POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXVIII, Issue 57, 5 September 1934, Page 8

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

BY PERCY FLAGE

Another reason why our world-savers arc missing on all cylinders is that the world seems not to care whether it is saved or not.

Explanation: The steadily-decreasing birth-rate everywhere makes us suspect that Big Bad Wolves are creating havoc among the storks.

Sir James Jeans cannot have heard of what happened to Uncle Sam's planned economy schemes when he talks of man's control of Nature.

Judging by latest advices there never were greater opportunities than now for those so inclined to hitch their wagon to a star —there are so many fine ones on duty nowanights.

A correspondent ("Top Hole") asks what has been done with the hole in the Town Hall tower where the clock used to be. He says that if they have not thrown the hole into a "better 'ole," he could make good use of it as a iub" bish dump.

LIMEKICK. "Enfily Jane," Napier, forward* several clippings among which waa this— There was a giraffe who said, "What Is the use of my tea strong and hot? With a neck of such length It loses its strength And is cold ere it reaches the spot."

MORE AD. FUN.

Talking of news oddities, I fear the following "Etiquette Don't," which appeared in a New Zealand periodical the other day, may cause a wrong impression overseas regarding our table manners: "Don't break your bread or roll in the soup." I mean to say, if this kind of thing is spotted New Zealandcrs dining abroad may be scrutinised very closely for any tendency to disport themselves in the mulligatawny, and much embarrassment may result. Another diverting bit in the advertisement columns concerned a flat which formed part of "a large new gentleman's residence." Doesn't it remind you of the table offered for sale "by » woman with carved legs?"

WILLIE WOOP.

LITERARY LAPSES.

(By favour of "Precision," Nelson.)

Heine wrote of a soldier who had been mutilated in the Napoleonic. Wars: "And that old wooden-leg shook my hand." Stendhal in one of his novels makes a character become older by ten years instantaneously: "I am thirty years older than you, my dear Eleanora. You are only 19 and I am 59." George Sand, in writing: "And, like Herod, they cannot do-anything else than wash their hands of all social iniquities," forgot that this was Pontius Pilate's solution. In "Tartarin of Tarascon" Alphonse Daudet attributes phenomenal teeth to the Arabs: "Four thousand Arabs ran behind a camel, barefooted, gesticulating, laughing like madmen, and making their six hundred thousand white teeth flash in the sunlight." Which means that each of those Arabs possessed 150 molars!

VERSE EXCHANGE DEPARTMENT.

Your renowned and esteemed Column 8, like Auntie (in the song), has no flics on it. If your correspondent, "Silence" will connect with me, his quest of the "pigtail" will be no longer.

I also am a seeker of some words they are an old song that runs thusly:

People say that we all come from mon-

keys; When I look at you it must be so. If you are a monkey, where's your

tail gone? ■ Say, Dad, don't you know?

Yours, hastily,

PENNYSNATCHEB.

("Pennysnatoher's" name and address have been forwarded to "Silence.") '

"Helpful," Hataitai, also comes to the assistance of "Silence." He advises that the lines wanted can- be obtained on a gramophone,' record, . and adds: "If 'Silence' cares to telephone me at 52-462 between 1.30 p.m. aad 5.30 p.m. I will gladly give him. fm> ther information."

THE KIND Or PEOPLE. Essie Smith likes the truth of thid Edwin Markhain poem.so well that she is desirous that others should know it. Gone is the city, gone the day. Yet still the Btory and the meaning stay: Once where a prophet in the palm.--shade basked A traveller chanced at noon to test his head. "What sort of people may they be," he asked, "In this proud city on the plains overspread?" "Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?" "What sort?" the packman scowled, "why, knaves and fools." "You'll find the people here the same," the wise man said. Another stranger in the dusk drew near, And, pausing, cried, "What sort of people hero In. your bright city where yon towers arise?" "Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?'' "What sort?" the pilgrim smiled, "good, true, and wise!" "You'll find the people here the same,'^ the wise man said.

MAGGIE CREEK BROADCASTING.

Dear Percy,—l was told by two of my mining pals that someone down the West Coast wanted the words of "The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God.' 1 They had seen the S.O.S. in your col* unm (at least n so they said, and I can only accept their word for it), and, of course, passed the word that I might send it along. (Such is fame). Through you putting that letter of mino in your column I receive every Tuesday a, copy of "The Post" (Saturday) from, some unknown admirer, so I've been thinking of sending a letter to the Auckland "Weekly News" ami see if history will repeat itself. Well, I'll ring off and get some sleep. We get to bed early here, for now that spring has arrived the birds start their daily song just before dawn. First, a tui gives its three-note call, and then the rest of them tune up. There's a bush robin perches on a stump just o\tside, and he has them all whacked. The canary is simply not in it. I reckon the robin is the tamest bird in the world; it eats crumbs out of the hand. Please find enclosed the poem, and I hope that you are in the pink. Cheerio. WM. McWHINNIE. Maggie Creek, Murchison. Thanks for copy of the verses, gold"Digger," but the Westport lady ha« already received, and acknowledge^ them.—P.P.