CHRISTCHURCH NOTES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue XIII, 28 September 1895, Page 395

CHRISTCHURCH NOTES.

(BY

‘quiz.’)

young New Zealander is supposed to be learned j in every theory relating to horses, even if lie is ignorant of everything else. But there are exceptions to this rule, and one exception is to be found in a southern inland town. Au up-country station-holder wired to a well-known citizen of this inland town : — * Send me up whippie tree. Going to drive Rabbit Commissioners four-in-hand.’ This citizen, as good a whip as any in the country, and always ready to oblige a friend, got out the whippie tree that had seen service in many a four-in-hand excursion and hung it on the wall of the house. Then he hunted up the boy and said, ‘John, I want you to put the ponyin the cart this afternoon and take a whippie tree to the station in time for the four o’clock train.' ‘ Yes sir,’ answered John. The citizen wrote out the address of his up-country-friend, and gave it to his wife with the injunction, ‘ Now, missus, see that John takes the whippie tree up to the station in time. He can stick thisaddress on it.’ The ‘ missis ’ promised to carry out this injunction. She prides herself on knowing how to manage John, and she gave him his directions clearly, and, of course, concisely. She hurried John off in time to catch the train, and made him declare on oath that he had not missed it ; then she felt satisfied. When the husband returned, he asked, ‘ Well, did John get off with the whippie tree ?’ Of course the answer was ‘ yes ’ in the sweetest of voices. Next morning when the husband went out of the house he got a surprise. His pet apricot tree had been torn from the wall. It was gone bolus bolus, and the hole where the roots had been was filled up, and there stood his own particular spade that had done the work. This husband is naturally one of the nicest-tempered men I know. The most obstreperous tandem leader cannot rile him, and he goes in for polo for all it is worth without cursing his opponents or his ponies. But when he saw what had been done to that promising apricot tree he was thoroughly roused. He let out and warmed the air. It was too much for him to bear alone. He called the ‘ missus.’ ‘ Missus,’he said, ‘ look here ! some burglars have dug up the apricot tree, with my own spade too. They have carried it clean away, and they have had the politeness or cheek to fill up the hole.’ The missus smiled, and for my part, knowing her well, I think it looks suspicious, for she loves a joke. However, she quietly suggested that John should be questioned. ‘John,’ shouted the master in anything but bland tones, ‘ where the deuce are you ? I say, do you know anything about the apricot tree?’ ‘Yes, sir. Please, I took it to the station yesterday, sir.’ ‘You took it to the station, you donkey. What did you take it to the station for ?’ And then a light dawned on the irate master. He saw the yellow-painted whippie tree hanging against the wall. 1 You blamed young idiot, didn't you know the difference between an apricot tree and a whippie tree ? Had you no more sense than to dig out a great thing like that and cart it to the station ?’ The missis, who had a good vein of humour for a woman, here laughed, and John escaped. The joke includes John’s account of his struggles with the tree, of his difficulty in getting it into the trap, and of persuading the guard to take it into the van. It culminates in the expectant friend riding down from his distant station to meet the wbipple tree and getting the apricot tree. The apricot tree is now growing on a mountain station, and John has learnt what a whippie tree is. The Christchurch Industrial Exhibition is a pronounced success. The takings nt the gate have already amounted to sufficient to cover all the large outlay, and

the attendance every day and night is still very large, and is likely to continue, for the building is a favourite promenade and meeting place. It is truly a wonderful exhibition considering the age of this country, and it shows more than anything else can do how independent New Zealand is becoming of outside manufactures. Rather a funny thing happened when the Hon. J. G. Ward visited the Exhibition. He was looking at that remarkably fine organ built by Mr Sandford, when the player struck up ‘ The Man who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.’ It was a coincidence, of course, for Mr Gottfried had his back turned to the visitors.

The Savage Club closed its season last week with a noble banquet, at which many toasts were drunk. There are lots of people curious to know something of the Savage Club, for it is popular, and most of the best men in Christchurch belong to it. First of all it is named after the London Savage Club—the favourite resort of journalists, travellers, and literary men, and the London Club owes its name to Richard Savage, the Bohemian author, whose biography, to be found in Johnson’s’ Lives of the Poets,’ makes the most interesting reading iu all that interesting book. In fact, I consider it one of the most interesting biographies ever written. The Christchurch Savage Club meet every Monday night in the season, for social intercourse. The members tell funny stories, relate per: sonal adventures, etc. There is singing and music, smoking and coffee, and something stronger for the committee. There is a mild ceremonial —song of welcome, parting song, and a preamble in which the chairman declares that the club exists chiefly to encourage art, litetature, etc. As a matter of fact, with the exception of lightning sketches done by the Christchurch artists— J. M. Woodsten and W. M. Gibb—nothing artistic has been done, and as for literature, there has been no attempt made either to introduce or encourage it. Music has been encouraged, for such men as Millar, Woodhouse, Hobbs, Reeves, Dale, and other singers have contributed more entertainment than all other members put together. The membership of the Club is not exclusively confined to professionals. It is broad enough in its scope, but as yet the Club has no definite purpose beyond social enjoyment. I believe, however, that next year some attempt will be made to carry out the spirit of the preamble.

The talk of the town is, of course, the ‘New Tariff.’ One hears a lot of twaddle on the subject, and nothing so conclusively proves us a race of grumblers as the common remarks on this question. The Tariff Commission went all round the country to find out from the people of the country what alterations could be made for the general benefit. The men directly interested had the chance to speak for themselves, and they asked for what they thought would help them. The Government are giving what the people asked for, and now one hears grumble, grumble, in true British fashion. ‘ They are taxing the poor man’s boots 2s a pair,’ cry some. ‘ Well, if the poor man likes to wear cheap German-made imported goods when some of our young people have to depend for their living on the work of tanning hides and making boots here, let him pay the 2S by all means,’ answer others, and it is a good answer too. The painters grumble that the duty of is 6d per gallon on linseed oil is outrageous, but the farmers, wdio can grow linseed here, and such firms as Kempthorne, Prosser and Co., who make oil here, can say that the duty will be the means of encouraging a new industry, which means more money in the country, and of course more houses to paint. Some of the importing drapers complain about the extra duty on cotton goods, but sheep-owners, shareholders in woollen factories, men and women anxious for employment in woollen factories, say, ‘ Why buy cheap cotton goods when woollen goods are so much better and healthier ?’ The opinion of those who have the interest of the country most at heart seems to be that the new tariff aims at encouraging the industries of the country, so as to give labour and to make us more independent of foreign manufacturers.