THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 11, 14 January 1929, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) "DADDY—HOW DARE YOU!" A London magistrate ruled it reasonable that the father of a girl aged twenty years should bt deprived of a latchkey because she did not come home at ten o'clock and wp* always ™oinsr to dances. It is pointed out that in a year this girl will possess a vote as good as Dad>. My dear old particular pater! How daro you a daughter condemn For (IniiHnz nr sniiiWis out later Than a Puritan leu p.m. '. At iiiidnlclil admittance denied me. And vetoed my innocent fitn : With a latchkey v<ni fnil tn prm-idc me—• Hut wail till I'm twenty-one J Old fashioned, delightful old fogey 'I'o fancy eleven is Into And hold up tin- bench as n !><•£> If a Im>v says ?no<|-liye flt the sate: Hut t<l masculine attituß |iri>iii<:ird (Willi inan'K "brief authority" done). All fathers by Mappers outvoted Will lie—when we're twenty-one ! A fijr for tlie magistrate's fiat I l-'or a twelvemonth, perforce. 1 obey, But to offer tin-. Itad'ly. i\ key nJ CunditloiiH of ;irn milliliter"* «iay ! l'nii cruel, tyrannical I>uddy (A danchter's its tfood a* a mill. As it father yoifre nwr-.illy indi!\Just wait till I'm twenty-oiie : —I'l.irroßD J*. llulmls.

Coincident with the discussion of an Auckland -Xortheote bridge. .John Bull is talking of an Kngland-Fraurc Channel tunnel, and he'<> been talking of it iMnc^e FOILING «rcat - preat - prnndfather NAPOLEON, was a boy. It in cabled that the peers are not enthusiastic about this link l»etwcen France and England. lYobnbly they have not forgotten that the initial reason for handicapping the project was that Napoleon might march his troops under the sea and catch John Bull bending. The reason for the ware disappeared With the airship. When that Channel tunnel comes, should a Continental army enter it on invasion bent the obvious bucincsa of Britain would be to blow her end of the tunnel in. Vice versa, too. In a few years' time KngliMi people will take a railway* trip to France for lunch and be back for afternoon toil.

If you were told that a friend of yours had made a fortune by selling the biliary6ecretion of a whale you might not believe it. Ambergris is a much nicer word. A WHALE'S Not that the two gentleILLNESS, men who have lately found a mound of aiubergr : e weighing 2241b care what name they give it if it sells for £3 an ounce. Xo one seems to have explained why whales, suffering from indigestion, exude occasional fortunes, or why Xature perfumes this Ugly matter. Personally one would rather be in the vicmity of a wJialc when he was ill of ambergris than ill of Jonah. Tons of wicked-look ing stuff has been garnered by beachcombers in New Zealand and has turned out to be discarded suet or equally unsaleable material. In case you are an ambergris hunter, the whale's contribution to wealth is a grey, fatty substance with ruddy marble-like veins running through it. It is used in perfumery. It is apparently for preeiousness the radium of the animal world, although the musk deer secretes an aroma that would run the whale product pretty for penetrative power.

Perhaps you have noticed that by far the larger proportion of people in anv part of Xew Zealand are dark-haired. You'll see at least five black or brown-haired DARK OR FAIR? people for every carroty one or golden-to pp e d specimen. American business men have lately said that they prefer blonde girl clerks because they are more energetic—more ginger, in fact. Somebody has been sitting in an office and saying that most of the men who get things done and who do them are fair-skinned and fair-haired—of the Xordic type. It isn't true in Xew Zealand, for in* innumerable instances the dark horse, so to speak, noses out the ginger one. People who pretend omniscience about hair and skin also pretend the same about eyes. Grey eyes, blue eyes and green eyes see furthest aiid best according to them. Still, you 1 ow the people who haw most need of eyes have black eyes. Australian abos fitted up with black skin'and black eyes red veined see veil enough to track a beetl*. There isn't a carrotty Prime Minister in Europe, or a copper-topped Premier in the Empire. Apropos of girl clerks and energy, almost any brunette can afford peroxide.

Michael is bright. There is no question of that. His parents live in one of a series of modern Hats, and at Christmas time the pro- „„ prietor (who once was a THE CHILD MIND, child himself) attired himself as Father Christmas, moving from sock to cock and infant to infant with gifts. Michael, who is one year and ten months old, observed Father Christmas. His unconventional appearance startled the child Subsequently his mother said: "And what did Father Christmas bring my darling V "Pain Mummy," he said.

Dear M.A.T.—Your "Wine and Fossils" of Saturday's issue has instigated me to tell a story which otherwise would have lain dormant. One sunny suniCAVE HEN. mer Sunday nearly 20 years ago, seven inquisitive souls set out by coach and four to explore five new caves beyond Piopio. King Country. We packed a hamper suflicient for a polar expedition, and tasty enough to compel a guest to destroy his Lord Mayor's banquet ticket. Our driver pulled into a patch of scrub near a limestone cliff where he judged a cave might lurk and, after a slight skirmish- an opening was found concealed by ferns and creepers. The entrance led us into quite a fine cavern, but which disappointed us by being no more than that. The day was hot and bright, and the pale green light filtering through the verdure at the doorway was very restful to the senses, so we unanimously agreed to lunch there and then. We unpacked our hamper—cold roast ducks, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, etc.: a man could make a meal of such in those days. Our spare bottled beer was submerged in a convenient pool on the limestone floor, and very soon we were surveying with gTim satisfaction the wreckage of those roast ducks. It was not, however, for ventral pleasures alone that we came, so' we slackened our belts, gathered up the fragments, and resumed our search for caves in the bush. After travelling many miles. w« spied at the head of a valley a limestone blu!T that promised success, so we battled down through the fern and undergrowth, and there found a tunnel leading to—a new Waitomo. perhaps. Into it. in single file, we went with lighted candles on hands and knees, our leader, a convincing leg-puller, cheering us as he turned every corner with loud exclamations of delight and wonder at the beauty of the cavern ahead. We turned corner after corner, to find only more tunnel, and finally daylight greeted us as we crawled out into scrub near the road on which we had left our coach. The absTirdity of the climax caused us great mirth until starting on the remains of the mid-day meal wo realised that our beer still lay in the subterranean pool where we had coolstored it that morning. We were not returning home by that route (cries of anguish). Now. what I am wondering is. will that beer be now fossilised, or will it. being 1009 vintage, be worth many pounds a bottle—who knows! In the King Country beer of any age is well above par,, so that after reading this no doubt search parties will be organised from Te Kuiti. Piopio. and other places in that area of "official" drought." I wish them luck, for the beer is tliue without a doubt.— Snag.