Yarieties.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 413, 14 April 1904, Page 7

Yarieties.

BUBIED ALIVE. months ago the columns of <fp§to ' To-day' were thiowa open to a aOl discussion as to whether there was really a chance of being buried alive. In France, and particularly in the country districts, the fear of this awful fate is very Btrong. The law, clearly lays down that the corpse must be buried within 48 hours, and. the peasants have snch a horror that- a medical error may lead to a tragedy of that nature, that they wait for hours round the grave, hoping to hear the [ slightest sound- And here, in Paris, at' the time thai I am writing, lies a poor] devil called Boinsignon. He has been >' buried once, and all the medical men in -.'

j the city are watching him. Some declare ! that he is dead, and has been dead for days, and that his freah look is only due to the fact that he is being preserved by the enormous quantity of alcohol that he drank. Others declare that he is not dead, but is simply in a state of complete lethargy. To deal with this question is not pleasant; but when medical men cannot agree on such a terrible point as to whether a man is dead or living, you begin to wonder as to how far that Boience has advanced, and how much confidence to pat in doctors' opinions. THE KING'S BiGGAGE, Mr George B Smi, who seems to spend a good deal of his time in losing his luggage on railway journeys, may find some consolation (perhaps, an explanation) in the case of the Sing of the Belgians, when doing the southern coast of France. Everything was packed into neat little parcels at the Palace at Brussels, but when the King got to Cannes he found that he had ho', a collar cr a tooth brush to bless himself with. The whole o! the police in France were on the watch, and everyone who might, could, or should have stolen the royal baggage was arrested, and every railway official eyed his neighbour with suspicion aad contempt. .. Now the problem is solved. The King's trappings were sent on their way without any label on them to sugeest the name of the owner, or where he wanted them to be taken to.

PROFITS OF THE KITCHEN. A correspondent; thus writes to the London 'Daily Mill' of a domestic grievance:—'lt is time that public attention was again drawn to a perennial trouble. Some weeks ago my wife, who had bad on several occasions to complain of the quality of the meat supplied, decided at least to change -her batcher one of the better-known tradesmen of Kensington. She ordered the cook to go elsewhere in future, and was surprised to find that the latter, who had been with us for over four years, and apparently had always been a faithful steward as well as an obliging servant, displayed an unusual obstinacy and almost refused point blank to do bo. My wife failed to understand what she regarded merely as a sudden fit of impertinence, and mentioned the matter. Without much difficulty I discovered that the cook had been in receipt of a secret commission of Is in the pound on all orders. I also found that the dairyman had. been in the habit of giving the cook 53 a month in return for the milk monopoly, and—though this is, I believe, allowed in many houses by custom—a rag and bone merchant paid her a quarterly allowance for the bottles, dripping and other by-products of the kitchen.

I think it was Lowell who wrote—- ' In vain we call old notions fudge— And suit our doctrines to our dealing, The ten commandments will not budge, And stealing will continue stealing.'

ENTERTAINMENT IN BOOKSELLERS' ROW.

In the days when I used to haunt Booksellers' Sow, and bring home tattered volumes to the mute indignation of the menial who condescended to look after my chambers, I was much interested in a fiddler who used to extract sweet music from an instrumenc which was constructed of catgut - stretched across the open end of a tin which had once contained pressed beef. He used to draw his bow across this instrument with the happiest results, but I presume he has departed this life, as 'the Bow' knows him no more. There is there still, however, the man with the mysterious arrangement by which he can thread a needle whilst blindfolded, or under other conditions which, to the uninitiated, would seem an impossibility. There is also as humourist in the person of a wry-faced old creature whom I intend to report verbatim one of the days when I have time, and if I am not too much overcome with amusement, His sole object in life is to sell something—l have never had the courage to put dawn my penny for a specimen of it—which shall enable you to observe people in a way which is tantamount to locking over your shoulder or having eyes in the hack of your head. The man is possessed of such descriptive ability, and is so much a master of satiric comment tbat it will be found well worth the ten minutes to join the circle at a busy time in the Bow, when this pastmaster applies this thing to one eye, and, amidst the suppressed merriment ""of the crowd, proceeds to catalogue the essential details of the people who are unconcernedly marching towards him, unconscious of the criticism which their appearance provokes. . The glasscutter who has lately regarded Booksellers' Bow as a huntingground excites my interest mainly because I fail to understand why he should expect a large eale for a penny glasscutter ! /There you are,' yells be, banging a piece of window glass, so that it rings agais,' sound as a barrel! Here it isr hauling out more glass. 'Here's something jou don't want, because you can't eat itl Now, here in my right hand I hold ' (to small girl) 'Why don't you go away, my lady P Why don't you go away when you're toldP If you've nothin' to employ yer spare time, go 'ome and wash- your face and try to look respectable! Now, taking up this glass in my left 'and, I ' (enter policeman, and quick curtain)! I have never seen this man sell any glasscutters, and as be wastes a good deal of glass, and much of his breath in apostrophising the young people who go to make up his audience, I fancy he must be some sort of a philanthropist. But if you want a little entertainment for nothing, ycu might do worse than take a stroll through Booksellers' Bow.—B. Pain

CIGaKETTE SMOKING. Smoking 300 and 400 cigarettes a day has made Charles Legstrora, a Brooklyn rapid transit fireman, insane. After repeatedly attempting his life, he was taken raving mad to King's Cross Hospital, where it required four attendants to restrain him. He is 21 years of age, and began cigarette smoking when he was a boy. Recently he has smoked as many as forty cigarettes an hoar.