THE TIME MACHINE.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIIC, Issue 14327, 18 October 1910, Page 5

THE TIME MACHINE.

WORKING BACKWARDS. (By W. I''. Thomas.) It was probably u prehistoric labour., er who liist tiiuugnt lo measure tiuui a hairy man siting ta>for-wiit> unuor thorn busti, clupp.ug, luiua. Aluybe iio bpucetj Luc Lido marks uii a JflVer a bunk, -or marked Uie crawling oiiatloivr of ii tree; ami by cliche Bigua made out the first wine bfteet,, scra.viod oil a scrap ox bu'cii bark witii a alieepfi tooUl. brnce then tiie thing lias become a inuma Willi us, una u o iiavu le<Li'.ucd Lu cliop our lives into years, our yourH into niuiiLiii and weeks auu days, our days into hours and minutes; and these last, just to snow our cleverness, we have uunced into seconds und. frao tions of seconds. The consequence ia tiiat clocks tick. But tiiat must not be thought about for ii : you sit ui your ami chair, alone, and listen to the clock it snys, "Nearer nearer, nearer, nearer," and at six minutes to the hour it makes a little choking noise m its throat as ii it were going to say something. Ihey are awlul tliiugs, ticking clocks; carpenters at worlc ,with little, little hammers, making coliins. 'l'UJfi .HEART'S STANDSTILL. >\ hen we record the passing of time, we do but mark the passing of ourselves. Ihe clocks tick and strike, the leaves fall from the calendar, one by one, stealthily, until the year is bare. J hen wo buy a new calendar, and say we are a year older. That alone shows the absurdity of* it all, for who is there that Ui really a year older for having lived another 3Go days { Counting mile-stones is a profitless way of spending a journey. ihe truth is that we are just as youufcj a® wo feel. To-day, if it be line, we are twenty-four, and the birth certilicate m tne top drawer lies with its story of lb7(j, the registrar was drunk. Wo are as young as we feel, lliis must bo true because it is so beautiful, and withal so necessary to hie Unco realise that you are forty 'lnnk i'i all that forty means, and you are undone.

alL ' i,s young us we foul. • Do you urn remember schoolboys of thirty wearing goggles, and eternally swotting I'rench, which was to be useful to tfieui m business but never was? Do you not kin,w of boys of forty and uity, young oldsters; ready lor any. thing from garden cricket to hears ou the landing :•* On April 10th, there is a blue sky, with brave sailing clouds und a fair wind, and you are twenty-eight. On tlie Uth, certain people go to the trouble of pointing out that you are rorty-one. Some oven write to you about ic yes, and congratulate you on

As il you had uot been trying for weeks to l'orgot it. LIVING IT DOWN. •then, ior a lev,' days perhaps, you walk soberly to the station, and ivondel at lunch-timo whether you ou r,, hfc to eat certain tilings thills. But with fair luck and a good liver you will get your age don-ii to thirty in'a fortnight, 84iu if the weather holds to twenty® eight eventually. But there are times other than bn tlidays when tho years pile suddenly upon our shoulders, and on these occasions the load falls the heavierf. It was thus that I was visited but a few days ago. Previously I had spent lite enjoying to-day and looking forward to to-morrow; when of a sudden my eyes were turned to yesterday; to a yesterday which 1, living for tho. minute, had long forgotten. And in a little 1 was old, so old. uas : . 1 "itornooii, and I could not lind the book lor my mo-od• So after wandering up and down the shelves for halt an hour I relinquished the idea of reading, and started on that awful business, "clearing up." I*or most of us this means turning out cupboards ami putting the things back again more higgledy-piggledy than they were before. It was a melancholy occupation, and you are almost certain to crv when you do it; for vou will como uuou an odd .skate, a pair of dumb-bell.-;, or tho hat you were married in ; all relics of the hopeless, helpless, resurrected past.

RKSUKRKCTION PJE. It was nn old Mark box that gave up the dry bones of my youth; a cricket bai, sprung;; a wicket-keeping a fishing-rod, all but tlio top joint and the winch; ami some other such things, which, had 1 beens wise, I should have buried or jj;ivon awnv years ago. 01 course, there were hooks, the sort that no respectable Hoy would be seen reading; but which lie would read all the same: and it was amongst those that I found my old Simpson's Euclid, a pedagogue fallen among thieves, with a Jioribje date on the fly leaf, and one corner mildewed. The axioms and postulates were missing. but Prop. V. was still there; that "wicked old triangle, that, -terrible structure on which a million generations of boys have been tied and (logged.

I sat on the box and rau over the problem, hut could no more under, stand it than I could in 'ihese green years when it absorbed tip- half'holidays. Yet T found myself as ready oa ever to take the author's w-ord for it that the angles on the other Bido of the base are equal. After nil, what does it matter if they are not. There is more -fhan mp"e Euclid On that page to puzzle me. For instance, the triangle AUG has bcon embellished with two eyes, n rose and a mouth; and the bisecting lines JIG and C.F tricked out to resemble a naspnblo collar and tie. Obviously fbis stood for somebody, but for whom I ennnot. bo certain. Tt may hare been meant for the French master; there is something of a likeness. And his memory is certainlv worth perpofunting. for lie was, T believe, the only French master in Kngland whose nickname was not "Froggy." "\Ye caller! him "Snailbroth" and in moments of extreme emotion hj" would retaliate with and "Vigs." which we certainly were; and some rather advanced idioms, which T am not «o cn»'o about. AOCOT'NT UKXDKKKn. •

Or it may have been intended for "Granny." who took us in mathematics and was mad on fuiij'i. His practice was to set a problem to keep us quiet, and spend the rest of bis two hours dissecting loathsome ami smelly little toadstools.

Overleaf, where tho pint of the proposition begins to get exeitinn; (wherefore these triangles are equal, and their remaining angles each to each, to whicK tlio t<C|iiiil skies are opposite). I find a minute note in the margin which says, "Boffin 1.'.d." Boffin, T remember, was tho red-haired son of tho Dev. Ryrn. Scones, anil he was fat and pimply, which accounted for liis nickname. I cannot see the connection now, but I know there, was one. T wonder whether I lent Boffin three-ha'pence, or borrowed that sum from him. As a rule, neither was possible. It is by looking back at our vontH that wo realise onr years, and when I rose from that box T felt nearly prey. Bnt T would rather crow old suddenly, with a generous draught from th(S iiapon of life, than slowly, in little sips,; to tho ticking of a clock. Ha who does this last will one day tho measure empty, and his thirst unslaked. London "leader."