Round the Corners.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 464, 1 January 1881, Page 13

Round the Corners.

I am pleased to observe that my friend the Ex. J.P. is to the fore again. There are some people unkind enough, and anxious enough to aver that he is, well, just a little so-so ; but if so, all I can say is that there is more method in his particular form of so-soism than of that of any person so so affected who ever preceded him. A true hunter, he keeps his quarry ever in view, and although I have had no opportunity of examining his game bag, yet I am sure he knocks something over occasionally. Sir Arthur Gordon and the Ministry must be becoming quite fond of him, especially the Minister of Lands ; and as for Te Whiti, well that old gentleman ought to be eternally, obliged to the ex. J.P., and no doubt is for the interest he takes in his family affairs. Those letters of dear “ Tom’s” are ticklers, I must say. Fancy the feelings of the descendant of the Gordons being arraigned before, the tribunal of my facetious friend, and ordered in and out of court as if he were akin to a lawyer’ s clerk or bumbaliff. W ell, go your ways Tom, you are hitting harder than you may perhaps imagine. ISlo Government could pass over your letters, and live, and if you persevere, the felicity of trial for high treason and other serious misdemeanors may yet be yours. Asmodeus sometimes enters a place of worship, and he finds business there generally speaking as brisk as in more worldly resorts. Last Sunday night the Academy of Music, (where, by the way, a really able and eloquent evangelist weekly holds forth) numbered him in the fold, and caused him to ponder upon the problem why so large a portion of the congregation was composed of babies in arms. Throughout the service there was one continual wailing of infants, and the ritual was increased by an animated and hasty procession of matronly females carrying out perspiring and fretful youngsters. The indignant glances of those of the congregation who had not the questionable advantage of numbering babes and sucklings among ftlieir personal effects was refreshing to witness, and one could imagine at the moment what mast have been the feelings of King Herod when he ordered the massacre of the Innocents. Every pious mother is no doubt entitled to the Sunday evening share of congregational worship; but until she has it laid on to her private residence by means of a telephone, it is not easy to see how she can enjoy it except at the expense of other people. Everybody is not of the opinion of the worthy evangelist who last Sunday evening remarked that “squalling babies” will occur in the best regulated congregations. A good story comes to me from the West Coast, where habits and customs abound which none but very old colonists can appreciate, aud but few of those really enjoy. A certain lady, “ well known to the police, ’ to use a familiar reportorial phrase, who spends the majority of her days in gaol, and the remainder in preparing to qualify for that establishment, was recently released from durance vile and found herself the lucky possession of enough hard cash to fit her person out in gayer plumage, and accordingly she made for a linen draper’s shop in a leading West Coast town, and purchased an attire, complete in the minutest detail from head to foot. The shopmap, delighted not only at bo extensive an

order, but at the reviving spirit of decency in the lady, gladly supplied the articles ; but judge of his horror and amazement when she calmly proceeded to divest herself of her old clothes, and convert the shop into a dressingroom. The shopman was inured to West Coast habits and customs as a general rule—but this was too much. The money was returned, goods taken back, and the fair customer summarily ejected. To obviate future occurrences of the sort, however, the enterprising linen draper has determined to erect a screen similar to that immortalised by Joseph Surface and Lady Teazle in the School for Scandal.

For a condition of general cussedness I should think behind the scenes during the pantomime business at the Royal, on certain nights this week was, beyond compare, the warmest corner out of Hades. The “ devil among the tailors” was not a circumstance compared to the imp of mischief, making it his own special pastime to torment the T. R property man. The tricks wouldn’t work, scarcely one of them, though why or wherefore none could tell. With wonderful, nay even portentous forbearance, the pit neither chihikied nor joed poor Joey, not even when the trick gun missed fire with its vegetable volley and the. penny squibs wouldn’tgo off. But there’s alimit to forbearance and the bob-a-head boys will assert their time honored privileges, unless the imp of mischief aforesaid is exorcised. The tricks, though devised by a Mason and worked with Power, will drive one Starke mad before the season is ended.

It is quite within my peculiar humour to laugh at the devices adopted by the modern generation of smugglers, even here in peaceful, law-abiding Wellington. Mr. Heaps and his merry merry men tell amusing stories of the devices against which they have to contend iu the execution of their duty. Some little while ago, a galvanised iron bucket, carefully wrapped in brown paper, or an innocent roll of elotb, were thought marvels of smuggling ingenuity, and when the frowning majesty of the law inflicted penalties of fifty pounds “ with liberty to speak to the prosecutor” it was thought that the performers were by no means paying too dearly for their whistle. But the Customs officers are so well up to their work, and so well aided by a certain lynx-eyed night watchman, that the amateur smugglers of this city have had to rack their brains for startling novelties. There happens to be no import duty upon children in arms, and I am credibly informed that about twenty pounds of Sydney tobacco were brought ashore carefully disguised in the long clothes of a puling infant. When even the confiding innocence of childhood is abused in this barefaced manner, it may be supposed that the climax is reached. But no—worse remains behind, for the very infirmities of old age are enlisted in the service. A venerable gentleman was recently seen to walk with extreme difficulty from a steamer by the aid of crutches. His difficulty can be easily accounted for when it is borne in mind that his wooden leg contained enough Barrett’s Twist to stock a tobacconist’s shop, his hoary locks were wig-lined with lace from the Melbourne Exhibition, and that withered hand whose palsied motion excited the sympathy of all beholders was really animated by the fact of several gold watches being up his sleeve. No wonder that the excise officers have lost all faith in humanity, and that even Major Atkinson himself, and that battered bag which he so much affects, are regarded with suspicion. I hear that one of the peculiar institutions of London is being acclimatised in the colony, being nothing less than the accommodating mediumship by which stage-struck young men and women are temporarily put in the highest state of earthly happiness. The modus operandi at Home is as follows :—The medium advertises that a number of young persons are wanted for theatrical employment at a remunerative rate ef pay ; previous experience not necessary ; apply, &c. Numbers belonging to the great family of Verdant do apply, and, being asked to give a slight specimen of their histrionic abilities, are pronounced by the courteous and enthusiastic medium to be embryo Garricks and Siddons—Ml that is wanting to make them actors and actresses of the very first water being a short training, which he (the medium) will be happy to give for a few pounds, and when given will procure for the finished pupil a “remunerative engagement.” The money is produced, and the pretended training giver, but it is needless to add the remunerative engagement is not forthcoming. When the medium has plucked the goose, he tells it there is some fatal defect in its talents that cauuot Le overcome, or that there is no present vacancy in the mythical establishments where his influence is supreme, or he may offer a supernumerary’s place at Is a night in a provincial theatre 200 miles away. It is related to me with full circumstantiality that an adaptation of this beautifully primitive scheme has lately been tried with remarkable success—at £1 a head—in one of the four chief cities of the colony. And yet many people still think Carlyle was wrong in saying “ There are thirty millions of people in Britain —mostly fools !”

There is at least one book of colonial authorship, of which not many uncut copies are likely to find their u ay to the butterman. By what may be termed a curious concatenation of cursory circumstance, “White Hood and Blue Cap,” Vincent Pyke’s and Thorpe Talbot’s Christmas Annual, sells briskly, not from any excess of inherent literary meric, but because the production has been so cleverly placed on the market. V. P.’s contribution—“ White Hoocl ” —is like all his writings and sayings—“spiky.” A bit of good word painting here and there, a mild jokele.t or two, a well furbished aphorism, and for the rest the Pyke stands prominent. Thorpe Talbot’s contribution —“ Blue Cap ” —is a sickly attempt at sensationalism. The chief character a girl, who marries not the man she ought, but in spleen takes unto herself another man, the wearer of the blue cap, which never leaves his head, nor does the woman’s curiosity tempt her to lift it, for even one little peep before marriage, a fterwards the tragic denouement comes. The cap covers a pair of veritable horns and a bovine tufted forelock ; the sight of a red ribbon maddens to insensate rage the cornuted homo, a scene of universal household smash ensues, the heroine finds herself, clad only in scantiest garb, imprisoned in her chamber, she escapes, and, “iu thunder, lightning, and in ra>n ” perishes on the lone mountain-side. Pathos and bathos are alternated with incongruous ingenuity, but the book sells. And why ? Just because the public taste was cleverly excited 'ere the first copy made its appear-

ance It was said tliat a certain wise and learned judge of amatory proclivities would figure in its pages, and spicy details “ founded on fact,” would be revealed. Hi 3 Honor is there but in perfectly harmless guise, and now the public are told the book is of the Ouida stamp, and that “ Thorpe Talbot ” is in reality the non dc plume of a certain Madame Josephine, whose vocation is to foretell destinies and reveal the future for those who choose to cross her palm with silver. And quid mines want to know why this is thns, and whether a ceitain “Sir Joseph Porter, who some little time since, on benevolentlymusical deeds intent, honored Vincent county with his presence, was or was not accompanied by this identical “Josephine.” All which lively gossip maketh the said book to sell briskly, and the scieuce of “how to work an oracle ” has practical elucidation. A REVIEW IN A NUTSHELL. (by a. rhyming contributor.) What C’in ire do at Christmas time T Why. see the “ T. R.” Fantomimo ; To hear Miss Lydia Howards sing, Is just the thing. Is just the thing. Miss Lolo is all the go ; Miss "Leopold is “ comvic ilfaxit , And Leopold's “ steps,” and Highland fling. Are just the thing. Are just the thing. Starke, “The Piper.” comes it strong, Lolo sings a “ Topic song.” And Powers’ "Scenes in the Ring, Are just the thing. Are just the thing. Music and scenes, both well don* ; Rritannia on “revolving throne,” With red-fire burning at the wing, Is just the thing. Is just the thing. Asmodeus.