LOVE AND LIES.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 189, 12 August 1933, Page 2 (Supplement)

LOVE AND LIES.

The Psychostetliokrytographymanometer, invented by Dr. Alexander Cannon, will record unmistakably whether two people are really in love. Dr. Cannon has happily decided to call the machine by a short cut " psyclio-gi-aph," because it measures the subtlest reaction to various forms of suggestion, and will detect the smallest lie within a fraction of a sccond. It reveals the devout lover, because it shows an uninistakeable reaction if the inamorata's name is mentioned. —London cablegram. When Lesbia lisps her tale of love, My own. my heart's own queen ! I'll ring up Dr. Cannon to Trot round with iiis machine; Maybe, who knows? I'll drop, perhaps. A penny In the slot To ascertain if Lesbia lores Hor worshipper or not. Oh. what a most appalling go To hear the wheels a-creaklng " No! No need for petals then, l'ullcd one l>y one apart— " She loves me true —she loves me not — iSo stiil my fluttering heart; Let Cannon wind his love machine, List to the gadgets hiss ! While Cupid croiiks his message out I.ike some synthetic kiss; The metal answer you may guess, And does she love me? " G-r-r-r-r les! No need for Judges on the bench, Or twelve men good and true, For Cannon's lie-detector will Ho ail these men can do; Just give the old machine a whirl, And listen to the clang or justice as the eogs decide The prisoner must hang; Oh, what a saving of expense ! 'Twould absolutely be immense. Nor need tbo politician slate That he's no hesitation In stating that—(etcetera) He'd save this fair young nation; For Cannon's truth-detector might Exclaim, " My dear sir, not on Your, bally life—'tis lies," And put his jolly pot on; 'Twould hardly be a crying shame It Cannon's gadget never came. Oh, Cannon, stay thy fatal shot, l.enve us our- treasured lie, Our loves ephemeral, our vows That perish by and by; Scrap those fell wheels, those gadgets, cranks. Those wim-wiims; list to me— We're here for such a little time, So why not let us be? We've all the wim-wams we can bear, Stay your rash hand—a sufferer's prayer. —C.J.