BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 22276, 29 February 1936, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By_X.Y.] ** The time has come, the Walrus said, “ To talk of many things.”

WhiJe walking to work the • other morning 1 met a friend who was disconsolate.

“ Hello,” said I. “ What’s wrong? Have these thunderstorms been upsetting you, or is it only a touch of dyspepsia?” “ Neither,” he answered, “ and at tho moment it seems much worse than either.”

I pumped him, and he told me the story of a great disappointment. It appears that shortly after lie had paid his income tax last year he learned that ho had paid one penny too much. Nothing very serious in that. But, like some other people, my friend was not very well disposed towards the Income Tax Department, and as the time for this year’s payment came round, with its prospect of the unpopular wrench, he bethought him of his penny and made up his mind that, as all trace of it would very likely have been lost in the mass of statistical detail, he would have the opportunity of penning a stinging letter to the department, demanding that the wrong be righted there and then. In fact, lie said he had gone so far as to rub his hands in glee at the idea of composing a masterpiece in which invective and satire struggled for the honour of being the predominant note. But, alas for his dreams of a sweet revenge for years of compulsory detractions from his income! He received an account in which was written, under the sum owing: “ Less amount overpaid, Id. “ The department lias become too darned efficient,” was his final comment. “ I feel a distinct sense of deprivation.” * * * *

When pests assail our veg. and fruit, We diligently spray them, Dr seek the Cawthron Institute For parasites to slay them. Some day these blights will be no more, These insects will be gone, Departed, like the Dinosaur, And Iguanodon.

White butterflies and mealy-bugs, Earwigs and caterpillars, « Scale* eodlin moth, and snails and slugs, Will flee before the killers. So says the sapient scientist, And so, we live in hopes, Although the beasties still exist And prey upon our crops.

But when they’ve vanished from the scene, And everyone’s delighting In vegetation fresh and green, Devoid of loathsome blighting, I’ll still lament (if I’m alive SVhen this millenium’s due) That on© confounded worm’s alive, And very active, too.

He doesn’t feed on plums or pbara, On wheat, or oats, or barley. I shouldn’t even say he cares For spuds, particularly. He has no taste for leaks or beets, He never bites a rose. For all I know, he never eats A single thing that grows.

But build a bungalow of pine, And, ere ten years are over, You’ll see the beastly borer dine Like cows among the clover. He lives on -wood until he’s dead. And, after he’s deceased, His sons and daughters, in his stead. Continue with the feast.

There isn’t any parasite To rout him out and slay him. He seems to work away, despite. The efforts made to spray him. In spite of all the optimists ~ ' Who’d kill him if they could,; : This noisome creature still persists In chewing up our wood.

I’d like to ask the Government To institute researches, And stop this sad dismemberment Of houses, sheds, arid churches. New brooms, with unworn bristles, ought To make a clean fell sweep Of all the holes where grubs resort, However dark and deep.

But ah! I fear that Michael J. Would meet my deputation With some remark like “ Get away! I mean to rid the nation Of all the boards wherewith it’s cursed (Except my party’s planks), So let the borer do his worst, And he’ll deserve my thanks.” • * * •

A West Coast gold miner says he knows of a reef in the Buller County from which he could extract enough gold to pay off the whole of New Zealand’s national debt. It is amazing, when you come to think of it, how many undeveloped mining propositions there arc in New Zealand estimated to be capable of paying off the national debt! If they all prove to be as successful as their promoters hope, we ought to be able to pay off Great Britain’s war debts as well. In that case we would indeed be the “ curlyheaded ” dominion of the Empire. But generally there is a catch somewhere in such ambitious schemes. If, as occasionally happens, the reef or alluvial claim is actually rich, the shareholders can be relied upon to find other uses for their dividends, and the National Exchequer merely receives what it can extract by way of taxation. Then, again, there is the chance that the ore will cost almost as much to extract as

it is worth. Or else it is entirely missing. Probably this expectation of being able to pay off the national debt has just become a fashionable, meaningless “ catch ” phrase illustrating the value of the hidden treasure which awaits, public money for development purposes. For it hardly seems natural that the first thoughts of mining men, philanthropic though they may be in many respects, should be for the national debt. There is so much to attend to nearer home. Still, they are likeable, optimistic souls, these miners. We should have no hesitation in wishing them the best of luck.

Probably others have noticed it too —the waywardness of cyclists about town. While motorists are compelled by their very conspicuousness to make a conscientious effort to obey laws and by-laws, cyclists seem to be in position largely to please themselves as to the manner of their peregrinations through the streets. Mostly it is the younger fry, on errand bent, who are the archtransgressors. The working man, pedalling methodically to and from his daily toil, is rarely a cause of worry to pedestrians. However, too often one is startled by the apparent recklessness of pseudo-broadsiders whose daring negotiations of corners are seldom heralded by the tinkle of a bell. Then there are vainglorious youths who, scorning to use the handle-bars, sit upright and look as if they hope they are the objects of the admiration of passers-by. The cutting of corners and the too-swift crossing of intersections by cyclists are common sights in the city, and in the suburbs the footpath fiend frequently has his say. The only comfort is that, whereas it might be more humiliating to be knocked down by a cyclist than by, say, a handsome sedan car, the risk of serious injury is perhaps not so great. All the same, increased efforts ought to be made to force these silent disturbers of our equanimity to adhere more strictly to the letter of the law.

* * * • It was Mrs “ X.Y.” who started it. Probably she wanted more pin-money or a new dress. At any rate, from the moment she discovered that a new kind of puzzle competition had broken a competition in which, at first glance, it appeared easy to win a trifle of anything between £25 and £loo—there has been little peace in the late evenings. I am sure sonie of you will have en-y; countered this latest trouble. On# gazes at a series of pictures (fashioned by “ our artist ”) and begins to wonde? how they can be interpreted into words which, in some cases, are the names of towns, in others a complete sentence published in a New Zealand paper. It’s not bad fun, mind you, if you. have no objection to working overtime studying the atlas, the Maori place namejsin tiie railway time-table, and a dictionary of synonyms. It will most likely add to your Knowledge, if not to your banking, account. The bother of it is that to participate actively in the craze one has to forward 6d or Is with each entry and 6d or so for each additional guess. Alas, yes, it is largely guesswork—in the compilation of the sentences, anyway. You can guess away a great deal of pocket .money on the alternative solutions. Perhaps there is sound sense in the old cross-word puzzle after all.

* * * * I am glad to hear (writes “ Centre Threequarter ”) that our All Blacks have realised that young fellows in the Old Country can play .Hugby football. I learned my lesson about 15 years ago. On entering Edinburgh University I had one or two ideas about myself as a dashing colonial centre-three-quarter (when one is young and foolish one does get these ideas, of course). It came as a great shock to me, therefore, that on.the day of the very first ’Varsity practice I found myself continually outplayed by a speedy young vis-a-vis who not only seldom refused to let me past him, but also proved to. me that my defence was not as strong as, I had believed it. On the two occasions I did elude him he appeared.; to have little difficulty in tackling me' from the rear, but whenever lie himself passed me I could only stand and try to admire his beautiful running action. I don’t think I quite recovered, from the experience until this athlete, Eric Liddell by name (I believe he is a missionary in China now) won the Olympic 440yds championship. After all, it was no disgrace to be peaien by the “flying missionary”—and a rattling good chap at that.

« * * * The world is all a-bubble now, The sky is full of gloom;

But who is going to start the row, And who will fight with whom?

I wish I knew Exactly who Will punch the nose of whom,

Perfervid patriots proclaim Their love of lasting peace ; And yet—conjointly with the same— Their armaments increase.

Can you supply The reason why Their armaments increase?

There’s France and Russia shaking hands (A most fraternal scene). While Germany, suspicious, stands And bristles in between. I reckon it’s A shame that Fritz Should bristle in between.

Upon the Ethiopian ground A dubious fight is fought, While all the nations stand around And say they didn’t ought. (They think, you see, That Italy Most surely didn’t ought.

They can’t succeed in mending things : Because they feel a fear Of cataclysmic happenings If they" should interfere. For, ten to one, There’d be some fun, If they should interfere.

The Russian army (they insist) Can stand against the earth. Japan gives Russia’s tail a twist, To test the statement’s worth. If Russ, and Jap. Begin a scrap. They’ll lind out what it’s worth.

So this and that, and these and those, Are angry and perplexed; And nobody exactly knows What’s going to happen next. I wish I knew (Twist me and you) What’s going to happen next!