WITHOUT PREJUDICE

Dominion, Volume 18, Issue 181, 2 May 1925, Page 6

WITHOUT PREJUDICE

NOTES AT RANDOM

(By

T.W.H.)

It now seems almost doubtful whether there ever was an Eastbourne Carnival Committee. —The only thing free from uncertainty about the Carnival is the deficit. British scientists announce a liquid which will make a coward brave.—The trouble is that it probably takes a brave man to drink it. “We should pay our law-makers what they are worth,” urges an American paper.—Others, however, hold that this would be extreme cruelty. People who find the cross-word puzzles too easy might try their ‘baud on the Wellington motor by-laws. Socialism, as translated by the Alliance of Labour, appears ,to mean that after the “worker” has taken all he wants the rest of the public can have anything left ovei. Mr. Winston Churchill, who in the course of bis variegated and adventurous career has just produced a Budget, is a gentleman who keeps things moving wherever be is. People may argue as to whether what he does is wise or foolish, but he is always doing something. Before the war, when Mr. Churchill was First Lord of the Admiralty, lie brought in many reforms. Mr. Churchill used to flit about in the Admiralty yacht, the Enchantress, and suddenly pounce down on a ship and inspect it. On one such occasion he was inspecting a certain ship’s company, and asked a very bored young lieutenant in charge of a division the name of a certain seaman in it. "I have not the least idea,” said the lieutenant in a very uninterested tone. “What,” said the indignant Mr. Churchill, "you don’t even know the name# ot your men! What do you think yon have a division for? It is your business, sir, ‘to know every man in it.” And so on in a characteristic Winstonian “blast.” ■ Passing on, the First Lord put a similar question to another lieutenant, demanding to know, the name of a certain man in this lieutenant’s division. This officer, more resourceful than the other, promptly replied “Jenkinson.” Mr. Churchill thereupon turned up the seaman’s collar and found marked on it the name “Smith.” ‘•Well,” he said, “that’s bad enough, but a d—— sight better than the othei. Turning to the lieutenant Mr. Churchill inquired, “Do you play poker?” There are' a lot of people, of course, who hold that Mr. Churchill himself plays poker, politically, to quite a considerable extent. “Would you like a scoop for y'oui paper?” Major Fitzurse asked us last evening. We replied that we would very much like a scoop, a nice exclusive piece ot news we could fill the principal page up with, and put on the bill-board in the morning—something to wake up the town and startle all the feeble-minded. “Good,” said the .Major, “I was in a Government Department yesterday when a gentleman gave me a copy of a preliminary announcement of a loan of ten million pounds to be expended on railways, roads, and land settlement, including the laying down of a railway between Christchurch and Dunedin. I thought you might Ijke to publish this important document in full.” “But hasn’t a railway been laid down there for some years?” we inquired doubtfully, examining the somewhat yellow and faded document. “Very well, sir,” said the Major, in a huff, “if the matter does not interest you I am sure the other morning journal would not hesitate to publish it.” “Perhaps it would be best to let them have it,” we replied. “It seems rather more in their line. It would bt as well to get it in early, so that a leading article may be written on the subject.”

“Gobo” has addresed the following to Alajor Fitzurse—“lt is reported in The Dominion - in connection with nominations of one school committee, ‘Only four sitting members are standing.’ As this paradox may cause confusion to the voter, your explanation “without prejudice’ would be helpful.”—The Alajor’s only comment wa.s: “The four members may sit, notwithstanding. The British Food Commission will report as soon as it has found a wav of reducing the price of food without interfering with anybody’s profits. Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson’s memoirs are so brimful of good stories that the temptation to repeat one. or two more of them is too great to resist. The following is attributed to John Drew, the American actor, and if not exactly new is none the worse for that. In Alontreal the French-Canadians had been having some religious processions in the streets,'and a huge Scot in a restaurant bar was holding forth against the Roman Catholics, and wound up a long -and heated harangue with: “I say to hell with the Pope!” A little French-Canadian at this said quietly from the other end of the bar: “You sav to ’ell with the Pope? I say to ’ell with your 'Arry Louder!” Here is anotlrer: Brete Harte, when American Consul in Glasgow, inquired: “What is a ‘belted earl’? Is he an earl who doesn’t wear braces?”; Upon an aristocratic gentleman talking much about his ancestors, Brete Harte said: “You remind me of a potato, the best part of you is underground ” INLAND. He used to talk of ships, and I remember Oh, I letnember ... Tall spars clustered in a drowsy, eveniug bay, Clean winds calling, at white noon today ; Salt on the taffrail, foam at the bow. And a singing at the windless . . . how it al! comes back now(Though I never saw the sea.) I sweep the rooms, half dreaming Of tides ... ... x v Slow breathing, languid giants suckat the sands. Surging to the harbours of brilliant tropic lands; An old black brig headed for the sunset’s gold, . Bringing back the red dawn stuffed in her hold. (His words.) The six-vear maplo on his grave is sturdy, ’ A'r-t . . • vet Night, all drenchsd with stars and ’still we’re outward bound. Oh. the ’ leaking of the canvas is an eerie sort of sound. And I hear the tramping watch as I lie warm-bunked below. Where the vellow slush lamp swings to and fro. to and fro. (Lika that, his talk.) I scour the kettles and hang up the wash. But these pictures won t go out of my Full, white sailo on a level twilight sea, A tired barque training to some port of mystery; Green waves a-glitter . . . ships, ships, ships Ami a laughing sailor man with red remembered lips. (God! How I’m till Hissing him!) —Joan Dareth Prosper in “The Lyric West."