Passing Notes.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 25, 3 September 1920, Page 6

Passing Notes.

BY JACQUES.

* * J Laugh where we must, be can did where we can. — Popo. # ********************************* *****^

The Rev. Gibson Smith said, at the First Church Diamond Jubilee, that the hardest thing in life is preparing a "real, uplifting sermon." I dunno. Has he ever tried listening to one of the ordinary kind. "A" is evidently a nice old gentleman, with grey whiskers, a big library, and a great, admiration for himself. With what a superior air does he pat me on tho head and twit me on my 'youthful inexperience and impetuosity." And how paternal is his fear that, without corrective chastisement, I may yet grow to take myseif seriously. Which goes to show that "A" is rather skilled in the gentle art of "squelching." I suppose I should wilt — but, somehow, I don't feel like it. Pure perversity on my part, no doubt. But now to get down to brass tacks re McCabe. "A" doubts some of my statements, and (quite properly) asks for references. Well, McCabe's affirmation (which "A" admits would be dogmatic) that telepathy had been scientifically established was quoted in the "Literary Guide" of July, 1910. In "The Religion of Sir Oliver Lodge" (page 54) McCabe says : "These (telepathic) experiments are to me convincing." Again (ibid, page 76) he roundly and erroneously asserts that "the one type of (spiritist) experiment from which the action of telepathy is rigorously excluded never succeeds." These are only one or two samples of many similar utterances on Joseph's part. "A" can dig out the rest for himself. Re the £1000 offer for proof of telepathy. It appeared in the "Times" in August, 1911. "A" will find the full text of the advertisement in Mann's "Follies and Frauds of Spiritualism" (page 153). Or, if he will look up "The Religion of Sir Oliver Lodge" (page 54), he will read McCabe's own words : "It is only fair to say that a scentific electrician of my acquaintance has publicly offered many times a sum of £100 for a successful experiment. At one time £1000 wag offered and advertised." So "A" will never more be able to shake his wise, grey old head and say: "I never heard of it, so don't believe it." He must believe McCabe. The Magistrate's task is not always an easy one— -as Mr McCarthy, of Christchurch, found when called on receiitly to adjudicate in a maintenance claim preterred by a scold against her husband. The Magistrate's sympathies were evidently with the worser half, but the Law said he must allow the claim. Still, with raire temerity, he spoke his mind to the woman, who had given abundant proof of her maddening volubility. "I would not live with you," he said. "I don't want to live with you," retorted the virago. "If I were your husband," concluded the Magistrate, "I would flee to the highest mountain to escape from you." As a hint to the victim, well meant, no doubt, but weak and futile. Still it was perhaps the b,est thing he eould think of, now that the fine old institution of the "ducking stool" is obsolete, and whipping seems temporarily unfashionable. The problem of the shrew is admittedly a difficult one. True, everybody — with certain exceptions — has an infallible recipe. The exceptions are those who are married to the vixens. I have only once in my life known an exception to these exceptions. He was a Sydney cabman who married a widow who had developed a natural gift for nagging to such a point of perfection that she had driven her first husband to suicide. ("He preferred hell to Nell," the neighbours used. to say). The cabby, however, proved more than a match for her, and by a method as simple as it was effective. Wheri the first rosy flush of marital bliss having died down, she opened on bim the fire of her lingual artillery , he sat and smoked serenely, and fixing her with an "ancient mariner" sort of look, ejaculated, "01' Boko"s the allusion being to her exceedingly large and red nose— and this he repeated every time the least pause in her tirade permitted him to slip it in. Nothing more he said,, but the "damned iteration" of that one irntating epithet quickly reduced her to a state of incoherent rage and hvsterical

despair. And a very short course of this treatment ersulted in a perfect cure. To all husbands cursed with nagging wives I give the recipe free, asking nothing but their gratit-ude when they have proven its efficaey. Since the war (and part of its dreary aftermath, no doubt) the world has experienced a strange epidemic of those good resolution with Wfaieh hell is said to be tesselated. The visitation is only temporary, of course, and we shall soon get back to normal again. Still, while it lasts, the cynically inclined may get some fun out of it. Its latest sporadic outbreak was in Sydney, where, in "inspirational, semi-religious" conference, Australasian advertisers proclaimed their resolve to henceforth strip all advertisements of their gaudy fietional plumage, and to substitute therefor the severe, Quaker-like garb of "truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." The proposal is a revolutionary one, and, though at first glance, it seems a thing to be desired, yet, "Since the pleasure is as great In being chea,ted as to cheat," it is doubtful what kind of a reception it would meet if carried into effect. We are loth to part with our illusions. Think of the disappcintment of the poor wretch who knows he has a hundred and one separate and distinct complaints to learn that "Granny Goosefoot's Green Globules" can only cure ninety-seven of them, instead of the whole lot as heretofore. And would the house buyer feel at all grateful, think you, to the land agent for frankly telling him that the £750 property he is buying is only worth £500 after all? Not on your life. The man who is being taken down always loves to believe that he is taking down somebody else. And the land "agent's advertisement, at present, helps him to this comfortable frarne of mind. Again, just fancy the result of the ragman caudidly telling the lady that the £40 gTey fox cloak was the best rabbitskin obtainable. She wouldn't thank him for his honesty — and he wouldn't sell that cloak. And so on, and so forth. It is all very well to dream dreams like these Sydney advertisers are doing, but there ig a very hard row before the man who initiates the foolish endeavour to make honesty and veracity an integral part of his business.