The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 5 (August 1, 1935)
Zoo-Logic!
Zoo-Logic!
Feathers and Fur.
The Gay Deceiver.
The macaw
Is a bore,
Though distinctly a beau.
Sartorial splendour—
But, gentleness! No
His manner is raucous,
And, taken “in toto,”
He isn't as nice
As he looks in his photo.
The Pellmellican.
When the pelican lunches the sight is remindful of a fish-ladder operating in reverse.
It's amazing when viewing the pelican,
To notice, in passing, how well he can
Dispose of a gurnet—
And barely discern it—
His beak and his manner
Both tell he can.
The Pygmy Pig.
Collared peccary so fat,
Running round your cage like that,
Do you think, while chewing pollard,
You are safe from getting collared?
Nosey!
The mongoose is a rail-sitter. He is content to wrap himself round a length of timber and take a long view of the end of his nose, the extremity of which is almost as far from his face as his tail. In fact,
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The mongoose is small—
A furry brown ball—
Whose coat is quite quaint
And not a bit shoddy.
His colour is “nigger,”
And he would be bigger,
With nose taken off
And spread over his body.
What Polar Bears Bear.
The polar bear, sitting on his concrete ice-berg, looks at us plaintively, and, although the southerly is crisping our whiskers and nipping our ears, he seems to say, “Glory! Ain't it ‘ot?” His bathing pool is still and green with a cold shudder in every drop, but he regards it with distaste and appears to growl, “Pshaw! These tepid baths!” But perhaps if we were tailored like the polar bear we too would complain that the ice cream was luke warm. For
The polar bear who loves to straddle
An ice block for his winter saddle,
Must find our climate irritating,
With southerlies so enervating.
No doubt he envies me and you
Our chilblains and our noses blue.
“Nevermore!”
Oh bird of Satan
Tipped from—well,
A place whose name might rhyme
with “tell,”
You make me feel a snowy saint,
Although, full well, I know I ain't.
Hearts and Bones.
Jumbo, what a tragedy!
Eyes that say that you should be
Springing like an antelope,
Up and down the mountain's slope!
But, of course, with bulk so brave,
You must be demure and grave.
“Among Those Present.”
George Robey, the famous London comedian, relates in his amusing reminiscences that he smoked his first cigarette when he was 14 and enjoyed it so much that he annexed one of his father's pipes “and had a go at that.” He sums up that experience in two words—“Oh, my!” He left tobacco severely alone after that for a long time. Then he tried again, “and ever since has preferred a pipe to any other way of smoking.” Well, there's nothing like a pipe—unless it's a cigarette, but make sure your tobacco's right. It should be pure, have flavour and aroma, and be as free as possible from nicotine. So those who smoke “toasted” can't go far wrong! For it's wonderfully pure, there's next to no nicotine in it, because it's toasted, consequently harmless. And as for flavour and bouquet where can you find its equal? Five brands only of the genuine toasted: Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold. They vary in strength, but the quality's the same — unapproachable.*