THROUGH Our EXCHANGES.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXV, Issue 39, 14 February 1913, Page 8

THROUGH Our EXCHANGES.

A French Magistrate celebrated for bis punctuality, overslept himself one morning lately (says the Eclair) and jumped into a cab, telling the driver to “go like mad.” The driver obeyed, and reached the Court in time, but narrowly missed several foot-pas-sengers, nearly overturned two carriages, and upset a greengrocer’s cart. The Magistrate, in paying the fare, added 12s 6d, “for the reckless driving for which I shall ho obliged to fine you to-morrow.” A Wairarapa stock buyer has met with some ninny happenings during Lis travels round the country. Recently lie was expected at an outback station early in the morning, but by hustling a bit he managed to arrive at about half-past nine the previous night. The house was silent and in darkness, all hands having “turned in.’l The stock buyer had generally made himself at home at most station that he was in the habit of visiting, so he quietly entered the house, had a smoke, and went to the room where the father and three grown-up sons slept. He undressed, and as no one stirred lie pushed one of the boys over and made room for himself without disturbing any of the occupants of the room. He slept the sleep of the tired horseman, until awakened by hearing the father rousing the boys out, tolling them: “That confounded stock-buyer is fairly energetic, you know, and 1 don’t want him to catch us in bed, or we would never hear the last of it.” When the person referred to rolled out of bed the look of astonishment on the faces of all four was something to ho remembered. Last week a Bishop of the Church of England, easily identified by his athletic build, prime of life vigour, and the purple stock of a high Church dignitary, sought relief from the sultry conditions in the surf at Bondi. From the dressing sheds ho emerged on the sands in a smart Canadian costume of blue, slashed with white. Entering the surf where hundreds ol men and maidens were disporting themselves, he breasted the waves and shot the breakers as if he was well used to that sort of thing. The news spread rapidly in the surf, and many hugely enjoyed the novel experience of rubbing boulders with a real bishop but of his orthodox garb. The dignitary was Bishop Long, of Bathurst. Asked on Thursday concerning his impressions of the Australian surf, he stated that the previous day was practically his first experience as a surfer, though lie had been well accustomed to the water in England and Victoria He acknowledged that he was an adept at shooting the breakers, and that he was a good swimmer. The Sydney Sun adds: “It may now be accepted that mixed bathing has received the official sanction of the church. One of these days, perhaps, the surfers at Bondi or Manly will welcome the Australian surf baptism of Archbishop Kelly, divested of tbs red cassock and hiretta, and attired in a well-regulated bathing costume of green line and modest cut.”

A resident of Greymouth writes to the Argus that visiting Kumar a a few days ago lie wended his way to the residence of the late Premier, Mr Seddon. Imagine his surprise when he found that the hotel formerly owned by the late Premier was in course of demolition, and it was stated that the adjoining dwelling house in which the family had lived was also to be removed. The visitor was also informed that what may be termed “relice” of the home were to be forwarded to Wellington, The old doorknocker was to face the residence of Mrs Seddon, and many other useful appendages of the “old home” would be used in various homes of the family. It is a sad reflection this removal of the old home vif the “great tribune,” one so powerful in the country, seems to be a cutting away of the last connection of the past with the present of Kumara. 1 here seems to be a decided dullness there—so different from when the deceased statsman lived there with his family. The population is on the wane. The stalwart miners of the past who so fearlessly faced “flood and field”are gone. The removal of the home of the late Imperialist statesman (for he was that if ever there was one) leaves a blank, and adds to the air of stagnation that seems to be in the place. The whole scene gives weight to the linos of Scot that came to mind at the time and seem not inappropriate at the death of the late distinguished statesman and friend of the West Coast :■— “Now is the statldy column broke, The beacon light is quenched in smoke, The trumpet silver sound is still, The warder silent on the hill.”