POSTSCRIPTS

Evening Post, Volume CXXVIII, Issue 44, 21 August 1939, Page 8

POSTSCRIPTS

Chronicle and Comment

BY PERCY FLAGB

No, Melisande. You say waP» mongers—not war-mongrels, otherwise mad dojs of war. * * ♦ It is to be hoped that Roosevelt' 3 next shot for peace will be more accurate than the last one, which was miles of? the target. * # « Britain is watching the Nazi campaign and standing firm in Jhe Far East. It cannot possibly be a case of immobility in extremis? * # # Omadhaun: So far as we can see, it will not be much good taking to tha tall timber in the next war, because, by accounts, the best of New Zealand's bush has already been cut out. S» " 'conchies," remember, there's n* hiding-place up there. * 41- ■» COLD FACTS. I cannot understand why English financial critics should say as to New Zealand's internal policy that "Mr. Savage must associate it with the hard facts of the larger world," because Mr. Savage and his colleagues are continually assuring us that they are fully acquainted with all the facts of the case. FIAT LUX. * * ■* BEER BOYCOTT. Telephone tit-bit:«, "I am a water* sider's wife. My husband has been working on the wharf for twenty-five years. On Friday evening he brought me home a box of chocolates —the first I've ever had from him. Stick it out, you publicans." * * « BRIGHT IDEAS FOR PUBLICANS. Revert to the old price—fivepence— and sell a beer shake! Then truly will the dream of the poet be realised: "Beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And water-sider's mouth!" Another way would be to supply a lump of "loafing" sugar, producing what some folk* call an "efflorescence.'* Otherwise, if it must be at the sixpence rate, a feeler with a pony, two or three claws with a handle, and a whole crayfish with a rigger! That, however, would be riggering the market? WAR TO CIDER. P.S. Else: "Zealand! The time is come when thou shouldst wean Thy heart from its emasculating food." * * ♦ BRAIN-TEASERS. This is not a complete list of those who rang on Saturday evening because we were called out unexpectedly round about 9.30 with the result that clients telephoning after that hour found only Mistress Flage on the premises. It was similarly so on the Sabbath. However ... our apologies. Silva broke all time records when he phoned at 4.30 p.m. on Saturday \.ith his solutions. J.W.B. was next, with Margaret of Kelburn close on his trail. Next in order were Hataitai, Gasmask, Efpee 1.D., Frankenstein, Thistle, Hanover, and Tika—each with the double, and R.J.W. with No. 1; Amos Minus Andy (No. 1), Diana (Nos. 1 and 2), and O'L. (Nos. 1 and 2) came in on the Sabbath. Quite a few were flunked on No. 1, which was not especially difficult. No, 2, which was easier than we imagined, also held up three or four Postscripters, in spite of the hint given with regard, to the fifth word T.P. asked for a real No. 1 "snorter," for a change: "give v- a hot mathematical test, and see how we get on." One of these days, laddie, but we have to take care not to dishearten those regulars whose talent does not run to higher mathematics. Similarly, we could "freezesolvers with a literary poser if we cared to, but that again would defeat the purpose of this feature. So that's that. * * * DO IT NOW. Here are the lines complete asked for by Dreamer (Waiouru) last week. The author is Berton Braley, one of America's foremost writers of topical verse. A.S. tells us that the poem appeared in this column some time ago. No fewer than ten Postscripters sent in the rhyme. Thanks, everybody. If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing: If you like him or you love him, tell him now. Don't withhold your approbation till the parson makes oration, And he lies with snowy lilies o'er his brow; For no matter how you shout it, he won't really care about it, He won't know how many teardrops you have shed; If you think some praise is due him, now's the time to slip it to him For he cannot read his tombstone when he's dead. More than fame and more than money is the comment kind and sunny And the hearty warm approval of a friend; For it gives to life a savour, and it makes you stronger, braver, And it gives you heart and spirit to the end. If he earns your praise—bestow it; if you like him let him know it, Let the words of true encouragement be said; Do not wait till life is over and he's underneath the clover, For he cannot read his tombstone when he's dead. «' * * ASTONISHING PEOPLE. PETER'S PENCE. There were plenty of them. Ido ii>— know how many (writes G.), but there were more pennies than anyone cared to count, and more pounds, too, for that matter. He was Peter Thellusson, who was born one summer day in 1737. He came into the world via Paris, and grew up to be a shrewd merchant. In 1762 he was doing business in England, where he was naturalised. He established a banking house in London, and had relationships with Holland and France. He traded also with the West Indies, and amassed a large fortune, buying proper?/ in Yorkshire. One winter day in 1797 he grew tired of this life, and passed on calmly enough in his Kentish home. You would think that was the end of him. But it was not. In point of fact, it was only the beginning of trouble, for Peter made a will dated, April 2, 1796, in which he left about £100,000 to his wife and children, and the remainder of his fortune—say, another £800.000 —to trustees who were not to touch the money in any way, but to let it accumulate during the lives of his sons and of their sons and of their sons. The latter were to enjoy what came to them—or, in the event of there being no heir, the fortune and its accumulated interest were to go towards wiping out the National Debt. Now, if you are quick at figures, you will be working out a pretty sum. You may call your £800,000 a round million today, and you will calculate that by the time the heir of the family came into his own he might expect at least £140,000,000, if not much more. Parliament met in 1805 and declared the will valid, but it afterwards took fright, and in 1859 wills of this kind were made illegal. *