THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18851, 2 May 1923, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

By Wayfarer.

If you’re waking, call mo early, call mo early, mother dear, For to-morrow will bo the merriest day in all the glad ; new year; In all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, merriest day,, '■ For I'm to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be the Queen d’ the May. Somewhere I have read a story turning on the question whether a military officer was quite sober on a particular night. There was an inquiry, and a subordinate did his exculpatory best in giving evidence, testifying that his superior, on retiring, had specially directed that he should be called early the next morning. So far, so good. “Did he give any reason why he wished you to call him early?” “He did” (reluctantly). “What reason did he; give?” Still more reluctantly came the devastating reply: “He said that he was to be. Queen o’ the May.” I am writing on the afternoon of May Day, and cannot tell whether Mr Lee or Mr Maopherson is being elected Queen o' the May at Oanioru. .When the result; is declared it will bo rather late to engage in the seasonal diversion of dancing round the maypole. Still, the moon is. at the full, and Mb Massey in particular would cut an alluring .figure in the light-fantastic revels; Perhaps wigs on the gre^n’’are more likely to be the order ,of the festival ; • fori though it may not be the merriest day at Oamaru, it is not unlikely to be’a mad night for a “dry” electorate.

It would not. be altogether surprising if a few twinges, of- sciatica were to visit some of the folk—the forlornly stranded and the philanthtopically- helpful—who waded hip-high iir the flooded Dunedin streets in the early part of last week. For the solace of any such sufferers let me hand on a pleasant little story, possibly cf hoary age, but new to me—the talc of the jealous suitor who was " denied admittance because “my lady is in the house with sciatica,” and he murmured: “Damn thpse Italian, fellows.” ‘

If, on the other hand, gouty twinges should have been superinduced by the wading experiences, consolation and compensation of a more subtle kind are available. Lives of great men al] remind us, -it is urged, that gout and genius often go together.”— Daily Paper.]My grandsire Buffered much from gout; I well remember as a child How, if I touched his toe he’d shout, I marvelled that it made him wild; But when I grew to half his ■ age The reason I was swift to find. Succeeding to my heritage A fellow-feeling made me kind. But now with fresh ideas imbued, Which have done much to comfort me, I bear With new-found fortitude Twinges howe’er severe they be, Because they forcibly express The genius that I possess!

We have not heard much of GovernorGeneral ‘‘Tim” Healy since his elevation to a post which can hardly have been the lode-star of his early dreams; but the .authenticity - of- a piquant story about him is vouched for by the writer of “The Way of the World” in the Morning Post. (“The Way of the World” is a tolerably good imitation of The Common Round. “Of course, you can’t be like us; but be as like us as you oan.”) At a dinner party in Dublin—it must have been before he had boon approached about the Governor-Generalship—Tim was one of the guests. Over the walnuts and the wine, someone said,. “Healy, can you think of any man strong enough to reduce Ireland to order?” “I can,” said Healy. “Who is ho?” “Oliver Cromwell.” “Ob, but he’s dead.” “Oh, I know that,” said Healy. “Of course, ho is in hell. But did you not hear what happened ? The Provisional Government sent him a message asking him to come and take command in Ireland, a'nd he replied that he was much obliged ,to them for their kind invitation, but he was much more comfortable where he isl’V-T'

Touching the Morning Post, the timehonoured organ of social fnshionaoility and political die-hordism, *a- ■ whole-hearted appreciation from a correspondent (of, parts and flair) in the Home Country may be cited.

Yon may pull our leg about the darling Morning Post, but it is the best writing now obtainable in the Old Country. A while back it was often very indefensible in its personal attacks and perverse leaders, but if we had had the energy to keep you supplied with constant copies, you would see how packed with good stuff and •well-written matter its pages are. It does not dish you up on the front page what you are’to know and believe .each day—a bit on religion and’ a 1 bit .on ladies’ fashions in the very front—ns does The, Times nowadays. There are' hours of reading in it on literature; art, drama, etc., offered with restraint and taste, and’without dogmatic criticism or, modern crudeness. !

Are British folk less reserved, less .proudly reticent, in regard to their personal emotions than in former times? Are hearts worn more constantly on the sleeve ? In the “In Memoriam” column of a single issue of The Times one comes across “In proud, loving and splendid memory of”—“In adored memory of”—“In proud and loving memory of” (twice) —“In proud and undying memory of.” borne people like this fullbodied stylo of commemorative tribute; on others the note of exuberant abandonment tends to jar. Here is an unusually ardent advertisement: GIN GOLD.—la adored memory of llfbmione Gingold, the great-souled daughter of Chevalier Sulzer, of Vienna, wife of Maurice Gingold, and my mother. She was most tender, wise, and selfless. Bio was the beautiful friend of Truth and of all suffering humanity, and the enlightened adversary of hypocrisy and oppression. “ The Lord keep ruy memory green.” —Helene, The following London lyric is commended, mutatis mutandis, to the appreciation of the Tramways Committee of the newly-consti-tuted Dunedin City Corporation, in the not too confident hope that conscience, individual or collective, may bo belatedly stirred. , ONE OF THEM. [“ The Underground deals with 27,000 passengers a day at Oxford-circus.”—Evening Paper.] 1 wonder when they counted me! .. Was .it hanging to one of their straps? Of falling about in a jolting crowd ~ And tumbling in ladies’ laps ? Was it trying to get in? Or trying to get out? Or watching the train I missed? Or jammed in the lift, Or between the gates That they got me on their list? Wherever it was I’m proud as Punch They “deal with me,” I’m one of the bunch I’m one of the twenty-seven thousand! . Does the neat and precocious boy-in-but-tons form part of the incidental personnel of" the Parliament - House at Wellington? And, .if so, are his tender political tastes duly tutored and catered for? These questions are suggested by. an observation made bv Lord Frederick Hamilton when he visited Ottawa as far back as 1889. “In tho Canadian ; House of, Commons,” Lord Frederick relates, “there are a number of littlo pages who run errands for the members and fetch them books and papers. Those boys sit on the steps of the Speaker’s Chair, and when tho House adjourns for dinner hold a Pages’ Parliament;'; Many of tho members took groat interest in the Pages’ Parliament, and coached' boys for their debates. I have seen Sir John Macdonald giving the 14-year-old Premier points for his speech.” That was forty-four years ago, and there is pathos in the thought that some of those jolly young urchins may now be real members of Parliament, or even Cabinet Ministers. It was Charles Lamb’s brother who remarked in true Elian strain, as he watched Eton boys at paetimeriri their playing-fields: “What a pity to think-that these fine ingenious lads in a few years will all bo changed into frivolohs members of Parliament!”