FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 700, 27 June 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

JUNE (If) >9) MODEL

The massed battalions of the sombre clouds Swing to their grand appointments in the shy. Pale banners fly the portents of the storm, And rueful, wayward winds go moaning by, To stir the tattered branches as they pass, Or rap staccato signals on the glass. Tile shadow marches through, the yellow light. And random crystals glisten on the pane, The magic of a moment's gift, and then Effaced for ever by the driving rain, So callous, those bespangled gems to drown. And yet so kind, to shroud the dreary town. The columns of the storm pass on, find leave A sickly suit. or sodden verdure strewn. The passing shower will come again, and thus Is occupied the merry month of June. Still, there's a cheering saying comes to mind. If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind t Beowulf. HIS MOVE A startling coincidence is noted in the account of a recent country sports gathering. Mrs. TTpsall won the roll-ing-pin throwing contest, with a toss of 67ft. Immediately afterwards, Mr. Upsall won the 100yds dash for married men. The inference is that a man whose life partner can toss a rollingpin that way is wise in getting a flying start. ON THE MOVE Mr. Methuselah Van Winkle, of HongKong, roused himself from his long slumber, and glanced at the newspaper carrying Professor Speight’s theory that Asia and the other continents of the Northern Hemisphere are slowly sliding toward those in the south. “It’s taken the learned professor a long time to find out about it, ’ was his only comment, before dropping off to sleep again. A couple of centuries later, Mr. Van Winkle opened his weather eye. “Those must be the Pliillipines we’re passing now,” he murmured. Two thousand years went by. Asia was off the coast of New Guinea. Mr. Van Winkle slept on. But seven centuries later he woke up with a new light in his eye. “Wake up, ’ he cried, shaking that domestic asset which a civilisation he did not know has called "the ball and chain.” “See,” he said, “Australia on the starboard bow. , . We shall be stepping off at Brisbane in another 250 years. It’s been a fast trip.” NO EQUESTRIAN John Myers, the brilliant young New Zealander who, after conducting some of the most important practical research work of recent years, is now studying insect life in the Guianas, always had what is popularly known as a "bug” for this class of scientific diversion, which resulted in his having, when a schoolboy, one of the finest collections of moths ever got together ill New Zealand. People in Whnganui, which was his home town, used to see a tremendously tall youth waiting by some wayside street lamp fc-r any rare moth that might flutter toward the light. A gifted scientist, he was no equestrian. A chance came to join a party riding through the National Park, and he looked forward to the horseback part of it with dread. Then the equestrian method was commuted to Shanks’s pony, and he was happy. It is just one of life’s anomalies that his work in various phases of research is less known in his own country than in most others. SESSTON-WAED Today is one of the great davs in a politician’s life. Parliament assembles with a good deal of picturesque formality, and the member begins to take his proper place in the scheme of things. Soon he may be talking before an attentive gallery. For at least two new members the next few days must involve considerable nervous tension. Theirs is the duty of donning full evening dress, and moving and seconding the Ad-dress-in-Reply. On Wellington, . then, members of Parliament concentrated yesterday and today. Six of them left Auckland by the Limited last evening —|quite a happy little party. Yet within a day or two, metaphorically speaking, they will be at one another’s throats. Political antagonisms are rarely carried into private life. Coming back from the session at the end of the term it is always the bitterest opponents who are chuckling over the friendly card game. A man whose political convictions are of the most lurid hue will get tea at the refreshment counter for his Tory brother. That, by the way, is about the only place where the ordinary citizen may feel equal with the member of Parliament. There is no political privilege at the railway refreshment booth.