THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19616, 21 October 1925, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

Uy Wi.YTABEB.

Yes, we have no Parliament to-day. On Friday last a Gazette Extraordinary announced the dissolution; and, pending' the momentous night of November 4, we are in the extraordinary position of being forlornly unrepresented. We may get over the gap without disaster. There are cynics who say that nobody would be a penny the worse if the interval were to be prolonged for a much wider duration. lit is an old quip, but cynicism is more shallow than witty. We cannot do without Parliament in these pre-millenial days. What we have to see to is that we get the very best Parliament possible.

Sir Robert Stout, though levity is not his foible, has occasionally shown himself to be gifted with a sense of humour. It would probably be with an indulgent smile, not extending to an audible chuckle, that the Chief Justice listened to the pleasantry of a comparatively juvenile colleague—once, if I am not mistaken, his associate—during the hearing of a contempt-of-court case at Wellington a few days ago. These boyish judges are apt to be so very frivolous.

Mr Gresson submitted there had been no previous cases directly in point with this, and asked that the doctrine of contempt should not be extended. It was absolutely within the powers of the court to extend the doctrine to smoking in the corridors of the court. Mr Justice Ostler stated that no member of the court had been guilty of that, except, perhaps, the Chief Justice.

There is something entertaining, no doubt, in the fancy of the octogenarian Chief pacing the corridors at leisure moments, meditatively puffing at the not unwholesome pipe or even toying with the foolish “fag.” It is to be feared, however, that the imaginative vision is too good to be true.

Smiles and blushes! Apropos to Sir Robert Stout’s tolerant smile: the “contempt” case was intimately connected with the agreeable subject of smiling. Counsel submitted that a smile was unquestionably a fact, and it was exceedingly difficult to draw a line between a fact and a comment. Then Mr Justice Adams, with apposite literary allusiveness and perhaps not without a touch of Ostlerian banter, had something to say about blushes.

Mr Justice Adams: To take a classical example, in Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s 'Progress,” Christian asks of Mr Worldly Wiseman, “Is not the way dangerous? and the answer was: “Not very dangerous.’’ But he blushed when he spoke. Purely the blush in this case is comment upon the truth of his answer.

It is not the first time that John Bunyan has been cited in court. In an age of evil oppression he was cited and sentenced, and it was in gaol that he wrote that wonder fnl book “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” which, with all its extravagances, has made an influence for good upon countless hearts.

It has just occurred to me that unless I am very careful I myself may be hauled to Wellington and placed in the dock for contempt, seeing that the matter is still subjudice. If that tragedy should ensue, however, it would be right that Mr Justice Ostler should stand beside me, with Mr Justice Adams in close attendance. We should make a pretty and pathetic trio arrayed before a Chief Justice who had discarded his smile and resumed his moral severity.

More than one candidate has flatly refused to give a downright “Yes” or “No” answer to a cunningly devised question. It is an ancient crux well exemplified by a lively anecdote which itself is none the worse for being ancient. Elector: “Will the candidate give mo a direct reply to a direct question ? I mean a plain ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ reply.” Incautious candidate: “Well, I can promise that.” Elector: “Have you given up beating your wife? Yes or No, please; remember your promise.”

Mr J. J. M'Grath, a candidate in Wellington North, had the wit to return the direct answer to an interjector at one of his meetings. Presumably Mr M'Grath is a Hibernian. At any rate, he seems to possess the Hibernian readiness, as well as the Hibernian recklessness, of speech. And this is how he countered the interjector:— A voice: What is wrong with the Labour Party’s platform—yes or no?— (Loud laughter.) r Mr M'Grath: My friend asks, What is wrong with the Labour Party’s platform yes or no? I say Yes.—(Renewed laughter.)

Another extract from the Morning Post’s reproduction of “Diaries of a Duchess”— picturesque and scandalous.

July 23, 1759.—Went to view Dunstanburgh Castle. Tho almost entirely a Ruin there is from its immense Size (the area of it being 13 acre) & its situation on a high Black perpendicular Rock over the Sea, which washes three sides of it, something stupendous, magnificent in its appearance. The Grandeur of which that day was greatly augmented by a stormy N.E. Wind which made the waves (Mountain High) clash foaming & soaring against its walls & made a scene of glorious Horror & terrible Delight. We returned home & after Dinner, Ly. M. fCarr] gave an Acct of her Husbands brutal usage of her—beating, pinching & kicking her; having an intrigue with her sister, who offered to put Ly. Mary out of the way if he would go to live with her abroad. . . I here kissed an ugly Cousin & a sweaty Brother of Ld. Belhavens. After all the twentieth century, scoff at it as we may, is more reticent and perhaps better in many social respects than the eighteenth.

Dunedin, to say nothing of New Zealand as a whole, has known more engrossing political campaigns than that in which we are rather mildly engaged at the present time. The Old Identities, in' a glow of proud and wistful reminiscence, will tell you of the brave days of Macandrew and Harris, when a fight was indeed a fight, and when no meeting was complete without the accompaniment of Mr I. G- S. Grant’s ultra-vivacious oratory. I am not an old identity, but even in my modest time there was electioneering of an exhilarative quality which seems to belong to the past. The magnetic voice of Scobie Mackenzie has been silent for nearly a quarter of a century. By the way, he couldn’t get the Garrison Hall to-night for love or money; but sometimes, buying a few stamps, I revert for a moment to the traditions of the building. “I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed.” T had not the faintest intention of waxing so sentimental. Back to the subject and to historic prose. In that era of the “naughty nineties” there were other sneakers who had the power of capturing the attention of a large audience. There was H S. Fish, for instance. He was not a speaker of Scobie’s calibre, but he was always vivid, forcible, and (perhaps unduly) aggressive. Additional names might bo recalled, but the point is that the rhetorical vigour and sting and flavour are not quite what they were when you and I were younger than we are to-day. There have been too many cricket, football, and golf stories circulating of late. Let deer-stalking have its turn. There is a story of King Edward, when Prince of Wales, stalking in the forest of Glenarty. In those days he was young and impetuous, and there was some danger that ho would spoil his own sport by too much enthusiasm. The veteran stalker who was in charge said to a satellite at one noint: “Hold the Prince, Donald, while 1 creep forward to the brow to see.” But the idea of restraining so august a person was too much for the other, who whispered fiercely: “Hand the Prince? Hand the Prince? I’ll no do it. Ye maun just grip him ycrsel and I’ll look o’er the broo.” “The forest of Glenarty”—what memories it recalls!