THE CHANGING SCENE.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1080, 20 March 1911, Page 6

THE CHANGING SCENE.

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW. .(Br M.C.K.), During a discussion at the Methodist Conference in Melbourne upon compulsory military training, the Hev. Mr. Madsen moved in favour cf a conscience clause. "He argued," says tho cable message, "that compulsory training contemplated killing." Tho way these good men rush to conclusion*! No, Mr. Mndsen, killing is the last tiling that is contemplated. The idea is to train the young men in oratory, in order that when the enemy arrives each territorial shall mount a soapbox and form a cordon round Australia. The. enemy, on disembarking, will be presented with handbills calling their attention to the fact that addresses are to Ik given by the men on the boxes, and spccial trains will be arranged for the distribution of tho invaders into groups around tho various speakers. At 2.30 p.m. precisely the speaking will b?gin, and the great benefits of peace and the wickedness of war will be pointed out from tho 300,000 soap-boxes. Mr. Madsen has bee;: misled by tho rifles that the territorials are supplied with. Rifles are not meant for killing. He is thinking of axes. The rifles are merely to keep the moil from slouching about with their hands'in their pockets. But if Mr. Madsen wants to do something—and he seems to be a man with ideas—why does he not turn his attention to that great national shame, the fire brigades? Does-it require any argument to show that fire brigades contemplate arson? And the police system clearly contemplates drunkenness and burglary. Away with them! If Mr. Madsen will move a resolution against them, pointing out - that these things are insults to humanity, his resolution. will be seconded by this column. • An, inquiry that has arrived: "Dear Sir,—Will you do me the favour Of telling me what Is the reason I'm fretful and nervous. Distrait, and what not? Though unchanged seems the whole situation. I feel—and. there's no explanation— That something exceedingly vital to civilisation Has gono all to pot. "The murders and scandals and so on Contrive to occur; Tho usual old nuisances go on; I see, here and there, The old signs of a coming election; Tho North's in-the usual direction; Yet I feel in my bones—and the cause has escaped my inspection— We're not where we were." To which the reply is: "Dear . Sir,—'What, you miss is your morning Five columns or so Ke' the treacherous back-stabbers' wafnine About what we owe. . And the proof that the outlook is splendid: Five columns of platitude blended 'In one lengthy sentence that "still lacked its verb when it ended— You miss, Sir, Sir Joe. "When the dweller by thundering beaches Goes inland to dwell, Ho cannot, experience teaches, . Believo that the swell And the roar of t-he cr.dless* old ocean Have not been abolished—the notion That something's gono bung fills his soul with a nameless emotion; Ho doesn't feel well. "You feel that the Empire is shaking? That nothing can thrive?'.': , /id you start ovcry morn on awaking To find you're alive? It is just that you miss tho oration That shows that the outlook's carnation— A fact that is based on that bcdrock of multiplication, That twice 2 are 5. "But fret not. All's well. There's a steward ' In a ship far away Who hears, from a cabin to leeward, All night and all day How the outlook and Empire are dashin' Along in a glorious fashion. And at times, though lie's only a steward, he's stirred into passion. And hollers 'Hooray I"' It has been easy enough this week to see that Sir Joseph Ward is away. Had ho been here Mr. I'owlds wouldnot have defended the Government's decision to have tho Coronation medals made in England. It is very satisfactory, however, to know that the heart of the nation is sound, and that the trades unions are as loyal and patriotic as ever. They have asked Mr. Fowlds whether he is aware that the workers will not allow their children to wear medals that -were not riiads in New Zealand. What worker, indeed, could bear to see his little Tommy wearing a British-made medal, flaunting on his little breast tho badge of 'ated Mammon, a walking advertisement of the inferiority of the New Zealand toiler? No worker could; and there will bo some bitter tears when Tommy's medal is torn from him by his pained and patriotic parent. But why does not Labour go further? Why does ho not carry out a systematic boycott? There is the English language, for example'; 'ow long is the wucker goin' to endoor this forring tongue? And what does the toiler mean by tolerating the books of Englishmen? When is he going to arise and demand that tho Government shall stop tho importation of books? When is his blood going to boil over at the bookshops that advertise the fallacy that the New Zealand toiler cannot write poetry and novels and things as good as the British article? When you think of all tho things that Mr. T. E. Taylor and his toiler pals have to endure,' you must really wonder at their patience. English books, German pianos, foreign pictures, French motorcars—it is a long list. Tho very law of gravitation is .an English product. Wireless telegraphy is the invention of an Italian. Why are all these things permitted? But a beginning has been n/ade with the revolution. "To didn't see annywan sittin' on yere doorstep, Jawn, did ye, waitin' t' occupy th' homo that yo feloniously stole fr'm him?" asked Mr. Doolcy. "No! What d'ye mane?" asked Mr. Henncssy, in a startled and angry voice. "Well, ho must bo hauntin' somewan else." "Who?" said 1 Mr. Hennessy. "Th" wurrker, Jawn. Th' poor downthrodden frind iv Dave Maclar'n, th' emaciated victim iv til' capitalistic system, which is you an' me. Dave's liearrt is blcedin' f'r th' man on th' durestep. Yo don't seo him. I don't see him. No--body sees him. But Dave sees him. Just you listen t' Dave. Yo wudn't think Davo wuz a victim iv th' outrageous system that makes min wurrk eight hours a day f'r fivo days at th' rate iv thrco palthry poun's a week. An' ye wud he right. Ho isn't a victim. He's a produo' iv it, an' what fault he has t' find with it whin it gives him six or eight poun's a week for sayin' how downtrodden he is. But there's no selfishness about Dave. He doesn't, spare himself in th' gran' cause. He is always ready t' give a speech f'r th' wurrker. Ho sits up on cowld nights, whin ho might be in bed, coniposin' manifestoes. He's grown thin thinkin* iv how t.h' thruo owners iv th' earrth, th' brave noble-hearrted toilers that supplies th' brains an' muscle?, is ground t' powdher 'neath th' iron heel iv Mammon, th' wans

that escape tain' forced t' tit on ditrestcps an' beg. He wears gum-boots t' wade through 111' blood iv Labour wcltherin' in its gore. .An' lie wants 111* wurrkers l' rise. 'What,' lie asks, 'is til' cause iv this apathy? "Why da ye toil an' sit 011 duresleps an' get Ihrampled.on,' he says, 'instead iv risin',' he says, 't' a sol" job in Parlyniint?' "lie says. 'Rise an' yo will overthrow Mammon,' he says. 'But ye remain in chains. What is Hi' cause? Why do I see 111' e'arrth runniii' with tli' wurrkers' blood? Why do I see skeletons sitlin' 011 th' duresteps iv 111' houses usurped be th' fat robbers that saved up money an' bought them? Why.do I hear a cry iv lamentation fr'm th' brokenkneed toiler? Why do I'make this appeal t' ye t' rise an' smash ihingsr' he says. 'Why,' he says, an' th' aujienco iv four says 'Dave's allright,' 'why?'" "Well, why?" asked Hogan. ""lis news t' me." "Because," said Mr. Dooley, "because Davo don't take enough exercise. Sometimes it only causes spots before the eyes. But this is a bad case."