The Kenilworth Advertiser. — 1891-12-19 (Kenilworth, Warwickshire, England)

JOTTINGS.  [The Publisher &Menet had himeeic responsible wr, nor identify hiinself with, the opinions 8:linseed in these Jottings.]  The latest about the " Spinning House Boandal." The roses are not blooming in „Oxford, but there is a Daisy " out " in Ilambridge. • dit  Sir Edward Arnold declares that a "successful newspaper man must have the -constitution and the hide et a vhinoceros, and a hair•trigger intellect. I am," he added, "prouder of the fact that I am a journalist than I should be of being an Archbishop or a Lord Chancellor." The " hairtzigger " analogy is all very well, taken in connection with "big guns" and men whose function it is to give "reports," but the rhinoceros-hide business sounds uncomfort.ably suggestive. * • • . •  It was with a feeling of relief that a sympathising public learned the decision of the Assize Court in the case arising out of that unfortunate affair at Coleshill on the .sth November. It can only be hoped that the sad fate of the poor man who lost his life may prove a warning for the future. It was clear, as the judge pointed out to the jury, that there was no criminal intent. But carelessness or reckless conduct have often sufficed to bring about mos 4 deploreble results. Evil is wrought by want of thought, no less than want of heart. *  Binley is in a bad way. It is said that owing to the non-appointment of a clergyman since the death of the late incumbent, no services have been held for five weeks. Earl Craven is the patron of the living, which is said to be worth about £5O a year,"and to have been offered to one clergyman, but declined with thanks. Meanwhile Binley waits. A matter like this wants seeing into, end I propose Vast a conference of the Primate, the Pope, and General Booth, with power to add to their number, be forthwith convened to consider if something can't be done for the spiritual—or perhaps I should say clerical—destitution of the parish. a.*  Joseph Sheldon was brought before the Leamington Bench the other day for riding under the seat of a railway carriage without bothering about a ticket. He said he came from Edinburgh, but he is a humourist for all that, although when he told the Bench "his boots had gone to perdition" and his feet were sore, the magisterial mind failed to grasp the subtlety of the situation. After all, the expression was quite appropriate. He referred to the "soles," of course—when he talked about the lower regions he couldn't have meant the "uppers "—but the Bench thought it was a lame excuse, so bang went 215., including costs. ' we  There has always been plenty of trouble with boys, but at present all signs seem to point to the fact that the genus boy has in every direction reached the extreme stage of his development. We have heard of the boy who runs a newspaper—to say nothing of the boys who sell them—and the boy who runs away; we have had a great deal of the youthful prodigy, and latest of all our senses have been shocked by the callous criminality of the juvenile murderer. A bad boy in the country, so long as, he can romp around and find scope for his demoniacal energies in taking birds' nests and robbing orchards, is comparatively inocuous so far as society is concerned. tut the way in which our towns are being given over to the rifraff of the boy population is really becoming a serious question. The bands of young nomads who infest the streets, seeking opportunities of mischief, are the despair of parents and the torment of the peripatetic policeman, while their " lifting " propensities make them a terror to the small shopkeeper. I read that in Berlin sixty-two boys—and of course they must have been bad boys—have committed suicide during the last fourteen months. Happy Berlin! *  Cremation may be comparatively considerate treatment for a man when he is unmistakeably and genuinely dead. When he isn't, it is decidedly uncomfortable. A man in Kulu—wherever that may be—took ill the other day, and went off into a case of suspended animation, which all his relatives mistook for the final wind iLp. They didn't burn him there and then, but when morning broke over the hilltops, and the birds began to sail out of their nests in search of worms, they carried Inni to his funeral pyre. Probably he smelt the sticks and began to feel hotter than the climatic conditions would seem to warrant. At any rata, he arose and shook himself, and made inquiries about the locality, and finished up by demanding his clothes. Then the oremeters got it into their heads that their lamented relative was getting too much alive for a funeral ceremony, so they dropped the bier and ran. Meanwhile the departed had taken in the pathetic situation, and untangling himself from the winding sheets, went along home to get something to eat. The mourners met the corpus on the way, and wanted to explain that if it wasn't dead it was more its own fault than theirs, but the remains were'nt in the humour for explanations just then. The dead man has since given instructions to alter his will, and when he dies next time he intends to be buried decently. So says an Indian journal.