IF IT WASN'T FOR THE LAW.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9214, 18 April 1908, Page 4

IF IT WASN'T FOR THE LAW.

I wouldn't tail the push to back GoldbeaterIt would be a breach of all the Gaming

laws; So I'll put it in a way that may be neater: I'm going to back him — well for-^-juat for — just because.

I wouldn't tell tie push to back Glenculloch — It would be a breach of all the Gaming laws; I wouldn't like the paper in the mullock: I'm going to back him— well for— just for — ju&t because.

They were discussing the land hunger over the fourth. " shout " of the evening, and the freehold and leasehold advocates were becoming a trifle heated, when the situation was Bayed by Dinny O'Flaherty, who waxed enthusiastic and declaimed : " I lift the Ould Oounthry beeps' I could git no bit of land. If I owned the whole wurld I'd be willing ter give it away for a little piece of land an' a cabin I could call my own." Whereupon the landlord declared the victory with, the freeholders, and set 'em up again.

The prisoner was meditative rather than moody as the warders removed him from the dock to the cells. There was evidently something on his mind. The Judge had addressed him mildly enough, remarking, "lam entirely removed from any thought of vindictiveness. My feeling towards you .at this moment is one of pity. The sentence is that you serve seven years' penal servitude." At the door of the cell a light seemed to break upon him, and his thoughtful face became wreathed in smiles. " What is it?" demanded the warder. "I'm glad the Judge wasn't angry," came the appreciative response.

"Rafferty" writes: "The hotel sandwich, which is put down on the average lunch counter is as big a mystery as the Man with the Iron Mask. Being of an analytical turn of mind, I analysed a plateful the other day and found them to be composed as follows : Butter ..... .25 Meat ..... .10 Bread . . < . . 99. 0 Dust . . . . . .15 Moisture 10 Flies and other eceteras . . .40 Age and Etalenees unaseertainable. The method of making appear*? to be to cut the bread a week beforehand, and insert tiny slivers of meat at the edge where the two pieces of Lread open up widest with the dryhess. It has been ascertained that a leg of mutton, after having been servod hot for dinner, cold for the next day's luncheon and curried for tea, will still suffice to make 9411 ordinary hotel sandwiches."

New Zealand is a suburb of Auckland. At least, so the Aucklanders seem to thinlj. For gross, undiluted, spirited and flatly irrelevant parochialism the northern city takes all the cakes in the dominion and most of the confectionery in Commonwealth. Recently some irresponsible person attempted to set fire to the house of the Mayor of Auckland. The case would have been dismissed in any ordinary paper with a gentle paragraph of thirty lines explaining the incident to the general public. But being the Mayor of Auckland who was concerned, the event, in the eyes of the Auckland PrcGS, assumed international importance, and the Press Association agent at once telegraphed a message of 1691 words to the papers in other centres. Heaven help the community when there is a dog fight in Queen Street or a dust storm on the Karangahape Road.

Now that the football season is on, it is perfectly legitimate to resurrect several stories which will be new to a generation that knows not Joseph. At one time in the history of football, the trainers and jockeys at Riccarton were impressed with the belief .that they could play the game as no others in Canterbury could, and in the calm satisfaction of this assurance, they sent forth a challenge to the Press of Christchurch to play them. The challenge was accepted, and the Press team duly arrived by coach. The first man to alight from the conveyance was " Jumb " Barnes, who at that time was comparatively a light Weight, and only scaled seventeen stone. Ho was the least impressive of the playing team, and certainly the worst player. But as he stepped from the coach ho wao accosted by a diminutive light-weight jockey, who asked him quietly, " Say, Mister, are you going to play?" " Yes, my boy," responded the complaisant " Jumb." " Then," came th-e prompt answer, "I'm blowed if I am."

There was an historic occasion upon which Dan O'Brien also played football. The trainers and jockeys had just started a club at Riccarton, and Dan, with, his unvarying enthusiasm for anything sporting, bad presented the club with jerseys of" the famous Tose and black colours, which at that time were being carried by Carbine and other one-hors© mokes of indifferent ability. Under the circumstances there was a grand opening of the new ground with a match against a scratch Christchurch team, and Dan, in honour of the event, was asked to play full-back. He consented, and played. The game was a fairly even one for a little while, until that speedy three-quarter, "Guffy" Turner, secured the ball about the halfway flag and made a dive for the line. He passed everybody but Dan O'Brien, much to that hero's horror, and the trainer, seeing him coming, turned I round and made a bee-line for the goal pests. He got there first, and proudly stood between the posts, whilst "Guffy" ran gently round and scored a try. "Why didn't you tackle him, Dan?" asked one of his side, mournfully. "Tackle him?" was the scornful response. " Not me; but I took blooming good care he didn't get through between the posts."