THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 122, 25 May 1932, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) TO MR. CUTHBERTSON. Dear Mr. Cu;thbe>rfcson, Are you serious or in fun? Now meet a typiste, Mr. C., And listen, if you please, to me. I am a bkuide and quite petite, My figure, too, is rather neat, Ail letters I can type with eas«, Can spell as well, and, if you please, My shorthand, sir, is rather quick. My writing, too, is very slick. I make the tea (for boss and me) Each afternoon at half-past three. I keep my poor mother, My father and brother, It's no trouble at all. But if you will call And bring me a lad With the training I've had, Who is willing to take The salary I make, Please look in art three, And just ask for hie; My name, sir, is Kitty, Any office —this city. If the lad gets my job I will not riot and rob, But work I must find, So please be so kind And quickly contrive Me a job on Scheme Five— In camp or in city—• IWTO Yours faithfully, Kitty.- —J.W.W. "B.": At one. Auckland suburban church a brick addition is being erected by voluntary labour and at least two ministers lent assistance. On Sunday last one HORNY HAND, of the twain announced that at the close of the service he would not follow his usual practice of shaking hands with the congregation as they left the building. He gave a 6 his reason, "I was working with the trowel on Saturday. The first hymn announced was, "Come All xe Who Labour." Historical accuracy in the young is only attained by constant reminder and copious swat. Very excusably the small child, confronted for the first tune ROYAL DAYS, with the amours of "Good King Hal," will thereafter confuse him with a Saxon monarch or a New Zealand statesman, and few will blame him. Thus on Tuesday the headmaster of a local school invaded a junior classroom and asked: "Does anybody know what to-day is?' And a young person piped up with, "Queen's birthday, sir!" Then came the question, 'What Queen?" "Queen Mary, sir." "And who was the Queen when I was a little boy?" "Queen Elizabeth, sir!" Yet that master is so young that superannuation seems an event of the far fluture. It is common knowledge that the hefty son of toil who peels to the buff and whirls a long-handled shovel or other primitive implement believes that all men LEISURED who do not toil in their CLASSES, shirt sleeves belong to the idle rich. Apropos this belief, the Beloved Veteran recalls the days of 1913 when Queen Street was strewn with tan and mounted farmers held the road. People who had the insolence to work at that time were harshly spoken to by those who hadn't. There was the case of the man who emerged from the crowd and pushed through the picquets and police. Harsh voices called out "Scab!" but the man heeded not. A large man, evidently ill sympathy with the strikers, called out, ""'Ere, you bloke, 'ave a 'art! Carn't you see he's a reporter. He never works I" It has lately been shown that it is possible for a Maori to get lost in the bush, and therefore interesting to know that the instinct for direction is not invariable LOST! in aboriginals of the great wastes. General Ryrie, High Commissioner for Australia, who is a bush-bred man 'and who, by the way, used to be an excellent thrower of boomerangs, has mentioned cases in which white men have been sent out to find lost blackfellows. On the other hand, the bushcraft of the abo., with his instinct unimpaired, is uncanny to the uninitiated white fellow. He seems to have a second sense for trifling signs unseen by the white, and small black children will amuse themselves for hours tracking unseen insects to their lairs. A little exhibition of the faculty of the abo. is within one's experience. The blackfellow was about sixteen years old. His "boss" bet a tenner that "Buck" could be taken blindfold through twenty miles of gum scrub and then taken back to the point of starting. He would then with the "winkers" off retrace his stejis and find the spot to which he had gone blindfold. Buck went straight as a bird to the spot. This lad, joining the police as a black tracker, was the means of tracking to his doom a blackfellow murderer who not only walked for many miles along a sea-covered shore, but who on dry land covered his feet with emu feathers to make his footmarks invisible to any but the most astute black tracker. Dear M.A.T., —'Strangely enough, I have never been asked my opinion of the gold standard. Perhaps I don't look as if I had an opinion. Perfectly true. OLD GOLD. I confess lamentable ignorance as to the intricacies of the term from a national viewpoint, but, taken Ti tera Uy and individually, aaid from observations (and suspicions) during the last few weeks, I am thoroughly convinced that the standard is not a very high one. Surely those responsible for the alluring call, "Gold, gold, sell your old gtfld!" must be quite unaware of the havoc the lure of the melting pot is causing in hitherto happy homes. Even the cat-that-ate-tlie-canary look of certain members of my household fails to satisfactorily explain the mysterious absence from its accustomed repository of my stud and sleeve link set —a birthday present booked and presented to me by my wife —nor can I be persuaded that the presentation watch left me by Uncle Timothy has been "temporarily mislaid." Just liow much longer may I consider myself the proud possessor of one presentation cup, suitably inscribed, two medals, and a much-valued signet ring, unfortunately, of late years too small for wearing? Thank heavens the money paid my dentist is still well invested. My teetli are my own, and my spectacles are 'liorn-rimmed!—Ciro. Diurnal literature has recently been copiously dotted with stories of rara aves, such as white blackbirds, white herons and other interesting albino THE freaks. We have Kipling's ALL WHITES, authority for saying that the old-fashioned Army non-com. "could drill a nigger white," and there is an enormous body of opinion that the politician can bleed the taxpayer a similar colour. Occasionally Nature not only makes an albino of a white man, but lias been known to turn out a grey negro with pink eyes, accepted by scientists as albino. The albino apparently lacks the processes with which Nature tries to make a perfect job, like you or I. The albino man is handicapped by the absence of red corpuscles, and apparently the white phagocytes have all their own way. It is curious to observe the limitations of the albino man, who has perfectly colourless hair and pink eyes which are in constant agitation. It is even more curious to note that, many albino people, and presumably other albinos of the animal world, are often exceedingly active both mentally and physically. In cases where Nature lias carelessly produced a white black man, the unfortunate fallow has all the characteristics of his black relatives, no that whiteness is really no advantage to him. Where African tribes possess an albino, the coloured ones regard him with veneration for his white wool, grey skin and pink. eyes. O. Henry, who apparently was no ethnologist, refers to a character in one of his Wild West stories as "a pink-eyed snoozer," not because he was an albino, but because he grew sheep instead of cattle.