All Sorts of People

Free Lance, Volume IV, Issue 189, 13 February 1904, Page 3

All Sorts of People

FRED. Haybittle was m great form in presiding over the bowlers' smoker, at the Wellington Club's pavilion last w eek, and told at least two good stories in the course or the evening. The first related to that grave and reverend sigmor Mr. James Lockie, whose last shot at the Auckland tournament won the champion flag tor Wellington. Lockie, along with his club mate, Jack Reich came back home again on the overland route taking the train to Rotorua, and thence per coach to the head waters of the Wanganui river. One evening they spent at a little back-blocks hamlet near Ruapehu. When the coach drew up at the wayside pub of the township, two meek-faced young men, with their bunday clothes on, the glitter of soap on their freshly-laundered cheeks and a gay rosette of ribbon on their coatlapels, advanced timidly, and, with the utmost deference, saluted the veteran Lockie, and solemnly shook his hand. * * * Lockie looked a bit taken aback, but waited tor them to break the ice. They told him how glad it had made them to hear of the great success he had achieved in Auckland, and asked if he wouldn't favour them with an address. The Wellington skip's face cleared at once. He expressed surprise that the news had travelled so fast as to get ahead of him to such an out of the way place as that. It was a gratifying victory, no doubt, but he really didn t want to make a song about it — least oi all deliver an address on it. Although, as skip, he had had to send up the last shot which won the match, yet his mates had done just as much to pull the thing off— perhaps a great deal more than himself. » * * Those mild young men with the rosettes looked mystified. They ventured to ask Lockie what match he was referring to. Why, the bowling tournament of course, and Wellington's win of the champion flag. "It must be a mistake," they said. "Then, you re not Di. Clarke, after all?" "Dr. Clarke" ejaculated Lockie, "why, who's he?" "The Rev. Dr. Clarke, who founded the Christian Endeavour Society, of course. Oh, that must be he on the box seat'" and the veteran bowler was at once passed over in favour of the real parson. * * * Fred's other yarn was about a local politician. He was introducing the next item on the programme, and took the opportunity to explain it would be contributed by a gentleman who was present not as a bowler but m order to pay off an old score to Fred himself. This politician, some twelve months ago, felt it necessary to set himself right with the public about his misunderstood action on the dock scheme. He wanted to get a speech inserted in the newspapers But, he didn't want a crowd at the meeting, so he put a tiny advertisement in an obscure corner of the paper calling a meeting at Tinakon-road, and he asked Fred — although a horse of the wrong colour — to preside. Said he'd do as much for Fred some other time. Would also like Fred to make a little introductory speech, matter for which would be supplied. m m * Well Fred with that vieldmg disposition which never lets him say '•No " consented, and the meeting came off Fred was in the chair, the politi-

cian was on the platform, a "Times" reporter sat with sharpened pencil at the table, and the audience consisted of an old woman and a little girl. The politician was not in the least nonplussed. For a solid three-quarters of an hour he addressed his speech to the old woman, who stood it like a brick. Then, in some eulogistic remarks, he moved a hearty vote of thanks to the chairman, which, being carried nem con, closed the entertainment. Next morning, the "Times" gave Fred four inches of his chairman's speech (matter supplied), and the politician had a whole column and a-half to his own cheek. '.'And now," concluded the smiling Haybittle, "will Mr. Thos. Wilford step forward and warble to wipe off an old score ?" The audience threw its head back, and laughed till the roof nearly lifted. After which Mr Wilford sang. * * * Mr. George Loveday, the well-known rifle shot, of Woodville, who was a member of New Zealand's Bisley team, has moved on to Hamilton, in the Waikato. He cropped up the other day at the Auckland Rifle Association's meeting at Cambridge, by winning the Hamilton match (ten shots at 300 yds), and by getting into the prizelist in the other matches as well. These old shots never seem to get off the bull, or out of practice. Take our own Arthur Ballinger and W. H. Balhnger, for instance. * * President Roosevelt, of Yankeeland, celebrated his seventeenth wedding anniversary the other day, on which occasion he expressed the pious hope that he would "always retain a good old country-cousin feeling about London." It seems he married his second wfe there, the event taking place in St. George's Church. And the parson was the bride's cousin, Canon Camidge, of New York, who is now Bishop of Bathurst, New South Wales, thus showing us once again what a small place this world is after all. * * * "The dear, kind, good public think we're loafers, who have nothing to do but paint our faces and dress ourselves." Thus that notable actor, Mr. Cuyler Hastings, to a Lance man the other day. Interesting to know that the "calm, cold American," who is neither calm nor cold, has learnt the whole of the plays presented 1 by the Williamson Company, with the exception of "Sherlock Holmes," since he has been in the colonies. It means hardworking days and strenuous nights, midnight oil and tired brains, and the public has the power to say that the "swat" has not been in vain. * * * Mr. Hastings is a "bundle of nerves." He has a mobile mouth, that is coptrolled only by a strong effort of the will. While speaking, he moves hzs hat nervously backwards and forwards over his fine brow, and his eyes don't rest. He is not married, and never has been. He is not divorced, and the American photograph shbwing him with wives having respectively three and six children are not "sure-enough" sun pictures. "No woman could stand me for a month," he thinks. Anyhow, no woman has had the chance. * * * He was born in 1870, at Park Hill, Ontario, so he wasn't raised by Uncle Bam. His father was an IrishAmerican, and his mother Dutch. "It is a good pro-Boer strain, I think?" he asks. He was intended for the law, and at twenty had passed his barrister's examination, at twenty-one he was called to the Bar in the State of New York, and interested himself in criminal cases, of which he is fond. He hasn't deserted the wife that doesn't exist, and she is not broken-hearted. He doesn't belong to poor parents, for all his relatives are distributed among the learned professions The army, the navy, the church, and medicine claim most of them.

Americans usually write out a florid opinion of the country they happen to be in, learn it, and fire it off. There is little of the exuberant egotist about Mr. Hastings. He believes that a visitor's love for a country is measured by the treatment he receives in the said country. In Australia and New Zealand he has been worked to death, and is happy. He believes, and there is a conviction in the eyes that would suit a Sherlock Holmes expression, that there is no better country than New Zealand in the world, and he has been at this end of the earth seventeen months. * * * The people of New Zealand may like you, but they don't tell you so." They applaud less than any people he knows. At Christchurch. the first time he played, in "The Light that Failed," he "came on" to a silent house. Nobody not an actor knows what that means. Chnstehurch exulted in Mr. Hastings despite this. He never speaks to an audience unless they demand it, and the critical audiences of New Zealand have demanded it. New Zealand is critical because it is fed with the best dramatic stuff the world produces. Plays are "tried on the dog" mi New York or London. The public may flout them. They are not brought to New Zealand. * * * His favourite part is Captain Thorne, in "Secret Service." Mr. Hastings tells a quaint story of his youth. He felt commercial instincts striving mightily withm him, and he saved his pocket-money. Why shouldn't he get the pater to give him a dollar for dollar subsidy, buy turkeys, and trade them in Boston? Behold him then consigning a two-tier car-load of turkeys from his home at Park Hill to Boston City. *■ * <■ Cuyler is perched up on the cupola of the "caboose" (guard's van), filled with thoughts of unlimited dollars. He is searching the horizon for the distant stations that shall bring him nearer to his market, and he fancies he sees a turkey soaring up into the sky. Presently, the air seems full of gobblers. Maybp, they're his turkeys. At the next station Cuyler descends. The air had been full of turkeys. The car contained none. Young Hastings returned home right then, and he didn't trade in poultry any more. Any compensation in the life of an actor? Anything to brighten the long hours of grind., the nerve-destroy-ing poring over new stuff that may make or mar its student? Why, yes, there's a little cash and some glory for the successful one. It's the glory that keeps the traces taut. * * * There still lives in Victoria an exapprentice gf George Stephenson, the inventor of the railway locomotive. Peter Henderson, the said ex-apprentice, is ninety-one years of age, and is now engaged on the construction of engines not closely related to the "Puffing Billy.' "Suppose a cow gets on the line, Mr. Stephenson ?" is a reminiscent question of the early days of locomotives. It would be a bad look-out for the coo, remarked the great man. * * * Mr. Alexander Newton, of the Caledonian Soap Works, in the rising suburb of Kaiwarra, had been sampling that atmosphere for eighteen years, when he sought a change. He tells us he. has just returned after sampling a large assortment of ozone since August last. For instance, a blizzard eventuated in New York while he was there, and the mercury just about got lost. Mr. Newton calculates that if the umbrellas in New York could be joined end to end they would encircle the earth. Umbrellas, however, got m out of the wet when the blizzard that razed sky-scrapers to the earth hooted through "the big city. He and his party were but four days in New York, but Nature considerately turned on her wonders for the New Zealanders.

Curious thing that it rains in Norway most of the time, but that during the Newtons' stay of fourteen days in the land of Ibsen, it didn't rain worth a cent. Nobody knows anything about New Zealand except the sailors, who abound in myriads thereaway. The Newtons were permitted to gaze on several of the great ones of the country, including Ibsen, "Farthest North" Nansen, and the noted Bjornsen. Nobody who ever gets out of Norway wants to go back, which is one reason why one bumps up against "Scandies" wheiever any sort of a flag flies. * * * In the home of the timber ham and the wooden nutmeg, the Newtona lost their luggage at Buffalo. In New Zealand, a tiretl official would probably tell you to find it, but in America they set the wire going, and the luggage collects itself, and is waiting for you, with the telegram attached, further down the line. A porter will move a Saratoga for you for half-a-dollar. Also, he'll move a feather boa across the road for the same price. All drinks ten cents. All luggage half-a-dollar. Yankees are spry, but Scotchmen can run a car service too. * ¥■ * If your fog axe is sharp, you'll sometimes see a New Zealand face in the mirk of a London bye-way. Mr. Newton saw the face of Baritone John Prouse one day in Holborn. John loves the isolation of London. One may even have a baritone voice in London, and cause no sensation. Mr. Newton also met "Tom" Sullivan, exoarsman, at Battersea, the London suburb made famous as the place where Tom Mann once ran a hotel, and where also there is a Home for Distressed Canines. According to Mr. Newton there is no pace like Home— for rain and fog. And there is no place like home to live in — New Zealand is home. * * •«■ The best car service in the world is ia Glasgow. Room for the people, no overcrowding, no advertisements on the cars. Just meant for travellers, aDd not for literature. The Newtons, so Alexander said, went to every theatre'in London. Then, he remembered there were 286 theatres in the foggy metropolis, and came back a peg or two. You know something about the Newtonian dramatic talent perhaps. It is about the best there is in "Wellington. * * * The Hon. C. Louisson, M.L.C., differentiates between the "talking" branch of the Legislature and the "working" branch. He belongs to the "working section of Parliament. He pays a tribute to the "Lords" by saying that their only desire is to carry out the wishes and aspirations of the inhabitants of the colony. After which it will be simply insolence to speak of abolishing the Government-nominated House. Perhaps, it's a mistake to have a Lower House of representatives of the poeple. at all. * * # Mr. C. A. P. Hawkins, at present in Wellington, is an interesting young man. At the outbreak of the late lamented pro-Chinese South African boodling campaign, Mr. Hawkins presented himself for enlistment in New Zealand's earliest contingent. Somebody dug up the information that he was a ward in chancery. Also, that he was under age. He was rejected for these reasons. Still, the war microbe pursued him, and, having aged very fast, he got away with the third regiment. Subsequently, the young man obtained a commission in an Imperial cavalry regiment, and served in it until his health gave way, so he is now again a civilian. By the way, Mr. Hawkins is a nephew of the late "father of the English Navy," Admiral Keppel. A Sydney paper remarks that the late Admiral was the cause of Sir George Grey's thirty years' estrangement from his wife.

Mr. Harry Smith, of Smith and Smith, oil and colour merchants, has been painting the town red or any other colour named in the spec fications) for six years, and has varied the monotony by smashing heads on many a bowling battlefield. Mr. Smith has also warbled to some effect during that time and before, but his voice isn't much good when it is wanted to sing his own praises. The modest Smith, who is one of three who have made a name in the colour line in New Zealand,, is about to embark upon the stormy ocean. He intends to take his bag of bowls to Ceylon for a start, and will then go to India and examine the historic mutiny spots for himself, just to see if the said mutiny could nave been avoided. ** • * MrV Smith goes to Rome (which wasn't built in a day), and will do as the Romans do, for a while. He will look on the tower at Pisa which, not long ago, leaned too much, and toppled, and he will tarry in Florentine halls a while to find out if Raphael and those other fellows have discovered anything new in house-painting. Anon he intends planking a modest fiver on the tables at Monte Carlo, and he either intends to enrich the Prince's income or break the bank. In the latter most probable case, a cable will be sent on the spot to Wellington. » • * Then he goes straight to St. Petersburgh, where the Czar will probably be waiting with a full rink to put in a shot for the Bush Ferns. Some of the two years he intends to put in abroad will be spent in London, in which township he proposes establishing a branch. Harry remembers the time when he toured New Zealand as a professional singer. Mr. Philip Newbury, who is said to be the finest tenor in London just now, left Belle Cole in Australia, and "starred" New Zealand with a concert company of his own. Harry was the tuneful baritone thereof. It did glorious business all through the country until it got to Palmerston North, where it opened to a three pounds six and eigntpence house. One lawyer must have been there. Mr. Newbury sang to it for one night, but his disappointment was so keen that he went away and contracted influenza. It was found necessary to "ring in" a brother of Mr. Newbury for the succeeding nights, but the critical crowd only told him to "git yer 'air out!" * * * Both Mr. Newbury and Mr. Smith first appeared in public under the management of Mr. Towsey. the picturesque Auckland musician. Mr. Smith, who has been hard at work since he was* ten years of age, and who, of course, has gained his present eminence by sheer toil, will cable out to us his bowling successes, his interview with the Czar, and the amount that was in the bank at Monte Carlo when he broke it. * * * We have received from a gentleman who valued Mr. A. H. B. King's friendship very much, an excellently-executed post-card, showing that gentleman s country residence in Hampshire. It will be remembered that Mr. King was at one time connected with the Bank of New Zealand, and later with the eminentphilanthropists, Staples and Co. Mr. King received a handsome legacy, and is now enjoying the dolce far niente in a very beautiful English home. * • * Mr. E. Way Elkington, who has written a sporting book, "The Squatter's Stud," just arrived in New Zealand, hasn't got the grip of colonial life that "Steele Rudd" or Henry Lawson or Will Ogilvie have. Remember the time when Mr. Elkington, who is the son of a Bath doctor, was general rouseabout for aTe Aroha paper. He wrote the locals and leaders — sometimes — raked in the advertisements, and kept the books. In his spare time he would talk on every conceivable subject, had an antipathy to the average colonial, and used a drawl that was warranted not blended with cheap or inferior English. * * *■ Ben Viljoen, ex-Boer Commandant, is at present auctioneering in Pretoria. Seems that the smart Dutchman doesn't bear much malice to the British. He is going to marry Miss May Belfast, an English music-hall artist. If you could serve out an English wife to every young Boer in Africa, the race hatred that yet exists might be wiped out. Lots of Englishmen are marrying Boer girls, but then those girls are well "landed " * * * Doctor Dowie's son, who is in Australia, protesting that Zion City is thriving like anything, tells a story about the power of faith. A Zionite went up in a balloon to take a photograph of the city. Something burst when he was squeezing the bulb, and down came balloon, Zionite, and camera. The people who gathered round to sort out the camera man found him. sitting on the ground reading Dr. Dowie's "Leaves of Healing," and manicuring his nails. It has been suggested that this kind of faith would be helpful to miners, steeplejacks, and others who are given to falling long distances.

Mr. Fred. Collins, one time of Wellington, but now of Chowannexburg, Transvaal, writes saying that the general feeling among Britishers and others in Africa is that old Kruger is wanted badly there to run things. Furthermore, he asserts that thousands of colonials and British soldiers assert that they are now very sorry that they didn't take up a Mauser instead of a Lee-Met-ford. The grand old flag! * * # Tod Sloan, the jockey who invented the monkey seat, and won many races, used to be worth £100,000, and also used to spend it at the rate of two or three hundreds a day. He travelled in special trains, and had a large, bright time, was feted, petted, and spoilt. Rode a "foul" race in England, and was "warned off." Now, the celebrated Tod is earning less per year than he spent in a day. He is "chauffeur" for a French aristocrat's motor-car. * * » Not generally known, that one member of the eminent Braddon family, to which the lately-deceased Tasmanian pobtician, Sir E. C. N. Braddon belonged, was for many years a wanderer in the back-blocks of South Australia. Said of him that he hated civilisation, and was as much at home in the bush as a blackfellow. Also said of him that his eminent sister, the novelist, in order to show a confidence in him that was withheld by other members of the family, frequently submitted her manuscripts to him before publication. The man who chose the silent, sorrowful life of the Australian bush met his death by accident. He employed much of his time kangaroo shooting. Striking another kangarooer's tent one day, after having been without water for many hours, he took a big drink from a bucketful of water hung on the end of the ridge-pole. The water contained arsenic in solution. The solution is used by skin hunters to "paint" the skins, kill insects, and prevent decay. X- ■* -"■ Dr. de Lisle, the Hawke's Bay Health officer, scathes practices that the Lance has worried considerably about for long enough. He condemns the uncovered bread-cart, the bare meat iniquity, the ladling out of milk sin, and many other things we have so often called attention to. All these unhealthful methods are still pursued in Wellington. Furthermore, the streei>corner expectorator, who sees the Council warning, "Danger! Don't spit on the footpath !" evidently can't read. It is only the man in blue who can stop the evils referred to.

Latest about Dr. Gordon, Fitzgerald's strong man, is that a train on. which he was travelling ran off the line. The doctor hopped out, lifted the train on again, yelled out, "Let 'er go!" and she went. Hats off I • • * Stated that the brilliant Arthur Adams, whose literary successes in London have gratified his many Wellington friends, is suffering from brain trouble as. a result of overwork. His doctors ordered him to discontinue work and recuperate in the Isle of Wight. The Lance sincerely hopes that this clever son of a clever house will speedily recover. * * * Mr. Brown, a corporal in the D Battery, N.Z.F.A.V., together with two other non corns, of the same battery, are alleged, per picture in a recent Lance, to have gone on a shellhunting excursion during the recent annual training at Trentham. Mr. Brown wishes to deny that the three non-coms, walked back. They all rode back on one horse.