BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 19658, 10 September 1927, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By Q-V.l “The time has come,” the Walrus said, “ To talk ol many things.” Ail income tax is a. peculiar thing. Unlike most taxes, practically everyone admits that it is a necessary evil. Like all other taxes, everyone is strongly of opinion that it should he paid by the other fellow. Under the present proposals of the Government the class most affected is the lower middle—the respectable, . churchgoing, 'subscriptiongiving folk who have few friends, politically speaking. Tho big men hear the troubles of tho lower middles with philosophy, and tho representatives of Labor with - something even less sympathetic. The lower middles are not vocal. On ein a way they write a letter to tho local paper witli considerable trepidation, and when it appears, if it does appear, they cut it out and put it where the moth cannot corrupt. The risk of thieves breaking through and stealing is negligible. Yet tho lower middles deserve a good deal more consideration than they got. Their main fault, from one point of view, is that they have no genius for organisation. They are honest, uncomplaining, Capable of much sacrifice, imbued with a simple patriotism, _ and they wash behind the ears. It is a pity that the exigencies of finance have impelled Mr Downie Stewart to attack their modest salaries, but as he does not expect to attack them with great severity, doubtless the victims will groan and hear it, as is their wont. Revenue raised by* means of a tariff on imported goods has the merit that it is paid by the individual in a multitude of • tiny sums. Blood sucked by a leech flows unnoticed, while the effusion resulting from a vigorous blow on, the nose is apparent to tho most obtuse. A good many city properties have changed hands recently, among them being the old King’s Theatre, which, if it feels so inclined, can boast of a more varied career than most. It was built in tho Middle Ages of Dunedin, sO to speak. We are not sure as to who furnished the money, but it was called the Lyceum, and was apparently in the possession of a band of what were then called “ Freethinkers.” Some unkind person said that their principal characteristic was that they did not think freely, but this was a libel. Their ‘‘thoughts wandered from tho earliest ■geological times to the far distant future, and from tho most distant star to the core of the earth. They were exceeding earnest, and had the faith in man which may be able to remove mountains, hut seems to have singularly little effect on the more stubborn human material. They held forth on Sunday evenings, and the proceedings were decorous in the extreme, occasionally even unto dullness. By tho irony of fate, the site of their tabernacle was owned by a church organisation, which must have collected its rent with a certain sense of spoiling the Egyptians. When we next, saw the Lyceum it was a skating rink, or something of the sort. Later on it became a kind of theatre. Wo recollect arriving in Dunedin one night, and, being at a loose end. “going to sec the show.” It was a very poor show, and we left early, and w r ent to bed. After a period of idleness the King’s Theatre, ex-Lyceum, where so many orators had expounded their views on the universe, became a garage. What will it he in its next incarnation ? We know not. To ns it wiU ever remain the Lyceum, the place where we first heard the word “solidarity,” and wondered greatly what the deuce it meant.

Au unobstrusivc message from Geneva lias some interest for us, and may have more in the future. At the World Population Conference M. . Albert Thomas, who was the French Minister of Munitions during part of the war time, suggested that it would be well to look into the questions of whether people had a right to reproduce beyond their economic resources, and also whether they had the right to conserve soil from which they wore not producing the maximum. From our point of view the answer to the second question is: “Yes.” Wo have taken possession of-a very desirable section, put a fence round it, and borrowed a bulldog or two from our parent as a hint to intruders. There is a notice at the gate, “ No Asiatics need apply,” and wc are not too keen on admitting our own relations. Relations are troublesome people to have near one. They are either rich and put us to shame, or poor and want to borrow from us. Away with them! Wo can get all the trouble we want at borne without importing any. The man outside the fence holds other opinions. “ Tha t looks a nice sort of place ” he says, “ I think that I could make better use of it than some of the people I sec inside.” Later on, when ho finds his own quarters getting more cramped, ho begins to speculate what would happen if he bought some poison for the bulldogs and a stout axe for the fence. That is as far as we have gone at present, perhaps as far as wo shall ever go, but Mr Thomas’s views on the subject are worth considering by all countries with plenty of land and not much population. As for restriction of the birthrate, as things go nowadays, it will be a long time before we need to worry about that. * * * * THE POSTMAN. How many, many thousand times We’ve waited at the gate, And, harking to the Town Hall chimes, Have said, “He’s very lute”? “ Hope springs eternal in the breast” Alth ougli the hair be grey. Though yesterday was as the rest, Wc may have luck to-day. Perhaps our aged Undo Bill To our relief has come, And loft us in his final will, A most substantial sum. Maybe some half-forgotten shares Have turned up trumps at last, Though very seldom backward fares Bread on the waters cast.

Maybe some friend of other days Has sent a word of cheer. Haply some line of kindly praise Will make the skies seem clear. Although the times are out of joint. And vanished cakes and ale, The hour which is the turning point. May be when comes the mail. ‘Tis sweet to win, no matter how, One’s laurels, Byron says, Perhaps our little booklet now Has caught the public gaze. Perhaps—but here he comes at last, oblivious of our thrills, And hands us, as he hurries past, The monthly sheaf of bills. * * * The members of the Green Island Council carry a good deal of care upon their shoulders. There is the eternal question of the main road. All day long streams of motor vehicles of all speeds, sizes, and weights, rush through Green Island, spurning the stones behind them, digging out potholes, scattering dust in fine weather and mud in the rainy seasons. To them Green Island is merely a reminder that they are not far from Dunedin. Its joys and sorrows, its indigence or prosperity, have no interest for them. In the heart of the town a stream divides into two branches, one flowing towards Brighton and the 'sea, the other towards the fatness of the Taieri Plain. They leave behind them a constantly renewed odor of petrol, but no cash. Tf one broke down it might ho well imagined that the. Green Islanders yrouJd descend upon it grimly and tow

it to the pound. At other the place is invaded by herds of cattle, presumably on their way to the slaughter. They roam from side to side of the broad street, mooing dismally and casting hostile looks upon the citizens. Probably they have a dim premonition of their fate ■, and would like to die fighting. They strike terror into tiie hearts of mothers, who see visions of their offspring impaled on the horns of some, hefty Hereford, or trampled beneath the feet of a gigantic Shorthorn. Add to these more distinctive troubles the usual crop of annoyances grown in every community, and one cannot hut sympathise with the councillors of Green Island; Poor men, their deliberations often last long after most people are in bed, and unless Green Island differs from all other towns, their sole reward is to be blamed for everything that goes wrong.