The Stamp Clan.

Southland Times, Issue 19540, 2 May 1925, Page 18

The Stamp Clan.

(By Cousin Phil.)

The mounting of stamps does not as a rule receive sufficient attention, and some collectors fail to realise the benefits to be derived by placing the hinge at the top of the stamp, so that when turned over it will lip perfectly flat. To mount a stamp properly, double the hinge with the gummed side out, moisten the side to be placed on the stamp, and attach it so that the creased line will be level with the top of the stamp then moisten the other side and place in position, care being taken to raise the stamp afterwards, in order to prevent it sticking to the paper. Another method is to moisten the entire gummed side of the hinge with a sponge, holding it in a pair of tweezers. Place the stamp with the other hand in such a position that it lies face downward, the top of the stamp being level with the upper line. Place the hinge partly on it, and on the paper, theft turn the stamp over, when it will fall into its proper position. In the case of unused stamps it is always advisable to attach as little of the hinge to them as possible, otherwise the gum on the latter may be detrimentally affected. The broader the hinge the less likelihood there is of the stamp “wobbling” about, and always remember that good hinges are cheapest in the long run. Stamps are sometimes mentioned in novels, but I think the following poem is the only one referring to stamps, and it was written by the famous Christina Rossetti, when she was 16 years of age, in 1846. TO ELIZABETH READ. (With some Postage Stamps for a Collection.) Sweet Elizabeth, accept, I pray, These lowly stamps I send in homage true. One hundred humble servants in their way Are not to be despised, though poor to view. Their livery of red and black—nor gay Nor sober at all —is typical of you In whom are gravity and gladness mixt. Though here, smiles where, perfection lies betwixt.

Note of Wm. Rossetti on the poem, Edition of Christmas Poems, published 1904 Miss Read, was a young lady under the tuition of our sister Maria—she is now Mrs Bull, widow of a leading physician in Hereford. Christina had a most cordial liking for her. The design to this trifle is a human personation of one of the stamps,

bowing in the character of a humble servant, and wearing the “livery of red and black” of a sort of mediaeval cut.

Recently a philatelic journal asked its readers their chief reason for collecting stamps, offering a prize for the best reply. A large majority gave “as an investment,” as their first answer, and it is indeed true that postage stamps are not only a safe, but also a highly profitable investment. A FLY —First Prize.— Oh little fl/ I wonder why Folks think you such a pest! If you would play in the garden gay I think it would be best. Your wings are like a fairy’s, Your back is mystic blue, We love the birds and butterflies And would like to love you, too. Is it that you hate the breeze That tries to hurry you? Or is it those big spider webs All hung with silvery dew? —5/- and 4 marks to Cousin Lorna Campbell, (10), 15 Thames Street, la vercargill*.

—Second Prize.— I saw a spider catch a fly, In a little web so sly, Up above the window high, Then thought I “Poor little fly,” "He has surely got to die.” Held tight by a silken chain, All his struggles were in vain, Down the web the spider ran, Caught the fly and back again, Then into his corner sly, He was dragging—poor little fly. But I didn’t like to see, That poor fly a spider’s tea, So with a stick I set him free, And I know how pleased he’ll be, To be set at liberty. 3 marks and 2/6 to Cousin Elsie Amos, (11), Mabel Bush.

—Highly Commended.— As I sat beside the window On a peaceful Autumn day, A contented, carefree insect Flew around, then buzzed away. I remembered not that insect, Never thinking ’twould return; When, above the dainty roses, I espied its colour stern. Then away I glanced a moment, -When I looked it wasn’t there, For upon the luring window Crept the fly, with courage rare. Oh! contented, carefree, insect, Though your life is short, ’tis sweet; For a simple, happy life-time I’m afraid thine, none could beat. For your wings, they chant of freedom, And your buzz, it tells of mirth; All your life is filled with gladness With no troubles giv’n from Earth. Oh! but still, you lonely creature, None would wish to be like you. So just buzz your chanting medley, And your pleasures short renew. —2 marks to Cousin Annie Playfair, (14), “Bonniefield,” Gummie’s Bush.

TO A FLY. Oh! you little fluttering thing With all your tiny eyes, Why not rest the weary wing, Which takes you ’way up high ? The Summer here is full ahead, So you must hurry now, And sink away into your bed Beneath the Holly’s bough. Good-bye to you, we all do say, For you will long be gone, Then wake up from a happy sleep, And join your merry throng. —2 marks to Cousin Mary Gregory, (12) Panton Street, Invercargill.

A TRAGEDY Two flies were walking on the wall, One was quite large, the other small. The larger to the smaller said:— “See there the giant spider’s bed—- “ Take heed, young brother, what I say, “Let not that creature come your way, “For he would kill you, sure as day!” The other chuckled, —calmly,—twice, —He did not value this advice—“A spider! I’m a match for him, “He may have cunning—l have vim! “I’ll challenge him to tackle me, “You watch the combat—you shall see “which one shall have the victory!” With this the young fly went his way,— His brother stood to watch the fray. “Oh foolish youth,” he sadly sighed, “(It was just thus his father died.) “How could he conquer such a foe? “He, born but ten short hours ago. “I wish he would not show off so.” Meanwhile that confident young fly Went on, his doubtful luck to try. When near the web he paused and cried: — “Ho there! My enemy! Come outside!” The spider, mind, was old and sly, He shook his head, replied, .“Not I! “Come here—we’ll fight near where I lie.” So he lured the trusting young soldier in, And waited there for the fun to begin. And it didn’t take long for the fly to find That sticky ropes his limbs entwined, The more he struggled the worse it became, The poor little fly was more than lame.— The spider smiled, and nearer came . . . The fly was soon a captive there, All helpless in the spider’ lair, His useless body securely bound, With cords his conqueror twined around. And then that creature, enjoying his plight, Pronounced these words, and the fly turned white, “A tender morsel for dinner to-night.” The other fly looked, then turned away. “It is no earthly use for me to stay. “And ’twill always be the same, I know, “So many flies end their lives just so. “Yet as well to attack the British host, “ For spiders so quickly have them on toast. “And all through an idle, desire to boast.” 2 marks to Cousin Marjorie T. Brown, (15), 78 Janet Street, South Invercargill.

--Commended. — Little Tommy Brown, one day "Was standing on the dunce’s stool With a tall cap on his head, Right in front of all the school. He found his work was very hard And he tried with all his might To please the teacher now and then By getting all his lessons right. And on this day of which we speak He tried with all his might and main To have his work quite, quite correct. But there he was a dunce again. Then he looked towards the window And noticed a blue bottle fly Who tried to reach the upper pane But didn’t—had another try. He tries again and yet again To reach up to the top Three-quarters, of the way he gets And then—down, down doth drop. The task he has not given up And means to try it just once more He is almost at the lock He slips—again he’s on the floor, zknd yet he starts off once again But this time with still greater oare. Do you think he’ll succeed? Why -Yes—of course—he’s there ! Little Tommy looked away And thought of all that he had seen And he wondered all the while What ever it could mean. Then he thought of his own case, And of his dunce’s cap again And the little blue clad fly Who tried and tried and tried again. Then Tommy Brown tried once again And never forgot to do, do his best, And therefore at the year’s end, Our Tommy Brown led all the rest. He often thought then of the fly Who tried to reach the upper pane, And he always bore within his mind, “Even a fly can try again.” —1 mark to Cousin Margaret Robbie, (13), c/o Mrs E. B. Pilcher, 269 Spey Street, Invercargill.