The Bookfellow.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 137, 10 June 1911, Page 13

The Bookfellow.

(All Rights Kescrvcd.)

' I By A. G. Stephens. I

BAGSTEE, FKENCH-FOLISHER, DESCANTS. I never mixes. Klf'll toll you that. Elfreci: -Jim.-iiky, three: Wore was wo nan? TalUln' »' wu'k? Ar. well, talk' o' wu'k , \V«i J w.-is Rom' to g-y was this- a p'lnt i'ou ever usi ycrec'l w'y mas' men wu'k? Well, sonic wu'ks fer the slkc c> - love — a ge You've (rot ver eye on, or cr eve's on you Mc-bbe :i mother; or a wife :m' kids. That sort's like nous in Molbro 'Otise—'igh prim!. Some mos'ly Scotch or yo'ksbireiiien, a: full 0' as a ditchonary— -wu'lt To plus it i" a beuk. i knauw 'cm— etrltc— Coin blintl, relijus, totiin' <-ent per cent, Adflin' their hooks o' Sunilali afternoonsHeadin' the Colleck. (I mils' "aye mc larf.. Rnt miw" men wu'k to grut enough to oat, To 'avi' the strcn'th to vra'k, to enousl Tn eat. to "are the tfiren'th to ivn'k, toYus»! So ivf ralintl the ruddy riiiß o' rovvscs: An' w'en the dnwnco is onver, "tippy be To 'avo enough tv plout yer bloumin bow lies! A mug's gime, wot? Tv wu'k to gei onous-'h To e.u to 'arc the stren'th to wu'k — Somi It's Fltc! I e'pose it's rite gives mc uoi 'nrr I need to keep mc weary w'istle wet; An' 'im. the blighted, turkle-fed. uprgshor ions 'op. Mc buss, 'is chuff chuff an' 'is shampinc 'Is f.-iwiicy woman an' 'is fat red neck! Lor , li:inni.v: FJTK: It's mc auil iiiu.l-s lilu mc Woi wu'Us fer 'im, swe.itin' and svvoatei As Uiifls 'is steak, an' fries i; brain, an p'ys The sawbones' guinea w'en 'c's stoked toe 'ard! Yuss. call it Fite! An' so we "ave—blinc Fite:— AnoUier ruddy ring o' roTvses* ' •

Wu'k? -Mc frien', w'ei. 'h'nery .liagster's got tho, I <i arf a pint, or some kind feelin' Rent — Thankee, 1 will. 'lire, Klf.'—Jliuuiky, three! Wen 'Kncry Hamster's got 'is daws aliaht I A glawss, V 'Int tin- skilly-blooded son j To hrike 'is hloomin' beck wiv wi.'k-noj rear: i 'Ere's love! 'K'll wu'k w'eu Thust Jos' tells I 'im to— 'Ell wwk fer Ruin. A silly reason'; Well.' I looked ar.ihnd this cock-eyed, slew-jor'd j life— j Wo. do 1 want? Feels'. Feets'. Nah. Hum's! Rum's snnietUin' solid in a wobbly world. | | It's cheap. It's there. It's never fur i I. nips yrr st.immlek. an' it 'eats ver ' ... " ,n " rt '' j (.ives jp the .lotion 1 Ik. r you're slill alive: Tips ye "Cood-uight, mc lord, an' pleasant I Mikes yer forgii that Luck 'as turned ye, dahn: Mikes yer fersit yer pnre of woman's | Htirr. i Ver .lack's a lifer, an' yer Liz a 'ore: | Mikes yer fersil the d'ys w'eu yen was 1 mil to •Content in wu'k to -et enough to eat To 'aye the stren'th —like all the other m.ißs! RT"MV Itum's a feet: i That's w'y yon find mc 'ere. j Mos' d'ys. a-lappin;;' of it up. A man j 'As sol to -aye 'is Feet. Rum's mine - Wots yours? I Look slippy, cawn't ye. Klf? .Jimaiky, ' I threel : ! I —Trom "Itowton House Rhymes," by Wil- \ Until Andrew Mackenzie. (Blackwood, :: '.) i I ROWTOX IIOCSE RHYMES. i Printed above is the argument that N.Z. prohibitionists have to light— the argument for alcohol as a tact from .'•'a try land, a breath of the li'oi.ien Age blown a-Toss foul gutters, an .-*. ape fr.un tile biirul alleys of life. li. mi-cry the argument is irrefragable. There is one way lor the prohibitionists t-> prove it invalid in New Zealand —th, 1 v.as of keeping evervbodv's .-ki:i warm and everybody's holly 'full. In other words, the more you lienor social conditions. ! the less yui. risk the lapse from good i living tii.it drink represents: because you fight facts with facts instead of with I' words. That is the path that New- Zea- • land takes independently; the prohibi-j tionists should take it deliberately.!

J l".M>ry Milliciciu lif.le hnmo may repreI in' argument oiTiira in '•I'uwion j lion*. Hhym<-s." by W. A. Mackenzie, , ii'iiii-i.-irt.s from n model lodjjinjrlioux- in l.omlon, ;in(i in vuiorwiu verses (with I Ihti- iiiul there a touch of poptry) desj.;i'ri's ;i ij il revolts njrainst t.lle fate! of the I I do , .' win) is down. As titcr.i turf, the I irW.Mv.e-, li;,vi' a modern U- vain,— though j ; sonic of tli.-m are n.s ~,,,,1. r,.r exainpTo, | j.is sonic of Henley's; us ;i "lmninn clocu- J lir.eut." ii\ tlio |i!iraso tint Cladslone i ! I «•"-■" H nolT) found for Mario HashI kiliseft, they are ni particular interest. i Tin- hook is well worth its price. j I A GENTLE SATISIST. M.-im-ii-e I.a riii.-'-- book n; "Diminniivc I I Pnuiisi.-." (C.mstiiMi-: -I li net), begins I like this (with Kinu' llemy VILI. aiul C'litilcrilii* J'arr at liri';ikf;ist) : j Kin- Henry: My ogß's raw. It really i> l<lll b;lil. Ciitlii-rlnc: Vi'stcrday you rnmplalticd or U:i-lr l.cm- hard. Kinu lli-nr.v: Ami sn Ihny were. I dnn't ■wanl .1 li.iiil i-Kji, :■ u<l I iJun't want a raw ; eu'L-. 1 uanl Ilieni lo be <-i..>ki'(l just risht. I c.ir.ierine: \,..i are very dllHrult lo please. j Th,- ,■;;.- w.is in liollliiK water fur three uilnlllfii ami ah.'iir. 1 b'liloil it in.vseir. Rut dive ii mi-. I like llii-in like tliat. I will l.uil v.Mi (ini-.tlii-r. Kin- lli-nry: N", If* ton late now. Hut i: is a fan thai ymi Irive m> hloa how to lini; .in eu':;. I wish yuii'il let thpin do it I'iii.hrrliu-: If ihcy'ro .l.mo in lUo kit.-lien 1 Tim e.un|ilaiii licc.-uisp Illey'rc tint Ijere when I you en;ne il.iwti, and if they are here yuu I say ihey are enlil. i Kin- Henry: I never say anylhins of the klml. The i-u.ik boils okxs beam ifirily. j Caiherin.': She shall boil them ln-mor-I KiiiK 11- iii-v: (ire w.uild have Ihonphl ' thai a v.0.:-i;. of your experienre mlslii lit 1.-a-; know how i.i Loll an ogp. 1 Inte a watery e=-. il'i-nsivolyi. Poor dear Katie I i'.siml i.i l.oil i..-s« lHMinirully. Cillii-riiii-: I.i y.ni mean r.itlieriae Ilovvanl or Kalhoriuo n{ Arnjrmi? K:n-.- 11.-nry. 1 was alluillnp lo pnnr, iiPnr. r. : :-;ii;drd K.ui,. ll.iw.inl. Kaihrrine of Ai.v'in ;:ever was my wife. The marriage t "jitlioi-iiii" : Wei , .. Katborinp Flowaril nuplu n> have l::-own how f> linll eegs. ronsirlcri;._' h.r mother was a kii.'henmalrl. Kins Henry: That is utterly umrue. Her ni-tlior wax a Rnrkfonl. Catherine: You're thinking of Anne Duli len. j King Henry: Yes, yes, to be 6ure, Katie's j mother was a Somerset,

Catherine: You're thinking of Jane SeyI inour. I There was a valiant and honourable New Zealand parson who van be cited in 'witness to the fidelity of the chronicle and the forgetful n ess of .mil eh-married | men. As lie preached the gospel over 1 the length and breadth of the country his i successive families were inevitably shed I and scattered here and there: since the I church nowadays does not always make ! adequate provision for patriarchs or even i for ordinary fathers of families. Com- ! motion arose in Canterbury the other day when a Presbyterian minister was discovered divested of gown and bands , ami feeding boulders into a stone-crusher jatlV a day—it paid better. But for I our amiable analogue of Abraham—takI ing after many years a missionary cirvi.it. there was found or invented an incident' something like this: Parson .pulling up his horses at a hush shanty, and addressing th" shirt-sleeved landlord who has come out at the sound of wheels.: (lood-day. (Noddlns to the ; weary nags.) Yon might take them round and give then, a feed. Landlord: All right, sir. Why Father::.' Parson: What! Bless my soul! Why, It's —no. Henry? landlord: No; Tom, Fa.her. Parson: Pear inc. dear mc. I am very gla.l to see yon. Thomas. Pear mc, I never expected this. And how is Charlotte? Landlord: ('harlot.c. Father? I'arson: Yes, your sister Charlotte. How is she? Landlord: Not Charlotte. Father. No Charlotte in our family, Father. Jane, and Henrietta, and Harriet, and Jim, and mc N„ Charlotte. Parson: Why, I certainly thought Who was vein- mother, my hoy? My fourth, wasn't she? Landlord: No, your third. Father. I'arson: My third? Dear mc. That was Kmily. Yon rp.iic.nher your mother, Thomas, perhaps. She had such beautiful golden hair, quite golden. Landlord: No. Father. Mother's hair was brown. Parson: Brown. Then let mc see. That musi have been Constance? Landlord: Yes, Father: that was mothers name. Parson: Ah, 1 knew I could not forget Well. Hen—Thomas. I am very •.-lad to see you. my son. I am very, very glad to see you. And how are all your brothers and sisters? How is—how is Miriam? Landlord: Not Miriam, Father. No Miriam in our family. Jane and Henrletta t and Harriet, and —--»

Tarson: Of course. To be sure. How stupid of mc. And how is Jane? Dear Jane.' Landlord: She married a bntcher, Father. They're living at Timaru. I think she's doing pretty well. Plenty of kids. I'arson: Married a butcher. Dear mc. How time passes. it seems only yesterday since I was nursing little Jane. And now she has grown up. Aud married a butcher. And sic has many children, you Landlord: Seven. Father, when I heard last. That was three years ago. We don't hear often. I dare say there's more by this. I'arson: Dear mc. Seven children. Tretty -little—Jane. Such a sweet little thing slip was. with her bright blue eyes. Landlord: Brown, Father. She favours mother. I'arson: Of course. To be sure, I was forset.iug. I must have been thinking of . Dear mc, which was I thinking of? Landlord: I'm sure I couldn't say. Father. But won't you get down and rest and have a drop of something? Parson: Yes, I will get down. To be sure. Of course, I will get down. Well, I declare. Poor Constance.' Thotnas, my son, this is a wonderful world. A wonderful, wonderful world. Do you not agTee with mc? Landlord (with conviction): It's all that, Father. (They enter the tabernacle.) For the rest, the author of "Diminutive Dramas" has had the happy idea of giving the whims and weaknesses of our own day (or of any day) a quasi-histori-cal setting. He gives a rehearsal of "Macbeth" with Burbage, as star, "performing" as the unfortunate author expects many a star to perform. He shows Caligula celebrating the opening of a new bridge, and parodies the dreary speeches of a modern "function." He shows Charles VI. of France at a family card-party where the misadventures are strangely like those of a family cardparty at the present epoch. There is a pleasant parody of Maeterlinck—a picture of King Alfred at poetry: I used to play upon a golden harp, And everyone agreed I played It well; The servants bounded when I rang the bell; I used to feed on immemorial carp. In a score of amusing chases, Mr. Baring shoots folly as it flies in aiming at folly as it flew —past Velasquez, or Socrates, or the pious Aeneas. We welcome a satirist and a diverting book. Incidentally, in a speech attributed to Max Becrbohm, see a persisting English conception of -the colonies'": As for the Colonies, blood may be thicker than water, but water, happily for us, is broader than blood—(loud rheers).-and I have always been thankful that we are separated from America, and from our other high-spirited offsprings, by so broad an ocean as the Atlantic. Our Colonies are our children. Their place is in the nursery or at school. There let us leave them to (heir ninepins, their whipping-tops, their rocking-horses, and their marbles. Their exploits can only weary us when we are their ?rown-..p parents. w P who are obliged to read their tri-nionthly reports, and to pay wages which we can ill afford for their nurses and their ushers. Quite a number of "educated" EnglishI folk still think like that.