Editor's Wallet

Otago Witness, Issue 3877, 3 July 1928, Page 83

Editor's Wallet

QUAINT COURTSHIPS. “ Over a wide range of animal life there is a utilisation of visual stimuli in courtship,” writes Professor J. Arthur Thomson in John o’ London’s Weekly. “Among the luminous beetles that we call fireflies the males send their light signals from the air to the also luminiscent females who sit among the grass or herbage. In our glow-worms the wingless female in her dell of dew is more luminous than the flying male. Sometimes colour seems to count for much and a showing off of decorations. Among birds there are often special love-antics in the air and special dances on the ground. Some •of the male spiders, who have many queer ways, are also great dancers. In all cases the first aim is to interest the. female, which is not always easy; and the second aim is to excite her, which may require long wooing. Occasionally, for Nature has tried everything, the female does the courting.” FEARINC THE WORST. A wealthy but rather mean man invited three friends to dinner and bridge. The three guests met en route. One of them, MacPherson, said to the other two: ‘'Just a word of warning, laddies. Beware of Evans’s champagne.” Accordingly at dinner the two refused “ bubbly,” but MacPherson had several glasses of it. Somewhat mystified, the two tackled the Scot about his action when they were on their way home. “ What was wrong with the ‘ fizz,’ Mac? ” asked one. “It seemed very good stuff.” “Oh, yes,” said the Scot, “it was excellent. It wasn’t the quality I was warning you against, it was the quantity. I was feared there wouldna be enough to go round more than once.” WORRIES MEN ESCAPE. The stronger sex is wrongly supposed to do most of the battling with the worries of this old. cold world, but there are very many that they manage to escape, though they will never believe it (Writes “A Woman in Society ” in the London Evening News). To begin with, man’s clothes seldom, if ever, vary. He knows that he will wear trousers “ this time, next year, long time, never,” as the children say, and if the ends are turned up or down will entirely depend on the influence Royalty has on men's fashions of the moment. But that one year his trousers will be as a woman’s skirts, to the knee, and the next year to his instep, will never occur. That he will retain a kind of uniform for golf and dinner—plus fours, dinner jacket, etc. —is sure, certain, and unalterable. Not so for woman. She may have paid 150 for a stylish robe in the winter, and by July it may be doing duty as soft cushions, because it is demode (dread word). and these days dressmakers who “ renovate ” are few and far between. Men’s hair is another thing all women •envy, though perhaps they won’t admit it. A man’s hair remains the same year in and year out. But woman must be for ever fiddling with her hair if she wants it to be even a moderate success. It must be patted and “set,” and a silk net affair worn on it all night. Moreover, men seldom, if ever, go through the horrors of the dye pot, and that messy business a “henna application” is unknown to them. . When Tommy is in the throes of whooping cough or measles, his father frently murmurs the words “ infection.” “ other people,” and has his meals at. the club. THRENODY. Now summer is a fading dream, And spring a half-forgotten ghost, And now the suns of morning gleam On meadows silver-touched with frost. And slow the yellow stubble fades, And mists rise from the sleeping lake To weave about the roofless glades, And clothe with tears the leafless brake. Rich harvest every stackyard fills, The farmer in his plenty thrives, And all a summer’s honey fills The golden cellars of the hives. But leaden skies that droop above The desolate fields rain down their woe Upon the death of all that throve To unescapable overthrow. —G. R. Malloch, in an exchange. * THE LITTLE THINGS THAT MATTER. S,' Why do some of us keep dogs ? (.asks a Scottish writer). I wondered this morning when, during my morning’s shopping, I came across one of the largest and stoutest ladies I have ever seen standing on the pavement. She was laden with all sorts, and attached to a lead was the tiniest of Pekingese dogs, which was sitting firmly glued to the path. She addressed the little dog pleadingly and pathetically: “Come along, .Dinkie, darling; now, do come. You’ve tired me out all morning. Do come along.” I was quite sorry to leav.e them; I wanted awfully to see whether Dinkie consented to come, whether he stayed where he wai, or whether she found it in her heart to pull tim aimin'. It reminded me of quite the most ridiculous nurse I ever had for my children. She was over 6ft tall, and looked capable of .lifting and carrying anything, and she one day came down and requested that I would come upstairs and persuade my daughter to come out of her Path. Daughter was then aged three. Why don’t you take her out? 3 ’ I asked Nurse looked absolutely helpless. “ Bu; ■he won’t come,” she said. I am quite that if I had not gone and read - e v daughter would have stayec in the oath till it pleased her majesty to come but. The mastery of mind oVe. matter!

WISDOMETTES.

Unless your friends are trumps, discard them. * * * No one can be caught in places one doesn’t visit. * * * It is easier to provide for the inner man than for the outer woman. • • « The man who has. a will of his own invariably has a codicil added by his wife. * * * Man was made before woman in order to give him a chance to think of a good reply to woman’s first 'question. * * * A man should never blame the woman he loves for flirting with other men; she is merely trying to prove to her own satisfaction that she loves him best. THE OLD BRIGADE. Our mothers’ favourite authors are being rescued from oblivion Isays the Daily Cnronicle). A vast new reading public, hitherto starved of literature, has been created by the county library system. These readers, confronted with an array of authors unknown to them, have turned to their old favourites, and many halfforgotten titles are. reappearing on the village library shelves. One of the librarians states that Annie S. Swan is easily first favourite, with Mrs Henry Wood a close second. M. E. Braddon, R. N. Carey, C. M. Yonge, and Edna Lyall are very popular, and even Emma Jane Worboise is frequently asked for. LUCK’S CLOVER. What we call luck Is simply pluck, And doing things over and over, Courage and will, Perseverance and skill Are the four leaves of Luck’s Clover. THEOLOGICAL ITEM. An American Parson: “You love to go to Sunday school, don’t you, Robert? ” Bobby: “ Yes, sir.” Parson: “What do you expect to learn to-day? ” Bobby: “ The date of the picnic.” A PAT REPLY. In a Wexford church the minister announced his text, “Paul we know and Apollog we know, but who are these?” Just then the verger was showing two strangers into a pew, so in an audible whisper he said: “Two commercial travellers from White’s Hotel, your reverence'.” QUOTATIONS. Nature ain’t educated and never will be. I’ve no use for folks as thinks all the time of the way they’re looking at things and forgets the things they’re looking at. I sometimes think marriage is a sort of circus. Understanding, of course, that I like circuses. The rabbit doesn’t notice the trap till he’s in it. I’ve always thought that to forget your place in love-making looks rornantic and pretty enough in story books, and means nothing but trouble and confusion anywhere else. It isn’t keeping a promise that inspires confidence, it’s making it. You can’t treat politics seriously if you are interested in life. Give life a loose rein and life’ll run away with you. Is a summer night the same as it was 80 years ago? And are you made of duller stuff than your grandfather was’ We change our manners, but we don’t change ourselves, not when it comes down to men and women and such like.—John Drinkwater, in “Bird in Hand.” USELESS. From head to heel she was exquisitely modern, and the shopwalker to whom this fair young thing had beckoned felt his heart beat all the faster at the honour done him. She asked him where she could get pencils for the eyebrows.” Unfortunately the shopwalker was inclined to deafness, and he misunderstood her. The stationery section is upstairs, madam—” he began. “But I war jt them for eyebrows,” interrupted the slim young woman, somewhat puzzled. “ Oh, highbrow stuff! Better ask them at the book counter,” came the astounding reply. JUST A DIALOGUE. • Pat » 1 Bear tfa at your” dog is dead? ” “It is.” ■■ . “Was it a lap dog?” “Yes; woul d l a P up anything.” “ What did it die of? ” “It died of a Tuesday.” “ I mean how did it die? ” > “ It died on' its back.” “ No. no. I mean how did it meet its death.” “It didn’t meet its death; its death overtook it.” , .!■ want to know what was the comNo complaint. Everyone for miles around seemed satisfied.” “ I wish to know, how did it occur? ” The dbg was no cur; he was a thorouuhbred animal.” • £ ? el - me ’ what disease did the- dog die “He went to fight a circular saw.” What was the result?” “The‘dog only lasted one round.” Pat was 'even le'sb fortunate.

GOOD BUSINESS.

Pat entered the dairy. “And what can I do for you? ” asked the man behind the counter “ I -want a dozen eggs laid by a black hen.” said Pat. The dairyman replied that he could not possibly tell an egg laid by a black hen from one laid by a bird of any other colour. “ But, if you can,” he went on, " you had better pick them out for yourself.” Pat set to and picked out the eggs from a large basket which the dairyman put before him. When he had finished the man asked him how he could distinguish eggs laid by a black hen. “Oh, shure, man!” answered Pat. “They’re always the biggest! ” WHEN I WAS YOUNG. When I was twenty-one I said: “If only I were ten! Now I am getting old and staid; How lovely life was then! ” When I was twenty-nine I said: “ Oh, to be twenty-one! How gay I was, how unafraid, And life had just begun.” — “ When I was thirty-five I cried: “ Oh, to be twenty-nine! With youth and wis.dom side by side Life was indeed divine.” Wha.t luck that at the present date I’m only forty-three. Supposing I were ninety-eight, How long this rhyme would be! —Eva Barry Pain, in the Windsor Magazine. REAL FLYING FISH. A live carp travelled by air from Paris to Croydon the other day, wrapped up in a piece of wet flannel. While this real flying fish possibly set up a record, carp can stand quite a lot and still survive. In Continental countries they are often sent to market packed in wet grass, and are still alive when they reach the fishmonger’s shop. Another fish that shows unexpected power to survive when removed from its native element is the perch. But most fish take badly to travel, unless in the water, even when in tanks; and the job of stocking an aquarium like that at the London Zoo is a perfect nightmare because of this. We seem, however, to have mastered the secret of transporting the eggs of such fish as trout and salmon. Anyway, we have succeeded in stocking New Zealand with both these fish in this way. WHERE HE LANDED. In the depth of a London fog the “ safety first ” motorist felt that the only certain method of keeping on the right road was to follow the tram track. He did so successfully for a long time, but suddenly found himself in the "middle of a traffic block of bewildering complexity. There were stationary trams all around him. At last, after a long wait, he jumped out of his ear to investigate. He was in the tram depot. SECRETS. I have a little house On the Downs : A little house of green; Its lovely swaying roof Is almost weather-proof, And on the leafy walls The mellow sunshine falls. Within, it is cool— Cool and green; At the tree trunk’s base a pool, Where elves bathe unseen. Softest leaves make the floor, A furze-bush guards the door, And the thorn at the gate Warns the rabbits as they pass Not to wear away the grass; For it’s my little house On the Downs : My own little house Of green. —H. Lejeune (slightly altered), in.the School Journal. TEARS. Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains, Heaven’s sun doth gently waste! But my Sun’s heavenly eyes View not your weeping. That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at even he sets? Rest you then, rest, sad eyes! Melt not in weeping, While she lies sleeping Soft, now softly lies Sleeping. _ —Anonymous. HOUSES AND MODERN REQUIREMENTS. My Grampus always maintains that the chief vice women have inherited from Eve is curiosity (says “Friend in Town” in the Glasgow Weekly Herald), and certainly I can never resist going over an empty house, just to see what it is like. I went to inspect some dear little new houses that are being built not far form here the other day, and they are most attractive. They are quite small, just what everyone is looking for nowadays—two sitting rooms and four bedrooms, — and the basement of each, house ig a garage, which leads up into a centre courtyard at the back, and then exits into the street. All round the courtyard is going to be garden common to all tenants, and kept up by the estate. And each house is supplied with constant hot water, which is maintained by a centre furnace, and with which the tenants have nothing to do. Fitted basins in every bedroom, cupboards in plenty, cooking by electricity—they really are the sweetest little houses, and made me wonder why all new houses are not built like them, instead of the atrocities that one sometimes sees. The art of building attractive houses has advanced sb tremendously there is no excuse for putting up an ugly or inconvenient 'one.' ‘ '

SQUASHED. Mr Harry Higgins, the managing director of the Royal Opera and one of the wittiest “ beefsteakers ” (member of the Beefsteak Club). says a writer, was dining once -when a certain newly-made peer, who was somewhat impressed by his elevation to that august body, made his appearance. Several members greeted him, and asked if he had experienced good sport in Scotland that autumn. “ Excellent,” said his lordship; “good grouse, excellent stalking, and —it was pleasanter at Balmoral than I have ever known it.” This remark caused a slight silence. He went -on: “ Yes, the Queen has got a new butler this year. Very good man named Parkinson; my valet was ill, so I was without, him; looks after you himself, and is there to hand you your fur coat when you go away. Doesn’t leave it all to a footman. The best butler I’ve ever known at Balmoral, and I’ve been there regularly for twelve or fifteen years.” Complete silence; then Harry Higgins leant across the table, and asked in his most dulcet tones: “Is Eliza, the ..tillroom maid, there now? ” “ I don’t know what you mean, my dear Harry,” said the Balmoralite. “ Nothing,” Higgins answered. “ I only' wanted to be in the conversation —that’s all.” The peer spoke no more that night. THE MODERN EVE. Said an indignant mother to her young son: “Why did you strike Elsie, you naughty boy? ” Dick (indigant in his turn) exclaimed: “ What did she want to cheat for, then? ” “How did she cheat?” asked mamma, more mildly. “ Why,” exclaimed Dick, “ we were playing at Adam and Eve, and she had the ■apple to tempt me with, and she never tempted me, but went and ate it up herself.” PRIVILEGED. The Irishman had been told off to keep guard over the entrance to a road which led on to an old and unsafe bridge. Presently a. large touring car came along, and Pat held up his hand. “ What’s the matter ? ” growled the driver. At that moment Pat recognised him as the local magistrate. “ Oh, it’s yerself, yer honour! ” said Pat genially. “Yes it is!” was the snappy answer. “ It’s all right, then,” returned the Irishman, as he stepped politely out of the way. “ I’ve got orders not to let traffic through because of the rotten bridge, but, seeing as it’s yer honour, why, go right ahead, sorr!” SOCIETY EATING FLOWERS. Society has discovered a new article of diet. Flowers are figuring as food in most smart menus. At a recent brilliant .dinner acacia fritters were provided, and the guests voted them delicious. Chrysanthemum salad is a refreshing delight imported from Japan. Smart society .are also consuming water lilies, jasmine, and dandelions, while orange blossoms not only grace the fashionable wedding breakfast as the traditional symbolical bloom, but also figure in a delicious confection. BANK NOTE “POETRY.” Says an editor: “ On the back of a bank note which came (temporarily) ' into my possession the other day was scribbled: You came to me” in time of need, But now you’re off with lightning speed. I sympathised with the poet. My sympathy, however, was but fleeting, for, after remaining with me for a brief but bliss- | fill space, this note, like so many of its 1 predecessors, took unto itself Vings and also departed'.” ' '

WESTERN CITY. Western city, sweetheart of the prairies, Runner on the hills, Face them proudly. . Like a girl in her teens Only partly conscious Of the slumbrous power Gliding through her veins, You lie half asleep Or race breathlessly Before nameless winds. You have no need For borrowed robes Of langurous tradition. Stretch your arms upward, See the taut muscles ripple To your lazy grace! Yours is the strong stride ■Of warm exuberance, Yourg the sudden vigour Of ebullient music, Casual, athletic. Smile, let them smile at your gauche rie—y It will not be long. Listen, do you hear? The music is changing. This is your accent, These are your rhythms. There is an old beauty, There is a classic grace,’ Nod your acquiescence! But that is not the end, The story still unfolds Secrets that you cherish For the indifferent years, O western city. Sweetheart of’the prairies, Runner on the hills! —Grace Strickler Dawson, in the Harp. THE PASHA’S DAUGHTER. There’s many a sight that meets my eye, There’s many a sound that greets my ear, As I look out from my balcony And list to the voices far and near. But I heed them not whilst over the water I watch with my glass the Pasha’s daughter. The fishermen’s boats are coming in sight, Dancing merrily over the sea — They must have had good luck last night, Their crews are singing so merrily. But over the way, just over the water, Sits by her window the Pasha’s daughter. A steamer in sight from the eastern sea Is bringing in figs and spices and news; A curious crowd is thronging the quay — Moslems and Greeks and Arabs and Jews. But I must be looking across the water To catch a smile from the Pasha’s daughter. The Orient eyes are not veiled, now— , ; ' They are fairer for having been veiled so much; And so is her arm and her cheek and her brow — Alas, in the West we never see such. And little she deems, the Pasha’s daughter, That a Frank is quizzing her over the water. And the Pasha himself—if he were to know it! I should be strangled, no doubt, in my room, And thus would be lost another great poet. Do you think .they would lay him in Jupiter's tomb? And all this would be due to the Pasha’s daughter Who sits by her window over the water. —George W. Palmer, in the Living Age. ALL THE DIFFERENCE. A rich and, somewhat green youngster bought a racehorse upon the understanding that it was particularly fast. When the animal was tried out, however, it proved to be distressingly slow. “Look here,” said the owner to the jockey, “ this is a dashed strange thine-. I was told that the brute could trwri as fast as an express train.’’ “ Ah, yes,” commented . the rider sardonically. “ that’ll be when he’s in his box, sir.”