Minor Matters.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue II, 14 July 1900, Page 60

Minor Matters.

Our Reserve of Generals. “The British Army has at this moment a larger proportion of generals who have seen active service in the field than is possessed by that of any other country," writes Robert Machlay in the .lune number of the “Windsor Magazine." "Nearly forty generals of various grades have taken part in the war in South Africa; but in what I have ventured to call our ‘reserve’ of generals, officers who have not been in the present war. and who number eon--siderably more than a hundred, there are very few whose records do not include two or three campaigns. India has frequently been spoken of as the training ground of our army, and it certainly lias given us some splendid soldiers. Most of our generals have served in one capacity or another there, and not a few of them have had charge of important operations either on its frontiers, or in Afghanistan, or Burmah. There are constantly upwards of fifty of our generals in India, and, as any army man will tell you, ‘lndian men are always good men.' Our forces have at their head gener.als who have had excellent opportunities, either in India, or in Egypt, or. in both, of perfecting themselves at first-hand in their business. And while it is no doubt the ease that the great soldier, like the great poet, or the great anybody else, is born and not made, still it cannot be disputed that knowledge derived from personal observation of actual warfare must be of enormous service: and in this very valuable knowledge our generals are rich. Nor, numerically considered, are they an insignificant body. There are on the active list nearly one hundred and sixty generals of whom fifteen are of the full rank,thirty or more are lieutenantgeneral. and a hundred and ten are major - generals. Brigadier - generals are not usually included in the list of ‘generals,’ but if they are added, then our army has close upon two hundred generals, and a hundred and ten are our field marshals, of whom there are eight, although our two most distinguished generals, Lord Wolseley and Lord Roberts, are amongst them, because they form a class by themselves.) Thus, if ’ we deduct the forty — the actual number is less—who are in South Africa, our reserve of generals is something like a hundred and fifty st rung." + + + Mottoes Slightly Mixed. A married couple who recently went housekeeping had just enough money to buy the necessary furniture. They bad not sufficient cash to invest in jnot toes and piotures. The young wife is handy with a brush, but has considerable yet to learn in books. She made an effort to supply the deficiency in mottoes for the wall by working at odd times on plain cardboard with water colours. Here are some of the mottoes that adorn the new' home: — “A Stitch in Time is the Noblest Work of Hod.” "What is Home without a Fool and his Money .”' "People who Live in Glass Houses I‘Toek Together.” “Birds of a feather gather no moss.” "Honesty is the thief of time.” "He who fights and runs away gets the worm." "If in union there is strength, then ’tis folly to be wise.” “Procrastination is but skin deep.” "The sword ain’t in it with the pen.” "How sharper than a serpent’s child if is to have a thankless tooth.” "Earls to bed and early to rise is as bad as a fire.” “He that goes a-borrowing makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” "Great oaks should keep near Bliore." “Economy never did run smooth.” “L’se the rod and save the jam.” + + + Maori Hospitality. The hospitality of the Maori is proverbially lavish, but the “Graphic" imagines the following breakfast, provided for two Europeans who visited n Maori meeting at Koriniti is a fairly good record breaker. There was placed on the table a pig and a half, rosted in a Maori oven; another largo joint of pork, also roasted: four pigeons, boiled (with natural stuffing), two large dishes of potatoes, two large

loaves of bread, six plates heaped up with mixed biscuits and cakes, two large currant cakes, two plum puddings weighing quite 71b each, two mutton birds, dish of kumaras (sweet potatoes), two large pots of tea beautifully brewed, two basins of sugar, two pounds of butter, and equally liberal supplies of condiments. Needless to say. the two guests were unequal to the task of polishing off quite the whole of this little spread, but it would have been quite in accordance with Maori custom had they pocketed the sundry morsels that were not disposed of. At our teafights mid bun scrambles the motto is “eat all and pocket none," but Maori hospitality wi'il not have it so, and the rule is, “eat what you can and pocket the rest." This meal, it is worthy' of not, was not an exceptional affair, the same profuse liberality being extended at every meal time from the Friday to the Monday. >!• 4. 4. The Parson's Teeth. There is a story of a clergyman who had taken temporary duty for a friend, and who had the ill-luck to injure his false teeth during the week. The plate was sent to the dentist's for repairs, a. faithful assurance being given that it shotlid be duly returned by Sunday’s post, but the dentist or the post proved faithless. With the assistance of the clerk the clergyman managed to stumble through the prayers, but felt it would be useless to attempt to preach. He therefore instructed the clerk to make some excuse for him and dismiss the congregation. But his feelings may be better imagined than described when, in the seclusion of the vestry, he overheard th? clerk in impressive tones thus deliver the excuse. “Parson is very sorry, but it is his misfortune io be obligated to wear a set of artful teeth. They busted last Wednesday, and he ain't got them back from Auckland to-day, as he was promised. I've helped him all I could through the service, but I can't, do more for him. 'tisn't any use for him going up in the pulpit, for you wouldn’t understand a word he said, so he thinks you all may as well go home!” •fr + -fr A Puzzle for the Photographer. Sometimes a photographer has puzzles of his own. A man came into a Wabash avenue atelier—there is nothing less than an atelier nowadays— : with a photograph of himself and a woman. “This is me and my first wife,’’ he said. “I want you to take a photograph of me and my second wife.” “All right. Get the lady and come into the next room and I will pose you.” “Oh. I don't want t.o sit for my picture. 1 want you to take my second wife, and have her picture taken with this photograph of mine that T had with my first wife.” “Well, why not sit with your present wife?” “Oh, I couldn't never get as young looking a picture as this again. My second wife is a younger woman, and I want to look as young as she is.” + + + Betters to the Bank. Savings banks, which often have many depositors who are totally unfamiliar with business usages, and are also unskilled in the use of the English language, receive many strange letters. A teller in a savings- bank sends some interesting examples of. such missives. Here is a threatening one: “Mr Cashier of the Bank 1 have writ onet befor to send my munny. If I dent get it by next Thursday too getlier with fourpence postage I will contest it with my life.—sure without fail. Timothy Sullivan.” As Mr Sullivan gave no address, and as the postmark on his envelope could not be made out, the bank did not. at last accounts, know whether he “contested it with his life” or not. The following note was received from a man who thought it very hard that his “order” was refused payment: “Mr Cashier I give this mon the privilege to'lift tin pounds off of your bank. —Pat Flanagan.” And probably this good woman thoiight her case a hard one also: “Mr Cashier of the Savings Bank:

Little johnny have the whooping' conf and so 1 need ten shillings, will I get it I dont know.—Mrs McCarthy.” Here is another curious communication: “This book belongs to me mother-in-law. and she promises to die most every day, and 1 want to get your advice about the best way fpr me to draw' her money.” This pathetic and quite charming letter was from a depositor who had gone to Ireland: “Killarney. Ireland, March — 189 . “Mr , Savings Hank Cashier: “Dear Sir, — You was so good to send me my money. 1 got it all right. If you will nlease let me know the size of your feet I shall be very glad, for I will nit you a nice nair of socks . It will be a great favour. I hope you wifi. —Your humble servant, Mary •fr + <fi Maoris on the War. We have often noticed the excited, state the Maoris get into when they are viewing the pictures of the war in Spnth Africa, which have been displayed in some of the shop windows, says the Waikato “Argus." There is no pro-Boer about them, and you cannot insult them more than to insinuate their sympathies are against the English. Mr. A. It. Hine hail a funny illustration of this the other day, when he was driving a mob of cattle between Atiamuri and Taupo. A native rode up alongside him with a bag slung on either side of his horse. In the right-hand bag was a live pig, his nose protruding through a slit in the bag, and in the one on the other side of the horse was a large piece of pumice stone, just to balance the pig. Of course a korero took place, and the Maori impressed the fact on Mr. Hine that the pig was one of Stubbin’s breed, and was worth a lot of money. Thinking the native was bluffing Mr. Hine asked what he would take for the pig, and the Maori said he would not swop for one of the herd of bullocks, as the pig was so valuable a one. Mr. Hine then asked: “Is it a boar?" This was more than the native could stand, and he replied: “No bally fear. It’s no Boer. It’s English." And then the Maori rode off very much offended that such an insinuation should be made against his pig. ♦ Some New Balls. “The ‘heart that, beats under the Highlandej-’s kilt’ has," the “St. James Gazette” points out, “been rivalled by M.P.’s remark, just published, that ‘the white face of the British soldier is the backbone of the Indian army’; and Mr. H. W. Lucy, in the ‘Daily News,’ tells us ‘that the war in South Africa has effectually closed the. door that, a little more than a year ago, was eagerly listened to.’ We have, however, ‘put our foot down with a strong arm,’ and how fortunate that ‘the best of the English soldiers have been found to'be ‘lrish?’ A correspondent at Birr describes how a lady was killed while hunting, and adds, ‘The deceased met with a similar accident on a previous occasion.’ Another ‘had been in the Transvaal between six and seven times,’ and an ‘Evening News’ correspondent declares, with a spirit, which does him credit, that he has ‘never put his name to an anonymous letter.’ ” + + + Medical Reporting. Some amusing instances of medical reporting were recently given in “Physician and Surgeon.” A medical correspondent gave an account, of an operation on the foot, and concluded by saying. “In three months he walked up and/Jown theTwards before the class, and his foot is now as useful as the other ami not in the slightest degree lame." The language of the doctor was somewhat mixed when he described a serious hospital case by remarking. “The girl was dying of long continued disease, so lowering that she must soon have passed into a condition practically incurable.” Some careless reporter wrote that “Dr. William Smylie exhibited an ovarian tumour complicated with malignant disease of the peritoneum. Her age was perhaps,” he continued, “between fifty and sixty.” A remarkable case occurred which the same gentleman thought worth noting. “The case,” lie said, “was interesting because the recovery was almost a perfect one, except that the woman died.” The employment of ordinary language in cases where technical language is required often produces ridiculous results. It is curious to read, for instance, such a sentence as the following about a sur-

geon: “He felt a good deal of doubt as to the best way of treating the hole left by the tumour.’’ With aperture, foramen, lacunae, cavity at his disposal, the word “hole” seemed altogether too unscientific for a medical journal. The protest of a medical officer of health against allowing drainage to contaminate the sub-soil was gaily decorated in the - following language: “When we perforate the living humus with a pipe and take our dirty water to the sub-soil, we. as it were, break a hole in our own filth, and every chemist knows what that means.” A writer once criticised a medical Parliamentary Bill by saying,“This new Parliamentary Bill is calculated to put a pill into every man’s mouth, and bring the Black Dose home to every hearth in England!” * ♦ * Who Made the Joke ? It is astonishing —and yet not. astonishing either—that everybody who can read or understand at all can bring to mind some of the best things that have appeared in “Punch.” Who, for instance, does not know that celebrated piece of advice which was given to people about to get married? It turns up oftencr in conversation and in the newspapers than any other joke of the century. The. admonition occupied a modest corner of “Punch’s Almanack” for 1845. Who supplied it was long a subject of doubt and uncertainty: but “chance at last revealed” that the author was Henry Mayhew—the elder of a noted brotherhood, one of the founders of “Punch,” and the laborious compiler of “London Labour and the London Poor." And that other famous joke about the old farmer who. having tested curacoa, cried out to the writer, “Oi zay, young man, oi'll tak zum o’ that in a moog!”—the origin of it also has been traced. Supplied by Dean Hole, it was illustrated by Leech and printed in the issue for October 15, 1859. The same good fortune has attended the perhaps still more celebrated joke about the “Peebles body” who “had na been in London abune two boors when—bang!—went saxpence!” The words were overheard by Sir John Hilbert, who repeated them to Birket Foster, who in turn sent them to Charles Keene. If the history of the sketch of the volunteers who had lost the big drum could be as accurately traced, I think it would be found to have, come from the North. Charles Keene was indebted for many of his best things to Joseph Crawhall, a wellknown townsman of Newcastle who was saturated with North-country humour, and it is as likely as not that the big drum story was one of them. It is certain, at any rate, that several of the local anecdotes which first appeared in the “Weekly Chronicle” were afterwards illustrated in “Punch." 4* 4* 4* Barnum and the Bottles. P. T. Barnum was not always the wealthy caterer he became late in ilfe. On the contrary, his early life was associated with such poverty-stricken surroundings, that the want of money had undoubtedly muc hto do with that smartness for which his name has become famous. His faher died leaving the family very badly off, the mother being put to all sorts of straits to keep the home together: and when Barnum—who was first of all a farmer’s boy—commenced his career, he, according to his own account, “began the world with nothing, and was barefooted at that.” His first berth of any consequence was a clerkship in a general store, at which time re was “dreadfully poor”; but, says ho, “I determined to have some hioney." Consequently, impelled by impecuniosity, he ■speedily became ingenious. One day, when left in charge of the business, a pedlar called with a waggon ftill of common green glass bottles, varying in size from half a pint to half a gallon. The store was what was called a barter store. A number of hat manufacturers traded there, paying in hats, and giving store orders to many of their employees, and other firms did likewise, so that the business boasted an immense number of Ismail customers. The pedlar was anxious to do business, and Barnum knew that his employers had a quantity of goods that were regarded as unsaleable stock. Upon these he put inordinately high prices, and then expressed his willingness to barter some goods for the whole lot of bottles. The pedlar was only too glad, never dreaming of disposing of all his load, and the exchange was effected. Shortly after, Mr Keeler, one of the firm, returned, and, on beholding the placff

crowded with the bottles, asked in amazement, “What have you been doing?’’ "Trading goods f.or bottles,” replied Barnum; to which his employer made the unpalatable rejoinder, “You are a fool”; adding, “You have bottles enough for twenty years.” Barnum took the reproof very meekly, only saying that he hoped to get rid of them in less than three months, and then explained what goods he had given in exchange. The master was very pleased when he found that his assistant had got rid of what was regarded as little better than lumber, but still was dubious as to how on earth he would be able to find customers for the bottles, more especially as there was a quantity of old tinware, dirty and tiyblwon, about which Barnum was equally sanguine. Tn a few days the secret was out. His modus operaudi was this: a gigantic lottery —lOOO tickets at 50 cents each. The highest prize 25 dollars, payable in goods; any that the customers desired to that amount. Fifty prizes of five dollars each, the goods to that amount being mentioned, and consisting as a rule of one pair cotton hose, one cotton handkerchief, two tin cups, four pint glass bottles,' three tin skimmers, one quart glass bottle, six nutmeg graters, and eleven half-pint glass bottles. There were 100 prizes of one dollar each, and 100 prizes of 50 cents each, glass and tinware forming the greater part of each prize. The thousand tickets sold like wild-fire, the customers never stopping to consider the nature of the prizes. Journeyman hatters, boss hatters, apprentice boys, hat trimmers, people of every class and kind bought chances in the lottery, and in less than ten days all the tickets were sold. •fr 4- rfc Made of Pauper Hide. A well-known medical gentleman of — once hired a new domestic, who turned out to be a thorough specimen of the“ Handy Andy” class. The doctor had purchased a new pair of boots, and his wife, in the presence of the servant, asked him what they were made of, to which he responded, “Por-poise-hide.” Shortly after the servant interviewed her mistress, and announced her intention of “laving w’hin me week is up.” The lady, who was very surprised, asked the disturbed domestic the reason for her announced departure, to which Bridget made answer —“Yer husband is a dochter, mum, an’ I’ve heard tales about them dochtors euttin’ up poor people, an’ didn’t I hear him wid my own ears say that the boots of ’im were made out of pauper’s hide. It’s me own poor father that died in the workhouse, an’ I wouldn’t be serving a haythen that uses the skins of the poor patients to cover his feet wid.”