From The Watch Tower

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 641, 18 April 1929, Page 8

From The Watch Tower

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

THE AMAZONS Two thousand women fought for bargains at a drapery sale yesterday. A glass counter was broken, an attendant seized by the throat, and some of the shoppers received minor injuries: The doors are open! In they rush — Matrons, old maids, and flappers, A cool two thousand in the crush Of ardent 'bargain-snappers. Forgotten are the morning chores , The mop, the carpet-sweeper; For all are women with a cause — Stockings are four pence cheaper. In horror the shop-walkers flee. Glass counters, lately polished , That glistened so invitingly , Like paper are demolished. “That’s mine!” excited voices crys Maude proves a sterling fighter; Miranda has a blackened eye , And Susan squeals, "You blighter!” The new silk hose are rent in twain , ‘With zest the crowd is swelling, Scratched women scream with rage and pain, The bruises, too, are swelling. . . , And one attendant feels her throat . . . Sale time! What is the antidote? — SQUIDGE. WELL-NAMED A Southern racehorse-owner is reported to have scored a good name for a new horse by making the name “Auctioneer” from its progenitors, Gasbag and Martina. Thus named, the animal should be able to accept the bids of its challengers without reserve. THE LITTLE ARTISTS A contemporary obliges with a reference to a “troupe” of Brownies. Presumably this particular troupe is founded on different principles from other troops, and will shortly make its bow upon the variety stage. ELIMINATION SERIES Discussion in homeward-bound trams last evening centred largely on the record number of candidates for the City Council. With 67 candidates on the ballot paper the voters will have a hard task to select their choices. The Office Cynic (a bitter fellow) suggests that it would he a good idea to put an asterisk against the names of all the present councillors who are standing. The ratepayer, he suggests, would then at least know whom not to vote for. CONFETTI The cheerful habit of strewing bushel upon bushel of confetti round the landscape is one of the minor evils the open season for weddings brings in its train. Hear the plea of a padre upon the subject: “Wretched confetti. It should be prohibited. Why doesn’t the Press take the matter up?” The reason is that the Press has probably not yet realised the national importance of the subject. Every bridegroom does, for in the first year or two after his marriage confetti appears in odd places—under the hatband, beneath the lapels of the coat, and in the cuffs of the trousers—thus tending to remind the subject of a ceremony most prefer to forget. Add this to the pitiful sight of a verger sweeping up confetti in the churchyard day after day, week after week, in endless, unvarying routine, and the full extent of the consequences may be realised.

jftjyOLMJiJyOtM M M M M M - & SEATS TO THE MIGHTY Installation of the Ministry of Transport in offices created in the Prime Minister’s official residence, “Ariki Toa,” in Tinakori Road, Wellington, seems a gross anti-climax. So noble a dwelling could not be permitted to stand idle. In its handsome surroundings it is one of the most beautiful homes in New Zealand, but Sir Joseph Ward clings to his cosier Heretaunga bungalow. When the next Prime Minister has different notions, the minions of the Ministry of Transport will get notice to quit. Few people reject the opportunity to dw’ell in the seats of the mighty. What good American does not venerate the name of White House? And it only became White House after the British burned it in 1814, the scars being hidden under a coat of white paint. Before that the spacious mansion had been known first as “The President's Palace,” and then as “The President’s House.” The original design was almost an exact replica of the ancestral home of the Dukes of Leinster, outside Dublin. With the structural, alterations since made, and the elaborate appointments installed in succeeding years, the mansion, with its grounds, is worth £5,500,000. In its 129 years existence it has sheltered every president except one, and all their portraits, save that of Harding, hang upon its walls. Outside these the bed specially built for Abraham Lincoln—a couch 6~ feet wide by 9 feet long—is the greatest curiosity of the establishment,