After Dinner Gossip and Echoes of the Week.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue VI, 8 August 1903, Page 375

After Dinner Gossip and Echoes of the Week.

Inter-Church Courtesies. Few of those outside the faith of the Roman Church who accepted the courteous invitation of the Roman Catholic Bishop of Auckland issued to the clergy of other denominations, the Consuls, and representative citizens to be present last week at the solemn dirge occasioned by the death of Pope Leo XIU., will forget that impressive and beautiful ceremonial. It was indicative of the deep admiration in which men of all shades of religious opinion held the late Pontiif, that the gathering of strangers—if one may so call those belonging to other churches—was very large, and included several of the Anglican and Monconformist clergy. Courtesies such as this between the representatives of various branches of the great Christian faith cannot fail to do good, for while completely unprejudicial to the strong convictions and differences of sect, they emphasise the fact that however divergent may be the route by which the churches and their people chose to travel, the goal is the same —the honour of God and service of mankind—and they also show how all can unite in the recognition of great and good men to whatever faith they belong, and however strongly personal convictions may be opposed to that faith. The funeral panegyric delivered by the Rev. lather Hackett was one of the most masterly and impassioned orations ever heard in Auckland, and created a most profound impression not merely on those of his own faith, but on the minds of visitors. The sermon was also remarkable for the astonishingly free confession of the political power of Rome and the expounding of the means by which that power was achieved, and could and would in time make itself felt. The preacher seemed once or twice to pull himself up, as if trenching too nearly on politics, but the earnestness of his desires for his Church and for her influence amongst the great nations of the earth were startingly obvious, and will, I imagine, rouse considerable discussion and thought in several quarters.

Juries of Women.

There is not, I take it, any immediate probability that the Bill introduced by Mr McNab providing for the trial of women accused of criminal offences before a jury of women, will become law. But the bringing in of such a proposition naturally raises the inevitable question as to whether the proposed innovation would result beneficially to the cause of justice or no, and, further, whether the majority of accused would prefer to be judged by a jury of their own sex after all. If the female jury were to be einpannelled from that section of their sex which prefers the platform to the parlour, and, a la Mrs Dellaby, find interest in everything save domestic affairs, it is probable the number of acquittals in criminal eases against females would be largely increased. But, of course, this would not be the case, and, take it all round, the judgment of woman on woman is more severe and less tolerant than that of man on woman. It is, one presumes, the theory of the member who proposes the change from the present jury system, that a jury of women would be likely to bring a fuller understanding of the circumstances and motives for any alleged crime on the part of a woman than can one composed entirely of men. This may be so, but would they be so free from prejudice and so unbiassed by the accident of sex as is perhaps the more dull and unimaginative male? Would not emotion play a dangerous part with many, and would women be so well able to withstand rhetoric ns opposed to reason as the rougher-minded and more

phlegmatic jury man? Not that one does not recognise that men are also moved by sentiment and oratory, but would not the tendency be greater with women? One looks forward with considerable interest to the debate on the question. Some interesting opinions ought to be forthcoming on both sides of the House. It may be mentioned, by the way, that the parent of the measure, Mr McNab, is a bachelor.

A Witty Politician

What a truly delightful thing it is to be represented in Parliament by a man of such mental and intellectual attainments and exuberant ideas as Mr Wi'theford. The electors of Auckland must feel proud—justly proud—of the recent speeches of their senior member. What wit, what point, what downright commonsense, and what practicability. Take, for instance, that conundrum concerning the difference between the Minister of Public Works and a donkey. What a superlative stroke of humour could any other single member have evolved so excrutiatingly funny a personality, or one in better taste? Why, there was not even one who could answer it—or even attempted the task. It was left to Mr Witheford himself to give the reply. “Because he (the Minister) is a better swimmer.” How truly exquisite! What delicate wit, what a depth of hidden meaning. Was ever better jibe uttered in any Legislature? And mark, too, how subtly the true inwardness and meaning of the reply is concealed from the eye of the vulgar. Why, had not the author been Mr Witheford one might have thought it stupid and meaningless enough. But do we not know that the truest art is that which conceals art; and if this be so, Mr Witheford’s conundrum is surely a masterpiece. You have not yet seen the point. Well, as a matter of fact, no more have I; but it must be there all right, so do as I do —keep on looking for it. It’s bound to be worth the trouble when one does discover it. Then, again, that luminous suggestion that the America Cup might be sailed for at the Auckland Regatta; and the other proposition that Mahuta should be installed at Admiralty House. Why. there is something like satisfaction in paying a legislator who can come before the House with matters of such weight. What is £3OO a year for genius which can see how far wiser it is to take up the time of the House with matters and suggestions of such value and moment, rather than the sordid and unimportant affairs such as the Main Trunk railway and the general advancement of the colony at large? Assuredly we should he grateful that the New Zealand Parliament is graced by men of such calibre and attainments, and Auckland electors should consider how best to recognise the gifts of their senior member when next he appears before them.

The Borderland

“At the close of the service Mr. So and So will describe the spirit friends of the audience.” It was probably this unconventional foot-note to an advertisement announcing a spiritualistic gathering that led me one Sunday night to seek out a little meeting house up Pitt street, and form one of a small but reverent audience or congregation, some of whom were attracted, like myself, out of curiosity. You could tell that by the diffident way they came. They had the same air that marks a dissenter when he or she goes to St. Patrick’s Cathedral on the first Sunday in the month to sec the procession and hear glorious music. It was my lot to live in a small town once, where the believers in spiritualism were

numerous, and many and wierd (to you and me, reader, who probably don’t believe in thia religion or \ hatever we should call it) were the tales 1 have heard recounted by devotees. That was why I read Dale Owen (or is it Owen Dale), the great authority upon “borderland mysteries.” I was disappointed. His chapters on the aims and objects of spiritualism—his prospectus, as it were—were remarkable for their breadth of mind and nobility of purpose, but when it came to proving his case —that the spirits of the departed can and do hold converse with us of this world, through mediums—it seemed to me that the bathos was too great to allow the two things, the premises and the proofs to hang together. The premises were grand—the proofs were trivial. His “spooks” wasted their time opening locked doors, hiding pieces of sugar in barrels, and making roses out of cabbages, when you would have thought they would have sent some message, some word of guidance to those mortals who are trying, clumsily, it is true, but at the same time earnestly, to pierce the veil of futurity. At the same time I neither believe nor disbelieve in spiritualism, and am quite seized of the truth of the remarks that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. To return, however, to Pitt street. We had some music to start with, a hymn, and a prayer, and then an address, which was delivered by the speaker with closed eyes and gas turned low. Then more music and hymns. After some announcements had been made the person who had given the address stepped forward, and with only a few words of preface, in which he asked for attention and sympathy, he launched forth into language which some people would regard as very uncanny. Running his eye over the audience he would deliver himself somewhat after this effect: “That gentleman at the back.” (Here several leaned unconsciously forward.) “No, not you. That gentleman in the light suit by the window. Yes, thank you. Standing by you, sir, I see an old lady who has a look of what we might call benevolence. Her white hair is drawn back from the forehead, so —(indicating what he means on his own head). She is leaning over you in a loving attitude, and is gazing fixedly at you. She gives me the name of—(here a long pause, in the attitude of listening) Mary for your friend.” This was the substance mutatis mutandis of some dozen or more descriptions. In only one case was a surname given—once where he told a man the name “Munro” was written (spiritually) over his head. In some cases he described what the spirits were supposed to have died from. It was decidedly uncanny,because it was all done so seriously, and some of the audience were so visibly waiting to hear news of friends, who, though they had gone, were still loved. To a person like myself it was very unconvincing. You knew no one, and the lecturer might have been talking the veriest nonsense for aught you could tell. Only once did he ask if his descriptions were recognised. True, he then received the answer “Yes.” If, however, these spirits who looked with longing eyes at those they had left behind them, could give this man a “name,” they could surely give him something more satisfying—something that would, have been as balm to suffering hearts. There was one in the audience for whom I felt truly sorry. She was a dear little old lady with white hair, and pathetic eyes, which seemed to be looking for something all through the service. She was quite pear me, and I could almost feel the thrill of expectancy that came to her face when the lecturer began his descriptions. She never took her eyes from his face and tried hard to arrest his gaze when it wandered over the audience. He came to the end without noticing the piteous appeal, and the little old lady leant back with a sad sigh, that drew one’s fullest sympathy. I suppose thte argument used in toleration of these spiritualistic seances is that if they do no good they do no harm, but this one feels inclined to doubt. They rouse emotions to no purpose, and are in many instances morbid and unwholesome, and they never have and never probably will be free from a suspicion of humbug and deception.

When “Mediums” Disagree.

Apropos of the above, one of Mr W. T. Stead’s lady mediums is claimed to have foretold in March that King Alexander of Servin would bo assassinated.

The fact came out on June 11. after the event had taken place. According to Mr Stead he gave a dinner to a select company at Gatti’s, in the Strand. The mediums present were Mrs Burchell, Mrs Brenchley, and Mrs Max. Seances were held before and after. Said Mr Stead:

“I am not quite clear which medium it was that foretold the King’s deatn. In the course of the seance she was handed a jewel which at one time belonged to King Alexander, and a letter which had been written by the King. She was not aware to whom they belonged or where they came from. She took them in her hands, and. after holding them for a time she said, ‘These belong to Royalty.’ She then became very excited. *1 see,’ she said, ‘the interior of a palace. The King is being killed. The Queen is beside him. She has fallen on her knees, and is crying to them to save her. I can’t see whether the Queen has been killed, but the King is dead. Terrible, terrible!’” This, says a writer in the “Australasian.” commenting on this, of course, is not what Mr Stead wrote down at the time, but what he remembers after he has read all about the assassination, which has taken place. Now. when it is premised that the Servian Minister was present at the seance held before dinner; that he left behind him (not being able to stay himself) the prepared sealed letter: that, in March, the air was filled with rumours of conspiracies in Servia, and assassination was a thing that had already happened twice to Servian monarchs, there was nothing remarkable in the medium venturing the prophecy she did. It is the business of mediums to provide sensations when distingtaished persons come to be astonished. What is noticeable is the uncertainty of Mr Stead about important details. The uncertainty does not invalidate his testimony; it merely shows that he must hear so many prophecies which do not come off that even when a specially sensational one is announced it makes only a faint impression on his memory. But the real point is yet to come. After the prophecy had been fulfilled, Mrs Burchell and Mrs Brenchley each publicly claimed to be the medium who uttered it. Thov contradicted each other flatly, so, as Mr Justice Bring, of Sydney, would say, one or other must, be committing perjury, and Mr Stood, who was present, cannot say which. This further remark may be mode. If. is always said that when mediums go off

into trances they lose ordinary consciousness, and have not the least idea what they are. saying: and afterwards, thov do not know, till they have been told, what they have revealed. Tn the present case, both ladies, long after the eventful evening, supply vivid and “convincing” details as to the visions they saw. not perceiving how by doing so. and how also by giving each other the lie. they are co-operating to bring discredit on the “profession” they belong to. Lift Accidents. Lift fatalities are so common that the elevator rises to almost the dignity of an epidemic in the yearly returns. To be sure influenza and typhoid are still leading, but lifts become more numerous every month, and if the authorities do not insist upon a little more care in the guarding and management of them influenza may have to take second place The average city dweller has a fine contempt for the stranger from the bush, to whom the lift is a wonder and a mystery; but the latter’s life is worth preserving, and it would be advisable to catechise all country visitors at big hotels where lifts are employed, and if they show themselves ignorant of the ways of elevators to give them a practical demonstration of the working of lifts, and warn them carefully of the whereabouts of wells. A visitor at a Melbourne coffee palace, after nearly going down the lift-well the other day, went to the manager in a raging frame of mind, declaring that u parcel of his which he had left in a certain room was gone. “Have you looked the room over carefully?” asked the manager. “Looked the room over!” cried the visitor. “Hang it all, man, the room’s gone too!” Of course he had left his parcel in the lift. Another visitor at the same institution, a miner, was seen out in the street, trying to get a view of the roof. “I can understand how they work the cage In there,” he said, “but I can’t make out where they’ve put the bloke with the windlass.”