HERE AND THERE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXV, Issue 4, 29 July 1905, Page 15

HERE AND THERE.

Only One Change. My lady love is perfect quite. He! - hair is brown, her eyes tin* same, Her dispositions sweet and bright: There’s naught I'd change except her name. John Bull's Way. A society lias been formed to protect the National Anthem from mutilation. The average old gentleman in a crowd sings it something like—- “ Send him humph “niunibleous,” I iapp.v. umpli-orious. ’i ni too-hoo, ’uni “over” us. Hum “humph” the King!” He lias no idea what he is singing, Lnt he feels every word, and would fight any foreigner who dares to contradict him. Advertisement Howlers. Here are some choice “howlers” culled straight out of London dailies: “Jjost a collie-dog by a man on Saturday answering to Jim with a brass collar round his neck and muzzle.'’ “W anted an organist and a boy to blow the same.” “Wanted a boy to be partly outside and partly behind the counter.’’ “Lost, near Highgate Archway, an umbrella belonging to a gentleman with a bent rib and a bone handle.” Typewriter Idyll. Her fingers wander softly o’er the responsive keys. While the curls on her girlish forehead Are fanned by the vagrant breeze. The poet sits beside her. Watching her finger-tips. While words of burning passion Fh»w from his ardent lips. “I love you. sweetheart. I love you. Better than even life. Oh. make of my arms a haven. And say you’ll be my wife!” She blushes and pauses a moment—(Oh. too responsive keys!) “I’ll have to start again, sir I’ve spelled ’be’ with two E’s.” Vegetarian Eggs. A vegetarian had an amusing experience the other morning while at breakfast. His family was out of town, and. he wont to a restaurant and took a seat next to a stranger. The vegetarian took occasion to advertise his creed by telling the stranger that all meat was injurious, and that the human diet should be strictly vegetarian. ’’But.” replied the stranger. ”1 seldom eat meat.” ’’You just ordered eggs.” said the vegetarian. “An egg is practically meat, because it eventually becomes a bird.” “The kind of eggs I eat never become birds.” answered the stranger quietly. “Good heavens!” cried the vegetarian, “what kind of eggs do you eat *?” “Principally boiled eggs.’’ said the stranger.' Floating Gardens. Oiii? of the most picturesque sights along the southern eoast of (alifornia’ is the wonderful scenes of floating gardens. So rich is this vegetation that vessels often plough with diHiculty in entering the small harbours which dot the coast. At Santa Barbara the rnl ranee of the bay is a maze of floating vegetation, and (lie islands oil the coast, especially Santa Catalina, arc more or less surrounded. The floating gardens are formed of long streamers of kelp, which, attached to the bottom, grow upward to a distance of fifty to five hundred feet, throwing out broad leaves and air bulbs, which act as so many balloons to support them. The c* licet of this is to give a perfect forest of broad given leaves, rising upward and presenting a sharp contrast to the blue water in which they grow. Graceful in

appearance, they turn at every whim of tin* tide, now floating directly upward, tliir kavos high above water and caught by the breeze, again reaching away in long streamers. They are among the most striking and loautiful objects of tin- submarine world. When in shore the huge plants assume a vertical position. and become th»uting gardens in reality. In the bay <»f Avalon they present so many attractions that, boats have been constructed especially to float over them and allord tin* occupants an <opport unitv to observe the wonders of the* ocean world. Wit at He Took. A'on probably remember the schoolboy who. in a composition on pins. said. “Pins have saved the lives of many prol ’ ,e " His teacher was astonished at this statement, and asked him to explain it. He replied: “By people not swallowing them.” Tli.it was not Ihr case with the man in the following incident: “My dear.’ Mr. Finnicky said to his wife. ‘I don’t think those pills I have been taking have done me much good. “’Why. you haven’t been taking any for three weeks.' “’Yes, I have: I’ve swallowed one three times a day as directed.' “‘You have? Then why is it that there are as manv left in the box as there were three weeks ago? What box have yon been taking them from?’, “ ‘This one—marked for me. “‘Dear me. John! That is my shoebutton box’” The Auto and the Idiot. The auto am! the Idiot Came motoring on the s< en?; The air was full <»f violets Am! odours fresh and clean And that was odd because, -you see, Their fuel was gasoline. “Oh. glory!” cried the Idiot. “We’re* forging right ahead. If I had wheels upon my feet I’d also run,” he said. The auto moaned. “It is a shame Your wheels are in your head!” The auto ami the Idiot Ran bang into a fence. “To steering.” said the Idiot. •’l’m giving thought intense.” And that was odd. because, you know. He hadn’t any sense. A<lown a pleasant country lane They journeyed fast and far. Until they spied a gentleman A smoking his cigar. I’ll hit him hard.” the auto cried. “And minimise the jar.” Across the quiet gentleman Right merrily they sped. “Pedestrians should look alive.” The busy aut.o said And this remark was odd. because The gentleman was dead.

To « Pfe; Ra»d> and Sages, through the agu, (Wintmtg fame instead of wages). Have mussed up a million |»ag<*> With their outcries small aml i»ig, Sinking wrongs that should be lighted (’arises blighted. heroes slighted Yet no song have they indited To ihe Pig. Gentle Porous, “suold mammal.” Docs the thought that lard and ham !| Be y. nr future, never trammel Your fond fancies, as you dig? Does it liarrow to tin* marrow. As you pare your quarters narrow. I>reaming of tin* storied glot v Of the Pig? For time was. ere man got at ymi. Using squalid means to fat \<»u. That you were to he congraluLnted on a figure trig. And most daintily you ate vuur Food, less mingled in its nature. Fine of face, full fair and graceful Was the Fig. (>h. S.r.U.A., he gracious: if your sympathies be spacious. Bar smh treatment coniuimicious , I ea« li that it is “infra dig.” F<»r although some g>nitis Hights lias described ilie pen as might v. • <•«» H admit a sword wore litter For the Fig. Railway Navigation. An engine driver unacquainted with 1 lie railway road over which he has to travel is in no whit better oil’ than the ea[»tnin <»f a vessel which is voyaging in walers unknown to her cominamlcr. Both take terrible risks of losing (heir charge, and bringing about great loss of life, for whilst a captain is faced with the danger of .submerged rocks and -strong currents, an engine-driver is similarly placed as to steep gradients and sharp curves. Many of the worst railway accidents of recent, years are attributed entirely t<> the fact that the drivers have not been familiar with the “road.” and not been cautious enough to obtain the assistance of pilot drivers. It is not generally known that rail ways have specially trained pilots, men who are thoroughly acquainted with every inch of certain lines, and whenever an engine-driver is engaged on a new “run’’ he is accompanied by a pilot. Jack Tar's Most Dangerous Work. Praei ising the laying of mines is carried out with so much secrecy ,bv the navy that the general public get very, lit ll»* chance oY watching these interesting operations. Few occupations are more dangerous, and probably nom* in the navy require so much skill and nerve. To mine a harbour quickly several small but powerful steam-launches, or pinnaces, an* required for the purpose of towing large open boats which contain all the tackle and iniiie- -small buoys loaded with a powerful explosive. Kacli of the open boats is manned with as few men*as are necessary to deal with the work, for the greatest danger lies in the rapidity with which the tackle leaves the boat. A false step might mean instantaneous death. for there would lie no escape for a sailor who happened to catch his foot, in a rope’s coil as it was leaving the side. Once under way a somewhat big mine can hr laid in a few minutes, but it takes uenrlv asmany hours to recover a full\ charged mine as if takes minutes to lay it.

Happiness. I'vople say th«>xc Howers are rare. Growing in the garden there! Yet they are not half su sweet As the How rs at my feet: Must 1 eve? seek to tilid What I long for in my mind? Is it not with meal way in the flowers 1 throw away? - KA I E I’IRUGIM in Fall Mall.” A Gritty Girl. “Fifty miles an hour now,” hissed the daring motorist, as hi*• gripped the st*-T--ing wheel still more firmly. “Are you brave enough to stand it?” “Yes. I am just full of grit,” replied the pretty girl, as she swallowed another pint of dust. Involuntary Volunteers. During one of the fr.qiicnt revolutions in Hayti, the commander of the government forces at Port au Prince made a requisition on the authorities at Cape Haytien for men to aid in putting down the uprising. After a somewhat rough experience of two or three days, the authorities got together the required number of men. and loaded them aboard ship. Then the following message was sent: — “Commander Government Forces, Port au Prince—Sir: I send you per steamer Saginaw to-<lay one hundred volunteers. Please return the ropes with which they are tied. Commander at Port Haytien.” For the Second Time. John Kendrick Bangs, the American humorist, once ran across a gift copy of one of his books in a second-hand bookshop, still having this inscription on the flyleaf: “To his friend, J G , with the regards and the esteem of J. K. Bangs. July, 1899.” Mr. Bangs bought the copy, and sent it to his friend again with a second inscription beneath: “This book, bought in a secondhand bookshop, is re presented to J G with renewed and reiterated regards ami esteem by J. K. Bangs, December, 1899.” A Bosom Hardened. So I put faith in her, This woman Titian haired, This Juno careless clad, And with the mild blue eye. For she had spoke me fair: And at the last How she my bosom wrung! Aye! Ami with pleasure unconcealed, Ami a calm indifference That one might feel who, cruel, Sets heid upon a harmless worm, She viewed her crushing work And yet, .With feeling that, ’twere doubtless well. Ami knowing not how hard She’d make this thing for me, 1 turned no show of sorrow to the world, Nor felt one pang. And. had she not dared To trille with its further weal, Not now beneath my bosom, hardened thus. Would I be harbouring curses deep, ’Gainst her and all her ruthless kind! But, ah. that hosom was Of finest Madras web ami woof. Front of the sweliest outing shirt That ever cost five dollars, net, •And soft as filmiest silk It should have hung, ami limp; But she this laundress miueShr starched it! Ayr! Starched it stiffer than a hemlock hoard! The Horse in Battle. The part which a cavalry horse takes in a battle can never be filled by any machine. no matter what, its capabilities. Tin* horse seems, in the hour of battle at Last, to tak • on characteristics which belong only to a being endowed with reason. IL partakes of the hopes and fears ot the conflict, the same as his rider. If lie has l»o n six months in the sen ire hr knows every bugle call. As the column swings into lino and waits tin- horse grows nervous with waiting, and if the wait !»<• long will often tremble, and -went. As the rail comes to advance the rider can fee! him working at the bit with bis tongue to get it between his I.*eth. As he moves out he will either try to get on faster or bolt. The lines .will carry him forward, and after a minute ho will lay back bis oars, and one <an feel his -mdden resolve to bravo the worst and have doth* with it as soon as possible. A man seldom cries out whin hit in th<* turmoil of battle, and it is the same with a horse. Five troopers out of bix when struck with a bullet are

out of their saddles in a minute. If hit in the breast or shoulder, up go their hands and they get a heavy fall; it in the leg, foot or arm they fall forward and 101 l off. Even with a foot cut off by a jagged piece of '•hell a horse will not drop It is only when shot in the head or heart that he conies down. The horse that loses his rider, and is unwounded himself will continue to run with his set of fours until some movement throws him out. Then ho goes galloping her? and there, neighing with fear and alarm, but will not leave the field. When lie has come upon several riderless steeds they fall in ami keep together, and the rally of the bugle often will bring them into the ranks together. Judge and Jack Tar. It’s like this here, your honour, sec! 4 As near as 1 can tell, A gentleman hired my boat, ami he Wwis unite a proper swell. * He brought a lady down with him To make a longish trip, And .so we scrubbed her' thoroughly— Judge—-The lady! Tar - N<»! The ship. Well, cutting oft’ my story short To come to what befell, We started, but put hark to port, j Which much annoyed the swell. 3 She fell between two waterways Am! got a nasty nip. So we rigged her out with brand new stays- - Judge— The lady? g Tar -No-o! The ship. At last we put to sea again Ami start<‘d for the west. All spick and span without a strain, When all at once. I’m blest, Her blooming timbers got misplaced, Which quite upset the trip, The water washed around her waist— Judge—The lady’s? Tar (nodding)—And the ship’s. j That’s ail. I think, your honor; now I’ll state to you my claim. Five hundred dollars, you’ll allow. Won’t built her up the same. Her rudder's gone, her nose is broker Her flag I’ve had to dip. She’s lying now upon the mud — Judge—The lady? j Tar- No-0-0! The ship. / uLZioress of “ Poor Elizabeth.” Gertrude Atherton told an interviewer, the other day, that Elinor Glyn, the well-known authoress, is a most curious looking person. She is the sister of Lucille, the court dressmaker, and through that connection she has obtained material for her very daring novels of English society. She has masses of red hair and a face that is absolutely colourless. It is as white as ivory, and in comparison with the conventional English complexion. it is positively weird. T made a bet with a lot of London women that T could find out bow she did it, for not one of us believed that her complexion was real. I lost my Ind. for her colour or lack of colour is natural, and makes her the most striking-looking person in a roomful of celebrities all striving for distinction. Her books arc very popular in London, for (‘very one knows that her characters are real, as are the episodes themselves.” The Poor City Man. “New Aork! It is the epitome of the horror of the age. I hate it. I loathe its artificial way of living, its mannerisms. its ways of thought. It has but the one redeeming feature, that it is getting so impossible that people must leave it or become crazy.” says Thomas Edison. "A man in New York gets down to his office at nine, works until twelve or one, goes out, takes a, couple of cocktails, eats a hearty luncheon. hurriedly goes back to his desk and works until live or six. hurries up town, stopping o!l for one or two more drinks, goes out somewhere, eats an enormous dinner, goes to the theatre and then supper afterward, and finally tumbles into bed. It is that type of iran who often says to me, ‘1 don’t see how you stand the strain of working Ilie way you do day after Jay and night after night in the laboratory.’ Work? Why, my work is play compared with his, ami yet I am here on aw average from eight in the morning until ten at night, but I am shut out from the world, the work is interesting, there is none of the terrible strain that comttt to the man in the city.”

Mr. Edison and Sleep. "The longest time I ever worked continuously, ’ says Thomas Edison, "was live days and live nights without sleep. That was dining some of my lighting experiments. Once I worked four days and four nights—that was just before the opening of the Pearl-street station in New York. We did not know what was going to happen; we expected something would explode when we turned on the current. Everybody said it was going to be a failure. When we turned on the current, however, it started all right, without a hitch, and ran for eight, years,” Air Edison believes that most people sleep too inueh. "Three or four hours are enough if it is good, solid sleep, not dreaming—that isn’t sleep.” <4 •-«> A Friend of Bill Adams. William Bowsprit, able-bodied seaman had just returned from a voyage in a eoeoanut ship, and was retailing his adventures to his pals. “We were loading up with nuts at a litttle island.” said he, "when our diver, who had gone down to get some winkles for tea, reported that the sea had washed away the under part o’ the island, an’ it was only held down by a lew roots. Our skipper at once had it mt adrift; an’ fakin’ the blessed island in tow, we started off with it, eokermit trees, monkeys, an’ everything.’ "The eap'n’s idea was to bring the island home an’ anchor it in th’ Thames, or somewhere, an’ exhibit it at a tanner a time, as a sample o’ the British 'dominions beyond th’ seas, as you might say.” "Lor’ lunime!” gasped one of the listening lubbers. "We got as far as th’ Bay o’ Biscay alt serene,” went on the mariner, ‘■'when wot should we meet but. the Baltic Fleet, an’ thinkin’ it was a disguised Japanese crooser we had in tow. I’m hanged if them drunken loonaties didn’t blow our little cokornut island into smithereens with a torpedo! Bough luck, warn’t it?” To Help Father Hays. An eminent doctor recently remarked that if the so-called temperance reformers would attack drink through food they would effect far greater good than they do at present. The simpler and more digestible the food eaten, the less the craving for strong drink. The hard drinker is almost invariably*, and more or less exclusively, a meat eater. The more nourishment given in food the less the desire for' drink. Nourishment can naturally only come from food easily assimilated. and so it comes to pass that the mdst useful reform is now frequently due to the woman who sees to the proper feeding of her husband and family than it is to her worthy sister who pleads for the signing of pledges. It is only of late years that the real value, of vegetable and fruit foods is being generally understood, and there are still a few million so-called educated people who consider themselves in danger of starvation if they fail to have meat three times daily. It will probably take

several generations to convince theif kind of the virtue that lies in such thing* as haricot beans, sweet corn, pumpkins* sweet potatoes, and the scores of other foods still waiting for proper recognition. The Baby’s Name, I don’t believe 1 like this world—the people are so queer! Because a baby doesn’t talk, they fancy he can’t hear; And just because he smiles at them and doesn’t seem to mind. They call him all the names they choose. Now, do you think that’s kind? If I could just say all I think, the folks would soon find out There isn’t much that’s going on that I don’t know about; For when they see me keeping still and looking wondrous wise. I’m listening with my little ears, and watching with my eyes. There’s one thing, though, that puzzles me: that ever since 1 came The more 1 hear, the less I know what really is my name.” I’m "Bouncer” to my Uncle Toni; I’m brother’s “Toby Trot;” Ami Aunt Louise's "Little Tike;’’ while sister calls me “Dot.” My grandma says I’m “Honey Bunch;” I'm mamma’s “Little Lamb:” Ami grandpa always meets me with “Hello there, I’ncle Sam!” I'm mammy's “Precious Little Coon,” and “Darlin* Sugar Pig’.’— I’ll tell her what I think of that, some day, when I am big! I’m "Roly-Poly.” and I’m “Punch,” and “Humpty-Dumpty.” too; I'm “Daisy,” and I'm “Toddlekins,” and sometimes "Baby Blue.” “Caboozles" is the worst of all—what sort of name is that? I wouldn’t give it, J am sure, to grandma’s pussy-cat! My papa always says “Old Man;” and that provokes me so— If 1 am old at just six months, who's young, I'd like to know? I thought anil thought about it till I couldn’t sleep last night: Then, very tired and very cross, I screamed with all my might. When people wondered what was wrong, of course I couldn't tell. And so they said: “Poor Tootsey Woo!’ it surely can't be well!” And never guessed J felt so had because 'twas such a shame That nobody would let me know what really was my name.