FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 1, 23 March 1927, Page 12

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By the LOOK-OUT MAN. O’Malley and Chen: These names have appeared often in the maze of argument about the big trouble in China. One has an Irish THE BROGUE regality to it, IN CHINA. while the other, 1 — ■ ■■ l of course, looks Chinese. Both are a little misleading. In each case there is nothing in a name. Mr. O. St. J. C. O’Malley, as Secretary of. the British Legation at Peking, is the official negotiator for the Foreign Office, and Mr. Eugene Chen shuffles the diplomatic cards for the Cantonese. Curiously enough, Mr. O’Malley is more of an Englishman than a son of Ireland, while Mr. Chen, in one way only, is more of an Irishman than a Chinese. The brogue of the bog flavours his English speech. It has been said that he spent a part of his life in Ireland, but more likely he acquired the rich softness of the Irish tongue in Irish-American circles. Among the Peking diplomatists it must be amusing to hear an eloquent and cultured Chinese speak as though he represented the free nation south of the Liffey, and to see him be as elusive as the great Michael Collins was in the distressful days that are now happily over and well done with. Talking of Ireland brings up the fact that there is no other writer in the world to-day with anything like Donn Byrne’s quick skill at revealing the warm heart of the Irish people, and the quaintness of ■ —j their subtle speech, so: “A man can’t be in two places at the same time barring he’s a bird of the, air.” But look at the vivid picture of Ireland Mr. Byrne has etched in “Th 6 National Geographic

“We are a poor country as to money, but we have purple heather and mountains golden with gorse, and rivers, great-bosomed and friendly, where men may dream. And the sea is kind to us. Our fields are green as the Prophet’s banner. We do not, thank God, hesitate when the heart calls one way and the head another. A nation that is ever prosperous, always wise, seems to me a nation forsaken by its angels.” After that, who would not wish to wander in the groves of Blarney, or among the soft beauty of Athlone, where “the peat smoke from the houses assails your nostrils with a necromancy, and the old ache comes in your soul?” * * * A man who was once a fishmonger may become the next President of the United States. He is Alfred Emanuel Smith, Governor of New York, better known from the East Side of his home town to the far slopes of the Golden West as “Al.” As the outstanding figure in the Democratic Party, “Al” Smith is worth more than casual notice from a long distance. Though of mixed Irish and English descent, he is a New Yorker born and bred. Neighbours recall him as a handsome lad, with a quick-witted Irish tongue. At the age of nine (he is now 53) he was selling papers on the streets' When his father, who was a truckman, died in 1887, the boy got a job in a fish market, where ha worked hard for seven years. There are no scales on him now. To-day, Governor Smith is the idol of New York, and the most serene man on any public platform. No hall can ever hold the crowds that flock to hear him. He is not a master of classic English diction, but his racy slang makes him a spellbinder, and may yet carry him into the White House.

ISLE OP | DREAMS. |

A SPELLBINDER. j