THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 270, 13 November 1937, Page 8

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MEN ABOUT TOWN.)

The China-Japanese war is bad. enough without added complications. Nevertheless, a local paper during the week introduced

further horrors by anPARSON SHOW, nouneing that "marital"

law had been proclaimed in a certain araa. The outcome of such e decree would in all probability entail the arming of wives with rolling pins and of husbands with excuses for late home-comings. Talking of marital laws, it is interesting to note that our New Zealand divorce laws are .being criticised by certain Church dignitaries, who aver that our modes of release from matrimonial ties are much too easy. On the other hand, that brilliant lawyer-journalist-politician, Mr. A. P. Herbert, has only recently achieved one of his life's ambitions by pushing through a bill in the House of Commons whereby the famous slogan "He can't get out of it" is for ever quelled. Strange as it may seem, Mr. Herbert, who during his election campaign "made plain his opinions on divorce law reform, was elected by a constituency ] which (to use his own words) "carried several parsons to the acre."—B.C.H.

"Is 'outfitted' a good word?" asks a reader. No. not very good. The Standard Dictionary mentions Julian Ralph's use of it in 1892

in "Harper's Monthly," "OUTFITTED." but that is a weak reedrn-

mendation. Webster does not mention the word, but gives outfitter. In English "fitted out" is the usual construction. Another reader asks whether Cook Strait or Cook's Strait is correct. Originally the name must have been Cook's Strait, like Stewart's Island or Banks's Peninsula, but popular usage has dropped the "s" in every case, and Cook Strait is the name now seen on mafw and charts.—Touchs tone.

The men in their black and white uniform*; worked spasmodically. A couple of halfhearted tap* with a pick and then a spell. It

was just after 3.30 and "HOMINY the atmosphere was tense. GAZETTE." Whole week's supplies of

tobacco hung in the balance, hut the light breeze brought naught of the eagerly-awaited news. It was Melbourne Cup Day in the Long Bay prison. At one time a clever prisoner had made a small crystal set and secreted it in his cell, and news of the most important events were readily available, but an inquisitive warder had confiscated that set and it was now an exhibit in the prison museum. The men in the yard were anxious to know whether The Trump had made fresh history, or whether he had gone down in the greatest of all handicaps just like other Caulfield Cup winners had. At 4.30— an hour after the race was started—the news flashed from cell to cell, from yard to yard— The Trump. Willie Win, Sarcherie. The'pmison van had arrived with a hatch of "guests," one of whom had heard the broadcast from the cells at the rear of the Central Court.—Johnnv.

The American magazine "Time" got a fast one over the net, so to speak, when, in a recent issue, it referred to Otto Froitzheim

as the finest tennist in BRAVE NEW German history. Not WORD, "lawn tennis player," not

even "tennis player," but "tennist."' The modern game with racquet and ball, capable of thrilling thousands and of drawing big gates in almost every part of the world, has evolved from a decorous "pat ball" pastime first played at Leamington, England, towards the end of last century, and as it has evolved, so its vocabulary has shortened and become less Leamingtonian, so to speak. That is to say, we no longer speak of "ladies' handicap singles," or "ladies' and gentlemen's doubles," but of "women's handicap singles" and "combined doubles." Ladies have become women and now the experts are "tennists." Well, well! What would Aunt Priscilla have said at Leafy Leamington (oh, yes, the dear old town has always realised the advertising value of "Leafy") in the days when Gladstone was still a power in the land and Dr. Grace was making his big scores for Gloucestershire and England. Those were the days when a coterie of hotel guests astonished Leamington by playing "spharistike," or lawn tennis, instead of croquet. It was considered quite dashing for Maude and Elaine to wear ankle-length frocks in order to run more nimbly about the court. Nowadays there are plenty of those same Maudes and Elaines who drive their own sports model ears and think nothing of going on a hike dressed in shorts. Some of them can give their own daughters a good game at tennis, too. Behold how quick has been the process of evolution from "lady lawn tennis players" to "tennists." Time marches on, as they say at the pictures.— Bouverie.

When Hori appeared in a King Country Court in response to a summons for debt he admitted the claim, and in reply to counsel

said he had twenty-five HORI IN COURT, milking cows and calves

running on his property. "Well, yon must get a good bier milk cheque from the factory." said his Worship. Hori replied in the negative, and when asked what lieoame of the money he received from the factory for the milk he replied: "Py korry, you see the calf, he milk the cow." The magistrate thought for a moment and then suggested that -they should have a "round up" and sell some of the cattle to liquidate the debt. The suggestion did not meet with Hori's approval, and, when asked his reason for objecting, said: "Py korry, he's not mine. All the stock got the pill of sale on him and belong to , the stock agents." "No order," said the magistrate, and Hori left the Court smiling.—L.M. THE ÜBIQUITOUS FRYING PAN. "The frying pan has been the curse of the Irish race. It has sapped our digestions and sizzled away our courage. For 500 years we in Ireland have fried away our freedom," said Lynn Doyle. Trish author, iu a speech at the Manchester Luncheon Club. And now the frying pan "gets in the news," The target for an author's hostile views. Te gods! He would its usefu'ness aperse. And reckons that it's nothing hut a curse! With virulence he scolds the sizzled foods That satisfy the normal breakfast moods. And recommends that cookery should ban Continued usage of the frying pan. Arise, ye cooks! Unitedly protest: This bloke has got a grievance on his chest. ; Maybe his appetite was sorelv tried By morning egsrs and bacon badly fried; Perhaps his indigestion made him rash When someone burnt hjs sausages and mash: , Or else he thought he'd go and get his gun because his mutton chon was underdone: Whate'er the cause, he'll be an "also-ran" Among the crowd who love the frying pnn. I'll bet a quid that nothing will dissuade The fervour of the frying-mn brigade; j From Furope to the far Antipodes ! You sniff its tel'-tale odours on the breeze: The city dweller likes a morning dish Of bacon, sausage, mutton chons or fish: The farmer and his kitchen helpers cram The breakfast plate with sliced and frizzled ham: Where'er they eat. the hungry mortals scan The menu that proclaims the frying pan. Viva the frying nan! Excited chefs Resound its praise in strident treble clefs. Its versatility enchants the cooks. Its magic fills the recipes in books: And every husband knows what saves his life When shopping, bridge or golf delavs the wife. A tasty bite restores his inner man As she manipu'ates her frving pan. —E.A. A THOUGHT FOR TO-DAY. To enjoy real happiness one must inhabit !a smiling region, for the beauties of Nature 'greatly influence our feelings and imagination. l<—Visconti.