A FAT CIGAR.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1274, 1 November 1911, Page 6

A FAT CIGAR.

(Sα. If.) MY AUNT SOPHIA. AND TIIE FORTY WINKS. [By "Wi."l I have como to tlio conclusion that a man has no business to go to slwp unless, and until, he is safely tucked up lor Iho night. My Aunt Sophia dorsn'l ogrro with me. "I am suro I really don't know what I should do without my afternoon nap," she said, the other evening. "And I really think," she added, "that if you were to try it we would have less of your reryes." I lit my cigar. "The last timo I had forty winks, Aunt, I committed a coldblooded, diabolical murder, and woke up shivering;, irritabje, and peevish. The. time before that," I continued, "I robbed a bank anrl shot two policemen. Another time I went through all the horrors of flie guillotine. What sort of a rest 'Jo you call that—eh ?" "Dear me!" said Aunt Sophia. "You must have a criminal taint about you somewhere," she added, maliciously. I offered no comment on the last statement. Certain temperamental antagonisms thrive in contentious atmospheres. I had no desire for a conflict—even of wife. Aunt Sophia proceeded.. "One must have proper sleep, you know, Charles." "Hear, hoar," said I, mentally recalling various frivolous and purple occasions when I burnt the candle at both ends. "Noir, look at these poor men in Parliament, Charles—whatever do they do to make up for the sleep they lose night after night?" "Are you really worried about them, Aunt?" "Well, Charles, they certainly cannot be in n fit state to attend to their duties when they sit up till three, four, and five o'clock in. the morning every day of the week." , "And our poor country—what of it?" "I suppose so, Charles. Why, of course, the country's interests must suffer as well, but one cannot but have some compassion for the men as well—one must, really." I smiled. "I suppose, Aunt," I said, "it hasn't occurred to you that these 'poor'men' as you so feelingly describe them, have got themselves entirely to blame for their uncomfortable situation?" "I don't quite see that, Charles." "Why not?" "Parliament has a certain amount of work to do, and a certain time to do it in." "Well ?" "If the work is heavy, then I suppose they must work longer hours." "Then if our members of Parliament have to work long hours, as they are doing, it's a fair assumption that the work is heavy?" "Naturally." I flicked the ash off tho cigar, and shook my head. "You've been jumping at conclusions again,, Aunt," I raid, in a voice of reproof. "The inference is perfectly clear, on the face of it," retorted Aunt Sophia. "Um , perhaps so. Once more, my dear aunt, permit me to warn you of the folly of estimating Hie political situation from the face of it. Its face is a blooming whited sepul " "Charles!"

" whitod sepulchre," I finished, in a pulpit voice.

Aunt Sophia regarded me with a hopeless expression. "Now," saul I, "let us get down to the truth of the matter. Just before the session opened, our lethargic friend Jimmy Carroll assured the country that the Government was ready with its business. There would bo no timo wasted waiting for the return of ye knight and ye baronet,-he said, in effect. Well, now, if the Government was ready with its business at tho beginning of tho session, why does the Prime Minister, at the eleventh hour, in the last week of the session, bring down legislation that wasn't even foreshadowed in the Budget? Why ■are the Public Works Estimates delayed till members have packed their suitcases, ready to jump the instant they get Hie word? Why is the most important business of tho session crowded into the last couple of weeks, and shoved through a Rouse that is so used up for want of sleep that even Joe Ward drops off in the middle of things, takes forty winks, and wakes up to find that he has voted two ways on tho one question?" "I—l—really, Charles," said Aunt Sophia, in tho voice of one endeavouring .to escape suspicion of complicity, "I don't know."

"The principal reason is quite obvious," I said. "The Government programme wasn't ready. The Budget itself was scraped together in such a hurry that it wasn't accurate. Everybody knows that. Another reason, less obvious, is that this is the year of advertising. Hansard is chock full of electioneering speeches. A third reason is that tho general tone and discipline of Parliament has deteriorated to an extent which makes for wilful waste of time. At every convenient opportunity tho baronet has got up, and on the slightest pretext wandered off into a rambling tirade, abusing his political opponents and newspaper critics. His followers have seconded him in his outbursts, and before you could say 'knife' a couple of valuable- hours had vanished—sacrificed to a puerile outburst of aristocratic spleen. And so on, and so on. A servile majority, and a slack discipline has resulted in an unexampled display of Parliamentary degeneracy. It lias been the most unsatisfactory session, from all points of view, that I can remember. The baronet's forty winks was the climax, I think. Tho lid was right off the pot then, and no mistake."

"I'm afraid I can't follow you, Charles," interrupted Aunt Sophia, resignedly. "Would you mind explaining, please, the forty winks, and also, the pot-lid." I laughed. "The forty winks and the pot-lid. Sure, Aunt. Well, now, about thoso forty winks. In the ireo sma' 'oors of Thursday morning, the Prime Minister of New Zealand partook of the forty winks to which he afterwards asserted he was entitled to by reason of the fact that he had been up all the night before —the injured innocence, virtuous indignation, sully-mc-not touch, you know, Aunt." "No, I don't know," commented the lady, coldly. "Hut proceed. It appears to mo to be irrelevant, whatever it is." "Oh, quite—frightfully irrelevant," I agreed, with sarcasm. "However, let us not anticipate. That was afterwards— when ho explained things. To resume. At the time the Prime Minister of New Zealand partook of the aforesaid forty winks, he was in his seat in the House, and the Mining Bill was on the board." "On tho what?" "The board—under discussion—see r" "H'm—Yes?" "The House went to a division on Clause 8, and when the list was tallied up, behold, the Prime Minister of New Zealand had done tho yes-not act." "How lucid—how perfectly lucid, Charles!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia, in a vinegar voice. "Your friend tho baronet voted with the Ayes and also with tho Noes—that's what I meant." "But he was asleep, Charles! How could he have done that." "Two obliging gen!lemon did it for him. Millar voted 'no' for him. which was right, and somebody else, Ell, they say, voted 'yes', and did the wrong thing. Tho moral, of course, is that the Prime Minister ought to hare recorded his vote personally, and so upheld, by example, the proper procedure to bo followed. Hedidn't. The next lime a division happens along, there will be more voting by deputy. In (he end there will be a firstclass row alront some dispute in a division list. And that is the story of the forty winks." "And the pot-lid?" "Well, you see, (he incident of tho forty winks was tho lifting of tho lid. When tho lid was lifted, the— er—birds began to sing. Comprenny?" "I think I do," said Aunt -Sophia smiling. "Tres bicn," she added.