THE SKETCHER

Otago Witness, Issue 3764, 4 May 1926, Page 77

THE SKETCHER

MY PROUD DARK-EYED SAILOR. (To the Air of “Castle O’Neill.”) My brave boy is far from me, Oh, my sorrow, on a strange, distant shore— My proud, dark-eyed sailor, When shall I see him once more? W T ith heart near to the breaking, In the harvest field lonesome I bind, It is alone I'm hay making, When each girl lias her boy close and kind. Ah, heavy the steps I take, As to chapel on the Sunday I walk, Since he’s not to meet me, With his fond looks and low, tender talk; While my rose-tree richly flowering, W T hose blossom he plucked for my breast, Its petals sadly is showering, At the long, bitter blast from the West. But deep down within my heart, There’s a dear hope we’ll be meeting next spring, My proud, dark-eved sailor! And our marriage bells sweetly shall ring; Till beside you walking, high-headed, Under Castle O’Neill’s shining towers, Upon your arm, when we’re wedded, WVII pass through a pelting of flowers. —Alfred Perceval Graves, in the Spectator.

A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE.

By

A. H.

(Fob the Witness.)

She'had been riding about among the scattered homes in the district where ftnt? lived, collecting money for the foreign missions lor V/hich her church was responsible. That day she .had met with little success or sympathy. Most people seemed to think that they themselves i needed money more than the heathen or ! the missionaries did. Some said that the natives were better left in heathenism, and others that the heathen at home, and the poor, should be attended to first. It was well on in the afternoon when she stopped at the last house before turning homeward—the home of a relative. The dwellers here looked with small favour on her errand, and the usual scornful smile and cool refusal were what she met. Soon she mounted her horse again, and started for home,' feeling just a little nearer to discouragement. “ They might be a- little kinder,” she said to herself. “ They know I gladly do anything for them.” Pulling up at the first gate she was startled by a call, “ I’ll open it, auntie,” and, looking up, saw 10-year-old Polly leaving the cows she was driving homeward and running toward the gate from around a corner of the hedge. “ Thank you, dear,” said her aunt, feeling better already. * “ I didn’t see you at the house.” “ No, auntie, I was just home from school changing my dress to go after the cows. I heard you telling mother about the missions, so I put this in my pocket. I thought I might see you on the way home,” and Polly drew forth a shilling and handed it up to the rider, saying simply: “I’m sorry it’s so little. I’d like to help you, auntie.” “You dear!” exclaimed auntie, dis- . mounting that she might hug the astonished little freckle-faced angel of cheer and comfort. “You don’t know how much you have helped me. God bless you, Polly. Good-bye.” % “ I’m glad I brought it for her,” thought cheerful little Polly, going back to her cows. And her aunt went on her way with self-pity and resentment banished, and a glow of happiness in her heart instead.

JONATHAN BUYS A SAXOPHONE.

(By Kathleen O’Brien, in the Daily Chronicle.) Jonathan had a windfall for Christmas. A godfather who had overlooked his responsibilities for some years, having made a little over rubber, remembered suddenly that he had solemnly vowed to shield Jonathan from the world, the flesh, and the devil. So he sent him a cheque for £2O. Jonathan decided, presumably as an effective means of defence against that malevolent trinity, to buy a saxophone. There loomed up in front of us a future heavy with vague and uncouth noises. “ Don’t you think,” we said hurriedly, ** you had better wait a little while ? There might be something you’d like better. What about,” we tried to sound cunningly enticing, “a new bicycle?” M Not enough,” said Jonathan, M an A.JJS. costs ” %

“ But they’re motor bicycles, aren’t they ? ” “Well, isn’t that . . . great Scott! You don’t mean that you meant a ghastly little push bike? ” We shrank. We had forgotten that Jonathan was a house-captain, and that only ghastly little under-schools, or some such, rode ghastly little push bikes. “No . . . oh, no! ” we said hurriedly, “ we never meant anything like that. Of course not. *uite.” Jonathan, suspicious of our too eager protestations, eyed us coldly. “ Saxophones,” he said when he had us grovelling sufficiently, “ are absolutely the only instruments that matter nowadays. The man who can produce a saxophone for the school band is the Man Who Counts. Heaps of fellows can. produce saxies and ukuleles and banjolines and things like that, but it’s the saxophone that’s the big noise in any modern dance band.” We agreed. * * * Jonathan got his saxophone, of course. Jonathan lias a persuasive way of building a staggeringly sound argument on a completely inaccurate premise. Before two or three days were over he had us all convinced that the battles of the future will be won on the jazz bands of Eton, and that the hand that can play the saxophone alone has an appreciable chance, under modern conditions, of ruling the world. Jonathan’s saxophone gleamed bright and provocative as he took it out of its green baize wrapper. “How do you play it?” we asked, interested. “ It’s quite easy,” said Jonathan. He engulfed the mouthpiece with his lips, rolled his eyes, and made the oval of his face into an almost perfect circle. Dead silence prevailed. “At least, fairly,” said Jonathan, taking breath. Again seizing the mouthpiece, and taking on the poignant expression of a hunted negro with the bloodhounds baying at his heels, he puffed tfiore violently than before. Dead silence prevailed. # “Perhaps,” we said, trying to be helpful, “if you didn’t blow quite so hard something might happen ... It did. There grew slowly upon our hearing, gathering volume as it came, ft sound °so like the cry of a wronged and indignant cow from whom someone had abducted her only child that we instinctively looked about for shelter. “There you are,” said Jonathan, triumphantly, “what did I tell you? “Not that!” we protested; “we thought a saxophone was for dance tunes, not funeral dirges.” Jonathan, realising that a great artist is never discouraged in his initial efforts, retired to his room to practise. * * * “Just listen to this,” said Jonathan that evening, “I can play ‘Show Me the )Vay to Go Home’ nearly all through.’ ” We arranged ourselves meekly around him. Jonathan commenced. The first bar, save ft>? a superflous accidental or two, was almost correct, but in the second “Annie Laurie” insisted on pushing herself in, and he had to begin again. Getting through the second bar with a rush, in order to keep out “Annie Laurie,” he tripped over something, and produced a perfectly marvellous E in alt. We clapped vociferously, but shrank back into silence when Jonathan’s disgusted eye informed us that the interpolation was unmeant. At the last bar but one, “Annie Laurie” got hold of him again. We knew by Jonathan’s hunted expression that he felt himself in her grip. “Never mind, Jonathan,” we encouraged him, “Keep up! Don’t let go! That woman is a perfect vamp for getting hold of tunes that don’t belong to her. You’ll throw her off in a minute, if you stick to it. Tha-a-at’s it!. . . . Dal . . . da-de. . . . da-da-da. . . . da!”... * * * Jonathan, so far as I know, has not yet been invited to play in the Savoy Havana Band. But he is getting on wonderfully with “Show Me the Way to Go Home.” He has almost thrown off the spell of “Annie Laurie.” And we do agree with him that a saxophone is a very pretty instrument—to look at.

TASTE IN THE HOME.

Welcoming the National Federation of Master Painters in Scotland at its annual meeting in Edinburgh, Lord Provost, Sir William L. Sleigh, said Edinburgh had its College of Art, on the Board of which the Town Council were represented, and they did what they could there to assist in giving facilities in the way of training. He hoped those facilities would be increased in any way they possibly could, because he realised that art was entering more into their craft than any other that he knew. Mr John B. P. Doble, Edinburgh, who was elected president for the ensuing jrear, in the course of his address, said

that the house painter had many difficulties to contend with. First, there were the few who had taste. They had the people who really had taste, and that very necessary addition, common sense, and they were fewer still, but when their angel-like visits did occur they were delightful. * # * Then there was that terrible majority who had no taste, but imagined they had, and would leave the painter’s place in mortal dudgeon if he only dared to give vent even to the faintest suggestion of such a thing. This class was mostly composed of the fair sex, who seemed to imagine that good taste and knowledge of house painting were born in them, or came to them as a divine gift. One of those females would unhesitatingly and gravely tell the painter that one of his carefully thought out and pet combinations was perfectly hideous. She would suggest, more by manner, perhaps, than words, for slie was freezingly polite, how sorry she was for his ignorance, and how much better she could run the show, while all the time she might be showing how lacking in taste she was by the cut and colouring of her clothes. She would not hesitate to give advice to a Michael Angelo and criticise the colouring of a Highland sunset. Then there were those who were miserly, but pretended they were not, took competitive estimates, and did any shabby thing to cut down the price, and then bragged how cheaply they got their work done, thereby encouraging others to try the same tricks. * * * Lastly, came those he classed as the perfect customer, whp knew in a general way what they wanted, but were prepared to take the advice oFa decorator in whose taste and experience they had confidence, and to whom they were prepared to pay a fair price for good work. This latter, however, was the class that, he regretted to say, had been most interfered with by middlemen —professional decorative advisers and some architects —and he feared the blame in too many cases lay with the painter himself, who had betrayed confidences placed in him, either financially or artistically, and the customers had been driven for protection into the arms of the aforesaid advisers, who, very naturally, did their utmost to encourage the public to employ them in this fashion.—The Weekly Scotsman.

SEA REST.

Low rides the moon, cold blows the wind, Far flings the salt-sharp spray, The pitching little cargo boat Lives out another day. And we who labour in hqr hold, And curse the ruthless sea, Might just as well be sittin’ down At home a-drinkin’ tea. I tried it once ... I bought a pub, And settled down to ease, But every time they ope’d the door, In came the Channel breeze, And blew away my bloomin’ wits, Just ilke an old straw hat, I mixed the ale with ginger beer— Grew nervous as a cat. Then came one day the mate o’ this Old bloody, buckin’ boat, Says he, “ I’ve got a berth for you.” Says I, “ I’ll get my coat.” So here I am, and this I know, It all is for the best, Land devils never trouble me, For I have found sea rest! —E. Leslie Spaulding, in the Golden Quill.

THE CARE OF SHOES.

It is said that one can tell a man’s character by his footwear, writes Fonthill Beckford, in the Daily Mail. See a man, otherwise immaculately attired, with shabby shoes, and you suspect a kink in his character somewhere. See a man with trodden-down heels, and you will surmise that he is down on his luck, slovenly in his habits, or unable to manage his affairs. If such a man is asked for an explanation, he will probably say that his one and only respectable pair of walking shoes is being mended, and in the meantime he is carrying on with an old pair. But this is false economy, for in a month or two, the only respectable pair of walking shoes will be as shabby as the old pair. The wisest course is to go to a good shop, where it is possible to get a comfortable, well-fitting shoe as well as a fashionable one, and then buy three or four pairs. Wear them in rotation, and treat them carefully when not in use. Keep them on trees until required, in order to keep the shape. Do this even when cleaning them. As regards cleaning be particular as to the kind of polish or cream that you use. Preparations containing spirit rot leather. Be careful when shoes are being cleaned to brush off all dirt and spots first, otherwise they will show through t(ie polish. Brown shoes stain more easily than black. It is quite a good plan to give brown leather shoes a bath of ordinary soap and water occasionally, with perhaps a mild mixture of turpentine in the water. Rub the shoes well with an oli) nail or tooth brush, and let them

dry. Then administer the polish. The shoes will come up like new. Another good but old-fashioned plan is to rub the inside of a banana skin into the brown leather. This both softens and preserves the leather as well as cleans it. Patent shoes have to be treated still more carefully, otherwise they are apt to crack, and look extremely shabby. It is a good tiling to rub vaseline into them occasionally. This both softens and feeds the leather. Also, patents are made more pliable by putting them in front of the Are (not too near, of course) before wearing them.

FEATURES OF SHIP DESIGN.

One of the most difficult matters met with in arranging the disposition of the various features of a passenger liner is that of placing the cargo hatches in suitable positions in relation to the holds which they serve. The ideal arrangement from the stevedore’s point of view is to have a cargo hatch at the centre of each hold, so that the distance over which the cargo must be dragged to bring it under the hatchway is reduced to a minimum. The necessity of finding room for large numbers of passengers amidships, however, calls for a long bridge and promenade decks and deckhouses. These will considerably overlap, the machinery and bunker spaces, and force the cargo hatches towards the ends of the holds adjacent to the machinery spaces. The adoption of oil fuel and its stowage in the double bottom, as well as the elimination of boiler rooms in Deisel engined vessels, has the effect of reducing the length of the machinery spaces and so increasing the overlap referred to. If the cargo hatches are to be central they must be carried up through the accommodation, making it more difficult to arrange satisfactory dining saloons and public rooms; or the erections must be reduced in length and increased in number. With the former solution cargo has to be lifted to a great height .and possibly swung over the boats; in the latter we have a tower of deck-houses amidships and a call for increase of beam to maintain stability. Animportant matter is the provision of a woHring. passage or means of communication from ena to end of the vessel for use of the crew, for access to galleys, store rooms, machinery spaces, and crew’s quarters, and for the leads of main steam and water piping and electric cables. In earlier types, such means of communication and access was afforded by the passages between the central deckhouse on the upper deck amidships and the vessel’s sides—pasages exposed to the weather. One of the earliest designs for the Lusitania was so arranged, but in this case the ship’s sides were plated above these passages, and the cabins arranged over the ful length of the shiptifaebrke the full breadth of the vessel. The side plating in way of working passages was pierced by a number of long openings with solid plating-£siween with the object of including the top of the shell plating in the strength girder. The favourite arrangement, however, is to place a wide fore and aft working passage on one side of the bulkhead deck, above the tops of the bulkheads and between the machinery the bulkheads and betwen the machinery casings, and a row of crew spaces at the ship’s sides. In many cases no through fore and aft passage is provided, the various necessary means of communication and access being worked in locally and independently. —Professor P. A. Hillhouse, in Engineering.

OBTAINING PERFUMES.

Almost every country in the world provides one or more of those delicate perfumes that give ladies so much pleasuse. The forests of Peru, the orange groves of California, the tropical seas, the rose gardens of Southern France, Persia, and Turkey, the wilds of Central Asia, all yield their fragrance for our benefit. Such are the demands of the modern toilet (says a Daily Telegraph writer). The great majority of perfumes are extracted from animals or plants. Those of vegetable origin may come from the petals, as in the rose and lavender; the seeds, as in caraway and nutmeg; the rind, as in lemon and orange; the leaves, as in sage and thyme; the bark as in cinnamon ; or from the wood, as in sandalwood and rosewood. Fragrant gum resins, such as myrrh, benzoin and storax, are used largely in incense and pastilles. . . A common method of obtaining perfume is by distillation. The fragrant parts ol the plants are placed in a large retort and covered with water. The mixture is boiled, the adorous oils*cr ottos rise with the steam, and are drawn off into a tank near by. Here condensation takes place, and the* oils are removed by decanting. By this method 1001 b of orange peel will yield lOoz of oil, while 1001 b of geranium leaves will yield 2oz only, . One of the best known perfume making districts in the world is in Southern France, around Grasse, Cannes, and Nice. Beautiful fields of ffowers lie around in all directions, filling the air for miles with their delicate fragrance. During the season hundreds of men, women, and children may be seen busily employed harvesting the precious blossoms. When their large baskets are full they carry them to the waiting waggons near by, empty the flowers, and return for more. When the waggon has its load of millions of vari-ously-coloured petals it trundles along to the laboratory. , „ , . Attar of roses, beloved by all, is obtained by the steam distillation of rose petals. Its costly nature can be understood when one realises that one acre of rose trees will yield but one ton of petals, and this, in its turn, will yield but ten ounces to one pound of oil of r °Of perfumes of animal origin musk is the most impoftant. This is a reddish-

Lrown, thick liquid from the musk-ox which roams the wild plateaux of Central Asia. So powerful is this liquid that it will impart odour to anything near it, even to a piece of polished steel. It is used chiefly in minute quantities to give permanence to other odours that alone would soon disappear.

ON MAKING FRIENDS.

Considering that most friendships are made by mere hazard, how it is that men find themselves equipped and fortified with just the friends they need? We have heard of men who asserted that they would like to have more money, or more books, or more pairs of pyjamas ; but we have never heard of a man saying that he did not have enough friends. For, while one can never have too many friends, yet those one has are always enough. They satisfy us completely. One has never met a man who would say, “I wish I had a friend who would combine the good humour of A, the mystical enthusiasm of B, the love of doughnuts, which is such an enduring quality in C, and who would also have the habit of giving Sunday evening suppers like D, and the wellstocked cellar which is so deplorably lacking in E! No; the curious thing is that at any time and in any settled way of life a man is generally provided with friends far in excess of his desert, and also in excess of his capacity to absorb their wisdom and affectionate attentions. There is some pleasant secret behind this —a secret that none is wise enough to fathom. The infinite fund of disinterested humane kindliness that is adrift in the world is part of the riddle, the insoluble riddle of life that is born in our blood and tissue. It is agreeable to think that no man, save by his own gross fault, ever went through life unfriended, without companions to whom he could stammer in momentary impulses of sagacity, to whom he could turn in hours of loneliness. It is not even necessary to know a man to be his friend. One can sit at a lunch counter, observing the moods and whims of the white-coated pie-passer, and by the time you have juggled a couple of fried eggs you will have caught some grasp of his philosophy of life, seen the quick edge and tang of his humour,* memorised the shrewdness of his worldly insight, and been as truly stimulated as if you had spent an evening with your favourite parson.—Safety Pins and Other Essays, Christopher Morley (Jonathan Cape).

DESERT DUSK.

Isled here a moment from the rising s^ell Of night tlisi brims these can} 7 ons like a sea, I watch the desert’s bra:2eu savagery Levelled like lands that mighty waters quell. Stern is this touch, yet merciful its spell, ; Which can so soothe the wind-tor-mented sands, And make a temple of these outcast f lands, Where for a night the peace of God may ; dwell. Vain were a Noah! Yet this flood foreshows End of life through deserts come to age; The closing down of eyes that vainly weep; . That gracious respite which the spirit knows, Summoned from passion's tyranny and rage To taste the larger dignity of sleep. —William Faster Elliot, in the Lyric West.