After Dinner Gossip.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXX, Issue XI, 14 March 1903, Page 708

After Dinner Gossip.

Majaaty of Common Thlngro “No," observed the passenger with the check suit, "people in general have no knowledge of what is going on around them. To me there is no study half so interesting as statistics. How many people, for instance, have any idea of the number of typewriting machines sold in this country last year?’’ “I>n sure I couldn’t even give a guess,” said the elderly suburbanite sitting next to him. “The exact figures were ft. 322.511. or nearly one to every eight persons in the United States.”

“Good gracious! T shouldn't have guessed half as many as that.” “And all in one year, too. T knew the figures would surprise you. Then take the single item of fountain pens. Do you happen to know how many were made and sold last year?” “Haven’t the remotest idea.” “It is estimated that the sales of fountain pens alone were over 13.000.039. Could you ginf a good guess as to the number of baseballs disposed of in the game length of time?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t.” “Over 240,000.000. or about three to every man. woman and child. These things are worth knowing. Anybodv ever tel! you how many corncob pines Missouri turned out in 1001? “No.”

“Well. sir. the grand total was 178,000.000. Think of it. Placed end to end they would more than reach around the earth, without allowing anything for the stems.” “But what —” “And that isn’t all. To light those corncob pipes the match companies manufactured—how many matches do

you suppose?” “I never could guess.” “T hardly think you could. Tight hundred billions—a number almost inconceivable. The match factories use up a pine forest of 654 acres every day in the week, including Sunday.” “Great Scott! T never dreamed—”

“That’s it. Few people ever take the trouble to find out what the world is doing. Know how many books are printed annually in the United States?”

“It must be millions.” “Seven hundred and sixty of them. That means in round numbers 2.000,000 books every working day in the year. To print and bind this stupendous output requires the services of 8,260.014 persons in those two trades alone, not counting the papermakers and workers in allied occupations, which may be roughly estimated at 3,000.000 more —but this is the station where I get off. T.ook these things up. They will surprise and interest yon. Good morning.”

“Who is he?” gasped the elderly suburbanite as the man of statistics left the car.

“Don’t yon know?” said the man in the seat across the aisle. “That's -Tngglefax. Hi* way of amusing himself is tn get. some trusting soul to listen tn him. just as you did. and then fill him with statistical hot air. He’* the biggest liar on earth.” “I’ll acknowledge" said the bther, wiping hi* forehead nervously, “that I thought some of his figures seemed a little bit large.” ♦ ♦ ♦ Dominant Noto In Australian Scenery. A writer in the red page in the ’ Bulletin” ha* been discussing the dominant note in Australian scenery. Marcus Clarke, the author of “For the Term of His Natural Life,” described it as “weird melancholy.” The “Bulletin” contributor calls it “weird expectancy.” He says: “The expectancy seems to be consciously held. I remember an Australian mountain landscape—trees, a man. and a bud (a kookaburra). Up the hill, tl«4 man Unfolds his arm’, lights his pipe, puffs Once or twice, refolds his arms and puffs bn. The bird flies from the limb where it has been so long sitting, and lights on another limb, where it will sit longer still. It, too. folds its wings, and gives Itself up to deliberation and expectancy. And this memory -picture of the man and the is drawn from no single incident of my seeing. Ou the plains,

also, the note is one of expectancy. There, too, Nature is deliberately waiting. A hundred yards away, on a rise, you sec a kangaroo, or a horse with pricked ears—listening! You drive through a belt of inulga and come on sheep. They stand away from you, giving as a boat “gives” from the wind. Their shoulders slant and their eyes are wondering; but you know (you knew it the instant you saw them) that they have been waiting for something—not you, but something else. All these things are a crystallisation, an interpretation of the prevailing mood, too vague, otherwise, to appeal to you as a definable impression. In the night you do not see these things, but you see the stars and you hear the wind. You feel that they too are waiting. Can it be for you they are waiting? You, and what you bring into the world with your aching heart and working brain? Yes, it is that which they are waiting for—the trees and the winds and the plains and the stars. They are waiting for the human note. All Australia in its waste places is waiting for live men with the fire of life in them, and a power of hard and brain to transmute what is barren and unlovely into something that shall be of use to man and beautiful as his desire. And it is waiting for dead men to mingle their dust with its du-t. It is waiting for love and for all noble and sweet emotions. It is waiting for the new. high thought that the years are slowly evolving. It is waiting for a race of men whose every individual shall be like Emerson’s man-child: “But he, the man child glorious— Where tarries ho the while? Th:* rainbow shines his harbinger. The sunset gleams his smile." 4* *fc 4* Mr Carnegie’s “Chlrplness. Mr Stead describes Mr Carnegie as “one of the pleasantest, jollicst, and most good-natured of mcrtals. lie is in his sixty-sixth year, and he is as keen as if he were a lad of seventeen in all simple. healthy, and natural amusements. He has kept his youth extraordinarily well: and there is a robust boyishness about him which is very remarkable for a person of his years. The possession of Ids enormous fortune, which he accumulated in the course of a life-time at the rate of about a million a year, does uot weigh him down in the least. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’ does not apply to this uncrowned modern king of the modern world. He is as chirpy as a cock-sparrow, and seems to feel the weight of his responsibilities no more than if he were a bird. That.” adds Mr Stead, “is the man as I know him. There may be—probably there is —another side, but I have never come across it.” ■fr <fr ♦ An Advertisement Answered. The following appeared in an English newspaper:—“A lady in delicate health wishes to meet a useful companion. She must be domesticated, musical, an early riser, amiable, of good appearance, and have experience in nursing. A total abstainer preferred. Comfortable home. No salary.”

A few days afterwards the advertiser received by express a basket labelled—“This side up—with careperishable.” On opening it she found a tabby cat, with a letter tied to its tail. It. read thus:—

“Madam, —In response to your advertisement, I am happy to furnish you with a very useful companion, which you will find exactly suited to your requirements. She is domesticated, a good vocalist, an early riser, possesses an amiable disposition, and is considered handsome. She has great experience as nursa, having brought up a large family. I need scarcely add that she is a total abstainer. A salary is no object to her; she will serve you faithfully in return for a comfortable home.” i .•»-«.xhcs- —7T

Ma Doolay Chloroformed. The marriage of Mr Dunne, the writer of the Mr Dooley stories, is a leading topic of the American journals, and one of them ushers in the subject with the headline, “Finlay P. Dunne Ha* Chloroformed Mr Dooley.” The allusion is to one of the Archey-road philosopher’s expressions of opinion on the subject of marriage, which is reported as follows: “They may get me to th’ altar some day. Tli’ best iv us falls, like Cousin George, an’ there ar-re designin’ women in this very block that I have me own trouble in dodgin’. But anny time ye hear iv me bein’ dhrawn fr’m th’ quite miseries and exclusive discomforts iv single life ye may know they have caught me asleep and chloroformed me.” 4* * ♦ An Obituary Album. Quite a successful business of preparing obituary albums has been built -<p by a New York man. He has 1,500 daily newspapers from various parts of America and England, and clips from them obituary notices. Then he approaches surviving relatives to see if they will not buy an album prepared front these notices, and the letters of condolence they may have received. He has fixed prices for everything. Each obituary clipping is 2Jd. Telegrams and card* are sd. Mrs John W. Mackay had two or three album* prepared from the notices about her husband. There were over G. 009 clippings about him. 4- 4* 4The death of Colonel McCalmont, the sporting millionaire, introduced a new departure in illustrated journalism. London “.Sketch” took advantage, of the melancholy event to publish an obituary notice and portrait of him. a somewhat larger portrait of his thoroughbred horse. Isinglass, and a full page photo, of his widow. Nothing else appertaining to a deceased millionaire has half so much interest for the “smart” world as the widow he leaves behind him. quoth the “Bulletin.” 4* 4- 4* Big prices have been obtained at auction in London for rare issues of South African stamps. A unique set of Cape of Good Hope wood blocks. 1861, Id. scarlet, an unsevered block containing one 4d., red. one used, an entire letter, fetched £3500; while a fine block of four wood blocks, Is., scarlet, sold for £5O; a pair of used 4d.. blue, brought. £11; and a “superb uneancelled” speciment of the same, £3O.

An Exception. She’d won no prise at any school. She'd taken no degree at college, A sweet exception to the rule, She waa the woman “without knowledge. And hence, she proved a Mecca-stone To pilgrim meu, oppressed and dreary, Bv too much smartness overthrown. Of learning, wit. and wisdom, weary. Thcv crowd’d round her 'mid the whirl. While brilliancy sat by unheeded - Each man rejoiced to find a girl Who did not knew as much as h* did. ♦ ♦ ♦ The Coster’s Laureate. Some of the funniest rhymes Mr Albert Chevalier has yet written appear in a little shilling l»ooklet, •‘Limelight Lays, just published. Here is the sung of the scene shifter, one of those gentlemen who -- although we do not. or should not. much of them—are often literally the power behind the throne: — I takes hoff my ’at to one bloke, an’ to itn alone — Don't kuow 'is name— Seeu picksburs of ’ini iho’ a-liftin’ on ’l3 own The World—nice bloomin’ game. I've 'ad the Tah’r of London bon xuy back An* the Abse of Lords as well— Got fined, because I fell— That's a bit of “orlright,’’ ain’t it? Why, I’ve pulled dahu ’auntid castles wivabt spade or pick. I ave—that’s straight. Hall on my lonesome too —in less than 'art a tick — I 'ave —an* let me state I’ve shored the ’ole of ’yde Park bia its place— Squashed it into thirty feet. No 'ank—That’s ’aid to beat — It’s a bit of “orlright,” ain’t It?