THE INTELLIGENT VAGRANT.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXII, Issue 4987, 17 March 1877, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE INTELLIGENT VAGRANT.

(From the New Zealand Mail.) Quis scit an adjiciant hocUorna-) crastina summro Tcmpora Di Supori.— Horace. Ho ought to have been an Irishman. The conversation was about the All England Eleven and the assault cases against Pooley. The characters of the various members of tho team were being discussed, and ho said, “ Well, my opinion about tho Eleven is that they are six of one and half-a-dozen of another.”

A reporter was taken down a peg or two the other night. He went to a political meeting. It is but fair to say that he has a free and easy manner, combining the honhonvmic of a cockney with the affability of a bullock driver. He asked the first person he met on entering the room, “ Has Travers come yet?” Said that person: Mr. Travers has not arrived.” Tho person was Mr. Travers, juu. In addition to his other exertions, Mr. Travers is endeavoring to “ dissolve one of tho astronomical problems of the age.” Ido not know what “ dissolving” a problem means, but the writer of the words I have quoted, or Mrs. Malaprop can perhaps supply the desired information. However, it is satisfactory to know that ns a means towards tho end, Mr. Travers has been taking photographs of the sun. Now, I do not think that he should be permitted to bear the expense of having done this himself. His so utterly mistaking my moaning in what I wrote about the whale has caused me much regret for having written it, and to make amends for the utterly unintentional sorrow I have afforded him, I offer a suggestion. Let the sun have copies of his photographs sent to him, with an intimation that a remittance sufficient to cover the cost of the chemicals expended in obtaining them would oblige.

There was something very symptomatic about that paragraph in the Post which announced that its circulation had made a most rapid increase since a point about sixteen months past. Why, that was the very time that somebody parted company with it. These be parlous times. Yesterday the Editor of the New Zealand Times received a telegram from the conductor of a country contemporary, saying a rumor was prevalent that the Armed Constabulary in Wellington had mutinied, and that particulars would oblige. The Editor of the Times telegraphed back, “ There has been no mutiny. There are no particulars.” This would not satisfy the energetic journalist in the esuntry. He telegraphed again, “ Is there any truth in. rumor ? Kindly wire fully.” The Times man replied, “No truth in rumor ; how can I wire fully ? ” The thirst for accurate information in this country is enormous. During the sitting of the Licensing Court yesterday I noticed Mr. Perrier take a place in the dock, guarded, apparently, by a policeman. Asking him why ho went there, he said he was anxious for a foretaste of the experiences to which a few friends would like to condemn him. And at this Licensing Court Mr. Barton exhibited a holy horror of the attempt to increase the number of hotels. He thought it quite right for a hotelkeeper to object to the opening of a new establishment, considering how much his profits might be decreased thereby. But, Mr. Barton, when you started in your business here how would you have liked an objection from the lawyers already practising in Wellington, on the ground that you would interfere with their business 1 The following appeared in a Southern paper: —“ Every person has heard of the eccentric Mr. Andrew, M.H.R., ‘ clerk in holy orders.’ One of our friend’s pet subjects was ‘ The Babbit Nuisance,’ and his bete noir the ‘ Cockatoo.’ This gentleman’s likes and dislikes are the subjects not of ill-nature, but of continual merriment. It appears that among the dislikes he includes Irishmen, and one of his questions in the rabbit nuisance committee during the late session is characteristic of the rev. gentleman. Mr. Andrew to Captain Fraser ; ‘ What is the nature of the soil on the Dunstan where you are apprehensive of the rabbits doing harm now ?’— ‘ A light soil and rocky.’ ‘Are there many Irishmen there?’—‘Yes, a great number.’ Not the slightest indication is given of why the reference was made to the sons of Erin, for the questioner immediately returns to the habits of the rabbit. We have never heard that Irishmen were particularly either the enemy or the friend of the rabbit. We can understand why Mr. Andrew should have a down upon Bunny, but it is past our comprehension why he should associate Irishmen with that great object of his aversion.” The irate writer, for whose ignorance of grammar 1 am not responsible, forgot that “ Irishmen” means here a kind of wild thistle, as “ Scotchmen” does another kind.

According to a London paper some light has been thrown on the vulgar expression, “ Walk your chalks,” and the character of a cabman has been cleared by a statement made at the Mansion House. One Russel was charged with being drunk and incapable of taking care of himself and his horse. According to his own account, which was not disputed, Russel, offered to undergo an ordeal at the police station. The ordeal was of a more satisfactory sort than most of those by which our ancestors and the blacks of the Gold Coast tested the innocence of criminals. “At the police station,” deposed Mr. Russel, “ I said to the inspector : ‘ Chalk a mark along the floor. If I’m drunk I can’t walk it.’ ” Russel then charmed the Court by imitating the futile efforts of the kind of person called in America “anebriate” to walk his chalks. Unfortunately the police officers had no chalk, and could not accommodate Mr. Russel with the materials for performing his gymnastic feat. The cabman, not to bo baulked, offered the police a pencil, and it will readilly be allowed that to walk a black pencil mark is far more difficult than to tread a line marked in white chalk. This must be obvious, and public opinion will no doubt go with Sir Robert Carden’s conduct in dismissing Russel without a stain on his character. The day will no doubt bo marked in his calendar with chalk.