THE FRETFUL PORCUPINE

Observer, Volume XXVII, Issue 48, 17 August 1907, Page 16

THE FRETFUL PORCUPINE

The Ethics of the Strap.

CAMBRIDGE, that hub of the universe, points the finger of scorn at Auckland. When the telephone line from Cam. bridge to Auckland was formally opened last week, Mayor Buckland rang up the Auckland Exchange and tried, to get into- communication with the Mayor of Auckland, but His Worship, evidently having thoughts of the Cambridge Borough Council in his mind, was discreetly absent, and Henry W. Wilson, it appears, was also bashful so far as Cambridge was concerned, for word went back to say that the Town Clerk was too busy to attend to the 'phone. Too busy to attend when Cambridge called ! What will the outside world say when it hears of this ? But if Mayor Buokland had only sent Mr Hally to talk back from the Aackland end, the conversation should certainly have proved exciting, although, perhaps, it would have been rather too great a strain for the wire. They could have talked about the loan proposals.

Thpre are two firemen in the employment of the Northern Steamship Company who have got a big eye to the main chance. Recently, evidence of the death of Captain Blaeklock was required. It was a mere matter of form, and these two firemen who were on the Kia Ora with the late skipper, and who are now employed on another boat belonging to the Northern Company, were brought in from Onehunga in order to sign a declaration that, to the best of their knowledge, the captain was dead. But these gallant firemen refused to sign anything at all until they found out who was going to pay their expenses — for coming in from Onehunga. And this notwithstanding the fact that during their short absence from duty their pay was going on just the same. Truly, the almighty dollar is responsible for many strange things.

The police are sensitive people. Rumoured tbat an inspector waited on Mr George Musgrove laat Saturday night and informed him that unless the show was closed down by midnight, trouble would follow. Mr Musgrove wasn't over - awed by this majestic threat, and the show wasn't closed down till twenty minutes past midnight. It will be interesting to see if trouble does follow. The police seem to be very virtuous in this case, but there is such a thing as zeal outrunning discretion.

The subject chosen for the sermon at, the Central Mission service last Sunday was "Found Out at Last." What the general public wants to know is whether this had a personal reference to any member of the Mission. Jade rumour is again busy.

The Rotorua Times waxes wroth over the fact that our own immaculate Herald published the Times account of the Rotorua railway accident word for word without acknowledgment. Well, as a matter of fact, the Herald did acknowledge the source of its information on the following day. But even if it hadn't done so, the Times need Dot have been surprised. Wasn't it tbe Wellington Post which once carpeted the Herald with the accusation that Grandma had scissored the whole account of the late Mr Seddon's funeral out of the columns of the Port ? The Rotorua Times is a young paper, and doesn't know the Herald.

Apropos of the fierce discussion raging as to whether boots are made of leather or of other compositions which are nothing like leather, a good yarn is told by an individual who kept a bootshop at Home. This person stocked several lines of locally-made boots, but, strangely enough, his customers would not touch these at any price, but always professed preference for foot-gear made on the Continent. This gave that boot man an idea. He had a big line made in a local factory, and on the sole of each boot he stamped the legend " Jamais d Paris" — (never at Paris). And the whole of that line was sold out in less than a week. People didn't know what Jamais d Paris meant, but the foreign wording was good enough for them, and they roße to the bait.

Ihe prevailing craze amongst the local aristocracy at the present time is that intellectual pursuit known as " biidge," and this craze has been responsible for a good many yarns, of which the following is a fair sample. A certain well-known resident and his wife had made all arrangements to go to a bridge party. Shortly before starting, they were rung up by the wife of another well-known resident who had a tale of woe to tell. She and her husband, it appeared, had been going to the party, too, but at the last moment her husband had sent word to say that business detained him in town. Would they mind if she came with them, as she didn't care about going alone. There was no objection. Consequently, the man, his wife, and the other fellow's wife got on a Remuera car and proceeded on their way.

Presently the conductor came round for the fares. The male member of the party naturally offered to pay the fare of the lady they were chaperoning, but ahe wouldn't hear of it at any price. " Oh, no," she said, taking out her purse ; " I really couldn't think of such a thing. In fact, I must insist on paying my own fare." Then she gasped, as the purse opened and revealed the princely sum of one"p°nDy — only that and nothing more. So the mere man had to pay, after all, while the discomfited lady smothered her blushes in a scent bottle. Yet the fact remains that that lady, who entered the card room with only one penny, left it with 27/6. How are these thinga done ?

Ada Murcott makes the somewhat startling statement that " No- License means righteousness." That's the sort of thing that will not command implicit credence even in No-License circles, for it would not be difficult to tind not a few No-License advocates whose claims to personal righteousness are of a rather doubtful character.

This falling away from grace on the Herald's part is becoming more pronounced every day. What can Grandma be thinking about when she publishes this sort of thing : — TRANSLATED NOVELS (some Ulustrated), Actresses' Photos. Catalogue ' free, or with sample, 2£d (letter postage). The address is a Parisian one. Noticeable that Grandma only published this ad. once. Probably she was seized with a sudden fit of repentance.

Alfred Otter, late of the Thames, may certainly claim to have fallen on his feet so far as financial considerations are concerned. Alfred is now manager of the Taquah and Aborro mines on the West Coast of Africa, where he draws the comfortable salary of £800 a-year, in addition to £30 a month entertaining allowances. Exactly whom he finds to entertain on the West Coast of Africa Alfred does not say, but a salary of £800 a year is guaranteed to make the Thames miners mouths water. Three other old Thames boys are with Alfred in the persons of Tom Bruce, Frank Bro berg and Walter Grundy. Loo Walton, who was manager of the' mine before Alfred took up the job, has been given charge of another group of mines on the coast.

Yet another small tradesman has been prosecuted for leaving one packing case on the pavement. Joseph Whitefield was fined 5s for depositing a packing case on the pavement in Shortland-street. And still the law wags its long ears and shuts its asinine eyes to the fact that packing cases by dozens are deposited in Queen-street every week. And this is a colony where all men are supposed to be equal.

A circumstance of misplaced faith occurred in a north Auckland town last week. A highly-respected vicar determined, in his own interests and those of his many parishioners whose duties lead them to the vicarage, to improve his main pathway, particularly so as its steepness during the winter months attained toa degree of slipperineas difficult to negotiate. He determined to asphalt the footway, and, having studied the matter in all its pros and eons, manfully discarded his ecclesiastical outer garment, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work with the vicarage spade to do the necessary grading. That completed, with virtuous enthusiasm he hied himself to the chief trading emporium and ordered a cask of coal tar to be forthwith forwarded to the church grounds.

The following morning, donning his gardening habiliments, he, in workmanlike manner, rolled the barrel of tar to the top • of the path incline, and, freeing the bung, allowed the coal residue co trickle down the footway whilst he diligently, with an old broom, directed its course evenly over the whole of the arranged passage. He was struck with the complete absence of that agreeable and pungent aroma so characteristic of coal tar, but put his inability to distinguish it down to the fact that he was suffering from a good attack of influenza. The tar was spread from top to bottom of the way, every inch receiving its due share, and it was with feelings of unmixed satisfaction that the reverend gentlemen regarded the excellenoe of his work.

The following day, on surveying the result of his labours, he became impressed with the fact that something was wrong. The tar showed no semblance of drying, and moreover wore an unusual appearance, and the presence of many kinds of insects in and about the sticky mixture caused the cleric to suspect that he had not carried out his work according to the strict rules of asphalting. He therefore determined to secure the services of a county council employee . who is one of his parishioners, as well as being an expert in asphalt-work, and to seek his opinion upon the tarring attempted and done. The expert viewed the dubious-looking coating, and expressed his belief that the tar nsed was evidently of a peculiar and poor quality. Cannily investigating the material in many ways ahd. forms, he felt constrained to taste an infinitesimal portion, and, steadily eyeing his father of the church, was able to pronounce tha_t the supposed tar was treacle ! And so it proved. Inattention pr carelessness of a storeman had led to a thirty-six gallon cask of molasses being despatched to the vicarage instead of the Auokland Gas Company's! produot, „'. .V

Stated now 1 that the Wanganui people don't intend to apply to the State for financial assistance in connection, with the Webb testimonial. Is, this the beginning of the coolingdown process? If Webb wants that testimonial, the sooner he comes back the better, otherwise, by the time he arrives, the whole thing, like the Seddon memorials, will have been forgotten.

Here's an object lesson to New Zealanders. Sixteen thousand miles away, people are interesting themselves in raising funds for a memorial to Edward Gibbon Wakefield, one of the leading founders of the colony, and funds appear to be comiDg in freely. We, on the spot, can't raise enough to perpetuate the memory of JKichard John Seddon, who is decidedly fresher in public memory than Wakefield is. There's a lesson to be learnt here.

Here is the romance of a gaol in the far North. The weather had been wet and boisterous. For two days a stiff nor'-easter had raged. The one occupant of the deep and dismal dungeon in the county gaol had in consequence to content himself with the narrow confines of his 12 xlO cell. The direction of bhe gale necessitated the cell door being always closed, and matters were gloomy. The third morning broke fair and pleasant, but as the police officer had been called away over-night to an adjoining settlement, his better half did not consider it good policy to liberate his charge during his absence. At midday the constable returned, and was prolific in his sympathies with the imprisoned one, who was keenly feeling the eflects of his close incarceration. The day was Saturday, and on the recreation reserve was to be contested an important Cup football fixture. It was imperative that the police officer should be present at euch, and it was equally important that the prisoner should be exercised.

Both were keen enthusiasts of our colonial game, and a nod and a wink and a general understanding resulted in both parties being present at the contest. The arrangement was eminently satisfactory. The constable, by

virtue of his orfice, could not join in the barracking, but his charge made an exceptionally fine voicer, and in response to every nudge would cause the air to fly apart as be yelled to the local team to " get into it." The bystanders conceded that he was as good as a sixteenth man, and consequently the local team won. At the close of the fixture, constable and prisoner retraced their steps to the territory of justice, complacently satisfied with the result of tbeir day's outing, and, as is the way with enthusiasts, later on discussed the game in all its details, with complete satisfaction to both.

Our local daily papers are highly progressive articles. They devote columns to interviews with evepy nonentity in the lecturing line that happens to come out here on' the stump. Yet when a man like, say, Mr J. A. Gilruth, the Government Vet., returns from a trip to the Old Country, full of facts of interest to farmers and the general public, these progressive dailies put in a three line local stating that he has arrived, and that is all. Probably they trust to slicing an interview out of the more progressive Southern papers. It's a poor policy.

Some of these trades unionists have queer ideas. At last meeting of the local Trades and Labour Oouncil a copy of a resolution passed by the Dunedin Trades and Labour Council was submitted, protesting against the proposed granting of licenses to shoot game, the writers expressing the opinion that it was not in the interests of the workers, but of the wealthy and leisured classes. Tbe Dunedin branch also solicited the support of all democrats and economic thinkers to prevent such an unjust and cruel measure frogn becoming law. Apparently, because the so-called workers can't go game shooting, nobody else should be allowed to do so either. It is interesting to note that the local council supported this absurd resolution. And yet the tourists, who are the " wealthy and leisured class " that come out here to shoot game and indulge in sport generally, annually put thousands of pounds, directly or indirectly, into the pockets of the trades unionists.

With eyes askance, or glances sly, In childhood's days we passed it by ; Or, prostrate on a parent's lap, We felt its power — the magic strap.

We hankered not to feel it then, Yet fn this world of trams and men, The only object worth a rap Is just to clutch — the magic strap. — B. Lawlor,