Minor Matters.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue XVIII, 3 November 1900, Page 820

Minor Matters.

'A. Kitchener Anecdote. 4 'Although K. of K„ as Lord Kitchener of Khartoum is usually called out tn South Africa, is still comparatively a young man, he has seen a deal of service, for he began his fighting career in 1870, thirty years ago, when he was only twenty. He had not yet entered the army, but, seeing his vocation clearly before him. he volunteered to help the French in the Franco-Prussian war. During his experience there he took part in a bal-loon-reconnoitring expedition, and balloons then were not what they are now. With him were a couple of French officers, much older than himself. At one period of the ascent one Of the Frenchmen became ill, probably from fright, and the other was too busv looking after him to see to the balioon. So the boy Kitchener, ■who was entirely new to the game, had to take charge, and, as he himself afterwards admitted, more by good luck than good management, he brought the balloon safely to earth again within the French lines. Ot one time they were dangerously close to the German pickets, but the young aeronaut threw everything overboard. sandbags, instruments and anchor, until the balloon was sufficiently lightened to rise again. 4 4 4> The Refuse of Paris. ■A curious series of statistics, says «. contemporary, is the value of the refuse of the Faris streets. The figures seem incredible, and show that ragpickers discharge a duty of primary importance. Working at, night, busy under the gaslight with hook anti pannier, the value of what they collect is estimated at 10,000 dollars, a day. Assuredly one half the world does not know how the other half lives. Of course the conditions of Paris life are exceptional. The population is very closely packed; tlie tall houses are crammed with-‘inhabitants; there aie no gardens, as/with us- there are but the houses, and the streets. Parisians have a way of emptying all kiuds of lumber and refuse into the streets, and then the ragpickers gather in their harvest. A use isjfound for everything, and metamorphosis never chases.: M-ty.the details are interesting. though some are rather disturbing. flags of coiirselgo to make paper-, ; broken:ghfssylmpounded, and seryes’as the coating fpt ; sund or emery paper; bones, a;process of cleaning and cutting* down, serve to make nail brushes, tooth tfrushes, and fancy buttons; little wisps of women’s hair are carefully unravelled, and do duty lor false hair by and byet Men’s hair, collected outside the -barbers’ shops, serves for filters through which syrups are strained; bits of sponge are cut up and used for spirit lamps; bits of bread, if dirty, are toasted and gra-

ted and sold to the restaurants for breading hams and cutlets; sometimes they are carbonized and made into tooth’ powder. Sardine boxes are cut up into t in soldiers or into sockets for candlesticks. A silk hat has a whole chapter of advent,ures. in store for it. • With all the wonders of London we'have nothing quite like this—'rhe Sanitarium. 4- 4 4Two Capital Artemus Ward Stories.

,T. I’. Sutton, Artemus Ward's manager for a time, tells the following stories of Ward: At one time we were in the Savage Club one morning about four o'clock. The Prince of Wales was feeling quite joyful as the result of a constant and pertinacious dallying with the tempter, ami he proposed to “set 'em up” to the entire membership mid guests. We went in to the bar and the.drinks were arranged. Some one suggested a toast to the Prince. At once there was a call for Ward. Ward was modest at first, but when the demand became so great he turned to the Prince, glass in hand, and said: “Well, Albert Edward, here’s my regards: gentlemen-, your- good health. Let’s all live within our own means—if we have to borrow money to do it with." Vmi never saw a crowd of Bohemians display such appreciation. They shouted in laughter, and no one louder than the Prince. Ward was a devolve at the shrine of brandy when he saw Ihis physical strength waning. Me apparently couldn’t get enough. It

became impossible for him to get through his lecture without stimulant, and it was positively amusing, though sad, the schemes he would resort to to get a bottle. I had some spare time one. night and I called on the manager of Egyptian Hall and he piloted me through the big crowd and got me within. Ward saw me in the sea of faces, and he afterward told me that he knew that I would appreciate the thing. In the midst of his lecture he looked up at the ceiling, then carefully surveying the hall, he came to an abrupt break. Cihanging the inflexion of his voice, he addressed his audience seriously. “The ventilation in this house is very poor,’’ he' began. “I have repeatedly admonished the janitor, but what T have said seems to have been unheeded. 1 assure you that this is no fault of mine, and not only that, I stand ready to refund money to those who are suffering from this foul air.’’ A look of pity- came over his face. It seemed ns if tears would dim his eyes. He ehoked back a sob and said: “If you will pardon me 1 will endeavour to right what the janitor has neglected.” He walked off the stage and into the wfngs, where he picked up a bottle of brandy and swallowed about half. After wiping his lips “he returned to the stage and said: “I trust the air will be better here now. And I can assure you that the janitor shall be discharged- Above everything else we must have pure air here or 1 refuse to go on with my lectures.” The audience seemed to sympathise with Ward. After the lecture I met him, and he told me that he did that just to show me how easy it was for a lecturer to get a drink in the middle of his lecture. 4- 4- 4 At an Up Country Pub. Travelling up North once (says a writer in the “Bulletin”), stone-broke and horribly tired and hungry, I

struck a bush pub. In the bar was a chap lolling at his ease in a chair behind the counter. He at once pushed a bottle towards me and invited me to help myself. I suggested something to eat, and was told to go inside and take what 1 liked. This I did, and when I felt comfortable I began to look about and enquire. Discovered that the landlord and his wife and the handy man of the establishment were all “paralytic drunk,’’ that the place was running itself, and that my friend behind the bar was only- a chance caller like myself. It’s , not often a dead-beat strikes such a bonanza. 4 4 4 Balaam's Ass. A well-known Sydney clergyman tells a good story against himself. While preaching recently- an extemporaneous sermon, he had occasion to refer to the question of miracles. Some people, he said, had a difficulty- in believing some of the miraculous stories of the Bible, as, for example, the speaking of Balaam’s ass to his master. Looking solemnly- at the congregation, he suddenly clinched his contention with the remark: “Whyshould not God make an ass to speak —He made me to speak?” The congregation did not laugh; it was Scotch. j

Nothing so False as Fact. Professor R. G. Moulton, of the English Department at the University of Chicago, has a way of enlivening his lectures by pointed and homely- illustrations. Sometimes we hear as an objection to the plot of a first-class novel that it is utterly improbable, said the professor a few days ago. Now the fact is that the only thing which is true is fiction. There is nothing so false as what we call the truth. Facts always give some loophole of escape. For instance, there was a man that, you ought to know about who wished very much to commit suicide. Shocking? Yes, to be sure, but the man was not troubled with a conscience. The only thing that worried him was the fear that lie should make a failure of his attempt to kill himself. I know myself so well that T feel sure the thing would be a fiasco, he always declared. For thirty years this conviction was the only obstacle that stood between that man and death. Finally lie 'mustered tip the courage one day- to try to coua-

mit suicide. He went over all the details carefully and took every precaution against failure. He went to the edge of a cliff overhanging the sea near his home. With him he carried u revolver, a bottle of poison, a rope, and a box of matches. He tied one end of the rope around his neck and fastened the other end to a tree near by. Then he swallowed the poison, set fire to his clothes, fired the pistol at his head and jumped off the cliff. Professor Moulton ended his story here and blandly proceeded to bow himself out of his class room. “But, Professor, was the man killed?” shouted the overwrought class of future American novelists. “By no means.” replied the professor in astonishment. Excitement made the man nervous and his pistol shot went wide of the mark. The rope caught fire from his burning clothing, came in two in a trice, and the man fell into the water and that

put out the flames. He never was a very good sailor, anyhow, and the poison hardly remained long enough in his system to even tackle him, which all goes to show that you cannot trust even a certainty. ♦ * * Moses a Gentleman. There is often something luminous about a child's definition. A little lad in a boarding school in England gave an original answer to the question, “What can you tell me about Moses?” “Please, sir, he was a gentlemen,” replied the little fellow. “A gentleman!” repeated the inspector. “What do you mean by that?” “Please, sir, when the daughters of Jethro went to the well to draw water, the shepherds came and drove them away; and Moses helped the daughters of Jethro, and said to the shepherds, ‘Ladies first, please, gentlemen!” 4 4 4 - Cheerfulness. Learn to laugh. A good laugh is better than medicine. Learn to tell a story. A well told story is as welcome as a sunbeam in a sick room. Learn to keep your own troubles to •yourself. The world is too busy to care or your ills and sorrows. Learn to do something for others. Even if you are a bedridden invalid there is always something that you can do to make others happier, and that is the surest, way to attain hapiness for yourself. Learn to stop croaking. If you cannot see any good in the world keep the bad to yourself. Learn to hide your pains and aches by pleasant smiles. Only- your nearest and dearest care whether you have the ear-

ache. headache, or rheumatism, and they- will love y-ou all the more if you have sufficient strength of mind to make light of your physical suffering. Don’t cry. Tears do well enough in novels, but are out of place in real life. Learn to meet ypur friends with a smile. A good humoured man or woman is always welcome, but a dyspeptic or hypochondriac is not wanted anywhere and is a nuisance as well. Above all, give pleasure. Lose no chance of giving pleasure. You will pass through this world but once. Any good thing, therefore, that you can do, or any kindness that you can show to any human being, you had better do it now; do not defer or neglect it. for you will not pass this way- again. 4 4- 4* He Thought She Would Come Back. A young man who looked as if he might be twenty-five years old was sitting in the waiting-room of the Dunedin railway station. On his knee

was a year old baby. Presently the baby began to cry, and the awkwardness and helplessness of the young man were so marked as to attract general attention. At this point a waiting passenger, a fat and amiable looking man, crossed the room and said to the. distressed baby-tender: “A young woman gave y-ou that, baby to hold while she went to see about her baggage, didn’t she?” “Yes.” “You expect her back, I suppose?” “Of course.” “Ha, ha! Excuse me, but I can't help laughing. A woman once play-ed the same trick on me. You’re caught, young man. She took you for a hayseed.” “Oh, she’ll come hack,” answered the young man as he looked anxiously around. “She will, eh? Ha, ha, ha! What makes you think so?” “Why, because she’s my wife, and this is our first baby.” “Oh —tint—l see!” muttered the fat man, and he was in such haste to get back to the other side of the room that he nearly fell over a passing pug dog.

Craze for Stamps. “A Surely the craze for foreign stamp collecting cannot be responsible for the tragedy hinted in the following advertisement; — “Matthews. — Dear Willie, do come home. All forgiven. Wire. I will come. Can go into stamp business.—Loving Father.” One has heard, of course, to what depths the ordinary collector will descend—but this! 4 4 4 Her Age. 1 “And what is your age. madam?” was the lawyer's question. “My own,” she answered promptly. “I understand that, madam, but how old are you?” “I am not old, sir,” with indignation. “I beg your pardon, madam. I mean, How many years have you passed?” “None; the years have passed me.” “How many of them have passed you?” “All. I never heard of them stopping.” “Madam, you must answer my question. I w.ant to know your age.” “I don't know that the acquaintance is desired by the other side.” “I don’t see why you insist upon refusing to answer my question,” said the lawyer, coaxingly. “I am sure I would tell how old I was, if I were asked.” “Bui nobody would ask you, for everybody knows you are old enough

to know better than to be asking a woman her age. so there.” And the lawyer passed on to the next question. . : iS y 4 4 4 .What’s in a Name 7 What's in a name? A great deal in the case of the Dow-ager-Empress of China. It is as follows: yu-kang-i-ehao-yu-chuang-cheng-shou-kung-chin-hsien-chung-hsi. After that, it is not to be wondered at that she despises the representatives of the Powers who bore such simple cognomens as.Pichon, Joosetens, MacDonald or Conger! 4 44 A Carving Story. We sat down to dinner in the wayback pub., and the landlady placed on the table a roast “poult” of some kind. The energetic little man opposite offered himself as carver and was accepted. He made a slash at the leg first, but, to our dismay, the edge of the knife turned and slid off that leg as a piece of tin would off the leg of a chair.- The carver paused in astonishment for a second, then hitched his shoulders, and made a jab at the breast. Same result. “Might I ask, ma’am,” he said turning- to the hostess,

“what this is?” “Why, it's a black duck; my son shot it yesterday down at the river.” “Shot it,” echoed the little man in surprise; “might I ask what with?” “With a gun, of course,” snapped the landlady. “Well, well; it's wonderful,” the carver returned, in a musing tone, “I should have thought he shot it with a thunderbolt. Your son must have a very powerful pom-pom, madam." And he sadly- relinquished the instruments. 4 4 4 Character in Hats. Show me how a man wears his hat and I will tell you what manner of man he is. Notice yourself how he wears his headgear and you ean make a fair estimate of his character. Select the man whose hat seems to have been

made for him, and which he has set squarely- upon his head as if it were designed to do sb, with never a tilt to the left or right, fore or aft. He is a methodical and comfortable man, with a rare endowment of common sense. He is not given to flights of fancy. He obeys the injunction of the homely philosopher, who advised all mankind to keep his feet on the ground. Men whose hats are always too large for them are of reflective habits. They- are careless of externals and given to intrlospection. They- are philosophical and likely to fall into fits of preoccupation. They are apt to ignore mere details. Conspicuously of this class was Mr Gladstone, whose hat brims always showed a disposition to reach his ears. Men whose hats are always too small are vain and finical. The man who wears his hat down over his eyes may not be a. “crook,” but he is undoubtedly a “schemer.” He excels in strategy, whether he uses his gifts in an army campaign or in a coup on Wall-street. He is not

cheerful, in fact is given to gloomy meditation. Much more does the man who habitually wears his hat pushed off his forehead enjoy the confidence of his fellow-men. The man who wears his hat pushed off his forehead is essentially frank. He is admired by those who do not agree with any of his views for his straightforwardness. If nature has not gifted him with a singing voice he whistles. The man who places his hat on one side is independent, self-assertive, lie is in danger of becoming vicious. He is a “sport" by nature if ntot by practice.

Qualified for the Part. “And now, sir.” said the venerable Doctor of Divinity, after administering an arm-aching hiding to one of his hopefuls, "what do you think of yourself? Such a disgrace to your school and country. Whatever do you intend to do for the future?” “Please, sir,” quoth the youth, “what with the stripes you’ve given me and the stars you’ve made me see, I think I’ll turn Yank.”

The Wrong Bride. A very tremendous recent Sydney wedding led to an unfortunate adventure which befell a young man from Melbourne, travelling for pleasure with the missus and the kid. It was announced that the principals of the magnificent marriage hereinbefore alluded to were going honeymooning in a certain picturesque locality not far distant from the metropolis, but this announcement was merely a “blind” to preserve the fond, but shrinking couple from the offensive curiosity of the vulgar. The bride and groom took another direction altogether, but fate carried the travelling Victorian with his missus and his kid to the salubrious township mentioned in the papers, and to the man’s surprise he found the station platform packed with a sympathetic crowd. When he stepped from the carriage his surprise heightened to amazement, for the sympathetic populace howled joyously at the sight of him and threw up its hat and cheered till it went purple in the face. But when that bewildered stranger handed his wife on to the platform the delighted population cheered more furiously still, and discharged about two and a half cwt of rice down the backs lof the distracted couple. The young man arose to protest, but when he opened his mouth to speak the populace heaved pounds of rice into it and howled like a delighted insane asylum, so the man grabbed his baby from under a rug and turned and fled. At the sight lof the infant an Arctic coldness and an awful calm fell upon the populace, and as the couple broke from the station the engine whistled a long, low, insinuating whistle. # Men. in Colonial Life. We have all our pet dislikes, and Miss Beatrice Harraden’s, according to an article in the “Humanitarian,” is sweeping carpets. Says the author of “Ships that, pass in the night”: — “I have, done many kinds of work when on a ranch, even to making a fence and saddling tlie horses, but I draw the line at earpet-sweeping-, and always make a man do that. I think men are. perfection in Colonial life. They do not spend their time in saying whether a woman should do this or that; they are grateful to have Tier help on the farm or in business affairs, and in return are not above assisting her with the household burdens.” 4? w •$> Women and Drink. There are some startling statements on the subject of women and, drink in the annual- report of the London City Mission. One missionary. writes:—“l have seen young women between 14 and 20 years of age dead drunk, some lying in the gutter, while others are led home by their companions, bawling out a popular public house or music hall ditty, These girls are not of the coster type, as might be expected, but girls of respectable appearance.” Another writes:—“Monday in my district is called ‘Saint Monday,’ because the laundry women have a. holiday and spend the day in public houses, and the scenes at night in the streets are revolting.” A third writes:—“One has only to keep his eyes opjen and he will find that many women are fast becoming complete. wrecks.” A’ fourth reports:—“The number of

charges against women is Inereasiaig enormously at our Police Court In this district.” These four testimonials are from all quarters of the. world’s metropolis—north, south, east, and west.