FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 878, 23 January 1930, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” HYGIENE ON THE FARM An American agricultural student lias written an imaginary conversation between a farmer and a dairyman 20 years hence. “Everything ready for the milking?” says the farmer. “I think so, boss.” “Cows been thoroughly scalded?” “Thoroughly.” “Have they been fumigated with formaldehyde ?” “Utterly.” “Have the milkers been boiled?” “Every inch of them.” “Have the milk pails been scrubbed with bichloride of mercury?” “Twice over, boss.” “Good! Then you can set the barn on fire, put on sterilised rubber gloves, and begin milking.” ANOTHER GUESS DUE “Watihana”: Mr. H. R. Jenkins, M.P., who has been addressing the Rotary Club, told Rotarians that Socrates was a remarkable man. Continuing on this theme, Mr. Jenkins added, “I believe the writings of Socrates are worth reading, even today.” They certainly would be worth reading—lf they were obtainable. It is one of the lasting regrets of philosophers that no paragraphs or reflections penned by Socrates have been preserved, principally because it is very doubtful if he ever penned any. The great philosopher left all that to his friend and pupil, Plato. It is through the dialogues of Plato that the world (and Mr. Jenkins) knows all about the philosophies enunciated by Socrates. But to speak of his own existing writings is incorrect. It appears that a little knowledge is as dangerous as ever. AS WORN The perfect unanimity with which the female of the species can adopt a mode of the moment is demonstrated every day in Queen Street by the popularity of the beret. In blue, violet, orange, tangerine, green, and even in sombre black, as well as in a score of other shades, the beret bobs about among the heads of the crowd. This is in Queen Street, but go to a popular holiday resort, and the beret simply reigns supreme. Strangely enough, the beret was originally a. masculine article. It was first brought to the notice of the nations by Jean Borotra, the bounding Easque tennis player. But men have shied clear of it. Now and again a festive soul attires himself in a quartered beret and goes strolling along some unoffending beach in the belief that he is portraying the spirit of summer, but no one seems verymuch impressed by the performance. It is on female heads that the beret has won through to pre-eminence, as witness the fact that the other day one of the largest soft-goods houses in Queen Street did not have a beret in stock. The umpteenth shipment of the season had been completely sold out. MAN’S METHOD VINDICATED At last the traditional methods of the mere man, left alone in the house at holiday-time, seem to have received official praise and recognition. At one of those gallant institutions for the promotion of industrial hygiene, efficiency, and high jinks generally, the subject of “domestic laboursaving” has just been tackled with enthusiasm and a stop-watch. After six months’ intensive experiment, it has been discovered that “the best plan was to wash up only once a day,” when “all the dishes used in the preceding 24 hours were washed up in one operation.” This is exactly the system long favoured by the lone male who lias been left to tackle the washing-up problem for himself—except that he is naturally more thorough and logical, and only begins to wash up when there are no more clean pots to be used. . , * MOUNTAIN DEW It appears that the existence of the potent Southern brew known as “Hokonui” is by no means problematical. An otherwise virtuous colleague has sampled it many times, and speaks favourably of its qualities. Distilled in small quantities in various hidden corners Of Southland's Hokonui Hills —low, bush-clad ranges which run between Invercargill and as far to the north-east as Gore —the whisky is peddled surreptitiously about the district. Those qualified to judge suspect that it is prized by its purchasers rather on the principle that stolen fruits taste sweetest, but no one can deny that the “kick” is there. “Hokonui” —the real thing — is usually a light muddy-coloured liquid of peculiarly heavy “body." Occasionally the customs authorities pounce on some luckless distiller, but the romantic manufacture of this mountain dew continues. Possibly the question as to whether bookmakers should be licensed could be considered by the Government together with the query: Should Hokonui distillers be given legislative sanction? After all it seems a struggling New Zealand industry, worthy of encouragement.