Topics of the Week

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XII, Issue VI, 10 February 1894, Page 122

Topics of the Week

Lord and L ady Glasgow seem to b? ever up and doing, and whatever the duty, great or small, it is faithfully carried out. As His Excellency remarked on opening the Pier at New Brighton, Christchurch, he had performed many public duties in his career, but opening a pier had never been one of them, but no doubt he should soon find out how it was to be done, and which he did in a most pleasing manner, of course. The residents in that healthful little suburb and visitors generally are already much appreciating the enterprise of the shareholders, the pier proving a great attraction, as it is built with shelters from the wind and has a fishing stage underneath. Most people will pity schoolmaster Benge, whose matter has furnished subject for considerable discussion during the past week. For the benefit of those who have not noticed the case we may explain that this same Benge is, or rather was, the headmaster of a board school at Devonport, Auckland. Both scholars and residents appear to think highly of him. Outsiders in Auckland know his name in connection with certain juvenile theatrical performances by his scholars, the sameachieving some popularity. After a long, careful, and conscientiously just enquiry the Board of Elucation have found that Mr Benge, in anxiety to obtain ‘ passes,’resorted to certain very unjustifiable practices to that end. The evidence was clear, and to the Board conclusive, and they have dismissed the culprit forthwith. We have no sympathy with those warm-hearted, soft-headed folk, who, in this as in all other similar cases, state or insinuate that the fiuding of the Board is an incorrect one. The inquiry was thoroughly exhaustive, and, needless to say, absolutely fair and unprejudiced. The gentlemen whoconiposed the Board were clear-headed, common-sense individuals, perfectly competent to decide a matter of this sort. After devoting their attention to the matter for days they came to a certain conclusion, and the too enthusiastic champions of the unfortunate schoolmaster who deny its correctness, damage their cause by making it appear that they are of that addle-pated, sentimental order who quarrel with every verdict of guilty when a man’s neck dependson that same. The wiser and better friendsof Mr Benge who do not attempt to tilt against the finding of the Board, but protest against the severity of the sentence, have our sympathy. The * summary dismissal ’ was doubtless pronounced like many sentences in the Supreme Court as an exemplary one — a deterrent to others who may be tempted in like manner. As a rule, the principle of these exemplary punishments is good. At first sight it seems very hard that a man who steals £5 from his employer should receive half or one quarter the punishment meted out to the dishonest postman or * sorter ’ discovered in pilfering a postal order for 15s, but it is neces sary that it should be so that the public may feel secure, lu the same way the punishment of Mr Benge seems to us outsiders unreasonably severe, but the Board have probably assumed that one such example will be sufficient. There will be no more cases of a similar nature. Granting this, the sentence as it stands seems still too severe. The example will remain, even if the Board did reconsider their sentence and show mercy, for it will be clearly understood that not Mr Benge’s record has saved him, but mercy pure and simple—mercy which can never be shown on any future occasion, should—which Heaven forefend—a similar one arise.

Orchard-robbing is one of those crimes which the great majority of us refuse to treat with seriousness. Perhaps there is a misty remembrance of days when we too weie not utterly unacquainted with fruit which deiived much of its sweetness because it was come by ‘ in ways that are dark.' In the old days when it was a crims

punished by death in England to kill a deer, public sympathy invariably ran with Robin Hood and his brother scamps who killed the fattest they could find and lived in consequent outlawry. Orchard robbing has, however, become beyond a joke in many places in New Zealand. In the fruit-growing districts of Auckland complaints have been loud and deep for some time, and a tale of woe likewise comes from the South. In the Hawera and Normanby district the youthful larrikin appears even worse than elsewhere. They hang round the street corners after dusk, when they are not away robbing orchards, and their language savours of Billingsgate. They rob orchards on a scientific ptinciple, which renders conviction difficult. When not canght actually taking the fruit they buy sixpence worth of apples, whereby they can prove being legitimately in possession of fruit, and on the strength of this they steal by the bag. Some of the smaller children wander about with a wheel-barrow, ostensibly to pick up chips and pieces of firewood, out they also cany a bag, which they fill from any unwatched orchard or garden. They will wait patiently in the high glass and weeds till the proprietor is out of the way, and then the apple the latter has watched so long to test its value when mature, and ascertain if it is true to name, disappears with many more down the omnivorous gorge of the youthful pirate, who cares not what name it bears so long as it is sweet and juicy. The families to which these youths belong, to the credit of Norman by be it said, are few, and they are well known, but have never been canght red-handed ; they can and do so rnn that an aged orchardist or policeman cannot reach them. In the absence of the old country man trap and spring gun it has been suggested that if, when discovered marauding, they are shot in the leg it would be about a weight-for-age handicap, and they might be caught. The question how to improve the human race is once more under discussion apropos of a newspaper correspondence and a magazine article or two. So learned an evolutionist as Mr A. It. Wallace has thrown himself into the fray, and gives a very enthusiastic forecast of the coming race. ‘ When men and women are alike free,’ he declares, * to follow their best impulses, when both receive the best and most thorough education that knowledge at the time will admit, when there are no false restrictions placed upon any human being because of the accident of sex, and when the standard of public opinion is set by the wisest and best, and that standard is systematically inculcated upon the young, then we shall find that a system of human selection will come spontaneously into action which will bring about a reformed humanity.’ lam afraid that Mr A. R. Wallace, despite his patriarchal years, is still young, very young. That the co-discoverer of Natural Selection, along with Darwin, has a right to do what he likes with his own principle Ido not deny. If he likes to assume that the forces engaged in moulding the race are going to turn out, some time in the remote future, an improved humanity in accordance with Y.M.C. A. ideals, there is no one to say him nay. But at least we can avow our inability to follow him in these roseate predictions. The keystone of all modern theories of improving the race is 1 selection,’ or in plain language, the application to ourselves of the methods of the prizs-stock breeder. That there is no selection at present, or very little, is true enough. Physical deformity repels ns, but so long as the outward appearance of the human being is well enough, we care for nothing behind it. The ordinary marrying couple never trouble to ask whether there may be consumption, gout, or any nerve disorder in each other’s family. And it is well for them, perhaps, that they don’t, or they would never get married at all. Formerly we used to be mnch sweeter on this selection theory than we are now. Not that we do not think it could be applied, that is to say theoretically, for the practical difficulties in the way would be enormous. It would probably take ten generations of selection to eliminate or develop any particular characteristic in the breed and to * fix ’ it. The question is, would it be worth while doing it if we could ’ and to that our answer is * No.’ Imagine a world in which we were all so much prize-stock—all equal in form, all able to do just the same things in the same way, no variety, no inequality of faculty among us ; consequently, no folly and no genius, and only one set of opinions on all subjects ! It would be an intolerable state of things. The boredom of life would be increased to such a pitch that suicide would be our only resource, and as we should all think and feel

alike the remedy would some day be universally applied. Practically, our instincts will ever tend towards a greater degree of selection than at present exists. Men and women have their preferences, no doubt, bnt they are content to forego them at every turn. Fillis* great circus and wild beast exhibition have left Wellington for the north, keeping their ultimate destination — South Africa—steadily in view all the time. The season here cannot, I think (says my Wellington correspondent), have been a profitable one on this occasion. The weather for the most part was bad, and a drizzling rain which makes the grass grow means a nightly loss of at least four hundred pounds to the Fillis treasury. No one except perhaps a commercial traveller can form the least idea of the enormous cost of shifting this huge concern from place to place, and it takes a lot of money to pay expenses. Mr Fillis, who ought to know, declares he has the best troupe in the world. Nothing, to be sure, can be more surprising, or indeed more startling, than some of the acrobatic feats of the Feely Family, and those who like to see females rnn the risk of breaking their delic ate necks from a trapeze, or in a variety of other ways, will be quite gratified with the exhibition in that way of the Parisian ladies, Alexandra and Zazel. The horsemanship of Fillis and Madame Fillis is excellent. The latter is a plucky horsewoman and accomplished equestrienne. She says she would not in the least mind going into the lions’ cage, and would do so only Fillis objects. ‘ However,’ she continues, * when I get old and ugly no doubt he will even ask me to go in there.’ A good many husbands would find a cage full of Nubian lions qnite handy when their wives arrive at the weariful woman stage of existence. It is most earnestly to be hoped that the good example shown by the lady who lately left her fortune to the editor of her favourite journal will be generally followed. The life is not by any means a happy one, but lightened by such possibilities would be tolerable. There seems in America too, more especially in the back blocks, an agreeable habit of * donating ’ the editors of popular papers with the first frnits. This might also be introduced with considerable advantage—to the editor strawberries and the fruits of the earth in due season might counteract the dry effects of a continual bombardment of poems and manuscript novelettes. Imagine the delight of such an one on undoing the suspicious-looking parcel and finding instead of the piteous poem, a bunch of hot-house grapes, bloomy, luscious, and with them the usual note, * Kindly find space for the enclosed, or * hoping the enclosed is suitable for insertion.’ Of course they would be. True this is bnt one side of the question—the popular editor gets donations * way back ’ in the States, but the unpopular one has other sorts of ’nation which also commence with a d. Still, on the whole, we should not object to the risk. The pugilistic market is decidedly slack, and a fighting editor now-a days would probably engage for his keep and what he could pick up — from the other men. Anyway if somebody will start the donations idea, the Graphic pugilist can always be started for the accommodation of the others. It’s all a case of demand and supply after all ! Probably one of the most interesting topics of the day is the question of taxation. Each successive Parliament has to face the inevitable problem, how to raise sufficient money to carry on the Government of the country. It is not alone in democratic states that this question is beset with difficulties. In conservative England there is the same trouble now a days. An ingenions writer has been collecting some of the various suggestions for raising the needful, and the ideas are rather amusing. A tax on cats is an old theory, so is the perennial notion of one on bachelors. Mr Alexander Dumas suggested that every guest at a dinner-party should hand one franc to the host, who should pay it over to some philanthropic institution. What seems rather hard is that even if the invitation be declined, a franc meat be enclosed with the note of excuse. This idea would find favour in New Zealand, where a notion seems to prevail that only the rich benefit by the laws, roads, rails, etc., and, consequently, only they should be taxed. A tax is proposed in the form of a license for billiardtables, race-horses, tennis and croquet grounds. Taxes might also be imposed on chimneys, boots (which it is said wear out the pavements and roads even more than carriages), directors of public companies, clubs, lemonade, soda-water, and all temperance drinks I This latter must be a retaliation on the part of brewers, and is hardly likely to find favour this hot weather. • In Russia,’ says our author, * the state finances are recruited by a graduated income tax, commencing at one per cent, on incomes between 1,000 and 2,000 roubles (a rouble equals 3s 2d), and increasing at the rate of one-tenth per cent, on every additional thousand, or fraction of a thousand roubles. A duty of a quarter kopeck (about one-tenth of a penny) is also imposed on the eggs of all kinds of poultry, which tax realises several millions of roubles.’ But in a free and enlightened colony, such a tax is by no means likely to meet with general approval. Indeed, any tax on food is viewed with

distrust. Barrel-organs and other forms of street music are taxed or licensed in some countries, and the idea is a good one, and worth commending to our Colonial Treasurer, who might also add a tax on infants howling in places of amusements, railway trains, trams, ’buses, churches, and in the public streets. Amongst other pleasures which summer brings in its train is the annual church meeting. Compared with the lively interest—we might almost say excitement, which these old-time institutions are at present creating in social circles throughout Auckland, the stage and sinful appendages thereto, are simply * not in it.* Perhaps the soothing monotony of columns of facts and figures bearing on a subject distinctly connected with his soul’s welfare, is more congenial to the average colonial than applauding a ballet in temperature 90 something in the shade. We do not venture to suggest that the lemonade, raspberry syrup (more effective than Mother Siegel) and bananas, dispensed like the teaspoonful of jam after castor-oil, are any attraction, but, whatever the reason, church meetings have of late attained the eminence of an important social function. Whether the yearly tending of not too flourishing financial and other reports in a congregation are conducive to heavier collection plates and renewed effort on the part of parishioners, or effectual in extinguishing the last ray of hope and promoting universal collapse amidst zealous church-goers, it is of course impossible to say. Judging from a meeting held recently in an Auckland district, the ceremony of reading the annual balance sheet is not always attended with that amiable Christian good feeling which one would expect. The gentleman upon whom bad been conferred the privilege of displaying the pounds, shillings and pence outlook cf this paiticular community, (i e., the secretary) refused to do so because of an insult be and other officers bad been subjected to by some pet lambs in the fleck. The insult was a prayer offered on behaff of * the cold-hearted, luke-waim officers of this church the pet lambs weie some Christian Endeavourers, endeavouring to attend to every business but their own. Now the aforementioned ballet undeniably makes money skip, whether from the pockets of people who would otherwise place it in the collection plate or not is another matter. There is deplorably too little in any of our churches to make the preparing and reading of an annual balance-sheet a particularly elevating occupation at any time, and those who have the courage to cheerfully perform such tasks from a sense of duty, are in themselves a noble contradiction of the unjust and untrue aspersions cast upon them by members as useless probably, as they are disagreeable. The recent suggestion of Dr. Youl, the City Coroner of Melbourne, that a witness would do well to tell a lie even on oath to save the reputation of a woman, has, of course, caused a great deal of comment in Wellington as elsewhere. Many superficially good people are excessively shocked at it. Nevertheless (says our Wellington correspondent), it ought to be the fortieth article of the English and some one article or other of every other Christian church. There is not in Australasia, nor perhaps in all England, a man with a vaster range of human experience than Dr. Youl. He has held inquests on people whom he afterwards met in the street, and in one single year he has held enquiries concerning the deaths of one hundred and twentyseven unfortunates fished up out of the muddy Yarra. He must be getting pretty old, and tolerably tired of thedismal and dreary and eternal story of human frailty and misery by this time. I knew Dr. Youl many years ago, and he was not young then. He always struck me as being a remarkable man, eccentric in some ways and things, but possessed of an immense fund of downright common sense. There was nothing of the ‘ namby pamby doctor ’ about him. He was indeed that somewhat rara avis, an M. D. with character marked distinctly in everything he said or did. A lady went to him once and said, • Oh, doctor, I'm afraid there’s something fearfully wrong with my stomach.’ ‘Oh no,’ said Dr. Youl, ‘nothing at all wrong, madam, with your stomach. God made your stomach; He knows how to make ’em. You have put something into your stomach which has disagreed with you.’ For a man who has been writing depositions all his life his aversion to the pen is strange, but he never puts anything down on paper that he can possibly avoid. ‘ One never knows what even a scratch of the pen may do,’ he says ; and even his signature he abbreviates, writing ‘ Ric. You.’ (for Richard Youl) in such fashion that no one could possibly tell what or whose the name was. But he talks freely enough, and if anything he says gets into print and causes unpleasant comment, he says even the press is not infallible, and reporteis occasionally get hold of the wrong end of the stick. I e amateur photographers increase and multiply at present rates they will soon need special members of Parliament to represent their interest. Seriously, the number of Kodak and detective cameras one sees about is surprising. In Wellington the Camera Club has done excellent work in drawing the best and most enthusiastic spirits into com-

munion and good fellowship. The recent conversazione and exhibition of lantern slides at the Academy of Arts showed that our good amateurs are little, if at all, behind the professional. A photograph by a really good amateur is indeed usually better than one of the same subject by a good professional. The amateur's production has generally a more artistic and original air. The Brough and Boucicauit Comedy Company are now creating a boom in Wellington. The comedies enacted by them are almost entirely new to Wellington audiences. Something which we may call instinct for want of a better term enables the public to have knowledge of real dramatic excellence even before they have seen it, and hence the Opera House had not an unoccupied seat in any part of the building on Friday evening last, when the Company, having arrived in the city bnt a few hours before, made their first acquaintance with the somewhat critical frequenters of certainly the finest and largest theatre in New Zealand. Saturday night again, most singular to say, the house was packed from floor to ceiling, for as a rule, Saturday night is an off night in Wellington. ‘The Village Priest,’ with which Brough and Boucicauit opened, is one of * The Profligate ’ order of plays, that is to say, it has a purpose in view all along—that of showing that the effects of crime are eternal, involving for ever and ever the innocent and the guilty alike in inevitable catastrophe. It has been called a most improbable story. I see no improbability in it. Anyhow, we care not much whether the stage story is real or unreal, so long as the men and women on the boards are real human beings holding a real mirror up to real human nature. This is what the Brough and Boucicauit Company do. The Abbe Dubois may not be a very real Catholic priest, but he is a real man. It may appear very unlikely that Jean Torquenie, an innocent, should serve nineteen years in a convict cell, but such things have happened, and a more consummate representation of such a thing than Mr Brough presents us with has never been witnessed on any stage This play made its great impression in Wellington not, I think, owing to the marked ability of any one actor or actress, but to the general perfection of the whole company. A well known firm of colonial bankers in London have just made a profitable investment. Some time ago a man who had defrauded them of a large sum of money was taken into custody, convicted, and sentenced to a long term of penal servitude. As may be imagined, the prison fare did not agree with one who had lived on the fat of the land. The change affected him in many ways, but he complained more particularly of the injury the food caused to his teeth. They were neither numerous nor in good condition when he was sentenced, and as they rapidly become worse he applied to the governor of the prison for a new set. Being told that the Government did not supply prisoners with artificial teeth, at the first opportunity he wrote to the banking firm in question, offering, if they would send him a new set, to tell them something to their advantage. Thereupon the bankers, thinking the offer might be a genuine one, sent the governor of the prison a cheque for £5, and asked him to provide the convict with a set of artificial teeth. In due course the convict kept his promise, and sent the bankers certain information by means of which they were enabled to recover no less than £1,500 of which they had been defrauded. They naturally regarded this as the best investment they had ever made, but it has proved even better than anticipated, for they have just received from the prison authorities a remittance for £l, the teeth having'cost only £4. It is a good many years since drinking as a gentlemanly recreation went out of fashion, and theie is little if any doubt that the shearer, lumberer, and gumdigger are also by slow degreesgivingdrinking bursts best. Ofcourseoneoccasionally comes across a series of pretty hard cases, but diinking as a pleasure is losing its hold on the middle and lower classes as it has done on the ‘hupper suckles.’ Nevertheless, a man died in Christchurch from over-drinking, and the coroner pointed as a moral that homes for inebriates are required. The whole difficulty appears in deciding who shall pay for such homes. We pay for prisons in self-defence. One never knows who may be robbed next, but the drunkard only robs himself and his family, and though the world agrees that in theory he ought to be prevented from doing so, yet in practice it declares itself against it. If the habitual drunkard can be made self-supporting and useful, the sooner he is locked up the better for himself and the community at large. But this, it seems, is practically impossible. No woman, however badly she had suffered, would allow her husband to be imprisoned with labour, not hard, perhaps, but labour, for that is what a visit to the home would mean. He who does not think too much of himself is more esteemed than he imagines.