NEWS AND NOTES.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 1036, 29 August 1911, Page 4

NEWS AND NOTES.

Mr W. C. Buchanan is asking the Postermaster-Geueral whether he will bring in a Bill this session enabling country settlers to borrow funds through the medium of the local bodies for the purpose of constructing telephone lines as in Canada, sinking fund and interest being a charge only upon the properties of those desiring such telephones.

Timaru has a young billiard player named McConachie, who appears to be in a fair way to rival even the champion Gray. The lad, only 15 years of age, has already made a break off the red which is a record for New Zealand. He is spending a considerable time in practising every day, and an effort is being made by several billiard enthusiasts to arrange a match between the lad and one of the leading players of the Dominion.

“I put two nights in on the Thames Embankment under the same conditions as my fallen brothers and sisters. The sight I saw I shall never forget. Within a distance of half a mile I counted 290 outcasts and unemployables. The sight haunts me still. They were within a quarter of a mile of the Hotel Cecil, and nobody seemed to care one iota for their welfare. lam not writing of the East End, but of the fashionable West. God forbid that we should ever have such a state of things existing in Australia.” —Mr Eaird Smith, M.H.R., of Tasmania.

Sir Wilfred Eaurier is known as the “simple life” Premier, for he is an early riser, practically a teetotaller, and is happier lunching on a bun and a glass of milk than on the most elaborate dainties. Sir Wilfred Eaurier’s observation is so acute as to be almost uncanny. He never forgets a face or a voice. To the great delight of a page-boy, Sir Wilfred recognised him as having been in a certain hotel when he last visited Eondon. He speaks French like a cultured Parisian. Indeed, it was the first language he learned, not having tackled his native tongue till he was nearly 20 years old.

Weather prophets are beginning to forecast an exceedingly dry and hot summer in New Zealand. There have been very severe heat waves in most parts of the world, and England, among others, has suffered, and is now suffering severely. It is argued that New Zealand in the weather, as in ladies’ fashions, closely approximates England in due course of the seasons. We have had an usually frosty winter, and are experiencing an early spring, and it is expected that the heat which is now distressing our antipodes will, in the natural order be rolled into by our section of the globe. There is no way of stopping it; in the words of the poet we can only “let it roll,”

The post office in a little out-of-the-way spot in the Whangarei district was the local store, and was the scene of an amusing contretemps on a recent occasion. One of the post office inspectors was doing the usual rounds, and on arrival at this little place — which shall be nameless —found fault with the way His Majesty’s post office was being conducted. The high dignitary on leaving remarked with a lofty air, “You will hear from me, sir, when I return to Auckland.” This proved too much for the harassed postmaster, who disappeared lor a moment to return with a candle-box under his arm containing two books and a few shillings worth of stamps. He held the box at arm’s length towards the inspector, and remarked : “’Ere, take yer bloomin’ post office.”

The linguistic capabilities of Russian reporters and printers (says an exchange) seem to have been unequal to coping with the difficulties arising out of the recent visit of an American squadron to Kronstadt. The orchestras at the various music halls visited by the American sailors rose to the occasion by playing some of the national airs of the United Slates. But the title of these, as they appeared in the Russian newspapers, were hardly complimentary to the great republic. “The Star Sponge Eed Banner” may have been merely a “printer’s error,” but in view of the graft scandals and trust prosecutions, “Yankee Boodle” reads like a malevolent joke on a condition of affairs fitly summed up in what the Russian reporters termed, “Hell, Columbia!”

Mr Walter Thomas (or Professor) Mills, of Milwaukee, where the beer comes from, is organising a socialistic combination ot workers in N.Z. and hustling, scattering leaflets broadcast. He is not burdened with diffidence. He is a typical Yankee hustler. In one of his leaflets he says: “As to helpers, they are many. Mills is a magnet who draws the best steel filings. His call for help has met with a great response. Already six hundred people have given a written promise that they will work regularly and systematically in canvass and distribution. The unity campaign will mean a big splash of printer’s ink. It is proposed to get into touch with the 400,000 voters in New Zealand. At least monthly a small sheet must be printed and delivered to every house in New Zealand explaining this campaign and outlining the needs and progress of the Eabour movement.