THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 69, 22 March 1928, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

On Saturday last the National Insurance Building was sold for £21,500. A well-known and much-esteemed citizen was interested.

"Once upon a time," said TIME'S CHANGES, he, "I sold it for £2150."

It revived innumerable stories of luck, chance and progress, but more particularly the story of the Good Man and the Loafer. The shabby Loafer was standing at a corner in Broadway (New York) gazing at a skyscraper. The Good Man approached him and said, "My good man, what occupation do you follow?" "I ain't doing, nothing at present," said the man. "A great big strong fellow like you," pursued the Good Man, "should not be wasting his time. If you had been resolute, industrious and saving when you were young you might even own that great building over there." "I do," said the Loafer.

The name of Arthur James, Earl Balfour, is "familiar in their mouths as household words," and he seems to have impressed his name so deeply on this A GREAT NAME, age that his illness as an octogenarian is very like a public hurt. It is not singular that this notable aristocrat should have quietly dominated his kind for so very many years, but that so delicate a dilettante should have maintained a surprising turn of physical vigour. He used to play a hard game of tennis with our own Anthony Wilding, but he was even more surprising a good many years later and gave the great Suzanne herself something to play at. A man who plays bright tennis when he is creeping towards four score is rather a marvel. And it is remembered that he was the pattern for all scribblers when he set down the policy for his Government on a half-sheet of notepaper. THE FIGHTING PACIFIST. Mr. N. M. Bell, a Christchurch pacifist, urged the City Council to remove enemy guns from Christchurch parks. He ended a notable peace speech by earnestly imploring city councillors to "stick to your guns!" Pence, brethren, peace. I crave a space To beg you to desist From war and pillage. Oh, dear friends, Such savagery resist! Oh. let the cooing dove of peace Be music for our sons. The white flag flutters in the breeze, So, friends, stick to your gung I move the enemy be told To stop his knavish tricks. I move we do not move at all When he is throwing bricks. But sit with folded hands while he Our ancient mother stuns. Oh, brethren, don't retaliate. But just stick to your guns!

London gets no better fast. The influence of New Zealand House in the Strand percolates but slowly. Even innovations seem retro-

gressive. One of the most STIR AMONG famous clubs in the world DRY BONES, where state sm en rub

elbows with peers, admirals argue with generals and ambassadors drink ale has decided to instal a cocktail bar. The decision fell like a bomb among the conservative element, who stick to the opinion that the club should continue as it began in 1698. A London friend (who, of course, is much too plebeian to have entered the sacred portals where silent-footed servants float towards you for your hat and coat) says that ultra-conservative members are so upset about it that although they will not resign membership of the great club they will drink their cocktails elsewhere. As a famous Minister has said, "White's is a club. All othaw clubs are bars." Picking up the slender little volume which contains the names of Auckland telephone subscribers, a friend cackled quietly, and having called up his numTRULY ber and has his conversaCOSMOPOLITAN. tion he dragged his mate into his own office and showed him the latest New York telephone directory. All it lacks is wheels to move it about. He casually asked, "What name do you think is most frequent in this mountainous book?" and the answer was, "Oh, that's easy —Smith, of course." "You're wrong." he said, "for the Cohens are the first with thirty-four columns and the poor little Smiths, who are second, have only twenty-six columns. The Jones family (third) has only nine columns and the Kcllys are next with eight and a half, whilo the Murphys have but eight." By the way, the New York official statistician remarks that three-quarters of the population of New York were born abroad or are of foreign parentage—"foreign," of course, to Uncle Sam includes British.

Professor Sir Arthur W. Gurrie, principal of the McGill University, is the Canadian general who commanded an army in France

and who is suing a pubTHE lishing firm for alleging SCHOOLMASTER he sacrificed his troops ABROAD. when the war was petering out. It is not curious that soldiers should be killed whoever the general is, but it i 6 remarkable that in unnumbered cases the peaceful schoolmasters, addicted to study and the supplejack, should become renowned men of bloocl almost in a moment, often exceeding in military virtues those leaders who had lived on war from their cradles. Another curious point in connection with the professor (who seems the mildest man who ever cut a throat by deputy) is that when he emerged from the war with all his blushing honours thick upon hiin and all tho crosses that can be collected, the whole world applauded him and inferred that his own Canucks adored him. Thus late, however, people who were not there find a rift in the' lute. M.A.T., as an armchair military expert, lias already pointed out that when* General Jepthah cleaned up four and forty thousand Ephraimites lie made tactical mistakes abhorrent to a critic who has so often seen how it should have been done at Ngaruawahia.

It is pathetically announced that Ministerial tours are not the series of champagne and truffles the common folk who pay for them

imagine and that ParliaTHE mentarians who proceed W ORSHIPPERS. on their lawful occasions

suffer sadly, turbulent deputations barring their flight and making politics seem more like war than peace. It was not so in Seddon's day. M.A.T. recalls Parliamentary invasions of both the Wairarapa and Marlborough when the sufferings seemed to be fewer. Heralds, couriers and other private secretaries hurtled ahead and spread the glad news that we were roughing it behind. The entrance of a private secretary into a private homestead or a public house caused hosts and hostesses to leap to their feet and perform prodigies of preparation. The dying squawk of fat poultry was heard in the land. People rushed forward with gigs, saddle horses and food from every corner. A couple of banquets a day were neither here nor there. A squatter who had been given two months' notice of the coming of the party built a new billiard room to entertain us in, hung it with trophies of the chase (moose heads, and so on) and installed a complete bar dotted with the liquid fruits of the earth. The thought remains that there was some discrimination in hospitality even in those days. For instance, this deponent stood on the bank of a creek watch ill" legislators being taken across per horsebaelf, manback and buggy. A deputation of one, leading a saddle horse, stopped before M.A.T. and said, "You're pretty young to be a Hem Pee, ain't you?" ,The reply was, "I am not an M.P., I am a reporter." "Ho," he said with great disdain and led the horse away.