SATURDAY GOSSIP.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2832, 22 April 1882, Page 2

SATURDAY GOSSIP.

The Exhibition has not, it must be confessed, taken root as a National Institution. Both North and South hold back. Auckland disregards it and Otago never mentions it, save in a de predating tone. This latter, however, is no new thing. Otago was never known to say anything good about anybody save herself. Her patriotism is bounded on the north by the Waitaki. However, she furnished the crowd on the opening day with the longest man in the room, in the person of the editor of her leading journal. I observed that amiable giraffe looking round in a superior way upon the common herd, during the ceremony. The Exhibition is a big speculation, but really, I fear it is , risky one The stimulus of national interest which made the Melbourne Exhibition so grand a success is altogether wanting here.

There was a good deal of candour and conscientiousness in the clergyman who addressed to the Archbishop of Canterbury a letter requesting His Grace to sanction his Jiving in concubinage with a lady to whom he was attached, but whom, for certain reasons be could not marry, and justifying his proposed mode of living by scriptural quotations. His Eminent Greatness the Archbishop instantly forbade the petitioner to approach the Communion table or teach the people, and would hear nothing from him. The case is a curious and lively illustration of the faculty some people have for justifying by scriptural texts any course of action to which they are inclined.

The “ Tablet ” makes merry in bitter style over the Queen’s protest against the maiming and maltreatment of horses and cattle in Ireland, as contrasted with her alleged disregard of the sufferings of the Irish people. Is there not something of a fatal perversion of the mental and moral vision here ? With the Irish nation and its troubles the Queen cannot meddle but through her Ministers. The sufferings of the dumb animals do not come under the same category, and the Queen may, without fear of misconstruction or of involving matters at all, speak out as a woman in indignant protest. I would ask the “Tablet” to take into consideration that the peasant is not the only sufferer in these sad circumstances. There are other people, not of the peasant class, ‘ but as innocent and helpless as the peasant, who have had to suffer in silence, and for whom no sympathising tears are shed, no dollars are raised. It is as well to see both sides. All landlords are not monsters any more than all peasants are innocents.

How gradually the world learns that it is the man who dignifies the calling, and not the calling that dignifies the man ; and that there is no calling, however humble or obscure or unpretending, that cannot be illumined by the industry and ability of any member of it. A refreshment caterer, now, did not at any rate hold a highly considered position. But the late Mr Pond, of the firm of Spiers and Pond, did an immense deal to ennoble the calling, and when ho died it might truly be said that a very useful life had closed. Enterprise is leaving birth far behind in the race for distinction. That firm’s first enterprise was taking charge of tho first All-England Eleven, in Australia, twenty years ago. Since then their career has been one of rapid and worldfamed success.

We are going to have a big house at the Theatre Royal to-night. “ Tho world’s mine oyster which I with sword will open,” said one who knew a thing or two. But if he had lived in this age of burnt cork and tambourines, he woukl’nt have dreamt of such a metaphor. “ Motley’s the only wear.” However, that is not what 1 wanted particularly to say. I wished to address a friendly word or two to my esteemed friend young Hobnail, who I know will be there in force this evening. I don’t object at all (on the contrary I rather like it), to cracking nuts and munching apples; I forgive him if the odour that proceeds from him is not so fragrant as it might be ; I pass over his conversation which is just a leotle too spicy at times; I even tolerate bis stare of undisguised admiration at the ladies (for alter all it is homage to beauty, paid in a rude stylo.) But ho commits one sin, for which there is no forgiveness. He whistles shrilly and he makes unearthly calls, and gives vent to discordant howls, and he keeps up incessant stamping with his feet, and with his cudgel ho smashes any bit of

board that may be handy. This is simply barbarous, meaningless, and inexcusable. There is no fun in it, no exhilaration follows this infernal cease less din in one’s ears ; even the bodily sense is offended and wearied. Do, dear youth, “ stow it,” I entreat. If not, a deputation of firemen must wait upon you with a few yards of hose. Don’t fill up the intervals with your wonted bowlings.

I should like very much to know what, if any, provision the Union Steamship Company make for their employes in case of accident. I have a shrewd idea that this Company is doing a roaring trade, and I am sure they don’t loso much by ill-timed generosity so that there must be a fund available for cases like that of the carpenter of the Eotorua, who died from the effect of frightful injuries received in falling down the hold. I wonder if anybody that reads these lines remembers good “ old Dicky Green ” as he was fondly called by the mariners in his service. The eccentric old gentleman used to get aboard of his yacht every time one of his homeward bound ships was coming up channel, range up alongside, go on board and see after every body’s welfare. “ Good old Dicky ” would go forward too, and have a word or two with the sailors, who all knew and welcomed him. He built them a “ Home ” and was their true friend. Poor old fellow, he has passed away to his haven of rest, long ago, and “ Green’s ” is a changed service now, but the memory of the cheery owner will scarcely ever die in nautical tradition.

I know some terrible sinners who haven’t been into the 11 enquiry room.” I saw half a dozen or so of well-known business citizens turning out of Barnard street about half-past one the other day, and I rejoiced to think that they had at last awakened to a knowledge of their need of improvement. What was my disappointment to find the hardened wretches had been to tho Assessment Court to try and work a point with the R.M., and that never-to-be-bamboozlcd Town Clerk, and having got a “ remission ” not of their sins but of their assessments, had washed out the remeraberances of the past by a glass of bitter. This is a wicked world !

An old man lives in the hush somewhere (pray mark the preciseness of the address I have given, it is not the effect of beer, it is the lack of it, that makes me incline to generalise), who has discovered a secret. He has found a plant whose juice dyes the hair black, unalterably, deeply, darkly, diabolically black, no matter what its color has been. Make diligent search for that ancient individual, old grey-pate, and prevail on him to part with his secret. And yet I don’t know why the greyheaded should so eagerly desire blackening- Black thatch over an old and shrivelled countenance, sweet maid antique, would not be charming. Therefore, old chap and old maid, disturb him not, but let him dye—himself and his dog if he chooses. As for us we will let the snow flakes descend when they will. They will gleam not unpleasingly, in the sunset of declining life. Puck.