SHINGLES FROM AN OLD ROOF.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume IV, Issue 189, 26 August 1864, Page 1 (Supplement)

SHINGLES FROM AN OLD ROOF.

BY A FREE AND EASY SHINGLER. “YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE!” ; , We arc a highly moral people, ami plume ourselves accordingly. We point with a permissahle degree of self-complacency to New South 'Wales, and congratulate ourselves with no little unction, that we are better than our neighbors. Crime is scarce in Otago, and life and property are tolerably secure. Bushrangers do not often present revolvers at our heads, and burglars seldom rifle our dwellings. When they do break out in a fresh placej they are pretty certain to be caught. And so we travel abroad as we list, and when at home we ensconce our heads in our peaceful nightcaps— pull the warm blankets round on-

shoulders—and sleep the sleep of the just, under the guardian shadow of Mr Commissioner Branigan and his blue-coat boys. We are a well-to-do people. Gold-mines and poverty can have no possible connection with each other. Beggars—it is the vaunt of all colonies—are unknown in our happy El Dorado. Mumpers set no mark—indicative of generosity or close-fistedness —on our prosperous doors, as they do in the old country. Strolling vagabonds do not decorate our pavements with inscriptions in iridescent chalks, significant of an exhausted epigastrium and an empty exchequer; and shabby-genteel vendors of lucifer matches do not mutely solicit our pence and invoke our sympathy, No; everything is coleur de rose , and the young cocks of the Southern hemisphere crow lustily on their happy middens. As a faithful Shingler, I am bound 1 to say that all this is mere bunkum. Of distress and want, Heaven knows there is plenty around us in this city of ours (we have but one city, and that is like a child in a dangerously hydrocephalic condition) —and on our gold fields many there be who are doomed, like Tantalus, to see untold wealth gathered within an inch of their hands, whilst unable to grasp a pennyweight themselves. Every one must know something of such cases; and if he or she be true man or woman, will do something to relieve the sufferers. But to tell the British public that there are neither beggars nor bushrangers in the land is is a monstrous attempt to blind the eyes of Her Majesty’s subjects to a most obvious and incontrovertible fact. Beggars there are in droves —bushrangers in such multitudes that the imagination sickens at the thought of them. They waylay us in the streets, attack us in our homes, stick us up in our shops and offices, and compel us to stand and deliver on the Queen’s highway. Not vulgar beggars in distempered rags, my dear sir, or madam, but beggars in silken gowns and superfine broadcloth. Not beggars with the tainted breath of poverty upon them, but beggars with the odour of sancity, and redolent of frangipani. Not blood-thirsty-bushrangers with murderous pistols in their hands, “ Full of strange’oaths,?and bearded like a pard,’» but genteel and soft-spoken brigands, with subscription lists in their well-gloved digitals, with persuasive accents and insinuating manners. These are the marauders who disturb our serenity, who force us to surrender at discretion, and cozen us of our hard cash. There is the philanthropise bushranger, for instance—a sort of hybrid between John Howard and Robin Hood,—who in the plenitude of his zeal for suffering humanity, assails you with the most unblushing effrontery, and without so much as a “ By your leave,” or “ With your leave,” eases you of all the loose coins in your pouch, for the benefit of the “Decayed Oysterwoman’s Asylum,” or the support of the “ Orphan Gumsucker’s Home.” Both are no doubt very excellent institutions in their way; but why should I be compelled, nolens volens, to contribute to their maintenance, and that too, at a time when, possibly, I really cannot afford it. “ First be just, and then be generous”—is a sound maxim and rule of conduct. Wherefore, then, I ask, should I be entrapped into voluntary donations. ( voluntary , indeed ! Heaven save the mark !—what a mockery), of money which is due to my grocer, or my tailor ? “ Charity begins at home.” Yet the wife of my bosom has just intimated her desire for a new gown, or a shawl it may be, or a new bonnet; and I have hardened my heart against her, because I cannot very well spare the cash just now. And Tom sadly wants new inexpressibles, does he ?—that last rent took an hour to darn, you know. And Dick needs a warm coat for winter, and dear little Nelly—God bless her!—a new pair of boots. Ah, well! they must wait till I can sell that stack of oats, or find a market for my cattle ; or, better still, till my ship comes in. And so I refuse each and all of these petty petitions, and thrust my hat upon my brow and walk out, not over comfortable in mind, and half inclined to go back and to say—“ My dears, you shall have the gown, and the coat, and the boots, and the breeks; and so come and kiss me all of you, this instant!” When, lo ! I am stuck up by some peripatetic freebooter, and, after a brief struggle, I yield. With more than a passing sigh, I behold my few spare pounds invested in enforced charity, and the gown, and the coat, and the breeks, and the boots, are lost to my darlings for ever. Then there is the clerical beggar, who meekly solicits my mite towards the building of a new church, or a school-house, or, more probably, a manse; or invites me to participate in the glorious work of providing muslin drawers for the female Gorillas. There is no chanoe of escaping scatheless from such appeals as these. I have already given the

coats from the backs of my family. So the good man takes my own cloak, or the wherewithal to purchase it, and I must rough it as I may through. }he rainy season; and when I sit beside the ingle-nook shivering with ague, or tortured with rheumatism, I shall feel that I haye laid up treasure where probably it will not be half as well employed as it would have been if investedJn a frieze cape for my aching limbs. Very few men are possessed of moral courage sufficient to cope with assailants such as these, or have the adroitness to come off uninjured'in the tenderest part of a man —his pocket. But if any such there be, let him not imagine that he shall finally escape. No—a thousand times. No! For a more remorseless and formidable force will be brought to bear upon him. The most charming beggars in creation will beset him ; he will be subjected to the influences of basilisk eyes and Siren voices ; and if he looks and listens for Jbut one second of time, he will be a lost man. Oh! Jones, Jones—my dearest friend and pitcher —turn away yonr head and behold not, and resolutely, close your ears to the voice of the charmer, charm she never so wisely; or I would not give a brass button for all the metal in your purse. For these fair auxiliaries are the most dangerous and rapacious of all spoliators—the most saucy and subtle of bandits. The male cadger I may perhaps out-manosuvre and send away empty-handed; the clerical moss-troop-ers I may possibly elude or avoid; but who shall withstand beauty in"all its awful panoply ? Not the old Shingler, for one. Radiant eyes and luscious lips are too much for me. I am besieged, invested, taken by storm, and only too glad to capitulate on any terms. Irresistable in Balmorals, and invincible in many-hooped crinolines, the triumphant foe swoops down upon me like a whirlwind. In vain I implore mercy for my little Shinglers at home. My feeble defences are scattered to the winds; and behold me seized, stripped, and plundered, before I can recover sufficient breath to thank Heaven that I have not been borne away captive in the train of my tyrannical persecutors. Wherefore are these things ? Why are ringletted Turpins, and petticoated Gardiners allowed to levy black mail with impunity ? Why does rot that man in buttons—that very well got up emblem of authority, who solemnly paces the corn-compelling footpaths, —why, I demand, does he not order all and sundry such beggars to “ move on ?” What ho ! St. John to the rescue ! Bring out your light cavalry, and charge these bushrangers home. Ah, no ! Mr. Commissioner dares not“do that in the nineteenth century. Talk of sympathy with crime ! Why, if only one of those fair invaders of our peace was to be taken into custody for dipping her taper fingers into our pockets, wdiat a hue and cry there would be! All the crinoline in Otago would rise en masse; and we, the outraged, the robbed, the humbugged, the victims of their arts, should be compelled, at point of tongue, to march to the delivery of our beloved and lovely, but relentless tormentors. As I write, there is a knock at the door, and I catch a glimpse of two scarlet petticoats and one black book. Ha! I know them. They always hunt in couples, seeking whom tlien may devour. Let me quickly fly to the only refuge where they dare not follow, and grin defiance from between the sheets of my bed. THE MONKEY STATE. I am a firm believer in Lord Monboddo’s theory, that mankind were originally monkeys, and wore their tails off by continual sitting; and I am sustained in this faith by observation and analogy. I will say nothing of Du Chaillu’s wonderful discoveries in Go-rilla-land—my opinion of which may be summed up in the words of the good, but dullwitted prelate who, having carefully read through Gulliver’s Travels, quitely remarked that the book was very informing but there were some things in it which were scarcely credible. But I appeal to the few sensible men who are to be found in the world, whether the original monkey element is not perpetually peeping through the disguise of tail-less civilization. How often do we meet with unfeathered bipeds, whose grotesque behaviour, preposterous costume, senseless chattering, and exaggerated imitativeness, offer undeniable evidences of their descent, from the wild men of the woods. They comprehend these things better in France. vest un vrai singe, says Monsieur; —which may be interpreted either —He is a good mimic or arrant monkey; for Monsieur has but one phrase for an ape and an imitator. , Draw your chair nearer to the fire, my good friend, replenish your glass, and smoke

the pipe of peace whilst I a tale unfold. M. Dumas was once annoyed by the impertinences of a babbling nigaud, who assailed the illustrious quadroon with questions of his paternity. “ Pray, sir,” said the querist, —‘‘ what was your father ?”—“ A mulatto,” responded Dumas. ‘ ‘ And what was your grandfather?”—“A negro.”—“ Comment! And what then was his father ?”—“ A monkey, sir !”—thundered Dumas—“ and my genealogy begins where yours ends.” Of the same tribe was the popinjay who mastered Hotspur on the field of battle; and that the race has not become extinct w r e have daily and hourly demonstration. I wonder if surgeons ever detect the incipient traces of caudal appendages, in the course of their anatomical investigations. Or, is modern monkeyism confined to the head ? In which case, supposing Monboddo’s philosophy to be correct, and that all prehensile indications have been eifaced by sitting, how would an inversion of the process operate as a curative ? Oh ! what a real blessing to mothers and fathers—aye, and to all the world besides—it would be, if the disease could be eradicated by compelling quasi-monkey patients to stand on their heads and whistle, after the manner of Quilp’s boy. Let me try to carve out the likenesses of some few of these quadrumanes. First, there is the young ape— le feme singe —who, whilst in an imperfectly developed condition, mimics the vices and follies of his seniors. Who thinks it manly to impair his digestive organs with tobacco, and tosses off his nobbier with the dexterity of a bon vivant, and swears strange oaths with the ease and finish of a bargee or a coach-driver. Have a care, my precocious young friend, or your smoking, swearing and drinking will land you in Tartarus before long. Of the same order, but at the opposite extremity of the chain, is the old baboon, who is no longer young, yet affects the frivolities of youth,—who has arrived at a time of life when he ought to purge himself, and live cleanly, and begin to patch up his old body for heaven ; but who is a worn out old roue —a miserable sinner, minus the power of greatly sinning. Then there are apes of all ages whose prominent apishness is an indulgence in grossierete. These are the foulest of the species, the very gorillas of society. Avoid them as you would the plague. Banish them from your dinner-table and your drawing-room—if you have one; at any rate, from your fireside ; for the very atmosphere wherein they breathe is charged with moral contagion. Heigh presto !—Change me the slide and lo ! what a motley collection of apes—a very wilderness of monkeys shall you behold. Look to the right, and you will perceive the snobbish monkey, whose natural instinct appears in the loudness and showiness of his apparel ; who delights in baggy peg-tops and flashy scarfs, in eccentric pins and preposterous rings, and carries about his person an entire curiosity shop in the shape of what are miscalled “ charms.” Look to the left, and you will behold the simia satyrus, or hairy ape, who trims his whiskers so as to render the human face divine as nearly as possible like that of a poodle; also, another variety of the same species, who twists his raoustachios into a fat simile of the terminations of his ring-tailed progenitors. Here too is the national ape, who abuses the timehonoured garb of Old Gaul, by parading a caricature of it under the sky of New Zealand, in season and out of season; —official ape who, Drest in a little brief authority. Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven As makes the angels weep;— and the ape out of office, who trembles and grimaces on the patriotic slack rope for the delectation of the greasy multitude. There are two other apes, the exact antipodes of each other, but both equally unsuited for household pets. One of these is the comical monkey whose propensities for mischief, and aptitude for sorry jests and practical jokes have unquestionably been transmitted, through successive generations, from the original stock. The other is the Troglodytes niger, or sad-faced ape, with aspect deleterious, who abominates a laugh as if it was one of the seven deadly sins, and would crush all gladness out of the human heart, if he and his kind possessed the power to do so, which fortunately, they do not; for bigotry, thank Heaven, is fast chained in these days. There are more monkeys yet; for verily their name is Legion. But I have only room on my shingle for one other specimen. This is the chattering baboon, who will gabble by the hour, by Shrewsbury, or any other dock, pouring out a ceaseless flood of senseless verbiag . “ His reasons are like a grain of wheat in a bushel of chaff. You may search all day ere you find it, and when you have it, it is not worth finding.” When I am bothered as I frequently am, by one of these- fellows, I am always reminded of the Yankee

stump-orator, who crushed his antagonist, by a style of argument not taught in the books, and which may be termed the inferential. “ Gentlemen,” said he, “ Ihave heard of some persons who hold to the opinion that just at the precise moment one human being dies another is bom, and that the just-departed soul enters and animates the new-born babe. Now, I have made particular and extensive enquiries concerning my opponent there, and I find that for some time previous to his nativity, nobody died.” You will have observed, my dear ladies, that I have not introduced a single specimen of the feminine ape. Not that there are none. It is a lamentable and very uugallant thing to say, and my own wife will box my ears when she reads what I am about to write ; but the truth must be told if the Heavens fall. There are apes in crinoline, as there are monkeys in peg-tops ; but my business is not with these now. I intend to split a shingle, by-and-bye, for their special benefit; but the task is so very delicate, and requires such exceeding nicety of touch, that I am half inclined to distrust my horny old hands. Well, I believe in your extraordinary capacity for keeping a secret —those who doubt it know nothing of your charming sex —and so I will tell you, in the strictest confidence, that Miss Alamode (who really has wonderful taste in all matters of dress) and Miss Crochet (who possesses the most pungent wit of any woman of my acquaintance) have promised to inspect my work before it is offered to the^public; and if they pronounce in its favor, why that very faculty of imitation which you enjoy in such a remarkable degree, will induce you to acknowledge the truthfulness and propriety of the design, and in the mean-time, as I intend the promised shingle to be my chef d’ceuvre, I shall be delighted if you will do me the honor to forward any useful hints,' under cover, to the obliging|editor.—N.B. The strictest secrecy observed, and no questions asked.