Day By Day

Dominion, Volume 30, Issue 153, 25 March 1937, Page 6

Day By Day

Talcs And Titbits

(By Peeps.)

An English writer assures us that romantic poetry is coming back. Mostly with the editor’s regrets. One Thing Missing The boy was at the age when to ask about school was to offer a deadly insult. For lie had his first joli and his first pair of long trousers. There was also a quaint roughening of the voice, which seemed to promise early breakage. Why, the fellow was grown up! But his worry was a chin as hairless as a girl’s. He examined it anxiously in the mirror each morning, and announced one day, casually, offhandedly, “Better shave, 1 think. There’s a party at X 's to-night.” His father, strangely amused, watched him go through the whole business—damp his face, rub up a fine lather, twist his skin for the razor to go more easily round the difficult corners, rinse off the soap and pat the smooth chin. The boy looked at himself critically. “Ah. that’s done it,” he said with infinite satisfaction. “You forgot to use this, though,’’ remarked his father. And handed him the blade. Progress Progress is a slow growth, but sometimes you may see it move. In a little South "island village, which Ls shut off from civilisation by a bill of heartbreaking steepness, there has stood in the main street for many months a very old and very hoary billy goat. A friend of mine went to live in the village in November and was introduced to the bearded landmark. On iter return to Wellington this week she said, “Oh. but that place is going ahead. The goat has gone and they have put a petrol bowser in its place.” Fire or Burglar? A dead schnappor is the villain of the latest fish story in Wellington. A young wife, returning from the pictures, peeped through tlie diningroom window of her house to see a strange light shining near the sideboard. Her mind, immediately jumping to happy conclusions, wavered between thoughts of tire and burglary. Breathless, she hurried away, to return with a luckless neighbour, clad in pyjamas and clenching a spanner. They crept stealthily into the house, switched on the light and discovered nothing—only a deceased schnapper taking its last rest on a kitchen plate! The young woman’s husband, coming home unexpectedly from a business trip, had bought it for his tea, cavilled at the smell and consoled himself with bread and butter. The rejected finster retaliated by turning phosphorescent.