FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1046, 9 August 1930, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

sciexth/ic s/m a espeare Heroes are simply people with enlarged adrenal glands, according to a biology lecturer at Cambridge University. She asserted that adrenalin, the courage-producing substance, could he made In the laboratory from coal tar. —Cable item. King Henry V. (before Harfleur) : Once more unto tho breach, dear friends, once more. Or close tho wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a As biologic calmness and restraint: But. when tho blast of war strikes aural drums. Then call aloud for your adrenalin: Inject the substance, thrust it in the gland. Disguise your complex with syntheUc rage . . . The game's afoot: Load your syringes; and, upon this charge. Cry, God for Harry, England, and Coat Tar! HEROES -IMP TAR Yes, we now know what heroes are made of. They are made of coal-tar, a substance that is nothing if not versatile, for it forms the bases of half a dozen different products, including dyes, flavouring essences, and certain concentrated preparations. If the use of adrenalin becomes common we may read this sort of thing: “What might have been a fatal accident was narrowly averted in Queen Street today when an elephant ran amok. Mr. Cecil Simpkins, a bystander, had the presence of mind to swallow an adrenalin tablet, after which he captured the animal, thrashed it and handed it over to the police.” “It is understood that the Royal Humane Society will make no award in the case of Miss lma Bluffer, who has saved a number of children from burning buildings. Ic appears that Miss Bluffer is an adrenalin demonstrator for a local firm, and that these feats were part of her routine work.” “Sirs, some time ago I was afraid to swat a mosquito. I tried a bottle of your Adrenalin, smelt the cork and became a man. T now set my oivn mouse-traps, scowl at the boss s pet jokes, send the waitress back for tile right dish, and talk out loud in the Auckland Public Library.—l am, etc. . . .

A TATTLE “ AYERSIOX"

Somebody once wrote: “ Tis safest to begin in matrimony with a little aversion.” This being so Mr. Jimmie Mac, a six-foot London comedian, should enjoy a happy married life, for his little “aversion” is very small indeed. To he exact she is 43 inches in height —Miss Winnie Yelland, a midget whose Red Letter day coincided with the return to London of Amy Johns pardon. Miss Johnson—" Johnnie.” (Her expressed wish must he respected.) The alliance of this oddly-matched couple was solemnised at St. Peter's Church, and among those present were representatives of a midget theatrical troupe of which the bride is a member. The chances are that this is the troupe which toured New Zealand three years ago. During that visit one or two publicity-seeking midgets called on the L.O.M. and, in squeaky voices, told their life stories. Some stood under the corner of the office desk and others climbed laboriously into chairs and sat there puffing cigarettes that looked grotesquely large in their wee mouths. It was one's first experience of being a Gulliver among Lilliputians, and a mightily satisfying feeling it was, too.

PITY A MIDGET

Prom time to time there have been some queer weddings beside which the foregoing example of the long and the short of it appears as a commonplace. There was the case of the male “Siamese twins,” who married two Pliilippino girls. A dual wedding was solemnised, and it has been asserted that the subsequent enforced propinquity has in no wise disturbed the harmony of the life enjoyed by the curious quartet. Provided that the marriage of the London midget is based on genuine affection it gives cause for general satisfaction. Ordinarily the life of an exceedingly small person is not a happy one. Unless he or she be content with a career as a show exhibit, life offers little but ridicule or a particularly humiliating form of sympathy. Should any of you doubt this, Mr. Walter de la Mare will supply the necessary evidence. This poet-novelist is possibly the only writer who has sprung to the serious defence of tiny folk, and his “Memoirs of a Midget” should be thrust forcibly, page by page (and there are many or them) before the eyes of every person who laughs at one of Nature's cruel little pranks.