All Sorts of People

Free Lance, Volume IV, Issue 197, 9 April 1904, Page 3

All Sorts of People

MAJOR George Johnstone, who, together with Colonel Porter, C.8., was in the camp near Bothasberg when the Seventh Contingent fought an unsuccessful action there, writes from Africa to say that the solution of the labour trouble in Africa is in the introduction of Chinese labour! That is to say, the introduction of men who would oust white men from their employ is the best way to help the ousted men. Major Johnstone is, happily, the only New Zealander in Africa writing home who sees salvation for the people in the introduction of the Asiatic. * * * i Mr. John Fuller, the mfted tenor and enterprising entrepreneur, is convinced that the people of Christchurch ought to have Good Friday and Easter Monday concerts. To show his unselfishness and his desire to get what the people are aching to have, silvery-voic-ed John will become a candidate for the City Council of the saintly city, in order, if elected, to counsel the Council to alter the law in relation to the piohibition of sacred conceits on sacred days. # * * "Blazer" Wilson was honeymooning in Wellington during Easter, so he confided to us. Who is Blazer? You a footballer, and don't know? Well, well The large son of a large family is the baby of the said family. The father of the family is still hale and hearty at 75, and is one of the leading settlers of Whangarei, where "Blazer" was born. The baby is now a stalwart and succesful dentist at Hawera. Went there to spy out the land. Saw a vacant allotment opposite a livery stables, the place where the coaches stopped. He reasoned thus . — "Coach passenger, agony, sign 'Hamilton Wilson, dentist,' rush in, molar yanked, make fortune in no time." Built the tooth cemetery there and then, came back later and occupied it. Coach passengers with the prevailing Taranaki toothache didn't want their masticators stopped or filed. They want them yanked, and anyone casting his eye over the athletic figure of Hamilton Wilson will admit that it would be a very rooty one he couldn't lift. * * * Mr. Wilson, while training for the profession of which he is an expert and successful exponent, also found time to play Rugby football In fact, he has the unique record of having played for three different provinces — Auckland, Taranaki, and Canterbury — in representative matches, and never been on the losing side. He has also graduated at tennis and rowing, saving them up for emergencies, so to speak, for no levelheaded Benedict would care to risk his limbs on the football battlefield. Mr. Wilson is a fortunate Benedict. He was married on Thursday last to. Miss Furlong, the handsome and clever youner matron of the Hawera Hospital, and the event was the soc ety sensation of the week up in that quarter. The Mayor made a handsome presentation to the bride on behalf of the public for forty miles round, and the footballers rolled up in force to make a presentation to Hamilton and °ive him a rousing send-off. The popularity of the happy pair is evidenced by the fact that they received fully two hundred wedding presents in articles of silver-ware alone.

Mr. "Johnny" P. O'Neil, the finest Irish character actor m the colonies, looked m the other day, before the Holloway Company went away, to say he'd lost three stone in weight since last we saw him. "Bedad and the loss is a gam," he added lightly, sitting fifteen stone of comedian in a chair. Johnny has been buzzing backwards and foi wards between Australia and New Zealand for forty years. He was here less than three years ago, with the company engineered by Messrs. C. R. Stanford and Westmacott. The former gentleman went out of the theatrical venture line, but is playing with the Holloway Company, and the latter, a very wealthy Sydney mar who is also an excellent comedian, was last with the Musgrove organisation. Mr. Stanford has married Miss Ida Gresham since both were here before. * * * But, to revert to John. He comes from L.menck the "city of the violated treaty " and he prizes an autograph letter of Daniel O'ConnelFs dated 1836. He left school at an early age in Auckland, in order to go on the stage, and he has been there ever since. He lives at Mil son's Point, Sydney, and he calls his home "Shaughraun Cottage." As you know, Johnny plays "Captain O'Neil," in "The Assassin," which, in itself, is a coincidence. The heroine exclaims ecstatically, "Oh, Captain O'Neil'" in one part of the play In Sydney recently the lady, as usual, ejaculated soulfully, "Oh, Captain O'Neil," and a voice from the "gods" chir—ed in, "Naw, taint, it's Johnny O'Neil. Divil a sowl else was it besides at all, at all. * * * Mr. Vivian Edwards, with the Hollo«ay Company, is the son of a Broken Hill barrister. This accounts for his silvery voice and handsome appearance. Mr. Harry Hodson, also with the company used to be operatically inclined, and sang a stave while here before with Simonsen's Operatic Company. And the ancient Mr. Hesford? Well, he was playing in Auckland when Johnny was a little boy. In fact, Johnny stole away from home to go to the play, and got thoroughly trounced for doing it. It is his earliest theatrical experience. * + * Lawn, tennis is very interesting to the player, but the student of style and expression gets more fun watching it than playing. The Lance put in an hour at the Easter Tournament, on the College Ground, the other day. Saw a httlei man, in a red and black blazer, yelling. Knew he was "top of the Eile," because everybody appealed to im about everything. Found out that he was J. A. B. Howe, who has been playing tennis for only five years but who isn't playing this year beca/use he's wanted to engineer the show. The little man is chief clerk of the Commercial Union Assurance Company, and has been with that company for twenty years. He used to play cricket in Wellington, and was captain of the long-defunct Star Club, which held the •junior cup in the days of our youth. Likewise, he ping-ponged, when that form of athletism was epidemic. In fact, he held the ping-pong championship of the Insurance Institute, and also won the handicap. * ■* * There were a multitude of players on the College ground, most of them looking thin and anxious. There is undoubtedly a "tennis face." All players screw their eyes up, and hardly ever smile. There is no special athletic figure noticeable, but the pained expression is ever present. The slight, ohve-cqmplexioned, young lady, with the white motoring cap, who is playing in a Ladies' Double, is Miss Powdrell, the reigning champion who won the Championship Singles the other day for the second year in succession. On this occasion, Miss Van Staveren was the runner-up.

Miss Van Staveien, the athletic-Jook-ing daughter of the Jewish Rabbi, is less woriied looking than most. She is a fine-upstanding girl, who ejaculates freely, asd seems to enjoy life thoroughly. Some day, when she's won a few championships, she too may look worried. Miss Van Staveren is wearing a bandage round her racquet hand, and two of her fingers are m finger-stalls. Mrs. Pearce is the sister of Champion Miss Powdrell, and is keen-looking and plays with the left hand. She has a springy way of playing suggestive of the expression, "Where is it? Let me at it ?" The diminutive lady in the white muslin blouse, is that veteran player, Mrs. Payne, an ex-champion, who plays the game for all it is worth. Some ladies wear socks over their boots, and all of them carry their racquets as if they were dear friends or delicate babies. Nobody ever puts a racquet down. It would be an invitation to the vandal and a sacrilege. • • • Mr. Cox, the ex-champion, is down on one of the centre courts, playing with the doughty Swanson. Mr. Cox, who comes from Masterton ; has the intense terms expression, is thin and wiry, and a'ways plays with the indicator at "full speed ahead." Once he smiled, but that is history. Swanson looks like a footballer. He is a nugq-ety fellow, w.th a confident air, and a gayer, more debonair expression than the average tennis player. He treads the_ whitelined courts like a gladiator rejoicing in his strength, and is not afraid to meet his enemy in the gate. The present tennis tournament is the largest ever held in Australasia. The number of entries exceed all previous records, and the arrangements have been carried out veiv smoothly. When you consider that the management got off 103 games in bad weather the first day, and 137 the second day, you'll agree that the man in. the blazer had to hustle. • * * Mr. James McMahon, the veteran theatrical entrepreneur, is the gentleman who brings Miss Fitzmaurice Gill to New Zealand. You may meet the sharp, dapper, little man in Paris, Berlin, Hongkong, Shanghai, Java, Melbourne; Honolulu, or anywhere else, for for thirty years he's been dodging around the world, and has rested but little. Like lots of theatrical men, he studied law, turned from it to journalism, and has been for thirty years engaged theatrically. He joined Mrs. Soott-Siddons, "the loveliest woman in the world," just that long ago, and managed for her for ten years. During al 1 that time he spent each summer on the Continent. He can travel over it now without mistaking the Moulin Rou^e for Notre Dame. • • • The husband of the great Shakespearian actress was a naval officer, who lost his leason. When Mr. McMahon took Mrs. Scott— Siddon and her company to California, in 1878, the unfortunate officer, for whom an estate was purchased at the Hutt, came to New Zealand, where he partially recovered. He again became ill, and died about a year ago in Yarra Bend Mental Diseases Asylum. Mr. McMahon remembers the Wellington Theatre Royal. He brought the great Dion Boueicault to New Zealand once, and the first-night crowd simply smashed the ticket-office in its endeavour to get into that building. The police stopped the crowd at 7 o'clock. In eight weeks the "star" made £8000 odd, and James took his little share of £1200. » • • 'Mr. McMalion, associated with Mr. Leach, brought the original "Silver King" Company to New Zealand, too. He literally wears his heart upon his sleeve, for, in his Eastern wanderings, he has picked up a set of gold Chinese sleeve-links, in the shape of a heart, with "Kia Ora" (in Chinese) thereon. Mr. McMahon's special brand of Man-

ilia cigar recalls the Philippines. He knows the Philippines, and "those dirty wretches," the Filipinos. At Manila the Filipino Sunday is spent in ooekfightmg. Ten thousand of the mixed race go out of the town for the sport in bullock waggons and rickshaws. The roosters are armed with three-inch spurs, double-edged, and sharp as a razor. One good kick of the successful bird makes poultry of the other fellow. * • • Perhaps, you may remember that Aqumaldo, the Filipino leader, was "captured" by the Americans. Mr. McMahon aversi that that gentleman was paid £30.000 by the American Government to strike an attitude, and get surrounded by soldiers. He is still a "prisoner." He has a picturesque mansion at Cavite Bay, overlooking Manila harbour a staff of servants, and carriages. His "captivity" is most enjoyable. Manila, after being dirtily Spanish for four hundred years, is now gaudily American. The old vine bush has vanished, the language is nasal . and cocktails abound. Those good souls the Filipinos would slit one's weasand for hfJf-a-dollar ; still, "Mac" is here. * * * Mr. McMahon knows the Jap. He knows the Russian, too. The Jap is a "cocky little devil," with a wondrous power of imitation. His navy is an exact copy of the British, even to the badges of rank. The Japs hate the British, says "Mac," and they avoid theatrical shows. Japan is no place for theatrical people. "The Russian is one of the finest fellows in the world." That is, the swell Russian. The peasant? "Oh, well, the peasant is the peasant, and there you are." "Mac's gesture is expressive. Also, Mr. McMahon believes the "cocky little devils" will emphatically "go down" in the long run. * * * Brigadier-General Gordon, who is spoken of as a possible successor of General Sir Edward Hutton as grand panjandrum of the Australian Army, used to be a South Australian mounted policeman. With a name like Gordon, he had to climb, and so he bought a monocle, and started mto do it. He went to Africa merely as a colonel, and got his brigade on his return. He is not the gifted linguist Sir Edward is, but he is eminently picturesque, has- a neat waist, cavalry legs, and a heavy dragoon style of conversation. For these reasons the Brigadier-General should be a huge success. Mr. James Craigie, Mayor of Timaru, is the gentleman who believes that it would be a patriotic act on the part of New Zealand adults to give a shilling each and children to give a penny, towards the purchase of a piece of plate, in the form of a shield, or other tropny, for presentation to the new battlesnip, New Zealand. So it would. Mr. Craigie believes that the money subscribed by adults will be sufficient to provide annual prizes for gunnery for all time for the men of H.M.S. New Zealand. It is easily believable by all hands. We have such excellent precedents. People of England, who have been honoured by having battleships named after their counties, have provided pieces of plate for the officers' mess. For instance, the people of Donegal; likewise, thfe men of Kent. Why can't we? » * * The silver bell idea is the best to date. Everybody oould have a bang at the bell, and' "Jack" as well as the commander could see it. American people have followed the precedent "of making gifts to ships named after various States but haven't confined their gifts to the officers' mess. The provision by subscription of prize money is in itself an excellent idea, and therer isn't a doubt that loyal New Zealand adults will ghuttly pay their shillings, and loyal New Zealand youngsters gladly deny themselves a pennyworth of lollies for so good a cause.

Mr P. J. O'Regan, ex-M.H.R. and iournahst, has been home for a month. •Tat" belongs to the West Coast, where all the brilliant men come from. JSang Dick came from it, and he has a job to get out of it when he goes back now-t-days. "Hospitality on the Coast says "Pat," "takes a liquid form, and as he is a temperate man, he found many thorns in his path "Pat used his holiday to demonstrate that he wasn't a protectionist. He spoke to a rapt audience at Westport on the unimproved value rating question and went to Denmston, where he found the people had accepted Joe Chamberlain and his preferential tariff as the joint saviours of the Empire. "Pat set about destroying their idol, and the grim look of him convinces you that he put a few holes in it. • ♦ * "Pat" met a commercial traveller on the Coast who was a strong Chamberlainite, and who predicted the success of Fiscal Joe, and his elevation to the Premiership. Mr. O'Regan told the commercial traveller that Joe was a beaten man already, and that he was preparing a cable of congratulation to Campbell Bannerman at the downfall of Chamberlain. But , he hasn't despatched it Joseph of B-rmingham isn't beaten yet. * * * Colonel Blake, who commanded the Irish-American Brigade which fought tor Jan Boer in the war, is really a colonel, although if you saw his picture you wouldn't believe it, for 1 he is Boer-look-jn- from slouch hat to veldtschoon. Recently written that Colonel Blake is on his way east to take a command m either the Jap or the Russian Army. Which goes to show that the tough old warrior loves a good fight. Although the Colonel fought bitterly against the British, he has a tender spot in his heart for them, for only a little while ago he married one — a sister-in-law of tile celebrated cavalry leader, Gen. Sir John French. Colonel Blake has seen service in the American Army and formerly commanded the Chartered Company s Rhodesian Police. Seems to us lies like'y to go anywhere where there is a promise of a fight. Both he Piet de Wet and French were at Oxford University at the same time. * • * Mr Norman L. Gurr, in charge of the Hawke's Bay district for the Government Life Insurance Department, came into the Lance Office the other day and laughed. That astonishing cachination is still tintmabulating through the building. He's, a sharp fellow, is Norman. Has an open-handed way with him. Throws his coat back, and talks confidentially to you. Want-tc-take-your-hfe sort of style about him. An enquiring nose, built on the Charlie Skerrett principle, gives Mr. Gurr a remarkably alert look. ♦ • • But, Norman's adventure. He's got a motor-car. Fearful lot of horse-power about it, and a "Rambler." Got it at Napier, and came down to Wellington in it. Had a glorious time, but thinks the authorities are unkind not to supply a cable punt for the Hutt Road. This is absolutely a new joke about the said road. He ripped along from Napier to Dannevirke in the car in four hours, but doesn't seem to have injured anyone seriously, although there may have been stray fowls and stupid obstacles like that removed en route. Anyhow, it took him less than thirteen hours to get to Wellington. • ♦ * Seems that he got most of the fun coming down the Manawatu-road from Otaki A man, horse, and trap, at Pahautanui, fascinated by the fearsome motor didn't know what to do, so didn't do anything. Mr. Gurr naturally felt the indignation of all motorists at the person using the public highway. The horse knew what to do. As the life-taker shot by, at forty-five miles an hour, the horse shot towards a wire fence on to a tennis court. "The driver seemed to be taking the fence off him as I got away!" said Mr-Gurr, very sorry for the said horse. Horses are stupid, especially when they haven't seen a motor-car before. Most of them climb the nearest bank, or take a handy precipice. All horses should be slain. • * * At Te Aute, Mr. Gurr noticed that a Maori gentleman was standing alongside a wrecked ten-horse-power tonneau. He had been taking his family for a spin, and a post had grown up in the middle of the road, or something. Anyhow, he told Mr. Gurr : "I lose my head." None of the coloured gentry were hurt, but the carriage of the vehicle sustained £200 worth of smash. The road between Wellington and Otaki is extremely dangerous and mountainr ous. A horse meeting a motor-car on it would never be stopped by the ricketty fences. He would hit the earth several hundred feet below if he got frightened. Ab people are still ridiculous enough to have horses, it would be a kind thing for horse-owners to spend about £10,000 on fencing between Wellington and Otaki. It would save motorists from the necessity of spreading broken limbs around.

Miss Emily Jane Mardon, who met her death last week under such strange, gad, and somewhat mysterious circumstances — discovered m her bedroom on Monday week at 11 a.m., unconscious from gas poisoning, and with the gas jet turned three-parts on — was a niece of Mrs. H. D. Nelson, of Portland Crescent, and a young woman of most attractive personality. She came from Rawene, on the Hokianga river, where her parents reside, and underwent a course of hospital training before starting to practise as a professional nurse. In this city, the doctors who were brought into association with her were highly impressed with her capabilities, and her refinement, gentleness of manner, and sweetness of disposition raised her high in the estimation of her patients. She lived for a time with her aunt and uncle, but the calls upon her services were so frequent that, for convenience sake, she took the room over Mr. Hobson's chemist shop, in Upper

Willis-street, where she came by her death. Her age was only 24. Mr. Maurice P. Cameron, the newlyappointed Government hardware expert, about whom we had something to say last week, had 1 some hardwear experiences in the hardware line 1 at Home. He learnt his business in "Glesga," where he was apprenticed to the old firm of A. and J. Nisbet for five years, starting at the fat screw of four shillings a week, and rising by increments of one shilling every successive year. How the average Wellington, youth would turn up his nose at it with ineffable disgust! The hours were from 8 till 7, and often when 7 came round young Maurice would be sent round to the Highland steamer with a barrow-load of ironmongery, getting home about 10 p.m. after trudging it throueh snow and sleet. No wonder Scotchmen are attached to their country.