Anecdotes and Sketches

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 25, 22 June 1907, Page 31

Anecdotes and Sketches

“Q.” Mr. A. T. Quiller-Couch is a Cornishman who dearly loves his native soil. In spite of the adventurous character of most of his novels, he is a firm believer in the simple life, and in the picturesque village of Fowey he lives and works oblivious to the rush and turmoil of the cities. After leaving Oxford, where he earned a certain amount of fame as a versifier, Mr. Quil-ler-Couch came to London, determined to devote himself to a literary career in the metropolis. But after a few years the fogs and smoke began to get unbearable, and he returned to his beloved Cornwall, where he has remained ever since. The story of how he wrote his first novel—the novel that at once made bis name—is extremely interesting. One day he went for a picnic on the beach with some friends, and the party came upon a curious rock marked with red streaks somewhat resembling bloodstains. “A story should be written about this rock,” remarked one of tile ladies, and that sentence was the stepping-stone to ‘‘Dead Man’s Rock.” When tlie work was completed its author was somewhat bashful of publishing it, but he was at last prevailed upon to do so under a »om de plume, and soon everyone was asking who could be the mysterious “Q.” Mr. Quiller-Couch is a deep reader, and is much interested in polities. Apart from his literary work, however, his pet hobby is yachting, and in sailing around the beautiful coast of which he is so proud he enjoys some of his happiest hours. ♦ ♦ ♦ FROM PRIEMIER TO PRISON GOVERNOR. • Mr. Basil Home Thomson, who has just been appointed Governor of Wormwood Scrubs Prison in succession to Mr. Harry Gibson, has enjoyed a most diversified career. He is a son of the Archbishop Thomson of York, who used to lay such insistence upon the correct spelling of his name. Folk would so persist in spelling the name with a “p” that when the reverend gentleman was appointed to the archbishopric he appreciated the advantage of being able to drop his surname as much as the great honour accorded to him. “One is to a large extent mercifully delivered by being an archbisliop,” he used to say. His son, who is not so hypersensitive, was educated at Oxford, and after graduating held several appointments in the South Pacific Islands. He accompanied the High Commissioner, the late Sir John Thurston, from Fiji to ■Tonga, of which tropical fastness he became Prime Minister. “I heard the ■High Commissioner’s announcement with rather mixed feelings,” he wrote in his interesting book, “The Diversions of a Prime Minister.” “To be at the age of twenty-nine elder brother to a monarch of over ninety does not fall to the lot of many, and new adventures are always worth undertaking.” While in Tonga Mr. Thomson had many exciting experiences, and he still laughs when, in a retrospective mood, he thinks of the public accounts of the island. One item of £45 16s. fid., which was particularly startling, was entered under the thrilling heading of “Assassination,” .which proved, on inquiry, to be the Charge for repairing a state carriage after an ex-missionary who was riding in it had been shot at. After four •years Mr. Thomson spent some time as Deputy-Governor of Dartmoor and Governor of Northamptonshire Prisons. Then he was sent once more to the South Pacific, so that he might make the' 'Anglo-German Convention clear to the natives, a task he accomplished with great success. On his return he was the bearer of costly presents to Queen Victoria, including relics of Captain Cook, from the rulers of the South Pacific.

Mr. Thomson, who has been Governor of Cardiff Gaol, is the author of “A Court Intrigue,” “South Sea Yarns,” “Savage Island,” “Discovery of the Solomon Islands,” and “Diversions of a Prime Minister.” ♦ ♦ ♦ PROBABLY ( ATCHING. A young matron upon entering her nursery, found her youngest in tears. “Why, what’s the matter with Harry?” she asked the nurse. ‘'He's mad, mum,” explained Nurse, because 1 wouldn’t let him go to the Simmonses’ acrost the strate.” “And why wouldn’t you let him go, Norah ?” “Because, mum, they’re havin’ charades so he said, an' I wasn't sure whether he’d had thim or not.”—“Harper’s Weekly,” A MIXED VOCALIST. A certain member of the village choir was the possessor of a powerful voice of great range, and to give to it full scope he would often sing tenor, bass, and alto in the same hymn—sometimes in the same verse. This annoyed the congregation to such an extent that the “ meenister ” felt a word of correction was necessary, and on meeting the culprit addressed him: “ Look ye here, Rory McSwan, aboot y’re singing. If y’re gaun ta sing tenor, sing tenor; or, if y’re gaun tar sing .bass, sing bass—but let’s hae na inair o' y’re shandygaff.” HE FIXED THEM. The. mayor of a baekrblocks toivn tells this story: Among my constituents is a German butcher, an honest, square old fellow, but with all the stubbornness of his kind. One day he came to me very much excited and highly indignant. “You should shtop id! ” he sputtered. “ Righdt avay! I don't like id, und 1 don’d shtand id no longer, yet! ” “ What’s wrongj ’’ I asked. He brought his fist down on the desk. “You know.vere I liff? Yess? Righd along side dot United States (United Brethren) shurch; yess! und dot pell rings! Early in der morning dot tarn pell rings righd ven I vants to schleep yet. I been up late der night perfore mit mine pusiness und in der morning early I vant to schleep und dot tarn pell rings und vakes me up mit mine eyes open and 1 don’d schleep no more! You do someding! Yess?” I explained to him that I could do nothing in the matter, and suggested he attend the offending church himself. He gave an angry snort. “ You don’d make ’em shtop? You don’d do nodding for me?” he demanded, seizing h's hat. “ Den I do someding myselluf! I fix ’em! ” I warned him to be careful, but he went out, shaking his head and reiterating his threat to “ fix ’em.” Some time later I happened to meet the old fellow, and was beckoned mysteriously to his side. “Did you hear apoud id?” he inquired. I had not heard about it, and said so. “ Dot shurch,” he said, “undt dot tam pell. I fixed ’em! Ach! my! I fixed ’em J Dey don’d bodder me no more yet! ” “And what did you do? ”1 asked, fearful lest the foolish old fellow had made trouble for himself. Making a trumpet of his hands, and standing on tiptoe to reach my ear, he answered, in a loud, exultant whisper, “I mooted! ”