UNDER CURRENTS.

Waikato Times, Volume 102, Issue 17224, 6 October 1927, Page 6

UNDER CURRENTS.

IN THE DRIFT OF LIFE. (By "Seeker."! R/lORE ABOUT THE. PICTURES. ">' A lady asks me to inform readers that some really good pictures have been showing at the local theatres this week. The difficulty is to let people know beforehand which are the worth-while fdms. The advertisers naturally pronounce each one in turn a marvel, if not the very greatest yet produced. My irresponsible suggestion to the editor is that he ascertain in what town each picture is to appear before coming to Hamilton and send a theatrical critic to give a real description for the benefit of Hamilton readers. The cinema is the people's theatre. It deserves more attention from the papers.

LIQUOR AND LIBERTY. "Harry Penwagger" sends me a little parable on the ethics of "shouting": Dear Seeker, —Talking about prohibition, I thought you might like to know the latest. I was sitting in my office yesterday afternoon when in comes Frank Farmwell. "Hello," says Frank. "Wot-o," says I. "What yer doing?" says Frank. "Not much," I says. "Well how about coming an' having a chicken?" he says. I thought it was good news, so off we went to the cafe. We went in (arm in arm) and Frank called for chicken for two, which we duly discussed, relighting the Raglan by-election between mouthfuls. Well, I thought it was up to me, so we had another, this time to the accompaniment of the Civic Square. As there was no argument, both voting it a sound scheme, the chicken was polished off in record time. But now enter Fate, or whatever you care to call it, in the persons of Stan, Fred, and Phil. These worthies turned deaf ears to our protestations, so we must needs remain for the discussion of more chicken. First Stan, then Fred, then Phil called, "Fill 'em up again," making what for me was my fifth chicken. Little Miss Kearney, who waited upon us, would not hear of our leaving until we had "had one with her." Oh, lor, six chickens, but round they went again—the last morsel being swallowed just on closing time. I taxied home, and, strange to relate, didn't eat any dinner. I thought it funny, too, as' this is usually my best meal. This morning the wife called in Dr. Aaron, and I have just recovered in time to chronicle these facts. What an achievement! What a tale for posterity! Ay, maybe, but this I do know, that henceforth chicken and I are bitter enemies! —Regretfully Yours.

DAIRYING IN JAPAN. The visit of Mr K. Taguchi to study our farming methods on behalf of the Japanese Government, calls attention to the backwardness of dairying in Japan, where butter and milk are among the most expensive luxuries. The dairy cattle there number about 60,000, or one to every thousand of flie population. The Japan Year Book of 102i', has this note: "Dairying is a new industry and is still in its infancy. The use of milk is naturally very much limited, as the Japanese generally confine themselves to its use in fresh state, and use comparatively little in cooking. The price is rather too high—about 80 sen to 1 yen per sho (equivalent to Is to Is 3d per quart). The quality is inferior. Buttermaking is regularly carried on only in dairy -farms situated in remote districts, but their whole output does not much exceed 10 per cent, of -the total consumption. Butter made in Hokkaido, at Koiwai and the Kozu farms, commands a good price. Condensed milk industry has not yet grown into a regular business. Cheesemaking is

also insignificant." Despite the poor supply of butter and milk, the Japanese Government keeps a high Customs duty on imports. The rate on butter is sid per ib. The retail price the "Seeker" used to pay in Japan was about 3s 7d per lb. I have been unable to ascertain the duty on powdered milk, but I remember a strong agitation on the part of the leading Japanese manufacturers for a higher rate. Some of the childwelfare workers in the Mikado's realm are 'striving to make milk of some sort available to the babies, who must almost starve if their mothers, cannot feed them at the breast, but apparently the Government needs educating (as do other Governments) regarding the inhumanity of taxing the needs of the poor.

WHY THE CAPITAL "I"? Why do we English write our egotistical pronoun with a capital? Is it another mark of that self-satisfaction of ours, which Continental folk ridicule or envy? An Englishman. Professor Pollard, has written in the Bulletin of Historical Research that people tend to capitalise the words that interest, them most. But if that were our trouble, we would surely write '"Me" with a big letter as well as "I." Professor Pollard blames the newspapers for the excessive use of capitals for words that need none. Journalists must plead guilty to sacrificing logic to convenience in this regard. We write. Government to mean the people in control of the government. So. too, many newspapers write "Press'' with a capital, not because they wish to elevate it above the smalllettered pulpit or platform but simply to distinguish it from the presses run by the Press. But in general the subediting of contributors' "copy" in a newspaper office is an arduous altering of big to small letters. The editors get blamed for much that they do in all innocence for their own or their readers' convenience, just as we maligned English are blamed for capitalising our one-letter pronoun. Still, we do manage, to keep "a" small; why not "i" also? Are we really more self-regarding than the people who write "je" or "ich"?

" I'M HUNGRY," SAID THE KING. "Let's go home, Mamma. I'm hungry," said the five-year-old King of Roumania after the coronation ceremony. He's only beginning to learn what martyrdom it is to be a king. His little, remark reminds me of a New Zealand girl of four. She was out driving with Dad when the question of the fate, of the departed came up. Lad tried to give an impressive picture of (lie Paradise in which good folk found eternal bliss. After innumerable questions, Miss Four-and-a-Bif declared decisively, "O, I think I'd rather go home." The innocent. King of Roumania IwJ. another naive remark to make after the coronation: "What has happened? They all call me 'Your Majesty' now. Have they changed my name2"