Personalities.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 359, 26 March 1903, Page 7

Personalities.

A STOEY OP AUBELEIN SOHOLL. | gtP% STOEY of poor Aurelein Scholl, £jM|«) who has just joined the majority, gives a good idea of the caustic humour which made him an oddity among French, writers. At a celebrated cafe—not, I think, the Maison Doree, though he wae at one time a great supporter of M Verdier's alas I moribund establishment—he was offered a Burgundy, which was praised by the host as ' true velvet,' but had in fact become a little sharp with age. ' Yes' said Scholl, after tasting it, ' velvet, but with pins in it!' Soon after came a Bordeaux, said en the same authority to be 'the moat generous wine in his cellar.' 'lt is,' was this time the verdict, ' for it has given away all its good qualities I' HIS WHITE UMBEELLa. Aubrey de Vere, the aged English poet who died recently, cared little about his appearance, and even when called upon to act as 'best man' at a wedding saw no reason for discarding his shabby tweed suit and white cotton umbrella and on one occasion electrified London bj appearing in Hyde Park in Miry Anderson's carriage, at the time when she was at the zenith of her popularity, calmly holding up this dilapidated machine, the sides of which were ornamented with long ragged slits.

• LIVED IN HIS WIFE’S TOMB, For nine years - an aged New Yorker has lived in his wife’s tomb in the Evergreen Cemstery. Devotion to her memory has robbed the once powerful man of all his physical strength and his vitality, sapped by years of bitter exposure, is ebbing away. He has always had a melancholy pleasure in sitting in the tomb by the side of his dead wife, and has found his only happiness there, for he does not believe he will meet her in another world. Though he lives in the tomb he does not sleep there. Ho leaves the cemetery every night and goes to a little room in a house in Williams! urg. Early in the morning ho creeps out of his bed and goes to the cemetery. * Good morning, Mary,’ he always says to his wife when he enters the tomb, just as if her deaf ears could hear his voice through the thick walla of her metal coffin. A STOSY OP THE KING. King Edward, at that time Prince of Wales, was, one day taking a walk in St. James’ Park before breakfast, when he found himself being followed by a welldressed but crazy-looking woman. Having seen the woman before, and probably guessing what her object was, the Prince resolved to take no notice o£ her, but continued his walk until obliged to turn homewards. The old woman immediately stood be-' fore him and curtseyed. The Prince raised his hat and tried to pass on. ‘ I have a grievance, your Eoyal Highness,’ began the stranger, producing from her handbag a roll of closely written parchment. * Ach, madam, these is not ze first time I haf been taken vor ze Prince of Vales 1* was the reply, in a gruff voice, and with a strong German accent. After a glance of deepest scorn upon him, the old lady put away her documents, remarking : ' I have the honour to have known all the members of the Eoyal Family, and, if my eyesight were not becoming defective nowadays, I should not have made such an astounding error.’ FRENCH ANGLOPHOBIA. The cult of Jeanne d’Asc, the heroic maid of Domremy, is deep-rooted in the hearts of the French people, and more especially in the hearts of its moat strongly feeling section—the women and the young. llt is closely bound up with their religious conceptions. By some unconscious association of ideas it is connected with’.spint worship; even with the service of the Blessed Virgin fctrself. No part of Michelet’s history of France is anything like so popular as the rhapsodical account of the Maid of Orleans, Poetry, art and the church have combined to foster this burning love, and admira-, tion for Jeanne d’Arc. She is at the same time the personification of France and of the noblest qualities of mankind, says the ‘National Eeview.’ She represents national feeling, beauty, virtue and heroism ; and it was England’s devilish hand that destroyed this embodiment of perfection. Such an act is, in a way, looked upon as murder of the Deity, and the feeling against England, awakened by the remembrance of the stake at Rouen, is of the same nature as that aroused in the breast of a fanatical Christian against the Jews by the thought of Christ’s crucifixion. French Anglophobia is like anti-Semitism. It is an unreasoning instinct. It is a precipitate of history, of legendary lore, of religious, aesthetic, and patriotic emotions.

SHE XUENS THEIE HEADS. Tne divine Sarah has turned the heads of several admirers lately. In some cases a mild form of madness has been the reault; in others acute insanity has set in, and straight waistcoats have been required. One of the racffensive maniacs whom Mme. Sarah Bernhardt has quite unwittingly driven to distraction is a railway guard in the south of France, who for some time past has written ef£ üßive and adoring letters to ber every day, says the* London Telegraph.' The peculiarity of these missives is that in almost every one he expresses to her his heartfelt gratitude for 'her hut dear letter.' From this it would appear that, some Theodore Hook among the guard's acquaintances corresponds with him under the name of the ectress. Among the dangerous lunatics who have lost their reason out of love and admiration for Mme. Sarah Bernhardt is a very old man, also living in the impassioned south. At regular intervals he becomes violent, swears that he will brain whoever dares prevent him from going to meet the lady whom he adores, and has to be put under restraint

On more than one occasion Mme. Sarah Bernhardt has run considerable risk by coming into contact with her demented admirers. In a church, not long ago, one of these maniacs, a woman this time, suddenly prostrated herself at the feet of the surprised actress, and, weeping passionately, kissed the hem of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt's dress with fervent devotion.

LORD RUSSELL OP KILLOWEN. A cautious American travelling from Paris to Nice found a stranger in the compartment in which he had secured a berth. ' Are you Mr. James ?' asked the stranger. The American in surprise, answered in. the affirmative. ' Ah !' said the stranger. ' I inquired at the bookingoffice who was to be my travelling companion.' The American realised that this was no ordinary man, and soon found himself almost hypnotised by the stranger's commanding eye. When the man proposed cards, the American susected that he was a professional gambler, e made many excases, finally saying that he cared for none of the games which

hw companion suggested. «All tight,' r£ 8 » hereplyj ' we ' n ? lfty "Wtfoirig you like.' When the American mentioned an obscure French game, which he hoped the other would not and found his suggestion taken up tagerly, he was more than ever suspicious. 'But/ asked the Americas, 'do you know how to play it?' i' No,' ,t«s the reply,«but you can teach me.' The American new had little doubt that the man was a card-sharper looking for a viotim, but aB no suggestion of high stakes was made he decided to venture, and after some hours' play had remarked nothing in the behaviour of his Cellowpasßenger that suggested cheating. But, when the next morning his companion suggested that they should play again to while away the time, the American once more grew suspicious and pleaded a headache. When they entered the station at Nice the man handed ths American his card. It bore the name of Lord Russell of Killowen, Chief Justice of England!