OBITER DICTA.

Press, Volume LXII, Issue 18680, 1 May 1926, Page 14

OBITER DICTA.

(By K.)

Everyone, no doubt, has heard the story of the woman who advertised her husband's death in this way: .—On January Ist, John, beloved . husband of May . Deeply regretted. His widow will carry on the plumbing business at the old address." I have always maintained that this story is a lie. The incongruous has its limits, I thought, not to be overpassed by the freakish, the fanatical, or the humourless. But now lam not so sure. For one of the reports of what everyone says was a very eloquent address by Mr Isitt at the Anzac Day service last Sunday contains this notable passage: There should be glorification of moral welfare. Sentiment was utterly worthless unless action accompanied it, continued Mr Isitt. All should strive to live better lives and to make the world a happier place. Drink was a terrible curse in this country. A voice: I'm for that. All might not. be Frohibitionists, continued Mr Isitt. "Hear, hear," came a voice. The Mayor called for order. Mr Isitt dwelt upon the curses of drink and gambling.

Any time, Mr Isitt would say, is a good time for a blow at the Demon Bum, and that old writer who maintained that there was a season for every thing walked in darkness. He was right so far as his light would allow, but he lived centuries before Mr Pussyfoot Johnson came to give America a twelfth commandment in the shape of the Eighteenth Amendment. There is this, however, to be said in excuse of Mr Isitt: for many years, when he has been facing a crowd, the topic has. been Rum, and seeing a crowd before him on Anzac Day he momentarily'fell a victim to habit. And so, too, for the matter of that, did the Mayor. Yet I hope that if, in future, Anzac Day addresses are to . be made the vehicle of private fads, those responsible for arranging the ceremonies will call for tenders.® There are so many " terrible curses "—from the well-shrimp to the unrefohned electoral law —and so many earnest Leagues combating them that the competition should be brisk, and brisk competition means money.

In the meantime I have been seeking to console myself with Sir Oliver Lodge's sermon, on " Death," which the English mail brought this week. We should try, he sfiid, to regard bodily dissolution—which, after all, when yoju come to think of it, is merely the. transmutation of unicellular organisms and somatic cells—vith' intelligence, not emotion. "If people would get over the trouble about interment," they would welcome death like a change in the cinema programme, and in any case "the universe is great and splendid beyond our imagination." It is given to few of us to be able to imagine what we cannot imagine, and Sir Oliveris clearly one of-the few. Life, be explained, is really not life, but something that contrives things, and a body is merely " a mode of manifestation.". "Was it likely that the psychic element was limited in its mode of manifestation, its activity, to a certain chemical compound, especially albumen?"—of which,'it may be as well to remind proud man, the human body is mainly composed. The idea, Sir Oliver thinks), is absurd. There are other things than matter.and,he looks forward to a time when the instruments, of the futuro will be " uiade of ether.' This is what he calls the result of " scientific contemplation." It is extremely kind of him to tell us all this, but I know where he got it from. Ha has been poring over "Through the Looking Glass,'' and has, instinctively recognised the White Queen as the only character in' tie book with a ' really scientific .mind: ..

'<l can't believe" that!" said Alice. "Can't vpu!?' the Queen said in a pitying tone. ?,'Try again: draw a long breath and. shut your eyes." Alice laughed.; "There's no use trying," she said: "one.can't believe impossible things." l. "I daresay you haven't/had much practice," said the Queenwas your age, I always did it for half-an-hour.'a'. day. Why,'sometimes Ivo believed as many as six"' impossible things before'breakfast."