REVIEW.

Evening Star, Issue 3017, 19 October 1872, Page 4

REVIEW.

Parliamentary Skits and Sketches, by Silver Pen. Wellington : C. W. Hamer. There lives in Wellington a lady who takes a deep interest in politics, and in the pleasantest manner possible brings into public notice the chief events of the Parliamentary Sessions. Wellington cannot support a “Punch.” Perhaps there is not sufficient artistic talent avalable : perhaps if there were, it is not worth investing the necessary capital for only a three months’ campaign. This lady, however, under the nom de plume of “ Silver Pen,” ably supplies the place of “Punch,” minus the illustrations; and this session her criticisms, grave and gay, have been collected into a small book, a copy of which has been transmitted to us. Tt would be out of place to affect anything beyond mere banter when hitting off the peculiarities of our leading men. If, therefore, Silver Pen’s writings are more Hudibrastic than Miltonian, it is because their design is best served by that style of writing. Their chief charm is their appositeness, raciness, and good-tempered ridicule. They are the playful sallies of a sound judgment, observing passing events, and display a keen insight into the characters of our leading men, hitting “ folly as it flies,” and given lessons for instruction in wisdom to all who will read. We give a couple of extracts, which our readers cannot fail to enjoy : WHO CAN TELL ? When will the session close ? Who can tell S Which of all the members knows ? Who can tell ? Will they finish all their work ? Which Bills will they mend—which shirk ? Does truth in each bosom lurk? Who can tell ? What will the Premier do ? Who can tell ? Donald Reid and Gillies too ? Who can tell ? Will they for the country feci, Put their shoulder to the wheel, And work bravely for her weal ? Who can tell ? What will the Premier do ? Who can tell ? Is he a good man and true ? . Who can tell ? Will he come and live in town ? Will he cut the salaries down, And on rash expenses frown ? Who ean tell ? Where will Julius Vogel go? Who can tell ? Is his heart brim full of woe ? Who can tell ? Will he on some distant strand Try to blind men’s eyes with sand, As he did in our fair laud ? Who can tell ? Why do goldfield members fight ? Who can tell ? Why does Harrison snub White ? Who can tell ? Why does each man ever say Only mine, is the right way ? Put my district first I pray ? Who cau tell ? Shall we all meet here next year ? Who can tell ? Will Scotch members interfere ? Who ean tell ? Will they from us take away All that makes us now so gay, Or shall we against it pray ? Who can tell 1

“ON DIT.” I cannot say the tale is true, but as I beard I tell to you.— Silver Pen. On dit that E. J. W., Before the great division, Was seen too much at Bellamy’s, Beclouding his fair vision. On dit the Opposition Whip, Albeit on the sly, Said, “on this voting man of ours I’ll keep a watchful eye.” On dit there is a little room, A fireplace in it too, Not very far from Bellamy’s, But out of public view. On dit that E. J. W. Was asked in there to take A tot or two of whisky, A piece of nice plum-cake. On dit that in his innocence, He walked into the trap, And having swallow’d down the bait, Reclin’d and took a nap. On dit they lock’d the door and put The key into their pocket; But Vogel’s members watched the same, And vow’d they would unlock it. On dit they could not manage it, But found a ladder handy, So climb’d the roof and down the Hue They dropt a flask of brandy. On dit that E. J. W, (lot quite light in his head ; And so they for the doctor scut, And put him straight to bed. On dit that Vogel’s voting men, Out of kind sympathy, With brandy, gin, and other sweets, The wretched man did ply, On dit he turned indignantly Upon his great chiefs toes, And said “before I’ll traitor turn I’ll eat my eyes and nose. ” On dll a coach call’d W. Young, To which were horses four, To bear the voter from his bed, Stood ready at the door. On dit they miserably fail’d In such great imposition ; And E. J. W. gave his vote To Stafford’s opposition. ,/c' Dll, the world’s so full of lies And tab s of midnight line We can’t believe the half of them— I do not—say, do you ?