THE FRETFUL PORCUPINE

STILL another story from a disgusted maniac of the puff theatrical show queue. In order to be early, a wellknown traveller for alcoholic liquors, of more than eighteen stone, broke away from good business and joined the queue in Durham-street." He bravely stood the chaffing of his friends, the showers, the heat, the throat dryness disease, hunger, and the soreness of corns, meantime dodging the hatpins of his front ranker. Then darkness came on and helped him a bit until the doors opened, but his breath of relief was choaked in the Adam's apple when the cry went forth, " no seats under six bob." Angered at this he made his rush for the gallery, bought an early ticket at an advanced price from one dryer than himself, did the battle of the stairs and finally got a seat and rest .for a moment. The continued " move up there !" kept him going until the first interval and then he collapsed and fell from grace. The drought was too awful, and that's all he saw of the show. The battle into the open just finished him. When he reached the bar with the aid of many friends, he looked like an all red root.

Maurice O'Branigan is not as you may suppose an Italian, and therefore may be pardoned for not understanding the word that is sticking up in many places locally. He asked his friend George Brown last week what "Kismet " meant. Brown, airing his superior knowledge, replied, "It is Arabic for fate." Yesterday 08. and

B. met again. Maurice was limping badly. ■ George asked him why. • " Sh'ure, me Kismet hurt me," he said.

"Carter" writes : I reckon that slippery asphalt ruins more horses than all the rest of the paving and water put together. I suggest that no asphalt should be laid down in Auckland unless it is " roughed' — that is criss-crossed with diagonal lines. "Cogs and bars" are useless on horses' shoes to prevent slipping where the surface is hard, and it's a wicked thing to ask a horse to " start" a heavy load on it. As the roads are made primarily for horse traffic, it's up to horse owners to sing out and the sooner they sing out about greasy, slippery asphalt, the better for thousands of pounds worth of valuable horseflesh.

Dr. Arthur, who has a seat in the N.S.W. Legislative Assembly, has once again shocked old ladies of both sexes by declaring that the State should absolutely prevent the marriage of people suffering from inheritable disease, particularly *hose terrible diseases which shuddering daily papers usually designate as " certain/ just as they can only bring themselves to memtion a "certain offence/ There was loud outcry from purblind purists a while ago over a proposal to keep any gaoled person found to be suffering from " a certain disease " in "•aol until he or she was either dead or cured, without regard to the length of sentence imposed. It was a sensible proposal, but the purity brigades (whose members believe that the mere mention of dreadful evils implies a putridly wicked mind in the mentioner) wailed weirdly against it.

Dr. Arthur sensibly says that people are too much inclined to cloak facts and pretend they do not exist and that they will have to sink a lot of foolish philanthropy and face the question. Quite so, but who is going to bell the cat ? People resent having unaccustomed ideas sprung on them and the reformer who insists upon the people seeing what they don't choose to see is a sure thing for the unpopularity Stakes. As G. K. Chesterton once remarked, "the people stoned the false prophets, but they would have stoned the time prophets with greater enjoyment." And unpopularity doesn t earn dividends and social position.

When Charlie Drysdale gets the ear of Reg. Masefield he pours a yarn into it, and one of the tenderest little stories that have lately passed is relative to an incident in the life of that famous character, Sir Patrick Dooley, of Dooley Hall, Donegal. It seems that a French aristocrat was visiting Sir Patrick, whose fine old Irish hospitality and expansive geniality drew friends from all over Britain and the Continent. After dinner one night over their wine, the Frenchman said, "Your English language is curious, is it not ? Your name is Dooley —my name is Dulay. Is it not that your people and mine might be related ?" " Bedad, and it is that," exploded Sir Patrick. "My .father was a divil to thravel \"

It is not known definitely why the Avondale Mental Hospital is overcrowded, but there is a suspicion that people who " tail on " from 4.30 in the morning for the purpose of getting a ticket for a show opening at 7.30 in the evening might supply a few clients. It is also not definitely known whether a guileless management arranges for a number of " supers " to give a good imitation of the great British public hanging round at milkman's hours endeavouring to break into the ticket emporium, in order that Oscar and Lily should not be unseen. One thing is certain. The City Council and its servants should not confine attention to preventing theatrical combines from roping back seats in order to snare the .unearned shillings, but, out of consideration for the safety of the public should attempt some police work in overcrowded upper galleries.Auckland s play-house is not an ideal one for the_ safe exit of audiences during panics of any kind, and it is reasonable that entrepreneurs shall have less of their own way than is usually the case. It is perhaps difficult to deal with any portion of a public that will sit up all night in order to attend a show next night, but managements that are out to capture every sixpence no matter what happens can be wheeled up with a round turn.

Apropos of the Auckland public and shows generally, it is not a wholly considerate public. The concert to Mr Henry Brett the other night concluded with the "Hallelujah chorus," a magnificent work listened to. all over the world by audiences who frequently stand as" a tribute to its greatness. On this occasion the people began to fidget and clatter, and then many rudely belted for the door. If they must rush out to catch trams or boats, why don't they make the rush between items and with less clatter ? Some very "nice " people are so well dressed that they conceive the effect of their clothes will be lost if they are punctual. ■ At the Cisneros concert a party of people arrived with a loud swish of silk underskirts as the mezzo-soprano was about to sing her first number. The singer halted and waited until the party was settled. There was no .reason why these people should inconvenience a whole audience and humiliate the singer. The " nice " people began to clatter out when Dufault was singing his final number. A few ordinarily courteous people applauded for an encore while the undisciplined rush occured. Dufault came back. He saw a mass of vanishing backs and went off. It would be interesting to know what the artists thought of Auckland manners. It should be a general rule that the doors be shut and kept shut to stem these rude riishes.

That paragraph from Wellington regarding the estate of the late T. G. MacCarthy, the wealthy brewer, is a curious example of taste. Wellington won't have so very large an income the paragraph wails—only about <£6000 per annum in fac*t (tears). Then see how the people have been deceived. Everybody thought T.G. had left half a million, and as a matter of fact it's only about .£380,000 (a nice bagatelle)—and it's not fair, so there ! All that is now wanting is for every corporate beneficiare under that will to wrangle long and lustily about it to prove that the late benefactor was very misguided in the matter, and that he ought to have consulted the beneficiares and the newspaper correspondents before he made his will. It's very hard that he didn't " cut up " better, isn't it ?

Last Saturday's thunder and hai] storm startled several people, and was even so rude as to break the windows of a church. This is definitely known, as one of the faithful was observed pushing the broken pane out with a broomstick prior to Sunday service. But perhaps the most remarkable effect of the storm was to produce a vivid desire to become descriptive in local scribes. The " Herald " shook back its hyperion curls, sunk its pen deep in the flowing ink-pot, and wrote this about lightning. It being remembered that the electrical disturbance took place at night, " Their wonderful vividness enabled them to be clearly seen, even when the rain was falling so heavily that one would have expected it to act as a screen." The discovery that uncommonly frequent lightning should be visible in the dark, although the rain (which conducts it) was trying hard to throw a curtain on it is worthy of some study. It is suggested that the attention of Messrs Wragge, Devereaux and Bates be called to the phenomenon. None of these gentlemen, it must be assumed, have ever witnessed visible lightning.

"An example of Wellington's egotism," is how Mr T. W. Leys describes the proposal to .establish a national art gallery in the Capital, and Wellington's desire to have it there. As a good Aucklander who lived for some time in the Southern city, present writer deprecates with soothing mildness these implications that Wellington is bitterly envious of our city, and that it wants everything. Wellingtonians generally are keen admirers of this city and envy it its benefactors and their works without animus. It is natural for the people of the city of windy hills to desire to possess benefits such as Auckland has and it is hardly kind of a wise man like Mr Leys to refer so contemptuously to Wellington, " which had only just formed an Art Society/ and was asking for assistance ." from Societies in other cities where they had been working in the interests of Art for many years." Some Aucklanders resent being made to appear as parochial minded as the words of Mr Leys suggest, and don't see anything very wrong in Wellington asking the other centres to assist in building iip a Dominion Art Gallery. That barbarous village called Wellington has had an Art Society almost as long as Auckland, and has produced some fairly notable New Zealand painters, and Mr Leys should know these things and not give opportunity for the scoffers to say that we are merely "provincial."

It is quite incorrect to assume that Mr Leonard Isitt's whole life is consumed in a battle against beer. He wants the Government to prevent the importation and breeding of bull-doga because a bull-dog (since deceased) took a mouthful of somebody, and it Will Have to be Put Down. Contrasted with the average Scotch or Irish terrier, or the electioneering-politician, the bull-dog is an angel, whose gentleness is proverbial. A bull-dog which lately sampled a policeman's leg is now suffering from death per baton, and it is meekly suggested that as the law won't step in and prevent the propagation of bull-dogs that Mr Isitt do emulate the Hop and travel the country smiting them.

"Te Pana" : Young Hori is a humorous cuss—sometimes. The miss that wields the chalk in a far northern Native school had occasion one day to report little Mikikau for his laxity in the matter of politeness. " It is wrong of you to simply say, 'Good morning/ I; being a LADY, should always be addressed as ' Miss. , " Mikikau sniffed—the Maori has no use for a handkerchief—" My word, I tinkum that te heavy question for me, eh ? You not te lady. You only te school teacher."

A Frenchman is alleged to have described the English as " the people who wet themselves all over every morning "•— but there are grave doubts about it. A medical man, Dr. E. H. Quine (who was in Auckland two years ago enquiring about trout fishing) has been gathering bath statistics and he finds that Scotsmen wash themselves all over oftenest (loud cheers from North of the Tweed). The doctor proves that soldiers are most addicted to the daily cold bath habit, with racing men a good second. He finds that clergymen seldom indulge in the " altogether " (probably because it isn't "quaite naice " to be bare) and that doctors don't rush the bath tub to any overwhelming extent. He accuses women of a distaste for cold and whole ablution, but is quite convinced that the most infrequent bathers are clericals. Apropos of the antagonism of the "lower classes " for complete matutinal ablution, he told the story of the worker who with his wife was examining a house with a view to rental. "Nice little barf-room, this 'ere," says the man. " Wot could we use it for, Maria ?"

Oscar Asche is a great man, verygreat—he is an actor. He says that Shakespeare was an uneducated man who wrote plays for money and who used all sorts of theatre slang in writing, and whose illiteracies in writing conclusively prove that the learned Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, didn't do-his work for him. The assertion that the dramatist wrote for money condemns him at once, and the local Shakespeare Society will, of course, disband rather than continue to contaminate their minds with the " tainted " writings of such a mercenary. It also chastens us to learn from Oscar that Shakespeare's comedies are merely farces, and that at least one of them never had a chance until Oscar appeared on the earth, and, with wonderful insight, saw that it was only to be played as low comedy. Poor William, he didn't know how long, he would have to wait before the appearance of his heaven-sent interpreter. Well, well, praise be to Allah that Oscar came to dispel our abysmal ignorance. By the way, does Oscar only play this despised Shakespeare person for money or what ?

Old friend Jim the Chemist tells the yarn. Wonderful how bashful the average young man is. I was looking out of the window of the shop the other night and saw a young man dodging up and down in the most furtive and suspicious way. I knew him well by sight, and he has been one of the best footballers and general athletes in Auckland, with the heart of a • lion. Every time he passed the shop he looked in in a nervous, suspicious way, and a constable on the other side very obviously had his eye on him. I fully expected him to come in to the shop to ask for prussic acid or something useful in suicidal cases, but when he did come in he asked for a stamp ! " And what else ?" I asked, for I knew, bless you ! "And—and— a baby's feeding bottle." "One ?" I asked. " No !" he blurted, " two/ Then he blushed his way out. There is the story, too, of the young man who after much manoeuvering sidled into the jeweller's shop, blushed at the man of gold, and asked for a watchkey. The jeweller, without a word, produced a tray of engagement rings. " Why, how did yoii know ?" stammered the youth—"l've bought eight watch-keys to-day and you're the first man who knows I don't want one I"

There is a Mr J. W. Kenah in Papatoetoe whose experience goes .back to Maori war days, and who was in the Opotiki business in 1865. He comes as an advocate for the kilt, for he says that his Maori scrapping experiences taught him that trousers were unpleasant wear when there were rivers to cross and that in consequence of the discovery that trousers were an inconvenience most of his company wore a blanket Maori fashion and found it good. He says that in those days it quite often happened that large companies of troops paraded without a pair of trousers amongst them. It sounds rather shocking, and we are afraid that, despite Mr Kenah's advocacy, the draped blanket will not be adopted as the territorial uniform. Plenty of men in the South African war, Avhen their trousers wore out, wore blankets strapped round their middle, but the improvised kilt was only recognised of necessity, never officially.

At a recent meeting of a local ratepayers , association a rather curious position arose during the voting on an amendment, which had been put to the meeting. A show of hands was called for, and out of an attendance of 20, 9 hands went up for the amendment. Without further preamble, the chairman then declared the amendment lost, taking it for granted that the balance of the meeting was against the proposition. This was objected to by the supporters of the amendment, and finally another show of hands was taken, both for and against. This time the amendment was carried by 11 votes to 6 ! We have no record of- the chairman's remarks on the result of the vote, but when a chairman of his calibre has charge of a public meeting, is it any wonder that curious things happen which never see daylight in the daily press ?

A local doctor is not without a sense of humour. A woman patient, typically nervous and very thin, told him she was suffering from insomnia. Sawbones asked her if she ate anything before geing to bed. She said "no" in a hurry as if eating was a habit to be avoided. Then the doctor told her to have a jolly good feed when she went to bed—she'd sleep like a top (or words to that effect). " But/ 5 she said in a horrified voice, "you told me the last time I saw you on no account to take' any supper." " Oh, but that was three months ago," said the doctor ; " science has made enormous strides since then \"

Alleged that Jack Johnsing's wife took her life because she was ostracised by white woman, but possibly, her determination to pass over had something to do with Mr recently expressed determination to provide himself with another white missus which was notified in some of the English papers. The rather pretty and petite woman who visited Australia with the coloured gladiator, got the haughty sniff from white woman in that country also, and apparently the lordly nigger was getting ready for a change in the land of easy divorces, for when Mr Johnsing started his gilded saloon in Chicago (where the portrait of himself, supported by the dark looks of his parents, grins at admiring clients from a frame of ±wenty T nye dollar gold pieces) he evidently desired a new white wife. Hence the late Mrs Johnsing'e despair. Eemembered that the lady ehone resplendantly over-dressed and over-

jewelled in Sydney, to the great envy and admiration of Sydney womankind whose apparent aim in life is to look as much like a favourite front-rank chorus gentlewoman as possible. The departed Mrs Johnsing evidently discovered that the constancy of the coloured male is not greater than that of the bleached variety, and she serves as a useful object lesson to those ladies for whom the fascination of colour and its cash outweighs racial pride. There is no forgiveness on earth for the Avhite woman who mates with colour, no, not any.

Professor VV. E. Thomas, who happens to be one of the committee to select the man who shall be city organist, is saying strange words. It was understood that the recent organ recitals at the Town Hall were given by competitors for the position of city organist, and that one would be chosen, Now the eminent professor of music says that the appointment depends upon the salary which the Finance Commitee of the City Council decides to give, and that if ,£SOO or .£6OO a year is allowed it will be possible to get "an organist with the highest credentials from Home." This suggests that none of the competitors has been found worthy in the eyes of the selection committee, or else that .the committee, like so many true New Ze'alanders, has the importing craze and believes that " no good cometli out of Nazareth."

Dγ Thomas appeals with the specious argument that an imported musician will v&y for his salary in doing bigger business. Hear him:—"The high salary would be money well spent, and with the organ recitals that would be given by him during the year not only would the revenue provide for the salary, but there would probably be a handsome 'profit over and above. In addition, much would be done for music, in Auckland/ Music would benefit " in addition/ a mere afterthought, eh ? The profits'are It, and the public reverences the imporation. Dr Thomas rather puts his art in the basement when he seeks to yoke it with commerce, but profit is not a bad argument with which to appeal to businesslike Council, and Dr Thomas evidently wants an importation. But it's rough on the hopeful competitors. * * * *

The Rev. Canon Garland, who has a job as Celestial vigneron over in New South Wales, has come to convince Uβ barbarian islanders that the bible in schools is the only thing to save the country from calamity, make the people respectable, abolish all evil and induce children, to respect their elders, in illustration of which he points to N.S.W., which, having had the bible in its schools since 1869, or thereabouts, is an object lesson to the whole world, the rising generations threaten to rival their parents in the possession of saintly virtues.

Which, is foolish. The Rev. Canon is sincere in his belief, of course, but the New Zealand public is dubious and the fear of introducing sectarian splits into schools, and the doubt of the State's right to teach any sort of religion is widespread in this country. But the Canon, with entire illogicality, tells bow the Queensland parsone asked the N.S.W. Baptist parsons how the bible-in-schools worked in in their country, " and every reply was in favour/ . Well, what would a parson be likely to say ? Baptist and other parsons regard every infant as a potential donator of thripennies to church plates, and, of course, they would be in favour of training them early.