COMEDY AND TRAGEDY.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 232, 1 October 1925, Page 8

COMEDY AND TRAGEDY.

IN "TIMES'"'AGONY COLUMN."

STORIES OF MYSTERY.

SENTIMENT, PATHOS AND DESPAft Every now and again some story of human pathos or mystery or pain steels across the pages of print—sometimes a little tale from the courts, niavbe th passion of a brilliant novelist, perhaps the weird imagination of a popular mystery, writer. Kvery now and again these human interest stories of other people's lives and things outside our ken are blazoned out for all to see anil every now and again the world 'stops awhile and laughs or cries or damns aa the case may be.

And every day. hidden away h small print ou the front page of the world's greatest, newspapers, there are mystery and sorrow and laughter.

Pick up any copy of the "Times" and turn to the personal column, which is also known as the agony column. Y ou will find mystery to tickle the most ingenious, sentiment to satisfy the most maudlin, pathos that grips, and, as often as not, a note of despair. A lover's message lies near an advertisement for old clothes, a cry of despair from a friend who has been tried and found wanting passes almost unnoticed beside an announcement informing all and sundry that false teeth may be turned to good account by sending them to .Mr. Sand-so; something that may mean many things hut doesn't seem to mean anything snuggles close to an ordinary piece of information that surely might just as easily have been conveyed by postcard at a-iiundredth of the cost.

"Bognor. Thursday, 8 p.m.; you know where. Cheerio."

Bognor knows where, no doubt. Bo»----nor knows where and why and what: you and I know nothing. As Ion" as Bognor keeps his (or her) tryst, we probably never shall. After all, why should we ?

"Am prepared at any time to justify action: do you think I shall run awavt L.H.S." ' '

"Wanted to Fade Away.

Naturally we don't think anything of the sort. "L.H.S." doesn't sound that sort of person. Probably someone else knows him better—someone who knows all about what action he must justify, why he should even suggest running away. But there is no reply, no answering reassurance or stern condemnation. I hunted through the files day after day, but "L.H.S." ipay have wasted his money for all they tell. "E.H. Somebody thinks of someone "

No doubt. You and I could have said that in just as few words and far less money. Somebody thinks of someone. Of course they do. But what does it mean to "E.H."?

And here,- right at the top of the column, some person unknown, as the coroner would say, has evidently found the trials and temptations of his (or her) too much .- '•\V-E I agree to everything. Punch." The surrender is unconditional, no terms; no last-minute quibbling. "Punch" just agrees to everything. For all wo know, "Punch" may like the agreement. A day or two later there is a line that hints of a marriage that didn't go right, and a man that has left for good; "Maude C—Both are well and happy. Please do not worry. Let us fade away." And somewhere in Loudon, no doubt, there, is a lonely woman who reads and knows and thinks of a man, and perhaps of a child or another woman, who want to fade away. A little lower down the column appears the single word, "Excalibur," iv big type, while somewhere else "S.V." tells "Gwen" that she is awfully dull, and wonders whether she can arrange any leave of absence.

"H.H." is informed that "Cytheria" has been ill, has only just learned of things, is terribly grieved, and wonders whether she can write. Some Mysterious Messages. "Dearest—And you never came nor even said you would come. I am wellnigh heartbroken.—G."

Naturally Aye are sorry for poor "G," although what good it would have done if "Dearest" had said she was coming when she had no intention of doing bo, only two people can say. If only now and again they would explain. Equally despairing is the following; "I have received nothing. You promise; I hope and trust; then the sad awakening, and I realise what a fool I was. 'The mills of God,' etc." "The mills of God, etc." was formerly quite a frequent contributor. Since that notice I have failed to see any more of her.

Here are" a few staccato message? that speak of finality and minds that arrive at quick, unalterable decisions: "Anne —Anywhere, any tiino. —L.T." "No, a thousand times no.—Blue Pencil." "X.—There is no need to alter arrangements; we may as well face tha music.—E.B." Norah.—Vic, Fri., at 2 p.m.—E.B." And more mysterious: "No, that's your privilege! I'm just a doedal dog—alas! tyke! But pedigree in kind." So they go on, mysteries and tragedies and laughter, quaint messages that -will afford weird stories for those with imagination. And when you have spun your tales and read into the lifeless lines 6trange romance and pathos and adventure, just pause and ask yourself how many ot them are in code. Probably nine-tenths!