All Sorts of People

Free Lance, Volume IV, Issue 191, 27 February 1904, Page 3

All Sorts of People

HIS Worship the Mayor brightened up considerably when, on the way to Wainui-o-mata, on Saturday^ he entered the Hutt Road. He called six cab-loads and the waggonette, that contained people and beer, to bear witness that work on that historic highway had commenced. The Lance witnessed it likewise. A culvert has been cleaned out! For an official visit the Wainuj-o-mata trip as cheery, although nobody wanted beer, which stayed modestly veiled in the waggonette. * * * Two hares en route scooted for the sky-hne, and His Worship was prevented with difficulty fiom running them down. When the caravan breasted the rise, and the smiling valley of Wainui, with its often-blessed dam, lay shimmering in the languorous sunshine, Mayor Aitken pointed with pride to the oreat pines that could adequately supply Wellington if they were doubled, and lecailed the time when the Council, in charge of the engineer, went to see the new meter. Nobody knew how to set the meter going, so the Drobabihtv is they had to get an> expert to do it * * *• The dam was overflowing — one drop per fifteen minutes. Just before lunch a person in baggy clothes, and an anxious expression, poked his way through the bush, with some fish in his hand. "Tell him we didn't bring any money with us l " "Send him away!" "Fancy swagmen out here !" and so on. But, Charlie Izard isn't lightly routed, and he stayed. Also, he saw that the hungering and thirsty party were filled with blackberry pie. Furthermore, Charlie,as usual, told yarns. He recalled one about Magistrate Crawford, before whom a prisoner was brought for theft. "Three months'" exclaimed the "beak." "If there wasn't a susnicion that the other man committed the theft, I'd give you six !" * * * Councillors held a meeting on Solomon's Knob, and lay down on their waistcoats, and poked fun. Also, they lemoved many burrs and prickles. Mr. Barber was rescued from a barbed-wire entanglement, and everybody mooned furtively around, sucking blackberry juice off their fingers and extracting prickles. Councillor Evans told a very colonial-sounding yarn. He recalled an Irish driver he knew, and his horse. To Pat the reverend gentleman sa.d "Is he v blood hoise?" Bedad, he is that; he's the sanguinariest horse I ever saw !" * * * Returning, the party discovered the Rev. Mr. Wilkins, who was chairman of the recent Congregational Conference. He had walked from the Hutt with two young friends. Charlie Izard, who was taking up much space with his fish, squeezed the parson in somewhere. The facetious Evans remarked en passant that he hoped His Worship the Mayor and his young "bride" would someday settle down in the Hutt Valley. What this country wants is population. * * * There is something in the present-day movements of Percy Dix, says the "Observer," that suggests a comet, or a meteor, or some other heavenly body that drops small "stars" m its flight. Percy came up to Auckland with a pantomime and a great flourish, and now all that remains of him is a fond memory and a bevy of singing and dancing divas, who have been obliged to appeal to charity by means of a benefit concert to get back to their homes.

Verily, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a searcher after truth to pass the sacred portals of a Minister's office. StiLl the Hon. W. Hall-Jones was tearing himself away from the colony for four months or so, and it had to be done. The Lance discovered the worried wielder of the public works sceptre dimly visible behind accumulations of work that had to be overcome before evening. The massive head is sparsely sprinkled with once golden hair, the spectacled eyes are tired, there is a long scar on the left brow, a souvenir of youth, and the "three-quarter" bell-topper hanging on the nail in the corner is bashed as by the lintel of a lowly door. It was evidence to our senses that the tired Minister thinks more of work than selfadornment. There is a lack of seating accommodation, merely, we suppose, to let the caller know that he can't live there. ¥■ * * Mr. Hall-Jones owns to being a plodder first and last. He has plodded until he can't sleen. He looks to his six weeks' water-trip as to an amateur heaven, wheie newspapers are not, where deputations cannot reach him, where roads and bridges have no importance, and where he can 101 l away the drowsy hours. Let's hope Marconi will let him alone. He 'hasn't been fortyeight hours away from his duties in eight years. Away back thirty-two years ago a fair-haired youngster packed his carpenter's box somewhere near the Kentish hop fields, and hit out for the terra incognita, New Zealand. * * • He planed the sapny weatherboard at Timaru for long enough, and, in the oidinary course, beoame a master builder. When Mr. Richard Turnbull, the sitting member for Timaru died, in 1889, Mr. Hall - Jones won the bye - election, and in 1890, at the general elections, he was again elected. Since which he has known little of any life but the political one. When the Ballance Government was formed the said Government thought it would like Mr. Hall-Jones and Mr. Westby Perceval to act as whips, and so the twain cracked the greenhide for a while. In February, 1896, Mr. HallJones, who, in the meantime had shown a debating disposition coupled with Left Wing proclivities, was called to the Ministry as Minister of Justice. He held that portfolio for forty-eight hours only, beim? then offered the portfolio which he still holds. « * * His adhesion to the said portfolio constitutes a record for the colony. It is a tough billet, the duties of which are not summed up in the occasional signing of a document, and the Minister w ants to say that he's touched at the universal evidence of the friendliness of press, public, and public servants. He has had loyal seivice from every officer of his Department, and he wants them to know it. Mr. Hall-Jones is a family man. His second baby is well-grown. He is 6ft 2^in in height, and there are five others. * * * Wasn't he rather inclined to preaching? At once the office rang with Ministerial laughter People thought that he was in the habit of climbing into a pulpit every few hours, but only once during his life had he banged the sacerdotal reading-desk. 'Twas at Peace Celebration time ? and Mr. Thomson, of Scots Church, in Abel Smith-street, Wellington, had asked the Minister to say a few words. He protested it was not m his line, but the advt came out ''Moining, Rev. Mr. Thomson, evening, Hon. Mr. Hall-Jones." There was nowhere else but the pulpit to speak from, and thus Mr. Hall-Jones gained his priestly reputation. He went unprepared. The hymn was "Days and moments quickly flying," and he based a talk on that subject.

The plodder has plodded, with little self-advertisement. He thinks it may have been a mistake. Should he, when he returned from Home alter all that ? Should he blazon his achievements before the world, he smilingly asked ? We thought not. We showed the Minister a clipping from the Kawakawa "Luminary " He read it, blushed and roared with laughter. It is a mistake for a Minister to be built in one piece. Here is a bit of the chnping we showed him — "We do not mind in the least members of the Ministry going round the country districts and getting banquetted at the expense of the poor settlers at a cost of from 10s 6d to 21s per head, to receive 'promises' in leturn. When the Minister of Public Works told his listeners over our ■ champagne that 'the first holiday he had, he intended to enjoy himself round and about the beautiful and invigorating port of the Bay of Islands (Russell), it was a case of 'Oh, that will be joyful.' Banquetters ! The Hon. Hall-Jones is going Home. How nice. More in his line than lurahsmg around the Bay of Islands, we should imagine." After aL the roadless, gummy North would hardly be the place for a Minister of Public Works suffering from insomnia. *■ * * Mr. Walter Leslie, of the "Hansard" staff, has been away up in the "King" Country on a sketching tour. In fact, he was engaged by the Tourist Department to visit the Waitomo Caves and execute a series of pictures thereof. Mr. Leslie has exnlored the caves, sketched their most interesting features by the aid of limelight, and on Friday last week got back to Wellington. Some fine pictures may be expected from his brush, and, as a result, the Waitomo Caves may be expected to come into line with the Jenolan Caves on "the other side" as among the subterranean wonders of the Southern Hemisphere. * * ■* Parsons in solemn conclave are interesting to a layman. A respect for the cloth makes one want to go home and assume a turn-down collar and a small black bow, the almost invariable neckwear of dissenting laymen. The Lance tiptoed into the Congregational Church, in Sydney-street, the other day, to eye the Union. There was a benevolentlooking, grey-haired gentleman, wearing the cloth and a sweet smile, in the chair, a most unclerical delegate in a long white beard and very light clothes was talking and various clergymen and ladies were listening very solemnly. * * * The benevolent parson in the chair was the Rev. John Wilkins, of the Auckland Beresford-street church, and the tall gentleman in the summer suit was Mr. W. D. Lyon, of Mount Eden. He talks in a suppressed voice, indicating that he could tell some really excellent stoiies — outside church. He talks much, too. At home, he is an accountant. The dark-skinned young parson, with his chin glued to the back of a pew, is the Rev A. E. Hunt, of Timaru. He was a missionary in New Guinea not long ago. He remembers it. During the onenin°r days of the Union Conference he was piled away under two feet of blankets. Malaria grabs him ever and anon. * * * The gentleman who is reclining like an ancient baron in his family hall, and who wears a Japanesque beard, and says "He-aw I He-aw'" is that vivid and pictuiesque parson, the Rev. J R. Glasson. He has the air of a proprietor, excusable seeing that he is in his own church. The typical "curate" of the congress is the Rev. Newman Hall, a young man with a somewhat pained expression and the kind of clerical intonation one always associates with extia "good" men. He, of couise, is the Couitenay Place shepherd, a fluent speaker, and we don't know whether he comes from Home, but his style and voice do. He is highly esteemed by his flock.

The commanding personage who iscleaung his throat to read the minutes has the largest nose in the congress, indicative of power and ability. He is the Rev. Mr. Heighway. and he succeeded the Rev. Mr. Bradbury in the great King-street church, Dunedin Wellingtomans will remember the latter, who a decade ago, with the Rev. •W. A. Evans, founded the "Forward Movement" in Wellington. A keen-eyed cleric is the Rev. W. Day, of Mount Eden (Auckland). Besides being a "frother" for work, he is athletic and a great tennis enthusiast. At Mrs. Williams' picnic, given at Day's Bay on Saturday week, Mr. Day put up some great games with the racquet. * * * At the rear of the church is the most striking personality m, the conference. He wears a black skull cap, and might sit for a photograph of General Booth or Moses. His long beard, high forehead, and brilliant eyes denote keen intellect. It is Mr. Josiah Martin, the Auckland curio-monger and photographer, scientist, and M.A. Josiah used to be a schoolmaster. An interesting conversationalist, who, however, rather soars above those of common clay. There is a gentleman over there one wouldn't exnect to see at such a gathering. It is Mr. E. C. Ludwig, with the impassive, sphynx-like face, wearing no beard except an inch and a-half of side-whisker. You don't know whether he is thinking about church or a new land spec. He is a kind-agent, and is not a dandy in regard to personal adornment. * # * Municipal representatives are our own rugged councillor, the Rev. W. A. Evans, who is warranted to speak on any subject for two hours without fatigue— to himself. Mr. T. C. Craig is Mayor of West Harbour, Dunedin. Mr. J. Postles, introduced jocularly as Mr. "Apostle," comes from Devonport, the marine suburb of Auckland, where formerly our Constable-street Congregationalist, Rev. B. L. Thomas, held forth. * * * That plain, unadoined Welshman*is there in mufti. "B L." says things without unnecessary "flowers," and he stumns right v^> to the rostrum m heavy boots, while the mere pressman tiptoes round and scarce dares to breathe the clerical atmosphere. By the way, Rev. W. Saunders, of Moray Place church, Dunedin, is a Welshman. So also is the mathematical Mr. W. A. Evans. Mr. B. L. Thomas is chairman of the Wellington, Conciliation Board, haying succeeded ex-clergyman Crewes in the billet. * * * A lady rises to read a report. She is from Christchurch, and is fair and young, wears a white diess, and filmy laces, and has the only pronounced colonial accent among the speakers. It is Mrs. G. H. Hall, who says: "I can manage big boys better than little ones." She is not alone in this feminine accomplishment. Then, we drew on our mocassins, felt for our pipe, and stole solemnly thence. * * * Mr. W. J. Napier, the ex-member for Auckland City, is once more shaking that mailed fist of his. As he is captain of the Auckland Coastguards, the Defence Minister had better keep a wary eye upon him, or the peace of the Empire may be jeopardised. Here is the warlike style in which he is cropping up just now in the Auckland papers — "We sent contingents of our youthful manhood to preserve our rights in Africa and to prevent another European Power menacing the interests of the Empire. Let us now offer to send contingents, if necessary, to help the manhood of South Africa to prevent the landing on African soil of Asiatic hordes." Mr. Napier doesn't say whether he is prepared to lead one of these aforesaid contingents. Probably it pays better to stay at home, and ring in six-and-eightpences.

Enthusiasm and action are the distinguishing: characteristics of just-re-turned-to-Wellington Dr. Cahill, who has been buzzing around the old world and seeing things with both eyes foi nine months. Dr. Cahill is a hater of idleness, and while he talks Chamberlain to you he winds his gold watch-chain round a gold pencil, and unwinds it again. He is a man of action. It is only now and again that one says to oneself ' Why he's Irish '" for he has an occasional habit of substituting an "a' for an "c." You know what we mane. ♦ * * The plump doctor, who grows a moustacVe that shows the soil is good, did not go home on pleasure, except in the sense that work is his greatest pleasure. He put in three solid months' graft in London hospitals, and also passed rapidly through the bonemills at Vienna, Paris, and Berlin. He didn't see much of England, for the "goodolemothercountry" was barely visible above the flood waters. Ot course, he had to go to Ireland, and naturally drifted to Cork, where his mother lives. * * * Dr. Cahill "noticed" two absentees in Ii eland — poverty and population, and he thinks that the loss of two millions of population in thirty years is a strong indictment against the prevailing system of government of Shamrock Land. Chamberlain wore a halo on his return from Africa. He wore it until recently, but it's been exchanged for a headgear closely resembling a dunce's cap. In other words, Chamberlain's loaf is douo'h. The monocled great one is likened to a quack, who can diagnose a chronic disease that shouts aloud its presence. He recommends a treatment that the patient little understands. Its failure is beneficial in that it leads to self-examination by the patient. » * * In a land that started out to hate monopolies, the liquor trade is protected. Every commodity in Britain barring a'coholic refreshments has fallen in price, but the pewter of more or less beer still keeps at the old price, and the peerage is largely the beerage. We are getting more widely known in, England, and our laws discussed. As evidence of the advantages we enjoy under the rule of the ironhanded Dick, Dr. Cahill mentions the reasonable administration of deceased intestate persons' estates in New Zealand by the Public Trust Office. Then he compares the old-fashioned and still existent entanglements of the British chancery, which collars the estates of intestate peonle. and usually hangs on to them despite the expensive efforts of next of kin. * * * Dr. Cahill spoke before the war to a New Zealander who had travelled world-wide, and who knew Africa (this a propos of crold-bugs). They were discussing New Zealander George Hutchison's chances on the Rand. "Hutchison's own individuality and push will shove him alone; in the law line in the Transvaal," said the doctor. "Never believe it, Doctor. Hutchison has got to have some millionaires behind him, or go down." We wonder. • * * Last week Mr. Sidney H. Jenkinson, day sub-editor of the Melbourne "Argus," received the appointment of manager of the "New Zealand Times. ' The salary is understood to be £700 with possible increases reaching up in time to £1000. Mr. Jenkinson is eldest brother of the Hon. J. E. Jenkinson, and paid a flying visit to Wellington only last month. He is a New Zealander, understands the printing business thoroughly from the setting case to the editorial article, and is esteemed by a large circle of friends as a white man through and through, and a jolly good fellow. The "Times" is in luck. • * * Sidney Jenkinson started his printing career on the Cromwell "Argus." where he served his apprenticeship, and graduated as "comp." On the Clutha "Press" he subsequently worked at "case" side bv side with J. D. Sievwrisrht (now editor of the "New Zealand Mail"). Twenty-six years ago he was a reporter on the "Otago Daily Times," under the chief reportership of Mr. Silas Spragg (now of the "Hansard" staff). That was the time when Mr. Henry Varley, the large-sized evangelist, tried to "convert" Mr. Jenkinson, but only succeeded in making himself ridiculous by getting out of temper. * * * It is upwards of fifteen years since Mr. Jenkinson joined the liter ary staff of the Melbourne "Argus," and he has been on it ever since. He was also its special war correspondent during the war between China and Japan several years ago, and if you want to hear something interesting: about the "Far East," and to understand the strange snell it puts upon visitors from the West, get Sid. Jenkinson in a talkative mood when the printer's devil isn't yelling for "copy." and you will begin to realise what Kipling means when he writes about "the East is calling."

Mr. Cuyler Hastings can no longer charge New Zealand audiences with being cold and impassive. Wellington has removed the reproach. The "house" that witnessed "The Lady of Lyons" on, Saturday — the last night — was the largest of the season, even standing room being at a premium. And when the curtain went down on the final situation the enthusiasm of the audiencs popped off like a ginger-beer bottle. They sat and cheered and cheered again, while the curtain went up five times to permit Cuyler and Miss May Chevalier to come forth hand-in-hand each time to bow their smiling acknowledgements, and receive fresh bouquets. But, the "gods" wanted more than bows. There were vociferous demands for a speech. Cuyler looked a bit nervous, and affected not to hear, but at last he yielded to Fate, and went up to the footlights as if it were to receive his death-blow. But the "terror" left him directly he found his tongue, and his little speech was a model of neatness and point. He said he never liked to speak from the stage for two reasons. First, because he thought an actor should not step out of his sphere; second, because he couldn't speak. He had nothing prepared. This was his third trip through New Zealand ; perhaps his last. It was a country he was very much in love with. He had now travelled through all the English-speaking countries of the world and a good many others besides, and there was none he liked so well as New Zealand. It had only one drawback : it was so far away from New York. If he ever returned he hoped the people here would continue to like him as well as he liked them. * * * One simple incident -\wll show the personal impression with Mr. Hastings makes upon his audience. When, ten minutes later, he emerged, quite alone, from the stage door, in his hardhitter hat and sober suit of dark tweed, to thread his way over a darksome paddock to the street, there was another farewell to be said. A group of well-grown youths awaited him. "We wanted to say 'Good-bye' and to thank you, Mr. Hastings," the spokesman simply remarked. Cuyler seemed more pleased than when facing that hydra-headed audience. He shook hands with them m turn. "Good-bye, my boys," he said very heartily. * * * Amongst the New Zealand worthies attending the seances of the University Senate in Wellington just now is Sir Maurice O'Rorke. This grand old man from the North has lived through so many winters in the Empire Oity duiing his long Parliamentary career that he is practically one of our oldest old identi-

ties, and therefore he has had to undergo a considerable amount of handshaking during the last few days. There is no need for condolence over his defeat at the last elections, for, if not exactly renewing his youth, he has wonderfully brightened up since he got rid of politics. -t * # Just now he is looking forward with some zest to repeating the visit he made to the Old Country some five years ago. That was the first trip after half a century of strenuous effort in the heroic work of colonisation. Sir Maurice O'Rorke hopes this time to persuade Lady O'Rorke to accompany him. Like many other ladies, however, who are wedded to their homes, she has a great distaste for travel. In the course of nearly sixty years she has never gone so far from home as even Sydney and Melbourne, and it will take all the blarney of Sir Maurice's persuasive tongue to' tempt her to face a journey of sixteen thousand miles.