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RANDOM SHOTS

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Some write a neighbour's name to lash, Some write — vain thought — for needfu; cash, Some write to please the country dash And raise a din; J3"or me, an aim I never fash, I write for fun. As the recently retrenched tramway employee said, "Every billet 'has its bullet." NjS.W. (the place where Mr. Lang lives) is to have the record wheat harvest of its history. More ruin! More inflation! "Marriage among the Eskimos is a business partnership. There is no senti«ment about it," says a newspaper. Any advance of an affectionate nature is received, of course, in a frozen silence. During the Neptune revels on the Oropesa, ,the Prince of Wales acted as royal barber (with a wooden razor and suds) to. his brother. It is now up to Prince George to invent a good dressing for the hen;. Even during the great catastrophe there were comical little incidents. One totally unharmed gentleman, very tired a'nd very dusty, found a Jack tar toiling like six Jack tars. "I say, ywhere can I have a wash?" he demanded. "Oh, all over if you like! 5 ' said the tar. A school howler. "The br.own beai lives on nuts, wild honey, etc., but th< grizzly lives on the slopes of the wile mountains." And the same little lad still pursuing his nature studies, declares: "An ibex is where you look ai the back of a book to find out anything you want." "Supersix" says he recently travelled in a South Island bus containing 1< women, 7 men and a gentleman. Th< gentleman was smoking hard; "Supersix' mildly called the gentleman's attentioi to the notice, "No Smoking!" "Bui good heavens!" said the gentleman, Tn a director of the company!" and con tinned to smoke. Apparently there is i privileged class in the South Island. A lady has sent me a letter writter to her by a lady friend in the earth quake region. It is a novelty. She tellf her friend that she is lucky to have t Dover stove, with a pipe chimney, "s< I am able to—" then a long scratel and a blot. After the shock the ladj proceeds. "My word I had to shif then, a fairly big one; look where '. dropped my pen and scooted."

|.' . ■ Here is another natural bit oi literature from an earthquake letter, much of it devoted to terrifying experiences. "Gee, it is 2 o'clock. I must knock off for awhile and light up, as a woman is coming to put her roast in my oven, and I am having braized steak on top and we are making a big steam pudding between us, so Taiho! Then "our pudding is on and ail set, so here goes again!" The tourist had missed the bus. There were races at Whagarapoonu. Couldn't get a taxi, had no car, was in a hole. A Maori drove' past in an old-time sulky, headed for the racecourse. The tourist hailed him and climbed aboard. The Maori drove carefully, too slow for words. "Shake it up, old fellow," said the tourist, "we'll miss the first race!" "Not on your life," said Hone, "I'm saving the horse; he's entered for the second race."

My friend Hector recently saved a man's life. He was driving at an average pace along the road when a gentleman staggered dangerously across it and held up his hand. My friend scrunched the brakes on and brought the car to a standstill almost touching the gentleman's waistcoat. He produced a little silvery object. " 'Scuso me, sir," he said handing it to Hector, "would you mind giving me a spot of benzine for my pocket lighter?"

In Napier when unfortunate people were forced to leave their homes, they, of course, left their fowls and ducks behind. On a recent day a man of the commissary entered the presence of his officer, a much harassed and over-worked man, stood at attention, and said: "We have come across a lot of chickens, sir. They are likely to starve. What shall we do?" "It is a shame to let them starve," said the officer. So there was poultry in the mess that day.

One recent noon I was enjoying the smell of crude oil on the waterfront when I saw a poor-looking but very clean and tidy man haunting a place where some workers had just finished their lunch. The man darted down and picked up a small piece of fat meat and passed on. Surely the poor fellow is not so hungry as all that, I thought. Then the <;lean and respectable wanderer sat down on a bollard and assiduously greased his boots with the discarded morsel of fat.

JUST LUCK.

Fate throws us down upon the earth Like seed upon a Held, Some roots are strangled in their birth, Some copious crops will yield ; Some in poor soil are often stuck, And some in good—it's just your luck. Outrageous fortune dogs the heels Of one, but then another A march upon"his fellow steals, And beats his lesser brother. You praise success—the winner's pluck, Perhaps you're right—perhaps it's luck! Two men are working side by side, Then lightning stabs the sky, One in this world will still abide, The other one will die. • Fate spins the coin, and every .chuck Is just a little bit of luck. Fate whirls an ever circling blade, But, very happily. He's left a few—so who's afraid? There stillare you and I! For us Time's gong has not yet struck, Cheer up! It's fate, and fate is luck. It's better to be born with luck Than with a silver spoon, So let us pessimism chuck, Nor hanker for the moon. And with your fellow in the ruck, . Lend him a hand and wish him luck! Fate lately played a scurvy trick, And scattered desolation; Thev shall repair it brick by brick, : The people of this nation. For never were true Britons stuck, Despite the rottenness of luck.

Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AS19310214.2.126.12

Bibliographic details

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 38, 14 February 1931, Page 2 (Supplement)

Word Count
993

RANDOM SHOTS Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 38, 14 February 1931, Page 2 (Supplement)

RANDOM SHOTS Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 38, 14 February 1931, Page 2 (Supplement)

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