THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 246, 17 October 1929, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) FICTION. Last evening when the sun had set One thousand motor bikes Passed by the road outside my house On various moonlight hikes; They rolled around without a sound The way a sleeper likes. Last week ten dozen charming lads A-riding in a tram Gave all their seats to grandmothers, And stood up in the jam. Each lad polite, chivalrous quite, Said, "Take my seat, dear ma'am." Last month ten thousand vehicles A hospital passed by, Each driver drove so quietly The sound was but a surh; No patient woke, no suffering folk Opened a sleepless eye. Last night a meeting of the House Was held in Wellington, There was no party squabble there, But words of high esteem. I rubbed my eyes. I won't disguise I woke—'twas all a dream!

Dear M.A.T. — T'other day, while I lunched ! on the balcony at the picture show, the session ended and between bites I watched the crowd streaming out below. B'eA GOOD CRY. lieve me, everybody was busy with their hankies, ostensibly to blow a troublesome nose, but really, one suspects, wiping away a surreptitious tear. Dear me, is this a hard-hearted, casual generation ? Go to a "mother-and-son" film, ye cynic, and learn.—Tuahine. "Ex-Marine" writes a charming letter so complimentary to M.A.T. that M.A.T. blushes vividly. But the letter contains a challenge. It seems that M.A.T. PASS, FRIEND, rendered the sentry's ALL'S WELL! challenge "Who goes there ?" "Ex-Marine" says he was taught in the middle 'nineties that this is wrong and that the formula should be "Halt! Who comes there?" which does seem reasonable, as the friend or enemy is coming towards the bayonet' and is not making for the skyline. "We were told forcibly that we had been lax if we did not challenge when they got within hail, coming from any point of the compass, towards our post. Where they might be going was no concern of ours, but someone else's duty, if necessary. This was the form of challenge in the marines at the period stated. My old soldier friends don't agree with me, so I should like to know if the words vary, or which of the two is right." Very likely the challenge varies. The faithful sentry, having halted the oncomer, or oncomers, says sharply, "Advance one, and give the countersign!" if there are a horde of people intending to brave the bayonet one advances and says the word while the others stay where they are until called on.

Apropos the difficulty of the Prince* of Wales in gathering V.C.'s together for a complimentary meal, it occurs to one that ability to fight the King's enemy FOR VALOUR, is no criterion of a man : 's

ability to fight for a job. Mentioned that a philanthropist will supply the railway fares and clothes for poverty-stricken heroes. Often the bravest men in war are the most nervous in peace and the least able to make a success of life. The earliest V.G. known by M.A.T. was an old cavalry sergeant (Omdurman, one supposes). He would run a mile to miss being talked to about his V.C. He never had two sixpences to rub together. His V.C. was nearly always in pawn. If he ever got a job it was carrying a sandwich board, or something of the kind. Now and again when a circus came round he was hired to ride a horse. The only thing you could do with a hero like that was to have a perpetual war on. An Irish V.C. of the Great War was to be the hero of a welcome celebration in a Home town. He was seen to go to the hall and all preparations were made to give him the greatest possible time. But he bolted before the curtain rose and was found next day frightened and not quite sober twenty miles from the hall. He was scared to death. The larger proportion of all living V.C.'s are unmarried. They are frightened.

The Department of Health, anticipating the mosquito season, prescribes the universal destructive agent, kerosene. This common product has merely to 'WARE SKEETERS! be poured on the surface of any water likely to be used by mosquitoes, and the thing is done. If fifty thousand people in Auckland purchase kerosene to potir upon the troubled waters it necessarily follows that the demand for this oil will be very great. It would take several shilling bottles to cover, say, St. John's Lake. It would hardly do to suggest that if local bodies are in earnest about mosquito hunting they might have kerosene depots at which a bucketful could be bought at wholesale rates. The kerosene not used to put mosquitoes' lights out might be used to keep householders' lights

'"With the utmost respect for medical science," said he, "and for all its illustrious demonstrators, I am aware that there are fashions in the art of PRUNING TIME, healing as in the art of clothing. Thus it is not so very many years ago that cupping, leeching and phlebotomy generally were practised. You may often hear of people 'bleeding to death.' They used to bleed 'em to life, according to the belief of the- moment. To-day medical discoveries sometimes tend to the elimination by surgical means of organs placed in the human being by Nature in her thoughtless moments. The millions of beings joyously prancing round the earth bereft of an appendix are an indication of what I mean. 'Here's a gland,' says Scalpel. 'I know nothing about it. Out it comes! . And so I went Home f wasn't very well when I got to London, and so I. went to Harley Street and to a medical scientist of high repute. It was the adenoid and tonsil season among the fraternity at the time and Sir Ponsonby Wiles instantly recommended the removal of these apparently unnecessary excrescences. I left my tonsils, therefore, with the surgeon. Some weeks later, feeling again a little unwell, I returned to Sir Ponsonby. It was, as I later discovered, the clean sweep season. 'Ah,' said he after deep thought (at ten guineas a thought), 'teeth . Out they come!' 'Right, sir,' said I, 'out the,come!' and instantly removed both top and bottom plates, laying them on the table."

Be it ever so mortgaged, there is no place like- home. Noticed that although the State is doing its best to fit everyone with a job of work, there are men livNOTHING TO DO. ing in the cities who will not leave home. In other countries, as in New Zealand, there are men who cling to their own hearth. Think of the case of William Robinson, of Nottingham, who lately registered the birth of his thirtieth child. William has been out of work for ten years, and is still unemployed at the age of 61. It must be frightful for a man to have absolutely nothing to do day after day, week after week, year after year. THOUGHTS FOR TO-DAY. Never fear to bring the sublimest motive into- the smallest duty, and the most infinite comfort to the smallest trouble.—Heber. • • • If we had no troubles but real troubles, we should not have a tenth part of our present sorrows.—Spurgeon. ♦ * » It is another's fault if he be ungrateful; but it is mine if I do not give. To find one thankful man I will oblige many that are not so.—geneca.