THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23333, 27 October 1937, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer

Here is a story which promises to provide gentle readers with some mild cerebral exercise: Two men were discussing questions spiritual, theological, and esoteric, and one expressed his belief in the theory of reincarnation. " You don't mean to say you accept that? " said the other. "How could I do otherwise," was the reply, "when the evidence is all around me?" "What evidence? " " Well, there's Nelson, for instance, he came back—as a monument. And

there's Gladstone, who came back as a leather bag." And so we introduce our new pastime, which we shall call "Reincarnations " (patents pending) in the confidence that it will monopolise the attention of Monopoly players, and at least temporarily divert Contract fiends from their interminable pons asinorum.

Here, then, are a few "Reincarnations," which will indicate how it should be done: The Duke of Wellington (he came back as a pair of boots). Sam Browne (his belts go marching on). The Earl of Sandwich (he returned between two slices of bread). Napoleon (he came back in a brandy bottle and in a cake). Robert Burns (he came back in an hotel).

Trilby (she came back in a soft felt

hat). Well, the barrier is down, the field is open, and earnest students may carry on for themselves.

But before we leave this subject for a time, we cannot but mention one other reincarnation, possessing an especial, if gloomy interest for this Dominion. We refer to Te Rauparaha, the Big Shot who travelled through New Zealand laying waste the land. It is rumoured that he's come back as a Savage.

Then while we are in this pious mood, here is a commentary upon another aspect of things of the spirit: The old woman at the Ulster frontier was asked if she had anything to declare.

"Nothing at all," she replied. ~ "But what's in the bottle, mither? " inquired the Customs officer. " Sure, an' 'tis only hooly warther. hooly warther from Lourdes." The officer pulled the cork, and sniffed heartily. " Whisky it is!' he said.

"Glory be to God!" cried the old lady. " It's a miracle has occurred!" An Irish story, truly, but likely to be appreciated by many of us who have a little Scotch in us.

Then we would welcome from the ozone district a suggestion with a fairly sound historical basis: Dear " Wayfarer,"—At the recent session of the Anglican Synod a wellknown business man eulogised the advantages of capital and the interest accruing therefrom and asked who it was who invented the boon of interest. An interjector suggested Moses, and this evidently met with the approval of synod. This may or may not be true, but there is one very useful law that the Jewish lawgiver instituted, viz., the Golden Jubilee, whereby all debts were cancelled and all slates wiped clean. This idea might well be copied by our Government to the assistance of numerous worried mortgagors. Can you throw any light on this interesting subject?—l am. etc. x y z It is, surely, without our luminescence being added, the lightest and brightest suggestion of the decade, and we thoroughly approve it. In fact, without troubling the Government, it is our intention to have cards printed and send them to all our creditors, announcing the commencement of our own Golden Jubilee forthwith.

There is every reason for getting in early on it, for to tell the truth, while our correspondent's statement is accurate enough as theory, the enactments for the Year of Jubilee, we discover, were in practice inclined to be disregarded. Moreover, it occurred only once in half a century, and it is our experience that 50 years are a long time to keep one's creditors at bay. Advocates of the scheme should consider their position well, also, in the murky light of recent and pending legislation. With the national superannuation scheme and other manifold and blessed enactments a-sim-mering, it would be well o reflect that if the matter of debt-cancella-tion were taken up we would probably finish with the Government owing us far more than we could owe anyone else.

In connection with the winter help campaign Germany has introduced " one dish " Sunday meals in restaurants, consisting of a stew made from an official recipe. Augustus was a chubby lad. Fat, rosy cheeks '.ugustus had, And every Sunday when 'twas fine He in a restaurant would dine. He did himself extremely well, Being more than something of a swell, On sauerkraut and on Nierenstuck, And other foods of which he took Helpings juicy and fat and fine, Washed down with golden Rhenish wine, And when they'd ask how he could do't He'd say, " I like my Sunday suet." But now Augustus, lean and sad, Can only dream of meals he's had; Each Sunday sees him ever thinner, Preparing for his censored dinner. But when it's brought you'll hear him cry, Wiping the tears from either eye, " O take that Nazi stew away, I do not want to dine to-day!"

In order to acquire first-hand information on the running of police stations, Sir Samuel Hoare visited Vine Street Station and sent out a message calling all cars. A correspondent informs us that an equallj' effective method of gaining inside information is to stand in Lower High street and throw empty beer bottles at passing constables.

Answering a questionnaire on the type of motor horn which annoyed them most, a majority of 200 Londoners nominated the whining of sirens. Especially, a business friend of ours states, when one is trying to hold a successful fire.

Though personally we have a most marked dislike of the horn on the car of the boy friend of the daughter of our neighbour.

It looks as if it's Curtins for the Labour Party in Australia, and they may as well play "Auld Lang Syne," since the Socialists will have to lie down with the Lyons.