THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 20991, 2 April 1930, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

By Wayfarer. ; ! 1

Macaulay’s sclioolboy may know what and where the Dominion of New Zealand is—a knowledge not shared with an American periodical of repute which described the loss of the Manuka “ off the east coast of New Zealand, Australia " and Macaulay’s traveller from New Zealand may sketch St. Paul's from London Bridge, though the bridge has not so far fallen down and the authorities seem to be determined to prevent St. Paul’s becoming a ruin yet awhile. But neither the schoolboy, the United States press, nor the traveller seems to .be able to obtain for New Zealand its proper place in the sun. “New Zealand? Oh, that’s where the mutton birds eat (be sheep, the erudite Londoner says; or “ New Zealand? That’s the dump Byrd flew to the Pole from,” remarks the omniscient Noo Marker; while one of our younger novelists makes his heroine say to her solemn boy —“ But why must you go to New Zealand? People don't go to Now Zealand, dear, they come from it.” “ Kipling,” a hoarse and raucous voice from the north seems to declare, “ mentioned our Dominion in a beautiful poem,” but this assertion must be contradicted, first because none of the Best People will now admit that Kipling is a poet, secondly because the use of that possessive “ our ” is distasteful, and thirdly because Auckland) occupying as it does a position where it stands ns much alone as a banana in a Dunedin fruit shop, cannot rightly be regarded as a part of New Zealand at all.

The fact must be faced —New Zealand only just is, so far as the rest of the world is concerned. Very handy for purposes of metaphor, as when Mr Beverley Nicholls (if we are not mistaken) mentions New Zealand and Timbnctoo ns one might mention Sodom and Gomorrah—places savouring more of the fantastic than the actual—and also tolerably useful to the dramatic critic who wishes to prove the indifference of the public to Ida wares:

I wrote a short story about the difference between art and life once. It took me seventeen years to write. I called it “ When God Takes off the Lid,” and even then no one took any notice, except Hall Caine, Now and then an old woman writes to me about it from New Zealand or somewhere, but otherwise it is unnoticed on some file in the British Museum. , . .

New Zealand is' Mahomet, and the world is the mountain. When the mountain ignored Mahomet he knew what to do—he went to it, and doubtless be gave it a good talking to for its rudeness. Each day the disciples of our Mahomet are going to the mountain, their passports in their pockets, their money in their belts, their national pride brandished aloft like a banner. May they, like Sir James Purr and the Ancient Mariner, hold all with their glittering eye while they talk of New Zealand as not even Mahomet talked to the mountain. On them our hopes we fix—Pro Bono Publico Kia Ora!

So much have the talkies been blamed for that one hesitates to lay a further charge at their door; but that door is always so crowded with well-wishers that there is little fear of the talkies minding what is said about them. The musicians who have had to hang up their harpsr, their percussion instruments and their grand pianos on the weeping willow tree arc the chief sufferers from the talkie invasion—that is, if the M.L.C.’s and professors who have never taken the trouble to learn American are excepted—but the musicians must now share their misery with other noble animals:

Now that the talkies have come, unemployment in the best animal circles of Hollywood is simply appalling. Lions and tigers, whose random growls coidd never be overlooked in a sound film, are being sold first from the studios. ■ One film ’concern which,prided itself on its collection of lions and leopards has disposed of them all.

Some ( the jiln> ’ve experienced great difficulty, judging by results, in becoming articulate, but for the lions and leopards to become inarticulate, and Rin-tin-tin to replace his bark with a tenor voice, is almost impossible. The musicians are forming themselves into orchestras which will compete with the films, and one can only trust that it will not occur to the do««, cats, tigers, ■elephants, and camels that have been deprived of their livelihood likewise to get together. One can admire Noah for his gallantry in preser-ing these species, but one does not wish to have a Noah’s ark at the Concert Hall. Possibly America will add to her list of exports, of which canned music is one of the most important, an item labelled " Canned Leo,” but one hopes not.

Someday, perhaps, Great Britain will adopt a policy in which Freetrade and Protection will bo so skilfully compounded that nobody will know 'he difference. Lord Beaverbrook will claim that the Daily Mail is responsible; Lord Rothermcre will add modestly that it could not have been introduced but for the Daily Express ; Mr Lloyd George will say: “ I told you so, but you wouldn’t listen to me ”; Mr Baldwin will aver that the Conservatives moulded public 'bought in the right direction; Mr Ramsay MacDonald will talk about Socialism, changing England, and welfare; but Mrs SnowfLri will know that her luncheon fixed things up. Mrs Snowden is a happy and invincible warrior; when she wants to praise Labour she does so, and when she feels angry with her husband's followers she says so. Signor Mussolini annoyed her when he wrote scathingly about women, and although the Dnce has not withered right away he well might have. “ He knows nothing about it,” Mrs Snowden says. “ His assumption is an ignorant one born of prejudice,” and the wife of the Chancellor proceeds to give the Dictator a proper dressing-down, recalling every one of the indiscretions of which he has boasted and telling him what she thinks about him and them, Mrs Snowden has now turned her attention to trade problems. As yet certain upholders of the British Constitution do not see eye to eye with her, bnt they must end by compromising or being defeated. Compromise it should be, on a Lloyd Georgcan, Edwinian, Rothcrmerian scheme to meet all objections, for what politician will dare speak against it knowing that Mrs Snowden is ready to reply with a biographical sketch of his private history? No wonder they all went to her luncheon.

‘ Mr L. S. Amery told a reunion of Salonika Leaguers how be eluded capture after the Germans torpedoed the vessel on which he was a passenger. He did so by crawling into a little three-cornered space in a small boat. Several other prominent passengers were taken by the Germans, but they missed Mr Amery. A politician may be small— His stature matters not at all, Tla status wins him note. And if the Ship o£ State is hit, The politician's best who'll fit The corner of a boat.

The Mayor of Southend, appalled by the number of applicants who are seeking his assistance following his action in finding for an unemployed man a wife who would give him work, has given up ‘‘this cupid business,” The applications might have been even more numerous had he undertaken to find wives' in steadyemployment for workless men.

Among those people in Oklahoma who became paralysed through drinking doped liquor were two physicians, four medioal students, five chemists’ assistants, two school girls, and one minister. Undoubtedly alcohol discovers a multitude of sins.

Sir James Jeans describes the discovery of the new planet beyond Neptune

as a tremendous event which may even compel the abandonment of the present views about the solar system. It is understood that the City Council will dispose of the matter at its next meeting.

“I have no intention of carrying mi correspondence on this matter with anonymous writers who are, like snakes in the grass, ashamed to come out in the open and sign their names.” So writes a prominent educationist. But self-respecting snakes rarely write letters to the newspapers anonymously or otherwise.