TOPICS OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue XXIV, 14 December 1895, Page 741

TOPICS OF THE WEEK.

WE are accustomed to be told that almost everything we have or do in this colony is ‘ better managed in America.’ It is an every-day experience, for some one who has been over to 'Frisco, orgone Home via New York, to observe patronisingly of something we colonials have admired : * Ah, yes, very nice for a new place, but you should see how they do this in the United States, my boy.' At first, of course, one used to feel inclined to say fervently, ‘ Something the United States,’ but eels so they say get used to skinning, and the custom has rendered us callous. At the same time there are one or two things in which I have always prided myself New Zealanders could hold their own even against the United States. I was not prepared, lor instance, to be informed on the arrival of the ’Frisco mail boat the other morning that New Zealanders didn t know how to meet a mail boat or—brace yourself for a shock—how to kiss. So far as ’ meeting a mail boat ’ is concerned I remarked that I didn’t know there was any special means or method, mode or manner about it, but 1 warmly controverted the distressing assertion that in the humble social virtue of kissing New Zealanders could not hold their own against all comers, including • men, women, and children of the native race ' —I mean the United States. ‘ A poor thing, sir, but our own,’ I (juoted, or slightly misquoted, and went on to say that here was a thing of which New Zealanders made somewhat of a speciality. He interrupted in the rude way such men have, ‘ That’s all your etarnal ignorance. Wait till we get home, and I’ll show you something that will convince you they manage kissing better in the States, and have more of it.’ Now, I put it to my readers, could any New Zealander stand that ? * More of it 1’ holy Jehosophat ! * Better managed’ would have been enough, but to say ‘ more of it.’ Monstrous ! Naturally I hurried him home, and he exhumed a New York Journal of recent date in which the arrival of a mail steamer arriving at the wharf was made the subject of a half-column article. He said his eldest brother had written that article, and that his brother had been sent to do it because of his passion for hard fact and severity of style which would render it certain there would be no exaggeration. I read the article, and I must confess it flattened me considerably for a moment. It begins fairly enough : ’ Kight or wrong everybody likes to see kissing that is, everybody who isn’t soured on life. The sight isn’t equal to the act, but nevertheless, it is a cheering sight.’ That’s all right : no one in this colony, at all events, will deny that. ‘The sight isn’t equal to the act,’ * that’s so,’ as they say in Yankee land. The scribe then goes on to say that there are places in the city where every kind of osculatory salutation can be witnessed several times a week. New York is one better than we are here, and there’s no use denying it. I would say it was a good job too ; but my ’Murrican friend would only retort unpleasantly, ’ sour grapes. ’ One of the occasions alluded to appears to be the arrival of a mail steamer, which, it will be remembered, we don’t know how to do. This is how they manage it in the States : — The end of the pier is packed with as happy an aggregation of mortals as can be found anywhere. Out in midstream is the big, black hulkd steamer. Nearly everybody on the pieris going Io kiss somebody on the steamer, and rice versa. and in most in stances the exchange will not be limited. Pleasurable expectancy makes everybody good-natured. The crowd doesn't mind having its toes trod upon or its elbows jostled. Pushed and pulled by panting little tugs the ocean leviathan, itself powerless aid un wieldly, crawls toward the pier. At last she gets near enough for recognitions to be exchanged. Handkerchiefs aie waved frantic ally. Kisses are wafted across the intent esing span -. Greetings are hurled from shore to ship and from ship to shore. Hverybody js in a tight place, but nobody can keep still. Women on the pier and on the steamer jump and clap their hands ecstatically. So far so good, taken all round, and with a table, spoonful of salt or so that would stand for a description of the arrival of a Sydney mail boat, bar the tugs (our tugs are usually of the human description and on the wharf), and the statement that everyone is going to kiss someone. Our people don’t do it that way. However, to proceed : It takes an awfully long time to get the big steamship snug alongside of the pier. It is deliciously tantalizing to those who are impatiently waiting to rush into one another's arms. But it gives the mere spectator, who has no such reason for impatience, time to observe that, there are some stunning girls on board that steamship. The glow of health is on their cheeks and tho light of love in their eyes, and they look their prettiest because, in their excitement, they forgot themselves entirely. The breeze toys with bangs, whisks veils aside and sets their hair adrift. But their eyes are on ’Tom ' or • Harry ' or • Charley.' on the pier, and they are oblivious to such trifles. They won’t bo so to-morrow ; they will be just like other girls then, but now they are different. and that very difference makes them so attractive, and makes you wish that you were ‘Tom ' or ’ Harry 'or ’Charley.’ The steamship is

made fftHt at last the gangplank is xwung out and the race to get the first kixa begins. Here certainly is a touch of nature which makes us all kin. Everyone who has met a steamer must have wished he was meeting one of the girls on board, for there always are pretty girls on board somehow. But somehow we in New Zealand miss what follows when this reporter ‘ with a passion for cold fact ’ describes that race for the first kiss :—

A man starts in the lead, and is half way down when a puff of wind lifts his hat. He pauses to clutch it and loses the race. A superb brunette, with hat securely moored darts by, and in another moment is embraced by stalwart arms, and two spirits have • rushed together at the touching of the lips.’ Nor do they mind who sees it, and the spectator looks on without compunctions of conscience. In a moment the osculatory engagement becomes general. It is kisses to right of you and kisses to left of you. You can't see them all, can’t see one-tenth of them, but the regret vanishes when you recollect that it will be practically repeated two or three times a week for a month to come, so that you can come again and see what you missed the first time because nature limits you to one pair of eyes. All the world loves a lover, or ought to, and naturally the kisses which lovers exchange interest one most. There is something about them—the look which accompanies them, the blush which acknowledges them by which they are recognised and classified.

No, we must admit it. We cannot do this or see this in New Zealand. People here do kiss under similar circumstances, but they do it hurriedly and shamefacedly. In a conservatory, at a moonlight picnic, in a conveniently shaded verandah corner, in a garden nook, the New Zealand lover is, as my American friend would say, ‘ no slouch,’ but in bestowing an unaffected affectionate kiss of greeting in public he does not shine. However, let us see how the Yankees conclude their reception of a mail boat, etc. :—

Osculation continues unrestrained for half an hour or more. There is contagion about it. It makes you feel like kissing some body yourself. It almost prompts you to go up to some girl and say, * Pardon me, but I am a stranger to everybody here and there is no one to kiss me. Don't you feel sorry, and won’t you try to console me Hut the rules of polite society forbid it. and if they didn’t. 'Tom ' or "Charley ' or " Harry ' would have something to say that wouldn’t be a bit pleasant.

Space forbids further quotation, but I fear the foregoing has made it clear that the Y’ankee’s contention is proved. We do not know how to receive a mail steamer. It is a pity, too, for the wharf would be a pleasant lounge on mail days if the programme our matter-of-fact reporter describes could eventuate at our New Zealand wharves.

TjIVERVONE in these days suffers from headaches — 1 U at least nearly everyone appears to do so. I have come across a cure which I have not seen described elsewhere, and which I read is almost invariably efficacious. Thus run the directions :—One of the best cures for an obstinate headache is the simple act of walking backward. If suggested, this cure is usually scoffed at because it is so simple, but the man who recommends it is well known, and asserts positively that he has yet to meet the sufferer who, having tried it, has failed to gain relief. ‘Nobody,’he says, ‘has yet discovered or formulated a reason why the process of walking backward should bring sudden relief, but that it does, and will do so, appears beyond argument. Physicians say that it is probably because the reflex action of the body brings about a reflex action of the brain, and thus drives away the pain that when induced by nervousness is the result of too much going forward. Don’t you know how at such times you have the feeling that everything in your head is being pushed forward ? As soon as you begin to walk backward, however, there comes a feeling of everything being reversed, and this is followed by relief. The relief is always certain, and generally speedy. Ten minutes is the longest I have found necessary. An entry or a long narrow room, makes the best place for such a promenade. You should walk very slowly, letting the ball of your foot touch the floor first, and then the heel, just the way, in fact, that one should, in theory, walk forward, but which, in practice, is so rarely done. Besides curing nervous headache, there is no better way to learn to walk well and gracefully forward than the practice of walking backward. A halfhour of it once a day will do wonders toward improving the gait of any woman.

ARE country people in this colony more kindly and unselfishly good-natured than townsfolk. It certainly seems so to me. A few days ago business compelled me to pay a flying visit to the country. A young couple, for whom I am trustee, arrived from England, and it was my duty to travel up country with them and see them duly settled with their goods ami chatties on their farm. As this was the first attempt at setting up housekeeping, the said goods and chattels were somewhat extensive, and the ‘ settling down ’ process a slightly arduous undertaking. From the moment of our arrival the kindness and resourceful helpful-

ness of those who lived in the neighbourhood was simply amazing, and I could not help contrasting it with the indifference with which the majority of townsfolk would have shown under similar circumstances. For instance, the moment the little steamer (the place is on one of the Northern rivers) touched the wharf, a neighbouring station-holder, a complete stranger to three of the party, came on board, insisting, on behalf of his wife and himself, that our whole party should forthwith accompany him home and ‘ put up ’ under his roof until such time as our furniture was unpacked and our own establishment settled. He would not hear of our stopping at the country ‘ pub,’ and there and then sent the ladies off under convoy of his son. He himself remained in the pouring rain helping us to get our innumerable packing cases safely stowed for the night.

And as it was with him it was with everyone else. To have hired labour to assist in getting the furniture and packing cases to the new domicile would have been impossible, and if not impossible, ruinous. But there was no need. Assistance was given on every side, and in a genial you-would-do-the-same-for-me sort of style that prevented one feeling overwhelmed with one’s obligations. Lumping huge packing cases into punts (the mode of conveyance in that part of the world), bruising one’s hands and shins in the porterage of a heavy iron stove—the most heaven-forsaken article to ‘ fetch and carry ’ of which I have experience—and generally doing the duties of a rouseabout on behalf of newly-arrived neighbours, seems to be regarded as quite a matter-of-fact affair in the country, or at least in the part of the country I refer to. Ido not think similar unselfishness and helpfulness is characteristic of the town. The wear and tear of business life, our intentness on coining the almighty dollar, smother and destroy the virtues referred to which still live in the country. Our town motto is the ancient * Nothing for nothing, and very little for sixpence.’

A GENTLEMAN interested in the question of the longevity of cats has sent me the photo which appears below, and which he believes represents one of the longest lived cats on record. The photo was taken when the cat was 16 years and 7 months old, and she lived to the truly marvellous age for a cat of 17 years 1 month and 5 days. The origin of the domestic cat is, I learned on looking up the subject, enveloped in mystery. Reference is made to it in Sanskrit writings 2,000 years old, and still more ancient records of it are to be found in the monumental figures and cat mummies of Egypt. The latter, according to De Blainville, belong to three distinct species, two of which are said to be still found, both wild and domesticated, in parts of Egypt. The Gloved Cat of Nubia (Felis maniculata), which also occurs as a mummy, approaches most nearly in size, and in the tapering form of the tail, to the domestic cat, but Professor Owen has shown that there are peculiarities in the dentition of the species, sufficient to invalidate its

claim to be considered the ancestor of the domestic form. The difficulty of recognising this ancestor in any single wild species has led many naturalists, including Temminck, Pallas, and Blyth, to the conclusion that Felis ilomcstica is the product of many species commingled ; and whatever weight may be attached to this view, there is sufficient evidence to show that domestic cats in different parts of the world have been greatly modified by frequent crossings with such wild species as occur in those parts. In the north of Scotland at the present day, the native species is believed occasionally to cross with the house cat, the product living in the houses. The disposition and habits of the domestic cat are

familiar to all, and need not be dwelt upon here. It has never evinced that devotion to man which characterises the dog, though many individual cases of feline attachment might be quoted. It becomes, however, strongly attached to particular localities,and will find its way back from the most distant places although conveyed thither under cover. How it performs such feats has long puzzled naturalists, and no theory that has yet been advanced seems adequately to meet the case. It has been contended recently by Mr A. R. Wallace that a cat which is being conveyed to a distance blindfold will have its sense of smell in full exercise, and will by this means take note of the successive odours it encounters on the way ; that these will leave on its mind ‘ a series of images as distinct as those we should receive by the sense of sight ;’ and that ‘ the recurrence of these odours in their proper inverse order —every house, ditch, field, and village having its own well-marked individuality would make it an easy matter for the animal in question to follow the identical route back, however many turnings and cross roads it may have followed.’

Among the ancient Egyptians the cat was sacred to Isis or the moon ; temples were raised, and sacrifices offered in its honour, and its body was embalmed at death. Nor is this feeling quite extinct among modern Egyptians, for in Cairo at the present time there is an endowment in operation for the lodging and feeding of homeless cats. In the folk-lore of European nations the cat is regarded with suspicion as the favourite agent of witchcraft, and seems often to have shared in the cruelties inflicted on those who were supposed to practise the ‘black art.’ In Germany at the present day black cats are kept away from the cradles of children as omens of evil, while the appearance of a black cat on the bed of a sick person used to be taken as an announcement of approaching death.

IN the recent number of the Zoologist Mr Taylor White, who has been farming sheep in New Zealand for many years, has some interesting notes upon the Kea parrot, Nestor notabilis. Mr White writes in a somewhat combative spirit, but his report, despite the science correspondent of the Pall Mall Gazette, confirms the accepted belief that the Kea has in recent times entirely changed its habits. Mr Taylor White was in New Zealand before the Kea began to attack sheep. According to him, it did not originally live upon berries and honey, as Mr Wallace suggested in his volume upon Darwinism. It lived in the mountains above the forestline, where berries do not grow, and its food was the lichen upon stones. Shepherds began to find that sheep which had missed a shearing and so had long wool, died suddenly, the only sign of death being a small round hole far down the back. The cause of the hole was found to be the Kea, which, according to Mr Taylor White, was attracted to the sheep by the resemblance of the wool to lichens, and chose the par. ticular spot because it conld hold on securely there, in spite of the attempts of the unfortunate animal to dislodge it. According to the same authority, the parrot had no special predilection for the kidney-fat, but simply picked a hole to obtain blood.

Whether Mr Taylor White be right in supposing the resemblance of long wool to lichens to have been the cause of change, or there be more truth in the earlier suggestions that the Kea learnt the ease of a carnivurous habit from the pickings of slaughterhouses and afterwards went straight to the sheep, is a minor matter which may or may not be settled ; but it is interesting to find addititional corroboration from one who has seen the change in progress, of a complete change from vegetable to animal food occurring in a short space of years.