Current Comment.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue X, 8 September 1900, Page 436

Current Comment.

Xord Hawke on CricketLord Hawke is dead against having Jour stumps, increasing the height of the three, narrowing the width of the bat, or adopting —at present, at all events — any other proposed alteration in cricket. In his hearty way he tsaid to Mr M. Randal Roberts, “No; let us give the batsman a chance.” Mr Roberts relates the interview in “Cassell's Magazine.” The Yorkshire captain said:— “1 don’t see why people are so down on the batsman. It is only because we have had an unprecedented run of dry summers lately that such huge scores have been made. In a wet season, as things are at present, we batsmen want all the luck we can get to make a few runs. With the proposed changes of an additional stump, etc., the wretched batsman would get no runs at all if we struck on a wet summer. We have had quite enough cricket legislation for one season. Let us see what doing away with the ‘follow-on’ rule, and declaring the innings closed on the second day. will do before we make any further changes.” Lord Hawke’s pride in the Yorkshire County Eleven, and the splendid way in which he encourages cricket, are well known, but the following little description of how, at the end of every season, his lordship entertains the team at Wighill Park in part explains his popularity: “The team arrive at Wighill Park about ten o’clock in the morning. There is no formality about the visit. ‘Now, you fellows,’ says Lord Hawke, ‘you are here to enjoy yourselves. Don’t wait for me to ask you to do anything. Do just what you like. Sit in my room, sit in the drawing-room, play tennis, play croquet or anything else you please.’ ” As to cricket itself. Lord Hawke was epigrammatic. “It is the most honest and straightforward game in the world,” he said; “it does not encourage gambling. There may be a few duffers who bet, but the uncertainties are too great to admit of any systematic betting. It is a pure game, and it is a characteristic of cricket that while you make runs you make friends.” 4* 4* 4* Do Children Pay ? Do they pay? Here 1 am wearing old clothes and trying to brush up my hat 1o make it look like new that my Johnny and Sammy may have new 7 kilts and reefers, hats and shoes and look as well as other children. They do kick out shoes so dreadfully, and they haven’t the first compunction of conscience about it either, They tear and smash and destroy, and are into everything’, especially the baby.

Does a two-year-old baby pay for itself up to the time it reaches that interesting age? Sometimes I think not. I thought so yesterday when my own baby slipped into my study and scrubbed the carpet and his best white dress with my bottle of ink. He was playing in the coal hod ten minutes •liter a clean dress was put on him, and later in the day In* pasted half-a-crown's worth oi postage stamps on the pat lour wall, and poured a dollar’s worth of the choicest white rose perfume out of the window, “to see it w ai n.” He has cost me more than £l5 in doctors' bills, and I feel that J am right in attributing my few grey hairs to the misery I endured while walking the lie or with him at night dining the first \oar of his lilt*. What has he ever done to pay me for that? \h, I hear his little feet pattering along out in the hall. 1 hear his little ripple of laughter because he has escaped from his mother and has found his way up to my study at a forbidden hour. * Rut the door is dosed. r l he worthless little vagabond can’t get in, and I won't open it for him. No, I won’t. I can't be disturbed when 1 am writing. He can cry if he wants to. 1 won t be bothered, for rat, tat, tat go his dimpled knuckles on the door. I sit in silence. Rat, tat, tat. 1 sit perfectly still. “Papa!” No reply. “I’eeze, papa!” Grim silence. “Baby turn in, peeze, papa!” He •hall not come in. “My papa!” 1 write on.

“Papa,” says the little voice; “1 lub my papa. Peeze let baby in.” 1 am not quite a brute, and I throw open the door. In he comes with outstretched little arms, with shining eyes, with laughing face. I catch him up in my arms, and his warm, soft little ars go round my neck, the not very clean little cheek is laid close to mine the baby voice says sweetly, “1 lub my papa.” Does he pay? “Well. I guess he does. He has cost me many anxious days and nights. He may cost me pain and sorrow. He has cost me much. But he has paid for il all again and again in whispering three little words into my ears. “I ltd) papa.” Our children pay when their lirst feeble little cries fill our hearts with the mother-love ami father-love that ought never to fall among all earthly passions. Do your children pty? 4? 4* 4’ Horseflesh ns Food. If we just for a moment consider that the horse subsists practically upon the same food as ruminants, that his flesh is more nutritious—containing as it does much nitrogenous matter — it is difficult to imagine why we have not used it to augment our existing food supply. No doubt sentiment is responsible for a great deal, and this has been amply exemplified by personal experiences, one of which occurred in our mid-river borough. The carcase was dressed by a butcher, divided into joints, and cooked. It was afterwards oaten by the guests with evident gusto; laudatory remarks were expressed in reference to the excellent flavour- of the “veal,” “the consummate skill of the cook.” etc. But when it became necessary to acquaint the partakers of the feast that instead of “veal” they had eaten the body of someone's foal it was as interesting to observe the various facial contortions as it was surprising to hear how many of the company had sudden recollections of important engagements which required their presence elsewhere. As a matter of fact, had they not been made acquainted with the nature of the food they had so much enjoyed, there would have been no occasion for the ungraceful exodus from the dining-room.

Although the British public consume a large quantity of horseflesh annually and never know any other—“just the idea of the thing”- ir might be a satisfaction to know that the British Parliament has provided for both hippophagists ami non-hippopha-gists. An Art of ISS9 legalises the sale of horseflesh in shops, stalls, etc., providing that the comestible is labelled “Horse Flesh.” and in such huge letters as to be conspicuous to the smallest eye. hi other countries the converse is the rule. z 4? 4* 4* We Say “ Friend ” Too Easily. We are apt to give the name of “friend” too easily. To be “good friends” in the pleasant sense in which these words arc commonly used, is a very lovely trait, and people who have this genial sort of nature do much to make the happiness of a community; but to be a true friend is something very different.

Our fricmls should be to our lives like the great planets to the starry sky; they should give a steadfast, clear shining in our darkness, they should l»e steadfast, unvarying, sure. They should stand out from all the mass of our acquaintances just as the morning and the evening’ stars glow and are conspicuous in the heavens, where there are a million twinkling lights.

Pleasant companionship does not give you sufficient ground to choose a person as your friend. There are delightful girls, who talk merrily and entertainingly, who arc pretty and winning, who arc at the same time selfish, unt rust worthy and fickle. A girl who says lightly: “Oh. yes! I used to be very intimate with her last, summer, nt. the seashore, but I have not seen her for an age.” will say the same thing of you in a few months.