ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Volume XII, Issue 741, 19 May 1904, Page 15

ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

(By

“Ithuriel.")

The difficulties against which translators of the Bible into aboriginal tongues have to contend were well illustrated by a recent case in British Columbia. In order tio get', a noble passage down tto the poor red man’s comprehension it was found necessary to render “ A crown of glory that fadeth not away,” as “ A hat that never wore out." Directly Twas put like that the whole tribe became stanch Methodists of the Primitive pattern. Likewise the new converts passed a chilly night squatted round the mission door —waiting foi' the hats.

In 1877, when the relations between England and Russia were strained after the Turkish War, Macdermott, the music hall singer created that which may fair, be described as a European sensation by a song, “We Don’t Want to Fight, but by Jingo if we do." It was copied into the Continental papers, and the expression “ jingo ” passed into the language to describe a real or supposed section of a political party. The word, however, is as old as Goldsmith •(“ She Stoops to Conquer "), and it is supposed to have been derived from the Basque “ Jinkoa," or “ The Lord of the High." The veteran author of the song, Mr G. W. Hunt, died recently at the Essex County Asylum, Brentwood, at the age of nearly eighty. He was an old hand at writing music hall songs, and is said to have been one of the first about half a century ago to supply the singers with both words and music. From “ The German Band," written for Arthur Lloyd, to “ On the Continong," which Jenny Hill made famous, he wrote some hundreds of songs, including many of the successes of George Leybourne. He was for some time a music hall manager, and for many years secretary of the Music Hall Sick Fund, which post, owing to old age, he resigned three years ago. A short time since a complimentary benefit, in which many wellknown artists assisted, was given to him.

“ Mixed Wrestling ” threatens to bebecome a popular pastime in the colonies, which leads “ Boondi,” in the Sydney “ Referee,” to make the following remarks “It is recorded in the classics that mixed wrestling- was one of the principal amusements of the Ancient Greeks, possibly the most refined and enlightened people that ever trod the earth. Young men and maidens, ‘ stripped to the buff/ oiled themselves carefully all over, and then stepped into the ring before thousands of excited spectators, and strained and tugged, and pushed and struggled to ‘ grass ’ one another and secure a fall. There is a classical story told of one young lady as canning as she was skilful, -who, after wriggling all round the arena in the crushing embrace of a male champion, suddenly slipped down, shot between his legs, and, quickly straightening up as she was half through (so that her back formed a fine lever) shot the surprised wrestler in the air, so that he turned half-somersault and landed fair on his back -with a tremendous flop that rattled every bone in his body. In the next round the lady’s opponent —his name was Calidorus — thinking that ‘two could play at that game,’ ducked down with a view of giving his rival —a Miss Pvrrha Planesium—a similar fall, but the lady, catching his neck in a vise-like grip with her knees, held it there until his tongue stuck out six inches, and his eyes began to bulge out like two prize gooseberries, and he would have been choked to death had not the judge, one Chrononthologos, called out in dulcet Doric tongue, ‘Lave go yer how.lt, me gerril, or there’ll be a death in the Calidorus family as shure as the great god Jove made cockroaches and little wurrums — d’ye moind me now ?’ ” * * ’ * *

A particularly sharp-looking tramp eyed the Scottish fancy name on the pillar post of a Mount Eden villa, and glancing at the house saw a big, fairbearded man, wearing a, Tam-o’-Shanter in the window. “ A Scottie for a pension !” murmured the tramp. “ I must assume the kailyard brogue.” He walked up and rang the bell, and the big beard and Tam-o’-Shanter appeared in answer. “ How’s a’ wi’ ye, mon, the day ?” said the tramp. “ Ah’m doon on ma luck, laddie, an’ makin’ for Glesca, mai ain toon. Ah ken richt weel a brither Scot like yersel’ winna see a kintramon in sic air necessity wi’oot handin’ out a helpin’ haund.”

“ Mine vriendt,” said the big-bearded man, “ I oondershtand nod der Ghineze. I vas Cherman, und spik only der language off mine own gountry und der Angleesh. I dink you petter agsk a boliceman where der Ghineze Gonzul lif, und b’r’aps he zend you back to your own gountry free off charge.” “ A bloomin’ Faderland, after all ! Wot a fair old take !” muttered the astonished tramp as he went nown the steps.

“ Na, na, ma laddie ” chuckled the man in the Tam-o’-Shanter to himself. “ Y'e dinna tak’ me wi’ yer braid Scots. Ye’re nae mair Scots than ah’m German.”