PASSING NOTES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19347, 6 December 1924, Page 6

PASSING NOTES.

TJie new Parliament assembled this week at Westminster “in a fraternal spirit,” we read. Fraternal I—what moved the press agency to this kindly epithet we wait to learn. When the old Parliament broke up Mr Ramsay MacDonald was denouncing the Asquith motion that proved fatal to the LaDour Government as “a trurnped-up stunt,” displaying “dishonesty and obliqueness;” “the murder had been plotted and planned and it came off.” In this new Parliament Mr Asquith might have been brotherly-loved had he been present, which unfortunately he was not; hut there remained Mr Lloyd George, who in the old Parliament had gibbetted the Ramsay MacDonald treaty with Russia as “a take.” Why shouldn’t Ramsay try his young affections on the versatile Welshman? Also on members of his own party who have been trouncing him in their election speeches? Thus Mr Ross, Labour M.P. for North Aberdeen;

The simple truth is that our loudly trumpeted professions that we alone had the precious elixir of industrial life and health were based upon sheer pretence and were at best nothing but plausible poli-

tical gag. Tho “fraternal spirit” may be that of the Socialists, who—as Douglas Jerrold once remarked of them—can say, “Brothers—yes, certainly; we are all brothers now j we are all Cains and Abels.”

For tho amusement of Pussyfoot I told him last week some humorous stories. Two or three others which by sheer luck have since come to hand may help to keep him in good humour. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle mentions in his recent book, “Memories and Adventures,” that his friend George Meredith, the novelist, “had a reverence for good wine," but at one time was “prohibited by doctor’s orders from touching it.” (Doctor's orders may rule out any article of diet, even beefsteak and onions.) When Sir Arthur lunched with him at Box Hill, Meredith asked very earnestly if he would undertake to drink a whole bottle of burgundy. Sir Arthur saw no insuperable difficulty. “A dusty old bottle was tenderly carried up, which I disposed of, Meredith taking a friendly interest in its despatch. ‘The fact is,’ eaid he, ‘I love my wine, and my little cellar was laid down with care and judgment, so that when some guest comes and drinks a glass and wastes the rest of the bottle it goes to my heart. It really did me good to see, you enjoy that one.’ I need not say that I intimated that I was always prepared to oblige.” Sir Arthur tells of his intimacy with Henry Irving: “When Irving was producing ‘Coriolanus’ he came down to Hindhead and used to drop in of an evening. He was fond of a glass of port—indeed, he was one of the four great men who were stated (probably untruly) by tho Hon. G. Russell to drink a bottle each night —being the only trait which these greats men had in common. The others, I remember, were Tennyson, Gladstone, and Moses Montefiore, and the last I believe was really true. Like all bad habits, it overtook the sinner as last, and he was cut off at the age of 116.”

Propitiated by these offerings, Pussyfoot may perhaps incline his ear to Sir Arbuthnot Lane, a great surgeon and pathologist whose mana is of the weightiest. In a Spectator article, October 11, ho begins thus: “Few people seem able to realise the remarkable benefit which results from the moderate and legitimate use* of alcohol.” To this beginning the rest corresponds; e.g., “It has been stated that alcohol is of no use in medicine. That I would deny absolutely, and would assert that, on the contrary, it is one of the most useful foods and drugs we possess." Also for Pussyfoot’s favourable digestion is the testimony of Archbishop Redwood, who has just returned from America, Of all the bishops and priests he ‘met he did not find one who approved of the anti-Liquor law or doubted that it was demoralising. Finally and to conclude (for the present) there is the latest news from the seat of war, in particular from Washington, which may be taken to be the Pussyfoot battlefront. A cable dated Washington, December 2, says:— The liquor law violations in the national capital detected by the city police totalled 14,013 in the last fiscal year. More than 20,000 gallons of high-power illicit beverages were seized. The liquor violations showed an increase, the arrests numbering 1244 more than in tho previous year.

This is the state of American public morals where they ought to be at their best, in Washington, the dignified centre of legislation and Government authority.

Dear “ Civis,” —As you have more than once condemned the shabby treatment our National Anthem sometimes gets at concert performances, you will perhaps road with interest the recent experience of an old soldier who in military musio knows what’s what. Writing from London he says:—“ I went to a promenade concert in the Sueen’s Hall, where, as I knew, I lould hear ‘ God Save the King ’ played, and played twice. Thera is no musio that thrills me more than this when played by a fine orchestra with plenty of kettle drums. At the Queen’s Hall it quite came up to my expectations. The kettle drums shook my soul and the organ shook the building. And when with the last rendering, tho whole audience joined in and song to Sir Henry Wood’s baton—ho had turned and faced them—the effect was ‘ overwhelming.” That Beethoven thought Hie British National Anthem great music has been mentioned in this column again and again. The trouble is that our band masters and concert conductors fail to treat it as great music. For them it is merely a curtain raiser or a signal for hats, cloaks, and umbrellas. In different vein, but equally an example of grandeur in simplicity, and just aa commonly maltreated, is Handel’s Dead March from the oratorio of “ Saul.” Handel wrote other funeral music, a march in “ Samson,” for instance. There is a funeral march in one of Beethoven’s piano sonatas; another, scored for full orchestra, in one of hia symphonies. Then there is Chopin’s wellknown funeral march, mystic, sensuous, reeking of patchouli. None of these equals in solemn beauty the Handel march from “ Saul.”

Dear “ Civis,” —Anything about Burns is* always of interest to many readers. In reply to the “querulous Scot ” mentioned in last Saturday’s Notes it may be said that “ Auld Jang syne ” is perhaps the most expressive of Scottish phrases. Some of the words in the song are not really translatable into a good English but, ns they are, men and women in all lands, young and old, think of them, use them, and feel their meaning. This correspondent refers me to “a fine verse about ‘ Auld Lang Syne ’ in Byron’s Don Juan, canto 10.” And “ Auld Lang Syne ” brings Scotland, one and all, Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills and clear streams, The Doe, the Don, Balgounia’a brigs black wall, . All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams Of what I then dreamt, clothed in their own pall, Like Banquo’s offspring:—floating past me seems My childhood in this childishness of mine : I care not—’tis a glimpse of “ Auld Lang Syne." Byron adds in explanation— I am half a Scot by birth, and bred A whole one, and my heart flics to my head. According to an item of English news on which at the moment I cannot lay my hand, expatriated Scots in London no longer give the haggis chief place, or any place at all, at their annual club dinner, alleging that in Scotand itself the haggis, like oatmeal porridge, is a thing of the past. Hence these verses in a London, paper: TO A HAGGIS. (Revised Version.) [“ Haggis has no devotees among the Scots, and never had. They worship tea and football." —Mr John Mackintosh, in the Evening News.J

Wha ca’d ye in anither place "Great chieftain o’ the puddin’-race,” Swore ye were “ worthy o’ a grace,” Hame or abroad? Awa’ wi’ ye an hide yer face Ye muckle fraud! A Scot himsel’ confesses noo That Scotsmen dinna worship you And never did or wanted to. Here's what he’s sayin’— “ Tea-drinkin’s what they maistly do And fitba’ playin’ 1 ”

Are we to believe it? Stands Scotland where it did? Was the national cult of the haggis duly transplanted, as it should have been, from Scotland to Scottish Otago? Did it come out with Dr Burns and Captain Cargill in the first ships ? Is there any Otago Scot of the second generation who has so much as tasted haggis? And—to end this catechism—what precisely is a haggis? I turn to that faithful friend the Concise Oxford: —“Haggis, the heart, lungs, and liver of sheep, etc., boiled in maw with suet, oatmeal, etc.,"this second “ etc.” doubtless including the fragrant onion. “The groaning trencher there ye fill, while through your pores the dews distill like amber bead! ” exclaims Burns in an ecstasy.

His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, • Warm-reekin, rich! Ye Powers wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o’ fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinkmg ware That jaups in biggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer Gie her a Haggis! Let the Dunedin Bums Club see to it. If Otago wants a change- of diet, gie her a haggis!

Country correspondents send me samples of unintended humour culled from the local print. Sometimes the printer or the printer's devil is to be thanked; sometimes a confused or careless advertiser. E.g.—“Men’s tweed overcoats in allwood ; strong materials.” Ingeniously arranged,—“strong materials” backing up “all-wood.” Yet the vendor would be ungrateful. Again: “Wanted—4 shearers mostly halfbreds, good run.” A halfbred shearer would be better than a shearer with no breeding at all. The epithet is flattering. Again: “Any fowls found trespassing on my property will be destroyed after this date, September 6th.” All fowls, including the fowls of the air, would take notice. Why not? There is a sportsman’s dog in “Pickwick” who stands at gaze before a notice board and refuses to follow hia master any further. On the board was this: “Gamekfeeper lias orders to shoot all dogs found in this inclosure." Again: “To those about to be married—DON’T forget we supply bouquets.. Floral wreaths at shortest notice.” Orange blossoms and bouquets for the bridal, funeral wreaths for the coffin. Provision for both extremes. This association is as old as Hamlet. Once more: During the past week some very hot weather has been experienced, but this has been counteracted by several very heavy showers of rain. That Tuesday was a Bcorcherxzfiflfflfi Evidently the scorcher went off with tho explosive fizz of a squib. The sting was in the tail. Cms.