FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 358, 19 May 1928, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” .4 NEW ONE We have heard almost every excuse for insolvency excepting horse-racing 1 —no bankrupt ever admitted that he | was given to betting. The latest is j weasels. A Southland poultry farmer | told his creditors that weasels had | proved his financial ruin. He didn’t go in for breeding weasels—the blame for that is on the fools who imported the pest. But weasels had killed no fewer than 600 of his pullets. If it was any satisfaction to the creditors, however, the bankrupt stated that he had killed 40 weasels in three days on his farm. It seems that you can catch a weasel asleep. GET ADELAIDE The radio enthusiast is sometimes led astray. A married friend of ours, who rejoices in a wife named Adelaide, went home the other night in a state to which he would not have been reduced but for a “special night” at the club. He tried the handle of the door very carefully, so as not to arouse his good lady, but the handle revolved without releasing the catch, for some perverse reason. Suddenly a voice came from the window above, where Adelaide was watching. “What are you doing?” enquired the voice. “Ah-m tryin’ to get Brisbane, m’ dear,” replied the late bird. “Wait until I come down,” said the lady, in an awful voice, “and you’ll get Adelaide!” THE OLD SOLDIER The dear old veterans of older wars are to be remembered again this year. They are to be entertained by the City Council, the Patriotic League and the R.S.A. In the Town Hall, on June 4, where they may honour the toast of “The King” in something more satisfying to an old soldier than lemonade. A thoughtless public forgets the old soldier all too often. Still, it is good to know the veterans are remembered sometimes —and it mitigates the ! charge, made in verse, which hangs in j a frame in the hall of the Veterans’ ! Home at Mount Roskill: | 'When war and clanger are drawing nigh, “God ancl the soldier”! is all the cry; When war is over and all things righted, God is forgotten, the soldier slighted. ELLA. GETS HOME Known as “the ship that always gets home,” the American schooner Ella A. recently arrived in Honolulu after a desperate passage of 148 days from Newcastle. She had seven feet of water in her hold, and potatoes were the only provisions left. The crew were lucky to be on an American windjammer. On a British sailer, they don’t provide such luxuries as potatoes—at least they didn’t in the days when the L.O.M. was at sea. “Hard tack” and “salt horse” was the menu, with pea soup twice a week—one pea to the pint of water. On one trip from Hobart to Wallaroo (which is in South Australia), persistent head j winds were met with, and it was 40 days before the voyage ended. For several days the crew had lived on barracouta, caught by jigging over the stern. Ever since then the thought of barracouta has made the L.O.M. fee! sick. ■■LEND ME SIXPENCE. LADDIE! " The movie-producer's advertisement yesterday for “a middle-aged, experienced professional or amateur actor to enact the role of an elderly Scotsman,” attracted many old-time performers. The L.O.M. had an idea that all the old “ac-tors”—the kind who invariably addressed one as “laddie”—had faded away, but apparently they are merely hibernating. In the old days in Sydney, before acting became a remunerative business, there were some quaint types to be seen, sunning themselves, any morning in King Street. There was one well-known Australian actor, for instance, who whenever he secured a “shop,” as theatrical folk term employment, would rush wildly round his friends borrowing sixpence here and sixpence there in order that he might redeem his upper and lower dentures and once more smile dazzlingly upon his admirers in the stalls. It was of this “ac-tor” that a well-known tale is told. Seeking funds for the restoration of his teeth, he rushed up to ihe manager of a company playing “East Lynne,” and said: “Laddie, lend me sixpueiice until the morrow!” Came the staggering reply, “Gad, sir, had I sixpence until the morrow!” Came 2 company to tour with my present attraction. Sorry, laddie!” “OK, DEAR ME!” The recent issue of still another volume of Queen Victoria’s correspondence, recalls a visit that a Wanganui chieftain paid to “Wikitoria,” at Windsor. The “beloved Albert,” we are told, was present at the audience, dressed in a shooting jacket. Hoani Wiremu Hipango—Hipango Park, a valuable area on the Wanganui River is a memorial to his family—was the bearer of a number of native curios. The Rev. Richard Taylor, a missionary who arrived in New Zealand in 1837, introduced the rangitira. The Queen and the Prince asked the Maori many questions about his country, and the uses for the different weapons. Victoria proved to be especially interested in the mere. Demonstrating with his reverend guide, philosopher and friend, Hipango showed how a rebellious tribesman was dealt with. Mr. Taylor v r as seized by the hair of his head with such force, that the Queen stepped back, uttering a horrified, “Oh, dear me!”- After the Royal couple had withdrawn, the Maori asked his friend when the Queen was coming. He had not the slightest idea that the little lady who showed such interest in his mere was the Great White Mother. It was his intention, he said, to throw himself at her feet. Hipango, on his return to Wanganui, was killed by Hau Hau’s when defending the infant settlement. Mr. Taylor died in 1873. He has descendants in many parts of New Zealand.