Passing Notes.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 33, 29 October 1920, Page 6

Passing Notes.

BY JACQUES.

* * ^ Laugh where we must, be candid where ve can. — Pope. J * "K-)k!tAAi4&4ijk)k>!'*:jkAA3kAA4!)k!kjkA*)kAA&)kA*iA**^*

The strenuous life. A Wellington clergyman did sorae groaning recently over the day's burdensome programme. "To-day," he said, "I liad a funeral at 10, a wedding at 2, a meeting of clergy at 2.30, a garden party after that, and tlien tea. And I've got to prepare two sermons for Sunday. And they say the clergy are not a hard worked lot." Well, that fellow has my sympathy. It would take very little more — say a rubjier at whist and a " visit to the pictare show — to break him down altogether. I know Mr Gavin %righton to be a sober and God-fearing, albeit somewhat pugnaeious citizem. That he should deliberately and "of malice prepense perpetrate a practical joke is as inconceivable as that he should forego any opportunity of combatting others' views on theological or kindred matters. I must, therefore, accept his attack on rae in last week's "Digger" as written in all seriousness. Which makes it the more humorous. Listen. He says, inter alia, "Telepathy . . . is a means by which two persons can, without visible means of communication, let the other know that the other is in great stress or trouble, although the one may not be able to state in what form the trouble has overtaken the other. The stress so acts on the troubled one, and both being in unison, or tuned to the same pitch, acts on the other." Presumably Mr Brighten intended this passage to have some meaning but, for the life of me, I cannot discover it Whether one is 4he other, or the other is one, or each is buvh or neither, is more than I can make out. If Mr Brighton will write it all over again — in a slower, louder, clearer voice this time — I will have another wrestle with it; when perhaps some glimmering of light will penetrate to my dull brain. Again, later on he says: "Spiritualism is 'demonstratable,' therefore so many .of our well learned men have had to ac- , knowledge certain facts because they were I not acquainted with certain active forces j or bodies working out the will of the overruling power which governs the earth', so some of them have fallen to try and purge and make them clean." Really, Mr Brighton should be more careful; to write like that is an even more serious matter than to put "Pigs in Clover" into one's hands. Socialism is a damnable thing; closely altied to atheismj Bolslievism, and all those other isms that make us shudder. We have been told so over and over again by the press,' the pulpit, and the Premier. And their multitudinous warnings against the horror have received full confirmation in the disquieting reports which are reaching us, with growing frequency, 1 f rom across the water. Only the other day carne the harrowing news that the Government trawlers were pouring fish into Australian cities in such vast quantities that it was only bringing the miserable price of twopence per pound. True, there was a profit, even at that price, but the profits were so far less than usual that all right-thinking men must regard the action of the Government as a deliberaAe attack on the sacred institution of private enterprise. Also, the Commonwealth merchant fleet is seriously hampering the laudable efforts of private shipping companies to build up fat dividends for their shareholders ; the State woollen mills are selling tweeds, etc., at prices that are simply ridiculous; and in Queensland — if Mr McManus is to be believed — prime meat is being retailed at from 3^d. to 5£d per pound over the counters of the State butcheries. All of which goes to prove that the Australians are mad, sir, made as a March hare; ahd that the country is rapidly drifting in the direction — as Mr Mantalini would say — of "the demned bow-wows." It is reassuring to us, however, to know that Mr Massey has no sympathy with such nonsense — as is shown by his declared intention of taxing any municipal trading enterprise that may tlireaten the time-honoured privileges of that bulwark of the Empire, the profiteer. Who says the church does not move ? Perish the slander. It is only a few ye^irs since the clergy of all denominations were figliting tooth and nail the vile doctrine oi

Darwinism — "that gospel of dirt," as it was contemptuously styled. Tliousands of sermons and elerical pamphlets were levelled against it, and the last years of the venerable scientist'b life were embittered by what amounted to systematic persecution. The evolutionary propagandists who followed him fared no better Huxley's whole life was one long .j fight with superstitious jgnorance, and it was a good thing for him that his mind was cast in such a mould that, as he himself once said, "he didn't care a darnn" what his clerical detractors said of him. Having regard to these facts it is refreshing to see that at least an odd cleric here and there is, more or less grudgingly, conceding the scientific truth of the evolutionary doctrine. The latest is Canon Barnes, who, in a paper read before the Southend Church Congress, admitted that ' 'Man was not created by God, but is the end of a vast evolutionary process" — though he qualifies this by addina, "of Divine design." It is comforting, of course, to science to receive this clerical concession, but most evolutionists would be sorely puzzled to discover in "the vast evolutionary process" any evidence of "Divine design." "Nature is one with rapine," and "from scarped cliff and quarried stone" we get abundant evidence that she was never any better than she js now. The story written there of the progress and deVelopment of life makes ghastly reading. Moreover, the many blundei ; ag, blind alley experiments that Nature seems to have been constantly making make-- it difficult to discover the operation of omniscient beneficence. Still, if Carion Barnes can perceive it, he is, perhaps, fortunate in his faith. McSweeney is dead — selfdmmolated to his country's cause. The world had been long and eagerly watching the unequal fight between one weak, solitary man on the one hand, and the tremendous forces of constituted "law and order" on the other. There was something af once sublime and pathetic in the spectacle ; sublime- in McSweeney's heroic, self-sacri-ficing devotion to what he believed to be right and truth, and pathetic in the hopelessness of the struggle. Many of us — even other than Ilome Rulers and Irishmen — had hoped that some ingenious brain would discover a reasonable and satisfactory means® of escape from the impasse that had been created, without loss of dignity or sacrifice of principle on either side. Therefore the news that McSweeney had been allowed to die brought to us not merely a thrill of horror, but a feeling of despair. For it is not too much to say that the incident destro^s every hope of our reconciliation with Ireland, who will now look on us as having declared war to the knife. Snrely we, in our greater power, could have found some way out of the difficulty without any injury to our prestige. Clemency is not necessarily weakness. It seems to me that we have harped too much on the dignity of the nation and ihe majesty of the law, and too little on the' strings of justice and mercy. And We will most assuredly pay the price" later on. We have had few -friends among the nations in the pastj we will have still fewer in the future. Perhaps dead McSweeney is destined to win a greater victory over us than we like to think of now.

KINGS.AND PRINCES I HAVE MET.

SULTAN STIVEN. A little journey to the northward of the desert of Driazel lies the beautiful and restful oasis of of Wolistoun — which, translated, means "The City of Good Times." There, ii the caravanserai which he has established — which he has benevolently established — for the saving of lives, reigns Sultan Stiven the First, .the kindliest autocrat of whom history bears record. Thither, from surrounding arid paris, flock many pilgrims, with cracking throats, husky voices, and spittle like Avads of cotton, !o pay him homage and ninepence a "spot." It was a red letter day in my career when the editor's instructions, my own thirst, and a taxi took me to that delightful spot to interview his mirthful Majesty. I found the chambers, corridors, passages,

and other parts crowded with his subjects. These were, for the most part, very merry fellows, full of laughter and speaking a strange, but pleasant togue. I eaught and memorised a few of the words, such as : "Cumanavaspot," "Fillemupagane," - "Sameasbeforburt," "Avanotheralongome," and others which, though not understood bv the uninitiated, yet strike musically on the. ear. The Sultan, however, seemed to speak all their languages, and evidently knew all their ways and tastes, and so never once failed to satisfy the craving of each particular soul. To one he wonld hand out a "wiskispot" (as it is called in their tongue) ; to another a "longun" or a "meejum" (according to 'capacity) ; to a third a "portagaf" ; to a fourth "ginanbitters"; to another "samewithadash," and so on. And each would take his gifts and shout his praises, and blow off the froth (which, I understand, is a religious rite), and smile at each other, and wiok and say "Eresluck,", "Appidays," "Thousanayear," and other fi-aternal and friendly greetings. Thereafter silence would follow, save for a pleasant gurgling. as the lotions trickled down to the easing and healing of tormented throats. There were one or two cases, however, in which ihe passage downward of the liquor was followed by a distinct hissing and a slight cloud of steam, as when water is thrown on a hot ploughshare. This, the Sultan explained, was due to their foolish persistence in saving up a prize thirst too long. However, by repeating the cooling operation frequently, the fever in each case was at length assuaged, and the relieved ones patted themselves on their Little Mary's and said, "Aha! Richard is himself again." We knew then that all danger was past. As the old saw has it, "All' roads lead to Wolistoun." Every one ends at the door of the Sultan's caravanserai. No one passes without halting. In fact, it is in common report among the people that every motor car with a vestige of self-re-spect, automatically stops there and refuses to proceed until its owner has alighted and entered to see the ruler, or his Grand Visier, Ferid el Baldey, about a dog or any other old matter. When the business is concluded, and the owner emerges, with a moist upper lip, a smiling face, and a pronounced bulge in the region of the hip pocket, the car again becomes tractable, and proceeds. on its way, purring contentedly in t-he consciousness of duty faithfully performed. And it is said that even a Ford will, in its mad elation, attempt sometimes to shatter records when its master has tasted happiness in the tavern. There is little need to descanfe on the physical appearance of the Sultan, since that is well known to all the Rubinoses, who constitute the great majority of his subjects. Passing reference , may, however, be, made to his pleasihg and happily, increasing rotundity. This, he modestly claims, to be the natural reward of a good life— that is, good living. His paths are virtuous and his habits regular. He takes frequent exercise at certain pumps that he has fitted up for that purpose; he has only a few, or more, meals a day, and he never drinks anything stronger than whisky. These things, combined with the daily performance of his benevolent duties and plenty of fresh air on race days, have given him a corpulency that is a joy to himself and every. one else but his tailor. That luckless, individual declares that if the monarch" puts on any more "binjie," he will have to get him to hold one end of the measuring tape while he (the tailor) walks round him with the other. In his good work of manipulating the pumps, handing out the bottles, saying "Givitauameboys" and piling the shekels into the treasury, the Sultan is ably assisted by his Grand Vizier. And this good and faithful servant has also his reward in a comforting and comfortable adiposity. But, as one star- differeth from another, so does the Sultan's corpulency differ from that of the Vozier. For while that of the former inclines more and more to the front so that it threatens shortly to hide his feet for evermore from his sight, that of the latter tends to extend backward, until even now it keeps the chair he sits on a long way away from the rest of his body. The Sultan's fatness has been likened to a coming event that casts its shadow before, but the Vizier's to a stern reality. However, they are good fellows both, and may their shaclows never grow less.