PASSING NOTES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 9045, 21 February 1891, Page 5 (Supplement)

PASSING NOTES.

(From tha Otago Witness). The Ministry havo won tho Egraont seat, and are happy. Theirs has been tho fight, and the glory—such glory as there is—is also theirs. Two Ministers, the Hon. John M'Kenzie and the Hon. Richard Seddon, went up to Taranaki on the honourable errand of influencing the election. By some sticklers for an impossible purity Ministerial interference in an election is held to be indecent. When the interests of party are at stake, what is decency that it should bo accounted of ? Wo havo had before now a Premier who has nobly dared to fling decency to the winds by interfering in elections right and loft—at Oamaru, at Naseby, and who found time to do it even whilst fighting for his own existence, on his own dunghill. In the Egmont case I have not read the speeches, but should suppose that the Hon. John M'Kenzto's way of influencing the election was by judicious talk on tho subject of roads. The Mount Egmont region, as we all have heard, is a veritablo maze of roads. The Labyrinth of Crete was nothing to it. A plan of the Egmont road system, published last year by a Wellington paper, afforded the Hon. John M'Kenzie— then in Opposition—much scornful amusement at the expense of tho Government. Now all is changed. Tho outs are the ins, and the Hon. John M'Kenzie will havo known how to flatter the hopes of the Egmont elector on the 3ubject nearest his heartmore roads. The Hon. Richard Seddon's method will have been different. I assume that he is an Irishman —though I'm sure I don't know why—and we all know him to be a fighting man. Consequently the Hon. Richard's predestined function in the scheme of things I take it, is to be "agin tlie Government." The strange chance that has put him into a Government robs him at the same time of his chiefest joy. Especially when the House is up he must feel like the fellow in one of Gilbert and Sullivan's operas who sings:— Oh! don't the days seem dull and long, When all goes right and nothing goeß wrong; And isn't life exceedingly flat When there's nothing at all to grumble at ? "Welcome, thrice welcome, then, the chance of flourishing a shillelagh in an election scrimmage and cracking crowns for a M'Guire! The Ministerial missionaries— each in his own way—have done their work well, and the M'Guiro tops the poll with a majority _of 73. Bruce, the beaten candidate, though a typical working colonist— once a sailor before the mast,—has tho misfortune to be, in tho inmost soul of him, a gentleman, consequently is not acceptable to the Labour gocis at preaect occupying Olympus. Ah, well 1 — Vixtrix causa Dis plaeuit, sed vida Catom ! The time as yet is remote when Milford Sound will be the gate of New Zealand towards Australia and when the ocean fliers of the Union Company, from that romantic haven as their headquarters, will make the round trip to Melbontne and back within a week. The time is not yet, bat it will come, and I request the Passing Notist of that distant day to do me the justice of remarking that one of his predecessors predicted it. Perhaps the day may not be so very distant. I have received a most recherche card, ivorysurfaced, gold-lettered, dated "Milford Sound, Middle Island, New Zealand," announcing that the desolate grandeur of Milford is now mitigated by the existence of a house of public entertainment, " L'Ksperance Chalet" —no less I—under1 —under the charge of two ladies. Clearly civilisation has its eye, so to speak, on the wilds of the West Coast, and has marked them for its own. In further proof whereof, read the following curious postscript, printed on the back of L'Esperance Chalet card: —

N.B.—We beg to notify that!our Chef is an expert in catering to our Jowish Brethren, bo that those wishing to spend a season in this grand locality can rest assured of every attention being afforded them. Explanation would be welcome here. How does the fact that the "chef" is an expert in catering for "our Jewish brethren" prove that our Christian brethren are going to get "every attention"? And what have Jews in particular to do with Milford Sound anyhow ? No doubt the Jew, who is as übiqnitous as the Scotchman, will be found at Milford as he is found everywhere else; but unless there is to be an exodus of Israelites from other places to establish a new Zion on the West Coast, I fail to understand how this " chef " of the " Chalet" can expect adequate scope for Ms peculiar^abilities. Municipal politics in South Dunedin have . long been interesting, and are now become , exciting. The council hall is the only place of entertainment in the borough, and at regular intervals—to wit, at every council meeting—the councillors perform with great vigour and success for the delectation of the assembled ratepayers. They have an extensive repertoire, ranging from heavy tragedy (when the Mayor invokes heaven to j witness if he lies) to low comedy and broad farce when Councillor Fisher, who has no sense of humour, declares that their proceedings would — bring the borough into discredit, drag it through the mire of humiliation, and make it the laughing stock of its neighbours. Some time ago the councillors in an "adjoining borough played a sparkling little comedy, in which the principal character waa sustained by a councillor who possessed a piggery, and was fined for it. This ran for several nights and vraa then replaced by a screaming farce in the South Dunedin Council called " Tho Caversham Drain, or the Mayor in a Mess," which still holds the boards, and promises to have a lengthened run. At times tho stage is invaded by the pit, as when Mr Ogg wrote thus :— To the Mayor and South Dunedin Councillors. Gentlemen,—As a ratepayer of South Dunedia I must tender you my protest against the expenditure of money that is required for the printing and circulation of the appended circular—viz., charges against the mayor. I don't know whether it has come from tho council as a body; if so, they ought to ba ashamed of themselves, as there is plenty of other work that is more pressing—such as oleaning the putrefaction out of the cesspools along the streets, so that the people could walk with a little comfort. But if the appended circular has been printed and circulated by any individual councillor, I would recommend that his carcaas be staffed into one of the worst cesspools in the main streat, and tho grating looked over him, with a notice board put up as a warning to all other councillors that may come after him, that such will be their end if they attompt to make fools of the ratepayers by sending them their reports of their self-appointed committee meetings. Gentlemen of the committee, I recommend you to keep your charge sheets for some other use, I don't want them.

The council, however, was equal to the occasion. Cr Fiddes promptly moved that the letter be put in the waste paper basket; and Cr Marlow moved as an amendment—" That the letter be sent back to Mr Ogg, and that he be told to mind his own business," ■which was carried. Having thus extinguished the contumacious Ogg, the council proceeded to mind Us own business, and the screaming farce is now in full swing. Valentine's day has come and gone, and the one person pleased is the postman. The poor fellow has no sentiment, no soul. -The band of little employment hath the daintier sense, and letter carrying, particularly at the present low rate of pay, tells on the lighter fancies almost as heavily as does the writing of Passing Notes. There is infinite poetry in the postman's bag, with its mute messages of life and death, of sorrow and joy, but you can't expect him to Strictly meditate the thankless muso, on £2 a week—finding his own boots too, and boots go so quickly nowadays. We are told of the late Mr Bell—Mr Peter Bellthat A primrose by the rivet's brim, A yellow primrose wsb to him,' And it was nothing more. Even so with the postman. To him a bag's a bag, and letters are letters, and there's a plagney lot of 'em to deliver on Valentine's Pay. All this, with much more, I thought out to myself on the morning of the 14th, in extenuation of his stony stolidity as he presented me with a couple of most palpable valentines. To avoid any misunderstanding, permit me to explain that they were not for me, but for a member of my household. In fact—not to put too a fine a point upon it— they were addressed to Mary, our maid. I had supposed that this young person's sole mission in life was to break dishes, spoil dinners, and otherwise vex the righteous soul of Mrs 0. Bat herein I was wrong, for she j likewise "kept company," and received valentines. She blushed as I gave them to her, and I noticed the blush with satisfaction (not unmixed with surprise) as some evidence of the soul of goodness in things evil. Mary may mend. No woman who can blush is wholly lost, and if I had any domestic jurisdiction (which I frankly admit I haven't) I should be disposed to give her another chance. But all this is a digression, and what I have to say about valentines must go into another note. I

Tho valentines of to-day mark a distinct decay of manners. In the golden age when I was young there were none of those vile daubs that fill tho shop windows to-da Witless and jpointless caricatures, with their broken-winded doggrel full of onvy, malice, and all uncharitableness—they arc a liboljon the gentle name of valentine, and ought to bo suppressed by the police. No! wo had winged missives that you sent with a delicious throb and received with a delightful thrill. No malice there, but the tender leaf of love's young dream shooting out in the sweet and soulful simplicity o£ half-text, thuswise:— The rose is red, tho violot's blue, Sugar's sweet, and so are you. In the right hand corner were your initials, writ vory plain to prevent 'mistake, and in the left was a large heart pierced by a large arrow. Heigho I I still have an interest in valentines, though, alas! it is purely philosophical. Well settled asl is tho custom of sending them, nobody knows where it comes from, and much learning lias been wasted in the attempt to find out. The only thing wo can be quite sure about is that they have nothing to do with St. Valentine. It is not recorded of that holy man that ho ever sent or received a valentine. The presumption, indeed, is all the other way. Somo learned pundits connect them with tho Roman Lupercalia, a series of February games, wheri, among other divarshuns, the Gracchi nondum togati —not yet in tail coats and stand-up collars—drew sweethearts out of lucky bags. Other learned pundits advanco other theories; but, bless you, learned pundits don't know anything about it. It's not in their line. In the northern hemisphere February is the early dawn of spring, and as our laureate says:— In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast, In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himsolf another crest; In tho spring a lovelier iris changes on the burnished dove, In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Given youthtide and springtide, and valentines come up like the flowers of the field. A terribly practical person is General Booth I He has issued a code of " orders and regulations for Salvation soldiers" in which, amongst other things, he orders and regulates the delicate business of lovemaking, courtship, and marriage. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that he ignores lovemaking altogether—regarding it possibly as a sinful indulgence—that lie reduces courtship to the smallest dimensions consistent with "sufficient previous acquaintance," and that ho treats marriage simply as a case of two Salvation warriors "chumming " together, solely for the good of the Army. The Army's " Articles of Marriage" require tho contracting parties to declare solemnly that "we havo not sought this marriage for the sake of our own happiness and interests only, though we hope these will be furthered thereby" (a modest concession to human nature!) —but for objects spiritual and military, as above described. The preliminaries to matrimony are to be short, sharp, and desisive. " Our soldiers should avoid taking away from active service more time than is really necessary for the purpose of courting either by conversation or correspondence." To outsiders, looking at the close association of male and female soldiers in the work of the Army, it might seem possible to economise time by combining the business of courting with active service. The General has considered this point, but with his usual practical wisdom he decides that there is nothing in it. " A person who is all that can be desired on the platform may be entirely unsuitable as husband or wife." Yes, that is so 1 The hallelujah lass who skirls her pipes the highest in an Army song, and bangs her tambourine the lustiest, may be entirely

"out of it" when there are potatoes to be boiled or stockings to be darned. On the whole I gather that the General looks upon matrimony as a necessary evil to be discouraged as far as may be. Perhaps that is the explanation of the hideous noli via tangere garb in which he dresses his female captains. The Salvationist view of courtship and its etceteras is one thing, the American view is another. Thus the New York World advises its " young lady " readers in the following terms under the head of "Preparation for Kissing ":-— When your best young man is coming to see you, you will naturally want your mouth and breath to be as presentable as possible. Prepare them after this fashion. Rinse the mouth thoroughly with camphor and water. Then rub alcohol lightly upon the lips and chin, rub hard with the towel, treat to a wash of perfumery, and rub the lips with -a rough cloth and then again with perfumery. Now, rinse the mouth with wintergreen or any sweet-smelling herb. Apparently the New York editor assumes that his "young lady" clients will have dined on beefsteak and onions—possibly their customary fare. In that case a quart bottle of Condy's disinfecting fluid would be more to the purpose than the medicaments he ;< prescribes, and even that would leave a good deal to be desired, or rather, perhaps, to be regretted. Not poppies, not mandragora, not all the drowsy syrups of this world can soothe the offended senses of the lover whose " best girl "—I think that is the American term—has partaken of the fragrant onion, unless, indeed, he himself has partaken of the same. However, to quit this malodorous theme, let me express my detestation of the whole doctrino of " preparation for kisses." In my day I have more than onco tasted the dewy lips of sweet seventeen or thereabouts, and can testify that nature in this particular is incapable of improvement by art. Observe, I say "dewy lips." Note the term—for in one of last season's novels, " A Modern Milkmaid," the hero, in a paroxysm of passion, fastens upon tlie object of bis affections " his gluey lips." This kind of lover might be commended to the New York belle. His gluey lips to her medicated mouth—what a romantic conjunction 1 An auctioneer's catalogue oE books issued this week makes a lovely bash of authors and titles. Greek, Latin, and other foreign names come to grief by wholesale. That Is Dot to be wondered at, consequently sucb excellent barbarisms as " Quintlian Gibson " (an edition of Quintilian), " Voyage do Anachapsis," and "Milton's Arfopagitica" hardly succeed in raising a smile. But the perversion effected in sorao English titles is altogether charming. What could be better, for instance, than "Coleridge's Aids to Reflect on," and " Byron's Sardan Apalus by Cain." This last, indeed, has merit in a quite, unapproachable degree. Bjron wrote a dreary tragedy called " Sardanapalus" ; he also wrote "Cain, a Mystery"—much abhorred by pious evangelicals. I remember to have seen a copy of Byron from which the owner, in his zeal against heterodoxy, had carefully cut out "Cain" with a knife. " Don Juan," sad to 'say, was left in, but "Cain"for its sins against sound doctrine had been religiously excised. These titles the catalogue presented in this delightful melange —" Byron's Sardan Apalus by Cain." Better still, they appeared under the head of " Theological Works." This classification is about as malappropriate as the announcement made in a Dunedin paper this week of the'death of a local owner of racehorses. The sad information 13 headed " Late Sporting." Cms.