BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 19782, 4 February 1928, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By 0 Wl “Tin lime has ccme," the Walrus said, “To talk of many things.” If there is not joy in many an Otago homestead there ought to be. Never before has wool brought the prices it did at this week’s sale. Nor should ,tho jubilation be confined to the rural districts. It is one-of the happy dispensations of Providence that in such cases everybody benefits in some degree, lu these things, as in others, man cannot live unto himself alone. More cash in the sheep farmer’s pocket means more spending power. Even if he declines to spend—which, as people say ■about war, is unthinkable—and puts his money in the hank, it means more lending power, which in moderation is ( not a bad thing. As Sir Arbuthnot' Lane said about alcohol, it is, when properly used, a valuable tonic. Truly ■we begin to have hopes. All the leading British,economists, bankers, and financiers assert that wo are entering a period of trade revival, and as they have said the same thing every New Year since 1921 they ought to be right this time, according to the law of probabilities. They cannot keep on being wrong indefinitely. Wc look forward -to a time when unemployment as a problem will disappear, and when there will be money available to do many things which are now shelved for want of means. In the near future the City Corporation may fill up a few of the shell holes in the streets. The inhabitants of the hilly portions of Anderson’s Bay may one day find the water flowing profusely from their taps, and some of the corporation buses may get their mudguards restored to something more or loss like their original shape. Perhaps these dreams are too rosy, but man is a most hopeful animal, and lucky for him that he is so.

. The two things whciii first strike the visitor from Australia on reaching our shores are the greenness of our fields and the rosy cheeks of our girls. Of these blessings the climate is the principal cause. In both cases art is sometimes employed to assist Nature. Yet it is true that certain parts of Otago occasionally suffer from the drought, despite efforts of both Nature and man. Just at present the Central Otago settlers are saving up all the hard things they can think of to communicate to Mr Coates on his forthcoming visit to Dunedin. As a usual thing we deprecate the almost universal tendency to look to the Government for everything wanted, and to blame it for everything that goes wrong. In this case we sympathise with the settlers. In taking up their holdings many, probably most, of them were influenced by the Government irrigation scheme, which was to make the wilderness blossom as the rose, bring affluence to the settlers, and benefit to the community at large. Now they have irrigation works which, they assure us, do not irrigate, though the interest on the cost thereof is still payable half-yearly in gold in London. The department concerned puts up a not very convincing defence. It seems to think that if the settlers will bnly be patient and wait, possibly till trie winter rains come, matters will improve. Unfortunately, the average settler cannot afford to wait, nor, under the circumstances, do we really see why he should be asked to do «o. The Government objects to waiting for its taxes. Why should the settler be asked to wait for his water?

*■ * » The annals of our land contain many a story which is an inspiration and a Challenge. 'ln peace or war, by land arid sea, in every walk of life we have never failed to produce the great man. Nor is'the race extinct or degenerate. Consider the case of Mr J. H. Mostyn, late Lord Mayor of Sydney. As a lad,'he'tells us, he sold papers in the streets to earn money wherewith to learn the electrician’s craft or mystery. The electrician’s trade, honorable as it is, and possessing, as it does, a most forbidding technical vocabulary, is not, however, a sure road to fame and affluence.’ With unerring instinct Mr Mostyn became .a union secretary. It is a position which no weakling can. as the Americans finely put it, “hold down.” One fears that Mr Mostyn had many struggles. W© imagine him in moments of depression echoing those poignant words attributed to the late Cecil Rhodes, “So many done, so many more to do.” But he held ou. He held on like an octopus. In the fulness of time Iris reward came. He became Lord Mayor of one of the great cities of the world. His benign rule so endeared him to the people that it seemed as if ho could only bo separated from his job by the use of high explosives. Under his sway Sydney accumulated a debt which will not be forgotten by the ratepayers for many a year to come. Some of the corporation employees, it is asserted, only turned up on pay days. But the philosopher has said “ Call no man happy till he is dead,” and many theologians consider that it is taking a long shot to do so even then. A new Premier arose—we blush to say that he was born in New Zealand —who, on the pleas of public honesty, economy, and so forth humped Mr Mostyn and his twenty-two aldermen out. With grave dignity the ex-Lord Mayor handed over his keys, stepped into his 1928 model sedan, with silver fittings, and departed. Mr Mostyn is now an importer and iuclentor of electrical wares. Ho may get a share of the corporation orders, or he may not. We arc inclined to think the latter. A * * A It is not so long ago since a kindly Government decided to assist the pork industry. Already the Australians are demanding an increased duty on New Zealand pork, on the ground that otherwise their own pork growers are unable to compete against our product. A. child born with a man’s brain, and its own insatiable curiosity, would find much at which to wonder in this world. We are, as Auatole France pleasantly puts it, “ a sort of bacteria living precariously on the face of the earth,” and one would naturally think that we would try to make the best of things. There are great variations in climates, fertility of soils, aptitudes of peoples, and so forth. The childish observer would conclude that each community would do the work for which it was best fitted, and exchange its surplus for the surpluses of others. Instead of this, it would find that New Zealand, for example, which is not a wheat-growing country, objects to giving its people cheap bread. It imposes a duty on imported wheat. Practically only one civilised nation in the world has even a nominal free trade policy, and this is liable to alteration without notice, like a steamer’s sailing date. Citizens of Canton are severely discouraged from settling here, and the romantic Scot from Glasgow, can only enter the United States of America through the back door, and then at a cost which appals him. No man may work at his trade unless he belongs to the union, and he even finds difficulty sometimes in getting into the charmed circle. Instead of the men with money and the men with brains and muscles working harmoniously for the common good, each party does its best to grab as much out of the partnership as possible, irrespective of the welfare of the community at large. Worst of all, the infant_ observer would discover that, as things stand, these conditions and' many others like them appear to be inevitable. It must be a humorous world to survey Isom Mats.

Wc noticed the other day a reference to Mi”A. C. Mellon, Secretary of the United States Treasury, as “ one of the lesser American millionaires.” Mr Mellon, it seems, is worth about fifty millions. An Americail with only one million is in no more than modest Comfort these days. We Wonder how it is clone. A good many hard tilings were said about the first crop of millionaires, but it is understood that the quality has improved greatly with careful selection since then. His friends described him as" one of the best, His foes thought him worse than lago;

He .seldom was seen to smile at a jest, He lived in the town of Chicago. He dealt in butter, and pickles, and cheese, In eggs, and in apples, and honey, Tomatoes and beans, and chowder and peas, And he left a million of money. The name of his wife was Cecilia Du Cane, His own was Cornelius Stuckey; Some said that he had a wonderful brain, And others, he simply was lucky. He spent all the day and much of the night In plotting and planning and slaving, And, needless to say, he never got tight, And had quite a genius for saving. His children, however, were quite the

reverse, And lived as befitted their station; When he was taken away in a hearse They bore it with great resignation. When all’s said and done he had not much fun, His memory nobody blesses; His pile lias gone to a reprobate son, None know what his present address is.