The Contributor.

Southern Cross, Volume 10, Issue 22, 30 August 1902, Page 5

The Contributor.

DENIS DISCOURSES. Dear Mr Editor, —I’ve been doin’ me besht to kape pace wid me engagemints, an’ the other night I wint out to the bachelors’ ball at Makarewa. I hadn’t been long in the hall, which lukt as if it had been got up for Coronation Day, before a man shtepped up to me, an’ ses he— ‘ Have I the pleasure ay addressin’ Mr O’Shea ?’ ‘ No,’ ses I, wid a wink at me frind Maloney, an’ pointin’ to a man that had jnsht pasht along in front av me. Well, ’twas the grate time we had entirely, an’ ’tis the fine shtamp av wimmin they have out there, an’ moreover they’re as goodnatured as they’re good-lukin’ for whin wan av thim had her dress throd on, an’ fell, she jusht shmiled an’ ses she— ‘ If I’d got up quick, Denis, nobody ’ud have seen me, but I cudn’t for laffin.’ * * * An’ thin the min ! Nivir have I seen a more gallant lot av gossoons, an’ got up to kill too, if ye plase — I’ve been puzzlin’ me head ivir since how me frinds J. Maloney and Lane managed to breathe wid the high collars they wore. * * *. Well, after four in the mornm we got away after a nate spache from Tom Holland on behalf av himsilf an’ the other married min prisint. 4 Did ye like it ?’ ses Tom to me. Av eoorse I did,’ ses I. 4 The wonder is that wid so raanny good-lukin’ colleens ye shad have anny bachelors left at all at all. ‘ Why,’ ses Tom, wid a laff, ‘ye are that enthusiastic that ye remind me av the Frinchman at Portsmouth that wint to church wan Sunday an’ saw the mayor’s daughters, two very handsome gyruls. * Begar!’ ses Monsieur, when he returned to his hotel, ‘ two very fin young ladie vere at church dis morning.’ ‘ Who were they ?’ ses the landlady. ‘Begar, me have forgot da names ; but vat be dat ting datnibbe, nibbe de grass ?’ ‘Oh !’ ses the landlady, ‘a cow.’ ‘No, no,’ interrupted the Frenchman. ‘ A sheep perhaps,’ ses she. 4 No.’ ‘ A bull.’ ‘ No.’ ‘ Perhaps then you mean a horse.’ 4 No, no, not de horse ; but, begar, what be de horse’s vife’s name F’ ‘ A mare,’ ses the landlady, ‘ Oui! de mare’s two daughters were at church dis morning ; two vere pretty young ladie; begar, dey make de vater in my mout,’ * * Angus McGregor undertook to represent me at the Spar Bush benedicts’ ball, but at the lasht minnit hia wife heard that the butchers were goin’ to raise the price av meat, an’ she got him to shtay at home to put a lean-to to the fowl-house, for she says she’ll not pay for mate if she can raise spring chickens. Angus, not to be bate, sint word to a crony av his, one Sandy McLean by name, an’ he has given me the followin’ account av the affair, which he calls “ A nicht wi’ the Spar Bush benedicts.”

Dear Denis, —It’s kin’ o’ lang syn I drappit ye a bit line, but me an’ Mattie’s been feelin’ we’re gettin’ into the seer an’ yellow leaf, an’ no mudkle inclined for bidin’ oot at nichts, consequently I hae had little tae chronicle. However, maybe the price o’ oats, butter an’ eggs has made us feel more lichtsome-hearted, so when the benedicts o’ Spar Bush sent owef a biddin’ to their ball we made up oor minds to tak’ a run ower, mair especially when we were telt that Denis wad be there. But in tjaat respeck we were disappointed, for Denis didna turn up. * * * Weel, we yokit up auld Peggy an’ startit aff, but as the auld mare is no so young as she was, we were a while on the road, but at last we got there. 1 yokit oot Peggy an’ gied her a feed o’ chaff, an’ says I tae Mattie —‘ Go ye in at the back door an’ ye’ll fin’ a roomie whar ye can tak’ them papers oot o’ yer hair,’ I went tae the front door masell, an’ aifter I’d got used

tae the blare o’ the licht, I hed a look roon’. Man ! wha should I see, each wi’ his airm roon’ a sonsie bit lassie an’ smilin’ up intae her face, but John McCrostie, James Drain, an’ Andrew Blakie, waltzin’ roon’ like mad. * * * Man ! the spirit o’ them made me fair excited, an’ I could hear a voice inside me sayin’ —‘ Go thou an’ do likewise,’ when up steps Tom Swale an’ says he— ‘ Good evenin’, Sandy. How are yd, man ? Whaur’s yer dancin’ pumps P’ ‘ Dancin’ pumps ?’ ses I. 1 Div ye need them, ?’ ‘Of course,’ says he, ‘ we’re a wearin’' them.’ ‘ Div ye tell me Drain has on dancin’ pumps ?’ ses I. 4 He hes,’ says he. ‘ An’ McCrostie ?’ says I. 4 Aye, an’ tartan stockins, tae,’ says be. 4 Ods me,’ says I, 4 1 hevna but ma Sunday boots.’ 4 Oh they’ll dae,’ says he, 4 but "ye’ll be kin’ o’ conspicuous lookin’.’ * * * Weel, I gaed up tae the ither end o’ the hall tae hae a look at the programme, when I was stoppit at the stage by a row o’ the finest-lookin’ raithers an’ bairns I ever saw in a’ ma life. I was jist booin’ doon ma heid tae kiss ane o’ the weans, when John Steele, throwiu’ a conversation lolly across the room tae a sonsie bit lass on the ither side, missed his mark an’ hit me bang on the eye wi’ it. I rnbbit ma eye a while, when George Bennie comes up an’ ses he in that hearty style o’ his— 4 Come awa ben, Sandy, man, an’ I’ll gie ye a cup o’ the best tea ye ever tasted.’ An’ man, he was as guid as bis word. * * * Aifter that I had anither look roon’, when I sees a muckle goat wi’ his heels in the air. 4 What in the world’s that for ?’ says T tae Teddy Spencer. 4 Oh,’ says he, 4 we’re a kickin’ up oor heels the nicht.’ Well, I hed a walk roon’ an’ a bit crack wi' a few freens, when I got a tap on the shoother, an’ says Harry Hibbs tae me, 4 Come awa’, Sandy, an’ hae a taste ; but I maun tell ye,’ says he, 4 we’re expeckin’ proheebition, so we’re drinkin’ lemonade tae get used tae it.’ Awa I gaed into the bit roomie, an’ hed just drunk ma lemonade when in comes Drain, cryin’ oot. 4 Come on, Sandy man, we’re tae hae a reel, an’ young Jack McCrostie is tae play the pipes.’ * * * Aff I went an’ got into a set wi’ Frank Boyd, an’ eh, bit it was graun’. Weel, Denis, what wi’ singin’ an’ dancin’ an’ suppers an’ lollies, we had a graun time o’ it till fower in the mornin’, an’ aff we went for oor hames, wi eyelids heavy, but hearts as licht as a feather.’ * * * An’ the townspaple are jusht as keen as the counthry folk in the matther av enjoymint. Corney an’ Bedalia are fair gone on ping pong, an’ are gettin’ into form for the grate tournament that me frind E. B. McKay is engineerin’. ’Tis hopin’ lam that Corney won’t forgit himsilf whin he’s playin’, like the young man in the shtory :

‘ Where are you going, my pretty maid ?’ ‘l’m going ping-ponging, sir,’ she said. ‘ May I go with you, my pretty maid ?’ ‘ Yes, if you like, kind sir,’ she said. She led him away to the ping-pong net, and then came an hour he’ll never forget, for his shoulders ache from the many stoops to pick up the balls, and his eyelid droops, where she smote him twice with her racket small, which left her hand as she struck the ball, and he’ll never ping where she pongs again, for she heard him swear when she pinged him then. * * * Wan av the poets in the backblocks has been ruminatin’ over the case av the man in Invercargill that wudn’t move on whin a conshtable axed him to, an’ this is how he relaves his falins : It’s grand to be a bobby—so nate, an’ nice an’ nobby. It’s grate to hare the handlin’ av the larrikin ; But whin no push there isn’t—for they’re somewhere else at prisint— Thin av eoorse the big bugs can be gathered in.

Not a pin’s pint does it matlher as to how th’. ladies scatther, Whin we grab thim by the shoulders gay an’ free ; They don’t oare to shtop an’ squabble like the riff-raff an’ the rabble, They don’t give no bloomin’ trouble to the likes av me.

But I hate the ‘ full-topped ’ toff ; at me he shtops to scoff, An’ be thries to take me off on me round ; , He forgits that I’m the Law , an’ he gives me cheek an’ jaw, So he drops into me paw safe an’ sound.

’Twas just the other night wan tall bloke wished to fight, He was shtandin’ in the light av the gas ; And the larrikins all round, which at corners do abound, Shpittin’beastly on the ground—couldn’t pass!

Ses I, ‘ This game won’t do, for the larries must get thro’ ; They can make it very awkward for the likes av us. They must be molly-coddled ’—so down the path I toddled (I thought perhaps the bloke was on the spree). An’ so I ses ‘ Move an ’ unto this gentleman, An’ the trouble thin began, for his frind— A lady—wouldn’t move, so I gives her jist a shove, When the tall man shut his glove me phiz to rend.

‘ I’ll report you,’ so he ees, an’ his eye was all ablaze, He had the quaresfc ways—on that I’ll take me oath ; ‘ Report me thin,’ sea I, ‘ bnt before that game ye thry, Let the sultry larries by, or I’ll arrist ye „ both!’ I did. . . The judge was willin’ to foine the toff a shiilin’ ; It wasn’t very fillin’, but shtill I won the day. Oh, yis, it is delectable to knock up the respectable, But whisht! not the objectionable—that’s not me play. For the wan who’s up to evil, can always raise the divil. It pays us to kape civil with the low. A gentleman won’t harm ye, he’ll do nothin’ to alarm ye; Like the Salvation Army—he gets no show. —HeECUS GtSEY. * * * I thought Katie ’ud have been delighted wid it, aeein’ the way it upheld the rights ay the citizens, but ye nivir know how these things’ll strike wan’s wife, for ses she —‘ I don’t hould wid it at all, Denis. The policeman was a bit av a new chum, an’ knows betther now, an’ as for larrikins, the man that wrote that musht have been brought up in Sydney or Melbourne, for, praise the saints, we haven’t got larrikin pushes here the same as they have over there, an a finer lot av min than our conahtables ye’ll not mate in a day’s march,, * * * ‘ But,’ ses Katie, ‘ I quite agree wid what he ses about the S’alvation Array, It makes me blood boil. Denis, to think that an afficer av a body that’s done so much to hilp the wake an’ the unfortunate, an’ the poor an’ the needy, an’ that’s got howlt av paple that the churches cud do nothin’ wid, shud be sint to gaol for 48 hours, as Ensign Law was in the North the other day for havin’ a bit av a matin’ in the shtieet. Manny’s the home, Denis, the Army’s made brighter, an’ raantiy a pound it saves the State, an’ yit the only return we can make is to sind wan av its mimbers to gaol. ’Tis wrong, Denis, ’tis wrong !’ * * Aisy, Katie,’ ses I, { or ye’ll be like Murie’s motor bicycle an’ let yer falins’ run away wid ye. There’s something in what ye say ; I remiraber that somewan wance said —‘ 0, Liberty ! what crimes are committed in thy name !’ ‘ Thrue for ye, Denis,’ ses Katie, 1 an’ what did wan av your own counthrymen say. ! I speak,’ ses he, ‘ in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty commensurate vyith and inseparable from British soil, which proclaims even to the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his foot on the sacred soil of Britain, that the ground on which be treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of universal emancipation,’ an’ so on.’ * * ‘ It sounds well,’ Katie,’ ses I, ‘ but as me ould frind Mr Stone ses, whin he’s puttin’ his finger on a wake

shpot, in oar social system—‘lt’s all humbug.’ No, ye can’t get away from the fact that the British paple’ll stand almost annything if its done in the name av the State. They’re far more easily managed than the cow in South Africa. A farmer there got a milkin’ stool sint out to him by a friod at Home,’ an’ he gave it to the Kaffir hoy that milked the cows, an* towld him to see that the stool was used at the next milkin’, . Nixt day the Kaffir turned up in a fearfully battered an’ bruised condition, but wid an’ empty pail. On bein’ questioned as to the cause the boy ruefully replied, ‘ Milk stool very nice, sir, but cow won’t sit on it.’ * * * I see by a Home paper that the latest fad in New York is learning the deaf and dumb alphabet. The smart set are studyin’ it, preparatory to using it on the streets when they return to town in the autumn. Oorney ses they’ll soon be able to undershtand wan another at the Bluff widout sphakin’, for whin he was down there the other night waitin’ to mate a young frind from Melbourne, he was at a presintation to a man that had jusht been married. ‘ Well, chaps,’ ses the man that got the present, ‘l’m like the Irishman —I don’t know what to say, but you know what I mean. ‘ Oh, bang it all, chaps, come down to Charley Sutherland’s and have a drink. You all understand that.’ An’ Corney ses they all cheered an’ made a bee line, or what they call down there a fire brigade line, to the hotel. * * * ,’Tis glad I am to see that our public min are wakin’ up to the necessity av Southland gettin’ fair play. Inshpector Rennie’s done his besht to put a set on the hawker’s from Dunedin, an’ has got no fewer than 15 convictions since he tuk affice, an’ thin Mr Hanan’a got us a police district all to ourselves, an’ the promise av a new gaol, an’ begorra ’tis mesilf is thiukin’ we’ll need all these conveniences if the Bible-in-schools question goes on, for I see the Rev Mr Gibson Smith ses Mr Neiderer rausht havq bin listenin’ behind the door whin the Bible-in-schools manifesto was drawn up, an’ Mr Neiderer ses no—that he lives at Gorge Road, an’ wasn’t near the door, an’ thin Mr Buxton sails in an’ deals Mr Smith a heavy blow, an’ what’s goin’ to happen I don’t rightly know. Some paple are clamourin’ for the Bible an’ others’ want the balancesheet av the axemen’s carnival, an’ betwane thim all I’m getdn’ as mixed np as the corner man at the minstrel show at Clifton the other night. His mate was thryin to explain what Irish descent meant, but he cudn’t see it annyhow, so the other give him an illustration. Ses he, ‘ye see me frind Kenneally there, that’s bin takin’ tickets all evenin’. Well, he was mendin’ the roof av his fowl house at Woodend, an’ he fell through to the ground. Well, that was a case av Irish descent.’ Denis.