CHIT-CHAT.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1219, 7 December 1882, Page 2

CHIT-CHAT.

(EKOX CORNER BOY.) Tiikrh wan rather a tall scramble last Tuesday evening at the Couneil Chambers for the Wharfingers billet and for the Ferry and Weighbridge, The big money took the ferry thereby securing a little more of the “filthy lucre” for the Boro’ coffers, but the same principal didn’t seem to act in the Wharfinger s job, for the Venerable Fathers elected to part with £2 12s fid weekly, in preference to paying £l2O a year. How did they bung it in? Perhaps it was the "office” did the trick, but to an untutored mind the lowest figure should have had the best show, particularly as the tenderer wae altogether unencumbered with, other business attractions, and would very rarely be losing time In making up his own wharf charges, not being in that line of business, you knotv.

M att Hau, wants a uew secretary for the Poverty Hay Agricultural Association. Yes ! and two or three more wants too. Hall's well that ends well. Now that the water is troubled, It would be as well to make suitable provision to run the next show without any hitch or jar, and save the grumbling of discontented exhibitors and discon tented reporters. The Show business wants looking after, but if they give M. H. a fair chance, he is the man to do it, and save all future growls. By all means, wake them up Matt, now's the time.

AboIT one of the most observant features In our little community is the steady patronage accorded to all amusements, more particularly to those originated with the intention of assisting some charitable purpose. Hard times, or soft times, it is all the same, the “long stocking” despite the innumerable shakings it receives, still yields another “bob or two,” and its only too willing proprietor must join in the fun. Extremely satisfactory this, it is not at all a bad motto, “ Laugh and grow fat.” Thvrsdav night, or rather Friday morning, at or about the witching hour of “twa," a most unearthly noise, gradually increasing in intensity, broke upon the sweet stillness .of the night. The partner of my joys and sorrows, despite the weird, goblin rumble, still slumbered on, but it was altogether too utterly utter for me alone. I couldn’t stand it, so I woke her up to listen to the horrible din. What is it? was my excited query. Oh ! what is it ? Oh ! bother was the reply, in anything but dulcet tones. Why, you old fool, the fire engine to be sure. I ambled out into the night, under the peaceful rays rays of fair Cynthea’s beams, and still the inexplicable rattle and din, gradually diminishing from the loftiest of “demoniac orestends ” to the quiet calm erstwhile dominant. I puzzled my poor brains for a while to make it out, but it was left for the morning to explain that all the fun was caused oy our friend Hearfield’s “buggy” and horse indulging iu some most eccentric vagaries on its nightly rounds—in fact the horse had bolted, and no wondxr,