SPINDRIFT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16940, 15 January 1923, Page 6

SPINDRIFT.

Headers are invited to send Sn original topical paragraphs or verses for this volumn, which is a daily feature of the “Star.” Accepted contributions should be cut out by the writers and forwarded to the Editor, who will remit the amount* payable. All women believe in sport for sport clothes' sake. #4 A lucky number. —One- yon can get telephone. Why is Mr Massey like the globe ? Because he was slightly flattened at the polls. The modern dance is no dance in the first place, and when you’ve finally learned it, it’s not modern any more. Advice to newly married husbands.— He who hesitates is bossed. A. S. M. Hutchinson has already received £70,000 for his “If Winter Comes,” and there is more to follow. —- News extract. Oh, why was not my little lot Cast in the poet’s mould, That I could sing the joys of spring, And gather in the gold ? How sweet to take one’s pen and make A lilting little ode inent the joys of saveloys Or beauties of the road! To think that while one’s flowing style Extolled the morning glory Or sang the praise in divers ways Of Cupid’s sweet old story. And while the words flew forth like birds And lighted on the paper. That in the lay there was the pay Of butcher and of baker! Ah, this indeed were fruitful seed And crown of all endeavour, This would inspire with living fire The bard to write forever 1 But such is not for me, 1 wot; No skill have I in patters; My pen is dumb, I’m cold and numb, My clothes are all in tatters. But since I must look for a crust, Here's luck to my endeavour. To sweat of brow my head I bow, While bards bard on forever I It is said that there are 200 ways ci cooking eggs, but how about the lemaining 160 mornings ? If it is intended to bring another* batch of children across from the Chatham Islands this summer, Sin-bad hopes that they will bring plenty of good warm clothing with them. “Weather-signs for the holidays,” says a newspaper headliner. This is Jiow it’s done. The meteorologist sat in his office calculating and sifting and weighing and deducting, shuffling with high aud lowpressures. He was a man who took his job seriouslj-, a firm believer in his own great skill. ‘* Fine and clear with a warm night,” he wrote, then read the forecast, signed it and prepared to have. At the door he paused, glanced at the sky and then hurriedly returned to his room and took up the pen again. ** As the lingering influences are still apparent in the Eastern isobar, and the millibars are to some extent again submerged in the Antarctic depression we may expect scattered, showers, thunder and a cool south-west wind.” He surveyed his written handiwork, unfurled his umbrella, put on his goloshes and went out to tea. They are great things these Isobars and Millibars. Beauty is only skin-dope. Mister Massey says he is like a cork. He certainly keeps things bottled up. Most of the nations in the Near East are very poor. Probably that is why it is called the “ Near ” East. Racing handicappers come in for a lot of abuse. But everything comes to those who weight. e< A popular craze in Paris is to have portraits painted on finger nails.” Illuminating par. from overseas. Though the artists who portraits On finger nails paint May the transient life Of their labours bewail, In the matter of fees They’ve no cause for complaint, Since it can’t be denied They are paid on the nail. A few more or less appropriate songs or books : Lloyd George—“ Tbe Tale I Told lou.” MM. Poincare and Bonar Law—“ The Farting of the Ways.” Earl of Balfbur—“ A Bachelor Gav Am I.” The Railway Department and the P. and T. Department—“ Oh that We Two Were Paying.” De \ alera—Hope Springs Eternal.” The Federation of Seamen—“ Much Ado About Nothing.” Mr Massey—“ Bid Me to Live.” Mr Wiiford—“Waiting.” Ignace Jan Paderewski has resumed piano playing. . . . He has received several letters threatening his ■il'e. Must be some hated rival—or is it retribution? \\ isli someone would perform a similar acton in regard to my next door neighbour. “ Mistakes in Surgerv ” savs a headline. Most of ’em are buried. “ Germany Stunned,” says a heading. The beer gardens must be at work again. Having just spent my annual holiday on a dairy farm I have had mv first opportunity of studying the cow at close quarters, and all my previous convictions regarding the animal liar; been completely upset. The cow is generally regarded as a docile orcatu're free from all guile, but this is quite a. mistake. After my intimate acquaintance with the cow I find nothing in it to admire. Certainly it supplies cs with milk, but only under great pressure. In the first place its figure is preposterous and ungainly. Take * battered old portmanteau, fill it with ' a miscellaneous assortment of hardware and you have the shape of a cow. It’s body has more angles and corners than a proposition of Euclid and its back- ' bone stands out like the ridge pole u'. a tent. A cow measuring four feet across the beam can climb through a fence gap hardly wide enough to admit the passage of a fox terrier dog. i J t can eat four times its own bulk in hay at a single meal and consume the entire products of a kitchen garden dur- ' iug a night. By nature the cow is a Bolshevik which accounts for the pre- ! dominance of red in its colour scheme, but it disguises its character under an { appearance of placid content. A cow < will slap you across the face with its < muddy tail, kick you on the shins, put 1 its foot in the milk bucket and knock 1 you off your stool, all the time re ' garding you with that air of calm benevolence which has gained for it a I false reputation for amiability. If 1 1 had to choose between a skunk, a boa- 1 constrictor, a horned toad and a cow « us a pet the cow would certainly bo I my lasi choice. Si NBA D. s