Topics of the Weeks

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XII, Issue XVIII, 5 May 1894, Page 410

Topics of the Weeks

SOMEWHERE in the dim future of legislative ability lurks the spook of a man who will be enabled to devise a set of game laws which shall please the sportsman, the farmer, the consumer, and above all the unlucky feathered and furred animals, whose fate it is to be butchered for amusement, duty, and profit. But the word ‘ butchered ’ should not be employed in the case ot noble and manly sports like shooting and hunting. There is an element of bravery in the courageous manner in which the eager slaughterer rises betimes in the cool morning, dons his appropriate costume—which is so arranged as to allow him to run the least possible risk of damp from the earth or the skies—hurries over his breakfast, and devotes himself with a gay heart to the grand pastime of taking the life of an innocent animal. He faces a certain amount of danger himself all day, and his heroism on this point is sublimely mag nihcent. His gun may explode, and he may become the unhappy victim of his affection for the life blood of indefensible birds and beasts. He may trip in a bog, and break one of nis valuable limbs instead of merely winging and crippling an unfortunate duck. He feels pain when it grips hold of his body. But it is ridiculous to imagine that the lower creation experience any sensations—eave those of keen pleasure—when they are wounded. There is a pathetic look in the eyes of an injured horse or dog which almost makes one imagine it is suffering, but as for other creatures ! Bah ! Away with trashy sentiment ; they are meant to be killed for our food ; they are intended to endure pain if it is to afford us even a moment’s gratification, why then should we not pat our brave sportsmen on the backs and say : * Good luck to yon, old fellows, send us a brace of something, will you ?’

And yet, strange to say, there exists a class of men who think they have some right to object to the preservation of game. Maybe the objector is a poor, struggling farmer, who has, with great difficulty and toil, cleared part of his land and is looking forward to some reward of his labour and expense in good crops. But pheasants—whose lives for some months of the year are more precious than those of bis hungry children, his wife, and himself—trespass over his land and devour the produce of bis soil. They may eat his living, but be may not live by eating them, at least when they are doing most damage. This seems hard, but it is very difficult to see how to preserve game and yet inflict wrong and suffering on no man. Of course we must have game—it is absolutely necessary, if merely as a change of diet from beef and mutton—and if we wish to eat it we must see that it is protected by law, so that selfish people who think only of their own little properties and do not consider the well-being of is it the majority of the people of New Zealand ’ and the killing propensities of a few. should not be allowed to interfere with the due hatching and breeding of pheasants and other game. But the successful law-maker has yet to arrive.

The universal (colonial) interest attaching to every word and movement of Sir George Grey, has led to the bringing into prominence recently of a certain ancient Maori. This man, Kewi, claims friendship with the great statesman, and touchingly requested that as they were both old, one stone shonld cover the white and the black bodies. Sir George went up the country from his Auckland residence to assure the old man that he was still quite friendly, but that he. Sir George, had plenty of life in him yet, and instead of putting himself under any stone, however handsomely carved, in New Zealand, he was going to that great country, England, to see their mutual sovereign. Sir George Grey is human. He has endured the lot of all prominent men, being tried in the fires of scorching ciiti-

cism and red-hot, burning adulation. Has, therefore, any thought of a cool grey stone in a corner of Westminster Abbey ever crossed his mind ’ Anyhow, he is on the spot now, ready for any fate. Meantime Rewi, with a praiseworthy imitation of many of his white brethren, has ordered a handsome monument for himself. He does not see why posterity alone should enjoy the sight of this relic of himself and his past greatness. For have not the works of his friend, Sir George Grey, been commemorated in black and white, and his eulogies chanted in his life-time, so that he himself can read the book, which tells of his great deeds, and can hear and enjoy what people say of his life and work ? So as the erstwhile savage thought of the pleasure this must be to a white man, the idea of something similar for himself took possession of his mind. He had not the refined, cultivated, literary instincts of his friend. No, something more conspicuous than a book which wants opening, and reading, and understanding, would snit the Maori. So a handsome monument was made in Auckland, and unveiled last week in Kihikihi, with an inscription in Maori, which states that it is * In memory of Rewi Maniapoto, the last great chief of Ngatimaniapoto Ngatiraukawa, Waikato,’ etc. A prayer was offered up, speeches made by white men and black, Mr Seymour-George representing the absent Sir George Grey, and the affair was over. Rewi was born in 1807, and is therefore getting well on in years, so that the erection of his monument cannot be considered very premature. Mr W. H. Webbe and pnpils, assisted by Messrs Zimmermann, Fuller, W. Davis and Thompson and Mrs Maxwell, gave their 66th Open Evening for visitors on Friday last at Berlin House, Kyber Pass Road, the commodious music rooms being as usual, on these occasions, filled with a highly-appreciative and fashionable audience, including many well-known teachers of music. At the conclusion of an extremely interesting programme, the rendering of which wonld satisfy the most fastidious, some clever examples of sight-reading and improvising by the pupils of the Piano Quartet and Duet Classes, and Mr Webbe took place.

Young man, if you order Hennessey’s brandy, and the dear girl behind the bar graciously permits you to draw the cork from a fresh bottle, don't shake up the precious fluid before assisting yourself to a nobbier. You have seen the barmaid do so, and you have accepted the old fiction that she does it with a view to mingling the oil at the top of the bottle with the spirit underneath. As a rule she shares your mistaken notion, if she thinks about the matter at all. Neither of you knows that the shaking effects the desired result in a reverse way. The oil is at the bottom of the fresh bottle, if anywhere. Draw the cork tenderly, yonng man, and go straight for the topmost drink.

Mbs Langtry’s latest slave is Monsieur Lebaudy, a young Frenchman who has inherited enormons wealth, which he is flinging away in a style worthy of the wildest of the almost extinct Jeunesse Doric. He keeps a large racing stud in England, another in France, and another in Austria, the English establishment being managed by Hon. Cecil Howard. Lately Lebaudy’s relatives applied to the French Courts for a Connett de Famille to prevent his squandering money as he is doing, and impoverishing bis estates to the prejudice of bis heirs. Now, it is said, he is to be married to a young lady of fortune, and is going to offer * The Lily ’ a parting present of a million francs.

The following amusing extract from the letter of a London society woman will be read with interest, as the Mr Wairond mentioned therein is without doubt the very charming young fellow who was here with Lord Onslow ‘Business has been very brisk in the marriage market lately, and with new relays of American beanties it bids fair to be an exciting season. Besides the girls there is an enormous number of young peers and rich commoners coming into their property soon. The matchmakers scent them from afar and get ready their hooks in advance. The English matchmaker has a hard fight; there is always the American girl to reckon with ; her superior style, beauty and ease of manner. And also in these days the attractions of the pretty actresses and even music ball singers are not to be despised - surely a hard fight among so many formidable rivals. No wonder the boys commence to be cultivated at Eton. Many a hamper or a tip is given and received by a little fellow at school, because he is the “eligible” of the future. Well, such is life, and where the competition is so great it is well to begin in time. While English husbands seem to be so much in demand, it is rather gratifying to hear that Ellen

Terry thinks so well of American husbands. She would like her daughter to find one in the States. According to her, “ they think nothing too much to do for their wives.”

• Two engagements, which I mentioned in my last letter, are broken off. Lady Francis Guest’s nobody seems to know the reason of, but everybody suspected the attachment of Miss Violet Egerton to Mr Walrond, and when her engagement to Lord Romilly was announced much surprise was expressed. But these are not the days to marry on small incomes, and Mr Walrond, although a good fellow, is not blessed with much of this world’s goods. However, Miss Egerton found out in time that it was in his direction happiness lay, and they are to be married very soon.’

All those in this colony who met Mr Walrond when he was private secretary to our then governor. Lord Onslow, will remember him and wish him every happiness. He was a fine specimen of the truest and best type of English gentlemen, and won the esteem and respect of all with whom he came in contact. In business he was courteous and painstaking, and in private life a delightful companion. Most heartily we congratulate the lady, for in Mr Walrond she will have a man completely worthy, as few are, of • the grand old name of gentleman, defiled by every charlatan.’

The Canterbury Art Society’s Exhibition, which is now over, has not been quite so successful as its supporters expected. It lacked to a certain extent that interest which s centred on an exhibition when the leading artists show their • work of the year ’ —their highest expression of art. There has been dissension in the artistic circle, and it has worked ill for both sides. It may interest both the Northern and Southern readers of the Graphic to learn the true position of affairs, for they certainly have not been made known through any other paper. A few years ago the Christchurch Art Society determined to erect a building which should serve as a permanent exhibition, and as a gallery in which the Society’s pictures now in the museum, and any other pictures could be placed. Through the splendid exertions of Captain Garsia and one or two others this determination was carried out. The Government gave a block of land on a suitable site in Armagh-street, and the Society, aided by Captain Garsia’s characteristic energy, soon had a large and suitable brick building erected—a plain edifice without any of the architectural beauty of the Auckland Gallery—but at least equal in appearance to the well-known gallery in Sydney. The Government gave the adjoining block of land, and the Society, aiming at providing for future generations, built on it, borrowing money for the purpose, so that now the Society have a large gallery without any pictures, and are in debt to the tune of £l,OOO. To provide Christchurch with a gallery— to supply pictures by Enropean artists, was a most admirable design, and should have received more support than it did from the public ; but in carrying out this design the society have got at cross purposes with some of the leading artists. These gentlemen say that their work and money have been used for purposes which had not their full approval. A good portion of the funds of the society is, and has been, raised from the subscriptions of members who are working artists, and through the returns of exhibitions, which, of course, depend nearly altogether on works of these artists. It cannot be expected that ordinary human beings, who depend nearly altogether on the sale of their pictures for existence, will expend weeks and months of labour on pictures for the mere sake of exhibiting them ; and it will be remembered that the largest and best works are not those generally purchased by the outside public. The colonial Dives does not encourage art.

If the Society, which is ostensibly formed for the purpose of encouraging art, had laid aside part of the funds obtained almost directly from the artists for the purpose of purchasing some of the leading pictures of the year, the exhibition would have been enriched by such works, and possibly there would have been no dissension. Instead of this all the funds have gone to erect large buildings, and the Society has been run into debt.

Such is the complaint of the artists. They say that they have been asked to do what the public should have done. The Art Gallery, built with some of their money, belongs to the public. It is for the pleasure of the public— to educate the public’s children —the pictures of the Art Society are held in trust for the public. In fact, instead of the public supporting the artists the artists have been bled to supply the public with a valuable and lasting attraction to the town.

So great is the indignation of some of the artists that they have determined to open an exhibition on their own account ; when, at any rate, they will be allowed to receive the reward of their own labour. They have every right to take such a step—business men wonld have taken it long ago ; but it will be a pity—a very great pity, if such a step becomes necessary.

It is a subject for general gratulation throughout the colony that the Dunedin photographic exhibition should have been so signal a success. The photos from all the centres—from Auckland, Wellington, Christehnreh, Napier, and Dunedin—were supplemented by views from all sorts of up-country places, which shows that this most useful and beautiful art is every day gaining in public favour. It must always be remembered that it is the amateur and not the professional photographer who has brought photography to its present state of almost absolute artistic perfection. It is the amateurs who experiment, and therefore the amateurs who discover. The Dunedin exhibition of sun pictures was, we understand, the largest affair of its sort ever held in the colony, and certainly it was the most successful and best conducted. Mr Malcolm Ross’s splendid Alpine lantern slides divided the public favour with those shown of Auckland bv Mr Thompson, and those of Wellington to Napier by Mr Williams. Mr Fletcher’s views of a trip to the Phoenix Mine-were also greatly and deservedly admired.

The paragraphs in the Post for the next few months are likely to be more amusing than usnal. The editorials have always been bitter when Mr Seddon was in the question, but at present they are positively vitriolic. It is not exactly what Editor Gillon says, but, in the classic words of the music hall poet, * The narsty way ’e sez it.’ The following shows the sort of wasp’s nest of stinging paragraphs * on nothing ’ served up hot and hot every evening to the Post readers *lt will be remembered that some months ago, when Mr Revell retired, the Government advertised for applications for the Chief Messengership. There were a very large number of applications sent in, but no appointment haz been yet made. Rumour in the Buildings is to the effect that the Premier is awaiting a suitable opportunity to appoint his brother-in-law from Ballarat to the position.’

The * Last Stand of Starlight,’ Mr Louis Steele’s spirited picture of the climax of the well-known novel, * Robbery Under Arms,’ is to go to Paris to be engraved. It is, we understand, to be dedicated to the Earl of Onslow, who is mainly responsible for the engraving being undertaken. It is certainly a matter for congratulation. The picture is thoroughly Australasian in character. It has the Australasian sky, and the odour of the blue gum is all over it. We should like to see the ‘ Story of a Saddle ’ go Home too. In this picture the sentiment and poetry, ay, and the nobleness of the lives of our bush * homestead ’ farmers and their kind finds its highest expresssion in painting. It is on canvas what Gordon’s * Sick Stockrider ’ is in print. The engraving of such pictures cannot but have a good effect on colonial art. It will show the people at Home that if we have as yet no really great colonial-born artists we have resident amongst us men who have caught the spirit of the new country of their adoption. The Earl of Onslow was strongly impressed with the colonial tone in these pictures, and it is another instance of bis interest in this colony that he has so warmly encouraged a New Zealand artist. Lord Glasgow, who recently paid the artist's studio a visit, in company with Lady Glasgow and suite, has also put his name down on the artist proof list. This, we understand, already bears the names of many of our prominent men and art patrons. The prints will presumably be eagerly bought, but the ‘ proofs ’ will probably be an excellent financial investment as well, and beautiful pictures.

The recent very sensational romance in Wellington which began in St. Peter’s, and ended in the suicide of Edmonds, last week, is simply one more proof that truth is stranger than fiction. Had the plain, nnexaggerated facts of this most extraordinary business been incorporated in a novel by a young writer, the same would have been ruthlessly damned by the reviewers as * utterly and hopelessly improbable.’ As a matter of fact, nothing is impossible in this world—save fathoming a woman’s mind—and few things improbable. The young and ignorant are incredulous because they are young and because of their crass ignorance. As men grow older, if they grow wiser they become more credulous, not because they are * green,’ but for the simple reason that experience has taught them that is is never safe to deny that a thing is possible because it seems so to our excessively limited vision, or perchance capacities.

To return, however, to the marriage and subsequent suicide. It is perhaps better, in this instance, to be like the parrot of whom, when the purchaser complained that he talked very little, the owner returned that the sagacious bird thought the more. It has been a very unpleasant business for the lady, and presumably for her relations, but we cannot but feel that if Edmonds was a very foolish fellow, his unfortunate wife was not a very wise one. However, the less said on the subject the better. There is no single ray of self-sacrifice or nobility about the affair which alone could make so painful a subject worthy of lengthened treatment.

Miss Wardrop—well known to most of us by this time as the excellent teacher of the art of cooking—has given it as her opinion that in cake making onr New Zealand girls tae facile prince pt. She admits frankly that in this branch

of her most useful art she can teach them little. Their prowess, she declares would astonish English people, could they be suddenly transferred there, even with their antiquated stoves and appliances. Her cookery book is going off well, and the lady herself is exceedingly welcome wherever she goes. She was last week in Blenheim.