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Victoria University College Carnival, 1914

The Wellington Weather

The Wellington Weather.

Solo: Crassus.
Ho! a copious sort er climate is this 'ere—
It's a dogfight an' a thunderstorm in one.
Why! a furriner's in paralytic fear
Of ev'ry bloomin' thing excep' the sun.
Such a wind I never felt in Rome,
An' if Cæsar was ter come ter Wellington,
If he'd half the retinue 'e sports at 'ome,
'E'd 'ave twenty boys ter 'old 'is toga on.

So 'ere's to you Wellingtonians an' yer 'ealthy 'efty wind;
You are wictims ter a climate of a most distressin' kind.
An' as I walk up Willis Street an' twig the pebbles dance—
Olympus an' its thunderbolts, well, ain't a circumstance

An Echo of Takapau.

An Echo of Takapau.

Major Shandy: On your right is the west, on your left is the east: what is behind you?

Private Thicknut: P—p—please, my, my haversack!

Regent Cigarettes Have No Equal.

page 24

Regent Cigarettes in Brown and Heliotrope Packets.

Air an' water's 'ealthy, so its reckoned;
An' in that respec' you cannot make complaint;
Fer its mostly blowin' 40 miles a second,
An' inwariably rainin' w'en it ain't.
But if a sunny mornin' come along,
The dweller in the City winks 'is eye:
'E bloomin' well suspec's there's somethin' wrong,
An' the deluge of the evenin' leaves 'im dry.

I reckon that the Rev. Bates could run a sort o' tote,
With 'eavy odds agin the man wot goes without a coat.
I tell you, Wellingtonians, that even Bobby Stout
Is gamblin' with the elements w'enever 'e goes hout.

Lars' week-end w'en they let me hout on bail
I went shootin' rabbits roun' behind Karori.
As the Cœlum (1) looked like thunder, rain, an' hail,
I went ter 'ear the augur tell 'is story.
I says, "Wot chance is there of Tempestas Serena"?(2)
'E says, "Tandem tibi erunt res secundæ." (3)
I suppose that this was really meant to mean a
Thunderstorm that got up on the Sunday.

I took the augur at 'is word an' found that I was cheated;
I got snowed up upon the 'ills an' 'ad my bail estreated.
So take my tip, that augur only kids 'e knows the Fates,
An' 'ceptin' w'en 'e's croakin', don't believe in Mr. Bates.

2)Decent weather.
3)You've got a fine day for it at last.

"It is not poetry, but prose run mad." —Pope.