PASSING NOTES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 20644, 16 February 1929, Page 6

PASSING NOTES.

From a London letter (private) written the week before Christmas:— " There is great anxiety about the King, and trade in consequence is said to be bad; but on the surface, at any rate, there is no evidence of his. The shops have mourning all ready; it seems a strange thing, but ‘ business ’ has no sentiment. Every one is waiting, or making no plana. It is said that even Winter Sports may not come off.” • Plainly the Palace crisis was a national crisis, and hope—it was hope against hope. To-day. the healing art, I suppose, is pluming itself, and with reason. Whoever arranged the departure from Buckingham Palace for the south coast and sea air had an eye to dramatic effect. The side curtains of the ambulance were drawn, and the gathered thousands, bareheaded, silent, could see the waxen figure of the King. When at last the silence broke and cheering rent the air, they could see the King waving an arm in response. All along the three hours’ route, through town and village and country stretches between, the same demonstrations of sympathy. A mystery, and not to be explained, is this tie of affection tween King and people. Journalism as a vocation is emotion-proof. Bound to be! Yet it was a veteran slave of the lamp, leathery, and hardbitten, who was heard saying; “I tell you, I read the cables as they came through with tears m my eyes! ” The Scottish papers mention that her Majesty the Queen and the Princess Mary have sent contributions to a bazaar at Jedburgh, the promoters of which would perpetuate in a new way the memory of Mary Queen of Scots. There is at Jedburgh an ancient house once the residence of Mary, and the proceeds of the bazaar are for the purchase and preservation of this house. Why should her Majesty the Queen help in perpetuating the memory of “7 of Scots? Why shouldn’t The two are akin. The blood of the Scottish Stuarts runs in the veins of our Hanoverians; and blood of the English Tudors ran in the veins of the Scottish Stuarts, Those amiable dreamers who as “Jacobites” await a Stuart restoration, pride themselves on fidelity to history; in reality they repudiate history. *

But that is an old story. Let it pass, and listen to Sir James Barrie opening the Jedburgh bazaar:

“No Government spies here," S ; r & de f a ? dill K that all the doors should be locked. “Quite possibly to-morrow’s news sheets may bear startling headlines:— Extraordinary Jacobite Gathering « t m r, at Jedburgh.” ,JfM- Barrie Escapes to France.’ ; What is the vital difference between the Scot and his friendly brother, the Southerner? " asked Sir James. Of course, it nas to do with Mary Queen of Scots. A Scot, whenever he may be. has always at least one moment of the day when he lean? against the nearest object and thinks about her. That is our romantic secret, at last divulged. “In England they had a contemM» r^ y >S Ue i n '-, 8 * ar K reater than Man', though I am not going to advertise her by mentioning her name. iJut do they think of her every day? ” They don’t/ Literary men are subject to lapses into “ the spacious days of great Elizabeth,” and “ Good Queen Less has currency as a phrase; but nobody loves her. Least of all do the Scots love her for cutting off her cousin s head. Consolation came when Mary Stuart’s son as James the First and Sixth annexed England to Scotland, consolation that has survived the discovery that, by an irony of Fate the same James was “the wisest fool in Europe,

From an Aucklander in exile; Dear Givis,—When you can find time to leave this "fishing village” and pay a visit to the Queen City of the Dominion, you will find in Albert 1 ark, overlooking the Waitemata Harbour and dominating the city, a fine marble statue of Sir George Grey # originally greeted i n f ront 0 / the Town Hall, at the intersection of yueen and Grey streets, but the development of the traffic of the citv compelled its removal to its present most suitable site. As a boy I was one of Grey s worshippers. One dnv on , ok®ta] 1 I saw a little volume entitled What Sir George Grey has done for New Zealand.” I eagerlyopened the volume only to find an empty memorandum book. I cau assure you I was a very disgusted youth at this unkind cut by some political enemy of Auckland’s patron saint. Dunedin is “this fishing village”; Auckland the Queen City of this Dominion.” Writ ironic, perhaps; perhaps not. If not, it is well, to know one’s place in the scheme of things, and to be duly abased in the presence of one’s betters. That there stands in Auckland “a fine marble statue of Sir George Grey” is gratifying intelligence. The ignorance betrayed Jn this column last week does little credit to my omniscience. But let that pass.

Listen for a moment to this Aucklander diverging into criticism and bidn?e *' Ashing village ” be ashamed of itself, —not unjustly, either:— While speaking of memorials, can you not do something to arouse a bodv or feeling against the indignity that is done to the name of William Cargill by associating his memorial with a place of public convenient a Dunedinite but I marvel that the Early Settlers’ Association 1 r cc 2 - a fi° w the present state or affaire to continue. Yes;—it is a wonder that the Early Settlers can sleep o’ nights. So malodorous a subject does not invite discussion; but there comes to mind a Horace line that may be quoted,—a line explaining, or failing to explain, the literary madman who in Horace’s day affronted the Muses by perpetrating what nowadays calls itself the “New Poetry”:— Nee satis apparet cur versus factitet utrum ’

Minxerit in patrios cineres, an. or had done some other thing equally odious But, to returns—the onl and only site for open air memorials of Captain Cargill and his ecclesiastical colleague, the Rev Dr Burns, is in front of the Early Settlers’ Hall.

Dean Inge grows more secular day by day. He is at home in secular newspapers; that is why they continually quote him. With the Dean, freedom of Eot,:- * re,lgi “- TL " S ’ Two bishops at least have declare themselves in favour of disestablishment, but their names do not carry much weight. The most distinguished pi: them is a man whose chameleonlike changes have set his friends wondering whether he will not come out next year in violent Red—the only colour he has not yet assumed. He notes the puzzleheadcdness of certain French journalists who write of the Prayer Book controversy;— The Paris “ Revue des Deux Monties had an article on "L’affairo du Prayer Book,” in which the writer could hardly keep his gravity when he reflected on the absurdity of the two Houses of Parliament, in th's so-called twentieth century, debating with an almost unexampled display of earnestness and eloquence about changes in the Liturgy. Such a thing, he declares, would be unthinkable In any country except England. The Frenchman may laugh if he likes. To me these debates seem the most encouraging sign for Christianity in England that we have nad for a long time. Less than 100 years ago Joseph Hume, a prominent member of Parliament, spoke of the Church as a moribund institution.

We may hope,” he said in the Commons. " that these foolish ordinations will soon cease.” The most blatant unbeliever would not use such language now. We have seen both Houses recognise that the National Church is a national concern Mr John Middleton Murry, of fame in literature but no churchman, backs this up by quoting the Judicious Hooker, great Anglican divine: “ There is not any man of the Church of England but the same man is also a member of the commonwealth; nor any man a member of the commonwealth which is not also of the Church of England.” Oi. this view, Cardinal Bourne is an Anglican, along with Presbyterian moderators, Methodist' presidents,' Baptists, Congregationalists, Mormons and all the beasts clean and unclean of St. Peter’s vision. Dean Inge is a great man, precisely the kind of great man required in the Anglican Church as thus defined.

Whilst we are waiting for the next test match, the fifth and last, cricket stories float about—in the press, in smoking rooms, even at street corners. Stories mostly of Dr W. G. Grace, who, as they say, “ for forty years dominated the cricket world.” A boy still in his ’teens, he played an innings of 225 for England and 173 for the Gentlemen of England, both at the Oval. Already he was the “ champion.” But, because cricket is cricket and a game of chance, he sometimes went out for a duck, clean bowled, or the victim of sinister mischance. Thus:—-

Grace went in first. - The second ball of the over he took on his body just above the belt, and it dropped off beautifully on to the wicket. Down came the bails. “ Out ” said the umpire, and before the amazed crowd and the still • more astounded bowler had realised what had happened, "W. G.” was halfway back to the dressing room. Not only a great batsman, he was good all round.

At the Oval, playing for England against the Australians, Grace fielded in every position, including that of wicket-keeper, putting on the gloves and pads to let Alfred Lyttelton bowl some of his lobs, and in th< first over (amid an unforgettable roar of laughter and cheering, which didn’t end till he and Lyttelton had shaken hands in the, middle of the wicket) catching Midwinter off one of the lobs. Again, at Lord’s, playing for the first time against Ranjitsinhji, he clean bowled the Indian prince with the first ball he sent down. What a man!

Off the field, and in captaining a team, his humour was an asset, and boyish to the end.'

Towards one in the morning at a cricket dinner after a big match the Old Man ” had an idea, “ Wouldn’t it be rather a lark,” he roared, “if we all ran up the stairs to' the top of the hotel and down again, the' last man to stand drinks all round? ” No sooner said than done. Away they all tore, down they all came, and the fast man paid, fhat last man wasn't W. 6.” They all liked the idea so did it again; and still W 6. ’ came down with the van. When the first rush happened a number of alarmed guests tumbled out of bed as the human tide thundered past and rushed to their doors. Moat of them thought the hotel must be on fire. They were reassured. It was . *W. G.” and his. cricketers . taking -a little exercise before turning m. ’ Again, what a man!

London, February s.— De Valera, while travelling to Belfast to address a meeting was arrested on the border under an old order prohibiting his mtry into Ulster. Treason-talk would probably be the business of the meeting for which Mr De Valera crossed the . border. There was a snake in Eden; there may be traitors in loyal Ulster; it was the desire of Mr de Valera .to give them aid and comfort. If the Ulster authorities interfered he would address them in the language of the Irish Republic. Theatrical as always! Chocktaw and Pawnee would be more native to Mr De Valera than aboriginal Irish. Wasn’t he born in New York, Ills rather a Yankee Spaniard? Nevertheless, as a later cable reports, proceedings in the Ulster court took this form:— Magistrate: “ Have you any evidence to'call, or anything to say?” De Valera: " Aldeboronti-phosco-phorni-ostikos ” (or words to that effect). ' Magistrate: "What!—What gibberish is this? Have you anything to say? ” • De Valera; "Abracadabra Chronon-hoton-thologos.” „ er j ! . the court, intervening; He thinks he is talking Irish, sir.” Magistrate: “Irish be ahem! English is the language of this court. 11 commit him for contempt.” ~?, e Valera; “ Hdnorifica-bilitu-dini-tatibus . . . .” Magistrate: “ Enough of this playacting You are sentenced to a month s imprisonment. Take him away, gaoler,” Exit De Valera, mustering up, for behoof of his escort, as much of English as served him to blaspheme in that hated language British magistrntes, British courts, British law, and the whole British Empire. l Civis.