THE WEEK.

Otago Witness, Issue 3331, 16 January 1918, Page 49

THE WEEK.

Whatever other gifts the good Saint Nicholas brings my way he seldom forgets to send along something or other in the shape of a book, or books, well knowing the pleasure I take in such things. This year a "token of this kind came all the way from Australia —a slim red papercovered book of verse by Dorothea Mackelkr, one of the younger members of that large band of Australasian versewriters, whose work is the beginning of a national literature. Like the others, she excels in descriptive verse, which means that she can hardly lay claim to tha title of "poet," since poetry means something more than mere word-painting, and. yet she has undoubtedly a great power of seeing things and making others see them, or of making us share in the deep and abiding love of Australia which ie characteristic of many Australian writers. I knew her by the verses called "My Country" long before I had ever seen this book of collected poems. The love of field and coppice, Of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered wood's and gardens, Is running in your veins. . • I love a. sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, Of droughts and fidoding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea, Her beauty and her terror — The wide brown land for me! S Core of-my heart, my country 1 Lane] of 'the Rainbow Gold, For flood and! 'fire and famine She pays us back three-fold. Though earth holds many splendours, Wherever I may die, I know to what brown country My .homing thoughts will fly. She sees beauty where few would expect to find it—even, for instance, in the Sydney trams, which, ugly by day, become when the darkness falls jewelled beetles Flashing through the night. Wait, the tram is coming Round the curving shore, And its humming changes To & hollow roar. There's a flaming glory On the bay at last, Red aK.d green and orange; It has eomo and passed. Nothing breaks the etillness, All is ft* before, And the golden serpents Quiver near the shore.

Again, in a "sketch" she shows us JTydo Park, Sydney, where by day Frank blue eky rnd fair green grass Smile a welcome as we pa? 3. But at set of sun behold Shining bubbles all of gold, Hanging from the altered trees — "What strange magic gave us these? For the grass shows greener far Here than earthly grasses are.

And the fresh leaves, bouigeoning Straight from out the trunks, show bright, Polished in. that stagey light. Everywhere that light has made Pools of colour, shores of shode, Till familiar corners seem Vague, remote, as in a dream.

One of the best of the descriptive pieces is "The Grey Lake," that strange lake called Lake Eyre in South Australia, partly water, partly mud, with its

Shallow, sluggish water, ( Warm—warm as blood, Not enough to cover The quaking mud. * Forty miles to westward, A hundred north, Wind-fiends hunt the water Back—back and forth. There are reed-grown islands The eye scarcely sees. Grey ooze guarding grimly Their mysteries. Strange Things may survive there, What, who can tell? Masters old—the lake-slime " Can guard them well. No one knows those islands, The gulls that fly May go near, but others Would surely die. / For the wind-scourged water Would flee the ships, And the mud would open Her soft, smooth lips. . But the vei'ses are not-all mere descriptions. There are some into which she has put her own imagination, as in "Settlers," in which she peoples the wild places of Australia with the lesser gods —the fauns and dryads and naiads and oreads—of ancient Greece, and "The Dream Soul" wherin she tells how at night her "dreamsoul" takes her travelling where her feet will never treads To liitle lonely islands where the long green breakers roax, To white sand and tall palm-trees and strange shells upon the shore— To sun-baked fierce republics where the plodding mule-teams go * Towards peaks that cut the sky-line (see the glitter on the snow!) She sails on lazy cruises in the hot blue summer days, and wanders in the desert under skies of copper-red, Where flaming to the sunset lie the cities of the Dead. For

You join' in strange adventures, and strange company you keep, A-roaming with your dream-soul when your bodiy is asleep! There are one or two dramatic little poems —suggestions from Portugal and Italy and Japan—and of course some that might have been written either in Australia or anywhere else. One of these, just two short verses, I will give you for the close.

THE DREAMER. Over the crest of the Hill of Sleep, Over the plain where the mists lie deep, Into a country of wondrous things, Enter we dreaming and know we're kings. Murmur or roar as it may, the stream , Laughs to the youngster who dreams his dream. Leave him alone .till his fool's heart breaks: Dreams all are real till the dreamer wakes. Elizabeth.

Hints and Suggestions.

If you can keep a little perforated enamel sink basket in your sink for collecting tea leaves and scraps, you will never bo bothered with a stopped pipe. When your washing-up is done, always let the cold tap run for a few minutes, so that the trap or "U" bend under the sink is filled with clear, fresh water instead of dirty washing-up water. Don't forget to polish your nails. Prettily, well-kept nails make such a difference to the appearance of a woman's hand, and the polishing can be done without any trouble of manicure instruments. After washing the hands, dry them thoroughly, then rub the nails of both hands briskly together. This will polish them beautifully When you wish to knock a nail into a crumbly try this plan. Put your nail in position, and drive it into the wall ; if the plaster gives and crumbles away, fill up the gap with plaster of Paris. Leave it for an hour or two, and you will find that the plaster is quite hard, and the nail firm enough to hold a heavy picture.

When making sandwiches in large quantities, it is wise to have a square sandwich loaf with rather a close grain and butter the bread before cutting it. Not much butter is required, but it is better to put a little on each slice. Should the sandwiches net ,bc required for some hours after they are made, wrap them in a slightly damp cloth with a sheet of white paper over this, or better still, place

them -wrapped in the cloth in a covered tin. Do not stint the seasoning, and cut off the crusts when the pile is complete. Save the stale bits of cheese, grate them up finely, and keep in a tin for flavouring. When rugs curl up at the corners cut a piece of buckram in the shape of an L, and sew to the under side.

For cleaning sinks and pans try a scouring soap made of equal parts of dry soap, silver sand, and whitening. Very often one sees candle-ends at least one inch long thrown away or being used to help light the fire. If you take them from the stick they will burn right down to the very end.

To clean badly-stained knives, dip a cork' in hot water, then in fine emery powder, rub the knives with this till the stain disappears, then polish in the usual way-. Freshly-mixed mustard will remove inkstains from the most delicate fabric without injury. Simply apply to the stained part, Jet it remain on an hour or so, then rinse with clean water.

If you want to remove any pieces of fat or grease from your soup, pour it through a cloth that has been well saturated in cold water. All the fat will remain in the cloth, and the soup will be quite clear and free from grease. To clean white wings make a paste of French chalk and naphtha of the consistency of cream, spread over the wing, and allow to remain for 12 hours, then brush off. Before putting on this paste, free the wings from dust, and wipe them with spirits of wine.