NEWS, VIEWS, AND OPINIONS.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLII, Issue 7377, 1 February 1902, Page 4 (Supplement)

NEWS, VIEWS, AND OPINIONS.

The crying need of the world today is a society for the suppression of scientists. These men are taking from us one by one the sweet illusions of life, and are gradually compelling us to view the mere act of living as one continual battle with myriads of evil bacilli. Presently we shall have to carbolize .the lips of our best girl before taking therefrom a chaste salute, sterilize the atmosphere of our bedrooms before retiring to rest, and take our walks abroad clad in antiseptic lint. Meanwhile, Sir Lauder Brunton is stalking through the land destroying our pet illusions. There are no such things as "spooks" says he, and "visions" pleasant or the reverse are simply due to sick headache, epilepsy," or optical defects. Sampson's wondrous feats of strength, Sir Lauder says, were merely the outcome of strongly developed epilepsy. MahomnW also was clearly an epileptic (declared Sir Lauder to the Medico-Psychologi-cal Society the other day). X only someone had been on hand to dose the prophet with bromide of potassfnni the history of the world would have been very different ; the Koran would not have been written, and the Eastern Question would never have existed. Sir Lauder hinted further that Dante's cerebrium was not quite right, and that not a few of his ideas of the appearance of spirits were due to megrim. Dore was tarred with the same brush,, and apparently if he Had been "bromided" the world would have been the poorer by many of his most striking pictures. Finally, Sif Lauder Brunton smashed with one fell blow the whole nation of "fairies," whether green or brown, useful or mischievous. It is a long story; but the end of it is that fairies are merely the zig-zag creations of vision distorted by headache. Sir Lauder's 'lecture is suggestive. If you want good sound commonsense government, and a history without purple patches, all you've got to do is. to bromide your legislators regularly, test their eyesight, and allow no man to vote whose liver isn't working flawlessly. Kruger's dream of a Dutch South Africa might have been dispelled, and the war averted with sixpennyworth of bromide of potassium, but, alas! no one thought for a moment to connect the ultimatum with Oom Paul's liver. We called him all sorts of bad names, "truculent," "obstinate," "wickedly foolish," "mad with ambition," etc., instead of which the poor old chap was apparently merely •megrimish," and in need of a few grains of bromide.

A tale from the front: An officer in South Africa recently wrote to a certain gallant general asking for leave to take his wife up to Bloemfontein. In reply he got back his own missive, with this blue pencil comment on the back: "Officers upon active service (under the rules) are not allowed animated comforts." One has heard travellers speak of "animated discomforts," but what do the ladies say to a service which regards them as merely the antitype of the pulex irritwnsf

After laughing at the French people for their frog-eating proclivity the United States. ls doing very well in that line, ior a recent Food Commission estimates that • they catch annually in that country about two million frogs, that they may use their toothsome hind legs for the gratification of their palates. These frogs, which have been hopping for years more and more into gastronomical favour, are sought for in all parts of the country, furnishing a paying industry not only for the hunters of them in their natural haunts, but for scores of persons who have frog farms and raise them as they might raise chickens. To these persons the frogs mean an annual investment of £20,000, according to the report of the Commission, and that means £3,000 to those who consume ' them.

Our erstwhile lecturing visitor, Mr. A. B. Paterson, who is spending a week or two in London, was a guest, one Saturday evening recently, at a smoking concert' at the Yorick Club, and recited an unpublished set of verses on his most recent experiences of motoring: "We annihilate chickens and time and policemen and space,'-' is a startling line of his breathless "pome." But "Banjo" .is wrong, thinks our London correspondent, whose version is that it isn't the motorist who annihilates time and space; it is the policeman, at any rate in fair Surrey, down Guildford way. There they have at least two constables who can do something like a mile a minute when chasing recreant motors. So at least it would appear from a recent prosecution of motorists for driving to the common danger. The man in blue swore that a certain car was going at the rate of 25 miles an hour, when he hailed its

driver to stop, but as the driver refused to do so he "ran after it and caught it." When tackled as to this magnificent pedestrian performance the constable explained that he was an athlete, and could therefore do a mile a minute. Later another constable who was called to back up his comrade's estimate of pace, said he thought he could beat his pal at running! Whew!

From the wild and woolly west, which is Leadville, Colorado way, comes this true story of the man with the golden hair. James McCormack visited a barber's shop, and the knight of the scissor and comb discovered' in James' abundant mane quite a lot of bright particles. They proved to be gold dust. Explanation:' James had been in the habit of washing his head in a mountain stream, and the oil of his hair had acted as a natural amalgam. Result: James returned at once to the stream and within a few daj^s located a "placer" worth 200,000d01. Comment: The modesty of the value placed on the "placer" is not the only indication that the story should be taken "with due reserve."

Authorities on statistics declare: that in spite of the great increase in popiilation. runaway mariages are growing fewer and fewer. This is natural enough. Young girls were formerly led to elope because of the monotony of their lives 5 and because trashy books taught them to emulate trashy heroines. Nothing could be more natural than that a girl who was forced to stay 'at home and embroider, who never met young men on terms of comradeship, should come to long so ardently for excitement that- she 'should accept tht 1 proposal of the first man bold enough to suggest eloping. The i'ree, rational life which the girl of to-day leads is only of recent origin, but it is already showing its good effects. Girls are saner and better balanced. Running away with the coachman has lost its mysterious charm. Parent:;, too, are far more sensible than they used to be. The craze for securing- rich sons-in-law is dying out, and very few men of means object to a decent and persevering young fellow paying his addresses to their daughter providing the affection is reciprocal. This in itself is a powerful reason against elopement.

This is Max O'Rell's advice to the engaged girl: Don't' set your lover on a pedestal or imagine him to be endowed with great moral and intellectual qualities, he may hot be able to live "up to it." Don't write to him sentimental letters, for he may keep them, show them, or carelessly leave them open about his room. Tell .him how you feel towards him, but never write it down. Don't drag his name in every sentence which you utter. Don't play constantly with your engagement ring or display it unduly. Don't assume a superior air or snub girls who are not in the same blissful state as you are. Remember that you are not the only girl in the world who has been engaged. It is nothing to boast of. There are many women who are sorry that they were once engaged. You may be one of those. No, don't boast about your engagement. You may as well boast that you are a good sailor ■while the boat ' is under a serene sky and on a smooth sea. Wait until the sea gets rough. Then, and then only, -will you know whether j'ou are a good sailor or not. " Engaged " life is no rehearsal of married life. Don't make your lover the sun of your life, the centre of all your actions, for he is but human and may prove sadly disappointing. Don't lavish your attention on him to the exclusion pf all other ties, don't exhaust yotir vocabulary. Keep something nice to tell him after the wedding, something which he has not heard before.

Probably no actor made an earlier debut than the late Colonel Mapleson, who appeared in "Henry VIII." at Drury Lane on 31st May, 1830, before he was a month old. A play bill belonging to Nelson Lee has been found by a writer in "Musical Times" bearing a pencil note, "Mrs. Mapleson's infant was carried on for the christening scene." Mapleson's own account of the incident is amusing. "Shortly after I was born," he said, "our house caught fire. The cradle with myself in it was hoisted out of a second storey window to save me. I was carried into Drury Lane Theatre, into Stage Manager Harley?s room. In a rehearsal of "Henry VIII.," in which Edmund Kean and Mrs. Siddons were performing, a dummy baby had been prepared by the property man for the scene of the baptism. It was" so flattened and puffy that Kean could not keep serious, so Harley suggested "Try a real baby." I was brought behind the scenes for rehearsal, and behaved so well that at the solicitation of Kean and Mrs. Siddons my mother and Madame Anna Bishop (who was a sort of second mother to' me) I was engaged for a regular performance. I received an honorarium of one guinea a night for my appearance. The piece ran twenty-one nights, and I received 21 guineas, and these I have still, and shall always keep them." The last sentence used to make Mapleson's hearer sceptical of the whole story.