PASSING NOTES.

Otago Witness, Issue 4057, 15 December 1931, Page 3

PASSING NOTES.

Mr Bert Hinkler, who hails from the small town of Bundaberg in Southern Queensland, has definite affinities with [Samuel Weller, who may with (liffidence aspire to a renown equal to that gathered by the aviator. An ingenuous. offhand, and colloquial manner of diction led the knight of the air on liis first historic flight, when rising in liis machine from Rome, to imagine himself astride some speedy Phar Lap or Gloaming, for his diary records that he slapped her hard for Alexandria.” If Mr Hinkler has had his schooling in Virgil, he might now have likened him self to that other mythical, though possibly little known, personage Hermes, messenger to the gods. Volat ille per aera magnum Remigio alarum, ac Libyae citug adstltit oris. “He flies through the —ide air propelled his wings, and swiftly "~hts on Afric shores.” From Brazil to Africa is a

goodish step—or should one say hop?—as the crow flies, and the aeronaut is accompanied by an adopted marmoset, into whose ear he would no doubt pour oq enees suitable to the occasion. His mascot would be entertained with conjectures, and with complaints against the workings of evolu’ : ’ 'al selection. If only homo sapiens and anthropoid ape had followed up the reptilian ='hool and through it graduated to th- avian! Master Man! <»,- -ould a; tly retort that he could see nothing to grumble about, and that ns far as wings were concerned, his guide, philosopher, and friend was doing very well indeed. Mr Hinkler would then cap his remarks by reference to the fundamentalist in religious thought, and how his ideas as to a common ancestry were at variance to his own. The notion commonly accepted by some of them is that the Lord made man in the first place out of clay and stuck him up against the fence to dry: the monkey race underwent a separate and distinct process.

The now more that ever dismal science of economics finds a kindred spirit in the science of theology. Given a smattering of either, the result of a few months’ study, or even of a few years’ and the veriest tyro or quidnunc can hold forth quote freely in support of his tenets, question the soundness of this or that doctrine, and altogether regard himself as a knowledgeable person. The Devii can be started from the pages of the Scriptures, like a hare from her form, and as easily can the blue devils of finance from latter day records—they who are supposed to have a strangle-hold upon the life stream of credit. .The exact sciences labour here under a grave disadvantage. No one dares to tinker with the postulates of chemistry or physics, unless indeed he be an Einstein, and Einsteins seem to occur only once every two or three centuries. If one can embark now on prediction with any degree of confidence it may be quite safe to state that as long as differences of theological opinion will last, just so long will persevere the warring creeds in political economy. According to the jargon of psychology each one of us interprets the records according to his “ apperceptive mass ”; in other words, according to his knowledge and experience. No two persons have this in the same range and quality, and we must all then beg to differ. The old shepherd on his death bed prayed for his favourite hymn, “ The Roseate Hues of Early Morn,” “ How true! ” quavered the old chap. “How true! I have so often seen them, the rows of ewes in the early morn! ”

Mr Stanley Baldwin has for a statesman a good deal of sentiment tucked away in his innermost being. On occasion he breaks out something of the poet. He is the true-blue patriot, English to the core, out of the John Bull strain flewed and sanded, and, to look at his portrait, one would fain hear the chant of Garrick: Heart of oak are our ships, Heart of oak are our men; We always are ready; Steady, boys, steady; We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again. In his zeal for the antique he extols the beauty of the language of Chaucer and Gower, to the disparagement of modern styles of pronunciation and usage. But dialects must come and go under the influence of climate and race, and it behoves us rather to make determined efforts to preserve the accuracy of standards in the use of vowel and consonant. The school master is supposed to be abroad, but there i§ a noticeable decline in recent years in spelling and

in the clearness of speech. Holds true the old adage, “Like pupil like master.” Mr Baldwin deplores the lack of education in modern democracy. He has talked this over with his sou Oliver, and they are agreed upon this, at the least. Is it a case of the blind leading the blind ?

The portent of circus marquees rising suddenly, of a night, out of the green sward, like giant mushrooms, draws the juvenile, “tickle o’ the sear,” with irresistible charm, and even the senile from liis armchair and slippered ease. Team work is here seen to perfection, our modern mastodons.

Elephants a-piling teak In the sludgy, spiulgy creek

make light work of tent frames and travelling impedimenta and the inevitable following of camp sutlers is machine trained. The first circus dates back apparently to Romulus, the founder of Rome, who, being suckled by a shewolf, had a predilection for wild beast displays. Thence, throughout the Roman calendar, we have horse racing, lion hunting. equilibrists, tumblers, and athletic contests. The only difference seems to be that in the days of Trajan and Dio cletian they preferred to butcher the tin fortunate captives, and we have essayed to domesticate them and teach them their paces. With this distinction conceded. all such shows are much of a likeness, once seen always seen. Had King Romulus been present at the Caledonian grounds in flowing toga he would probably have been taken for a Cossack, or one of the trio of clowns, and lie himself would have recognised every thing, even to the jokes. Why does the Prince of Wales wear blue braces and Mr Lang a pair dyed in violent red? Terence and Plautus might be searched for jests of equal pungency. One hopes that, in perfect adherence to tradition, some at least of our school boys enjoyed the feast gratis, committing tent-breach in time-honoured way by insinuating themselves beneath the ropes.

There have been press reports of a series of lectures on Christian Science, the lecturer an accredited representative of the Christian Science Church. Some hundreds of different religious sects there are in America, each with distinctive title and its own form of propaganda. One wonders how many more “ ists ” and “isms” are to be coined to satisfy human craving for variety, and are they all to last to the bitter end? How far Christian Science doctrine is in accord with Christian creeds on the one hand, and with scientific deductions on the other, will be debatable ground, but for various appreciable reasons it has its own and increasing vogue. There is a sect whose votaries do not believe that the earth is round. They claim that water always seeks its own height, and that the ocean is level. For this they appeal to observation. If the earth were spherical and a tunnel were driven right through crust and substratum, from outer surface to outer surface, pole to pole, and a ladder placed therein, a man descending would come out at the other side feet first, and might have to walk on his head. Is this beyond belief or contrary to common sense? We are asked to believe that by accepting the principles of Christian Science we shall be able to wean ourselves of all such noxious practices as smoking and drinking, the sick shall be healed and the halt and lame made to walk. One is left unconvinced and inclines to the philosopher who said, “There is no limit to human credulitv.”

If the end of playing, at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature, then our picture shows in themselves afford a very’ good epitome of what some people would have be the ideal fashion of living. The picture gazette gives its modicum of insight into current events and happenings. His Majesty the King and her Majesty the Queen flash before the vision. Mr Ramsay MacDonald and Mr President Hoover move and speak, and contemporary scenes are portrayed with a pleasing vividness. An episode intervenes in the shape of a lesson in natural science or a “ travelogue ” which purports to extend the range of our observations from China to Peru. This again is tempered by the seasonable buffooneries of a comic. Thence we proceed to the main business in life, love-making. There seems to be no inherent reluctance—and indeed, why should there be?—in our modern heroes and heroines in tumbling incontinently into each other’s arms. Coy timidity and pleasing hesitation have disappeared from the screen; “they fall to it yarely.” How many youths nowadays make their love a la mode of the cinema, and imitate the facile technique of Messrs Maurice Chevalier and Ronald Colman? And does it all succeed with Chloe, or is she still true to type and affects she a tardiness to the call of Eros? We have surely here a medium that will expedite the meanderings of courtship, deprive it of some of its overweight of inhibitions. Our novelists have noticed this already, as, this being their metier, they should. From Miller’s Flat: Dear “ Civis,” — I am asking you for information as to whether the hub of a wheel turns slower than the rim. We have been having an argument over this and could not come to any agreement over this point, so we decided to write to you for information on it.— I am, etc., Country Yokel. One is pleased that discussions on the banks of the Cluthu are not confined to laments over a ruination of the fruit crop. Things cannot be so bad as they are reported. A spirit of detachment from such mercenary matters is here made manifest. To come to our little problem, let us consider a wooden wheel revolving freely in space, on its axle. Mark a point near this axle, and another point on the outside of the wheel. Set the wheel spinning. The two points do the round in the same time. But the outer point goes much the longer distance. Ergo, it must move the faster. The same reasoning applies to hub and rim.

A music publisher of reputation has had some innocent fun poked at him over the possession of a name which, not unnaturally, is provocative of a certain kind of humour. Mr Boosey’s name has been the source of numerous jokes. During a visit to New York he had to submit to a particularly rigorous search at the Customs; later he met an American friend, and complained of his sad experience, and the only sympathy he got from him—and he had the most wonderful stutter—were words to this effect: “I think you’re a d-d-d d 1-1-1-lucky fellow to get into a dry country like this at all with a name like yours! ” Another time he was leaving a club at two in the morning when, he says: Dear old Arthur Roberts came into the club considerably over the odds. As I went out of the club he was gazing at the ceiling, and I said, “Good night, Arthur.” He replied, I know you; you are Boosev. I am sober.” Civis.