THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 133, 7 June 1929, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

WHO'S WHO IN HISTORY.

When Richard the Second ascended the throne He hadn't the job on his little own, For he was but ten years old; The usual thing—the plotting foe. Old John of Ghent gave the thing a go, And other bad barons bold. The usual wars with the usual French, The usual gallons, the usual wrench As the usual trapdoor fell; Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, John Ball and Co. Raised riots about the high poll tax; oh, 'Twas fqurpence a day in those days ! Bill Walworth. Lord Mayor of great London town, Poled Wat with a sword and he fell down, And thus for his rebelry Wat pays. Just fancy an Aucklander who had tailed on The dav of grace to pay to George Baildon The sum for his water rate. Just fancy the Mayor a-drawing a blade And plunging it into the—l'm afraid To say what I wish to state. But passing to pleasanter things by far, The first Mr. Speaker was De la Mare (We've had speakers ever since.) Then good old Wycliffe, he flourished then, And Mick de la Pole and other men, King, peasant, pauper and prince, Those were the times that were "good old days, But M.A.T. —well, he up and says, It's good to be living now. He doesn't envy young Dick the Two, Or Lancaster and his plotting crew (Them days muster bin a cow!) Among other bright and breezy matters communicated by the "Star's" San Francisco correspondent the fact that Big Bill Thompson, Mayor of Chicago, was MY COUNTRY, recently draped in the Union Jack while the band played the British National Anthem is the most cheering. But the correspondent points out that any number of nations sing the various verses to the well-known old tune. Mentioned also that Big Bill thought he was listening to "My Country, 'Tis of Thee." Ambrose Bierce, the great American story teller, wrote a version. Here it is, barring the end verse, which is rather over the odds for a family papdr: My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of felony, Of thee I sing— Land where my fathers fried Young witches and applied Whips to the Quaker's hide, And made him spring. My knavish country, the Land where the thief is free, Thy laws I love; I love thy thieving bills That tap the people's tills, I love the mob whose will's All laws above.

It is often complained that English papers contain too few New Zealand items, thus leaving the denizens of Darkest England in Cimmerian gloom as to the NEWS. most important world events. One correspondent, however, seems determined to place Auckland on the map. Here is an extract from a Home paper, the extractor having marked it, "Hope this calamity did not affect you": "Auckland reservoir burst to-day, releasing a million gallons of water. The flood rushed through the district, levelling fences, tearing great holes in the roads and overwhelming motor cars which were in its path. The motorists only just escaped death. Houses were threatened, but by a miracle the flood changed its course and missed them." Further suggestions for breezy items for Home papers: "The fortnightly explosion of Auckland pavements eventuated in the early hours of yesterday afternoon. Upwards of two hundred thousand people escaped injury." "Local bodies aided by the Government to-day removed another volcano. The lava stream is no longer flowing. Many of the residences in the track of the stream have escaped annihilation. The vast Mount Eden district is now quiet." "For nearly nine days there have been no floods in Edendale and local boat owners are applying for the Government dole. It is understood the unemployed boatmen will be distributed in the earthquake districts as rescue parties. The Minister of Infernal Affairs is organising the parties."

Noted that Field-Marshal Lord Plumer has been raised to be a viscount. Several tottering New Zealanders in the sere and yellow leaf remember the famous THE WATERHOLE. soldier when he had lower rank. The year was 1900, the scene was the illimitable veldt on which was . a vlei (waterhole). How important water is to horses everybody knows, and several thousand horses wanted a drink badly. Plumer was there or thereabouts with a mobile column and a little mob of about 150 New Zealanders were thereabouts, too. Plumer's large lot were moving up to the water. The cheeky New Zealand officer in charge of the small lot hustled his men at the trot right across the head of the Plumer column and watered his horses while Plumer galloped up and, with much less coolness than he usually showed, shouted at the leading officer, "Good heavens! You've let those damned New Zealanders b«at you again!"

Dear M.A.T., —Why is it that women so very seldom write horrid things about men, their universal ugliness of face, form aud clothes, their unutterable ARE YOU UGLY? self-complacency, their enormous aptitude for feeble gossip, their insufferable assumption of superiority, and so forth? Writing men make thousands of pounds a year running down the sex to which their mothers, sisters and wives belong. Take> this from the writings of a celebrated clergyman (who himself is no oil painting): "Till lately women at least tried to make themselves look attractive. But the fiat-chested, crimson-lipped, crop-haired nymph is a thing of horror, every trace of feminine beauty effaced. The cult of the ugly must have advanced Very far when a young girl is an eyesore in a room." The famous author of that isn't likely to glow with animation in the presence of the young, as he is considerably over sixty years of age. His one daughter probably hides from dear daddy, and his three sons possibly do not agree.—Pamela.

A fair young man, accompanied by a fair young hound, invaded the paratorium of M.A.T. He hitched the hound to the table leg with a piece of red tape, sank PINK STRING, on the tapestried divan and laughed like all possessed. He had been week-ending in the terrain surrounding Swanson. His dog and himself had had a good time. And, being sworn on the railway time-table, the man said: "I left Auckland from the railway station, hauling the hound, well bathed, combed and disinfected, with me. I took a ticket for myself and inquired as to a pass for the dog. The officials were courteous. There was no difficulty, except that by the regulations only a single ticket could be issued for the dog. Thus armed, the dog and I went to our railway destination and thence per boot and pad over the hills. We had our outing and returned to the railway station. I asked the courteous official for a single ticket for the dog. But the courteous official informed me that I might return home myself, but I couldn't take the dog. 'But,' said I, 'the city officials permitted me to bring the dog and issued me a ticket to bring him.' 'Ah,' said the official, 'this is an infected area!' Obviously, therefore, one is at liberty to take a dog into an area to get infected if necessary, but must not take him back where he belongs until he is duly certificated as being uninfected. So the courteous official got busy with the telephone and stock inspectors were spoken to and ultimately hound and self returned home. I feel perfectly sure that the higher strata of the railway service intends to be highly efficient, especially about dogs." :'-^^Lsl.