THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 20292, 28 December 1927, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

Bv Watfahee. “ The sea had the sun for a harper—the sun had the sea for a lyre ” at St. Glair and other Otago beaches on Monday, and everything was for the best in the 'best of all possible worlds. The inveterate pessimist wisely posed as an optimist ; otherwise he would have been relentlessly slain—bound and weighted and carried out to sink beneath the glorious sunny waters The sour churls who for weeks had gone about vaticinating that we should have no decent weather until the holidays were over, and that midsummer in Otago was but a memory of the storied past —these ravens, gloomy as a Cockney dean, simply took refuge in mendacity. They had said nothing of the kind. “Earth lias not anything to show more fair,” I quoted to _ myself from “Daddy” Wordsworth, lying prone on the warm sand, watching the _ surf-and sun bathers, the kiddies filling their buckets, the groups of picnickers whose material hunger seemed to be insatiable, the unceasing run on ice cream at one extreme and hot tea at the other. A mixed picture, no doubt—presenting van ous humours, almost ludicrous incongrin ties, teasing contrasts, but rich with the alluring dazzle of the human drama, and better, far hotter, than a holiday of selfcentred solicitude Thinking of bygone Christmastides, I tried once or twice to be melancholy; but it was no use—- “ cheerfulness was always breaking in.

“Cheerfulness was always breaking in you remember the source of that quotation?, If not, let u s recall it together, for the circumstance is fragrant after more than a century and a-half. It was not at Christmastide but on Good Friday that Dr Samuel Johnson chanced to renew acquaintance with an old fellow collegian, Edwards by name, whom he had not seen for more than forty The great man, whose observant piety is still a lesson to all of us, was returning from morning service at St. Clement s Church—

Oranges and lemons ! " Cry the Bella ot St. Clement s

with Boswell in obsequious attendance, when he was accosted by his former friend, “ a decent-looking, elderly man in grey clothes and a wig of many curls. ’ Boswell, with his scrupulous local parti cularity, notes that “ it was in Butcher Row that this meeting happened.” There was much good talk, characteristically shrewd, on the part of the literary champion, rather pathetically naive and simple on the part of the worthy Edwards, who finally remarked: “ You are a philosopher, Dr Johnson. I have tried, too, in my time to be a philosopher; but, I don’t know how, cheerfulness wa s always breaking in.” “ Bozzy ” adds: ‘Mr Burke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr Courtenay, Mr Malone, and. indeed, all the eminent men to whom I have mentioned this have thought it an exquisite trait of character. The truth is that philosophy, like religion, is too generally supposed to be hard and severe, or at least so grave as to exclude all gaiety.’

Mention of Dr Johnson, who, though born far from the sound of Bow Bells, was a Cockney of Cockneys. is_ a fitting prelude to a word about the city itself, suggested by a recent journalistic enterprise. Away back in the year 1501, more than half a century before the birth of Shakespeare, an inspired versifier wrote: London, thou art of townes A per bo Sovereign of cities, seemliest in .sight, Of high renown, riches and royalty; Of lordes, barons, and many a goodly knight, Of most delectable lusty ladies bright, Of famous prelates In habits clerical, Of merchants full of substance and ot might; . IL . London, thou art the flower of cities all. It is interesting to note that the versifier was a Scotsman—a circumstance which (to speak in Johnsonian strain) he could not help. The poem praises all the salient features of London —her river, renowned above all others, Where many a swan doth swim with wlngea fair, ... Where many a ship doth rest with top royal, her “lusty bridge of pillars white,” her cheerful churches with their well-sound-ing hells, and the “princely governance ” of her Mayor:

No lord ot Paris, Venice, or Florence, In dignity or honour goeth to him nigh.

Certainly, no true Londoner, no Cockney exile in Dunedin, should fail to read and study the “ City of London Number,'' issued by The Times, in two parts, on November 8 and 9 (the latter date being Lord Mayor’s Day). 1 cannot recall a more elaborate or more interesting journalistic feat. Mind yon, it is all about the “ City ’’—that comparatively tiny “'square mile’’ with which lh c vast expanse of “ Greater London ” has nothing to do. The city is the historic Condon, and one is almost staggered by the wealth of historic association which The Times sets forth. The mere tabl € of contents of the two numbers has an educative and imaginative value, so comprehensive >s the scope. Ancient, mediaeval, and modern London: London with all its manifold and far-fluns activities; London commerce and art and pageantry and romance and architecture and hoarded gold and shipping glamour; Gog and Magog, St. Paul’s, the Bridges, the taverns, the gardens, the infinite variety of civic records and interests —here you have them all, displayed with expert skill of pen and pencil. As for the illustrations —taken mostly from famous pictures and prints—l started counting them, but got tired before I was through Part 1. Just one extract from the literary side: Tom Hood, in “.The Golden Legend of Miss Kilmansegg and Her Precious Leg,” described the Thames on a spring morning:— Gold above and gold below The earth reflected the golden glow, From river and hill and valley, Gilt by the golden light ot morn. The Thames —it looked like the Golden Horn And the Barge that carried coal or corn Like Cleopatra’s Galley ! It is strange how that adjective golden conies again and again—in Herrick, in Hood, and, again, in that later ■ poet who was not a Londoner, Henley, when he described the Strand on an October afternoon. It is a strange adjective for this great city, with her dark river, her sea-fogs and smoke, and weeping winter days. Is it only the transfiguring sunlight, or is there some meaning of their own which the poets have found in the old legend of her golden streets? And now for the last paragraph of the year—the last milestone on our common "round of wayfaring! How shall we colour it? Shall we give way to the temptation of sombre reflection and melancholy regret? Shall we be droopilv downhearted? “No! ” comes the cry of buoyant resilience. We won’t think of the" disappointments and failures of 1927 and its predecessors: wn are “ jolly candidates ’’ (to use Charles Lamb’s phrase) for the hopes and successes of 1928. Of course, it is right to observe the note of solemnity and suggestive warning, vs long as we don’t overdo it. Every man hath two birthdays: two day.; at least, in every year, which set him upon revolving the of time, as it affects his mortal duration. The one is that which in an especial manner he termeth his. In the gradual desuetude of old observances this custom of solemnising . our proper birthday hath ncaily passed away, or is left to children,’ who reflect nothing at all about the matter, nor understand anything in it beyond cake and orange. But the birth of a New Year is of an interest too wide to be pretermitted by king or cobbler. No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam. Tcs; hut having paid tribute to proper thoughtfulness, we may be allowed to strike a cheerier note, —a note ui Harmony with the spirit (just reasonably diluted! of Hogmanay and hope and hapniness. Here again, after serious thoughts, let cheerfulness break : n And ‘o, my indulgent friends, a Happy New Year to yon ! I flatter myself that : I hear your kindly whisper—“ the same to you, and many of them ! ” Just a final chart variac postscript. There is a little controversy as to whethoi

the old year should be " seen out," and the new year " seen in,'' according to Sidey-time or the chronology of the centuries. I am informed, on reliable and convivial authority, that Dnnedm Hogmanayitcs, to avoid the chance of friction, have decided to observe both hours with the customary cup o* kindne??, with nil evtra willie-waught m honour of Mr Sidey.