THE SKETCHER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3655, 1 April 1924, Page 65

THE SKETCHER.

THE NEW BABY. The door opened. It was Nana who came in, her homely features transfigured (but only daddy saw that) by a triumphant radiance. And the tiny white thing in her arms . . “Now, be careful, dearies. . . . Go slow. . . . Let me get into my chair — begging your pardon, sir. There, that’s better. Now, just a peep—Miss Lily first. There, my pet, what do you think of your little sister ?” Lily gasped. “Oh, Nana, she’s a love! I shall take such tremendous care of her. I know I shall like her better than dollies.” “So I should hone. Dollies, indeed! Now, Master Laurence, aren’t you going to give the little lamb a kiss?’ Laurence hesitated and drew himself up, but his doubtful glance at daddy meeting with a beam of encouragement, he condescended to do the proper thing. Then instantly he retired, and stood in manly fashion with his back to the fire. “When it’s bigger it can clean the rabbit hutch,” he said. But meanwhile he eyed it not un tenderly. Jonathan had made no demonstration, lie was what Nana called a “self-con-tained” child: and though he wriggled his diminutive person into a position whence he could watch closely, he had not attempted any personal dealings with his baby sister.

“Come, my blessed lamb, ” Nana urged him, “come and see who’s put your nose out of joint.” “Jonathan’s nose hasn’t got any joints,’’ said Jonathan, cynically.

Jonathan, by virtue of his tender years still impervious to insult, staggered on to his feet and toddled across the hearthrug.His face—as lovely a child-face as ever Raphael dreamed and immortalised—took on a strange, wistful earnestness as Nana displayed her charge—his own charge of the future, his sister, his comrade, his co-explorer in a universe of which he still had no language to tell the wonders. He put out a tiny plump hand, and with his forefinger stirred the flaxen down which baby had brought into the world for her glory. “ ’lckle baby,” Jonathan said.—From “The House Made With Hands” (Arrowsmith). A NEW USE FOR LEGS. During the recent railway strike (remarked Edwin Pugh in a London paper) quite a lot of people found a new use for their legs. Every day some thousands of them, had to walk to- and from their places of business. They had to walk, you see —and they did. Well, if they had to walk one day, why not every day ? ' Very likely they found walking a weariness of the flesh, but that was only because they were not used to it. A week or so’s practice and most of them would have found walking a pleasure instead of an exaction. Of course, there are some too old or otherwise physically unfit to whom walking could never be anything but a pain and a hardship. Let these by all means ride if possible. There are- objections to walking, but I think most of them can be met. Walking wastes time. You would be late at the office or works. But not if jou get up half an hour earlier. <• When it rains you would get wet and catch cold. But not if you wear stout boots and a mackintosh. And if hosts of people were doing that your costume would not matter. It might even become a new fashionable craze. When the weather is sultry you would get so hot you would not be fit for your work. But not if you wear light clothing and take it easy. Walking wears out your boots, and with boots at the present high price . What it would cost you in boot leather it would save you in fares. And the regular exercise might save you even more in the form of doctors’ fees. After a long day’s toil you are too tired to walk. That is true enough in many cases; but if those who have been sitting all day would only walk home instead of riding there would be plenty of room for others engaged in more arduous toil. Think it over. Try the experiment. If only one in three of those who ride were to walk instead all sorts of difficulties would disappear that now make getting about a constant exasperation, all our traffic problems would be solved, and an immense saving would be effected in this vital matter of transit. DON’T FEAR DISEASE. By A Statistician, in the Daily Chronicle. It is a great matter not to be afraid of disease. Most of us know this, and so most of us avoid the occasions of fear. We refuse to read about epidemics; we shut our ears when doctors open their months.

That may be a sensible enough policy. But a better policy, surely, is to know the facts, and, having looked them in the face, to go away with a good courage. That is possible even to the most timid, for the facts about disease are far less alarming than many people imagine. Once, indeed, we possess in our own minds some standard to measure them by they lose all their terror.

A good standard is the chance of being run over in the streets. Everyone knows that chance, and it is a safe statement that not one in a thousand is deterred by it from going about his or her ordinary daily work. Very well then, a baby who has never had measles has almost exactly twice the chance of dying of that disease as has Its father of being run over—-not a very serious risk. It has still less chance, of dying of diphtheria, while its chances of

catching typhoid fever are eight times less than its father’s chances of a violent death in the street. Reckoning the Chances.— It is only nine times more probable that a man or woman will die of pneumonia than that lie or she will die as the result of being run over.- It is only eight times more probable that he or she will die of cancer than of an accident occasioned by a vehicle. This, in view of the great fear aroused by both these diseases, and of the entire lack of fear shown by pedestrians in our cities, is very remarkable. The chances of death from consumption are lower still. Moreover, the odds against any attack of anything, except cancer, proving fatal are long. The disease a man dies of and the disease he expects to die of are rarely, if ever, the same. Indeed, it is a good, safe prophecy that if people are specially afraid of any malady they will not develop it. I am a-ware that- a contrary opinion to this is widely held. But 1 can only quote my own experience. In matters of health and ill-health, as in so many other concerns of life, the anticipated misfortune does not arrive. THE LIFE OF A DANCE TUNE. What- is the life of a fox'trot to day? A famous dance band leader told me recently that 20 times was the limit an average fox trot could be played without wearying the dancers. Twelve playings was an ideal number. After that the piece “lost its edge.” This sudden allure and sudden loss of allure is one of the strangest things about latter-day dance music, which is at once primitive and complex. Once it becomes thoroughly familiar all the colour, everything in it that appealed to the ear, goes out of it. It does not only bore ; it also irritates. I have known keen dancing people to play a record over and over again because they liked it so much, and a week later, if you put it on, they would ask you to take it off, and become really angry if you insisted on playing it through. Six months is probably a good estimate of the selling life of a first-rate piece. But it has to be a well-constructed, varied piece with a strong melody flowing through it. A merely “catchy” piece has a merry bat very short life. Dance caterers, aware that old dance music loses patrons, spend an immense amount of money on keeping music programmes fresh. The insatiable demands of the United States and England keep the danjre music composers and publishers busy. Thirty or forty new pieces appear every month, of which perhaps six will live for four months and sell well. And in order to make the new fox trots fresh-sounding the dominant characteristics of the music of every country, civilised and savage, are utilised, from the wailing of thinese stringed instruments to the thrumming tom-toms of South Sea Island tribes and the queer droning of Indian reed pipes. Compared wtih fox trots, waltzes have an enormous life. The ear of dancers teems never to tire of an appealing waltz. Tangoes, too, have, a life measurable in years rather than months. But a fox trot which was made a year ago is as dead as anything can be. And as season succeeds season and dancers become more and more soaked in fox trotrhythm, the life of dance music is likely to contract until, in order to keep people dancing, dance bands will have completely to change their music programme at the end of every month. THE INDIAN SCENE. It is felt that the present is a fateful period in Indian history, and ‘.A Traveller,” writing recently, pointed out the new Legislative Assembly, on its opening, would enter almost at once upon ail h'storic contest between the Government of India and the elected representatives of the people. The cablegrams have shown that the prophecy was accurate.

Mr Ramsay MacDonald has issued a statement denouncing “ policies designed to bring government to a standstill,” but it is not certain *hat he has fuily measured the difficulty that will arise when the Indian Nationalists take parliamentary action.

Before giving a first-hand account of some outstanding personalities in this Indian scene, we should be clear as to the position in the new Eegislative Assembly. The Government of India is represented by a party of 50 in an Assembly of 144. The rest are divided among three Indian parties. Forty constitute the Swarajists (or followers of Gandhi), 35 form the Indian Liberal party (or Constitutionalists), and the remaining group of 20 members who are described as Independents are expected to support the Swarajists in many of their demands. Such is the position of parties, and their probable action cannot be dealt with here. But there is all the making of a serious Parliamentary situation, and some of the foremost figures should be better known in England. —The Principal Leaders.— Sir Tej Bahadur Sapru (the Liberal leader) was one of the two Indian representatives at the recent Imperial Conference. He is a man with a keen intellect, a command of persuasive English, and a- profound sense of the misfortunes of his country. He struck me in conversation as being a steadying influence of growing power. Racial prejudice among Anglo-Indians is the chief stumbling block to his influence, but lie will probably succeed where his distinguished predecessor (Mr Sastri) would fail. By reason of his representative character, the nobility of his life, and the sacrifices he has made, Pandit Motilal Nehru will become the outstanding figure of the new session of the Indian Legislative Assembly.

; He was Gandhi’s right-hand man when the Mahatma was in active operations, and he came to the political movement after a highly successful career as a lawyer. He is a man of wide and deep culture, and his eloquence is not ol the platform, but of the mind and heart. To represent him as an enemy of England is a dis-service to ourselves and an injustice to a man capable of high public effort for the Empire. These are the principal Indian leaders in the scene that opens to-day. reach is supported by a group of notable men, and busy on their flank is an Independent party containing able members. Such a situation creates opportunities which . om > of the smaller men like Mr Jinnan may endeavour to exploit, but if the direction of policy be left to the Saprus and the Nehrus we may disapprove their action but remain confident of their sincerity and public spirit. MALAY MAGIC. Ooi Clior Ilooi, writing from Penang, says that among the Malays the black art is largely practised ; indeed, it is an accomplishment of which they are vcy proud. So highly do the natives reverence a necromancer, or bomor, that many are willing to make great sacrifices and to undergo great suffering in order to acquire proficiency. Self-abnegation is required of all those who seek to practise the art; some live the life of a recluse, others leave tlieir houses only at night. But though the uninitiated may rub shoulders with a bomor without knowing it, the trained eye can easily single him out. The range of the bomor’s practice is wide, for lie is considered to have power to do anything, from curing a fever to making a man mad ; but it is as a doctor that his services are generally enlisted. Perhaps a boy falls into a bog while playing in the fields, and, after he has been rescued, shows symptoms of fever. The bomor is hastily sent for. After diagnosing the case, lie calls for a candle, a plate of betel-leaf, betel-nut, and lime. lie lights the candle, after fixing it firmly to the plate, and gazes at it with moving lips.

In a few minutes he turns to the family and says that the boy’s spirit has fled. Calling for a pail of water, lie chants over it, and then says that if the boy is bathed with it he will recover. Having then prepared a talisman for the boy to wear, he leaves the house.

It may happen, perhaps, that one of the children cries at night. Although this is probably due to indigestion, the mother suspects some evil spirit. The bomor’s services are again enlisted, and he confirms her opinion. ' Calling for betel-leaf and ginger, he chews them and blows some of the mixture over the cliild’s body. Then, still chewing, lie retreats to the door, where he ejects the remainder of the mixture and quickly closes the door. This has blown the spirit away; it then only remains to guard the child with some talisman. To clear a haunted house the bomor holds a seance. Chanting before a candle, he slowly loses consciousness, and then, while in a trance and roaring like a lion, he goes chasing round the house until lie falls in a faint at the door. This shows that the house has been cleared. From such seances cats and dogs are generally excluded —in case the bomor should eat them while he is in his trance. Were he to do so he would become a tiger or some other wild beast! HGW TO LIVE TO BE 100. By a Harley Street Doctor, in the Weekly Dispatch. There is an old saying that unhappy marriages last for ever. Certain it is that if a man and his wife have quarrelled a good deal they seldom survive one another very long. The interest somehow goes out of life when there is no one left to quarrel with. When I learned that the year 1923 had been the healthiest ever known in the history of the world I could not help remembering this fact. For last year was one of the most qnxious and difficult this country has experienced. In other words, our troubles have been a tonic to us. We are discovering, as a nation, the wonderful effect of hard times in hardening and stimulating the human potters of resistance. It is a discovery almost as old as the world itself. Every great soldier and leader of men' has made it. Every statesman is, or ought to be, aware of it. —Keep Your Punch.— Put people in easy circumstances, and sooner or later they grow “ soft ” ; send them out to face the worries and anxieties of life and they grow strong again. Behind that truth lies, to-day, a new system of treating disease. Slowly but surely doctors are coming to see that health is only another name for the power to strike back when one is struck. A sick man is a man who cannot strike back—who cannot “ react.” And therefore the secret of long life is the secret of hard hitting, whether in a mental or a bodily sense. Keep your “ punch ” and you can defy the years. Let me give you an example: If a man receives a shock, the first effect of that shock is to make his heart beat more slowly. If the shock is very great his heart may even pause for a. moment. But if he is healthy, within a few seconds his heart will be beating hard, and his pale face will be red with blood. The shock, in other words, has “ bucked him up.” It has made him stronger bymaking him —in the first place—weaker. The same shock, / however, would make a sick man faint away. He would not be able to “ hit back.”

During the war some heart specialists learned this lesson. They actually treated soldiers w'ith weak hearts by giving them

exercises. At first they were very nervous about doing this, and used to watch the men carefully the whole time the exercises were being carried on. But after a while that fear passed away. The effect of the treatment showed that it was absolutely correct. Day by day and little by little the weak hearts grew stronger. They were “ hardened,” so to speak, and got back their healthy

“ punch.” Exactly the same thing applies to the stomach. People who become the slaves of the’.r digestions and live on milk diets never get well. I know of a most remarkable case of that sort. When I met him first he was a feeble-looking young man who believed that both his heart and his stomach were permanently out of order. He visited many doctors and lived on many different kinds of “ diets.” The least alarm turned him pale. —Facing the Rough and Tumble.— Then the war came, and the young man was called up. Fortunately for hnn a very sensible medical board passed him as fit for training. He was filled with anxiety, and appealed against tlieir dec - sion, which he thought was as good as a sentence of death. But in spite of that he had to serve. What is more, he had to eat the same food as his comrades wore eating. I met him after the arm stice, and did not know who lie was. He asked me out to dinner, and we had—well, I hesitate to say what we didn t have. \3 lien it was all over lie asked me how I thought he was looking. “ You are looking as if you might live to 100,” I said. “And 1 mean to live to 100.” From a. fiat-chested, weedy youth without fibre of any kind, he had developed into a sturdy, broad-shouldered man every moment of whose life was a joy to him. I asked him how he had done it, and he told me that he had not done it at all. What saved me, he said, “ was being forced to face the rough and tumble of life. Exercise cured niv heart and bully beef mended my stomach.” I am not suggesting, of course, that there are not times when rest is necessary or diets beneficial. But the modern tendency is to overdo these things. The real med'eines of the world are its strenuous games, its hard work, and its troubles. It is profoundly true that people with great responsibilities have no time to be ill. They have “no time,” as a merry old doctor of my acquaintance puts it, to lie down and die.” Each of us can go into training for a. long life by making his or her own life strenuous and eager. That is the first step. The second step consists in seeing that our‘ bodies have a few good hard knocks every day—so that they may not fail in the" power to hit back. A cold bath is a “ knock ” of that sort. The glow which follows it represents the body’s response. So, again, is a brisk walk before breakfast, so is an open window on a cold night, so is the use of dumb-bells or clubs in one’s bedroom. Ihe wearing of a belt is another form of the same treatment. The wearer is forced to breathe with his chest, and thus develops lung power. —Jov of Being Fit.— It is an interesting fact that every army in the world puts a belt round the soldier's waist as soon as he joins up. People who prefer what they call comfort to length of days always forget that it is immensely comfortable to be lit. lliey forget, too, that a body which hits back quickly gives its owner, as a rule, no trouble. He can trust it to see him through almost any difficulty. That is why the wave of depression which followed the war—when we all got home again and grew soft —is passm" away new. The hard times of the last two years have put us back to training. As a nation we are wonderfully fit—and so wonderfully cheerful.

We shall probably live longer than our fathers for just that reason.