Topic's OF THE Week

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue VI, 9 February 1895, Page 122

Topic's OF THE Week

HOW extremely sensitive Christians are to criticism. One is speaking, of course, of those who have and who claim a special right to the title ; those who openly teach and profess what the rest of us only think about, and even that somewhat more carelessly and less frequently than we should. In a recent issue some strong editorial comments appeared on the subject of travelling evangelists, the Rev. John McNeill being made a scapegoat for the occasion. Letters on the subject have reached this office from all parts of the colony, and, except in one instance, cordially approve of the strong stand taken against the travelling evangelist evil, for it is unquestionably an evil that the support which belongs to the local clergy should be put into the * mission ’ boxes and collection bags of the outsider. One correspondent, however—a gentlemen of undoubted worth and honest convictions—writes that to mock at religion is not merely immoral on my part, but bad business from the publisher’s point of view. To this I cordially assent, but this paper never has and never would for a moment ridicule religion or make a mock of the highest and noblest of human instincts — the instinct of worship. Strong as were the opinions expressed in the article on McNeill and the travelling evangelists, there was not one remark which can be construed by any unprejudiced person into any sort of slur on Christianity or religion. All that was done was to comment—somewhat severely, it is true —on the taste displayed by a prominent evangelist in making unflattering comments on the social and spiritual life of a city which preferred to pay its own parsons rather than to find expenses for men whose ministrations they did not feel they required.

Mr McNeill was, as hinted above, the scapegoat on this occasion. Had he not thought fit to call Wellington disagreeable names, the article might not have been written until the next evangelist gave an opening. All that has been said might have appeared with equal justice when Varley or Hugh Price Hughes stumped the colony. Mr Varley dropped in for very much more caustic criticism than Mr McNeill, and deservedly so. McNeill has at least a pure, clean mind. He never, as Varley delighted to do, insisted on the innate filthiness of mankind, but he expected New Zealand to pay his expenses while he preached to them, and encouraged the vicious habit which has so strong a hold of colonial Christians of paying outsiders and being constantly on the qui vive for something new. Nothing could be further removed from the intentions of the writer than to * mock at religion,’ but the religion which is fostered by and exists on these * mission revivals' is unhealthy to the last degree, and to be discouraged by every man who has a sincere and honest regard for good things and true.

The craze for * something new ’ in religion is as old as the hills, but it is to be doubted if it ever—even in the Athens of St. Paul’s time —reached such a pitch as it has in New Zealand at the present time. The rapid succession of travelling persons and preachers, and the enormous audiences they attract is solely and entirely responsible for the halffilled churches and constantly diminishing congregations complained of by resident ministers of every shade of opinion and every denomination. The prophet has less honour than ever in his own country because—and only because—the unspoiled article is fresh, and because the latter is enabled to give one or two highly spiced dishes instead of plain homely fare produceable when it has to be done week after week. The man who takes his meals flitting from one restaurant to another as his appetite varies, soon finds it so pampered that he revolts against the plain joint and pud-

ding supplied at • home. ’ It is the same in religion. Accustom yourself to the variety and you will not be able to feed spiritually on anything else.

Having made it clear (I hope) that there was no intention on the part of this paper to mock at religion, and having again asserted that such comments as were made were fair and legitimate, let the Graphic strongly protest against the sentiment expressed in the letter of the correspondent whose charges I have dealt with—the sentiment that spiritual workers, preachers, evangelists, etc., sire above criticism, and that to subject men of the McNeill, Varley, and Booth type to it is to insult those who believe in those men. What a monstrous idea ! Your preacher is, nowadays, a professional man. Such work as he does is paid for, and he and his utterances are as much open to comment as those ef the singer, or the musician, or the author. Mr McNeill calls me a thief if I have a bet on a race ; he calls me mean if I won’t help pay his expenses, and he writes me down cold, etc., etc., because I don’t think, all things considered, that I care to go and hear him. And while he does this his friends applaud him to the echo. What right, then, have his friends to object to my calling him a * beggar ’ when in my opinion his demand for expenses makes him as truly a one as the tramp who hammers at our back doors ?

The following is one of the letters I have received on the matter from a correspondent who agrees with me : — TO THE EDITOR OF THE GRAPHIC. Sir, —New Zealand is so much in the habit of accepting its shows, religious and other, on faith, and has hitherto bowed with such dutiful and becoming submission to the criticisms (usually insolent) of its cash-collecting visitors, that your strictures on McNeill and his mission must have fallen very much as a bombshell among the mass of your readers. As the first shot in the cannonade, which is to sweep away the clerical show nuisance, I welcome it, and hasten to add the contents of my small gun to your editorial blast. It would sir, I imagine, savour of impertinence in a person going uninvited to the house of a stranger, were he, after being suitably entertained, to publish remarks to the detriment of his host. Much more must this be the case with a person to whom I have refused permission to polish (at a price) the brass knocker on my front door, and who in consequence of that refusal considers himself at liberty to remark on the appointments of my house, with the interior of which—beyond what he saw over my shoulder in the passage—he is entirely unacquainted. Impertinences of this character are really beeoming too common. Every fly-blown celebrity coming to us with a decayed reputation, and not infrequently a quantity of dirty linen in soak at home, makes his comments favourable or the reverse, in accordance with our acceptance or rejection of his wares. If we do not immediately announce ourselves converts to Theosophy, it is because our instincts are of the basely practical and moneygrubbing order. If Madame Squallini’s voice or her fiddle playing does not ravish the gold from our pockets it is by reason of our barbarism ; for did not that celebrated lady so long as fifty years ago—ay, before this wretched New Zealand was so much as thought of—enchant all the crowned heads of Europe with her delightful singing ? So with our evangelist, if we do not immediately desert the pastor who has stood by us through fair weather and foul, and received the wage of a mechanic for his pains—if we do not fly instanter from the ministrations of this good man to the auditorium of the first be-trumpeted, money-hunting, globe trotting evangel that comes our way, then are we cold and unsympathetic, publicans and sinners. Ido not, any more than I feel sure is the case with yourself, desire to scoff at what is worthy of reverence, but one evangelist does not make a religion any more than one swallow makes a summer, and I am no more bound to place reliance on the black coat and white tie of the one than on the black back and white breast of the other. Religion, indeed, is a thing very different from the words and conduct of a man, be his name McNeill or McTalmage, and in this belief and in entire sympathy with your remarks I sign myself—Yours, etc., McDeil.

BY all accounts anniversary day in Auckland this year was equally successful with the Wellington function, which is certainly saying a good deal. There is no doubt that the increasing taste for yachting is rapidly becoming a characteristic of the colony, and that when New Zealand becomes a nation she is almost certain to become in the new world as great a mercantile power as

the mother country has in the old. And this happy and indeed glorious state of affairs will be mainly due to the fact that the colonial youth takes to the water and to sailing and seamanship with precisely the same enthusiasm and the same instinctive facility that his Anglo-Saxon or Norman ancestor did. The yacht racing in Auckland this year was exceptionally good and exciting, and as the same thing may be said of both Wellington and Lyttelton, it may be confidently hoped that the time is near at hand when a really good prize can be offered for a champion yacht race. If possible, the race should be tor £2OO, and a trophy. Certainly nothing less than £2CO will attract a really good field. And not because our yachtsmen are not good and genuine sportsmen, but because it positively is beyond the means of the owners to send their yachts from one end of the colony to the other, unless there is * a chance that the stakes will repay the expenses of the trip.’

\ 1 WELLINGTON certainly gave its new bishop a magV V nificent welcome, and the function in the Drill shed was a most enthusiastic and successful affair. The speeches were for the most part good, but surely it was not necessary for anyone to have alluded to the fact that the place had been offered to other, though certainlynot better men. Yet nearly every speaker seemed determined to drag the fact in, and in more than one instance in a very tactless fashion. Mr Seddon’s playful allusion to the excitementin Wellington when it was announced that a bachelor bishop was coming out. and the subsequent disappointment when the news of his approaching marriage was annonnced, fell just a trifle flat. The unregenerate, amongst whom was the writer, enjoyed the joke, but certain of those on the platform smiled in a sickly sort of fashion. They appeared to fear that outspoken Dick might add some embarrassing remark about the well-known duties of a colonial. A certain twinkle of mischief in the Premier’s eye seemed to show that he had half a mind to say it, but he evidently mqst have thought better of it. The new Bishop’s reply to the numerous speeches of welcome was evidently heartfelt, and perhaps for this reason it was not overwhelmingly brilliant. One does not speak at one’s best when one is sincerely moved by gratitude ; but if the new bishop had given the most eloquent oration ever delivered in the Empire City, he could not have pleased the Wellingtonians more. Any man, especially a man straight from Home, who declares that it has always been his desire to live in Wellington, and that it is far prettier, far more pleasant, and far more cordial than he expected, will certainly enjoy his life in the capital.

THE ‘go as you please’ manner in which the young people of this generation are allowed to grow up—bringing up of children is a forgotten art—is arousing some renewed attention in the colonies as well as at Home, and a correspondent desires me to draw attention to the fact that save in exceptional cases the training of children is entirely neglected, except in the royal families of Europe. My correspondent exaggerates pretty considerably, but there is little doubt that very few children in New Zealand receive so strict, and one might add severe, bringing up as that endured by the present Czarina of Russia, whose marriage bells have so recently been ringing. She was left motherless at six years of age, and she was not in her teens when her father contracted a morganatic alliance. But her mother, Alice of England, who was as bright as her sister, the present dowager Empress of Germany, and as strong willed, laid down rules for the education of her children which were faithfully adhered to after her death. She ordered that they should carefully avoid the hauteur which is observed in the daughters of most noble families in Germany. It was her will that they should be brought up as girls in the middle class, but rather more strictly. Her mother expressed the guiding principle of her system in the sentence : * I desire that my daughters shall be unassuming and perfectly frank and natural. They must understand they should have nothing to conceal.’

Under the direction of competent governesses Alix and her sisters rose early, and before breakfast prepared their lessons, which they recited until the beginning of the afternoon. Then they walked, played croquet and tennis, rode, rowed in summer and skated in winter. Their studies embraced the usual branches of a complete education, including English and French, likewise an exhaustive course in cookery, sewing, and dressmaking. Until their confirmation their clothing was all made at home, and they took turns to furnish the pastry for the family dinner. When they entertained their young friends they were required to make the cakes which were served, and they were encouraned to supply the children of a neighbouring orphan asylum with bonbons of their own manufacture. They were also taught music and painting. In the latter accomplishment Alix is said to excel.

After their confirmation their pocket money, which had been sixpence a week was raised to one shilling, and they were allowed to wear long skirts and go to a few parties and theatres. Queen Victoria obtained as a personal favour permission for them to drive with her and her court when

they visited England. On that occasion, for the first time in their lives, they were allowed to pay visits to grown people. The frnit of this training is exhibited in the character of the Grand Duchess Ella, the eldest of the three Princesses of Hesse, who married Sergius of Russia. She is the active patroness of the institute for training nurses at St. Petersburg, and is never ceasing in her works of charity and kindness. It was she who chose the nurses who watched the late Czar’s deathbed.

It is quite on the cards that the legacy of Alice of England may ensure to the benefit of peace and civilisation. In the ruling class in Europe, as in the class that is ruled, women are potential, and the sway of policies is sometimes in their hands. Common rumour accuses the Empress Eugenie of having boasted—when the French started on their mad race— ‘ A Berlin !’ that the war then beginning was ‘her war.’ Whether she was so indiscreet or not, there is no doubt that she used her influence with her husband to egg him on to a war from which he instinctively shrank, and she must have her share of the blame. It is pleasant to think that if a good training can make a good woman the world may be a gainer by the accession of Alix of Hesse to the throne of the Russias.

THE comparatively placid manner in which the news of the loss of the Elbe and three hundred lives was received in this part of the world presents a striking contrast to the sensation caused by the Wairarapa disaster. Of course it is natnral that the wreck of a steamer on our own shores should be far more shocking to us than one ten or fifteen thousand miles away, even if the latter does mean the loss of twice as many lives and the breaking up of t vice as many homes. The death of one of onr own household must ever mean far more to ns than a plague which sweeps away whole streets of people on every side of us. These platitudes would be scarcely worth repeating were it not for the fact that there has been a tendency to complain of the selfishness of the English press in having made so little of the Wairarapa wreck. Shortly after the arrival of the last mail from England the writer heard an eminent public man wax violently indignant because the news of the Wairarapa wreck inquiry had been dismissed in a two or three line message in the cable columns of the English press. One perfectly understood the feeling. The shock of the tragedy to us was so great that it seemed impossible that it should not affect others to an equal extent, but the fact is we are all supremely selfish in this way. The wreck of the Elbe is to us what the Wairarapa was to the good folk at Home—a newspaper sensation and nothing more. The Elbe was not only a very handsome, but a very comfortable steamer, and if the skipper who commanded her when she was run down last week was the same who held the post some six years ago when the-writer made a voyage on her, the German merchant fleet has lost a gallant gentleman and a fine sailor.

THOSE —and their name is legion—who take an interest in the affairs of animals, are usually somewhat inclined to become bores when started on their favourite subject. There is no nuisance in the world like the man who insists on telling prosy anecdotes about animals in general and pets in particular. Conscious of this the Graphic has, as a rule, carefully refrained from the publication of animal stories, or even casual reference to them. A recent series of articles on the everyday life of animals now appearing in the Spectator are, however, so bright, so true, and so interesting that they deserve that the attention of colonial lovers of animals should be drawn to them. One of the most recent on animals’ beds and bed-making was really charmingly written, and will assuredly remind readers of the curious customs of some pet animal of their acquaintance. As the writer very truly observes, that as a rule it is only petted domestic animals that are ‘ faddy ’ about their beds. Many of these are as particular about the arrangement of their beds as the old ‘ nabob ’ at St. Ronan’s Well, who drilled the housemaid into adjusting his mattresses to the proper angle of inclination. We have seen a little dachshund which would not go to her basket until the blanket had been held to the hall stove. This she required to be done in summer as well as winter, though the stove was not lighted. A spaniel kept in a stable, used always to leave its kennel to sleep with the horse. Hounds make a joint bed on the bench after a long run, lying back to back, and so supporting one another. But sporting dogs should have proper beds made like shallow boxes with sloping sides.

Cats are the most obstinately capricious, in their fancies about their beds, of any domestic creature. They will follow a particular rug or shawl from room to room, if it be removed, in order to sleep on it, or insist on the use of one chair, until they get their way, and then for some reason take a fancy to another. The cleanliest of all animals, anything newly washed or very fresh and bright, strikes them as just the thing for a bed. A nicely aired newspaper lying on the floor or in a chair, or linen fresh from the wash, is almost irresistible. Outdoor cats seek a warm as well as a tidy bed. The writer

was once much surprised, when passing through a large shipbuilding yard, to see a cat fast asleep lying, it seemed, on a muddy path. But the spot which the cat had selected for its conch was one at which a hot steam-pipe passed under the road, and the mud was there baked into a warm, dry cake, which made not only a clean but an artificially heated sleeping-place. But the oddest taste in beds developed by a cat, was that entertained by a very highly bred grey Angora, which was justly petted and admired by the family in which it lived. For some months it would only sleep in or upon a hat, if such could be found, ladies* hats being preferred. If it conld discover one with the inside uppermost, it would lie inside it. If not, such was its love for this form of couch, it would curl itself round the brim, and with its long, furry tail and pliant body made a fine winter trimming to a summer hat. By some accident, a drawer in which all the * summer ’ hats bad been disposed for the winter was left open for some days, after which it was discovered that all the hats had been tried in turn, the cat having finally selected one adorned with white laburnum flowers, which never recovered from the * ironing ’ to which it had been subjected.

Even the animals of the farm have certain preferences in their sleeping arrangements. Cattle and sheep, when left out to * lie rough/ always sleep under trees to avoid the dew ; and sheep, if there is no such cover available, lie on the highest, and consequently the driest, ground. Horses seem less particnliar, though they have curious fancies as to their bed-litter in stables.

THE cable columns m our colonial papers furnish some startling reports occasionally, but surely the wire never brought us a stranger message than that which announced that Judge Williams was to be removed from the position he held because, in winding up companies, he commented too fearlessly on the conduct of directors. Most people who read the astounding message simply refused to believe it was correct, but when the next day’s cables told that the Times denounced the affair as scandalous, there was uo room left for doubt. But what Englishman, colonial or Home born, ever imagined it possible that an English judge should be removed from his position for being too fearless. It is monstrous, shameful, there is no word in the language which seems strong enough for satisfactory employment in speaking of the affair. Of course, it will never be tolerated. Judge Williams spoke in clear tones concerning the directors of the Loan and Mercantile, and, excepting the implicated directors, there is probably not one person in the kingdom or in the colonies who does not believe that every atom of comment spoken by him was more than merited. There is not the least doubt that but for the strange byways of the English law the directors would ere this have been on their trial. It was, however, thought that the game was not worth the candle. Those who so terribly mismanaged, those at whose door lie the ruin of thousands, are merely to go Scot free while their ruined victims are forced to * hard labour for life,’ but the upright judge who dared to say disagreeable things is to be removed. It may be, indeed it is, some comfort to feel that such a thing will never be allowed, but the very fact of it having been proposed is an indelible and shameful stain on the splendid escutcheon of English justice.

IT is again being suggested that judges should endeavour to gain some experience of the punishment they inflict. There is something exhilarating in the idea of a Judge testing for his own satisfaction samples of the sentences he metes out. No doubt it is an excellent leaven in the loaf of justice. One judge who tried the treadmill, we are told, very quickly cried enough. A little oakum-picking went a long way with another. It is even reported that a taste of the * cat ’ was administered to an enterprising judicial light, and with such salutary effect that he now shudders whenever he sentences a prisoner. It is much to be hoped that the country magistrates, who occasionally sentence some poor fellow to a month for stealing a couple of turnips, and let a human brute off with a caution for kicking his wife half to death, will be led to vary the judge's experiment somewhat by placing themselves at the mercy of the wife-kickers and seeing how it feels. Perhaps we should than have fewer anomalies in the so-called administration of justice by these bright ornaments of the judicial Bench.

THE latest tall yarn being told in clubland in Wellington concerns a kitten which presumably went to sleep on the inside flange of the large flywheel of a stationary engine. The unfortunate pussy must have bad a bad time of it. The wheel ran for six hours and a half. The cat was taken out nearly lifeless, but recovered. The fly-wheel makes 250 revolutions per minute, and every turn pussy travelled seventeen feet. The engine was in motion 390 minutes, and during that time the kitten travelled a distance of 315 miles.

DR. CONAN DOYLE’S new work is called ‘Round the Red Lamp.’ It will be ready in a wick or so, and I feel tolerably safe in predicting that before many days are over a large percentage of the reading public will be eagerly connin' D’oil. That it is light literature goes without saying, and the coming winter should see it illuminating many Holmes.