THE COMMON ROUND.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19472, 6 May 1925, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND.

By Wayfarer. I have been anxiously awaiting elucidations concerning an incident all too briefly reported in the local press. Some slight explanatory story would have been welcome, if only with a view to silencing the frolicsome chatter of irresponsible quidnuncs, rvho insist on wanting to know you know what the car belonging to the organiser of the Mew Zealand Alliance for the Suppression of the Liquor Traffic was doing outside a Dunedin brewery in the wee sma’ hours of a morning last week, when it caught fire. It should be permissible to expect a clearing-up of an intriguing mystery. His Worship the Reverend J. K. Archer declares that his election as Mayor of Christchurch has sent an exultant thrill throughout the dominion from North Cape to the Bluff, or words to that effect. As parson and Labourite, Mr Archer has some right to plume himself upon a peculiar achievement; but the funny thing is that he is a minority victor. Funny, that is, in connection with the proud boast of the national “thrill.” Archer, Rev. J. K 9C69 Fleshor, J. A 7563 Beanland, J. W 4409 Hamlet, Joseph 1142 Thus the new Mayor secured 9069 out of 22,593 votes. Where does the thrill business come in? If the positions of Mr Archer and Mr Flesher had been reversed, it may be suspected that the former would have had a good deal to say about the latter’s minority triumph. As it is, he gloats, he gloats, he gloats with strange unreason. Would it bo impertinent on my part to offer fraternal greetings to Bishop Cleary, who is attending the Holy Cross jubilee celebrations? Why “fraternal”? you may ask. Well, Dr Cleary is, or was, incidentally a journalist. About twenty years ago he ranged himself with the brethren of the facility at a dinner of the Journalists’ Institute (defunct, I am afraid) and delivered a very’ genial speech. Dr Waddell, who, if 1 remember aright, sat beside him, read or recited a humorous description in rhyme of the traditional editor, who “sits aloft, rejecting manuscript.” A future editor occupied the presidential chair. An ex-reporter exclaimed, “Roll on, thou_ deep and dark blue ocean, roll!” Happily', all these are still alive, though there were a few faces that we shall not see again. At the first meeting of the new City Council to-night there will not he many new faces. “Much of a muchness” might describe the old and the new. Substituting evening for morning circumstances, Mr Tapley, looking round the table, might murmur—- “ Same old get-up; Same old tub; Same old breakfast Same old grub.” Me judice, the municipal electors have shown wise discretion in sending Mr MacManus back to the council board, and especially in sending him back unaccompanied by party comrades. Ho w r ould have been missed if the verdict had gone differently. Even the framer (or framers) of the “mighty minute” would have missed him. The Common Round would have missed him. Within duo limits Mr MacManus’s vagaries contribute appreciably to the gaiety of Council proceedings. Tie is now charged with double responsibilities, and the dovecotes of the Harbour Board may be periodically disturbed. Touching those double responsibilities— Mr MacManys said that this was the first double lie had ever landed in his life. A Voice: What about the twins?— (Loud laughter). So good as almost to suggest a suspicion of mutual rehearsal. COME AND SAY GOOD-BYE. THIS IS FINAL. Credat Apella! I don’t believe for a moment in the finality notion. We shall go and say au revoir, but most emphatically' not goodbye. It is all very' well for Sir ‘ Harry Lauder to talk about coming tiredness and the easy chair. So a man thinks when ho is fifty-five and ‘‘in topnotch form.” Sims Beeves retired, with monotonous frequency ; Gladstone retired ; W. G. Grace retired; but they all came back. “Goodbye is a hateful word” ; yes, and the people of Dunedin don’t mean to say it yet awhile. Why, when the sense of weariness begins to be felt, what will be more recuperative than another trip, another “farewell” pilgrimage to God’s own country? By the way, it is obvious that' the not too elaborate notice of Sir Harry Lauder in “Who’s Who” emanated from personal headquarters. For instance: “Educated by Stumpy Bell as a half-timer in Arbroath. Career varied; first mill-boy in flax-spinning mill; then a miner; now is what the people have made him. . . . Recreations: Trying to hit a wee gutty ba’, trying to catch salmon and trout”— and, let me add, pretending that he is growing old. All is not gold that glitters, but it will be cheerful to see the sovereign back, if only for old sake’s sake. Even' those of ns with whom silver is not too plentiful will not bo sorry to have an envious and hopeful glimpse of the groat sterling coin, though it bo in other hands. The old presentations—the harmless if unnecessary sovereign cases—will come to light again, provided that they have not been sold or pawned or melted. I am not an authority on the subject of the gold standard. The idea of tackling the problem sends a shiver down my back. It would be interesting to have the views of such experts as Mr Micawber and Mark Twain. “What! gold coming back? This is news indeed! Why, I haven't seen the colour of a half-crown for a fortnight. Let us embrace, Mrs Macawber!” But as regards the intricacies of the “standard,” we mav permissibly find ourselves in the predicament of the fallen angels, who “reasoned high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, And found no end, in wondering mazes lost.” Harking back to the election snbiect: In this country the printed acknowledgments of successful candidates are usually brief and bald. Thanksgiving advertisements cost money. But in the Home Country the triumphant councillor is regardless of expense: TO THE MABLETHORPE DIVISION ELECTORS. You have chosen your man. He is now free, for three years, to represent, or misrepresent yon. Platitudes are like the wrong size in hats —they go too far or not far enough—and speaking of hats, he is still wearing the same size. Ho will bo about an eightieth of the County Council and carry an effective voting battery of one and a quarter per cent. If his guns are as well served in the long seigo as they were in the first onslaught ho may be heard of again. If the zeal for service burns as at present ho will. Ho is wondering how some of his fanner friends regard the prospect of being rep re sented by—a draper. He has known many of his friends —good drapers—who have made excellent and successful farmers, and he cannot recall, at the moment, any who turned hack (o the rag trade. However, he is not thinking of following those friends at present. Ho is sticking to calico. . . . He is sorry for his opponent, hut ho would have been just as sorry for himself had he not been elected, and, He is, and nail remain, Your most obedient servant, And that is barely half of the brave and beautiful deliverance, for considerations of space have compelled rne reluctantly to abridge the successful candidate’s generous outpouring. Why don’t the Dunedin victors spread themselves in like fashion? The circumstances of the entry of “The Young Australians” into Scotland have been deemed worthy of description per cable 1 forget. the particular purport of the pilgrimage, but assuredly the inaugural ceremonies were not colourless. No typical feature of national interest appears to have been neglected. Historic romance was represented by the crossing of the Border at Gretna Green, eternal clannishness by the screeching of the pipes, and shrewd modernity by a