CORRESPONDENCE.

Cromwell Argus, Volume 1, Issue 46, 28 September 1870, Page 5

CORRESPONDENCE.

— o — do not hold ourselves responsible for the opinions expressed by our correspondents.] —o A SWAGGER'S “SURMISE." To the. Editor of the Cromwell Argus. Sir, —In a hut where I was staying the other night I saw an old Cromwell Argus, containing a letter signed “ Shepherd ” an I very sensibly written. I got a sheet of paper ami wrote the following For the last three months I have been on the “ wallaby” track. I got work last year sheepwashing ; thou I went to harvesting, and afterwards tried gold-digging ; but the only gold I could strike was the golden sovereigns in my pocket, earned on the harvest-field—and mighty scarce they got at last, I can assure you ; so I had to go and seek for work, but as yet the search has been in vain. Sometimes, when I am going along the road, I feel inclined to imitate the example of that poor waggoner, hut the want of a waggon-tilt prevents mV taking such a step. I sometimes think the like of me will be wanted by-and-bye ; for without us the sheep might run wild ou the hills, the London woolmarket be closed up, and the poor people at home run about naked for want of clothes. That idea of my great value goes a long way to soothe my unquiet mind. Again, I sometimes think—Well, New Zealand wants a new kind of men invented now—men possessed of the nature of one of those hibernating (I got that word from a fellow who said he slept in the same house with a naturalist once) animals such as the tortoise, which go to sleep all winter, and wake up in summer, when the sun shines and the busy season comes on ; and then she would be right. Well, this “Shepherd” tells us that the squatters should jp in for a repeal of the sheeptax ; and so say t. I have had many a comfortable billot with the squatters, and as the soldier remarked when he was sentenced to 330 lashes, “ Well, I’ve plenty to get and little to do, at any rateand when I am in the same condi-tion-barring the lashes—l am conscious of the fact, which a great many people novv-a-days a.te not. Now, don’t draw the inference from the above remark, “Why, that fellow is a loafer.” “I scorns the haction,” as the Cockney said. I believe in doing a fair day’s work for a failday’s pay. Well, these journeyiugs of mine force upon me the conclusion that not one-third of the men arc employed on stations that there wore three years ago. I go up to a station and ask for work, and the usual answer is —“ Yes, plenty of work : I want to run a fence between so-and-so ; I want to put up a stable ; I want to put up a now sheepyavd ; but 1 Ve no money to pay for any of these things. Wool ’a down, and I am only getting seven boh a head for the heat wethers ; and I have no money to employ you. Well, I suppose the boss’s statoment is correct ; and as they need not scud to London and tell them to raise the price of wool, and the people will give no more for mutton, and the likes of

me can't lie employed for want of money, f saylet the sheep-farmers go in. for a repeal of the sheep tax. The British Government repealed the corn laws ; why should not the Otago Government repeal, or rather modify the sheep tax, when it is found to press too heavily on those who bear it, amongst whom, indirectly, is yonr humble servant. Make it, as “ Shepherd” says, li.Ul instead of 7d, and then there will be £30,000 to spend in useful, and in many cases necessary, improvements in Otago. Let some patriotic squatter get up a petition, and I am sure it will be signed by nine-tenths of my class. They must come down with the “sugar” this year, this month in fact; but if they pay 7d again, without attempting to get it reduced, I for one will have an answer when I am told by the squatter that times are too bad. I had some thoughts of hoarding up my money next season and going over to the Fijis ; but the thought of me assisting to close up the London wool market, and preventing some poor creature at home from wearing stockings, and the hope of yet seeing a more pleasant expression playing over the present gloomy faces of my friends the squatters, have interposed. Perhaps next year I may not be a Swaooeß.