Here and There

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 14, 7 April 1906, Page 15

Here and There

Hear, Hear! Orator (excitedly) : "Th? British lion, whether it is roaming the deserts of India or climbing the forests of Canada, will not draw in its horns or retire into its shell.” Her First Cake. She measured out the butter with a very solemn air. The milk amt sugar also: and she took the greatest care To count the eggs correctly, and to add a little bit Of baking powder, which, you know, beginners oft omit; Then site stirred it all together, and she baked it for an hour. But she never quite forgave herself for leaving out the Hour! <?m> Very Tiny. The smallest screws are those used in watch factories. They are cut from steel wire by a machine. The jewel screws of a watch are Irately visible to the naked eye; the magnifying-glass, however, reveals a screw with 2tio threads to the inch. Such a screw is 4-1000ths of an inch in diameter, and the heads are double the size Of the shank. An ordinary woman's thimble will hold 100,000 of them.

Very High. A London housemaid and her friend, both of whom were very "High Church.” were bragging of the ritualistic character of the services of their respective houses of worship. Mary, the housemaid. thought to silence her opponent in the controversy by proudly announcing: "But we 'ave matins at out church." "That’s nothing,” rejoined the Other, contemptuously, "we ’ave petroleum all up the aisle, and they burns insects at both services!" Up and Down in a Balloon. Tile “ Cosmopolitan,” which is running a series of articles on newspaper life, devotes a chapter to reporters of to-day. It bristles with good stories. For instance, Frank B. Sibley, of the “ Boston Herald,” tells how he went to write up a balloon ascension: — "There were about ten thousand people outside the roped enclosure in the park, and I walked up to the inflated balloon as if I made ascensions every day. I have the misfortune to be six feet three inches tall, without much breadth, and I am noticeable in a crowd. In order to give my employers all possible advertising, I had a pair of binoculars swung over one shoulder and a barometer over the other. About the time we were to start, a rain-storm threatened, and the balloon had not. sufficient buoyancy to lift two men. I explained to the aeronaut that I should have to go alone, as there was nothing in it for the newspaper to have him go by himself. ■ He protested against turning the great bag over to a man who, as he said, ‘ had never seen the inside of a balloon.’ My knees began to l«e---have badly just then, and in order to avoid crippling down and having to be lifted into the basket by main strength, I went over and sat down in it. " ‘ There’s a valve in the balloon top and this is the rope,' the aeronaut explained. ‘ Leave it alone until she bumps, then pull it gently; you will feed the top of the balloon dimple in; then jerk sharply to break out the soap which seals the hinged valvii; keep on pulling to hold the valve open. Goodbye.’ 1 sat was all I knew about manaoim* A balloon. The . thing sailed some thirty-five miles before it. bumped. 1 didn’t obey instructions, because juv Chin struck the edge of the basket'. ■II hen 1 regained my senses, 1 was a good two hundred ami fifty feet in the iMi*. I yanked on the rope and it came away slack ; afterward. I found 1 had

• pulled the valve out of the falwic, I»iiy I didn't have much time to M|>eculate about it. for I struck a barlwd wire fence. I hit t wo more in quick succession. snapped off a pine post on the next rebound, and after that I bumped so many tilings 1 lost track. Finally. I was thrown out of the basket. My llask fell out of my pocket, and went sailing away with the balloon, and I never needed a flask so much in my life. I lost my spectacles, too. and although for half an hour I peered around the cactus patch in which 1 landed. I couldn't find them, even with the aid of the binoculars. It was nearly sundown, and there was not a house in sight. The only comforting thing was the disaappearance of the balloon. I hadn’t the faintest notion where I was; 1 hadn't l>een in Colorado long. ” Presently I climbed a little hill, and half a mile away was a house. I walked there, aiui the dairy farmer was glad to see me. *• ’ Bei Gott!’ he said. ‘I hoped dere vas a mans in dot balloon mid dot he vas alive yet.’ “That farmer owned the barbed-wire fences and the rest of the land.scape 1 had destroyed." The Wreck of the Rigsjarik. The good ship Rlgsjarik went down While the ocean she foamed an’ curled. An the cap’n an the crew an’ your servant, Was thrown on the wet, wet world. But wo had a promoter on board by chance Who could float most, anything. An’ he kep’ us afloat till up came a boat That he had forgotten to bring. An’ we all got up but the cap’ll bold. Who was som’ers lost in the fog; When the morniii broke the cap’ll we spoke, A-sittin’ astride of his fog! Au' we sailed an’ sailed till our witties fa ’ led. An’ tilings looked blue to me; Above us the hue was a painful blue, An’ partickkeler so was the sea! But jest as we were about to starve The wind from the sou’east drops. An’ a nor’wesl (gee!) made a choppy sea. An’ we lived for a while un chops! But we sailed an’ sailed till the veal chop failed, ’Twas the second week or the third. Then between two suns it blew great guns. An’ with ’em we killed a bird! An’ after a couple o’ weeks or more. As tlie proporest tiling to do, On advice o’ the barber, we come to a harbour — • An’ this is a story true! Artless. They met in the orchard. He had never been in the country till then. She wax the farmer’s daughter—"a child of

He said: "This tree seems to be loaded with apples?” It was an apparent fact, but he felt that he must say something. She replied : “Yes, sir: father says this a good year for apples.” “1 am glad to hear that. Ar.? all your trees as full of apples as this one?' "Oh, no. Only the apple trees.” she replied softly. The observation sw?med so innocent, so artless. Yet he did not stay, lie had his doubts. Fair Bride's Determination. "No,” said the fair young bride— nud in her eye was the light of a fixed resolution—“l shall go to my mot's, .” "But. my dear." the young huslmntl pleaded, “we have been happy together, have we not?” "I do not deny it,” was the re pon c, "but my determination is unchangeable —1 shall go to my mot her.” "Think how lonely my home will bo without you! It will be no home. and the long hours of the night and day will drag I hemselves by in unutterable loneliness !" "Nevertheless, I must go to my mol her.” "My house will be left unto inc desolate, and " “I ju t must go to my mother. I have really got to decide what my new dress si.all lie, and what do you know about that?” What eould he say? For there arc problems that knock any man silly. So he bared his head to the blow which fate had prepared for him, and she went to her mother. Laundry Work at Sea. The “ World's Work" says that apparently it will soon be a comnron thing for laundry work to be carried on at sea, since it is claimed that the ditliculties of washing linen satisfactorily in salt water have at last been overcome. It is a matter to which numerous inventors have turned their attention from time to time, and as far back as 1771 a patent was taken onl, but the result was failure. A salt water powder has now been invented, by which it is said that linen can be, washed and “got up” at sep. as well a-s on land. The invention has aroused much interest, and at a demonstration of its possibilities two representatives of the Admiralty were present. Careless Quoters. A number of very familiar misquotations are dealt with by a writer in the ‘‘Manchester Guardian.” Whereas the tongue is constantly called an “unruly member,” the Bible has it. “But the tongue can no man tame; Ft is an unruly evil.” Biblical misquotations are very common. “Charity eovereth a multitude of sins” is the usual rendering of “Charity shall cover the multitude of sins,”, though in this instance the misquotation is almost justified, since, the revised version reads, "Love eovereth a multitude of sins." The Prayer-Book,

too, presents many traps. “Nine men out of ten,’’ says the writer, “talk in all good faith of a ‘just cause or impediment/ when ‘cause or just impediment’ is what is written; and among the laity it is usual to substitute ‘for ever utter hold his peace’ for ’hereafter for ever.’ ’’ “To fresh fields and pastures new” is the usual version from ’’Lycidas ’ of ♦•fresh woods ami pastures new,” amt I’ope's “a little learning is a dangerous thing’* becomes “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.’’ Among the numerous slips by poets, Byron is accountable for the following:—lie wrote “hl ‘pride Of place' here last the eagle Hew,” adding in a note: “In pride of place” is a term in falconry, and means the highest pitch of Hight. See “Macbeth,” etc.: —- •‘An eagle towering in ids pride of place.” But eagles were never used for hawking, and what Shakespeare really wrote was. “A falcon, towering in her pride of place.” The ‘’Manchester Guardian’ adds:—• “But Byron was not always as careful as he might have been. Does he not, in his Paddy Blake s echo id •The Bride of Abydos/ cry—•Harl: to the hurried question of Despair: ••Where is my child?’/ An echo answer., -Where?” whereas the echo would have answered •child.' ’’ Xucky Birth Stones. By her in January born Iso getn save garnets should be worn; They will ensure her constancy, True friendship/ ami fidelity. The February born shall find Sincerity and peace of mind. Freedom from passion and from care, It they the amethyst will wear. Who la this world of ours, her eyes In March first open, shall be wise. In days of peril firm and brave. And wear a bloodstone to her grave. She who from April dates her years. Diamonds shall \Vear lest bitter tears For vain repentance flow: this stone, Emblem for innocence, is known. Who first beholds the light of day In spring’s sweet flowery month of May, And wears an emerald all her life. Shall be a loved and happy wife. 3Vho comes with summer to this earth, And owes to June her hour of birth, With a ring of agate on her hand. Can health, wealth, and long Fife command. The glowing ruby shall adorn Those who in warm July are born; Then will they be exempt and free From love's doubt and ’anxiety. Wear sardonyx, or for thee 3 No conjugal felicity: The August born without this stone, ’Tis said, must live unloved and lone* A maiden horn when autumn leaves i Are rustling in September's breeze. 1 A sapphire on her brow should bind; •Twill- cure diseases of the mind. Ociobor's child is born for woe. And life's vicissitudes must know; But lay an opal on tier breast. Ami hope will lull these words to resfc. Who first comes to this world below. With drear November's fog and snow, Should prize the topaz’s amber hue, Emblem of friends ami lovers true. If cold December gives you birth. The month of snow ami ice ami mirth, •Place on your hand a turquoise blue; Smcrss will bless whate’er you do. Departed Flirting. Time was. says the “Lady’s Pictorial,” when the ballroom was the absolute headquarters of the flirt. ]f was here flirtation was to be studied in all its phases, and here that every • maiden, on making her debut, fully expected to be initiated into lh< mysteries of tin* game. The most observant looker-on in the present-day ballroom finds u<> material from which to weave romances. Waltzes are as dreamy as ever, and the gowns oven more enchanting, yet flirtation. as it was understood not so very long since, has apparently become obsolete. Obscure corners of conservatories, <limly lit. recesses of picture-galleries, and billiardrooms and libraries are no longer eagerly sought for, ami ‘‘sittingout" is not done in couples, hut en masse. 'And apparently it is an understood thing between the young people of both sexes nowadays that nothing is expected on cither side, save a capacity to talk and make merry. Between the dances now it •is by no means uncommon to find two or .three couples di-« uasing among Ihem•Fclves the newest plays or the political situation or motoring, subjects which do

not lend themselves to tender interpretation or offer opp* rtunities for stirring the passions. In short, the young men and maidens of the present seem to take their dancing as a pleasant duty. They waltz indefatigably, they romp with the evident enjoyment through the Lancers,, they frivol in two- tops: between whiles, they talk quite 'seriously to each other or banter one another as the case may be. and according to the degree of their intimacy. They eat their supper critically, and bother little about small courtesies; above all, they do not flirt. The fan has practically lost its use, and the absent chaperon is quite safe at home. Horror? It was a church sociable, and for the entertainment and instruction of the guests the committee had prepared some slips of paper on which were printed a word-puzzle—that is. a little story was told, with certain words indicated with blanks. The guests were expected to fill in the blanks with the proper words, and the one succeeding in guessing nearest the total number of words correctly should have the prize. After the slips had been filled they were read by their holders. In its puzzle shape the slip bore something like this: ‘‘Near the waters of the Mediterranean a old man wearing a ——- ragged coat was walking along the way. He whs approached by a man who asked him, ’What is your nationality?’ To which the old man replied, ‘Go to and you will find out.’ Whereat the man.” etc., etc. Most of the contestants had succeeded in filling the blank- so that the anecdote read pleasingly—some of them were even funny; but the shocking surprise of the evening came when the young son of the local livery-man arose and read his effort. He was stopped after the second sentence. it being evident that he had not thoroughly grasped the proposition. . TTe had replaced the blanks with swearwords. Eccentric Sportsmen, As those who own shootings are aware, it sometimes happens that in spite of alluring advertisements they do not succeed in letting them. Farmer Partridge was in this unenviable position, and after much consideration he decided to let it out by the day to whatever chance sportsman might come his way. One day a party arrived and paid a day’s hire. They were boisterously anxious for the farmer to accompany them, but he noticed the way they held their guns and declined. Instead he gave them some dogs and ferrets. told them where to find birds and rabbits, and hade them have a good day’s sport. There was a good deal of banging as the day wore on, but. in the afternoon one of the shootists returned to the farmhouse. ‘‘Halloa’.” said the farmer. “Shot all the birds?” “Kr—no.” said the sportsman. “Been going for the rabbits eh? Any luck?” “Well, not exactly,” said the other. “What have you .come back for, then?” “Er —well, we want to know if you eair let u,s have some more dogs and ferrets, we’ve used them all up.” The farmer has ceased to let shooting’ by the day. The Land of Make-believe. It is well to wander sometimes in the Land of Make-believe, Through its ever-smiling gardens, where the heart may cease to grieve. Where the beds are gay with roses and the paths arc paved with gold. And <»ur hopes, like soaring songsters, their mercurial wings unfold. Let us all be little children for a while and make our way Through the sweet and sunny meadow land of Make-believe today. There’s n queen within an arbour, where she rules in high renown. With a lily for a sceptre and a rose-wreath for a crown; And her laws are love and laughter, for they know not sorrow there — Never hate, nor pain, nor money outers in her Kingdom fair. we sing the songs the children tSing, and play the games they play /As we wander in the golden Land of Makebelieve He Answered the Advertisement. An Irishman who had b?cn dining not too wisely finished the evening at his club, and before leaving took up a paper

at random, and there saw an advertisement for a travelling companion to go to Italy, ami giving th? address at which Application should be made for the post. He stitdilal this gravely for some time, shook his head, ami then, calling a hansom, he told the man to drive to the address given. It was about the witching hour of one 4i.ni. when he reached the house, and all was in darkness, lie got out and rang the bell; peal-after peal resounded. At last a window was thrown open, and the voice of an old gentleman, inquired angrily: ’’What the d»?vil do you want at this hour?” To which Pat replied: “.Tush seen your advershment, and called to shay 1 m very showy can't go with you to Italy —got another engagement!” Our Mother Tongue. He may be a druggist who drugs, But he's not a huggist who hugs. And no tinker ever has tunk; rihiough j <>u can’t get |ii craftsman £0 A respectable draughtsman may draw, And a, drinker may often be drunk. We say of the swimmer. “He swam,” But nut of the trimmer. "She tram,’’ And we never say rowers have rown; Though a man who has brought may not brateh. The line wh<> has caught still may catch, Ami many a thrower has thrown. *T is common for sailors to sail, But it isn’t for tailors to tail. Ami more than one plan are not plen; If the broker is not one who brokes Still the smoker may be one who smokes. And more than one man are called men. Though never a spender has spoan, The kind-hearted lender may loan, Ami many a dealer has dealt: IVe may say that the man who weaves wov e. But not that thj one who grieves grove, Ami no squeaker ever has squealt. Tenderness and Love. The constant virtues of the good are tenderness and love To all that live—in earth, air, sea —great small—below, above; Compassionate of heart, they keep a gentle thought for each. Kind in their actions, mild in will, and pitiful of speech; "Who nitieth not, he hath not faith; full many a one so lives, But when an enemy seeks help, the good man gladly gives. —Edwin Arnold. The Appreciative Husband. “1 declare/’ complained Mrs Duzzit, “I shall certainly have to punish the children.” “What have they been tip to now?” asks Mr Duzzit. “They have simply upset my sewing Toom. Nothing is where it should be. Needles, spools of thread, scissors, darning balls and everything have been poked away into the most unexpected

corners. I had to search all afternooM to find a card of buttons. It is perfectly exasperating.” “Mv dear, the children didn’t do that* I did it.” “You? What possessed you?” “I thought 1 was doing you a kindness. After you straightened up the papers and books in my desk so beautifully, 1 thought it was no more than right that 1 should return the compliment by putting your .sewing room in similar shape.” “Treasure Island.” “On a chill September morning, by th® cheek of a brisk fire, and the’ rain drumming on the window, 1 began ‘The Sea Cook,* for that was the original title of ‘Treasure Island.’ 1 have begun (and finished) a number of otlier books, but 1 cannot remember to have sat down to one of them with more complaeenvy. It is not to Im? wondered at, for stolen watei-s are proverbially sweet. lam now upon a painful chapter. N® doubt the parrot once belonged to Robinson Crusoe. No doubt the skeleton is conveyed from Poe. I think little of these, they are trifles and details; and no man can hope to have a monopoly of skeletons or make a corner in talking l.’irds. The stockade, I am told, is from ‘Masterman Ready/ It may be. I rare not'a jot. These useful writers had fulfilled the poet's saying: departing, they: had left behind them Footprints on th® sands of time. Footprints which perhaps another—and I was the other! It is my debt to Washington Irving that exercises my conscience, and justly so. for I believe plagiarism was rarely carried farther. I chanced to pick up the ’Tales of a Travellei’ some years ago with a view to an anthology of prose and the book flew up and struck me:’ Billy Bones, his chest, the company in the parlour, the whole inner spirit, and a good deal <<f the material detail of my first chapters—all were there, all were the property of Washington Irving. But I had no guess of it then aS I sat writing, by the fireside, in what seemed the springtides of a somewhat pedestrian inspiration: nor yet day by day. after lunch, as I read ahhuL my morning’s work to the family. It seemed to me original as sin: it seemed to belong, to me like my right eye/'—R. L. Stevenson, in'“The Art Of Writing.”