POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Issue 113, 10 November 1930, Page 8

POSTSCRIPTS

BY PERCY FLAGE

Chronicle and Comment

Puzzling Teport from one of our well-meaning contemporaries:— Defendant was convicted. Her license was cancelled until May 31, and she was prevented from diving for two years. „ .' Quite so—but what^s that got to d» with it, anyway? * * • Authentic headings as set down, lifted from a church service advertisement in a Southern contemporary: — 11 a.m.: "The Way of All FlesV " • . 7.30 p.m.: "Hell." Not "all" flesh, surely.? * * ♦ From a weekly contemporary of light and leading; The improved quality is due no does not the greater weight damage and did not the greater weight damage the records? —Tech., Ed. ' ' Static is interfering a little, but yoli ~ can see what he means. * * ♦ Current news caption:* RESCUED BY. "FIENDS. 7 f Friends" in disguise? i # ♦ » "With commendable brevity and a re* flection to ponder seriously, "R.S.P." rounds off that flapper serial, the first chapters of which appeared on Saturday, and which must be used as an introduction. Now who's next? Our flappers have.no thought to spare \ For thrifty beaux with thinning hai^ Or early church on. Christmas Day Or limejuicc at the cabaret; Mostly they «nd up, if you. please, Dowdy, and with large families. ,■■■#■# ♦ About those anogiams: the first complete solutions to arrive is from ",Youri with Enthusiasm," Purse-Cute. W« set them out as they reached vs —at symmetrical as they are ingenious. Ka». gard .them carefully or you. may miss* ' . " H G ALE X A R A■ S U H T E R A E SI A E PRET N I O P G N IKE R ODEL P P A KRAL W O D AEMT F A B C G, N I KAN IHWA E T R E L X, C A R W ■■■'~■* * • • Acclaimed one of America's foremost living ', poets^ Edwin Markham made Ms name with that classic of its kind, "The Man With the Hoo." Now in. x his elder years, Markham has raised his voice in a poem (on behalf of the Allied Jewish campaign). The poem, which is entitled "Bread and Home," is similar in spirit to the one first mentioned. We have read.it carefully and with sympathy . . . and it reveals the "man with the hoe," fumbling sentimentally among the clods. It's rather a pity. # What is the heavy-weight (Stewart Island) oyster-eating record for these fortunate isles? We have a vague memory of an All Black —it would be!— consuming some twenty-six dozen and a Maori Fatty Arbucklo interning (gastronomically) over 300 of these defenceless creatures. We would very; much like to have tho exact figures because of my late Lord Fitzwalter's, ' claims* to the pearl-studded championship belt. Fitzwalter, according to Walpole, was a prodigious trencherman. "He is past 84 (wrote tho chronicler in 1755), was an old beau, and had scarce ever more sense than he has at present; he has lived many weeks upon fourteen barrels of oysters, four-and-twenty bottles of port, and some, I think, seven bottles of brandy per ;week." What you might call an elephantine r-oystcr-er! , ■■.» * ' # "Man-Eater" writes more in Borrow than, in anger. "That physiological freak and wrestler, 'Abie my boy' Coleman, is a trifle hurt that his flying tackle should be barred. A little mor« tinkering with the rules of the mat game and presently we shall have our ambitious curates talcing it up. Hay« you room, for a cheap stave or two?' * They've banned the- flying tackle For reasons good, no. doubt; You must not hack or hackl' Or knock your rival out, Slamming his solar plexuf In general, being rough. These prohibitions vex us Who like the all-in stuff. You must not dislocate a Man's toe to pin. him flat, Though every keen spectator Will fairly sniff at that. He loves the going hectic, And if it comes to'blows— Why, he gets apoplectic And purple round the nose. They've stopped the bearcats' buttinfc Knee-knocking of the turn, Scrounging and uppercutting And biting in tho scrum. Good-bye to all the riot— ' The mat game soon will be A pastime nice and quiet That Mayor Troup might see. * ■*■.*, Diogenes lodged' in a tub v but th« ex-President of South America's richest republic, Irogoyen, fairly slummed it in his private residence. Ho lived, ia. a modest flat in .a cheap neighbourhood (so the story goes), attended only, by an aged cook. It was never dreamed, that his "home" could be so neglected as to lack even elementary order and cleanliness. The flat was furnished with cheap white pine cupboards and wardrobes, clothes hanging from hooks and nails on tho walls, and the only seating accommodation was a number of cheap rattan chairs. The Presidential bed was a small iron affair with woven wire springs, similar to those used in hospitals. It was in the corner of a small room, without a single picture or ornament on the walls. Every, room was in a state of absolute neglect—old newspapers and pamphlets piled on the floors and in the corners of all the rooms, including the tiny, dirty kitchen. The1-rooms, which opened to a narrow hallway in Spanish fashion, were badly in need of paint and wallpaper. The kitchen was furnished with a small pine table, half a ' dozen enamelled cooking utensils and a straw basket for charcoal, which burned from a small iron brazier, ■ over which his old Criolla cook roasted the highly peppered Spanish sausages I which President Irogoyen was so fond. In the corner of one of these unkempt rooms was the gold-headed ebony cane which is the badge of office, while on a nail in one of the white pine wardrobes hung the richly-embroidered silk sash which the President wears acrost his stiff shirt bosom at oflicial ceremonies. You jiever can tell—can you!