The Press. SATURDAY, JANUARY 31. 1914. CANTERBURY OR LONDON?

Press, Volume L, Issue 14889, 31 January 1914, Page 10

The Press. SATURDAY, JANUARY 31. 1914. CANTERBURY OR LONDON?

Tho clash between tho attractions of life in New Zealand and of life in London is a fairly old theme, old, that is, in tho New Zealand sense. Mr W. P. Reeves dealt with the subject in ono of his best-known poems, using as his mouthpiece an early colonist who had taken root in the new land, and was content to resist the appeal of a friend who bade him return "to Eng- '" land, life and art." Now Professor Wall gives us, in a poem in the "United Empire," the feelings of a man who, while revelling in the out-of-door life of sunny spaces, hears the call of his native London. While Mr Reeves' 6 verses are on a serious level throughout, Professor Wall is humorous and whimsical, but there is no doubt that tho memory of his "lost " London" touches his heart. ' What has London to offer a New Zealander that ho cannot get here? We'fear too many New -Zealandcrs would reply that it had little or nothing. Thero is Sir Joseph Ward for authority that we have everything that the Old Country has, except age. Yet it is not difficult to make a list of what London has to offer to the man of imagination and taste. Age, of course, would be a prominent item, but a curious feature of Professor Wall's verses is that ago is scarcely mentioned. He does not dwell on tho storied past of London, the monuments and historical associations that would appeal so strongly to tho educated and imaginative young New Zealander on seeing London for tho first time. These, of course, appeal to him, but it is the life of London as ho knew it years ago that he writes about—the London policeman, the old 'buses, "chance lodging- " places," the music-halls, the flare of tho town's lights seen from the suburbs, the groping from lamp-post to lamp-post in a fog, tho cockney wit— these and countless other memories of little tilings which tug at the heartstrings of the exile., bo ho a university professor or Private Ortheris sick amid the sweltering heat of India for the sights and smells of his native city. In his younger days, Professor Wall tells us, be found nothing in London to praise. . Its beauty escaped him, So that I grew to hate my daily task, Thinking her face a'stony evil mask, and he littlo thou_ht when he oame out to this new land that I should ever yearn, Or that my tough colonial heart should turn To London; to tho sour, revengeful town, Whoso smoke, -whooe smells and vapours all hor own, ' Drove mc, a -willing exile, from her arms, Blind to her subtle glories and her charms. But the yearning has come,. and as he aits in the sun on a stone by a snow-fed stream, there wakes in him Lore-longing for the pavement of the Strand. But he puts his reverie by with. a resolve to make the best of the very good that he has about him. "Hast thou not here thy bellyful of sun, Unpeopled uplands, open to the wind, Breezy and bracing to tho faded mind? Is he not enviable who exchanges London's drab streets foT these our shining ranges. , -. . London's ravines of scowling smoke-stained stone, • For these deep mountain-gorges green and lone?. On," then,, with rod and creel, a a courage stout, Perchance this next rough ripple ho.ds a trout." Professor Wall is doing what most wise men do frequently. They look hack to tho past with wistful regret; and* then brace themselves with a. determination to make the best of what lies to their hand. Tho glamour of London that appeals to him i» tho glamour of some years ago. How much of it would he miss if he visited the new I/ondon of to-day? We should like to see a sequel to theso verses, written after a year's sojourn in the great city: would all tha delight* of London, thc common things and tbe higher things—the appeal of age, association, intellect and the art®—be less than the memorie. of our "larger- air "and kindlier face of youth?" If this were the age of Rome or Greece, we should say that they would not, that indeed any man. of Professor's Wall's tastes would choose without hesitation the life of London. But our age is remarkable for the appeal which the* wild and the remote often make to men of urban origin, and tastes that can only bo fully indulged in cities. To the 1 cultivated man permanent separation from city life used to mean imprisonment. And when he went into the . country, it was to a comfortable man- , sion, where he was never far away i from tho comforts of life. The love of I educated men for the open, for remote river and mountain, is, speaking generally, a modern development. In j ancient times mountains were dark and ! gloomy places, peopled by barbarians and evil spirits, to bo shunned by civilised men. Now we not only lift our eyes to tho hills, whence oometh our aid, but we go there for rest and stimulation of mind and spirit. While the countryman wants to get to the town, the townsman is drawn to the open spaces and solitudes. Is it a sign of a higher civilisation, .a deeper spirituality, • or is it only the natural reaction- against tho hustle and attrition of town life? But however the town may tire and disgust us, its appeal is carried over the plains and hills to the remotest resort of the.seeker after sun and wind and solitude. It is significant that Mr. £.

V. Lucas puts at the end of that de- | lightful anthology "The Open Road," Lamb's famous passage about the delights of London: —"Let " them talk of lakes and moun- " tains and romantic dales—all that ' fantastic stuff; give mo a ramble by "night, in tho winter nights in Lon"don —tho lamp lit, the pavements of "tho motley Strand crowded with to " and fro passengers—the shops all "brilliant, and stuffed with obliging '' customers and obliged trades- " men—give mo the old book- * stalls of London —a. walk in the "bright Piazzas of Covent Garden." Professor Wall knows that the call of the open is very far from being "fan- " tastic stuff," but we imagine that to him and many others who live full and happy lives on this "remotest 6trand," this passage recurs often and calls up regrets that not even the patriotic assurances of Sir Joseph Ward can 6tifle.