CURRENT TOPICS.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 448, 22 February 1890, Page 6

CURRENT TOPICS.

' (By Zamiel in the ‘ A ckland Star.” ludge Conolly has enlightened us coniderably on the subject of slander. It is iot, His Honor has informed us, a slander ‘or one man to call another man a “damned .scoundrel,” for that is merely abuse. Now, peradventure some may be led astray by this explanation of legal terms, and I hasten to bestow a timely caution. It will not be correct to assume that there is no punishment provided for those who use this objectionable epithet, and it would be extremely injudicious for people with grievances to go around just now and tell unfriendly parties exactly what they were considered to be in these concise terms. To call a man “ a damned scoundrel’' may not be slander, but such a course is precious risky, and may lead to a prosecution for the use of abusive language, %vith an off chance of more prompt and forcible retaliatory measures. The better plan, when you feel inclined to call a man a damned scoundrel, is to take the advice of Zamiel and—don’t. Or if you must—why, use the telephone.

That refreshing tonic and stimulating beverage yclept “hop beer” appears to have had an astonishing sale of late, and the purveyors of the heavier “ colonial refreshers ” will have to look to their laurels. Hop beer is well-known to be a highly popular beverage amongst teetotallers, who find in its component elements a desirable combination of invigorating materials which takes the place of the ordinary intoxicating beverage rejoicing in the same title, excepting the “hop.” A purveyor of light refreshments at Rangiriri on Jubilee Day disposed of some hop beer under the customary guise of nonintoxicating liquor, and it was soon discovered by the local constable that the thirsty souls who had been indulging appeared to become somewhat “elevated.” The constable’s suspicions were aroused, and he impounded a quantity of the hop beer. Mr Pond made an analysis, and found it to be more than ordinarily strong. The police prosecuted, and two defendants were fined T 5 each, together with costs £2 9s in each case.

Mr Pond, the Government Analyst, says ginger beer, hop beer, etc., if fermented at all,'come within the meaning of the Act, and the magistrate who disposed of the Rangiriri case has come to the conclusion that'such fines must be imposed as will put a stop to the sale of such articles, when known to be intoxicating. Well, I must admit having drunk a good deal of hop beer in my time, but, if I have been deceived, my conscience is easy, for I would just as soon have the hop’ beer “fortified” as not, at the price, but what shall be said for our teetotal friends ?” Just fancy the quantity of “ deadly poison ” they may have deposited in their unconscious stomachs under the guise of teetotal beverages, and imagine the terrible reaction that must ensue when the truth is revealed. Surely, this is all a huge mistake, and I shall awake to find that after all Zamiel shall not be deprived of his hop beer. I ask anybody, everybody we drink?” Doctors taboo tea and coffee; cocoa does not agree with everybody ; wine, beer, and spirits are under the teetotallers’ category of “ deadly poisons and now thcy'are going to take away our hop beer and our ginger beer. This is too much. I move for a commission of inquiry to investigate the true facts of the case, and elucidate the problem—What shall we drink ?

I wonder what the Board of Governors of the Grammar School intend to do about the Rev. J. K. Davis. Is he to continue a master of the Grammar School while officiating as pastor of Epiphany Church ? If so, Mr Davis must be considered a lucky man, to be able to hold two positions at once, and to geo a couple of nice salaries for them. He will be the envy of all his brother clergymen, for mostof them would be glad bo eke outtheir small salaries by getting Grammar School or other appointments. I have no doubt that the Board of Governors would have had several applications from wearers of “ the cloth ” had the latter thought the Board likely to countenance such an arrangement as appears to have been made in Mr Davis’ case.

If the Board intends to continue the arrangement some interesting complications are pretty sure to arise. It will be rather nice for some youngster to dash into Mr Davis’ class with, “Please, sir, Mrs Brown’s dying, and wants to see you.” Mr Davis will have to go at once, or reply, “Ask Mrs Brown to bo good enough to wait and die after school.” Or he vvill have to announce to his congregation every Sunday that all who intend to die during the ensuing week are respectively requested to do so outside school hours.

I wonder how the Epiphany congrega* tion will like this matter. Mr Davis clearly cannot perform properly the duties of parson and schoolmaster at the same time. If he does one duty well, the other must suffer. Surely Mr Davis sees that such must be the case. But the Bishop, good man, is quite agreeable to the arrangement, and probably the congregation is satisfied bvtheir having topaya somewhat less salary to their pastor. No doubt the Board of Governors have the interests of the school sufficiently at heart to make them insist on their teachers giving proper attention to their duties. Mr Bourne may be relied upon to do that; and if anyone is to suffer from the arrangement I apprehend it will be the parishoners of Epiphany and not the school. k Even the parson likes his little joke, and one of the local clergymen who has been ronftd with the hat is now making merry concerning an episode which will bear repetition. "His visitation was a honse-to-house one, and at each place he called he asked for subscriptions. In one case the good man approached the front door of a parishioner s house, rang the bell, the door opened and a little girl appeared. Pastor— 44 Good afternoon, my child.” Is your mother at home ?”• Little Girl— 44 No, sir ; mamma is down town.” Pastor —“Will she be back soon?” Little Girl—“l—l guess so.” .Pastor —“ Then I will come in and wait a few minutes.” Pastor enters and takes a seat in the parlour. Being desirous of knowing what kind of houses his people provides for their families, the clergyman looked about him and soon discovered a pair of feet protruding from under a curtain. A little further optical investigation that the feet belonged to the little girl’s mother. By-and-by the child appeared again and said that she thought her mamma would not return for an hour or two “Well,” says the pastor, “ I will not wait • but, my child, be kind enough to tell vour mother the next time she goes down town to take her feet with her. * * %* * It is afl very well to believe that the trials of our life are sent by the Almighty for our good, but it is quite possible that a

pious regard for this principle may carry a man too far. A friend of mine has an orchard, and in the orchard are apple trees affected with the codlin moth. He did all he could to remove the pest, and was very successful, but at the same time he was conscious that his efforts were of little avail while his neighbour made no effort to clean his orchard. At last he appealed to the neighbour, telling him of several good plans to destroy the pest. But to his astonishment the neighbour declined to take any action at all. “ Those little worms,” he said, “ are sent to us by our Heavenly Father, and He would not send them unless for our good.”

What could my friend do with a man like this? To argue with him was useless, and he therefore left him alone. Now, he knows it is useless to try to eradicate the pest, and the destructive moth is left to the devices of his own sweet will in both orchards. The argument of the pious neighbour is all very well, but it contains a lesson which he has missed altogether. i’erhaps, after all, the mission of the codlin moth on earth is to serve as an antidote to the besetting sin of laziness, which is so common in our enervating climate, and to teach neighbours the duty they owe to one another. *** * * * * ■*■ *

That irrepressible small boy again. Some day he will achieve annihilation, but until then we must learn to bear with him. This time it is the cheeky urchin who whistles us up at unholy hours to receive the order for the matutinal sausage, who has distinguished himself. He was due at a suburban mansion the other day with the family mutton at noon, but noon came, and no mutton. Angelina, the pretty daughter of the house, fretted and fumed, but all to no purpose. “He cometh not” was all she said. Bub at last his whoop was heard at the gate, and Angelina hastened out with flashing eye and cheek reddened by her cooking operations to tell him off. She was indignant, and he of the sausage factory assertive. He denied he was late, and vowed by the heavens above him that he heard the town clock striking twelve a moment before. She laughed him to scorn, and then he brought his heavy artillery into play. With a low whistle of surprise, he scanned her crimsoned countenance, and then ejaculated, “ Oh, crikey, Susie ! do you paint your face ?” He dodged the rolling pin, and now leaves the meat on the gatepost, and doesn't stay to ask questions.

Quite a good story is being told in town this week at the expense of a good young man in the community. He has for many years of his life been passionately fond of collecting photographs of the great and good, as well as of the eccentric, and of all that the world calls lovely and novel. In some of the cities of the old country he has often gone up to strange vendors of photos and made a purchase, but has never been guilty of buying a single one that was in any way improper. Indeed, he was always on the alert, and if any such photos were offered he would instantly cause the articles to be seized and the vendor run in.

The other day he stood looking over a bureau of photographs which an itinerant photographer was selling, when the owner whispered, “ Do you want to see something good ?” “ Yes,” was the speedy response, and the good young man thought as he spoke that thousands of improper pictures are sold in just that way. The seller placed his hand in a separate parcel and drew out a neat packet, saying if his customer was on, the price was 2s. The vendor would not, however, exhibit except under the conditions that the cash should be paid first, and the photos placed in a sealed envelope and not opened till the purchaser got home. The bargain was eventually struck, and off the purchaser ran with bis prize to a neighbouring shop in Queen-street, and in an almost breathless manner asked a chemist friend to step aside and view with him the indecent things. The package was carefully torn open and out fell three or four pictures yellow stained with years of age, bub merely photos of Emperor William, Talmage, and others. The look of chagrin that played over, those two faces was well worth being placed on canvas.

Mr Patrick X. came to town during Jubilee week. He has been rusticating in the backwoods for tho last six or seven years, on his little farm, where hie pleasures are few and simple, and where ie leads a quiet orderly life. He could nob afford to bring the whole family up to the “ silibrasbun,” so he brought only his eldest son, a little lad about eight years of age, who never had been in town before. Now, Patrick loves his adopted country, and he was so delighted with its having got over its fifty years of life so well that he must wet the occasion with something stronger than hop beer. Moreover, he was constantly meeting friends as he went about the streets, for “ divil a sowl was moindin’ his business and the result was that Patrick on Jubilee Eve got as full of whisky and patriotism as any gentleman would desire.

Little Pat was forced to take part in the liquid festivities by drinking a drop of whisky and was sent to bed early. His pa was less wise, for he sab up with the crowd in the hotel at which he stopped till very late. Then he crawled carefully off to bed, where he enjoyed a forty horse power sleep till about 11 o’clock next day. Now, there were some jokers in that pub who thought they would take advantage of Pat’3 “greennessso when they got him well asleep, they carefully blackened up the little Pat, who, thoroughly tired out, slept comfortably through it all. At 11 a.m. on Jubilee morning Mr Patrick X. woke with an exceedingly sore head, a breath worse than a dozen onions, and a tongue that would have fizzed had water been put on it. He turned over and saw a black boy beside him. In a jiffy he was out of bed and dancing wildly round the room. “ Arrah, ye black haythen, what brought you here ? Come out o’ that, ye dhirtyspalpeen, or I’llbreakeverybone inyer body.” Little Pat sab up in astonishment, and cried “What’s wrong, dad?” “An wud ye have the impedence to call me dad? Where have yez put Pat?” 44 Shure an’ I’m Pat meself.” “ Oh, you lyin’ black n'agur,” and old Pat was about to jump on the little fellow, when the latter noticed for the first time that he was all black. Explanations followed, and Pat senior found that it was really Pat junior who was in the room.

His distress then became terrible, for he thought he must hitaself have blackened the boy during the night, and he did not know bo what lengths he might have gone. All morning he went about in a humble and contrite manner, drinking lemonade and other things that cheer but don’t inebriate. The jokers had the satisfaction of hearing him tell the story ot his crime with his own lips, and they encouraged him in the belief that he must have had the horrors. He has gone back home with a cock and bull story for his wife, in which the word whisky is absolutely barred.

It is surprising to note the numbers of sorrowing and troubled mortals who rush to Zamiel with their tales of woe for comfort and consolation. The latest grieving one to write me is “ A Sorrowing Benedict,” whose epistle runs :—“ My dear Zamiel, —I want to know if you can afford me any help or suggestion in my distress. The fact is, I am troubled with a wife who can hardly be described as other than an iron-jawed woman. Iron-jawed shemosbeertainly is, for nothing but slumber can still that terrible tongue and close those awful jaws of hers, and even then she scolds in her sleep at some imaginary poor devil of a husband. It is jaw constantly day and night, and the consequence is I am worn to a skeleton, my clothes hang like bags on my emaciated frame, my heart is affected, the doctors tell me my liver is touched, and I am fast sinking into the dark, narrow grave—all through a superabundance of conversational and recriminating energy on the part of my beloved spouse. I am a miserable old boy, Zamiel, and you must excuse if I pause to drop a salt tear or two.

“ But what I wanted to ask you is, whether there is nob some vacancy in some circus or something of the sort for Sarah Ann ? I hear that something of the kind advertises as a great attraction an ironjawed lady, who is stated in the ‘ ads ’ to draw crowds of wondering spectators every evening. It would be balm to my wounded spirit, Zamiel dear, if some light employment of the sort could be found for Sarah, say, in a circus or the like that leaves fur America, or China, or somewhere before long. She could make herself generally useful, I am sure, in the way of breaking firewood with her teeth for the ostriches, etc., to eat before the circus begins. I would even be willing to pay a premium, anything in fact, so long, as Sarah Ann goes and leaves ‘ a sorrowing Benedict.’” This is all, and nothing more. Several tear-drops stain the leaves of the letter, and Zamiel pities the poor man from the bottom of his heart, and shudders to think what his fate must be if he remains mated with his Sarah Ann much longer. The gallows, the Lunatic Aslyum, or the grave are very evidently the only alternatives.

Bub lam afraid, mj dear “ 5.8.,” that Sarah will require to be consulted in the matter. There is a possibility that she may prefer giving exhibitions of her skill with the iron jaws in the privacy of her quiet home to the attractions of balancing chairs and tables in her teeth for the edification of the great British public, or even to the bliss of masticating logs of firewood for the ostriches’ tiffin. However, J feel that under the circumstances the best thing my unfortunate correspondent can do is to open up negotiations with the next circus show that comes along, and induce Sarah Ann to exhibit her accomplishments at a private matinee.