THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 264, 7 November 1935, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

People who may doubt themselves often have touching faith in syndicates, catchwords pnra.es, fc/gS « AND CO." business of turf consultations and the distribution of prizes individuals pin the »: sy „dicalism-and it pans out excellently For instance, "Mob Syn" recently brought down a littie'prize of £12,000 and^ Dreams Come True" £2000, while "How About.lt, "The Grey Syn," the "Gwen Syn," the Vene tian Syn" all wallowed in luscious prizes. A happy thought slogan has ofttimes made millionaires in commerce. If ye have faith even as a mustard seed ye may move mountains of gold across the Tasman.

You have read the story of the men of, say, Gomorrah, and what happened when they looked back-they became living statue* > you remember —pillars 01 PILLAR OF LIME, salt, as it were Here's a statue story from South Australia, where in earlier days the settler and the blackfellow were always at log er heads. The darkie was, of course a cattle stealer and the white man always had a Ime In earlier days a whitefellow fired at a raiding took and wounded him. Blaekfel ow escaped into a limestone cave at and died The limestone water dripped over his body tin it became a limestone semblance of a man. 1 white man took it from the cave, hoping to sell it to a museum. It was recovered, however, and placed in an alcove of the cave, behind cemented bars. Before the cement was dry he stole the relic again and disappeared with it, after replacing the bars in the cement, which hardened before the theft was discovered. So to-day in the cave may be seen a barred alcove with nothing in it. At present they are barneying as to whether the story is true.

This war business must be a nasty slap in the pocket to a lot of Anglo-Italians. The uncertain temper of our vivacious friends m Italy is seemingly causing. BACK TO migrations of the British BLIGHTY, colonies in Italy. Many British people who would live in comparative penury ona slight income, a little pension, a modest legacy at Home, retire to Italy, where the rents are small, the houses large, the gardens sweet—and Beppo a faithful (and cheap), if obsequious, servant. The Briton in Italy living perhaps in a part of one of those terrifically large houses is perhaps not really popular He wondahs why the Italian is not more English, and often learns slowly and with the necessary scorn the language of the country. Yfet gather, too, that large numbers of Britons not onlv shake down naturally into the cheap and enormous palace, but actually become so attached to the sunshine, the beauty and the undeniable kindness of a great people that they refuse to go home. They even have English churches in Italy! This back o home" idea will be a severe wrench to Bntisn colonists in the lovely old land.

It was a morning of smiles and tearsmore tears than smiles, of course, but as rt is summer time in Auckland, why underline is t]ie fact? There waß 6un . ONE AUCKLAND shine and shower The MORN. fingers of dear old bol worked fleeting tapestries of cloth of gold on sea, land and water. Watchers from the green seas noted tliat Point Chevalier lay for some glorious moments bright as an angel's wing, while the rest of the visible world was dark under the sable cloak of Apollyon. And the ferry passenger, noting the changing face of the familiar scene, told the story of the Man Who Went Back to England after many years of tropic wanderAnd one day the familiar coast made earth-known by the Mariners of England was in si^ht—and Falmouth lay like a jewel ma setting of emerald and sapphire for the gods to "lory in. And the wanderer, entranced, found a sailor man leaning over the rail eatin" Falmouth with his eyes—enraptured. 4.nd the wanderer stole up to the sailor and spoke almost in an awed whisper. "No place like Home," he said. "Isn't it lovely?" And the mariner rolled his quid, and said he: Dye see that little grey house there on the right hand with the sunshine on the roof? And the awed worshipper said, "Yes, yes!" "Thats a pub," murmured the sailor; "you can get the best beer in England there."

The dance was on, and particularly the novelty Monte Carlo dance, in which a process of elimination reduces the participants on the floor,, rendering OddfelODD FELLOWS, lows —odd fellows. The reigning dictator calling for the elimination of gentlemen with black suits caused the elimination of one man only, the dance being informal. "Gentlemen with cuff links!" were required to step out and stop dancing. Only one had cuff links, showing that these dratted remnants of respectability are dying out except for wrist cylinders stiffened with white mud during full-dress orgies. The intrepid management proceeded to call for ladies with brooches. One lady only answered the challenge, proving perhaps that the recent demand for old gold had been, most successful and that most of the brooches have been boiled down long since. The clarion voice of the dictator demanded that gentlemen with finger rings should fall out. Nine gentlemen immediately obeyed the mandate, indicating that this old method of self-expression by males still persists. The whole indicates the : vagaries of personal adornment. One might extend the methods of elimination Almost incalculably, calling seriatim for dancers carrying intimate possessions enshrined in pockets. For instance, "Fall out the men with tenners! Two paces to the front—halves, [partner, halves!"

The infrequency of women in British Parliaments, either at Westminster or further a-sea, gives special emphasis to these isolated etateswomen. Viscountess A FINE BLEND. Nancy Witcher Astor. defending her seat of Plymouth, is the first woman to ever sit in the House of Commons —and is not scared to death. And as her American relatives might say, she recently "said a mouthful." Her son is ■ fighting the Fulham seat for Labour, And the vivacious Nancy up and said to the electors, "His mother will look after my Willie at Westminster," wherein there seems a hope that in the future when the lords of creation get used to seeing fashionable hats on the Floor of the House more M.P. mothers will bo guiding the tottering first political steps of their little Willies. The point for emphasis, however, is that Nancy's pater was Cliesney D. Langhorne, of Virginia, U.S.A., and that his daughter has carried into the more or less solemn atmosphere of Westminster a vivacity that is needed even in colonial Parliaments. The alerter American mind works well in Britain, and although it may shock a stertorous squire here and there, it is a fine stimulant. That intrepid and eminent Winston Churchill lost nothing by his choice of mothers, and the haughtiest man in England—Lord Curzon—owed quite a lot to his transatlantic alliance. It is a fine blend, and the larger the blend the better for the cockeyed world. Some day the dullest of us will refuse to shy at eprightliness even in an M.P. Age cannot alter nor custom stale the infinite variety of Nancy—and she has five children.

A THOUGHT FOR TO-DAY. The man wno fails is the man who fails to keep on keeping on.—A. Jackson.