HALCOMBE.

Rangitikei Advocate and Manawatu Argus, Volume XXXIV, Issue 9336, 4 January 1909, Page 4

HALCOMBE.

From Our Own Correspondent,

The sad news of Mrs Oa wood’s sudden and untimely death at Rotorua came as a shook to her Halcombe friends, who had fondly hoped she would soon return to them greatly improved in health. Much sympathy is felt and expressed for the bereaved husband, his invalid daughter and the other members of this highly respected and now motherless family. During the holidays Halcombe has been visited by some of the old and much missed residents, among whom were our late schoolmaster, Mr Strachan, and the business brothers, Messrs Fred and Dick Thompson. While such gratifying “look ups” serve to remind us of the days that are gone they are unfortunately powerless to revive all their pleasurable environments. The tragic death of a dog is not a subject perhaps that will interest- all your readers; still there are many who, like mylsef, know of a dog’s devotion, and who are not ashamed of the tears we have shed at the loss of a canine friend, and who will sympathise with our popular stationmaster, Mr Morton, who recently saw an incoming train pass over his faithful companion.

I don’t know how our farmers regard the introduction of the new year, but if its weeping and windy ways are to be accepted as a sample of what 1909 has in store for them they will conclude that it is by no means an improvement upon * the harvest weather of 1908, These howling winds and heavy rains must prove disastrous to the standing and out crops. Haymaking under such conditions is not only harassing and heart-breaking, but calculated to make a fellow say things when beyond the oral radius of his family circle.

A would-be party of New Year serenaders who, with their tin instruments, were prepared to wake the dead, went home wet and to bad without sounding a resurrectionary note. That the spirit which rules over the festive occasion divorces our thoughts from prosaic business is evidenced by the following:—The butcher’s man with the Xmas roast and sausages for turkey stuffing which, in due course, were placed upon portions of the family plate and tit bits of news so dear to the hearts of country cousins were exchanged, anticipations of picnicing and other delirious indulged in over the ever stimulating cup of tea. At length the butcher man, realising that he has other fair country customers to serve, lots to do and little time to do it, hastily shuts the door of the travelling meat shop, jumps up and hurriedly departs amid exchanges of seasonable wishes and “see you again.” An hour’s drive brings the belated and “absent-minded beggar” to the cential emporium, where he ‘ opens up” to receive a further supply of Xmas fare and to discover that roast and sausages still reposing within the cart. The only explanation that the sympathetic boss batcher feels disposed to accept is that his employee has been doing some Xmas killing on his own. £ Writing of dogs reminds me that the greatest of French astronomers believes that dogs do die of grief, and that when greatly distressed they are capable of committing suicide. We have recently read or a dog who had lost his master deliberately placing himself in front of a moving motor bus, and this distinguished scientist tells of a dog who when repeatedly driven from home by a heartless' 4 *human” jumped into the river and drowned himself. ,

I don’t know ‘Jack Vincent,” but desire to thank him for his recent contribution to your columns. His latest from the “stump” shows him to be a humourist , as well as a poilosopher. Stead, of the Review of Reviews, is well known as a journalistic pro* phet and preacher and even when “Spook” ridden and a “pro-Boer,” all who followed his work will 1 think, admit he preached to good purpose. Some years ago he had a midnight interview with Mr W. Randolph Heazst and preached to him. The result is that the irressponsible millionaire owner of eight or nine very “yellow” newspapers, has “developed a soul,” and become the moving force in American political and social life. It was during this interview that Hearst declared with a sneer that journalism is only business like everything else. “There’s just where you make the mistake,” vehementlyiretorted Stead. “It is because you think it is so and act on your belief that I doubted whether you had found your soul. Journalism is the heir of all the theocracies, monarchies, aristocracies, heirarohies, plutocracies. In a democracy the Journalist is the one man whose voice is heard day£by day by all the people. He hears [all the opportunities, all 1 ! the responsibilities. It is his mission, as Lowell said to be the Moses of* humanity leading each generation across that wilderness of Sin called the progress of civilisation. How is that, you ink slingers, for encouraging high aiming heedless of shots that find the barn door?