BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17835, 1 May 1926, Page 2

BY THE WAY.

SOME REFLECTIONS AND COLLECTIONS.

(By One of the Bovs)

Sir Francis Bell: “I hope N.Z. will not take me seriously.” No clanger. As Mr Devereux*savs*%he result of a vegetarian diet has ever had th*veffect of broadening the mind. It's the beans does it: the broad ones. « . An Aucklander was travelling in England, and many inquiries he received in regard to his homeland. “What is the population of New Zealand?” someone asked him. “It is well over a million, if you count those who don't live in Auckland” he told them. Cricket at Holyport Is so far a lowly sort. Every croaker Savs “Play mediocre.” An Auckland Society With great impropriety. After uttering platitudes Adopts “rude attitudes.’’ Pole-findtng, say Amundsen and Wilkins. Is not as easy as spillikens. Rockfeller, I've heard, Is giving them the By'd. Sweetly now our Bell is singing. Hark! His words are sweetly ringing. “Damn”—Bell. “Damn”—Bell. Go to ! a « “Your prisoner got away?” “Yes,” said the rural gaoler. “When he borrowed my keys and told me somebody wanted to see me up the road on important business, I thought he wuz up to somethin’.” “If I should die before I wake,” Thus Signor Mussolini spake, “I swear, my dear beloved Wops, Our Fascist Cause will need no props. ’Twill go till ev'rv Latin drops.” Thus King Wop rages. “Most ruthlessly we’ll prosecute This noble p4ji. With hand and foot We’ll massacre each traitor knave Who tries to stop us. On! brave! Our iron hand this land will sayel” Oh ! Go to blazes ! A complimentary dinner was being given in honour of a certain man, and he was responding to the toast of his health. “Gentlemen,” he said, “when I came to Christchurch I was a poor boy without a penny in my pocket and nowhere to lay my head. To-day I don’t mind confessing I am worth ten thousand pounds. My success I attribute, entirely to the fact that I have worked hard, that I have my share of energy and efficiency, and that several > r ears ago I won ten thousand pounds in the Calcutta Sweep.” This is probably a lie, but it was related to me by a man who is agent for the George Washington Vacuum Cleaner. He said that while in Nelson he was taken for a walk in the cemetery; this being, he explained, the usual Sunday recreation in the city of slumber. On a tombstone there he was made acquainted with a double tragedy, for hewn in the marble he read: — Susan, the beloved wife of J who departed this life. June 15, 1916. “The sun has left a husband's life.” The vacuum cleaner agent was moved to tears, especially as he read the little item underneath: — Mary, also the beloved wife of the above, who departed this life on December 9, 1918. “Another blasted eclipse.” “My mind is broad,” Says Mr D„ The Lord High Chieftain Greenleafee. “A nut—a pod—“No fragrant tea—“No blood-red meat “For Mighty Me!” Broad is your mind? You rhapsodise! You boost the Green Leaf To the skies! No, no! You'll find The increased size Is sometimes due To mutton pies. When is a man drunk? This question has been worrying the magistrates recently all over New Zealand. The trouble is that so few people ever acknowledge themselves to be drunk, but still there are some that will admit that they were canned, and an examin ation of their actions while under the influence may guide us in judging others.

Quite a number of the admitted cases of inkyness have France for a setting. Over there, when the big war was on, the amount of liquor a man held determined his views on the big affair. I have heard it admitted that after the first ten drinks the trenches appeared quite a desirable place to be The first test 1 will give you will be called the Acknowledged Absolutely Blottyness of Artie Brown, M.M. The yarn of how he got the champagne is worth telling, but would take too long. It brings into the tale a party called Marie, who had better be left out. Let us get on. Artie Brown drank five bottles of champagne, and then it seemed to him that the world got verysmall. Smaller and smaller it got till it was about the size of a large barrel, with Artie Brown clinging desperateiy to it. All around was the immensity of space, his one hope was to hold on. He screamed in terror for help, and dug his fingers frantically into the soft and shrinking planet. Then strong arms came and tried to tear away his grip. He yelled louder and then a blackness came. Next morning Artie stood before the colonel, and listened with interest to the sergeant. “We found him, sir,” the sergeant said, “lying on the road tearing into the mud with his hands, and yelling he was going to fall off the earth.” “Well, Brown,” said the colonel, “what do you plead?” “A man who lies in the mud for fear of falling off the earth, I will admit, is drunk,” said Artie. And thus we have one test, at least.