THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 27, 2 February 1932, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

Lot us desist for a moment from gazing at things near at hand and learn from the "Deutsche Verkehrsblattcr" a little about distant Cologne, where so EAU DE COLOGNE, many young New Ze'alanders had quite a time during the Occupation. To the "Wallraf Riehartz Exhibition, where Tommy Fernleaf so often dallied with Fraulein Gretchen, has been added three ancient Roman .sarcophagi, dating from the fourth century. The contents have happily during the centuries become deodorised, and it is this nasal harmlessness that induces one to quote here experiences of Cologne done into rhyme by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who mentions nothing of "eau de cologne," pinning his poem to other aroma: In Koln, a town of monks and bones, And pavements fanged with murderous stones, And rags and hags and hideous wenches — I counted two and twenty stenches, Alt well defined, and several stinks. Ye nvmplis who reign o'er sewers and sinks, The River Rhine, it is well known, Doth wash your city of Cologne ; But tell mo, nymphs ! What power divine Shall henceforth wash the River Rhine.' He was an old Navy man and acting as cook at a camp in the Silverdale neighbourhood this Christmas. Another camper told him there was a registered "REV. A.8." letter waiting at the post office. Jack tramped the four miles, bare-footed, without a hat, and attired in trousers and jumper. He asked, "Is there a letter for me?" giving his name. _ The reply was: "There is a letter, but the initials are different. Are you the Rev. 1" "Blimey," replied Jack, who was tattooed on both arme ae well as his chest, "do I look like a parson V "Well, to tell you the truth," said the postmaster, "I had an idea you were not in Holy Orders." "I've been mistaken for different people," said Jack, "but never a parson, so help me!" —B. It has been said in this column that destructive fires have been caused in Australia through ignition of dry grass, the concentrated rays of the sun trans - BEWARE mitted by a piece of THE BOTTLE, bottle glass causing the ignition. An Auckland gentleman recalls a sewing bee held by ladies of an Auckland church many years ago. The ladies had been sitting in a sunny room round a table. On the table was a large globular carafe full of water. The ladies, having finished their work, left the room. At five o'clock the caretaker entered the room to see that all was well and found the tablecloth alight. The rays of the sun reflected by the bottle and concentrated on the tablecloth had set it alight. But for the entry of the caretaker there must have been what we so delight in calling "a spectacular fire." "W.A.L." declares that he was about to light the fire with a Hobart "Mercury" when he suddenly discovered that "Tassy" grows cabbages, too. The garCHALLENGE? gantuan Tasmanian was exhibited at the Bushy Park Show and took first prize. Bushy Park is in the Derwent Valley, where they "grow hops, fruit, politicians," etc. The proud Tasmanian who wrote to the paper about this cabbage said he weighed it and found it to be a drumhead of forty-five pounds weight, large enough, in fact, to be a moderate New Zealander. The runner-up was a mere sprout of twenty-six pounds. J. McConnon, who grew the cabbage, said that all he did to it was to throw water on it and manure it at odd times. The Tasmanian writer doubts if such a cabbage would be a toothsome accessory to roast beef, but makes obeisance to its "heart." Personally one does not mind Tasmania trying to be like us in a modest way! A noted horticulturist has strayed into print regretting that the wearing of a posy, nosegay or boutonniere in the male lapel is almost as uncommon as BUTTONHOLES, a moa on stilts. H c must have, observed, how-ever, that with a persistence worthy of a better cause the accumulated tailors of civilisation still produce the lapel buttonhole for the reception of a flower and are possibly determined to go on doing it. This sartorial persistence is allied to that persistence With which even the most eminent tailors still add two buttons to the tail of a morning or an evening coat, the habit having come from the days when a man buttoned up the tails of his coat to keep them out of the way on horseback. The buttoned-up tail is still to be seen in the French infantryman's greatcoat. It is usually understood that the two (or three) buttons on each sleeve cuff (quite useless and having no available buttonholes) arc a relic of the time when a man unbuttoned his sleeve and turned it up to keep it out of the soup. Reverting to posies for the lapel, the odd man here and there who sticks to the posy fashion almost invariably does it to tell the world that he keeps a garden and that the rare blossom he wears is home grown. It may be a tribute to the goddess Flora or a tribute to the chap who chucked down the seed and assumed the poise of a creator. Women who might be expected to be floral are so only in a limited sense, wearing rag "posies" during a time when the earth clamours with real flowers. Flowers may bo grown to denote a proud nationalism. One knows of a mini whose magnificent accent is in itself indicative, but who grows and cultivates a terrific thistle twelve feet high at his garden gate to doubly emphasise the grower's birthplace. The point that no mere Scottish thistle was large enough for the purpose induced the Scots gardener to choose the magnificent foreigner as beiii"- so much more clamant. An eminent Aucklander who has tarried recently in European halls of learning and who has combed the Continent for sights speaks of an international gathTHE "PROFS." e.ing of learned professors from many of the most celebrated seats of knowledge in the world. He acknowledges that they were -sights," inferring that . beauty is not frequent among the cognoscenti. Ho inferred that no "Punch" or other comic artist doing his most frightful caricature had come near the real thing, and the combined forgetfulncss of these learned people coupled with shabby coats and frayed trousers were a revelation to readers of comic literature. It revives memory of the "Punch" picture showing a row of distinguished guests at the banquet table with several waiters standing behind. The eminent guests, easily recognisable as living celebrities, arc without physical loveliness. The waiters, on the other hand, are Greek gods m comparison. And one waiter savs to the other: "Well, 'Arry, the gents may 'avo the brains; we certainly 'as the good looks." The same deponent mentions a gathering of professors addressed in a European capital by a professorial orator—in Latin. One felt, it seems, that the speech was absolutely Ciceroman, for it was done in priceless Latin with all the fervour, the imagery, the appeal, the genius, of the giants of the past. The audience was spellbound. They had never listened to so line an appeal. Then someone asked: "But did the listeners understand what their fellow professor was talking about - ;" And the answer was, "Oh, no, of course they didn't understand bim, but all the same it was the finest bit of oratory they had ever listened to."