work, but he was not prepared for the rush that took place on the Star Hotel during the ten days' residence of Sir Joseph and Lady Ward. "Brownie" being somewhat bashful and reticent about disclosing the volume of Liberal business done, the Obsebvek. was forced to employ a spy service, which, hidden behind frosted glass, observed a constant stream of Liberals demanding the instant attendance of Sir Joseph. "Brownie" modestly avers that in his innermost mind he is certain that the Liberal lions will wrest the governing power from the Conservative whateveritis. By the wf'T, social Auckland seemed to be unaware that Lady Ward was here. It is worth remarking that Lady Ward specially avoids publicity and does not take the least possible interest in politics. The daily press, fired

with its usual passion for accuracy, named the wrong hotel as the temporary residence of Lady Ward. As matter of fact, she resided at the Star and remained for a quiet social function after Sir Joseph left on Monday night. © © © The British race is truly cosmopolitan. The following appeared in the "Herald" this week:—"Herr Johan Wielaert, of Auckland, who is travelling abroad with Madame Wielaert, has written to friends stating that they were in Berlin just before the outbreak of war. They reached London safely." Think of the absolute impossibility of a paragraph of a corresponding nature, such as the following, appearing in a newspaper in a German colony:—"Mr John Smith, of Wellington, who is travelling abroad with Mrs Smith, has written to friends stating that he was in London just before the outbreak of war. They reached Berlin safely." Great, isn't it? • ® © ® Colonel Arthur Bauchop, C.M.G., who is with the Expeditionary Force, recently gave an interview, which surely is an example in brevity. When approached by a reporter for a few details concerning his career he remarked, with Sphinx-like gravity: "I really have no career. I have lived a blameless life, and that's about all there is to say!" Which, for brevity, recalls the story of Nigel Barker, the Australian crack runner. Barker, after returning from a big meeting at which he had competed unsuccessfully, was interviewed by an enterprising newspaper man. "What caused your defeat?" inquired the newspaper man encouragingly. "Another man ran faster!" replied Nigel. The newspaper man bowed' and withdrew. Let us pray, brethren, that this par will not meet the eye of any local member of the Companionship of St. Michael and St. George. © ® @> Ahead of Sir Douglas Mawson came Frank S. Wright, Australian comedian by profession, but at present engaged in serious business. Frank has several distinctions. He intended to become a lawyer—and didn't, he is proud of being an Australian, and therefore will settle down in Auckland, and he writes the

best "hand" tills scrawler ever saw oil a visiting card or elsewhere. If you give him a well selected pen, a gallon or two of purified Indian ink, and a ream or two of good paper he can amuse himself for days at a time. He displays a small locket containing a circular scrap of paper the size of a threepenny piece, whereon he has inscribed the "Lord's Prayer" three times, with a big margin to spare. It is the kind of industry that makes the man who scrawls for a living gasp. Frank darkly hints that he has schemes for a local open-air theatre in the vicinity of a favourite beaoh. @ © ® The very striking likeness of Kaiser Wilhelm to his late uncle, King Edward, is shown in the later photographs ; but his likeness to his uncle the Duke of Connaught, "en profile" is absolutely wonderful. The pendulous lip, which was the chief facial characteristic of our revered Queen Victoria, was strikingly present in King Edward, although hidden by a beard. If the mouths and chins only of the Duke of Connaught and Kaiser Wilhelm were photographed few could tell which was which. It was possibly because the late Queen Victoria's nature was even more dominant than Wilhelm's that she always treated him like an irresponsible naughty boy. © © © Among the isolated Tongans is Nelson Burns, who is at Nukualofa looking (after education in King George's country. It is rather curious that the last communication received from "Te Pana" should have been a story, "A Komance of War," although at that time the war dogs hadn't been shipped, and Wilhelm was in London kissing his cousin George like anything. We suppose Nelison, who is a keen fvourite in Auckland and the North is all right. He's a hardy, skinny, brown New Zealander—the only type of New Zealander that ever foreign service, the fat "powerful" Maorilander always going to the wall. If this par gets to you, Nelson, Cheer oh! Mr Burns formerly headmastered a Maori school at Mangonui, and it was his knowledge of the dark person and the language that fitted him so excellently for Tonga.