SNAPSHOTS.

Hastings Standard, Issue 41, 13 June 1896, Page 3

SNAPSHOTS.

[By Kodak.]

A " chiel" has a hard time to take notes in these parts as there is not much doing among " ye," and everything is quiet in this little nook —the inhabitants having hibernated prbitbly.

In these days when so many new books come out it is hard to know which to read and which not to, as fully 90 per cent are trashy and have a maudlin sentimentality about them, the purple patches coming like angel's visits. The literature is certainly daily becoming more flimsy and tit only for the rubbish heap. In reading it would ho well if people would just stop to hear what Buskin says about books. lie di\ides them into two classes. The iirst class book (in a double sense) is that which must be read actuallv riil'tt!tin »< lihriihin. and in which the reader must follow the author, and to use the words of Horace

•• be an entire sympathiser with him." Books of this description produce a lasting effect on the reader and one can always profit by reference to them. The second class is "the book of the hour," which is only worth one reading. if that. Raskin again compares books to gold -mines—some yielding pounds to the ton, some ounces, some grains. Alas ! how many of the present books there are which yield practically v>! " in that great refinery —the public mind !"

The other day Tommy Atkins was the subject of discus-ion. and one partv a>ked " How did he come to get "that name?" This was certainly a posing question and one that very few could answer. The soubriquet however was got in the following way : In the middle of the century a circular was issued to every British solder —a form of declaration :—" 1 Thomas Atkins do hereby, xc." Since then the name has become a household word for the British soldier.

Oil, Tommy. Tommy Atkins, you're a a good tin heart aiul hand. You're a ci\dit to yer country and to all yer native land. May yer girl be never failing, may yer heart be ever true. So Tommy. Tommy Atkins here's your country's love to you. Rmlyard Kipling, however, has overdone " Tommy Atkins," and the Barrack-room ballads, though having a roughty old jingle, are ruined by profanitv.

Society chit-chat continues to pour forth in '• voluptuous strains" from our towns, great and .small, while Christehurch (to use the words of the correspondent) is flooded with delicious tea, Auckland i.s cra/.v over balls given to the Governor, at which Miss Glasspane's dress is a source of admiration to all, and Captain Boodle of 11.M.5. Skeeterbite astonished the natives by his grand military carriage. It does not sav, however, whether the carrta;/--is built for two or one. In one paper three columns is devoted to the dresses and another half column to the turn v. "While all this grandeur is proceeding, smaller towns have to be content with smaller game, and we read glowing accounts of Mrs Humble de Smallmeans Jones's euchre party, how Miss Smith wins the prize, and Brown wins the booby, Ac-., kc.

Mv feelings towards John Chinaman have hcen modified considerably of late after hearing Check Cheong's sermon. It would be impossible to hear anywhere a more learned or able and interesting discourse than that delivered last Sunday. China in most people's mind-; is an over-populated place, full of idols and superstitition somewhere in the region of " Erehwon." When one comes to reflect —as mo-'t of the congregation were led to last Sunday night—a feeling of awe and sublimity comes at the wealth and crrandeur of that fair far land, which has more mineral wealth and resources than all the rest of the globe put together—whose population numbers a third of that of the whole earth, and a region where genius reigns supreme. "There's a good time coming" for that land when once the poisonous weeds of vice, bribery, superstitution, and conniption have been eradicated, and our Western though cruder civilisation has been blended with the finer, though fantastic civilisation of that Great Empire.

Mention of Ruskin in a previous article puts me in mind of a great contemporary of his, Professor Blackie, and of an amusing incident in the lecture room. One morning, so the story goes, the Professor was indisposed and so wrote on the blackboard, " The Professor is unable to meet his classes this morning." At the usual hour the students flocked in, and a wag—units ant!ti* ira<ifiil<ux as there are at all Universities —walked up to the board and crossed off the " C " in classes. Now the Professor had long passed the gay and giddy part of life called youth, so next morning Mas rather taken aback, not for long, however, for striding with measured step up to the board he wiped out the •' 1." The tables were turned.

Another good story is told of the long-haired Professor. One morning in point; through town he was accosted by a dirty-faced, ragged bootblack. -• Shine yer boots, Sir"?" No thank vou," said the Professor '' but I'll' tell "pou what—lf you will go over there (pointing to a pump) and wash your face, I'll give you sixpence, my lad." " Right you are, sir," said the boy and he went, returning with his face clean as a new pin. " That's more like, said the Professor, and here is the sixpence my boy." "" I don't want it ' said the youngster, and then with the keen wit for which London youngsters are famous. —'• Keep it yourself and go and get yer "air cut."

Although I am not in the same frame of mind as the man who wrote

that song " In the Gloaming," nevertheless " The lights are burning low," so up goes my weekly (I trust not weakly) pen.

P.S.—The camera was laid up for repairs the week before last.