FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 648, 27 April 1929, Page 10

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” A NEW TURN Disclaiming any intention of introducing personalities, the Mayor said Mr. Vail© was “an absent-minded beggar.” Mr. Vaile retorted at Epsom by likening Mr. Baildon to Belshazzar, and himself to Daniel. j Said George Belshazzar Baildon, “I abjure personalities. I call him. absent-minded, and a beggar—that is all.’’ Said Daniel 11. E. Vaile, “I deplore his vain banalities, Ifs clear he’s got th& wind upthere's the writing on the wall." And forthwith Daniel plunged into a reference felicitous: . Belshazzar had his princes and their ladies in to dine. Upon the wall a finger wrote. The King became solicitous About the chance of carrying on his most exalted line. And Daniel spoke, interpreting, and 10, the King rewarded him. With scarlet robe and chain of gold the pious man he decked. Thus Mr. Vaile at Epsom, and how the mob applauded him. An omenl It is written — he’s the fellow to elect. And so they thrust and parry. to the best of their ability. The Mayor must find a counterstroke to ma,ke his foeman quail. And swotting up the Bible may impose a new humility On George Belshazzar Baildon and Daniel H. E. Vaile. — T. TOHEROA. * * e THE PRISONER’S SONG “The Deathless Army” and “Crossing the Bar.” Rather cheerless numbers to have been included in the programme at the recent Mount Eden Gaol concert. But then, of course, some of the prisoners are serving a life sentence. IN THE FOG The old salt was crossing in a late ferry last night, when a fog blanketed the harbour. “Yes," he shouted, above the sirens and foghorns, “it is a bit noisy. But nothing to some places. Get the mouth of the Thames in a fog, and the whole place is one long roar. But the noisiest place of all in a fog is San Francisco. When a fog comes down on the Bay—and they come down pretty often—the din is like hell let loose. The ferry traffic is enormous, much of it carrying traffic from the big railway terminals on the eastern shore, and every ferry finds its way to its berth by the tone of the different bells. Then there are the sirens screaming on the oceangoing steamers, and the little timber barges raising a Bedlam of their own.” BRIDGE TABLES That indispensable adjunct of civilisation, a bridge table, is among the imports we obligingly bring in from Canada and other neighbours, when scraps of timber from New Zealand mills, backed by a bit of stray labour that is so plentiful just now, would seem to be quite capable of furnishing the essentials. Not for bridge players, of course, to be like the billiards champion, Willie Smith, who carries his own green cloth wheresoe’er he goeth, and spreads it fondly when about to take his cue (pardon). Still, if bric>;e players did this, at least one obstacle in the way of their being made in New Zealand would be removed. Even a gi'eater advance on custom was made lately by an Auckland hostess, who gave a large bridge party and added to the invitations a footnote instructing guests to bring their own tables. REPRIEVE Even floods have their good points, and to the eight men sentenced to various terms of imprisonment for an attack on a policeman at the remote East Cape hamlet of Te Araroa, the rigours of an overcrowded and to that extent companionable little lock-up at Port Awanui will be less objectionable than an immediate start on stonebreaking in the gaol-quarry at Gisborne. Port Awanui Is on the wrong side of the turbulent Waiapu, which caused the bridge-builders such trouble, and a flood is at present running in this and other streams, so the prisoners are waiting at Port Awanui until the waters subside. Possibly they are filling in time praying foi rain. It is only rarely that anything happens at Te Araroa. One might almost imagine the place to be beyono the reach of quick justice, so far is it from the accepted points of civilisation. That idea has been dispelled, and the prisoners would even now be cracking stones but for the intervention of Jupiter Pluvius and a flood.