THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 113, 16 May 1933, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) Siroccos of boots are being made to clotlie the feet of our less fortunate brethren the subject reminding one of every kind of footwear from the "Boots, BOOTS. Boots, Boots" of Kipling ' to the tent-made moccasin of the stealthy liunler. Boots since their invention (man was bootless for a million years), have been highly esteemed, and one has had the advantage of noting a large, dark "■entleman in too small ••ammunition" llecing before a hail of nickel. His first thought was to remove them, thus accelerating his pace trebly Did he throw those boots away? Not he! Ho carried them in his hands. Boots to the backblocks traveller are almost imperative, although there are barefoot heroes of the swag even to-day—and one has noted the type of boot made with an old corn sack and string that is better than nothing. The wily kangaroo hunter shoots his kangaroo, strips the skin, marks out a piece with foot ami knife, and, having cut it out, bores holes in the edge and laces the whole over his foot with sinews—hardly a Queen Street fashion. He so often makes his "moccasins" when the skin is "Teen and wears them to bed. He is not invariably of sweet savour.

He came into the office waving a massive hand which held a photograph. The picture was one of half a dozen sheep, all, bar one, with wool over their ■fHE eyes, on the. deck of a BELL-WETHER, ship, far, far from the home paddock. _ "Me, you, the Nazis, Mussolini's men, Gandhi's lot, us I" he hissed. "Them sheep has been driven since they left the ewe—taken away, docked and tailed, earmarked, branded, dogged, mustered—lucky to be alive. Their mates has been stufled into trains, lorries, yards, killed, skinned, chilled, eaten. Barring an old ram, not a single jumbuck lias ever made a protest except a silly bleat. Not a .single one of 'em ever wanted to go through a gap on his own —but everyone of 'em, seem' a leader a doin of it, has followed the "bell-wether.' J'cvcr think , how like you are to a sheep; how like about 95 per cent of yous foller the bellwether through the hole in the fence? J'ever think how they always eaves the bell-wether to lead the rest to slaughter, and feed him better than the rest?" , "Well, what about it?" "What about it —wot abart it? Struth, you muster—" "Oh, I'm so busy, please go, I want to write a par" Hera it is.

London reports that the American language is being learned by British talkie folks so that United States men and their sisters may understand any SAY! British plays that stray over the Atlantic. You will remember that it was an American who rewrote the Bible in the snappy American style, leaving oat, of course, the accent that Uncle Sam so craves for. New Zealanders will not forget that classic English playa were rendered into American before talkies were invented, and, indeed, while the silent picture was in ite early youth. An exceptionally good American company .came to New Zealand and played American plays. One was "The- Squaw Man." with "bad men," cowboys, Indians and everybody. But the same company played Ouida's ''Under Two Flags," in which you found Bad Bill of the two guns playing an aristocratic British officer, and the Red Indian in a silk topper and frock-coat being a duke. Ouida's rather masterful book had apparently been rewritten in places so that the duke strolled around guessing and calkilatin' somewhat, while British officers and French swells said "Gee!" at intervals and did it nasally. The vivandiere, a highly talented American lady, when she played prairie flower parts spoke impeccable English, but when ehe was in "Two Flags" she guessed and calkilated, possibly in the belief that British drama needed waking up. It naturally shocked you to read in the cablegrams that a medical member of the House of Commoms had accused fellow members of insobriety. KeTHE GOBLET. moler history has it that in early Victorian Parliaments it was almost a rule, and not so much an exception, /or the legislator to go to his bench brightly illuminated. There is no doubt whatever that nowadays "it isn't done," except in exceptional cases. New Zealand has a faint replica of the Mother of Parliaments, and old-timers have known cases in which the M.P. possessed the same habit referred to in the cablegrams. It is curious that owe of the most notable bon vivants of our own Parliament was a curly-headed gentleman of high attainments, and a universal favourite who for many years represented a prohibition constituency, thus showing a certain "broad-mindedness" among hU teetotal friends. He was known to remove his boots, hang them by the laces over the front of his bench, and to sleep like a little child. There was also the hefty vivant who was one of the 'best orators in Parliament— a remarkable man, and, despite any habit, universally liked. He could win an election asleep, and his laet election cost him 1/9. These two M.P.'s are the only ones within memory who would have stirred the British complainant to protest.

The family sat round the gramophone, and the magical needle picked out the delicious music of a Spanish serenade—four brief lines of haunting melody sung THE SERENADE, some time, perhaps years ago, by a modern troubadour of the stage and captured 'by machinery. Mother approved the eerenata and said, dreamily, "1 wonder why these Spanish serenades are so brief, Bertie?" speaking to her son. And son remarked, "I expect they .had to be brief, mum. The Spanish bloke" with the guitar had to watch his step in the good old days. If I understand the position, the old hidalgo, father of the Donna Maria, was waiting up on the top floor of the dear old castella with a priceless vaee, ampulla or earthenware set to throw down on the troubadour's head. Anything bar about four lines of music would .be too much." Only in Latin countries did the troubadour really troub, and as far as one may gather, he rocked little of pa in the top flat, and kept on trou'bing for hours and hours and week by week, at intervals. One has listened to the Auckland troubadour, too, but he is hardly as engaging vocally si* the Spanish guitarist; lie uses the human whistle to call his Bella Donna, from the bungalow by no means soundproof. There is the story of the whistling troubadour of the suburbs who invariably used the same bar of music to call his girl. The <rirl "shifted" —'that is. she changed her dwelling from one suburb to another. The young fellow, therefore, went to the new euburb one evening and whistled his characteristic call. Three girls answered the call! As for the three fathers, not one threw a vase.

THOUGHTS FOR TO-DAY. ' Friendship is to be purchased only by friendship. A man may have authority over others; but he can never have their heart but by giving his own.—Bishop Wilson. I have lived long enough: my way of life Js i'all'n into the- sere—tho yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old Afro — As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I moist not look to have; but in their stead, Curses, not loud but Kiaep, mouth-honour, breath, Which tho poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. —Shakespeare. Though we may be learned by the help of another's knowledge, we can never be wise but by our own experience. — Montaigne.