SPINDRIFT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17035, 8 May 1923, Page 6

SPINDRIFT.

Readers are invited to send in original topical paragraphs or versus for the column, 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 amounts payable. AVhat awful lies the poets write I What lying songs they sing ! Yet if they were bold And the strict truth told. They would not sell a thing ! Included in my week-end reading was a very serious article by a layman, under the title, “Do Bishops Believe?” I plead ignorance. Nevertheless, I’m inclined to think that the question is but one of a series. Any day now I’m expecting to find in the column “ For the Quiet Hour” the following thrilling stories : Is the Verger Veering? Does the Ourate Care ? Was the Hector Right? Will the Churchwardens Chip In? PAGAN THEMES. I know in my rough untutored heaXt, No soft sweet sound of music stirs; But deep in my untaught soul I hear The song of the wind-swept firs. Far rip on a rocky wind-swept ridge, Or deep in some gorge below, W'here the battered and scarred old mountain pines Still rear their heads through the snow. Perhaps where the lea of a friendly cliff Looks out on a rock-strewn shore; Where the foam-capped waves of the charging seaSweep down with a booming roar. These with their p sea ns of endless strife Bring peaoe to my troubled soul; In the clamorous din of their hurrying flight In reaching some unknown goal. AN EPISODE OF THE WILD WINTER OF 1923. Lifting my eyes from my book I gazed dejectedly out of the sittingroom window. The old paling fences which flanked my section were shaking ominously in the grip of a fierce gale, while the remnants of my wife’s prize chrj-santhemums were being quickly battered out of recognition. The lawn over which 1 had laboured so assiduously in the dry days with the help of the hissing hose, was a veritable swamp. I had visions of the evening, and of the perilous passage i. would make to the centre of this swamp, where a sodden newspaper would inevitably await me. Then rousing myself, 1 proceeded to the rear portion of my abode. Through the back window I anxiously viewed the countless puddles which I must soon ford to carry food to my gluttonous but unproductive fowls. While I thus ruminated the monotonous drip, drip, from a leaky spouting reached my ears, reminding me of a long-deferred visit to the plumber. Turning, 1 retraced my steps to the sitting-room, where my wife dozed peacefully by the fireside. Seizing nr.' book I placed it deliberately on the hottest portion of the fire, and as I watched the flames licking its pages my anger abated somewhat. Never again in the bleak winter will I peruse a book descriptive of the sweet scenes of summer, and glowing with the warmth of sunny days. There is no truth in the rumour that a pedestrian with webbed feet has been captured in Cathedral Square. T met an old Otagoite in town the other day; I see his face now as I write—his noble brow with pain was white; lie was a truly awful sight, and these words did he say: “Oil, awful, awful is the fate that my poor self pursues; my sorrows are of mighty weight; I am a man of troubles great; now, prithee, stranger, let me state a southern f*Jcotohmaris views. ’Twas in Dunedin’s noble town, a week or two ago, that first the dashing rains canrn down, and all the heavens seemed to frown ; I really though that I would drown, so mighty was the flow. The waters trickled round my bed, the chairs began to float; the ceiling fell from overhead, and all the walls their plaster shed : I was not more alive than dead, when rescued in a boat. “ I sadly left the southern shore, and took the Christchurch train; but here the rain began to pour; the heavens opened more and more—the water’s rising through the floor—l’m flooded out again! Were I to stay another week. 1 would give up the ghost; so when the roof begins to leak, I will not turn the other cheek—l’ll pack my bag again and seek some dry place like the Coast.” All should go to the great Competitions Which are now being held in our town. Many people each night Will play, sing and recite. And endeavour to win high renown. Leading choirs will give varied renditions Of popular anthems and hymns, And the quaint Dickens folks With their pathos and jokes Will portray all the author’s strange whims. It is well worth the price of admission Just, to hear the sopranos’ high trill, Or the basses’ deep roar, I.ike the surf on the shore, And at extracts from Shakespeare to thrill. Many children will take high position For the excellent turns they present, With tlieir mothers below in the very front row, Each one on her darling intent. And though all can’t achieve their ambitions Of a niche in the temple of fame, Still each person who tries W ithout winning a prize Will still have the fun of the game. And if some by the stern admonitions Of the judge are persuaded to see That it’s not in their line As performers to shine, What an exoellent thing that will be! I notice that in England recently a gentleman was awarded two pounds damages against a railway company because a train by which he intended to travel was three minutes aerly. Thank heaven, nothing like that could happen in New Zealand. It is easy to write on nothing When you’re paid at a penny a line; It is easy to write on a thousand things In language flowing and fine. It is easy to write on the pro. that sings, Or the winter storm at sea. But it is no£ easy when trains are full To write on a jolting knee. Eighteen door keys, a chisel. a jemmy, an eLectric torch, a screwdriver. a Yale key, and 2d in coppers were found in the pockets of a man arrested in the North last week. The police think he is a burglar. SINBAD. -