AUCKLAND EXHIBITION NOTES.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue I, 7 January 1899, Page 17

AUCKLAND EXHIBITION NOTES.

(By our Flippant Flaneur.) As everyone anticipated, the Exhibition has Boomed with the largest sort of B during the holidays. All previous records have been broken, and notwithstanding several very powerful counter attractions, the evening attendances have all been of a phenomenal nature. Until this week a singular feature in the crowd was the absence of country folk and visitors. This week they have come, and come—not singly, but in battalions. They are easily discernible, not from any difference in dress, for, if anything, they are smarter than our own folk—but from the superior briskness and the thoroughgoing way in which they attack the serious business of sightseeing. Their pluck and perseverance in the face of the overpowering fatigue which (even with the strongest mortals) follows two or three hours’ perambulation of the Exhibition passages, arouses my unbounded admiration. Their staying power is truly extraordinary, and one can only envy, with a deep and mighty envy, their astounding capacity for enjoyment. They get the best and uttermost out of everything, from high-class concerts to Punch and Judy and cycle sports.

I cannot but think, too, that they must have increased the business of the lollie and sweetmeat stores a hundred per cent. And this brings me to a grievance, which I have long wished to air. Why are there not, at all theatres and concert halls, certain seats set apart for those whose enjoyment is incomplete unless they ave eating throughout the entire entertainment? Or, since the vast majority of theatre and concert goers in the colony appear to belong to this category, why is not some provision made for those to whom sugar-sucking is not merely unnecessary but repellant? At the risk of being denounced as a faddist, I must protest against being bound to sit next to, in front of, or behind people engaged for hours at a stretch in vigorous and outwardly visible, and, worse still, audible exercise of the organ of mastication, and the perpetual pumping of the saliva glands. Ham sandwiches and pork pies I can forgive, specially if taken openly, and not in surreptitious scraps from a crackling bag. Chocolates are offensive, but can be borne, but ‘mixtures,’ lozenges, rock, or boiled lollies, which require biting, and rollings of the tongue, and smackings of the lips, and gurglings of the throat in their consumption, are utterly intolerable, and incline one to homicidal mania.

The passing of the bags and boxes backwards and forwards, is of itself an outrage, and it is a most repulsive and disgusting experience to gaze at the stage between and over whole rows of champing jaws. The habit, which is one of pure and unadulterated greediness, is so universal that it is hopeless to attempt its abolition save by heroic measures. Any man about to marry should make it a condition that the girl of his choice shall forthwith give up lollie-sucking at concerts, etc., for his sake. No doubt it would lead to many matches coming to nothing, but eventually it would do good. In the meantime, I do implore managers to provide one or two seats in all parts of their theatres for those who take what refreshments they want at home or between the acts only. This is not so wide a digression as it may seem, for the vice is seen at its very worst at the Exhibition. There is a ‘sweet’ stall just near the entrance to the concert hall, and everyone seems to invest. At an organ recital on Friday afternoon one could hardly hear the instrument for the smacking of jaws and the swallowing of sugared saliva. Fact! The splendid programme announced for the evening concert by the Orchestral Society and the Exhibition soloists was not sufficient to draw u very large audience to the Choral Hall. The night was warm to excess, and many preferred the open air. but the fine programme was listened to with such evident appreciation by those who braved the discomfort of a hot hall, very badly ventilated, that Mr Arthur Towsey and his really capital orchestra must have shared in the enjoyment they so evidently bestowed.

The arrangements were good, and those who had come to enjoy the whole concert were not unduly disturbed by those who regarded it as a promenade entertainment. Of necessity, there was some coming and going, but the ushers—whose work is no sinecure, by the way—did their utmost to confine it to its proper times and seasons, and when it is considered that this was a ’race night’ in the height of the holidays, it must be confessed they did their duty admirably. At the same time, some eork carpet, or even cocoanut matting, down the main alley ways would be a vast relief both to the audience and the musicians, who must frequently be on edge at the interruptions they have occasionally to endure. The concert opened with the Entr’acte ami Valse from the beautiful Coppelia ballet music, and was followed by the Mazurka. Both items were well rendered. The time was excellent, this being specially the ease in the Mazurka, which went with admirable verve and go. The overture of William Tell and the Unfinished Symphony were, as on a previous occasion, delightfully interpreted. Madame Du Rieu sang a somewhat unfamiliar operatic solo, which, though beautiful in the extreme, and sung in masterly fashion, did not arouse much enthusiasm, but she received a perfect ovation for her capital rendering of the ‘Promise of Life,’ a song more easily ‘understanded of the people.’ A new song, ‘Oh, for a Burst of Song,’ by Albertson, was heard for the first time in the colony. It could scarcely have enjoyed more favourable conditions for a debut, being sung by Mr John Prouse. Though a musicianly composition, the song is not, however, one likely to have any particular vogue. Possibly, it might improve on acquaintance, but on a first hearing the music appeared to lack colour or interest.