Excerpta.

Kaikoura Star, Volume XIV, Issue 745, 8 June 1894, Page 2

Excerpta.

§ The Russian Autocrat.

Armed Europe waits upon the ultimate mandate of one man. ‘ The heaven for height,’ says Solomon, ‘ the earth for dep’h, and the heart of kings is unsearchable.’ Czar Alexander 111. had two ruling emotions—a horror of war and a hatred of Germany. The problem is, Which passion in him shall conquer the other? Trammelled by no Parliament, influenced neither by responsible Ministers nor by personal favourites, the big, lonely despot is wrestling out that problem single handed. It is an awful position. There is no real public opinion in Russia whose voice inig-ht sway the autocrat ; he must fight out his own battle with himself. Probably no solution would better please him individually than a general disarmament, but that is hopeless. We must leave him to his wrestlings with himself; meanwhile, at all events, there lis a period of reasonably assured respite. Russia is never quite ready, I and the millennium will probably | surprise her in her chronic attitude of I unreadiness. At present she is swapping, not horses, but rifles. A year ago j there was not a magazine rifle in the ! Russian array, and the great majority of her soldiers are still armed with the improved ‘ Berdan,’ a very inferior weapon both to the German and the Austrian rifle.

But Russia still retains the warning memory of her fearful losses before Plevna from the Remingtons, which America placed in the hands of the Turks, and with which her obsolete Krenkes could not cope. After much tedious experimenting, a year ago a definite selection was made of a weapon known as the ‘ three-line rifle,’ and the production and issue of this firearm are being pushed forward with great energy. But you cannut order in 2,500,000 rifles as you can a bundle of toothpicks. I believe that about a third of the requisite quantity is now delivered.

It is absolutely impossible that the equipment can be completed and the troops trained to the use of the new weapon within the present year; it seems extremely improbable that this result can be attained before the Spring of 1896. The opportunity for war—l do not say the certainty of war—will come when Russia shall have completed the equipment of her hosts with the ‘ three-line ’ rifle.—Archibald Forbes in the North American Review. * f f f F f

Drawing and Painting.

An Examination Paper. Question : Can you tell ma anything about the art of drawing and painting ? Answer : I think I can. Drawing is the art of polished society which tenches us to represent and preserve the likenesses of men and things. I once did a likeness of my schoolmaster, in chalk, on a wall. I wrote ‘ Old Guy ’ underneath, and, in case the critics might make a mistake, I added—‘after the old master.’ When I got home the master did some linear drawing on my hack with a cane. But I didn’t like his style ; it was laid on too thick to please me.

Drawing is hereditary in our family. My uncle once drew a cheque. It was thought so much of that they took him in a carriage to Bow street, and showed it to the magistrate. I don’t know how much he got for that cheque, but I think it was six months.

Perspective purposes to represent the relative size and form of objects from the spot where the view is taken. My father is always talking about a situation which he lias got in perspective, but I’ve never seen it.

The true disposition of light and shade is called relief. Father gets outdoor relief when trade is bad.

The requisites of a great painter are correct drawing. My drawings are always corrected. Design ? I'm good at that. I’ve been called a designing lad ever since

I can remember. Colour ? Ah, that’s where I come in. You should see the beautiful vermilion we painted old Scroggs’s shutters last week. There is also the paving-stone school of painting with chalks. Sometimes the artists have to * walk their chalks.’

Marine painting is very picturesque, the masts and sails giving great scope lor colour and effect. Artists are very fond of sails; almost every day you can see ‘ a sale of paintings ’ now going on. Boatmen are especially patrons of drawing and painting. They draw their own boats up, and everv boat has a painter. That’s all I know about painting.

Peter Prig, 4th Standard Hloonshine.

A Dog Putting the Blame on Another Dog.

‘ I have a very clever dog at home called Sloe (writes Lady C. Milnes Gaskell in the Leisure Hour.) She was, in her youth and prime, a most valuable retriever, but now is grown too old to do much but sleep in the sunshine. Eddie and Molly were given some time ago two pretty young white rabbits. They looked like balls of white fluff, and were the prettiest toylike pets you can imagine. One night, unfortunately, they escaped from their protecting hutch. Sloe is one of those dogs who cannot resist temptation, and although she has often been whipped and scolded for massacring rabbits, never listens to the voice of conscience. In fact, she hardly seems as if she could help doing so, and appears to think, like the naughty boys of the story, that, in spite of the beating, the fun was too great to forego. Sloe is always loose, but has a kennel to sleep in at nights in the stable yard. Opposite to her kennel is chained another dog—a retriever—Duchess by name, a lovely dog of a soft flaxen colour. This dog on this occasion, it so happened, had not been unchained. Sloe disappeared amongst the shubberieß, and found there her innocent victims. The poor little things were soon caught, and breathed their last in her ferocious jaws. When Sloe had killed them she did not care to eat them, and, strange to say, she determined not to bury them, but resolved that it should appear that the murder had been committed by her companion, and that Duchess should bear the blame. It is said that she is jealous of her companion sharing the favour of her master, and so decided upon doing her a bad turn. Prompted probably by this evil thought, she carried her victims one after the other into Duchess's kennel and left them there. The coachman, who was up betimes cleaning his harness, saw her do this. After which the old slyboots retired to her own lair and went to sleep as if nothing had happened.’

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