Editor's Walles.

Otago Witness, Issue 3862, 20 March 1928, Page 87

Editor's Walles.

HOPE FOR THE SHIPBUILDER. Is-British shipbuilding about to receive a new lease of life? The committee of Lloyd's Register of Shipping has just published its report for 1926-27, and announces that it has passed plans during the year for 490 new vessels of 1,831,920 tons gross. These figures are the highest since 1920, and 1 ; 210,800 tons, or 66 per cent, of the total, are to be built in Great Britain and Ireland. This means that Britain’s share is bigger than the total tonnage (1,089,360) for which the committee passed plans in 1925-26. So the outlook for British shipbuilding does seem definitely brighter. Lloyd’s Register of Shipping was established by the underwriters of Lloyd’s in 1774. GOOD NIGHT. Good night, dear friend! Because yoiTve walked beside me This day has been a cycle of good cheer. To-morrow loneliness may override me, But I will feel your friendly -presence near. Good night, dear friend! Because w’ve walked together, I’ll go with lighter heart to-morrow’s ways. And feel the tightening of friendship’s _ tether, two lives through our divided days. Good night, dear friend, and may sweet dreams attend you. The lucky stars of heaven falling bright Across your pathway, keep you and defend you To-morrow and to-morrow! ’ So good night! — Anne Campbell, in Women’s Weekly. TIGHT. “ The tightest corner I was ever’ in,” said the sailor, “ was in the South Seas. I had stripped and jumped overboard for a swim, when a shark made for me. I took out my jack-knife, opened it, and dived. Coming up, I stabbed the shark underneath in several places until he floated away, dead.” “ But,” said a listener, “if you were stripped, how could you find a knife? ” “Garn!” was the sailor’s withering retort; “it isn’t a yarn you want. What you want is a bloomin’ argument.” WELL WORTH IT. There was a loud explosion and the ■car sagged a little sideways. "A burst,” growled the motorist to his wife and children, and the family climbed ■out and watched father begin to change the wheel.

“ I don’t see why you have to make all that fuss and bother, George,” remarked his wife. “ Neither do I see why you should use such language. You never could see good in anything.” “1 can’t see any in this!” “ Well, it tickled baby so. He actually laughed when it went bang.”

THE MAN OF THE FUTURE. A chubby, merry little face; A rosy button nose; A pair of little dimpled legs Encased in sky-blue hose; A sky-blue woolly coat and hat, And sturdy shoes of tan. And little Peter stands in sta.te — Old England’s “coming man.” A thousand blessings on those feet, Whose race has not been run; A thousand blessings on those hands, Whose task is yet undone; A thousand blessings on that brain, That has not learned to plan; My prayer for Peter still shall be — God bless the “coming man”! TRAGEDY. With dignified air and head erect, the woman descends the step and marches down the deserted street. In her hand is a large bundle, and in her eyes the light of battle. Pleet of foot, a man pursues her. “ Come back,” he cries. “ For the love of Heaven, do not leave me thus! ” But the woman turns upon him only a look of withering scorn! “ Stay! ” cries -the man in a frenzy of despair. “ You cannot realise how empty my house will be without you! Surely—oh, surely, you cannot mean to leave me for ever! ” But in vain. The man re-enters the house and casts himself upon a divan. “What —what is to become of us! ” he moans. “Our cook is gone! ” ARTEMIS. When all the world before me lies, The velvet of the jewelled skies, The carpet of the sea outrolled, The changing, blending, radiant dyes Of leaf and glade, or brake and wold, When all that wealth enrapts my eyes, What need have I of gold? When on the mountain tops the winds Will frolic with me, and the hinds Will dwell beside me; when the dove Doth cease its plaint, and shelter finds In my warm breast from skies above; When Pan his heart with mine entwines; Why should I seek for Love? — Louise, in “From a Rose Jar.” TINTED STREETS. A correspondent who has discovered the existence of a few coloured byways ■or highways sends them along (says a Daily Chronicle writer). Behind the Minories is Yellow street court. Redcourt is off Fore street, and Primrose street runs out of Bishopsgate. There was a Pink alley (until some alterations ■covered it) behind Fetter lane. Blue Lion •court, near the G.P.O. hardly coiiies into' the colour scheme, perhaps.

WISHED THEY HADN’T. As she tripped blithely across the roadway the celebrated actress noticed an old friend, a playwright, who was heavily bandaged, coming towards her. “ Good gracious! ” she exclaimed. “My dear, have you been in an accident? ” Her friend regarded her a moment. “No,” he answered; “but you remember that play of mine which came on the other night? ” The other nodded. “ Well, they called for the author at the end, and, unfortunately, I didn’t realise how much they wanted him.” HOW THE DUTCH DO IT. A census taken at a large hotel recently revealed the fact that Dutchmen, and not Germans, are the largest eaters in the world. Though the gentleman from the land of canals and clogs does not eat quite so often as we do, he makes up for lost time at each of his two daily square meals. The average Dutch breakfast, for example, would make a very good dinner for an Englishman, including, as it does, hot meat and large quantities of cheese,. Germans spend most, of their money on good wines, while the American likes more “ showy ” forms of amusement, such as theatregoing, shopping at fashionable establishments, and motoring. THE COPY CAT She’ll copy my newest undies, She’ll copy my latest hat. She uses my pet expressions— We call her the Copy Cat. If I get a new song—she sings it, My powder and scent are hers. “What, copy your perfume? No, dear! I’ve used it for years and years! ” She’ll marry the day that I do, Of that I’m as sure as sure, And copy my wedding trousseau, And live in the house next door! She’ll have the same shade of curtains! The prospect you’ll own, is grim. But she just can’t copy my husband — There aren’t any more like him! — Mabel Constanduros, in an exchange. WISDOM ETTES. Methods are plentiful when it comes to killing time. * * * Tramps are like flannel shirts—they always shrink from washing. * * * Eating has the same effect on hunger that study has on ignorance. * * * Praise men and flatter all women, and you won’t, lack friends. * * * Pity may be akin to love, but no girl is going to accept it as a substitute. It is a pity that the average woman hasn’t half the patience for her husband that she has for her baby. AT BEDTIME. Sometimes when they go romping up the stairs. They are so full of life and gaiety, It’s difficult for them to say their prayers Without some evidence of childish glee. Young laughter will creep into solemn words Although I say, “ Be reverent and still! ” (Sometimes they make me think of chirping birds That call “ Good night ” when day slips o’er the hill!) God does not mind —nor I—light-hearted prayer! So sweet it is to know that on this earth Are little people free from pain and care, So joyous they cannot restrain .their mirth. SONNETS. I. Once I was ill and decadent with doubt, And cried, why must I serve a leader grim Who drives me ever forward to my rout? And in despair I vowed the lord to flout Who cheers so little those who yeoman him. Down from the fortress tower I swore to leap. And swim the moat to gain oblivion’s strand. But though I poised to spring, no urgent hand Demurred to stay me, nor did any weep. And I awoke as from a dreadful sleep To find that I, myself the lord, did stand Upon the outer ramparts of the .keep, My heart a,-flame with some new work I planned, And mending walls where foes last sealed the steep.

I have a casket where my jewels rest. Dull, dull old gems that are the griefs I knew. Once I was wont to count them and detest These proofs of worthless purchases, and strew The doles in anguish on the ground in view Of God, and cry, were these, then for the best? But since you came, flooding the solemn hue Of any sorrow with your gladsome rays, The once dull stones take fire beneath your glow, And each an unguessed loveliness displays That I had never found without your blaze. I learn I needed all the earlier woe To string the sparkling garland of these days, And am content that I have sorrowed so. — Raymond Swing, in the London Outlook.

ENDING THE ARGUMENT. With squealing brakes and locked wheels the two taxis had pulled up within a yard of each other. The drivers of the vehicles glared at one another for precisely two seconds before either of them spoke. Then: “Aw, wot’s the matter wiv’ you? ” demanded one. “Nothinks the matter wiv me.” “ You gave me a nasty look,” persisted the first threateningly, as he climbed down from his seat. “ Well,” responded the other, as he slipped his car into gear, “now you come to mention it, you ’ave got a very nasty look, but I didn’t give it to you! ” And he drove away. NATURE’S GENTLEMAN. Thank you very much indeed! ” beamed the well-dressed flapper in the bus, as a working man offered her his seat. “ That . was very kind of you.” The other blushed happily, and gave a number of other males a hardy glare as he answered: “ Not at all, miss, not at all. I know some men don’t give up their seats unless it happens to be a pretty girl, but looks make no odds to me.” And everybody except the young girl smiled. TWO OF A KIND. A young man who had to go abroad was saying good-bye to his sweetheart. “ Darling,” he said, “ when I am far away will you gaze on that star every night and think of me? ” “ Dearest, I will,” she answered. “ That star is so full of your nature that it will always remind me of you.” “ Why is that? ” “ Because it’s out so late at night and looks so pale in the morning.” GROVE’S RIDDLE. The sort of thing which amused people in Queen Victoria’s days may strike present-day readers as being somewhat childish.

Lady Ponsonby (so we are told in the book “Mary Ponsonby”) met Sir George Grove, later to become editor of the monumental “ Dictionary of Music and Musicians,” a.t Dusseldorf, and he was invited to dine with her party. He propounded a riddle. It was “ ‘ What is the difference between a bell and an organ? One sounds when it is tolled, and the other says it will be blowed first,’ ” HOPE ON! Though your prospects may seem dreary, Hope on! Though life seems both sad and weary, Hope on! Joy shall wax and sadness wane, Summer time come round again; Still it’s blue beyond the rain! So, hope on! When your best-pl aimed schemes are failing, Hope on! Laughter helps far more than wailing; Hope on! March o’er mountain, crag, and wold With a heart serene and bold, Till you strike that streak of gold; So, hope on! Never yield to weak despairing; Hope on! Miracles are wrought by daring; Hope on! When you prove you’re unafraid, And refuse to sheath your blade, Friends will rally to your aid; , So, hope on! | —A. B. C., in Tit Bits. BROKE! The teacher was instructing the class in the use of familiar phrases. On the blackboard she wrote the words “ Nota Bene,” and asked if anyone knew their meaning. For a long time there was silence, and then a little boy stood up. “ Please, teacher, I know,” he said. “ ‘ Not a bean ’ is what, father says when mother asks if he’s got any money.” GLASS HOUSES. Learn if you must, but do not come to me For truth of what your pleasant, neighbour

says Behind you of your looks or of your ways, Or of your worth and virtue generally: If he’s a pleasure to you, let him be— Being the same to him; and let your days Be tranquil, having each the other’s praise, And each his own opinion peaceably. Two brothers once did love each other well. Yet not so well but that a. pungent word From each came stinging home to the wrong ears. The rest would be an overflow to tell, Surely; and you may slowly have inferred That we may not be here a thousand years. — Edwin Arlington Robinson, in the Yale Review. SAFETY FIRST. Silas, the ploughman, was used to eating eleven doughnuts at tea time, but then it was usually after a day’s hard work in the fields. •* One morning, however, it rained heavily, and Silas found it impossible to do as much work as was his custom. So as he passed through the kitchen he called to the farmer’s wife: “ I sha’n’t be eatin’ so many of them things at tea, ma’am. Ten’ll be enough—but make ’em bigger.” THE NEW ADVERTISING. A large crowd had gathered about the wailing lad. He was a miserable-looking little wretch, not more than seven, and his howls were loud and terrifying. “What’s the matter, child?” asked a sympathetic woman. The boy cried on loudly for a, moment or two, then looked round at the large audience he had assembled. Lifting his voice, he shouted loudly: “Yes, lady, I’m lost. Will somebody take me home to G. H. Woods, the champion tailor of Mile. End, who is - offering knock-out bargains in suits and overcoats, flannel ..trousers, and oddments at record prices? ”

HOT POT. ! When the North Country visitor asked | for “ Hot pot ” the London waitress laughed at a new year’s joke (says a Daily Chronicle writer). “Hot-pot” is one of the many words in use throughout a wide area which refuse obstinately to come south of the Trent. Hot-pot was originally a Lancashire dish, I suppose, but it is well-known in Nottinghamshire, as well as in the north generally. Your true-born Londoner does not seem to know it. AN EMBROIDERED POSY. A flower, embroidered at the left shoulder, is a fashionable substitute for a posy on a wool jumper, and can be worked quickly. Tapestry wool is the proper kind to use, and, if the jumper is a washing one, must be washed beforehand (says the Manchester Guardian). The best way of doing this, as only a few needlefuls will be required, is to plait the necessary quantity loosely, tie it, souse it in soap lather, and then in clean water, and shade it while drying. Iron the jumper shoulder (under a cloth) till it is as smooth as it will become, iron on a transfer, and do not remove it while warm. Run a thread through all the lines of the design, as it is easily rubbed off a rough-surfaced material. The embroidery should be done in satin stitch, and care must be taken neither to tighten the jumper nor to stretch it. TROUSERED CLOAKS. An evening cloak that looked at first sight like an enormous bag caught in at the bottom and with a huge pierrot ruff at the neck turned out to be really trousered!

No one realised it, however, until the wearer, feeling cold, ran along the street to the studio party near where she lived in Chelsea. Then her long strides showed the separate “ legs.” “ This is not a “ freak ” idea just adopted by the “ arty ” crowd (says a writer in the Daily Chronicle) ; it is one of the latest Parisian whims, designed both for its chic appearance, and its warmth. The trouser part only reaches a few inches above the ankle. The rest is literally an enormous bag, which safely protects and doesn’t squash the flimsiest, of evening frocks. Often the ankles are finished off with a tiny ruff like that on the neck. The effect of high-heeled shoes peeping from it is most alluring. MOTORS FOR NURSES. The plea that district midwives should be provided with small motor cars ■will have a sympathetic echo wherever their working conditions are known. I myself know’ of one who has served a neighbourhood near London for nearly 20 years, and as she passes on her bicycle she always strikes me as looking overworked and ill. Luckily such devotion is sometimes recognised (observes a writer in the Daily News). I lately heard of a case where the patients and friends of such a toiler in a. seaside town subscribed to solve the problem in the way recommended by Dame Janet Campbell. They bought her a small two-seater, which probably increases her usefulness, but certainly lessens her fatigue. A KITCHEN RENEWAL. Some of us are still waiting for the porcelain topped table of our dreams, and while we wait are making the best of the old-fashioned deal top covered with American cloth (says a Manchester Guardian writer). So long as it lasts without cracking, this serves its purpose wonderfully well and looks attractive, either in the “ grained ” patterns to represent wood, or in gay designs—green, blue, and orange against a white background. The pure white—clouded, plain, or patterned with damasking—has gone rather out of fashion, possibly because it soon shows black lines and reveals every touch of wear. As good American cloth in ,a wide width is fairly expensive, however, it is well worth while to give a worn table cover two good coats of that kind of paint sold for linoleums or floor boards. A small tin used thus goes a Jong way on American cloth, is easily applied, and dries quickly. In scarlet, orange, yellow, blue, or green,, it brightens the whole aspect of the kitchen, is easily wiped over with a damp cloth when soiled, and makes a good background for plain or peasant crockery, thus saving the need of ordinary tablecloths if meals are served there. It should be firmly fastened down by means of drawing pins, and should be large enough to cover and turn over the table edge, 'the pins being inserted on the under side of the table top.

NOT GRAVE’S END. There is rejoicing in the town of Gravesend (says the Daily Chronicle). Its name has always been rather a stumbling block, and the usual derivation of it even more so, for it was supposed to date back to the time when ships coming out of the Thames were allowed -at Gravesend to throw overboard dead bodies. But the town clerk has discovered that Gravesend is merely a corruption of Grafsham, which meant the ham or homo of the graf or bailiff (we translate the modern German graf as “' count ”). “ DRINK MORE MILK.” The Empire Marketing Board is so pleased with the result of its “ Eat More Fruit” campaign that it proposes now to “ boost ” milk (observes a writer in the Evening Standard). It claims that, thanks to its efforts, we are now ’eating 5,00Cln)001b more fruit than/we were five years ago, and it sees an equal chance for expansion in the case of milk. At present it appears that perfectly good milk has to be used in the manufacture of umbrella handles and imitation tortoiseshell goods, because there is not enough demand for it as a drink. While I shall welcome as adding to the picturesqueness of life an emblazoned command at the street corner to “ Drink More Milk,” an invitation .on the hoardings to “ join the milk club,” arid all the catch rhymes, slogans, and pictures of the friendliest cows in the sunniest meadows which the propaganda will call for, I cannot engage myself to yield to their solicitations. My experience of milk- is that, after a certain age, one must have a special sort of constitution - to stand it. ■

THE “GHOST” BAND. One of the amusing unrehearsed effects at the Three Arts ball at the Royal Albert Hall was a' “ ghost ” band (says a writer in the Westminster Gazette). While the band proper was playing “ Halleluja ” or “ The Blues,” the revellers heard another band somewhere playing something quite different.

It proved to be a “ scratch ” band of students, dressed as pantomime sailormen, which had opened up in opposition in the corridor behind the grand tier boxes, with all its followers dancing merrily to it. An ingenious fancy dress was that of an old-time soldier with shako whose “ medals ” were a row of electric lamps, and whose epaulettes were similarly lit up. FEWER SWEETS. If the existence of a slim and agile female population depends largely on abstention from sugar, one can hardly call it bad news that the sweet shops did not do so well last year. As yet, however, one notices no signs of decay about these decorative establishments. A decade ago sweet shops were not very noticeable, but since the war they have attained a great spectacular importance (observes a writer in the Evening Standard). The fruit shops must be profiting by the widespread feminine determination to retain physical fitness. Six or even nine oranges a day are regularly devoured by many a woman all round the year.