THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 149, 26 June 1934, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

You will readily understand that the following extract from a school essay has not been written by a girl and that the eternal boy is the same kind of ETERNAL BOY. young adventurer lie was When Raleigh, lived. 'As soon as I got in the water a fish bit my pantce. Then I got out and as soon as I <rot out a fat boy gave me a crack in the nose and brok it. The ambulance came and took me to the hoepital. After that the fat boy came up to see me. Ho shock my nose to see if it was getting better, so I gave him a crack in the nose and broke lu» noee. Soon the doctor came in and killed me.

"I was coming down Jacob's Ladder at the back of the Gasworks this morning," 'he said, "and dropped across three young hopefuls aged about ten years HAPPY RETURNS, apiece. And they were discussing the Hoyal House of Windsor apropos the birthday of the Prince of Wales. The lad with the copper hair and a newspaper picture of the Prince exclaimed, 'Forty? He don't look forty, does he?' 'No!' said Number Two. 'My word, I'll bet he had a bonsing birthday cake!' AM the solemn-faced ten-year-old philosopher, Number Three, added, 'Pity he ain't married. Out of the mouths of babes ."

The car was passing Cornwall Park, and from it could be seen the excellent statue of Sir John Logan Campbell, the giver of the gift. It is pedeetalled on PRIMROSE rock and from the base TIME, come manj jete of water, scientifically designed by their varied directions, to catch the rays of the sun and- to give a charming rainbow effect, alluring to the passer-by on sunny days, and a nice "memorial .to the great benefactor. And as the car passed a .passenger looked approvingly at the display, and said, "I see they're a washin' down them rocks this mornin , !" As one heard the remark one felt that the designer would be pleased to have heard it, too. It gave another rainbow-gazer the- chance to mutter, "A primrose by the river's brim, a yellow primrose was to him, and it was nothingmore."

Official notification that that stalwart wight, Inspector Peter Harvey, of the police, is to retire from the service twangs the string of memory and takes one THE RESCUE, back io the days when the main, chief or most important highway in Paeroa was laid down in mud—"deep 'ae a Mendip mine." The jayaiial Peter was on view, and a humble Paeruffian reported to him that a man was drowning in the mud opposite "Basting's"— the Criterion Hotel. It is undoubted that the gentleman in the mud was as wet internally as he was externally, and the constable had some difficulty. Memory affords the spectacle of a hueky blue standing on a board in the centre of the road hauling at trousers inadequately covering the wayfarer's legs. It was the only holt he could get, ae it were—and they came away in his liands, necessitatir.g other means of keeping the wayfarer warm. The constable had to trail his catch across a sea of mud to the alleged pavement, whence he took ca2)tive and trousers to safe quarters. Alfonso the spotted "Foxic," rather too rotund for the elusive suburban rat, had hitherto been fed on the residue from the poor man's table, and was A DOG'S LIFE, a day or so ago for thefirst time presented with threepence worth of bones—with meat adhering. After a stupendous meal during which he swelled visibly, he lay for hours in a sweet stupor, but on awaking, finding a stone or so of bones in the garden, he has worried himself to a shadow planting the same, digging them up and replanting them somewhere else, showing conclusively that he is no canine swell —a Tiiero mongrel kuri. One learns on inquiry that real canine aristocrats are not given inferior meat. Tho choicest cuts are demanded by high-bred Pomeranians and blueblooded Alsatians. Racing greyhounds are fed on meat, carrots (or parsnips), cabbage, bread and olive oil. On a racing day the aristocrat lakes only the lightest meal, but when the day is done he gets a binder almost as large as the meal of Alfonso the mongrel foxie. Dogs in full training have but one meal a day. There is a little lesson in sustenance for human beings in doggy menus. Napoleon could plan a campaign on two ounces of dry rusk and a pint of vin ordinaire. It is noted that at a civic reception at the Town Hall "there was a continuous buzz of women's voices," and that a man with a stupendous voice used it TWO VOICES, to quell the lesser tempest. It would be interesting to know if the voice was as tremendous us a voice that is no longer heard in Auckland —the voice of Tom Allen. The stalwart Tom, as thousands may remember, was successively a bluejacket, a policeman, a warehouseman and a licensed victualler. He also did the job of half, a dozen bassos in the Liedertafel, and in social cirele-s when he was out on the rolling deep (vocally) the deep had a profound depth nono other could compass. If Tom wae on the half-crown side of Queen Street speaking in a low voice to a friend, the people on the cighteenpenny side irresistibly looked across to see what it was all about. All concert rooms were far too small for tho voice of Tom, and it is natural, one supposes, that his son "Bert" had the family voice—equally voluminous, equally prof-undo and almost equally Tom. It is remembered of tho son that -a party of men were walking up a hill towards Kilbirnie. (Wellington) before going down into that suburb. There was a percussive boom to the right front, although nothing was in sight. "That's Bert Allen!" said one of! tho men. Ten minutes later Bert, with a companion, hove in sight.

New Zealanders interested in dogs that are interested in sheep will note that there is a war on in Australia against dingoes, domestic dogs gone wild and MOONLIGHT half-bred dingoes. Dingoes MASSACRE, ae a breed have eluded man for a hundred years in Australia, and these crafty devils, fortified by "German police dogs," are doing themselves well in the mallee of Victoria. What is called a "new mallee area" really means a new wheat area from which the mallee scrub (eucalyptus) has been cleared and has been sown in grass, giving dingoes plenty of skirmishing ground. Dingoes are even harder to coiner than "German police dogs," which may no longer be imported into Australia. Always lias the settler, and particularly the sheep man, warred against the dog, and a man who is no longer a new chum remembers his first dingo because he got the sack over him. This was a devil of a dingo who used to steal into the sheepyards at night. During one niglit the devildingo slew fifty-eight lambs. A wheat boxetripper was pulled up near the yards on a moonlight night, and a lamb killed and laid outside the stripper. The new chum, with a snider rifle, camped in the stripper with the lid up. He felt somewhat of a romantic hero as he peeped out into the moonlight. Sure enough the dog came and sniffed the lamb, and just as surely the new chum shot him stone dead. He slept the sleep of a hero until morning, when the boss, was heard calling lustily for his famous yard dog Bluey. Bluey was lying dead with a new-chum bullet through him. By Jove, those Australian sheep farmers can 6wear 1