THE SUNDOWNER'S SWAG.

Akaroa Mail and Banks Peninsula Advertiser, Volume I, Issue 70, 20 March 1877, Page 2

THE SUNDOWNER'S SWAG.

" About Nothing there's Something of Mystey."

" Addle-pated profundities."

Theologians, political economists, employers of labour, our own common sense, all tell and teach us that " time is valuable." '' Be in time," says the showman ; " lose no time," advertises the -puffing draper ; " the third and last time," says Mr. Adams ; ''just in time," says I when I see a " shouting friend" drop in; and " how's my time," says the inevitable loafer who joins us; "waste no time," says the Rev. Mr. Sleek. I could quote a number oil eminent authorities on the same subject, but refrain, as I fancy it would be but " waste of time " to attempt to prove to the Borough Councillors that their time should not be valueless as their late actions prove it to be. This is how the " wilful waste of time" occurred. The time is evening—in the palatial hall of council sit somnolently, theinueh-to-be-envied "rulers of the state," with His Worship" enthroned in all the " pomp and panoply " whiah should, and does, surround civic greatness — " It is ten o'clock : Thus may we see how the world wags ; Tis but an hour since it was nine ; And after an hour more 't will bo eleven; And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And so from hour to hour we rot and rit, And. thereby hangs a tale.— So tliere does, Sir! and this "ungrateful and unkempt" sundowner is going to tell it —the uielliiiously voiced clerk is reading in tiie silveriest of his silvery accents, the ponderously momentous doings of the last meeting weich are duly confirmed. Then is a letter read, which wakes up those present, and causes a little social jangling ; it is proposed, that the prayer of the letter be acceded to, and it is also proposed that the letter be referred to a committee ; botli these propositions are rejected, and the matter is left standing—how ? Another letter—emanating from the same gentleman, who wrote the previous one —is then read, and this, a liter some more needless jangling, is referred to the same mythical committee. After voting a few more incidents, the Council adjourn, doubtless with the happy idea that they have got through a heap of business, instead_ of having wasted an evening in simply doingnothing. Now, the cause of this perplexity among the councillors was my, and the grumbling growler's, friend J.D.G. '"Twas you, Sir! 'tis true, Sir! 1 toil you nothing new, Sir! "Twas you that popped the letters in, 'Twas you. Sir ! you." Drop your jokes, James. I scarcely know when yon are in earnest, how then can a borough councillor ? You and your brothers handwritings are too much at once for the council, if you must mystify them, do it with one letter, not two, as Artemus Ward's negro friend said " I'Jl take, gin." What'a yours, James ? Every person on board a ship cannot be a captain, neither can every member of a Road Board be its chairman ; tliere must be second fiddlers in all orchestras, as there is in that compact little musical party yclept the Akaroa and Wainui Road Board. 1 say " musical party," advisedly, for has not the Board its own trumpeter, in the person of Mr. Duxbury? did not that niiJdly diffident gentleman sing paens of praise over the Board's parsimony in '' taking care of their money '?" Will you join in chorus Mr. Chapped, is'nt it better for the money to be locked up than expended on that road, the making of which you have consistently agitated about for years past? Mr. D., however, although anything but a mean performer upon a brazen instrument is nowhere as a second violinist, the glory of that position, on the Board, is Mr. Lelievre's, and well he has earned it;

who can tell the number of secondings he has done since propitious fate, and an uncontested election, made him a Road Boarder ? What an unalloyed pleasure it must be to maestro the chief piper, to know that no rehearsals are necessary to make his seconder perfect. Play up, Mr. Piper, you have the makings of an admirable band—keep on fiddling away, second Mr. Lelievre, who knows but that some of these days you may tumble across as original an idea as the " Iron Lamp Posts" of blessed memory, and then you can burst out in all the "glorious effulgence of a leader "The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus ; Let no such man be trusted.—" I'm off, Sir ! where's my swag and billy ? scribbling is to me, drowthjMvork. I have been reading tie works of "Old Ben Jonson, rare old Ben, The best of poets, and worst of men." And that rollicking genius states that "They are things of no spirit, Their blood is asleep, That, when it is offered them Do not drink deep." Ha ! ha! what do you think of that brother Morey ? shall we argue this potent matter, amicably, over at WagstafFs ? I'm on! no confound it, I mean, I'm off Adieu.