THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 283, 30 November 1931, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN. ABOUT TOWN.) ABSENT FRIENDS (A TOAST). I see them, the faces not here* So clear in the eyes of my mind. The friends separated by distance and time, Still kindred of ours by affection and birth, We think of them all as "the salt of the earth." A toast I am asking for friends absent from us. We'll drink to their health by the aid of St. Thomas. Just fill up your glasses and clink them with me, "To absent ones —with us— wherever they be." Dear M.A.T.,— The packed houses at the Town Hall when the leaders of the. political parties have held their meetings reminds one of an occasion when the POLITICAL late Mr , . Asquith adTACTICS. dressed a particularly crowded meeting at the .Albert Hall. The place was packed to suffocation point. Just as Mr. Asquith was getting along nicelr an old gentleman near the front got up and* said, "What did Mr. Gladstone say in 1889?" The chairman promptly asked him to sit down. A few minutes later the old chap again rose and said, "What did Mr. Gladstone say in 1889?" This time the chairman said that if the man interrupted again he would reluctantly have to ask a constable to put him out. Sure enough, on the interrupter once more asking the question a constable shepherded him to the door. "Thanks, officer," said the old man. "It was too warm for me in there and I was wondering how I was going to get out through that dense crowd."—E.B.C.

Aforetime the many-headed derided the soapbox speaker, probably distinguishing the humble orator who used a box for a rostrum

from the haughty candiHIS PLATFORM, date who drove up in his own carriage and addressed the lowah ordahs from it. Nowadays there arc no soap-box orators, not because the orator does not use soap, but because times have changed and even our noblesse are democratic. Time,, for instance, on a recent evening one candidate held forth on a vacant section rich with Aveeds (itself an inspiration to a man talking about unemployment). His platform was an oil drum and it is but fair to say that it remained upright during the whole course of his appeal. In the vicinity a favourite candidate who is known to be a perfectly upright and sober citizen, was obviously on the tank. . Stay! A water tank, past its grand climateric, which 'had possibly never in its young days ever contained anything more potent than the dew of heaven. Comparing a tank with the old-time carriage of my lord drawn by noble horses, a tank rarely bolts.

The photograph of a gang of New Zealand relief workers dragging what appears to be a large chain harrow on a new road bring-s back to memory days of long TOIL. ago. On a certain New South Wales sheep station there is a scries of the stone huts with singlebarred windows and with, staples and chains in the wall. Outside in the yard there remains yet a large tree, and there are chains stapled into it, too. All these are reminders of the past when the squatters applied to the Justice Department for assigned labour, the Department sending the labour along in charge of soldiers or of warders. The labour was used to pull the plough, anything from ten to twenty men being hitched in. The pay (if any) was small. The chains, staples and hands or leg cuffs were used to keep the plough teams from running away in the night. Another slight memory is of German settlers in South Australia. They were an industrious race. In this case Mrs. Fritz and the family were often hitched into the family plough while Mr. Fritz smoked a pipe and told them how to do it. Of course this does not mean to say that Mr. Fritz did not work himself, but one certainly never saw him hitched up to a plough with the frau driving.

Quite a lot of people from the larger world are amongst us out of the fairy ship Malolo. What strikes one observer mostly about these ladies and AMERICANS gentlemen ie their unASHORE. doubted charm, their modesty and their reluctance to burst into comment on anything at all unless the local product begins the conversation. It strikes one then that we personally do not converse, but that cultured Americans do and nearly always have something worth talking about. One of the notable things about an American tourist ship is that one may stroll past without observing any sign of life. In fact millionaires rarely man the rails and point excited ringers at a six-storeyed skyscraper or exclaim rapturously about the wharves.. It is mentioned that American tourists, although they have dollars to burn, do not strew largesse nonchalantly. In fact the American has been &o long the earth's victim that he is learning the art of haggling. The observer thinks that in the United States it must be the shopkeeper's method to try the customer with a high price and to reduce it as the customer haggles, whereas in New Zealand the shopkeeper fixes his price and the buyer can take it or leave it. One isn't at all sure about this. John Fernleaf knows which side his bread is buttered just as if he were the most expert Gippo.

They are happily married and the adventure of the honeymoon is over, but still a memory. The wedding having been solemnised, the young people got to THE HONEYMOON, their home tired enough, but still determined to push along to a coastal holiday resort in the car. Started at one-thirty on Sunday morning. A mile from a hotel the car refused service. The lad, admitting he was no mechanic, lay under |he recalcitrant machine tinkering* with the vitals for an hour or so. At two-forty-five the happy pair, exceedingly tired, found themselves squatting under a tree waiting for daybreak. Neither knew a. hotel was only a mile away. The young people cheered themselves with some gramophone selections to while away the time, then the bridegroom searched the surrounding scenery for some kind soul who knew about engines. Kind person duly turned up, put the bus in running order. Eeached clay road—only six more miles to go. It had rained. The road was slippery. Axle deep in cart tracks. The bride reversed, while the bridegroom got behind and pushed. The bridegroom decided that the road ahead was impassable. Council of war in the bush with the tuia tootling. Both wondered what the tuis had to tootle about. The bride produced a sponge cake. The bridegroom mentions that he had never tasted anything so sickly in his life. What both wanted was Food , *, Still, they opened a tin of beans and ate the beans with bits of bark for spoons. The lad make a pikau of a sack, and, loading it up, led the procession, leaving the car. The lass carried the lad's camera and gun, and the honeymooners set out to walk. Tinned spaghetti and oysters on the way. Found a deserted whare. Rested. Had an hour's sleep and battled on. The lad is ashamed to mention the quantity of food they ate when the destination was reached. Yes, the honeymoon is over and the car safe, and, as both remark, "Ah, well, you don't have honeymoons every day."