THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 41, 18 February 1929, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) There is a small but growing tendency j among even nice people to regard their mar- j riage as their own affair. Several popular per- I sons have, for instance. VOICE THAT put one over their friends i SHOUTED, by quietly eschewing large and opulent wed- 1 dings with o ran ire blossom trimming- and much J photography for the quiet of a registrar'* office. Under >iah circumstances subsequent I action before a. lm»y judge would under the circumstances be food for less remark. There are other-. For instance, an American wed-! ding of two or three years ago occupied photographic pages ill many papers. The young people were -o popular that the church ceremony was tilniod. the news printed and broadcast and gramophone records were taken. There was. as a commentator of the time stated, a real attempt to make the contract binding. Even the >uhsequent divorce proceedings were hardly so voluminous. Billikins is five; daddy's boy. Dad. bringing him tip hardily, teaches him the noble art of self-defence, and there are classic bout* in the bedroom. Dad had THE CHILD MIND, departed for town, and Billikins wa- dressing. "Muni. Mum!'' he cried. "Lome and help me! I can't put me trou-i* un!"' Mother came and adjusted the garment, and breakfast ensued. •"Billikins,"' -aid mother, 'T helped you dress. now take a towel and dry these cup*." "1 won't!'' said Billikins. •'That isn't a man's job!" You couldn't call the Chateau Tongariro the Tongariro Hostel, could you': It would sound almost English, and anything but that! Very necessary, don't THE you think, to add that COSMOPOLITANS, cosmopolitan touch and give the language a bit of a twist ? For instance, you may call a hotel the X Hotel, but you must expect people to regard it as a rather dull aflair. Call it Hotel X and you add a felicitous distinction proving that you have roamed the Continent and speak all languages. Talking about speaking languages, you know the story of the daughter of the nouveau riche who had returned from the Continent? A friend asked, "And does your daughter speak French?'' "Yes," replies mother, '"she speaks all languages perfectly."' "Esperanto:"' asks the friend. "Like a native!" says Ma. Reverting to the subject of distinctive appellations, we have a weatherboard greengrocer's shop in a southern city which the owner calls "The Pantheon." You couldn't help buying threepenny-worth of onions in a place with a name like that. Has it occurred to the City Council to call the CitySquare "Place de la Civique" and the Town Hall "Chambre Municipale"'? Hardly fitting/ perhaps, in a community becoming increasingly American, but there's no reason why we shouldn't call the City Council "the selectmen." You can't beat the old-fashioned all-sports meetings where mother joins in the two-legged races and granny goes in for the egg-and-spoou event. What could be PROPER TOOLS, more edifyimr than to see one's neighbours trying to run fifty yards with bottles balanced on their brows, or immured in sacks, hobbling towards their objective. At such a gathering on a recent afternoon there was a good entry for the nail-driving competition. It was naturally thought that a professional carpenter was the dark horse and that everything was over barring the lemonade when he entered. But a girl, seizing the hammer, showed a turn of speed that surprised everybody and easily beat the professional wood spoiler. "How did she come to beat you. Jim':'' they asked. "I hadn't got my own hammer,'' he simply replied. Rather reminds one of the man wlio had a house built. It was distinctly out of plumb, as the owner demonstrated to the builder byhanging a piece of string and a lump of brick from the corner of the spouting. "Ah."' said the builder, "that's an old plumb line." The failure of the carpenter in the contest will suggest that many a bowler who has been twenty down on the twelfth head would have been thirty up if he had used his own bowls. Who know- but what Lenglen once failed 1 because someone had substituted another I racquet for her own? The immortal architect of London Crystal Palace sat down in an inn with a glass of beer, the back of a torn envelope and a stump of pencil and sketched out the original plan of the vast accumulation of irlassware. We obviously owe the Crystal ! Palace to the fact that no one substituted another pencil for the architect's own. H. O. Wells, who has refused another fortune by objecting to add sex; appeal to a movie story, hasn't objected very strenuously on all occasions, nor i< it BACK TO NATURE, likely that any author can ever avoid the obvious and universal appeal. The literarv seer once imagined a future in which civilisation being scrapped the remnant of humanity becomes as frankly predatory as our forefathers were. In effect, decivili'sation socs on in every generation. Some families by physical and mental superiority gradually appreciate 111 power and importance, while others, no one knows why. tend to deterioration. The powerful promoter of vast enterprises founded on his ability to take something from others may easily become by a turn" of fortune's wheel a beachcomber who sneaks tucker from a bush camp. Providence moves in a mysterious wav her wonders to perform. For instance, there wa> in a far country a man of wealth, affluence and power. There was a lady of exceptional business ability, charming, amiable, popular At the height of their popularity and power these twain who were one flesh suddenly disappeared from society. It was a ten days' wonder, and soon their place knew them "110 more and nobody eared. Surprising how nobody cares after even the shortest time But one day during the holding of a very smart motor camp some of the picnicker- returned to find a ragged man and woman calmly -ittmg in a tent regaling the m -elves luxuriously Toe instinct, of course. was to call the police The police were not called. The depredators quite unashamed, were the man and woman who had held so high a place in the society and mercantile world. No doubt the middle-aged man envies the young one to whom life is one -lad -we.-t song. An envious old buffer, meeting a ymii,» territorial fre- hand brown HIS LAST WAR. from the Battle of , , ... * aW: "Hello, Mac my bov. had a good time?' <-\fv word, ve*''" responded the young soldier feelin«» his" Moulder "I earned a machine gun all the time '' Very likely warriors of Woorit felt like their uncle's: did 111 a war. The sergeant-major in the -rev dawn, finding a young soldier •wrapped in hi's blanket and dreaming of home, kicked him smartly on the shin, savin-. "Xow then show a leg and get mounted! " We're off in ten minutes! ' And the young- soldier, rubbing his shin, said: "Huh, this is the last bally v, a f 111 ever come to!" It was rather prophetic. THOUGHTS FOR TODAY. Responsibility walks hand in hand wi'i, capacity and power.—J. G. Holland • • • Sorrow with his pick mines the heart: but he is a cunning workman—he deepen,' the channels whereby happiness mav enter and hollows out new chambers for joy u, abide in ,when he is gone.—M. Cholmondeley.