THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2181, 21 February 1881, Page 3

THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

I don’t care how leary a man may be in the reading of papers, Udolpho Wolfe will have him sooner or later with his paragraphs on the efficiency of his echapps, and though a constant reader of the American files, the hopbitter man has me regularly almost every mail with his well wrapt up and carefully planted local on the health-giving qualities of that stimulant. I’m used to them, but fancy being had with this, which 1 cut from a Dunedin paper:— “ Has a horse only instinct, or has it reasoning capabilities ? After rubbing turpentine oil on my mare’s sprained shoulder, and when the pricking sensation became intense, she took a mouthful of straw and began rubbing the sore place. Tho above animal ean be seen any day behind the Shop, where the Primest Meat in Dunedin is Sold at the Lowest Price, “ A. Dobnwbll.” The curiously original remarks frequently made by children are lately frequently quoted by both English and American papers, and it is only a few months since that the London “ Figaro ” published two or three columns of anecdotes of the quaint sayings of the little folk. In this connection a very good story comes to me from a young Christchurch lady who teaches in her parish Sunday School. Her class is a very juvenile one, and a few Sundays ago she laid herself out to explain the particulars of the Fall of Man. Tho following week, on examining them, she found them very fairly retentive as to tho serpent and the apple part of the question, but not one could recollect the name of the I arden from whence our first parents got turned out. At last, after patiently waiting for a long time, one small girl held up her hand to indicate that she was right on it “ Well,” said the fair teacher, “ what was the name of the (garden ?” “ Dun-Eden,” replied the child, triumphantly, and not a bad shot either.

I'm glad to see, by the South Australian papers, that our old friend Johnny Hall is doing good business ia the “ farinaceous village.” J. L. has lately taken a payable benefit, and John is going into a new line. It is reported that he has taken the Temperance Hotel. Surely this statement must be an invention of the funny men of the Adelaide papers. I have heard of, and seen for the matter of that, the square man in the round hole often enough, but never so square a man in so round a hole as Johnny Hall in a Temperance hotel. A recent discussion on the subject of church music is telegraphed to us from Invercargill. It was a Presbyterian meeting, and those present decided to introduce instrumental music into the Sabbath service. The organ was supposed to be the desired instrument, but one gentleman, presumably of a funny turn, suggested ths employment of the cornet. This lad to the meeting, of whom naturally many were of the Scotch persuasion, expressing an opinion that bagpipes should also form one of the devotional instruments, Then it was that one of the original advocates of the organ queered the pitch of the bagpipe advocates by a statement to the effect that, though such instruments as the harp and trumpet were associated with heaven, no mention wes made of any in Holy Writ, as connected with what he politely termed “ the other place and the only one instrument in profane writings was the bagpipes. I'm afraid the last speaker spoke without the book. Is there not, in the Book he speaks of, something about “piping to people who refuse to dance t” But, however, in any case, I can soarc-ly credit that the place he mentions in connection with the harp and trumpet will contain a sufficient number of the race with whom the pipes are so popular as to require their squirming to ensure complete felicity. The bagpipes would be more euilable, I should say, in “the other place.” It is satisfactory to learn, from all parts of the province, of the probable happy result of the present harvest, but though I can swallow a good bit, I pass on the statement of a Queensland farmer, who writes to the “ Ellesmere Guardian ” in reference to the present prospects of that district, which ho calls “ the Heart of New Zealand and the pride of Canterbury.” A farmer friend of his, he says, 1 assures him that he will realise from a crop of 300 acres of wheat 75 bushels to the acre.

He saw the crop, he Bays, which surprised him Tory much. This I can quite credit. He concludes by stating that he found the people of the district willing to give every information as to its resources. So they would be, but I trust even the kindly enthusiasm of a “ Queensland Farmer” will not continue to bo so expansive as to believe such statements as tbat alluded to above. We cm grow wheat in Canterbury, especially in the district the “ Queensland Parmer ” has been residing in, but we can’t come it quite so big as that. If that par. gets copied, some of the honest old farmers in other parts will be humorous over that 75 bushels to the acre. An advertisement has lately been appearing in the columns of the daily papers, which has caused much inquiry and excitement. It is to this effect—“WEAK WOMAN.” Some readers have supposed that a jilted swain has taken the chance afforded by the publicity attainable through the medium of the press to utter a wail against the lady who loved him neither wisely nor too well. Others, again, but these are strictly business people of the advertising sort, venture an opinion that some soft goods man who is on the point of bringing out a new ——, well, let ns say— Corset, has opened the ball by an advertisement which calls direct attention to the requirements of the more delicate of the fair sex. The real meaning of the advertisement is the name of a play which the well-known “ Lyttelton Times ” Dramatic Corps will very shortly produce on behalf of a very useful benevolent fund. You can go and see the “Weak Woman.” She won’t bite. You can persuade a few friends to go, too. “It is easier for a rich man to go through a needless sigh than to sign a subscription for a new church.” The above is from a column of funniments in a leading American paper. It reminds me of a story told me quite recently by a minister here. He was collecting for some church repairs, or something of the sort, and called on a wealthy parishioner and requested a donation. The man wrote out a cheque, and changed his mind and tore it up for some trivial quibble about the building. The Recording Angel has, no doubt, shifted the entry trom the credit to the debit side of his account.

Those people, and they are a very large class, who like Christy Minstrel entertainments and patronise them, will, in the coarse of their Ethiopian experiences, recollect the seedy negro who arrives promiscuously in the service of the lowest dark comedy, with a swag on his back. The swag contains all his worldly possessions, and is usually about the size of a cricket ball. In this connection a very amusing story comes to me from some of the racing men who, in their recent visit to the Auckland Meeting, went up to the Hot Springs. The party was made up, and just as the start was about to take place a ne r and well-known recruit joined them, with the traditional minstrel swag hung on his natty racecourse umbrella. On being questioned as to its contents, he wound up as follows—- “ Well, there’s my race glasses, a toothbrush, a comb, and a bottle of tooth paste. That’s about aIK” " But how,” asks one of his friends, “ are you going to manage for a change ? We shall bo away nearly three weeks.” “Well,” he said, “there's not much change in me, as yon know very well; but if I can’t get my things washed at the Hot Lakes, it will be a surprise to me." And he got them washed. If I quote the washed out saying about the reward that should accrue to the man who makes two blades of grass grow where only one flaunted himself oat before you must excuse me. Under the circumstances, I think it is the most fitting hyperbole that comes to my mind. I wane to tell you that I have been to the Old Post Office, and had a Sixpenny feed. You must understand that, from my early education, I could always stand a half-pint of Alton ale and a sandwich for 4i—and all Cockneys will sympathise with the reminiscence—and I looked with a little excusable suspicion on a sixpenny feed in this metropolis. 1 had some soup (good), some roast h©ef (very good) with new spu'ts, bread ad lib, and some plum-pudding, of which I’m not a groat judge, but which was certainly good, and very filling, at the price, I went once for supper to see the establishment right through, and had some stewed eels. My mate had a grilled steak, both very good, and everything very clean and nice Does it pay Mr Forster, the enterprising proprietor? Well, I believe with very careful management be pulls through, but he would pull through a lot better if some of those people who are always wanting to help the working man, for whoso benefit this show was started, would go and visit the place and back it up a bit. There are, as you know, one or two restaurants where for a shilling you can get a really high-toned repast, but your working man cannot always stand a bob. I think this thing should bo enoouroged, and I make Mr Forster, who only wants a fair trade, a present of a free advertisement with very much pleasure. There is a story in connection with the Church (this paragraph should have preceded the one above) going the rounds of all the colonial papers at present. I take my facts from the columns of a Southern contemporary who, no doubt, is perfectly well informed as to his facts. The daughters of the veteran actor and lessee, Mr George Ooppin, who are not professionals themselves, recently gave an amateur performance, to raise funds for clearing off the debt on a church at Sorrento, in Victoria. The parson of the parish, the Bev. H. Maxwell, wrote these enthusiasts as follows :—I feel more grieved than I can tell you that our church has been so dishonoured as to have its name attached to your play-bill. I pray that the Lord will bring you to understand these things in the light of His truth—a curse instead of a blessing.” Wo are not told whether the reverend gentleman took the sugar or not, but the next time this parson takes up the role of Balaam, he had better go to some parish where his church is not encumbered. As yet he has ’only got as far in acting the part of the animal Balaam rode—and even at that he wants sadly the politeness and courtesy of that celebrated animal.