THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 269, 12 November 1937, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MEN ABOUT TOWN.)

Writers wlio make frequent use of literary allusious appeal only to a very small audience. It is unfortunately true that a great many persons like to be mystiQUOTATIONS. lied by unfamiliar allu-

sions, believing that they are at least in the literary swim when they patronise an author, or it may be a newspaper, that tliev cannot understand. Very often even familiar quotations are given wrongly. Fowler and Fowler have given the following quotations correctly, with the usual wrong words in parentheses: Ail ill-favoured (poor) thing, sir, but mine own. Fine (email) by decrees and beautifully less. That (the) last infirmity of noble mind (minds). Make assurance double (doublv) sure. To-morrow to fresh woods (fields) and pastures new. The Devil can cite (quote) Scripture for his purpose. Chewing the food (cud) of sweet and bitter fancy. When (J reeks joined Greeks (Greek meets Greek) then wa« (conies) the tug-of-war. A goodly apple, rotten at the heart (core). —Touchstone.

"Out of the nioutlis of babes and sucklings . . ." This is a true story. It comes J straight from Christ-church, which is a holy city where nobody ever PROPHECY. tells a lie. Every now and again the Cathedral City throws off the mantle of sanctity and gives way to the gambling evil. "The noble 'orse" is elevated to the pedestal of idolatory and worshipped with papan sincerity. On the eve of the Trotting Cup a visitor arrived from other parts and stayed with the family. He was concerned with a horse that had come from his own hamlet to seek transient fame among the big and famous ones on the Addington trotting track. So the talk at table was of horse, and then of more horse, of the weather and the prospects of this and that nag should the weather be fine or otherwise. The very small infant of the house sat and Chewed bis spoon and seemed unutterably bored by all tlii* strange and incomprehensible jargon. Yet. as the event proved, the small infant, in the manner that small infants have, was abs«rbin-i the salient facts. He heard all about Indianapolis and the enormous start that he was conceding to the field, and he heard the prospect of this and that horse debated. As far as I know he did not hear anything about Lucky Jack, hut then he was not the orllv one by a long chalk who didn't hear anything about Lucky Jack till the announcer bejran to howl his name. Anyway the fup day duly arrived. The infant of the house arose. He looked out of the window. It was raining. He sought his mother in » state of real concern. "00. mummy." he cried, ''it's raining, and Tndiollopus can't win the Cupping Trot." —B.O'X.

On Tuesday London witnessed one of its most spectacular Lord MayorV Shows. The glittering procession was hekl up at one stage, however. It stopped at FRUITS OF New Zealand House to OFFICE, allow our Bill Jordan to hand the Lord Mayor, Sir Henry Twyford, a basket of apples. The idea was primarily to convey our thanks to Sir Henry for upending three years at the Wakapuaka cable station. New Zealand, in the old days. One finds difficulty in connecting apples with cable stations, but nevertheless the gift was a more tactful one than would have been, say, a basket of raspberries. On second thoughts, I have come to the conclusion that our far-seeing High Commissioner—mindful of the number of times per week he has heard IYA'S radio recording of the hackneyed "All the King's Horses"—has made a practical effort to "'put a bit of pip into the Lord Mayor's Show."—B.C.H.

Three distinct and inimical schools of thought share one article of faith in common. That is, that the present inhabitant of New Zealand is physically, NO PANSIES. mentally and morally far inferior to his predecessors. There is one big school whose rather [ vague opinion is often expressed something jlike this: "They expect everything they want delivered right into their lap, instead of going out after it."- Another strong body of opinion maintains that over-indulgence in alcohol has rotted the fibre of the race. The third, consisting of rosy-nosed robustious old-timers, hold that the modern Xew Zealander does not, because he cannot, drink as much as did his forefathers, nor can he carry as a good toper should what little he does drink; and, if he cannot drink, how can he expect to be able to do anything else? All these attacks can be met by argument, but it is a delight to happen on an instance tlmt dispose* of all three simultaneously. This is it. High up in the Southern Alp* there are two tiny settlements. Otira, on the western side of the divide, has two pubs; Arthur's Pass, on the eastern side, none. They are eleven miles apart by the track over Arthur's Pass, or seven miles by rail through the Otira Tunnel. Occasionally, during their gloomy winter, the male inhabitants of Otira say, "Let's go over and cheer up those poor blighters at Arthur's Pass." So, in the early evening, they hoist kegs and sugar bags full of bottles on their shoulders, tramp the eleven miles over the pass, through four or five feet of snow, turn on a smoke concert at Arthur's Pass settlement, and trud-re back again with the "empties." Twenty-two miles through the snow for a smoke concert—and carry the "doings," too! No rotten fibres in the blokes that do that, surely. Sometimes the Arthur's Pass chaps come over to the Otira oasis for a beer-and-baccy evening, too. They do not have to carry supplies, certainly, but even so, it is not an evening's stroll" for a weakling. Sometimes hosts as well as guests make the journey. When the last bumper is drained the hosts have been known to see their guests home, just to make sure thev did not fall into any of the ravines along the route. As naturalists have noted, the pansy does not flourish in these high altitudes. —I.M.

A correspondent recently wrote wishing that the parking fee at Mission Bav should be 3/6. The writer heartily endorses the suggestion (since he no VALUES. longer owns a car). We pay 2/10 or 3/4 to witness a man chasing a woman around a Chesterfield. Each time that we wake the chase continues, with the stereotyped grand finale of lips glued together as firmly as a suction plant. Occasionally we have an objectionable elderly neighbour who returns from the "interval" to a darkened house surreptitiously smoking an evil-smelling pipe concealed in his fist. C He allows his walking stick to fall to the floor two or three times during the evening with a nerve-racking clatter, and at least" twice gropes around our ankles for his hat. which is not there. We endure none of these discomforts at Mission Bay: in fact we sometimes observe things worth looking at.—A.A.P.

Dear M.A.T., —The three dividends paid in the 1006 Royal Stakes will always stand out as an event unique in the racing history of the Dominion, but the DIVIDENDS. West Coast can lay claim to an event even more strange. In a race held at Reefton about Christmas, 1911, every starter paid a dividend. The event was a six-furlong handicap, and the runners were Merchantman and Gasoline. Each moved away smartly from the barrier and the pace was on the whole way, the res Ait being a dead-heat. The "tote" paid out about 18/0 and 17/(5. everyone with a ticket going Ito the pay-out windows. Incidentally, this I pair put up a record for the course.—T.S.