Shaun's Patch

Southland Times, Issue 20963, 21 December 1929, Page 13

Shaun's Patch

“A LITTLE NONSENSE NOW AND THEN” —“ Hudibras

Thinking of the winter in the Polar regions, what a place for a Night Club. * » * ♦ A strong nationalist is one who can go to Rome and behave just as he would in his own home. * ■» * ♦ FAMOUS LINES. “England Expects etc.” Clothes . clear. The ... . . Fishing . Stream . Telegraph . “Drop me a .” A — hound. I The Thin Red U.S.S. Co. The Glenham . The Plimsoll. Halyards. Indian file. A of goods. A otype. ing. Wrinkles. Draw the —. Ruts in the road. Tram . The Hem . Verse. A —ment. A Tip. Ma —■ ing. “The thing of beauty etc.” The chalk —— TOMBSTONE JINGLES. Here lies the body Of Jeremiah Binks; He went to the States And was careless with his drinks. * * * ♦ A friend gave me this: EDUCATIONAL AID. Give me a sentence, with the word “statue” in it. “As Isaac entered, his father said: ‘ls statue, Isaac?”’ » «• * * LOT—AN OLD TROMBONE. (With chin-chins to Straubel.) Two lips apart, Arms outstretched— Is this emotion? No, it’s but a yawn. Sliding, sliding, sliding, Up and down and down and up, Stirring it, Slurring it, Blazing it, brr-r-p While old Wagner is subsiding. A goddess and a god, With liquor brightly lit, Dance, dance, prance Without leaving the spot They started on. I sit pondering and wonder What on earth it’s all about.

A Christmas Balance-sheet: Gifts and Giving. > AU-REVOIR. ’ Oh, here we are at the end of the year I stretch and I yawn, and you do, I fear. But there’s a vacation to beckon me out To the open and there to forget all about Typewriters that stutter and pen-nibs that scratch And thinking out verses to fill up this Patch. “Heigh-ho,” I am sighing, “how good ’tis to rest.’ ” And you will remark that’s my very best jest, So all will agree, in the friendliest way, That I and my readers hail this holiday. * * * A WORKER’S HOLIDAY. I know that silent mountain peaks That take no count of time, Are restful, and it’s there to seek A holiday sublime; I know that tall and . shady trees. A quiet corner keep, Where man may take unbroken ease And spend the hours in sleep. I know that on a river brink ’Tis good to sit and fish, So still ’tis dangerous to think—- \ A rest —most men would wish; Or in the forest, cool and sweet, Where even birds are still, Some men find these conditions meet, The resting hopes to fill. But I would sooner go to see < The farmer till the soil Knowing the whiles that I was free Of all demands of toil; Or sit upon sanded shore— This I will do with zest — And there enjoy the breakers’ roar Because they never rest. I’d not surrender to the calls Of quiet rustic side, I’d sooner watch the Buckley Falls Pour out an endless tide Of water that can never cease, Or pause or think to shirk— Then I am blest with perfect peace And watch old Nature work. I’d sooner watch a motor-car That heats upon a hill While I, avoiding every jar, Can sit and take my fill Of quiet cool. To me it’s sweet When blazing is the sun To see men toiling in the heat And perspiration run. Not for me ihe still of forest glade, That home for slumber serves, Where everything is cool and staid Without the sign of nerves. No, best of all the things I know In summertime to drop’ All work and stand an hour or so Beside a boiler shop. ♦