“ODDS AND ENDS.”

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume II, Issue 193, 5 August 1874, Page 2

“ODDS AND ENDS.”

(By

“You Yangs.”)

Did you ever try to strike a match in a grtmt hurry about midnight ? If you have, fellow sufferer, agree with me that they generally are damp and won’t strike, how, if they are not damp, they become headless aud you job ineffectually the decapitated trunk against the side of the box, perhaps you hold the match very near it’s head so that it can’t come off; it then lights suddenly ; before you can free your fingers, the melted wax glues the vesta to your unwilling hand, thereby causing you to suffer the tortures of the damned, until you are fain to blow it out altogether. Then you start again, a small piece of the composition flies off, inserts itself underneath your nail making you think purgatory must be a little paradise by comparison, besides eventually causing a whitlow or something else equally pleasant. Swearing like a trooper (or like fifty troopers if you are given that way) you upset the box of matches and have the happy satisfaction for the next few days of announcing your movements in that room by explosions resembling miniature fog-signals, together with a rather too vivid danger of fire that, to a nervous man, makes life unendurable. I have come to the conclusion that matches, like a good many other things, are not as they used to be. This is what “ Yaw Yeaw ” says about writing for newspapers. I must premise that “ Yaw Yeaw,” although an intimate friend of mine is of rather a sour disposition ; but to resume—“ I once wrote an article aud took great pains with it, I corrected the spelling carefully with the aid of a dictionary, threw in a few judicious and well-selected quotation, and polished it up in every respect until I fondly thought that it would be a credit to me and might, probably, open up an untold mine of wealth, besides furnishing me with au excellent opportunity of smashing mine enemies. Well, Sir, I took that article to a paper :it was accepted. I went home a proud and happy man. Guess then my horror and astonishment when I found that some wretched compositor had re-punctuated all my sentences;. had been evidently at a loss in many cases to make out my handwriting, and had made guesses at the doubtful words, in every case going wrong ; in some instances where a joke depended on the use of a certain word, that man wilfully altered it, and the reckless way in which he scattered about full stops, commas, &c„ was remarkable, he must have been an apprentice to the trade, and sowed .them broadcast, he must indeed. I could have slaughtered that man without any com punction. Well, after these little difficulties were got over, and when you were going ahead full swing, you come to a stop in the middle of a sentence, had to pull up short and start afresh. It was fearful, I could not recognise my own handiwork at all, and felt as if a bastard had been foisted on to me. One joke, however, escaped the general wreck, I read and re-read it until I saw beauties therein that had escaped me when I first made it. I said to myself that joke will pull me through yet, for it was a decent sort of joke, had some strong moral characteristics about it, and was fit for Sunday as well as week-day wear, one, too, that you could have taken home to the bosom of your family and made without bringing the blush of shame to your infant’s cheek. So I was naturally proud of it and pinned my faith thereon. Well, Sir, as a climax, some carping editor of a rival newspaper got hold of that, article, made a point of not understanding my joke, refused point blank to see any fun at all in it, treated it as a serious matter of fact, went brutally to work and smashed me up in my maimed and defenceless condition. After that I said to myself, ‘ I’ll leave off throwing the hatchet and bury it.’ The literary world has literally lost a bright ornament, bnt my peace of mind has returned.” Thus much “Yaw Yeaw.”

Did you ever hear tell of the Maori who was ordained as a minister on the strength of knowing the eleventh commandment, aud that only ? It happened thusly. An old native possessed of plenty of influence in his tribe was exceedingly anxious to be made a parson. Naturally being a “rangatira ” and landowner, the head of his Diocese was willing enough to make him one, but then there was the examination. Of course the examination w'as not quite so severe as tliat for the Civil Service, but the old boy was awfully thick-headed, and the teacher he

went to for the purpose of learning the catechism, &c., could not even manage to drum the ten commandments into his head, so gave him up for a Dad job. News of this got abroad, and a certain surveyor offered to put him through his facings on conditions, the main one being, no ordination, no acres.

Well, the eventful day arrived, and, among others, up went the ancient. Witen his turn came, the very first question asked him, as luck would have it, was

“ How many Commandments are there ?" “ Te kau ma tahi,” (Eleven) promptly replied the Maori. “No, no, my friend, try again," said the Bishop. “ Ehia p” (How many?) “Eleven,’ repeated he, and stuck to it so pertinaciously that they at length asked him bow he came to make that number out. Very gravely then he produced his Testament (carefully marked in the proper place) and pointed out— A new commandment T give unto you — “ That ye love one another.” St. John.

The Bishop turning to his brother ecclesiastics, then said—“ Oh Imy brethren I what a lesson this old man teaches us. Search the Scriptures diligently ! Yes, yes, my brother, you are indeed worthy to be called.” So the old chap got bis screw as a parson, the surveyor got his land for “ cramming ” him, and the Bishop got the satisfaction of ordaining a fresh convert and increasing bis fold by the number of the old boy’s “hapu.” So it was satisfactory, was nt itp But what about the Christianity though ?