THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 134, 8 June 1929, Page 8

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) THE RIVALS. Politics are an expensive and futile game. We should all be better off under a- capable dictator.—Dean Inge. The question is, dear Doctor Inge, Do you intend to push this thing? Anil entitled, do you think, To say it's merely spilling ink? When do dictator entries close, Have I a chance? I may, who knows If M.A.T. were very keen he Might be the British Mussolini. Please don't disperse the Commons yet, Or sack MacDonald —there's a pet. Oh, kindly let the Lords remain Until I come by boat and train. I'll toss you for the job; and yet I hesitate. I never bet!

PERSONALITY OF THE WEEK

Sir Henry Buckleton, general manager of the Bank of New Zealand, will adorn the title conferred upon him on the King's birthday. He lias the requisite air SIR HENRY for a man of affairs. BUCKLETON. Born in Sydney sixtyfour years ago, the son of a journalist, he joined the Sydney staff of the B.N.Z. as a boy, becoming acting-accountant in Melbourne, and in 1592 came to New Zealand. He was first the accountant for the bank in Hamilton. He subsequently served in Auckland and was then appointed manager at New Plymouth. Ho has been general manager for nine years. Sir Henry's knowledge of finance has rendered him of great service to the State.

Everybody, from the Tory "Shadow Cabinet" to doctors, navvies and sausage-skin makers, aro unionists nowadays, and he or she who is not united is WRONG OFFICE, a lone, lorn person. So a lady, having entered a profession and desiring to become a member of its association, looked up the office in the telephone directory, and hied her thence. Ascending to the necessary floor, she noticed hospitable folk about, and mentioned that she wanted to join. She paid her money and received her receipt. "Well, did you join?" asked friendly voices as she arrived at her place of toil. "Yes," she said, "here's my ticket." "Why," said a fellow worker, "you've been and gone and joined the United party!" Happy snapshots of British statesmen being hail-fellow-well-met with the general elector usually show several stern-faced men in the closest proximity WEEDS, MUD, to the eminent ones. It TENNIS, is assumed that these are either police inspectors in mufti or C.I.D. men in plain clothes. Now that Tory statesmen are released from police espionage and their jobs the übiquitous newsgatherer appears to be chasing ex-Ministers with avidity and field glasses. What a scoop it must have been for the listener-in who, it is cabled, saw the ex-Prime Minister buy a second-hand racquet to play tennis with! At the beginning of his sacrifice to the Empire, Mr. Baldwin was stated to be worth £7,000,000. Apparently he has at least ten shillings left. One imagines the literary sleuth, cloaked and smoke-glassed, stealing at midnight through. London to take a train to Twitts Ghyll, the homo of Austen. Arrived there, he conceals himself for hours and hours in the dear old yew hedge armed with the office glasses. Ah! Austen, unaccompanied, eye-glassed and gardengloved, all unthinking, weeds his rock garden! It is almost too much for the hidden inkhound. He staggers to the telegraph office with his priceless story. The wires flash their message to tho great, throbbing heart of Empire. Fleet Street becomes a mass of whirling machinery. In a few minutes the Empire is sobbingly aware that Sir Austen is weeding his garden. And "Winnie's" inkhound finds the great exChancellor shovelling mud out of a creek (either personally or by deputy, the cable doesn't say). Incredibly stirred at a Chancellor shovelling that kind of mud, great interests call, "Come and write for us, Winnie!" And Winnie throws down his shovel and goes.

Dear M.A.T.— On the subject of talkies possibly becoming part of church services, I notice that you "wonder has it occurred to anybody that talkies in CHURCH TALKlES. church might drive mediocre flesh-and-blood talkers out of church." Wonder has it occurred to you, M.A.T., that talkies might drive services out of churches into picture theatres? You will not have forgotten that the Auckland experiment was carried out in a theatre. Why? Simply because it costs over £5000 to instal the equipment necessary for the reproduction of talkies. How many churches, particularly rural houses of worship with congregations numbering not fifty could afford that sum? And on top of the £5000 there would be the rent for the films! In America, perhaps, where (so I read in the "Star") the collection often amounts to 20,000 dollars, churches might be able to afford the installation of such equipment and the upkeep and rent of films every week, but in New Zealand, I hardly think so. And again, it might not be too profitable from the point of view of the man with the plate. In the dark it would be much easier than it is at present to slip a button in—or even to take one's change.—Mac.

Dear M.A.T.,—You are right in saying that the dead heroes and the heroines of to-day were the social and political outcasts of yesterday. "The heresy of toTHE REBELS. day may be the dogma of to-morrow." History is littered with examples of "man's inhumanity to man." To be original is to be suspect of the unthinking. People who insisted that it was iniquitous for children to work in mines were "cranks," heaven bless them. The world is dotted with mounds under which are individuals who have died in misery so that the general misery might be abated. The mass of mankind does not think at all. The history of mankind is the history of the thinking rebels. The mass has often killed or starved the rebel, while the next generation has worshipped his headstone. The folk songs and 6torieß of all nations are of the heroes who ■were rebels of theirnlay and'generjKfciQn.-^rMiobLi,