THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19201, 18 June 1924, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

By Wayfarer. Waterloo Day. A hundred and nine years ago. “There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s capital had gathered there Her beauty and her chivalry,”— revelry rudely disturbed by “the cannon’s opening roar. ’’ How great a soldier taught us there. What long-enduring hearts could do In that world-earthquake, Waterloo!” Well, there have been mightier world earthquakes since Waterloo, and historic perspectives have shifted; but the great fight of June 18, 1815, has not lost its claim to patriotic remembrance. The Governor-General and Viscountess Jellicoe are no longer eligible for the Dunmow Flitch competition, which is confined to couples whose conuubiality has not exceeded the duration of twelve months. It may bo surmised, however, that on all other grounds their Excellencies would be able to produce most convincing credentials. There is an echo or a reflection of undisturbed domestic felicity in the playful, not to say racy, tributes which Eord Jellicoe occasionally lays at his consort’s feet in the course of his public speeches. Perhaps it would be impertinent to wonder whether they sometimes form the subject of equally playful protest, on the part of her Excellency in the'wee sma' hour devoted to Mrs Caudle’s Curtain-Lecture. Anyhow, it may be that the Governor-General never paid his lady a more sincere or —well, let us say a more pointed—compliment than that which was conveyed by the chief magistrate of a Canterbury town when the vice-regal party were making an official halt. After lauding the King’s representative with duo fervour, his Worship gave rein to his emotion and ejaculated—“As for Lady Jellicoe, she’ll do for me !” It was the same municipal dignitarv who, on the occasion of the visit of the Prince of Wales, vainly essayed to read the loyal address of welcome. After a minute’s pathetic fumbling and bungling ho turned hurriedly to the councillor by his side and said, not in a whisper, “Mere! you read the blooming thing! I left my specs at home.” I am in hot water again, and am halfinclined to ask the editor to change the caption of this column from “The Common Round” to “Life’s Weary Way” (with worshipful acknowledgments to the Mayor of Dunedin). Perhaps, however, I may contrive to come out of the hot water (like Bishop “Soapy Sam”) with clean hands. A correspondent has been annoyed, badly nettled, by my criticism of some testy sayings in one of the least happy of Rudyard Kipling’s poems. I trust, by the way, that it is not with overawing intent that he sports the august crest of the lion find ‘the unicorn,—“D'ieu et mon droit,” “Honi soit qui mal y pense,” and all. I thought at first that the emblazoned envelope contained “a command” invitation to Windsor or Buckingham Palace. “You object,” ho writes, “to the use of the word ‘fawned,’ but that is what England, after all, really did, isn’t it?.” To which question it is only possible to give the torso reply—“ No.” As was said last week: “Fawn” is a word of ugly signifi cance, suggesting, craven, whining, forlorn solicitation. It wag not in response to any such ignoble appeal that the oversea patriots rose to the spirit of Imperial fraternity either in 1899 or in 1914.” There is simply nothing more to be said on the subject. My correspondent adds: She [England) had made a glorious muddle of the South African war, and colonial soldiers certainly did a lot towards terminating it. Then, again, you say that the expression ‘flannelled fools of the wicket and muddied oafs of the goal’ is preposterous. Why? Truth always hurts, I know, and you cannot deny that that is what the English people at whom Mr Kipling was aiming really were. Here again I must take the same emphatic line and declare uncompromisingly that I do stoutly deny the allegation.” As for a “glorious muddle,” how about this?--“I think it very unfair of you to try and make out that Mr Kipling in any way intended the expression to apply to colonial soldiers. How could he when the poem was written in 1902 and the war did not start until 1914 ?” Of course I never hinted that Kipling had “colonial” soldiers in his mind. An enterprising damsel in the North Island, stirred by the Leap Year spirit which lightly turns to thoughts of love, scheduled her desires with ample detail in the “personal” column of a Wellington paper. Her aspirations are not patched at a low level: she wants a good deal, but in matters of valuation it is well to ask for more than you are confident of getting. Young lady of good family, fond of sheer station life, wishes to meet, with, view to matrimony, university-educated youne gentleman (medical preferred), or refined, educated gentleman of high honour and repute, with motor car; keen on dancing, swimming, tennis, gob; musical, pianist, literature.—Write “Edinburgh Nuree.” The little word “or” might seem to be rather suggestive; but perhaps there' is no intentional idea of distinguishing between a “university-educated young gentleman (medical preferred)” and “a refined, edn cated gentleman of high honour and repute, with motor car.” I wish the lady good luck in her adventurous quest of a.n Admirable Crichton, who shall be at once the owner of a sheen-station, a doctor, a motorist, a dancer, a swimmer, a tennis expert, a golfer (low handicap understood), a pianist, and, if not a man of letters, at least a lover of literature. —and all with “high honour and repute.” The Daily Mail, on April 23, made a startling contribution to the records of the vagaries of ecclesiastical ritualism. LICKING THE CANDLE. EASTER CEREMONY AT AN ANGLICAN CHURCH. At St. Mary’s, Bathwick, a fashionable Anglican church in Bath, there has just been dedicated and lighted a Paschal candle which will remain burning until Ascension Day. It contains five grades ol incense, and at the dedication the rector, the Rev. H. F. Napier, was required as part of the ceremony to lick the candle. The proceedings have caused much comment. Small wonder; I mvself would walk a mile on a Sunday morning (in the unfortunate absence of trams) to watch a clergyman lick a candle, and perhaps I might indulge in “much comment” afterwards. But, after all, there is scant prospect of enjoying this alluring form of ceremonial entertainment. The Daily Mail, at the mercy of cryptic “copy” or a mercurial compositor, had gone astray. It was a case of “another impending apology.” On tho following day the too enterprising journal was constrained, not to lick the candle, but to eat the leek. “Lick” should have been “light” ; merely that and nothing more. But the readers of a mistaken report do not always notice the corrections; and in some quarters there will be a surviving legend that “licking the candle” is an authentic feature of IlighAnglican ritual. Mr Andrew Carnegie, multi-millionaire-and-librury-founder, whose name is more or less gratefully commemorated in our own Moray Place, wrote a book entitled ■’Triumphant Democracy.” which was mainly a flamboyant glorification of the ideals and methods of political activity in the United States. Years nave gone by, but in regard to the conduct of public affairs tho less hustling nations still have much to learn from the land of skyscrapers,—for an up-to-date account of which, by the way. Dunedin folk are indebted to the observant eye and facile pen of Sir George Fenwick. Mr Massey says that there is a revival of interest in politics throughout New Zealand ; but wo have a long way to travel before attaining to tho height of patriotic spirit reached by the Republican Convention. The auditorium, however, always presented a remarkable spectacle, with every seat filled. Emotional changes passed, with groat speed over the spectators and delegates alike, and cheers and jeers alternated. The convention managers continued to employ every mechanical means to heighten psychological effect, constantly flooding the auditorium with coloured lights. The oratory was endless. . . . Amidst a dull reverberation of voices the States began to announce the change in vote, the delegates going over to Mr Lowden, ten thousand throats roared “Make it Lowden.” It was not simply confusion that was reigning now, but absolute pandemonium. People were jumping on their scats, and the kincma lamps filled the auditorium with a blue light. The chairman’s gavel was ineffective as the clerk’s hoarse whisper attempted to announce the changing of the vote. That flushed display of Triumphant Democracy, though only a vice-presidential affair, quite overshadows the presidential aceornpaniment of “cat-calls, hisses, jeers, and shouts,” wilh “The Star-spangled Banner” thrown in. But the presidential business could supplv a special record in the matter of triumphant- procedure. After “a lengthy carnival of booing,” tho chairman (Mr F. W. Momlell) then asked that tho vole should be made unanimous, but a