THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 377, 27 August 1875, Page 3

THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

{From the Press'). There’s a man I know who has very liberal views on the matter of drinks. His opinion of what constitutes a fair amount of square gin for sixpence would scarcely be considered reliable by most publicans. His general allowance is very close on half a tumbler. This old innocent came into a bar the other day and called for a drink. He took rather over his usual allowance. Observing that several people were watchi ig him, he said to the landlord, “ I think I’ve taken rather too big a drink for sixpence.” “ Far from it,” said the landlord, “I’ve instructed the barman from this out only to charge you threepence a drink. You must be aware that it is one of the principles of the licensed victuallers to make a considerable reduction in the case of wholesale consumers.” The old innocent hasn’t been around that bar since. The Debtors’ and Creditors’ Bill is, I observe, just circulated. It may not perhaps excite so much interest as the Abolition of Provinces, but it seems to be a well considered Bill, and will probably excite interest in the minds of New Zealand citizens when abolition will have been forgotten. It consists, I learn, of 109 clauses. Under the Act any one or two creditors to the extent of £SO may call a meeting. I suppose in this very crooked world there are many people who are allowed to get in debt to this extent, but tick to the amount of £SO would to me represent present comfort and visions of future affluence. Why, with £SO you could start a school, a commission agency, or a hot potatoe can. If creditors cannot call a meeting under £SO, it seems to me that, owing to the extraordinary incredulity of business men towards orphans in my position, we are debarred from ever treading those commercial paths which have led so many to a paradise of respectability. We are not informed in the resume sent by the correspondent of the Lyttelton Times, what the fees are to be; but it is to be hoped that there will be a considerable reduction in them, because as at present it costs about half a year’s salary to some of us to declare to declare that we haven’t got any money. This always seemed to me a contradiction. This is a very musical city. It always has been. It has probably started more musical societies and imported more pianos than any other town in New Zealand, We have numerous concerts in the course of the year, and the houses on those occasions are always more or less crowded ; but the appalling fact has gradually been dawning on me that the Christchurch people are not a really musical crowd. Their love for music is with very few exceptions all—excuse me—the greatest gammon out. We profess a love for music because other people do, and we are afraid if we are not prepared to talk Mendelssohn and rave about Thalberg, our neighbors, who really know very little more about it than ourselves, will put us down in the words of a man called Shakspeare, as “only fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.” I have come to the conclusion that the majority of ua don’t care about music, for a number of reasons; one being the way we behave at concerts generally. Whether pianists, vocalists, or bandists are performing, the audience as a rule laugh and talk the whole time. I can understand and sympathise with the man in Punch, who asks his musical wife if she means to stay the concert “ out to the bitter end but I can’t go with a lot of people who love music just enough to go to a concert for the sake of being seen there. We are very high-toned here I expect, but so far as we have got yet I think poor Bose Evans was not far out in summing up our theatrical tastes as bounded by a dog and monkey show ; and judging from what I have seen of our musical proclivities, I should imagine an entertainment on the free-and-easy principle would suit us down to the ground, I like doctors, but they are awkward as neighbours, sometimes. They are then sometimes found to be too close friends to a fellow. I judge so, because I was stopping the night a while ago with a friend of mine in this town, who lives next a doctor, and I had a rare time of it. We retired about twelve. I had just got to sleep when a thundering ring came at the door. Nimrod (that’s my friend) came down hurriedly, rubbing his eyes, and very decollete. He opened the door, disclosing thereby a frozenlooking cuss, who panted out words to this effect“ Oh, doctor, that little event has come off, and the sooner you can come up to my place the better.” Nimrod told him the doctor lived next door, and shivered off to bed again. We had just got to sleep again when another fellow comes ringing away. Nimrod appears again. This fellow wanted medicine,) Another came shortly after with three mates, his arm was broken. Then a woman with two croups waiting at home. Then a man on horseback, whose brother’s collar-bone or head was smashed about tea miles up country. This man, who made noise enough to wake the seven sleepers, rode all over two flower-beds and left, “ (Sleep comes to the perplexed, if

the perplexed be only weary enough,” says George Elliott, but there was too much cx citement about this night to sleep. Nimrod didn’t enjoy it half as much as I did. 1 i says he likes a little sleep sometimes. 11. finds running up and down stairs all night, monotonous. I met two school boys going home the other afternoon. One had that blotting paper appearance about the fac., which is usually a consequence of a recent thrashing. This boy was relating the particulars of his afternoon’s caning ;—“ Billy Brown cheated me out of two allies and a glassy at marbles, and I said he was a liar, and old —(for obvious reasons I suppress the master’s name) gave me three or four hot ’uns ” “ Never mind, Tommy,” said the other boy in a consoling manner, “ When you grow up you may get into the City Council, and you can call anyone any names you like there.” It’s wonderful what extraordinary views colonial boys take of things, especially boys who read the papers. When Miss May Howard was down here there were some remarks made about her advertising her dresses in the play bills, I find from the Sydney papers that Madame Ristori does the same. Her five toiletbein Queen Elizabeth are given in full I believe this to be a good idea. I am sure, if Madame Ristori were to show here, this style of billing would be attended with a considerable amount of success. It would draw the fair sex like steam. There are some who do not care much about good acting, but very few who would not be enticed by “ fluted collars of real lace, golden belts profusely ornamented with diamonds, crimson velvet dress, embroidered with silver and gold ; purple silk ditto, with an undergarment of purple satin; full guipure collars ornamented with gold and precious stones, &c, &c. as advertised by Madame Ristori. Among other articles of toilette in her published list appears “a real wig with curls, ornamented with small diamond stars.” This reminds me that curious and wonderful head-dresses are becoming daily more common here. “We don’t expect good grammar here, but you might close your flats,” said a gallery critic at the Victoria Theatre, so here it is not every one’s fortune to be able to wear real wigs ornamented with diamond stars : but the false plaits, now commanding such a ready sale, might be selected with a little more judgment. I see many heads in which the plait is of a totally different color to the real article. The back view is, as it were, a hunk of putty on the bald head of a graven image. There is a want of art about it. You might publish a few instructions about such things in your columns. It appears to me some of your readers might benefit by them. Very frequently, for the last month or so, I have observed an old gent in the reading room at the Institute perusing journals—always journals. The course of reading pursued by him did not seem to agree with him. Day by day—l might almost say hour by hour —his frame grew more attenuated, his spectacles lacked their usual fiery lustre. I got anxious about the old file; and one day I asked him to tell me what it was had brought him into this desponding and sad state of wanment. He told me his natural instincts were those of a politician, and consequently he had been studying not only the main features of the Abolition Bill, but the various opinions expressed by different journals and by public speakers at the numerous up country meetings held on this important matter. He further informed me that he had got that mixed up over it that his life was a burden to him. “ I think I must have read,” he said, “ very nearly as much on the subject as Mr Gibbon wrote on the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and now I can’t see which side is right.” I asked him whether in any respect abolition would affect his interest as a private citizen He said personally it would not suit him. “ Then,” said I, “go and study carefully all the arguments against it. Read nothing in favor of it; that’s the way plenty of our leading men have become and continue to be first-class politicians. He did so, and he now tells me I have been the means of pulling his soul out of an abyss of doubt, and he feels a lofty patriot. Bless him ! I came across the following letter the other day from Te Hapuku to a Minister of the present Cabinet. It was as follows; — “ Friend, salutation to you, my affectionate friend of days gone by. You have now left and gone to other places to work. This is my word to you. Hearken. lam in trouble. It is not caused by any person. It is through my own fault, the' craving of my heart for the food of the European. lam now suffering from my excesses. The cause of my trouble is —rum. I have paid a portion of the claim against me, but am in trouble about the balance, for which I have been distrained, without being investigated in any court. But they took away my scarf, tarpaulin, buggy, and the horse belonging to the buggy. I was pained throughout my whole body. I will not conceal my trouble from you. If I am again subject to such treatment I shall go away with my young men to die in another place. This is all I have to say to you (a chant respecting his troubles). You come and see us, and then return to your home. From your affectionate friend.”