ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

Wanganui Herald, Volume LIII, Issue 15974, 17 November 1919, Page 5

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

To the Editor. Sir,—The Dragon left Ms lonely lair once too often and never returned. Mr Speed will have ins little jokp; or was ho profound, n’importe. He regrets he can see no cry, neither can I, although I have heard many and various. He speaks of a friend he met in, Paris some months ago before the war. Some months, I gnees. He further says die poor are up to-day against the rich, as they did under the days of an Emperor or a King.” That I must leave, Mr Editor, it is too profound. Was it the infidel Thomas Paine who said, “The world is my country; to do good is my religion” ? The dragon has something’ better than that, and says “Our country for ourselves; New Zealand for New Zealanders.” Ancient regime, Omue solum forti pallia, That I cannot allow to pass unchallenged, and so I say “Mosstown for the Mosstownites; death to the hillmeu of Dune heights, may they ever bo confounded.” r lhe point of difference between Mr Cuttle and myself had no more connection with tire power of braes hats than it had with the weight of bra.ss candlesticks. It was militair© petit-maitxe. However that matter Mr Cuttle (for whom personally I have the highest respect )and X can settle between ourselves; but Linton's teas—Allens! That suggests a slogan X must recommend to my Prohib. friends. Plump for Tiptop’a and nothing stronger than tea. I am sorry I cannot follow the dragon through his peregrinations a la Irancais. * I started learning French some months ago—back in the early nineties. Our French class followed a drawing class. One particular evening when we assembled for our instruction in Trench, some wag discovered a frog drawn in chalk on the blackboard. In a perverse moment he wrote underneath “Johnny Craupaud,” and then the fun waxed fast and fmious. To the best of my knowledge and belief, and on it I am prepared to take my happy davy, there was only one Frenchman in the room. May all the saints in the calendar preserve me from ever being in a room with more than one excited Frenchman at the same time! Texan tornadoes and Kilkenny cats too tame. They would have looked quite eick compared with our French instructor. Fortunately, perhaps, for our youthful minds, we had not learned sufficient French to understand him, or we could have topped off our education with a lot of French they do not teach in classes. Someone then turned out the gas, and the Frenchman bounded out of the room emitting something like “Zaetc! A bas prdklious Anglais...ze moester!” (which perhaps the dragon might interpret for me). While he was gone for the principal we spread-eagled his hat behind the door with pen-nibs through the rim. Preoently he bounced back, followed by ze meester, and banging the door open violently he jambed it against the wall —with his hat in between—which tickled out risibilite to the point of delirium, and added further fuel to the flames of Ids passion. Speechless by this time with indignation, and having completely exhausted his vocabulary both English and French, he snatched at the door and grabbed his hat which resisted Kim. With a final wrench he secured it, and jabbed it on his head—nibs and all—and exeunt eternite (I believe that is correct) the Frenchman; that finished our French education, and so we sought solace in shorthand and drawing frogs. Herein comes the irony of fate. Had that particular boy not written “Johnny Craupaud” under the frog, I might have been sufficiently versed in French (explicit, not explosive) to follow the dragon a la Prancais. However, Mr Dragon, try this in English: “A profound and potent patron in a paradoxical paragraph propounding phlegmatic problems to pheeze me, produces no personal palpitating pertubation. He is right to pash parophy; perchance perseverance produces problematic profit. I am prove and propose to promptly perambulate. Ayant ye, dragon, assimilate this assiduously with all due Speed ere the night (knight) o'ertake you. Marry, tis well. Methinks, fair sir, thou are indeed a true and noble sport. Homme d’esprit, I do but (Aide thee, 'tis pity, pity, Tia but true, yet prithee, sir, I do but tease thee,. I fain would wend my way and bid thee one farewell. I have cacoethes scribendi, pour passer lo temps, le bon temps viendra, a la bonne henre, Labour onmit vineit. Aliens! an revoir.—l am, ST. GEORGE, Otherwise H. Lawrence.