Dot's Little Folk

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23413, 31 January 1938, Page 15

Dot's Little Folk

I\J Inauou [rated Julij 16,1886, 0 by th.e

OTAGO WITNESS

Dot lathes letters of not more than 300 words In length from her young friends throughout the Horn In ion on any matters la which they are interested. Now members must enclose their name and address. These trill not be published, and are for registration purposes only. Little Folk should write on one side of the paper only, and in ink, and should address their letters ’’ Dot, care of Editor, Otago Dally Times.’' Every letter must state the ago of the writer for Dot’s private Information. The retiring age Is 21. after which Little Folk become Old Writers. Dot's Little Folk’s Badge, with pin, for use as a brooch, is obtainable on application to Dot. Price 2s 6d, in stamps or postal notaa.

• THE WEEK’S POEM You all know enough about trains to be able to enjoy this poem, I think, children. Read it aloud, and you will realise how well it swings along. Then—why not write one about trains yourselves? DOT. * * * ' RAILWAY JINGLE There’s the roar of the ’plane as she speeds up the air. There’s the click of the hoofs of a carriage and pair, There’s the whine of a cur, which its engines maintain, But the sound I know best is the song of the train. Each railway men use has a tune of its to the Cheviot!) the English I’ve known, „ , „ . And through the dominions I’ve travelled of late By Canadian Pacific, Victorian State. The London North-Western’s soft notes I recall On chaired metals, as smooth as a waltz at a ball. , , . * . And the Posch on the Sinai deserts and fells Had a Rhythm belonging to nobody else. When here In New Zealand the railways 1 ride, . Theres a song of vainglory, a little, and pride, And from anapaest over to anapaest on I’ve listened each, mile of the road I have gone. i Of but seventy years we are telling the. tale, . . ' And though narrow our gauge and but single our rail. Though we’ve rivers to cross and we vc mountains to climb, We will get you there safe, and will get there on time. They have flogged us a path through the bush with an axe, We’ve a causeway through. marshes all shiny with flax, We can traverse the face of the cliff on a l6df6. With a rock-riven torrent Just over the edge. See the mountains in while where the glacier gleams. And the bridge o’er the gorge with -ts network of streams, . We can run you by farmsteads as set and As are any you’ll find in the County of Kent. „ And we pass little stations with Maoris Called Ahltimata or, Mauklpßru,' So tiny their platforms, their buildings so small, They can scarcely find room for the name on the wall. Two decks for the sheep, and a van for You can go from the Bluff up to Auckland by Though we’ve mountains to climb and we've rivers to cross, You’ll be there upon time, and get home without loss. —Anonymous. TO ALL Dear Little Folk.—l shall tell you the results of your various competitions as soon as possible, for, as you may have guessed, I, too, have been away for a holiday, and have Just returned. Some of the “Day I Liked Best” competition letters were mislaid, and have had to appear to-day Instead of last week. The drawings I shall tell you about later. May you enjoy your coming school days as much as you have enjoyed your holidays.—Your loving T 1 nm DOT. DEATH OF A UTILE FOLK Dear Dpt,—On December 23 there passed away one of our members at the Balclutha Public Hospital. Unfortunately I have tried in vain to remember or find out her nom de plume from other friends, and feel it quite unfitting to ask her mother. I have an idea her nom de plume was Lovcday Merrydew. However, lam much too uncertain about the matter to state definitely what it might be. Her real name was Lily Henderson, Toshvale, Balclutha. Lily was the only child, aged 16. In 1934 she was dux of the local primary school, and since has been studying at the South Otago High School. 1 think she was the most brilliant scholar I have ever known. She has never been equalled at schoolwork yet, and teachers (I happen to work at a high school teacher's place) have said she was the most clever pupil that has ever passed through high school. A few weeks ago she was operated upon for appendicitis, but complications set in, and she had , suffered painfully, yet bravely. Her passing was very sad indeed for all who knew her, a? she had a very sweet nature and was of a sunny disposition. Her funeral was largely attended by friends and schoolmates—schoolmates especially thoughtful. Many sent wreaths and messages, and six acted as pallbearers. Sincere sympathy in shared with her parents. DAPHNE DE ORB (Balclutha). [Yes, It was Loveday Merrydew, Daphne de Ore. I am very sorry Indeed to learn of her sad death. She was a Little' Folk whose letters were always outstanding in the page. Thank you for your information about her. and please accept my sympathy.—DOT.] CLOTH OF GOLD THE WONDERS SCIENCE IS EVOLVING No longer is glass symbolic of brittleness (writes The Literary Digest). New fabrics woven out of it are soft, flexible, durable —incredibly so. Coming Into everyday use are ribbons for electric Insulation, cloth for air filter!; of air-con-ditioning units, for industrial filters, for wall paper, curtains, tablecloths, even wearing apparel—all fabricated by familiar textile machines from lustrous thread spun from filaments of pure glass. Five years ago an industry was born out of research at the Owens-Illinois Glass Company's Newark, Ohio, laboratory. Experimenters, seeking a way to create coloured cartoons on the milk bottle, blasted molten glass against It. The blasted glass did not stick, but plied up beside the bottle as a fluffy mass of extraordinarily fine fibres. Surprise was greater when a cubic foot of this unlooked-for product was discovered to weigh only a P °Fibrous glass is not new. Venetians of the Middle Ages heated glass rods, drew them Into threads, made various articles out of such " spun ” glass. In Germany, since the asbestos shortage caused by the World War. blankets of matted glass fibres have been In common use for heat-in-sulation on locomotives and battleships But the Owens-Illinois process, perfected by investigations following the original discovery, Is wholly new and invaluable. The most efficient previous methods, patented In Germany, are Inadequate, expensive, and yield fibres so coarse that a cubic foot of them weighs a full six pounds. Hence mats of hapnazard fibres alone are possible, but not textiles. Owens-Illinois fibres are so slender that one reaching 'around the ear th would tilt the scales at a mere five pounds. The new process Is' highly efficient, permits argescale production of filaments having a diameter one-fourth that of the human marbles are fed Into an electric furnace and there melted. Under pressure, the molten glass Is forced out through tiny holes in the bottom of the furnace, whence it emerges in tiny streams, which cool to form fibres almost invisibly filmy, These filaments are united to make a tingle, slim, thread-like strand for winding upon spools. Transferred to textile machines, this glass thread Is fabricated like cotton or silk Into ribbon and cloth Now Germany—and the world—manufactures glass “wool,” yarns, and fabrics under American patents. The lustrous quality of glass cloth permits its use as "paper” on the walls of otherwise dim. places—stair wells, hallways. apartments. Moisture proof, It Is perfect for the bathroom. Its fireproof nature makes It for draperies, tablecloths In restaurants, furnishings * b ßut d lndustrial applications make fibrous glass a truly large industry. Heat-insula-tion In stoves, refrigerators, and walls already consumes vast quantities. Filters made of glass cloth are by far the best vet devised for cleaning the hot, acldfllled vapours and liquids which constitute an important problem In chemical plants and refineries. Thin glass thread and tape wound around electric wires mean resistance to heating effects, te moisture, rot, and attacks of insects. They mean also remarkable permanence.

HOW AFRICAN ANIMALS DIE THE MYTH OF TH*? I 'ELEPHANTS’ GRAVEYARD This article is condensed from Chambers’ Journal, the noted English monthly. It is written by Wynant Davis Hubbard. We read: Perhaps the most widely told talc which concerns the death of animals is that about the famous undiscovered graveyard of the elephants. Many persons have written of it, and countless stories have been built up around the finding of the enormous quantity of ivory which such a graveyard would contain.

The tale is told of India and Slam as well as of Africa. Elephants, when they reach old age and feel themselves growing weak and unable to forage successfully, go away. Alone they travel over miles of veldt, through the jungles, and between the hills, until at last they find the place to which all elephants retire to die. It is a spot unknown to any man, although every elephant eventually heads for it unerringly. Where this story of the elephants’ graveyard originated I do not know. “. * s very old. Probably it is founded on the evening tale of a father to his Inquisitive son, although it Is true that the discovery of a dead elephant is seldom talked about even among natives. An elephant crashes over dead in some almost inaccessible spot to which it has withdrawn, because of its helplessness or because of hurt. I doubt very much If one such dead animal in a hundred escapes the attentions of the natives, who keep a close watch on the vultures. As soon as they see them wheeling over and settling upon a certain spot, they hasten there, and. driving off the scavengers, either appropriate the find for themselves or take what Is of value. In the case of a 'dead elephant, of course, they take the ivory. In many countries the government claims a portion of all found Ivory. So dead elephants are seldom reported, and no native will admit having found one, which has helped to lend credibility to the story of the graveyard of the elephants. The enormous difference between the veldt at night and in the daytime must be experienced to be appreciated. The ideal way is to take a large electric searchlight and walk out on the veldt between IB and midnight. \ Spring hares, which jump like kangaroos, will show up everywhere, in places which In daylight were bare and empty. Eyes—glowing, fading eyes—will appear and disappear In every direction. There will be jackals, genets, mongoose, antelope, bush cats, perhaps a leopard, a lion, or a chetttah, wild dogs, and hyenas, where during the day It would be difficult to find any life, save, possibly, a wart hog or a flock of guinea fowl. It Is only natural, therefore, that most of the hunting by predatory animals should take place at night, wild dogs, which run In large packs like wolves, are the only carnivorous animals that do not seem to care -whether It is the moon or the sun that shines. Man is probably the greatest killer of wild animals. I say probably, because the crocodile runs him a very close second Just how to rate the killing of the veldt in something of a problem. Leopards often display utter savagery, and kill for the lust of killing. Lions seldom kill for any other reason than for food or in defence. Lions are three or four times as large as leopards, and consequently require more food. On the other hand, leopards cannot—or at least do not—often kill the large animals, such as zebras, sable, and waterbuck antelope. The total number of animals killed by leopards and by Hons Is about equal, and is less than is generally supposed* I question if a full-grown lion kills more than sixty antelope a year.

Wild dogs passing through a district clear it of every living thing. They are tireless and swift. Once a pack finds the fresh trail of an antelope they follow It until the poor beast drops of exhaustion. Then they-pull It to pieces. Three times I have seen animals come Into camp to escape a pack of dogs. O'nce It was a hartebeest that staggered in and stood just beyond the firelight. It stayed all night, although It was afraid of myself and my eighteen natives. But the shrill, high yelping of the wild dogs beyond the glow was more terrifying than man. . ... A kudu antelope rushed Into the compound one night while I was in the Zambesi Valley in Portuguese East Africa. Another time a wart hog came panting in for sanctuary in broad daylight. Accidents and disease rarely take a heavy toll. I once saw a running elephant put Its foot In an ant-bear hole, and go flying down on its face with a tremendous crash. It extricated itself at once, and disappeared with the rest of the herd, yet It must have had a sore shoulder for days afterwards. Such an accident might well result in a broken leg, but animals are so careful and so agile that they escape many injuries. The most tragic creatures of the veldt are not the grass-eaters, the little animals, nor the birds, but the killers that have grown too old to hunt. Old lions, old leopards, old cheetahs must find dying a long and unhappy process. As their teeth decay and fall, as their strength wanes, these old meat-eaters go down the scale until they are too weak to pounce on and kill anything ' bigger than mice and other small rodents. Hunting becomes Impossible, and finally the great killer lies down, and Is in turn killed by the cowardly hyenas, the Jackals, and other lesser beasts of prey. Many people have asked me what happens when a Hon and a leopard or a rhinoceros and an elephant meet. The answer seems to be that they seldom, if ever, do meet. The senses of smell and hearing are wonderfully keen in wild animals. No one of these four animals could approach another without its knowing, unless by approaching against the wind. In such an event the oncoming animal would probably veer away. Rhinos give ground to elephants, ana leopards back away from Hons, There is no occasion for the big animals to meet and fight. 1 .. . There seems to be one exception to this general rule. Lions and crocodiles may fight once in a while. I have found the body of a crocodile, a quarter of a mile from water, terribly torn and mangled. A Hon, or Hons, might have done such damage as I saw. But only a comparatively slow-witted and persistent creature like the crocodile would land In this kind of predicament. It is easy to imagine the circumstances. The night breeze blows down from the veldt, bringing with it the smell of meat and blood. In response, a crocodile crawls out upon the bank and waddles overland. The reek of Hon, which Is mixed with the smell of meat, bothers it not at all. On it goes, a sinister, frightful monster, swaying and creeping over the grass and leaves. The lions undoubtedly hear it coming. They prepare to defend their kill. Growls and snarls sound from the spot where they are feeding, but the crocodile waddles on. A battle between lions and a crocodile must be one of the most ferocious sights to be seen upon the veldt, for crocodiles can move fast. Their tails are capable of dealing a blow that would break any lion’s back. And their jaws! They are armed with from eighty to a hundred teeth of an inch or two ihches long. A single lion would have no chance against a crocodile. Three or four Hons, however, could probably kill even a large crocodile. But they would not escape unmarked, If, Indeed, one or more were not injured mortally. It -is a sad but true fact that the greatest suffering wild animals are subjected to Is Inflicted upon them by men. Of all the killers we are the most cruel and most rapacious. There is no limit to the things men will do. We shoot and cripple animals, and leave them to wander off and suffer from terrible wounds. We pitfall them, and allow them to struggle for hours, or trap them by the leg or neck. Men chase with dogs, they use fire to drive game, put up nets, dropping spears, guns that fire when a bait is of meat tossed on the veldt may contain fearful poisons, which send the poor beasts that eat the meat into writhing paroxysms of pain. We chop open burrows and houses, shoot with poisoned arrows or blow-guns, and poison drinking water. If wild animals live in terror It Is terror of man, for, Indeed, there Is no creature on the veldt so dangerous, so deadly, as a human being. Can your Imagination stretch so far as to picture a man walking amongst herds of garni without causing an Instant stampede in every direction? Lions have been observed to do this. Several hunters have' reported seeing Hons walking back from waters and passing close to herds of feeding antelope without causing any great excitement. .The grass-eaters move to give the killer free passage, and they watch him curiously, But they do not run as they would If a man appeared. The reason Is not hard to find. Lions kill only when hungry or at bay. Man kills at every opportunity, and by every means within his power. Men and crocodiles are responsible for more deaths among African animals than any others of the killing animals.

COMPETITION LETTERS SUBJECT: “ THE DAY I LIKED BEST DURING THE HOLIDAYS” JUNIOR SECTION (under 14 years). Dear Dot, —One morning at H o’clock my two sisters, my brother, and myself left home to go for a picnic. A few minutes’ walk brought us to the river, where we crossed through the warm water. After that we walked up to the bush, which is about a quarter of a mile away. At the bush we sat down on a mossy knoll at the bottom of which a little brook hurried on its eager way to the river. During the dinner time two little riflemen kept us company with their merry bursts of song. These little green and white birds are scarcely visible against the grey-green bark of the beech trees. Having put away the dinner dishes, we went for a walk in the bush. I only saw two kinds of birds there—the riflemen and another kind of which I did not know the name. At half-past three we returned to the river, where we had a bathe. We went for a walk along the river until wc reached a place where a creek flows out of the river. We walked along this, and upon rounding a corner the creek was flowing under towering cliffs composed mostly of blue mud. Here we lay on the gravel for a while, and then went home. BETTY BLUEBELL (Waikaia). * * *

Dear Dot,—The day I liked best during my holidays was spent on St. Kilda Beach, with my sister and some friends. After arriving there we played on the children’s playground until my cousins and friends’ mothers arrived about a quarter of ap hour later. We lunched under some trees, where a good few people were already picnicking. When we finished our lunch we went down to play on the sands. We made holes In the sand, and Immediately we made them they were filled up with water. Making castles was another thing we did. The time at last came for us to put on our bathing costumes, and what* fun we had splashing about in the sea, and under and over the waves we went! I cannot swim, but X am learning. After a while we went out and made ouf sand castles larger until they were the height we wanted them. We got dressed, for rain had started to fall. The shower nearly went off, so we hurried home after an exciting day. Love to the Little Folk and yourself. _ . MOUNTAIN DAISVBELL (North Otago).

SENIOR SECTION (14 and under 21 years) Dear Dot,—December 28, 1937, will hold for me the most vivid memories of my stay at Moeraki last Christmas, when that little township celebrated Its centenary. On this particular morning the sun rose to the toc-toclng and rhythmic beating of the fishing fleet putting out from the bay to reap a briny harvest, leaving tiny waves to collapse on the brown sands of the beach. In the Maori pa above the beach a column of smoke was rising from the oven, in preparation for the roasting of a bullock. The fire having burnt low, the stones originally -on top of the pyre had sunk to the bottom of the trench, the ashes were raked out and a cradle suspended above the stones, which were now red hot. Upon the cradle was placed the bullock and an assortment of vegetables, the whole being covered first by cabbage leaves, then wet sacks, and finally a thick layer of earth. The moisture from the sacks soon dropped through to the stones, which changed It into steam, and this, being unable to escape, surrounded the meat and vegetables and cooked them to a turn. The afternoon saw the official opening of the Maori meeting house, a substantial building In the centre of the pa, and fronted with splendid locally-done carvings. When all was ready Te Arl Pltlma, of Christchurch, who took the part of,the tohunga or high priest, addressed the gathering In English and Maori, in which he called • everybody’s attention to the solemnity of the proceedings to foUow. Then a Native minister from Temuka, who was standing in the doorway of the meeting house dressed In a blue soutan, intoned a prayer, whereupon the high priest made several passes before the door, at the same time observing the ritual of prayer and mysterious movements, so that the door was eventually opened- to the accompaniment of songs from a Kaiapoi choir. The remainder of the afternoon was devoted to the presentation of hakas and the various poi dances appropriate to the centenary celebrations, and no less interesting was the opening of the oven, when all present were tempted to sample bullock and potatoes cooked in native style. They looked, smelt, and tasted good. TAMATI (Dunedin).

Dear Dot,—-I have liked every day in the holidays so far, but the best day was the day I went for my holidays. Christmas Day was also a good day for me, but this day was better. I do not mean I was glad to leave home, but I was filled with a pleasing sense of exhilarating lightness. Somewhere in my chest near the bottom of my heart I felt light and yet heavy. On top of my approaching holiday I was to get a ride in the new bus. My brothers looked on through the helge as I boarded the bus, and I was away. I know the driver, because I used to go to high school on the bus. He ’sked me If l the bus was all right, and I said " yes.” When I arrived at my destination In Dunedin my friend’s mother and sister were there to meet me. I went to their new home by tram, and spent an enjoyable time all ihat day. In the evening my friend and I walked up Anderson’s Bay and round Tomahawk, coming home in the twilight. I was tired but happy when I went to bed: and that was the end of the clay I liked best, although there followed clays as enjoyable, but not so satisfying as the first day of mv holiday. Best wishes to the pag^. BOBBIE LENNOX (South Otago).

Dear Dot,—lt was a lovely sunny morning. and, not knowing what to do, we were Idling about in the sun. The longing for a swim was soon squashed, as there was no sultaole place near enough But apparently the thought of water made someone suggest boat racing in the water .race. So we set to work earnestly and made our fleet of three boats each—a small one, a medium one, and a big one. Our Idea was to see who had the champion boat and best fleet, points being given ’for each race. The water race flowed gracefully through a grove of bluegums, down small waterfalls, and finally through a pipe about ten Inches thick and fifteen yards long. All the races went off well until we came to the tunnel ones. The small boats came through all right, and so did the medium ones. Then came the big race. ' My boat was expected to win, and so it did. Next came the •:e:ond boat, and then the third, their owners grabbing them as they appeared. Breathlessly we waited on the fourth. A minute lapsed, and still no sign of the Queen Mary! Where on earth could she be? Was It possible for it to be stuck in the pipe? (It certainly was an outsize boat.) Hopefully we sent a large piece of bark through to try and remove it. But It stayed, too, and as the pipe Was properly blocked, the water began to spread over the paddock steadily. Home we went as quick as lightning, thinking out an explanation as we went. As the man of the house was in bed, we had to go back ourselves with a long Iron rod. Wc pushed the rod In, but nothing happened. Disheartened, we pushed again, and then a black object appeared at the end of the pipe. The bark was pulled out, and the Queen Mary sailed out, none the woi’Se for her adventure. The water round about gradually subsided: but what a relief! I can tell you there was no more boat racing for us. Love to all. WHITE MAY BIRD (Awamangu).

Dear Dot,—When the rain had cleared from Lake Manapouri we set out on a hike along that beautiful “ black" lake. Like a blanket, mists still enveloped the mountains, except the sentinel, but the sun shone so strongly across the lake that to watch the little epileptic lights on the ripples dazzled our eyes. On looking down the lake we could see the birches leaning out from the banks like children tiptoeing to their own reflections. The faint twitterings of birds could be heard above the gentle rustling of the leaves in the vagrant breezes. Gradually the mists lifted and the lake mirrored back the majestic, towering mountains, which were an intense blue, and the sky behind a pale green. Just behind the outline of the steep mountains the sky was lighter in colour—a pale Incandescent green to blue—that flung the mountains out in a heroic manner. That light almost trembled. We then wended our way through a labyrinthine network of damp, leafy wood-cuts in the birch forest. One led to the open water, where we saw an oily expanse of the Waiau River, which has its source at Manapouri. Long, lazy shadows wavelled In the deep, blue depths. We returned to the lake by a different route over a hill. Thus wc threaded our way through untracked bush. In the fading light of the afternoon Manapouri. under a grey sky, was whipped into waves at the edges and pricked all over with falling rain, which lasted only fifteen minutes. A violet dusk spread over the fathomly blue, which became ribboned with rays of the setting sun. After the long twilight we set out for Lake Te Anau, and the moon, which had only a half-hour to its wane, cast a silver wash over Lake Manapouri. ENGLISH ROSE FLOWER (Oamaru).

Dear Dot,—l can assure you when you read the account of this letter, you will not hesitate in thinking that this was one of my best and most exciting days during my holidays. To be sure my joy was unbounded to know that I was to be taken a trip by cor down to Invercargill, and to meet one of my girl pals from Dunedin on the express at Balclutha whom I had not met for six years, I was just trembling with excitement as she approached me and as we fondly embraced each other. She was to come with us to Invercargill, and as we laughed

and chatted about old times, we were little aware of what was going on in the outer world, and we arrived at our destination before we really realised it. We also had the privilege of going out to Riverton in the train, and took many picturesque snaps. Riverton celebrations were on at the time, so I had won several boxes of chocolates to take back with me. After returning back to Invercargill we did ,our Christmas shopping, and went home to put my pal’s cousin to bed, and to decorate his room for Christmas morning. Thus, as I went to bed, I thought it was the end of a perfect day. SISTER BIDDY (Glenomaru).

ORIGINAL POEMS JUNIOR SECTION (under 14 years). THE NEST Up in a tree a bird built its nest Away from the boys, who did their best The nest to reach, the eggs to take, But the little bird chirped, “ Please don't for my sake.” There was also a cat who did her best To climb that tree to reach the nest. But Pomp, the dog, who was ever alert. Barked, “ Bow-wow-wow that bird you’ll not hurt.” The nest was made, and the eggs were laid, The wee birds hatched In the leafy Summer will go and winter will come, The birds will fly to their new home. IRIS LILY (Henley) * # ♦ OUR FAMILY There’s mum and dad And then there’s me, Kate of the Dark Lashes Or Cathy, you see. There’s Tomboy Alice, ” Smiling through," Always trying What she can do. - There’s blue-eyed Robin, Slim and fair. And dear little Nessle, With golden hair. We all live together In a house that's nice, And we are not always As quiet as mice. KATE OF THE DARK LASHES (Mlddlemarch). SENIOR SECTION (14 and under 21 years) THE COLT’S OPPOSITION Wild Colt, you beautiful black horse, Bounding away among green gorse. As approaching you was a man, Among the rocks you leapt and ran; To capture is man’s desire, And take you from your home In mire, From your life so wild and carefree— You are free, and man envies thee. He has a rope to capture you. And, birdlike, from his hand it flew, Over your slender head it fell. You're encompassed in captive’s cell, You’re roped, your kicking is in vain, Man won’t surrender to your pain. The rope was slack, then was your chance, You galloped off without a glance At your captor, who cursed loudly, For you had escaped suddenly— A valuable horse had escaped. Before with saddle you’d been draped, Straight to your mountain home you fled, Into places where men seldom tread, Away from the lake where many fished. . Oh, the miseries you have missed! The whip, the spur, and being shod; In the hills you’re supreme, a god, On the plains you’d have been a slave. And whipped if you did not behave. With mane and tail flowing you leap. From the valley where the lake slept. All of your beauty was portrayed As to the mountain range you made; A man's desire did you oppose, And from ropes you suddenly rose. UNCLE JEHOSEPHAT (Otago). # * '-K HOLIDAY TIME It’s a dear, glad time when the sky shines blue, And the friendly sun spills gold on you, And ahead He days crammed full with fun, . , , When holidays have just begun! It’s a thrilling time when the tents stand white . ... In the blue-grey dusk of a summer night. And a mysllc lake in the night light gleams, . , . Where the moonlight throws pale, dappled beams.

It's a Joyous time when the livelong day Is free for sport or rest or play. When long legs race through winding

of holiday truly reigns. With sunburnt limbs and wind-blown

And h eyes that hide the lake-blue there. With freckled nose, and Ups that smile. Each heart is happy all the while

It’s a dear, glad time in a country place. Where the trees are hung with leaf-green

stands white near a lake or

stream And the hours flit by as a lovely dream. PERSIAN PUSSY * * * THE ISTHMUS OF SLEEP Sailing away on the ocean deep, Where the billowing waves are like swansdown; . Sailing away by the Isthmus of Sleep, Where the sea is a joy to sail down.

Away they sailed, and a-dpwn they sailed, A-down to that Isthmus of Sleep. And “Ahoy! ” they hailed, and O-ho! To th^boats 6 by the Isthmus of Sleep.

And "Ahoyl ” and "O-ho!" came the echo, For the Isthmus boats were asleep, And alone were they by the isthmus low, Alone In the ocean deep. So they sailed by the Isthmus by moonAnd' 1 the joy of that Isthmus of Sleep Was more enchanting at moonlight. As they sailed the ocean deep. FAIREY FOX (Oamaru). jje * ’f MIST OVER MOERAKI Mist over Moerakl, Soft, sweeping, and grey, Mist over Moeraki. Charms sorrows away.

Wild, over Moeraki, White gulls, screaming, fly, And white, over Moeraki, Are pale clouds drifting by.

Down gorse-covered hillslopes, Playing strange elfin games, Veiling with white gossamer The gorse’s golden flames.

Hiding with kind mystery What is revealed by day, . Hiding the lordly presence Of the sun and his servant rays,

Still, over Moeraki. Cov’ring hills and sea, White peace o'er Moeraki, May your beauty remain with me,

Mist over Moeraki, Drifts till break of day, Then gold over Moeraki, In sunlight speeds away. GREY-EYED BLONDE (Hillgrove). QUR RIDE I’m riding, riding, riding Through a windswept, open space, And my breath it comes in catches, As the keen breeze fans my face. And it’s nearer, nearer, nearer, Towards the distant hill. My limbs are free and easy, My heart it feels a thrill. And my hair’s a careless chaos, Just flying everywhere: But a thing dkc this won’t matter. When you’re flying through the air And something urges us onward To those hills so wild and free. And my horse he needs no guiding To his home that used to be. On and on; and then I feel My pony slackens pace: All the world is left behind, At last we climb the mountain face. The summit’s reached, he halts his gait, . , And gives a piercing neigh. With heaving flanks, and ears alert. He waits the call—away! It comes; I slip from the saddle, I unfasten the bit and girth, Excitement makes him quiver so. His hoofs they paw the earth.

He goes; I watch him out of sight, I can but sense his mood— He loves his freedom on the hills, I love my solitude.

But comes an end to all good things, The sun sinks in the west; I give a whistle, piercing, long, The call my horse loves best.

At last with lathered mouth, He proud before me stands, His muzzle rubs my shoulder, The thanks my love demands.

Then saddled, bridled, home we go, From our freedom once again: The cool air tingles every nerve As we gallop o’er field and lane. TRIXIE OF TAIERI (Taierl)

THE WOULD-BE ARTIST I tried to draw a lily, I tried to draw a rose. Then I tried some pansies, That grew in lovely rows. I tried to draw a cabbage, I tried some curly greens, Then I tried some parsley. And a row of butter beans. The cabbage looked like lilies, The parsley looked like rose. The pansies. " not ” like anything That grew in lovely rows. I’ve decided I’m no artist, With pencils, paints, or books, So I’m off to the harvest field To try to build some stooks. LITTLE NIPPON (Naseby). * * * THE PLACE IN WHICH I LIVE A place of paradise—a village small— Set in among the stately trees Full-bearing their autumn tints of pink. And the familiar church spire tall. These call my memory to think Of home, with its winding lane in which to roam. With the shining waters of the lake Crashing and spraying Into foam. VILLIA, WITCH OF THE WOOD (Pembroke). * * * SUNLIT WATERS There's a streamlet in a meadow Where the fairy thimbles grow. There the fern fronds keep a-nodding To the eddy’s sleepy flow. But down beside a spreading willow Is a spot that I love best, For through the branches to the water Dappled sunshine comes to rest. Dappled sunshine on the ripples, Fair, spilled sunshine on the stream, Tiny sunflakes ever moving Like the pictures on a screen. Grasses waving in the breezes. Willow branches swaying oft, Making all the lovely water Like a canvas from Van Gogh. BOBBIE LENNOX (South Otago). OLD WRITERS’ NOTES Caversham Lad.—l hope you will soon be well again, and able to write for our next Old Writers’ Week. Your card came too late for acknowledgment before. DOT. * * * Henry W. Longfellow.—Thank you ■ for the photograph of the badge, which I shall endeavour to have reproduced very soon. It will be of Interest to all. DOT. * * * Dad's Daisv (Miss D. McCann, Reveil street, Hokitika) would love Sweet Marie 11 or any other Old Writer to send her a copy of the crochet Dot’s Little Folk badge, as hers has been mislaid. Also could A Fern Leaf write and give her Maid of the Mountain's address. DOT. .•Ic * * Lavinia.—l shall attend to your request, and thank you for making it; but I do not yet know whether it will be practicable or not. DOT. D.L.F. SOCIAL CLUB The club's first meeting of the 1938 season will be held next Thursday evening, February 3, at 7.15 p.m., in the library of the Otago Daily Times. As is customary, there will be an address, and on this occasion it will be presented by the patron, whose subject will be “ Holidays. We cordially invite all Little Folk and Old Writers together with their friends and those interested to attend. A YOUNG NEW ZEALANDER, Hon. Secretary. NOTES Fernette.—Thank you for your note and pleasing gift. I hope all will soon be well again with you and yours. DOT. * * >!< Bobbie Lennox.—l did not receive your note till too late. Yes, you could have sent in two. DOT. ♦ # ♦ Faith in New Zealand.—Please write direct to Mr M. E. Wilson, c/o Otago Daily Times. Dunedin. C.l, and he will send you the address you wish for. DOT. LITTLE FOLK’S LETTER BOX As the Little Folk Inserting the following requests do not know the addresses of the companions with whom they wish to correspond, it is necessary that those companions should send the first letter.—DOT Rabblter’s Lassie (Joan Wilson. Gladstone road, Mosglel) would like to write to any Little Folk between the age of 12 and 14, and requests that Weston Sony write and give her name, so that a correspondence may result. OVERSEAS CORRESPONDENTS -Little Folk who wish to correspond with people in India and Ceylon should write to Mr M. E. Wilson, c/o Otago Daily Times, Dunedin. C.l, stating their age, address, and, hobbies, and enclosing a stamped and addressed envelope for reply sjt * * Little Folk who wish to correspond with people in Canada or the United States should write to Miss M. Vernon, c/o Otago Dally Times, Dunedin, C.l, stating their age, address, and hobbies, and enclosing a stamped and addressed envelope for reply. Jjt He Little Folk who wish to join a correspondence club should write for particulars to Patricia • Wilson, Box 12, Balclutha, stating age, name, and address. DOT.