THE WEEK.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XI, Issue 115, 6 May 1876, Page 2

THE WEEK.

I have seen a good deal of transformation scenes during the past week, and they have set me thinking. I believe that. Red Indians or some other savages consider that vvhen the spirit leaves the body it enters upon some new phase of existence in another- form of life, sometimes animal, sometimes vegetable, but I am inclined to think that such a creed is not confined to wild men of the woods, but extends to civilised communities, as is shown by the popular songs of., the day. For instance, who has not heard a rosy pair of. lips warble forth ••'l'd' choose to be a daisy if 1 might be a flower," thus plainly indicating the existence in the mind of the composer of the idea that there was at least a, possibility of His or her taking a place at some future date among the 1 flora of the country. Well, for my own part, I shouidu't care about being a daisy, which, after all, is a stupid helpless sort of a flower, pretty enough to look at for a day or two, but utterly unable to take care of itself, as is proved by its very brief life. No, if ever I pass from the animal into the vegetable kingdom, I should like above all things to be a blue gum. Not an ordinary Australian of that species, bub a blue gum of Now Zealand. I only know of one specimen of the tribe, but he is about as vigorous aud prosperous a tree as is to be met with in a day's journey. He has for a long time been engaged in throwing out great long roots," which were constantly tripping up our Premier, and occasionally very nearly bringing him down on his nose. But now his tap root has forced itself into a beautifully piece of rich soil, and from the Speaker's chair he is henceforth to derive his sustenance. Good old blue gum, Jong may you flourish ! I feel in a regular horsey humor today, and could fill columns with remarks upon horses' legs and shoulders, hocks and quarters, feet and loins. I could also tell to a fraction how much money I should liave won if Butcher ' Boy had not been disqualified, or if Folly had " not been so prominent a feature in the racing, but I dont care to bother my readers with my speculating experiences. Still I may say that in common with the majority of those who were on the . course on Wednesday and Thursday, I enjoyed my outiag. The rain was certainly a drawback, and the wind did now and then blow with cruel force, and, what is more, the blowing does not appear to bo nearly over yet. Blow ! I never did hear such blowing as has been going on ever since the races. " Look here, I'll back Mist for fifty pounds to jump against any otber horse to-morrow, or for a hundred to go over the steeplechase course in three months." That was one puff. " I'll bet a pony that B. B. will lick D. T.s head off for a mile and a half over hurdles." ) That was another. And so on and so on, until I have got so used to the blowing that I begin to think that after all there is not so much in it as there seems to be. The one great drawback to my success in life has been excessive modesty. I am of a retiring disposition, and cannot bear being brought into contact with strangers to whom I can never talk without blushing. . This is a preamble to the little story I have to tell necessary to its being properly understood and appre r ciated. In company with a friend I was walking up and down Trafalgar-street on Tuesday night engaged in an earnest discussion on the Darwinian theory of development as illustrated by the wolf at the " Marionettes." We had talked till we were thirsty, and consequently we adjourned to an hotel close by. Entering, we found the bar full of gentlemen in clothes of a description that is not seen much iv Nelson except about race time. This crowd discomfited me not a little, but still I contrived to summon up sufficient courage to call for a bottle of ginger beer and two glasses. I fancied I saw the young lady who supplied our wants smile as she attended to my order, which made me for the time still more uncomfortable, but I got over this, aud my friend and I resumed our conversation, which after a time turned' on the ages of ourselves and some of our mutual acquaintances. "I," said he, "though you might probably take me for more, am thirty-two." "Well," I replied, "that's strange, for I am thirty-two too." Oh, that the words had never been spoken ! In order that you may thoroughly understand the effect they produced I must give au illustration that in this Volunteering town of Nelson will be familiar to all. Have you ever watched a parade, and heard the commanding officer give the order " Fix " (pause) " bayonets." If so you must have noticed the intelligent look

that comes over the faces of the men when they heard the word "Fix," as though they knew something was coming, and have been struck with admiration, on the word " bayonets' being uttered 'at the swifc and simultaneous movement of their hands iv the- direction of the bayonet sheaths, and the beautiful precision with which they draw out the formidable weapons. Now to go back to where my friend and myself were sippiug our invigorating liquor. I was, as I said, talking about my age, mentioning iv reply to my friend that I was thirfcy-two too, in perhaps an unnecessarily loud tone of .voice. As soon as I pronounced the word thirty, I could see a score of eyes fixed on me. When I had got as "far as " thirty-two," at least ten arms quickly moved towards ten breast pockets, and when I had completed my sentence and said " thirty-two too," . quite ten pocket books flew from the ; breast pockets. Pencils bristled like bayonets, and a Babel of sounds assailed my tingling ears. " Thirty to two, did you say ? I'll back Butcher Boy at those odds." " I'll take thirty to two against Dick Turpin." "Name the horse; I don't mind taking thirty to two against any one entered," and plenty more to the same effect. Remember what I said about my painful ; bashfulness, and imagine how the blood mounted to my forehead. Oh ! it was a horrible position in wbich to find myself,. and solemnly have I registered a vow that never again do I go into the ibar of a public house at race time. Gray and grave. So do I find the subjects alternate upon which I am called upon to touch. I prefer the former, but sometimes am compelled to deal with the latter, and such is the case this week, iv the course of whioh has occurred an event that saddens me much whenever I think of it. During the last three years I suppose many thousands of people have travelled between the town and the port in the Dun Mountain 'Bus. Of those thousands many hundreds must have exchanged many a pleasant greeting with the driver Mike Devanny, who, since I last wrote, has passed away to his long home. The station in life which he occupied wns not a lofty one, but that which ho had to do he did conscientioubly arid well. Honest to his master, and kindly and obliging to all with whom he. was brought in contact, my poor young friend Mike did his duty in that state of life in which he was called in such a manner that none of us need be ashamed to follow his example to the same extent. I saw a tear stand in many an eye that was not accustomed to such an exhibition of feeling when the news first travelled around that young Mike Devauny's joys and sorrows in this world were all over. F.