PRESIDENT KRUGER AT HOME.

Waikato Argus, Volume VII, Issue 482, 2 September 1899, Page 1 (Supplement)

PRESIDENT KRUGER AT HOME.

It is President Kruger's custom every morning, when the Rand is sitting (writes a Pretoria correspondent of the " M.A.P."), to drive from his house in Church-street to the Raadzaa, escorted by six of the mounted police. On a recent occasion, whilst on this short journey, one of the carriage horses stumbled and brought down its companion with it. The escort dismounted and tried to extricate the struggling animals, but without success, until the President annoyed at the delay, got out of his carriage and pushing the zarps to ono side, with a few sharp pulls and a couple of blows succeeded in freeing the struggling animals and getting them to their feet. His Honour then turned to his escort, and in u sharp tone, said : " What kind of men are you who cannot lift a fallen horse from the ground ? Why I have knocked a horse down with one blow, and then lifted him to his feet again, and : ' —and here he drew himself up This was no empty boast, for in his younger days Kruger was noted as being one of the most active and powerful men in the country. In spite of his seventy-four years, he is still possessed of tremendous bodily strength, and is still able, under tho spur of any excitement, to exert this power. The simple tastes and habits of Oom Paul have long been proverbial, though during the last few years his rule has somewhat relaxed. On one occasion when I went to his house in Pretoria (says a gossip), I was shown into a parlor rather like the pictures of an English room of thirty years ago The horsehair chairs and sofa stood stiaight and stiff round the walls, while in the centre of the room was the familiar round table covered at intervals with tidy stacks of household books White crochot covers kopt everything free from dust, the sun was carefully kept out by half-drawn curtains and the windows were shut tight. Tho room was filled with an atmosphcro of musty melancholy. In conversation with a South African woman journalist tho other day, I suggested that if Miss could persuade President Kruger to write his true, faithful, and intimate autobiography for the " In the Days of My Youth," series, " M. A. P. " would probably be delighted to beg her acceptance of a desirable little cheque—in three Agues. But sho tossed her head, and gave au almost melodramatic little shudder. " Kruger ! " she said sternly. " lu'r-ruger ! I would like to poison the old wretch." I wonder, she continued musingly, " if I could poison him. i interviewed him the last time 1 was over, and I am going to see him again next month. It would do such a lot of good for my people out there, and it would make rather a sensation, would it not ?

I ventured to remark, soothingly she would find a neat and successful modus operandi described in detail in the last chapter of a good "jLife of Marat." But the little woman-journalist, now conscious that she was being quizzed displayed a saving gift of humour that was in odd contrast to the dead earnestness of a moment before " I am afraid, for one thing, "she siid, "that I am not Charlotte Corday, and for another, that Mr Kruger never takes a batli ! "

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