Editor's Walles.

Otago Witness, Issue 3864, 3 April 1928, Page 83

Editor's Walles.

KEEN,. Weep him dead, and mourn as you may, Me, I sing as I must; Blessed be death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust! Blessed be death, that took my love And buried him in the sea, Where never a lie nor a bitter word Will out of his mouth at me! This I have to hold to my heart, This to take by the hand: Sweet we were for a summer month As the sun on the dry, white sand; Mild we were for a summer month As the wind from over the weirs; .And blessed be death, that hushed with salt The harsh and slovenly years! Who builds her a house with love for timber, Builds her a house of foam; .And I’d rather be bride to a lad gone down Than widow to one safe home. — Edna St. Vincent Millay, in the Century. NOT EASY. Recently a respectable-looking drunkard was sitting in a tram bound for Newtown,, with a newspaper spread in front of him, apparently reading it in a most absorbed fashion. - _ "I beg your pardon,” said a well-mean-“ing neighbour, “but aren’t you reading that paper upside down? ” * f Huh ? ” the drunken gentleman grunted. “ I said, aren’t you reading that newspaper upside down? ” ‘ ’ “Yuss! I am! ” the solemn drunkard ■ said, emphatically. “And, let me tell you, it takes a bit o’ doin’, too.” FISH WITH THREE HEARTS. One of the strangest fish known to • science is the hagfish, found in Monterey Bay, California. It is blind, and yet is so voracious that other fish are not found in the same waters. How does it manage to find its food? To compensate it for the loss of ■ sight, the hagfish has been given a keen sense of touch and an unknown chemical ■sense —or what seems to be an exaggerated sense of smell. It has been noticed that when food is dropped into an aquarium where there is hagfish, the fish instantly swims towards it. Although blind, it has rudimentary •eye spots; they are not, however, in the least sensitive to light. The hagfish, which is purplish-blue in colour, varies in size from about 18in to 2ft, and in general appearance it resembles an eel. Another peculiarity is that it has three hearts. Besides the main heart, it has, like the eel, one in the tail, and in addition another special heart for the portal system of veins. A GOOD REASON. She was being shown through the locomotive works. “ What is that thing? ” she asked, •pointing with her parasol. “That,” answered the guide, “is .n engine boiler.” She was an up-to-date young lady, and at ( once became interested. “And why do they boil engines? ” she asked. “To make the engine tender,” was the polite reply. THE GIFT OF SLEEP. From the interview which Marshal Foch has recently given to a Parisian journalist it appears that he is one of the enviable ■men who can summon sleep at will, and take secure refuge in it from whatever cares infest the day. The gift (says the Morning Post) is among the most enviable that can be enjoyed by mortals; and it might almost be said that the possession of the gift was one of the conditions of success for great men of action. Caesar and Napoleon possessed it, as does Marshal Foch; and •quite obviously it was the lack of this balm of hurt minds ” that was the undoing of Macbeth. But the power to sleep at will is not » an acquired character. Either you have It or v? ou - 11 Ilave , , i<; not ’ and no taking thought will enable you to possess it Almost as fortunate as those who can -command sleep are the others who can dispense with sleep—or do with an allowance which to the ordinary persons would be little more than a nap. The date Lord Leverhulme, for instance, used •to make a habit of rising at 4 o’clock, summer and winter, regardless of the hour at which he went to bed. To be able to observe that Spartan rule without any. loss of efficiency is equivalent to ■ adding hours to the day. But- for the unexceptional.' these examples, of the great who either dispense with sleep or make of it an •obedient servant are of little value except to excite envy. For the kindly race •of men what is needed is some prescription that will ensure eight hours’ sound, (refreshing sleep in each revolving day. THE LONELY YEARS. “I thank you, God,” was all she said, But when she bowed her silver head, ■I bowed mine too, to, hide my tears. ’ ■For pain and want and lonely years ..Had been her portion in the past, .No dream of hers had seemed to last. P ain musfc go," so she was told, ‘And want is unimportant. Gold Has caused more misery than bliss! ’’ years?”—she told me this With lifted gaze—“ Why, they will end, .Before the doorway of a Friend! ’’ Margaret Sangster, in Women’s Weekly.

A GOOD SLEEPER. It is almost proverbial that cats will make themselves comfortable anywhere (remarks a Daily Chronicle writer). Passing through Covent Garden, I saw a small black cat curled up asleep under a tree which the porters had left leaning against the wall of a warehouse. The biting wind did not disturb its slumbers, for it had rolled itself into the branches till they formed a kind of green cradle. - NO FOURTH. A man once rented a plot of ground to a negro neighbour, upon which corn was to be planted, and at harvest time the renter was to receive one-fourth of the yield. Meeting the negro during harvest time, he asked: “Look here, Sam, have you harvested the corn? ” “Yes, sah, boss, long ago! ” “Well, wasn’t I to get one-fourth? ” “Yes, boss, that’s the truf, but there wasn’t no fourth! Der was jes’ three loads, and dey was mine.” PASSING THE LIGHT. Mothers don’t mind all the toil and the sorrow, Mothers don’t mind all the pain and the tears, If they ensure a child’s happy to-morrow, If they make smoother the path of the years. Mothers don’t mind all the heartbreak and trouble, Mothers don’t mind all the long, weary days, If there’s a child’s heart as light as a bubble— If there’s young laughter to brighten life’s ways. Mothers don’t mind all the hopes that are scattered, Mothers don’t mind the swift end of the song. Never to mothers has happiness mattered— It’s just a light to be handed along! —An exchange. THE HUMAN MACHINE. A young bachelor who was beset by a sewing machine agent told the agent that his machine would not answer its purpose. “ Why,” said the agent, with voluble praise, “it is the best on the market in every respect.” “ That may be,” replied the supposed customer; “but the sewing machine I am looking for must have flaxen hair and blue eyes.” ICICLES. An outward laugh very often conceals an inward groan. Even the poorest shoemaker manages to hang on to the last. One method of making both ends meet is to tie them together. The sky is at its best when it’s blue; but it is different with a man. Keep your temper if it is good, and be sure not to lose it if it is bad. As a rule the girl who is self-possessed can be induced to transfer the title. Waiting for something to turn up is one of the greatest obstacles to success. There is something drastically wrong when a lawyer advises you to avoid litigation. Society is a fashionable game in which diamonds are often wagered against Hearts. The owner of a barking dog is always the first to complain of the noise made by the neighbours’ children. THE ROAD TO AMULREE. As I went walking on my way, My way to Amulree, I met a very queerly man As twisted as a tree. His eyes were squint, his legs were long, As long as long could be. He whispered—whispered in my ear, “I’m going to Amulree! ” He walked beside me mile on mile As plain as you or me; Yet every time I looked at him He turned into a tree! He turned into a tree, he did, With branches long and free, And I was very frightened On the road to Amulree. — Wendy Wood, in the Weekly Scotsman. OVERLOOKED! Prithee, why so sad, dear heart, Are thou, then, offended? O! believe me when I say It was not intended, And a conscience I can claim Wholly innocent of blame. When I left you in the morn I remember truly That the lips you raised to mine Were saluted duly; Nor, returning, did I miss Our sweet customary kiss. have I failed to note Inis new frock you’re wearing? it, then, so hard to dress tTT? or a man uncaring? t i l° ve > I nearly swore 1 had seen the thing before. Be not angry, sweet, but take Pity on my blindness. Tlia ugh I know not what you wear, That is not unkindness. When your well-loved. face I view You I see, and nought but you! ’ — ... (—•. E. 8., in Home Chat.

BAD ON THE FACE OF IT. The famous advotate M'Laughlin appeared in a case where the plaintiff claimed damages for assault and battery (says Sir John Ross in his book “Pilgrim Scrip”). In the course of it the following dialogue took place: — “ ‘You’re a peaceable Christian man yourself?’ “Plaintiff: ‘I am.’ “M'Laughlin: ‘You wouldn't hurt a fly? “Plaintiff: ‘No.’ ‘‘M'Laughlin: ‘Never hit anybody in your life?’ “ Plaintiff: ‘ Never.’ M'Laughlin (suddenly producing certificates of convictions for violent assaults by the plaintiff on various occasions) : Were you convicted of assaulting a man called Black? ’ “Plaintiff: ‘The Bench made a mistake. “M'Laughlin:. ‘Were they mistaken when o e y convicted you of an assault on White? ’ “Plaintiff: ‘Yes.’ “M'Laughlin: ‘The same thing, I suppose, when you were convicted of assaulting Browne? ’ “Plaintiff: ‘Yes.’ ‘ Did you half kill a man called M Kitterick ? Small blame to vou for breaking in the face of a man with a name like that! ’” OUR CHRISTIAN NAMES. A bargain line in engagement books displayed in a side window in a fashionable stationer s sent my thoughts scurryin" nn™o/' SUb ‘ )ecfc T-. 0 - f 1 chan ging fashions in uames (says a Daily News writer). Each of tfie dainty leather covers was inscribed with a gilt Christian name, and an accompanying note led me to believe that these were the left-overs. Clara, Annie, and Agnes had the biggest jnle among the feminine names, and Bertie, ones aD< * amongst the masculine Ella, Lily, Cicely, Mildred, Fannv. and Madge had one or two. Then there were AlfrLl tID £ plleS devoted to Alan > Bernard, Alfred, Harry, Guy. and Hubert, thf A Tn^ er k OW long—a time the Joans. Barbaras Bettys, and Mollys, todiv wni fl O j nS ’k Davlds , and Pauls of d their DameS am ° nS the

LEARNED WALLS. Every fashionable “crammer” has his own pet methods of imparting knowledge bu * those of a London crammer wXLV ? ays c a Daily Chronicle writer). The walls of each of his rooms a F, e a P e r ed w hite, and then covered with a ’* t . e , facts necessary for a particular examination. When a pupil cannot answer a Question the crammer twirls iound and points to the answer with a “J* Poster, and advises him to sit opposite it till he has learnt it. A RACE OF AMAZONS. i '^ OI 5 en will go on “ casting their clouts, as they are already doin" bv some unconscious and healthy instinct of vital progress which has nothing to do with the decrees of fashion. I am firmly convinced, that the skirt will be abandoned altogether—at least for all forms of exercise and outdoor life, as it has already dwindled to insignificance. ~ n The ranks of the new armies will be tilled by women as well as men. There will be squadrons of women pilots, and armoured cars will be driven into the fighting line by those we now call flappers.” Without looking as far ahead as the day after to-morrow one sees this claim of women to share the dangers of men and to repudiate their old-time frailty. They are the most reckless motorists. In Europe there are many women aviators. Rosita. Forbes and Lady Kichmond Brown have gon e out into the desert and the wild places of the earth, there is already no difference in courage between men and women. There will be no restaurants in the day alter to-morrow, no public banquets with I* ? ou y se ® to poison their guests, no butcher s shops, no anxieties for the youn" married wife who has been advised to ■ te A d • brute.'’ no elaborate cuisine jn the scientific household of the future, there will be a few bottles of vitamins A, B, C, on the mantelshelf, from which the family and friends will help themselves just a drop or two on a biscuit.— Sir Philip Gibbs, in “The Day After 10-morrow. PEACE AT LAST. A travelling man put up one night in a cheap little hotel, where the thin partitions of a range of bedrooms, like the stalls of a stable, stopped halfway to the • And ln the stilly watches of the night he lay awake and listened to the finest demonstration of plain and fancv snoring that it had ever been his fate to hear. It was full of sudden and awful variations. Sometimes strangulation seemed imminent; then in the middle of a tantasia the agony stopped suddenly and there was silence. y From a near-by room he heard a voice dead™ Wearily ’ Thank goodness! He’s HISTORICAL. The teacher (a lady of uncertain age) "; a n try £- S to * ea ? k little Pat the names of Kings of England. "[ben 1 your a se,” she said, reproachfully, I could repeat the names °\ the kings backwards and forwards ” p ? d ? n [ d ? ubt that > miss,” said little rat, but when you was. my age ther* wasn t so many kings.” HIS AMBITION. At a, certffin P ari sh church there is an old bellringer who still performs his functions regularly, though nearly in his eightieth year. In his time’ the old man has seen many Sr an % es t ake place in the church, and was therefore taken aback at the suggestion made by th e new vicar that, in consideration of his great age it was time that he put aside his work. “Lookee here, sir,” said the old one cheerfully. "“I was born and bred in this, place, and in me time I’ve seen five vicars of the parish dead, and I would like to make it half a dozen before I give up myself! ”

JUNGLE VETERANS. WHICH ANIMALS LIVE LONGEST? It was announced recently that a pony had lived to the amazing age-of 53 years. But horses are naturally much longer lived than is generally supposed, for as a rule a horse’s legs go from unnatural work on hard roads, and it is destroyed long before it has reached its natural span of life. The longest lived of British mammals is probably the red deer. Forty, fifty, even sixty years is given as the age of this animal. The famous white hind of Loch Treig is said to have lived 110 years. Elephants usually live to 80, and there are many instances of elephants over 100 years old. But size has not much to do with age, for lions and tigers are not long lived, and even the great grizzly bear, which often weighs 120.01 b, has a life span of only 30 years. The buffalo is old at 20. Birds live longer than beasts. The parrot holds the record in this respect. There is a parrot in London which is definitely known to be at least 120 years old. All day it talks, swings on a rope, and plays with a ball. This bird was originally the tribal mascot of the Rajah of Satara, and was captured from him in 1801. Ravens and eagles are supposed to live a very long time, but we have no exact figures. Of geese, however, we have an instance of one 60 years old that was still strong and healthy. The tortoise is the longest lived of land animals. One of the giant Galapagos Island tortoises which died in the Zoo in 1906 was believed to be 350 years old.

MENAGERIE PRICES. Now that the season’s circuses are coming to an end in England there will be a good many sales of highly-trained and menagerie animals (says the Daily Chronicle). A really good circus horse that can step high and march and bow and turn this way or that, according to the methods of what is called the Haute Ecole (High School), will fetch up to £5OO. Even more is sometimes paid. Elephants cost from £7OO to £l2OO. For a good male lion £2OO to £3OO must be paid. A female can be got for much less. Tigers at £2OO apiece are considered cheap. A leopard at £5O is not dear. For wolves £3O apiece will be asked, for young camels £4O, and for full-grown ones double that amount. If you want a llama—but no, dismiss the thought! “I HEAR IT SAID.” Last night my friend —he says he is my friend — Came in and questioned me. “ I hear it said You have done this and that. I come to ask Are these things true? ” A glint was in his eye Of small distrust. His words were crisp and hot. He measured me with anger, and flung down A little heap of facts had come to him. “ I hear it said you have done this and that.” Suppose I have? And are you not iny friend? And are you not my friend enough to say, “If it were true, there would be reason in it. And if I cannot know the how and why, Still I can trust you, waiting for a word, Or for no word, if no word ever come! ” Is friendship just a thing of afternoons, Of pleasuring one’s friend and one’s dear self— Greed for sedate approval of his pace, Suspicion if he take one little turn Unto the road, one flight into the air, And has not sought you for your Yea or Nay? No. Friendship is not so. I am my own. And howsoever near my friend may draw Unto my soul, there is a legend hung Above a certain strait and narrow way Says, “ Dear, my friend, ye may not enter here! ” I would the time had come —as it has not — When men shall rise and say, “ He is my friend. He has done this? And what is that to me? Think you I have a check upon his head, Or cast a guiding rein across his neck? I am his friend. And for that cause I walk Not over-close beside him, leaving still Space for his silences, and space for mine.” — Barbara Young, in New York Times. JUST AS LIKELY. Here is a German-Jewish story from Berlin. Two ex-officers were sitting in a train talking about the war. One said to the other: “ The Jews were responsible for the war.” A Jew sitting opposite, overhearing this remark, interjected: “Nonsense; the bicyclists were responsible.” “Why the bicyclists?” asked the officers, in surprise. “Well! Why the Jews?” was the answer. THINGS THAT ENDURE. Honour and truth and manhood— These are the things that stand, Though the sneer and jibe of the cynic tribe ' . Are loud through the width of the land. The scoffer may lord it an hour on earth, And a lie may live for a day, But truth and honour and manly worth Are things that endure alway. Courage and toil and service, Old, yet forever new— These are the rock that abides the shock And holds through the storm, flint-true. Fad and folly, the whims of an hour, May bicker and rant and shrill; But the living granite of truth will tower Long after their rage is still. Labour and love and virtue— Time does not dim their glow; Though the smart may say, in a languid way, “ Oh, we’ve outgrown all that, you know! But a lie, whatever the guise it wears, Is a lie as it was of yore. And a truth that has lasted , a million,years Is good for a million more! — Ted Olson, in Forbes.

WISDOM. Well, life’s begun. She’s on her way To kindergarten school to-day! They’ll teach her little bits of verse And pretty lines which she’ll rehearse, And these I do not view with dread, I see the long years stretch ahead And view with genuine concern The harsher lessons she must learn. Wisdom, I pray, keep undefiled And sweet and true our lovely child! And some shall teach her how to play, And some shall teach her what to say; From babyhood she’ll climb to youth. Acquiring more and more of truth. With every fact she comes to know From her some fairy-thought will go. All this is well, but still I sigh: On Wisdom’s path great dangers lie. Some lessons deeply brand and burn; These may our baby never learn. Deal gently with her Knowledge wise, Steal not the sunshine from her eyes, Lead not those happy feet astray While promising a fairer way. Still keep her clean and pure of heart; Save her from needless ache and smart. With beauty keep her cheeks aflame, Spare her the bitterness of shame. To you, to-day, our child we give. Teach her a glorious life to live. — Edgar A. Guest, in an exchange. THREE-PIECE STICK. A young man swaggered down Fleet street wearing a sombrero, a capacious mackintosh, and he carried a walking stick. He stopped suddenly, as though a brilliant thought had seized him. He produced a notebook, and, pulling his walking stick into three pieces, he started to write. . , e °uld see that the poetic muse had inspired him (observes a Daily News writer). But I was chiefly interested in his walking stick, which was made up of three detachable sections—a pencil, a pen, and a piece of indiarubber. — TOO TRUE. ’ “Thomas,” said Mr Thompson, as he gazed into his son’s eyes with a aoulsearching look, “ have you touched any of the plums I put in the cupboard?” “ Father,” replied the boy, “ I have not touched one.” Mr Thompson eyed him angrily as he plunged his hand into his jacket pocket and drew out five incriminating stones. “ Then how is it,” he asked, “ that I found these in your bedroom, and there is only one plum left in the cupboard? ” “ Father,” said Thomas, as he placed a chair in such a position that Mr Thompson would fall over it if he made a rush in his direction—“ father, that is the one I did not touch.” HONEY AND OATMEAL. Toast some oatmeal in the oven until of a pretty yellow shade, taking care not to burn. Spread thin slices of brown bread with creamed fresh butter, then spread with honey, and sprinkle with toasted oatmeal. Make into sandwiches. Instead of oatmeal toasted blanched and chopped almonds may be used. CORTEGE. Poor Jeanie left her house at morn, And Rob stood silent by the door As she cajne out, all decked with flowers To hide the ancient dress she wore. With her six sons she slowly took Across the hillside, through the peat— Oh. wheresoe’er they went, went she; But Jeannie never wet her feet. —A. M. Davidson, in “ Cortege and Other Poems.” SYMBOLS OF SU.CCESS. A number of articles of no great value singly may become valuable simply because they are all in one collection. So the man whose hobby it is to pick up “unconsidered trifles” all of the same kind may discover that he has been engaged in a very remunerative speculation. There are a number of people who have found an interesting hobby in collecting horse-brasses. These are the emblems used to adorn a horse’s trappings, many of which have a symbolic meaning. The eight-pointed star (the Moorish symbol of success), the five-pointed star (which signifies abundance), the crescent-' moon (supposed to ward off evil influences), •the heart, the triangle, the shell, and so on, all figure in the old horse-brasses. Characteristic British horse-brasses are the heat-sheaf, the lion, the barrel, and the plough. FASHIONS IN BINDING. The current price of novels may seem rather high, but it can be very easily proved that costs of production absolutely demand the figure of 7s 6d per volume (remarks a writer in John o’ London’s Weekly). This is largely due to rhe fact that the British public insists on having even its fiction more or less solidly bound. One firm of publishers has recently had the lesson borne in upon them, for having planned that a certain series of books should be bound in paper boards, in the manner of the old “yellow-backs.” they thereupon discovered that the booksellers hesitated to give orders. It is really only a matter of national fashion. Few novels are worth keeping beyond the life of a paper cover. If they are worth keeping, then they are worth binding at the purchaser’s expense. NOT LOST. No day is lost if I have won The consciousness of duty done As far as in me lies; For, though I may not reach success, I’m credited with faithfulness In ledgers of the skies. No day is lost if I have made One step upon that upward grade Which. leads to all things good; For it is still divinely true That I make progress when I do Not what I would, but should. No day "is lost wherein I make A sacrifice for love’s own sake, Without one selfish thought; For what is purchased at the cost Of self-respect or manhood lost, Is always dearly bought. —A. B. C., in Answers.