THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 160, 8 July 1932, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) Dear M.A.T.,—History tells us that in a period of unemployment , and consequent distress a Chinese emperor, in his great wisdom, ordered hifi subjects to THE WEB. give up using the horse and cart and revert to the hand barrow. Surely China can't be as hilly as Auckland. We can't go back to the horse, at least not in and round the city, with our splendid new roads; they are too hard. Doesn't it say somewhere in the Bible that man's invention shall be turned against him.' They certainly were in the war. One minute we applaud his invention, next we blame him for tlie present unemployment. We seem to be going round in a circle, caught in the web of destiny, ae it were. —M.S. A learned judge has very naturally asked why special police were not loved during a local unpleasantness. No one wae able to tell his Honor, but it might THE be explained by the mere WHITE BAND, euesedness of human nature, which looks askance at anything new, especially if it is devised for the comfort and protection ot objectore to it. The apparent dislike of special police might further be explained by tlie fact that the special constable is drawn from the same population which supplies rioters. A man devoted momentarily to illegal action possibly feels hurt when a man he knows is on the side which restrains him. People do not dislike the regular police because they have got need to them, but in the days when police"were new the same antipathy was shown by people who had known the police when they were mere nn-uniformed men engaged in the ordinary pursuits of life. If you could explain the antipathy to special police you could explain the notable enmity of the Army to the military police—the Red Caps. It has always been inexplicable, except that Tommy and his overseas brethren can't make out why a mate or a cobber can have the insolence to be on the side which will lumber him if necessary and shove him in "the clink." Perhaps you remember the naval police with the clulw during a visit of a U.S.A. fleet to Auckland. Recalcitrant sailors, tapped on the head by mon with whom they worked aboard, never really liked it. One of the things that seemed to annoy them was that the police were not regular police who did nothing else but be policemen, but were selected from the working crews every time police were wanted.

One reads of the Scottish brother and sister who were reunited after seven years' absence. Jock left Scotland for Australia and was last to the family. REUNITED. Jean went to Australia, hoping to find Jock. She used to go to Caledonian sports and bo forth, hoping to see him. After seven years she was at a Melbourne kiltie gathering, and gazing at the dancing platforms she saw a pair of legs she recognised, and rushed to the platform, clinging to her long-lost brother. Jock complained" later that she had s|wiled his chance oft winning a prize. This is an excuse for telling the true story of the Worcestershire brothers. Charles "was a Bad Boy. He nearly broke his poor old mother's heart. Alfred was a good boy and the solace of his mother. Charles cleared out and was not heard of for years. Alfred remained in Worcestershire until the death of his mother. When she had gone Alfred the Hood went to Capetown. It is exceedingly sad to have to mention that Alfred the Good was hardly as good as he ought to have been —and in short, was charged with conduct that caused him to be sent to prison. The warder who politely showed him to his cell greeted him with, "Hullo. Alfie, is that you?' . The gentleman with the keys was Charles, the Bad Boy who ljatl nearly broken his mother's heart. They have been discovering cannon balls at Port Chalmers in the cliffs and in the harbour mud, and there is a suspicion that somebody must have fired them GUNFIRE. out of guns. Nobody knows whose guns did it, and apparently nobody now alive heard them pop oil". The' possible explanation is that armed vessels in much earlier days plastered the scenery with gunfire for practice when there was. very little but scenery to plaster and before the picture spots were dotted with bungalows (twenty-live pounds down, the balance at umpteen per cent for thirty-six years). The discovery of a cannon ball in Auckland Harbour mud or sticking in a cliff would not cause a sensation, history beingthick with such discoveries. The small fry of Stanley Bay. noting that the cliff is pockmarked for some distance down, have often dug spherical ammunition out with their Scout knives. In short, in early days warships could lie off in the sparkling waters and plaster tha dill's without the faintest danger of hitting anybody in the distant tea-tree because there was no one there. The harmless hobby of collecting cannon balls and other spent ammunition is common to "The Shore," where at some time or other nearly every largo lad has been in the Permanent artillery, and, settling down to a bloodless citizenship, has almost invariably planted a couple of tremendous shells eiicli side of the bungalow steps. Canvassers, district visitors and the grocer's traveller pass these dreadful ornaments every day without a tremor.

They have a National Union of NonSmoker* at Home, because one has read of it in "The Times," as well as in "The Guardian," the noted Church GOT A MATCH? paper. A writer in the latter very tactfully says that it requires a good deal of courage to denounce smoking, because so many smoke, and so many people grow and sell tobacco. llt is only necessary to mention that ill seven years seven directors of a famous tobacco concern died, each leaving fortunes ranging from two million to seven million pounds. Somebody must have smoked some cigarettes! That famous journalist, James I. of England, not only wrote sonnets, he wrote "The Counterblast to Tobacco" in 1004, but neither King nor Carrie Nation could stop the habit. Ben Jonsolij in "Bartholomew Kair."' exclaimed: "Neither do thoil lust after that tawny weed tobacco," but one is afraid that the several hundred folk one met in Queen Street fumigating the atmosphere this morning never read old Ben. The churchman writer forgets to quote the famous churchman, Charles Kingsley, who wrote "Westward Ho!": "When all thing's were lirst made none was made better than tobacco to be a rich man's friend, a pool- man's wealth . . . and a wakeful man's sleep. There'* no herb like it under the canopy of heaven." Inadequately quoted, but explaining a parson's taste. Few men or women can tell you why he or she smokctf, but the following from "The Smoking World"' is explanatory: Tobncoo is a dirty wood ; I like it. It siiMslios no normal need; I like it. It makes me tliin. it makes you lean, It takes the hair rifiht off your bean. It's the worst dnrn stiitY I've ever seen; I like it. A THOUGHT FOR TO-DAY. You love? That's high as you shall goj For 'tis as true as Gospel text, Xf t noble then is never so, Esther i" this world or the next. —Coventry Patmore.