PASSING NOTES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18541, 29 April 1922, Page 4

PASSING NOTES.

What will come out of Genoa? Ask of the winds, for no man seems to know. Mr Lloyd George says: “God’s in His Heaven, all’s right with the Conference.” May it be so! Not quite satisfactorily realised yet is the purport of the burning words of Isaiah: . . . How hath the oppressor ceased ! The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked and the sceptre of the rulers . . . The whole earth is at rest and is quiet: they break forth into singing. . . . At Genoa struggle harmony and discord for predominance. Discord always the more penetrating. There may be hope ip that. But what with the niggling tactics of France, the self-assertiveness of Russia. the plausibility of Germany, the Little Entente, the anti-Lloyd George press, and this and that, the comity of nations is a tfifle beclouded. A clearance of the mists may take place ere the sun shines. The figure that is made to stalk most prominently among the delegates is the Soviet representative, M. Tchitcherin. Possibly it is largely a matter of colour. The leopard may not change his spots. M. Tchitcherin caipiot but wear the hue of a danger-signal, for all his dotting of the Soviet garb, for all his yellow gloves, glossy top-hat—and the red flag in his buttonhole. At all events the gentleman with the difficult name seems to be enjoying a brief hour of glorious life, consigning the Frenchmen to perdition, exchanging toasts and confidences with the King of Italy, proclaim ng to the Archbishop of Genoa the idyllic freedom of the Church in Russia. The Vatican and the Soviet' have embraced. Incomparable spectacle indeed! Diplomacy, like misery, brings strange conjunctions. Brightly burns again the lamp of reason that lights the Finance Committee of the City Council upon its way. But it gave a startling flicker at the beginning of the week. Nobody had suspected the committee of humour. What wonder that a great guffaw went up. and that, in that solemn repository in King street, the clatter of bony joints in fearful mirth has scarcely yet subsided. Truth to tell, there was an awful pause while the issue hung in the balance. But there are themes for which ordinary prose is no vehicle. Ergo, without more ado, the doggerel: The Curator said “Damme!'' The Chancellor, “"What Rot!” The, mummies murmured “Blimey I Its growing very hot.” “ The Curator said “Damme!” The Chancellor “Great Scott! AV© asked for funds to mend the roof, And this is what we've got. “The rain falls on. the monkeys. And wets the Polar bear; They say they'll build f summerhouse, , And treat th© public fair.” The Curator said “Damme!” The Chancellor, “Eh, what! "We ought to have them her© in jars And show the blooming lot.” The Curator said “Damme!” f The Chancellor said “Bah! AVeTI shame these City Fathers And bring down Air Parr. “Yet, worthy friend, monotony In speech you should efface; There are passages in Scripture For every time and place.” The Curator said “Damme!” The Chancellor “Amen!” And all the folk that heard the joke Said “Say it once again." All’s well that ends well! “Least said soonest mended,” is henceforth the motto of the City’s Finance Committee. Many years hence, maybe, a- grubber among the Museum treasures may unearth the musty record of tlje. committee’s recommendation of April, 1922. It may appear in the Otago Daily Times under the heading/‘Sixty Years Ago,” to provoke a passing smile at municipal ingenuousness in the dark ages. There has been some agitation to have the Cargill Monument moved for reasons associated with its present site. It is possible that there may yet be an agitation for similar reasons to have the Museum moved elsewhere. Should it come to that, let not the claims of Pelichet Bay be overlooked. A fine collectioji of assorted relics is already there in possession. They invite the ruminative to ponder the advantages of an open-air museum. Orpheus with his lute—modern version ! When a musician of repute, on the eye of a concert season, announces that he is in search of a wife, what are we to think ? Supposing that when in Dunedin Mischa Elman had made it known through the press that he was looking for a wife in New Zealand! He did not. He was cautious in our midst. He was reserving that little sensation for London. There he recently announced, with all the necessary circumstantial detail, that he was in quest of a simple, homely, English wife. To the interviewer he solemnly laid bare his heart; “I vowed I would not marry for 20 years and the end of mv vow is drawing iiigh. Fortune has smiled yupon me in many ways, and in many lands. I pray it. will smile on me in this mv greatest quest—for a sweet English girl who will take possession of my heart. Then will my happiness bo complete. “I have travelled 5u many lands, and I have seen many lovely women, but, Englishwomen are incomparable. They are the loveliest and the least artificial wcmen in the world. I have met womm of all nations and of all colours. They are all charming—and all natural. I cannot, lose my heart to an artificial woman. “I do not look for a beautiful face. .One soon tiros of that. My wife must have soul—a soul that might be stirred with music, but not. possessed by it. That would never do. I would have her respect my art—and leave me to it. “She must not interfere with my art.” said Mischa, throwing up his hands in horror at the thought. “I am a modest man, and not much to look at.” he added, reflectively. ’ The interview, be it added, was embellished by a very lugubrious-looking portrait of the yearning virtuoso himself. From the Ritz he was offering “only his art and his heart.” Next day was recorded the inevitable sequel in the response of-simple, homely, 'English feminine aspirants—powderless, paintless, devoid of wile and artifice—a deluge of proposals of marriage. They raav be still coming in. As Mr Guppy was wont to say, “There are chords, etc.” Over and around it all the chuckle of the publicity agent is almost audible. Doubtless the quest of the golden girl will be leisurely. Who would not be a fashionable fiddler? It is a joy to see Grimalkin in the garden' pricking at sounds inaudible to man. We miss so much of what is going on through the bluntness of our perceptions. \Ve all know what the spider says to the fly, but we do not hear him say it. We cannot hear the grass growing, or tell what jioise annoys an oyster. But apparently a time is coming. Many thrilling questions will be answered, it is claimed, by the radiophone, a wonderful American invention. This is said to be the most powerful sound-magnifying wireless telephone ever constructed. When Mr Edison vouches for the radiophone scepticism is silenced. He believes that when it is perfected it will render audible millions of sounds never recorded bv the human ear. So there will be a new world after all. Perhaps with some new terrors in it. Ants and other insects living in highlyorganised communities are suspected of holding conversation one with another. There is no telling but what the radiophone may be able to discover what they talk about, and what they think of the human race. For the present it is enough to be told that the footfall of flics heard through this instrument sounded like thunder ; that the noise of cigarette ash falling on the carpet was as that of, rucks tumbling over each other; that the sound made by a checse-mite boring its way in a piece of ripe Stilton was as that of a saw cutting steel; and that grass seeds burst from their pods with the report of a gun. Happy days are in store for botanists and entomologists. It will be thrilling to hear a butterfly stamping about. There are other possibilities move dreadful to contemplate. A flippant investigator lias averred that he applied the instrument to his bank balance just after the income lax man had departed, and the result was a faint of “Hcljf” / 1

On the hopeless subject of spelling reform a correspondent of the Otago Witness addresses to me a homily—column long — writing from so far away as Daylesford, Victoria. He reproaches me for picking fun at a suggestion made in the House by Mr Malcolm, M.F. for Clutha, that not only should words be spelt as they sound, but should be written and printed in reporters’ shorthand —pot-hooks and hangers, dots and curves, noughts and crosses. It is astounding that a wide-awake writer and thinker like “Civis” should describe as ‘‘inconceivable'’ the natural supposition that shorthand books will become general. I thought better of him. However, he errs in good company. Lords Palmerston and Beaconsiield emphatically asserted that the Suez t.'anal was impracticable, and eminent scientists ridiculed Ronlgon’s attempt to see through opaque objects. Time disproved their prognostications. History will repeat, itself in this case, and place Mr Malcolm (Clutha) in the prophet's chair. Talk of opaque objects ! Bontgen rays and nothing less are heeded here. If pot-hooka and hangers became the alphabet of today, all printed matter of yesterday would become a- dead language. The unhappy British child would have to learn two languages instead of only one. English spelling as we have it is not to be defended. If, inadvertently, I had taken a brief in that interest, I should throw it up. You can’t defend the trickiness of “ough,’\which may be o, or 00, or ow, or off, or uff, as in “dough” and “through,” and “bough,” and “cough/' and “rough.” But the people like it that wav, and the will of the people is law. If I spelt “dough” d—o, and “through” th—r—double o, and “bough” bo—w, and “cough” c —o—double f, and “rough'' r—u—double f, the people wouldn’t like it at all. And the liking of the people determines. Our spelling cannot be defended, but it lias to be accepted. Only by slow, slow, process can there bo the smallest change. John Drydcn, who wrote “publick,” and “mnsick,” and “antiefc,” doubtless liked to see the word cock its tail in a k. And to Izaak Walton, who wrote “The Compleat Angler,” the word “compleat” without its “a” would nave looked a shotten haddock. We have got rid of the k, and of the a, but we have taken generations to the doing of it. Some peddling changes made by the Americans, as in the words “centre,” theatre,” “mould”—in American* ese “center,” “theater,” “mold”—we have not been able to accept at all. The name by which anything is called —the name, mark you —is determined by the people. The same people determine che spelling of the name. And there is no appeal. When tired of other medical quackeries —no need to specify; the quack we have always with us—we may take up sunbathing. Come, let us doff our clothing and dance in the sun! This its motto, this its slogan. Mr Arthur Allbrook, of Lower Sydenham, secretary of the movement— for there is a “movement”—“a middle-aged man of gentle nature,” has been interviewed by ajrepresentative of the London Daily Express. Whereby we learn that sun-bathing has become almost the fashion in Germany. The virtues of playing hop-scotch, or pat-ball, or dll-ronnd-the-mulberry-bush “mit nodings on,” have, it is said, been proved beyond dispute, and there are even groups of sun-worshippers who hold that mankind would do well to drop clothes altogether and go back to the custom of everyday bare skins. The Daily Express man was presented with leaflets quoting various authorities to prove that clothing is harmful to the body and to the mind. “Several persons-are willing to join a sun and air bathing society,” added Mr Allbroolc. “They include two clergymen, two doctors, and school teachers. It would, of course, be necessary to select members carefully,-and. wo should have to secure the use of some secluded field for exercising.” A secluded field—certainly. In New Zealand it would be advisable also to square the Y.M.C.A. and to establish an understanding with the police. Beziiglichkeitsanchauungsgesetz! There is no occasion for alarm. To dodge Ernstein and Relativity altogether is not so easy. It appears that the Germans are attempting to purify their language by elimination of foreign words. Quite a Teutonic kind of enterprise. Hence a lively controversy over Relativity. The purifiers hold that this word—in its German form Relatival—is unworthy of, retention in the language of the Fatherland. Therefore they have evolved the native substitute with which this Note begins. A somewhat aggrieved commentator with Germanic name has been moved to defend and explain. “BeziiglichKeitz” mqgns relativity: “anschauung” means view or aspect; and “gesetz” means law. Hence Beziiglichkeitsanschauungsgesetz should mean the law or order of judging or viewing Relativity. The German purists are to be congratulated on the achievement of such a pleasant little word without exhaustion of the letters of the alphabet. If they want to kill Einstein and his theory altogether they are on the right track. Yet are the theory and the word so ill-suited? Anyway, the Germans have strong stomachs. It is nothing to them if the price of purity be bad language. Civis.'