EDITOR'S WALLET.

Otago Witness, Issue 2914, 19 January 1910, Page 94

EDITOR'S WALLET.

Talking; in Church. In a certain village church the congregation bad been greatly disturbed during the singing of the hymns by a certain set of women, who wore persistently gossiping. At last the minister devised a. plan to stop this disturbance. At a given signal by him, everyone in the choir was to stop singing abruptly. So. during a hymn he gave the signal. At this everyone stopped singing. One' of the offenders, who was uria.ble to check herself, was heard to say in a loud voice, “ J always fry mine in lard.” ‘‘As «ve now know,” announced the minister, “that she always fries hers in lard, we will proceed with the singing.” There was silence after that. A Useful Word. Not long ago a certain lawyer was a candidate l for a seat in Parliament. While canvassing a working-class portion of the electoral division he stopped at one house and 1 inquired if the bead of the house was at home. “No, sir.,” responded the housewife, beamingly, “but I know what- you are after. My husband says he’ll vote for you because you got him off for stealing that gun last sessions.” “No, no, my good woman,” exclaimed the candidate; “you make a mistake. Alleged stealing of the gun.” “Alleged, be botherecll!” ejaculated the lady impatiently. “We’ve got the gun in the house now!” Calf Love. The great Bumpfeller, of phrenological fame, was performing in the Scudvillo schoolhouse. The first man to have the hills and valleys of his bead explored was a burly blacksmith. As he took hi.s place a kind friend whispered in the phrenologist’s oar: “ He’s , r ery fond of veal.” Bumpfeller nodded gratefully, and proceeded to translate the blacksmith’s bumps into varying degrees of acquisitiveness, inquisitiveness receptivity, etc. “Finally,” declared Dr Bumpfeller, “I comedo your diet. If there is one thing, gentlemen, on which our subject dotes, it is veal. Why ” But the sentence was never finished. The blacksmith rose suddenly, and, hitting cut, struck the phrenologist on the chin. “Bust ye!” he reared. “What’s it got to do with you if I did steal a calf?” Order Obeyed. Carelessness in the use of language is quite as reprehensible as carelessness in cookery, and with a literal-minded .cook in the case, it may accomplish the same results. A writer tells of a Southern woman who was leaving her home in a great hurry, and wanted to remind her

negro maid! of some apples baking in the oven. t< “ Watch when the apples bum:, Chine I ’ she called, as she was leaving the house. W-hfon she returnee.' there was a pan of burned and charred apples on the kitchen table, but Chios was placid and happy. “Dem apples burned at just 11 o’clock this morning ma’am.” said Chios, complacently, “for I noticed the time particular !” Use Swiftest Yet. A wealthy broker has a big country place. Ho put a large searchlight on top of his stone water-tower, and from time to time, at night, amuses himself by throwing the light around the country. One night last sunim-sir he was on the tower playing with the searchlight. A man, drivm a skittish horse, hitched to a trap in, which there were two ladies, was coming along a road leading to the place, and was about four miles from the village. The broker threw the searchlight down, the road. “Hang it!” exclaimed the stranger, “here comes one cf those pesky motor-cars.” He jumped out and took the horse by the head. The light continued on the road for half a minute and then was switched away. The driver stood stupefied. Then he turned to th© ladies and said, in an awed voice; “Jeeruealem! That motor must be going fast. It’s gone by, and I didn’t even see it.”’ £IBBO to Paint a Shanty. Silas Moran, a farmer, living in Whidby Island, in Puget Sound, recently dug up several quart cans which contained! a red, sticky substance, possessing a sweet smell Thinking the. find was paint, th® old man painted his three-room cottage. That night a shower washed away every trace of the fresh paint, and Morgan took what remained in one can to his druggist. The pharmacist discovered the substance to be pure opium, worth close on 3‘CCdoi —£60 — per can. The old farmer nearly collapsed when he thought of the 29 cans of the opium he had daubed upon the rough boards of his shanty. Through bis ignorance of the drug, he had wasted nearly SOOCdol —£1800. The opium was probably cached in years gone by by smugglers operating between Puget Sound points and Victoria, British Columbia. The smugglers often packed opium in quart cans, and many a smuggler’s lighter passed examination by officers on the ground! that the cans contained 1 fruit. »o Questions .Asked. They vere a motoring party, and were careering along at some 30 miles an hour, when out of a, field cam© a dog, which waa too busy bs-rking at the man who followed him to notice the oncoming motor-car. The creature was run down and killed instantly. Hooking back, they saw the man come out of the field. The car was pulledup, and one of the party alighted ana met the pedestrian. “We’re awfully sorry,” he said. “Yes, but the dog’s killed, and a fin© one he was.” “Well, we can’t be sure it was our fault. But look here, will fiv© pound's make it right?” “Yes, I think it might,” was th© answer. “Here, then, take this, and we’ll say no more about th© matter, except that we’re awfully sorry.” The car resumed its journey, and the pedestrian, pocketing the fiver, softly remarked : “Well, this is a rum go. I wonder whose dbg it was?” Mr Carton's Sew Eiaisrrams. Here are some of the bright sayings which illumine Mr R. C. Carton’s new play, “Lorrimer Sabiston. Dramatist,” at the Londbn St. James’s Theatre: When a man doesn’t know what be wants, bo probably wants a holiday. Lady C.: “ I’m afraid I don’t care much for Browning —no man ha.s any business to be so difficult to understand—it’s an interference with onr prerogative.” A good working ideal for a dramatist is to keep one ©y© on poste,r : ty—and the other on the- box-office. Don’t begin your career by being tod modest —or people will suspect you of unduly straining after originality. A holiday is the most tiring latter-day invention I know. The annual bank holidays are the only four occasions during the year on which the average labouring men dees an honest day’s work. A pose i-s the first essential in every intelligent man’s equipment. ■ The tides of destiny ebb and flow!—if x ever have to go to the wall I shall hope to find th© right pictures on it, and the right china. The dramatist has the pavement of ordinary decency to walk on —ff he gees to the edge of it in order to hail the passing omnibus of public notoriety he runs the risk of losing his balance and putting his foot in the gutter. Routine is only civilisation under another name. Civilisation has made sin the most difficult word in. the dictionary to exactly define. Shakespeare through the centuries has had all the fame—all the glory—all the worship of his countrymen—and the countrvmen of other nations,- —but during the whole or that Lengthy period, in some sphere beyond the range of our mortal comprehension, Bacon may have been quietly chuck-ling—-_and there are worse ways of passing eternity. Building a play is like making a p-ea.rl necklace—whatever the size and quality of the pearls there must be a thread running thro ugh to hold them together; you. oughtn’t to notice it, but it’s there. Literary dilettantism is a sign of youth and inexperience. It’s like a young smoker with his first meerschaum—the flavour of the tobacco- doesn’t count, ,he’s only thinking of colouring his pipe. What really matte™ in our work is something ws scribble hastily on the back of an envelope—in a cab o,r against a lampost-. When anyone is going to take a header into new life —Paris is the most appropriate -spring-board.