HAPPENINGS IN THE CAPITAL.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1767, 7 June 1906, Page 3

HAPPENINGS IN THE CAPITAL.

THE MAN OF THE WEEK,

(By Penelope.)

Wellington

Assuredly Mr Lemare -who has been drawing such magical music from our organ—is still the most prominent figure in Wellington, and his sturdy form and pleasant face is becoming quite familiar. For diversion he plays billiards, and much admires the skill of one of our Wellington men, Mr Owen, at that game The great organist even attended Sinbad the Sailor, and enjoyed its frivolities immensely. Our City Council, who givo Mr Lemare- £SO for each recital, are reaping a golden harvest, for, though the weather has been bad, Mr Lemare declared one evening that had he been an audience he would not have faced the storm. The Town Hall has been crowded, and there is intense enthusiasm evinced over his music. A n amusing incident took place this week at one of the recitals. A party were given, by some absurd mistake, the programmes for the preceding concert. None of them were particularly musical, but even they found inconsistencies between the printed descriptions, and the pieces Mr Lemare played. How- | ever, they ascribed that to their lack of knowledge. When the Hallelujah Chorus crashed out and brought the vast audience to its feet, they rose too, mechanically. Turning hurriedly to their programmes, they found it purported to be a sonata by Liszt.. “ What are we getting up for ?” whispered a girl to the man next her. “ Don’t know,” said the man, “ I expect the composer’s dead.” On Friday afternoon six hundred children formed part of Mr Lemare's | audience, and listened with rapt attention, although the programme was a fairly classical 'One, and included nothing the boys could whistle afterwards. On Monday evening the musicians of Wellington, for once at least a happy united baud, give Mr Lemare a dinner. By the way, Christchurch, Timaru, Dunedin, and Invercargill are likely to have an opportunity of hearing him, for he has been able to get an extra week in New Zea,and.

THE PANTOMIME.

Sinbad the Sailor is a series of the most wonderful effects sandwiched with a number of music-hall “ turns ” that have nothing to do with the plot if the tangled thread of story that winds through the play can be dignified by that title. • But Fred Graham is intensely funny as the old mother with somewhat fiirtatious tendencies and the most wonderful of costumes and coiffures. Extraordinarily clever, he is so ready that no one quite knows what fresh absurdity he is go* ing to do or say. After one of his songs he comes back in answer to an encore, with a bouquet behind him, and throws it over his head towards the footlights. Suddenly he pretends to see it with delight, takes it up, smiles gratefully, and is going out with it when he notices a billet-doux in the centre rose. Pulling it out, he reads it, and one can almost guess the contents by the expressions that flit across his face. Then counts from one 1 end of the circle, and stopping at a ! prominent man—it doesn’t really mat- | ter who it is—bows and smiles and [ kisses the flowers, retreating off tho stage with his eyes glued affectionately

lon his hapless victim, at whom tho whole Opora Houso is looking. Tho I night I was thoro it was a loading I logal luminary with his wifo and I family about him who avrestod Mr \ I Graham’s finger, and tho house roarod I with mirth. Mario Campbell, tho , n “ hoy,” has tho moat beautiful figure, j I and u riant, charming faco which has " I many admirors. Her voice is not I I quite so fino as hor appoarance, but I I one cannot get everything in this die* I appointing world. Roally, ono goes I I away from Sinbad with an absolute I I feoling of repletion, so, much is given I for tho monoy. It is like boing at I I Dix’s ovory night for a week. A trio I . of tumblors do tho very woirdest

I things with their logs and arms, and I causo porfeot shudders of horror among I tho audienco, and the conductor of the I orchestra plays a cornot solo splendidly I —suddonly transferring himself to tho I stage from his leador’s chair, and l I changing his conventional black coat I for one of military grandeur. In and I out wanders a tramp in absolute tatters I I with a small jam-tin for a hat. He I wheels a barrow across the stage, asks I I for a match, barks like a puppy, and I I departs. He has no connection whatever with the story, but the audience I shriek at him—and that, after all, is I tho main thing. Certainly to go to I Mr Leraare’s recital on Wednesday, I and to the pantomime on Thursday is to vary your mental diet considerably. I Blessed is he who can appreciate both! I