THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 6, 8 January 1934, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

The literary pastime of inventing , or applying nouns of multitude has become quite common in English newspapers, and many are ingenious enough, alMULTITUDES. though one entry, "A pest of politicians," k not kind. Some innocuous ones are as follow: A murmuration of starlings. A charm of goldfinches. An assortment of armadillos. A wisp of bandicoots. A whiffle of wombate. A giggle ofi flappers. A babble of aunts.

London grows —and grows on Londoners. The old village on the Thames, inside, outside and centre, has about twelve million people. It ie not crowded, a* so GRANDFATHER'S many lesser cities are, for LEGACY. - it has many hundreds ot acres of parks. Apropos parks, there is an old Londoner, who, demonstrating that London is the healthiest spot in the Empire, recently wrote to a New Zealand friend on his ('the Londoner's) ninetyfourth birthday. Like all Londonere, he loves the hub of the* earth, and among other things in his letter writes: "1 belong to London and London now belongs to me. Lady Hyde Parker left it to me in her will."

The world is vary justly getting keener on New Zealand honey, a type of food regarded with favour, or disfavour, according to the eater. A man who was THE BEE HIVE, cut off from tucker by two swollen rivers for a fortnight and who subsisted fer the- whole period on honey alone has shied at a bee ever since. There are few men who, sighting a bee on the wing, can chaec him through' the bush and find the old home with the wild honey in it. Yet one has seen an Australian abo. do this remarkable thing, his white mates following him. The bee landed at its wild apiary—a very large "apple tree" (eucalyptus). Getting to work with smoke and axe, the trio disclosed upwards of seven feet of old honey, new honey, bee bread, foul brood, queens, kings, drones and all the rest of it — nothing perhaps remarkable in the hills of Sunny Noo Souf, but remarkable for allowing a blackfiellow to display his marvellous gift of sight and celerity. The man who lived on wild honey for a fortnight looks into the shaving mirror and tells M.A.T. that as a sole diet even on the second day it is a frost. In a district where waterholes are few and fa,r between honey does not help an intolerable thirst on the fourteenth day.

It is feared that the holiday and domestic sentiment of the common thief ie not in perfect order. The bag-snatcher is not a nice man. When he lies in BAG-SNATCHING, wait in a dark place, waiting for a bag, he is, of course, unaware that the new large zipfastened bag given to the lady by her husband for a Christmas present contains several presents for the children at home. When he snatches such a bag, hurting the lady's wrist and scrambles in a moment, over a six-foot fence, he is one of those gamblers who do not know whether the bag contains sixpence or sixty pounds. Still, one supposes that a few pounds and all the children's presents would give him some satisfaction. The bag-enatcher , , of course, watches his intended victims. He prefers to snatch from the' hands of ladies whom he knows to be from the country, as he eees them enter boardinghoueee. He feels that these ladies will probably be carrying cash to buy presents with, and acts accordingly. He is a destroyer. If he can't sell Inew bags and kiddies' presents, he merely heavee them over a hedge or in the lire. You can't imagine a bag-enatcher, finding a bagful of kiddies' presents, awarding them to his own children or taking them to the hospital. Of all the thieves, he is the most contemptible.

Recently added to the archives in the War Memorial Museum some of the contents of the literary bombs used in the fag end of the Great War. The Fritz THE PAPER literary department dropBOMB. ped exceedingly carefullywritten pamphlets (in English) into "Tommy's" lines, and the Allies' exceedingly well-run literary department dropped tons of written argument (in German) among the Fritzes. Both sides appealed to the young men of the conflicting nations to knock off this unfriendly business of war and to hands-up in a gentlemanly manner so that the world might return to the Peace which we have been suffering with so much fortitude for sixteen years or so. The enormous influence of the written word cannot be doubted, and there were more splendid lies dropped from the clouds in those days when paper was scarce than ever before or since in history. Large numbers of lies of genius disseminated per paper bombs from the clouds are still believed in many countries—a pamphlet, as you will observe, by the careful preservation of the same, is practically immortal. The most eminent journalists the world knew (trained to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing, etc.) are actually known to have mentioned things that were not true! It is still a moot point whether Fritz put up bis hands to the artillery or to the pamphlets. In the old days of 'illiteracy in the ranks printed bombs* would have fallen unheeded. To-day a literary liar might change the map of Europe.

An explosive reverberation in a Blenheim house, regarded at the time as sinister, was discovered to have been caused by a cracking window pane—due to SINISTER SOUND, contraction by a summertime frost. In the old days of home-made, yeast household bombardments were common enough and hardy back-country men have been known to leap from their beds, to seize the family gun, and to rush to the affected spot. Even in Auckland, home brewers, awakened at night by repeated shot 3, have trembled T>eneath. the bedclothes until they remembered the explosive quality of imprisoned beer. There is the authenticated story of the New Zealand a trooper, riding wildly amid the flying bullets, who, hearing an explosion, found himself drenched— with blood? Clinging manfully to his horse, Hughie staggered into his own lines moaning, "I'm hit!" What had really happened was that the cork,from a bottle of purloined beer carried by Hugh had blown out and drenched the eoldier. Apropos the breaking of glass by frost, one recalls the remarkable sight of several cathedral windows cracking explosively during the playing of Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus" by the organist. The cathedral authorities asked the organist to be riiore careful with his stops in future. In a festival at the Melbourne Town Hall the vibration of the organ music brought a window clattering out of its frame, pieces falling on an unoffending worshipper, who became a cot case. In a western English town there is in its Winter Garden a smaller replica of the Crystal Palace. A severe frost "exploded" some of the higher curved panes. One large piece fell, almost decapitating a man walking on the floor of the building, killing him instantly. A THOUGHT FOR TO-DAY. Every day is a fresh beginning, Every morn is a world made new: You who are tired of sorrow and sinning, Here is a beautiful hope for you. —G!W. ,