THE POLYGLOT PAPERS.

Gisborne Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1634, 23 December 1905, Page 3

THE POLYGLOT PAPERS.

[By Alpha.]

A chiel’s among ye takia’ note 3, An’ faith, he’ll print them.”

I opon this week’s lucubrations with a warning to all and sundry that it would be libellous to regard my temporary silence for the past few weeks, and my present resuscitation in tliGse columns as being in any degree affiliated with Rip-Van-Winldeism. On the contrary, I have been particularly wide awake, partly from choice, but principally on account of the relentless proddings of that undeniable whipperin who pertinaciously forces most of us into action—necessity. No, my dear fellow stragglers, I have not been luxuriating in any sort of clover, nor yet enjoying the inert relaxation of a prolonged siesta. I have been “ seeing things,” things exciting, sensational, some of them violently volcanic in their abrupt style of introducing themselves, some of them gratifying, others of them mystifying, some of them—er—well, yes, I’ll risk the com-pliment-all of them edifying—ne gatively or positively. This requires some philosophic elucidation, (I delight in using easy words, so that he who runs may read) and the elucidation untwists itself thusly.

Take the latest big event of the election. Shades of Disraeli, Pitt, and all other historic political policy expounders who have glorified the hustings with their eloquence, who would have thought that here, in this modest town, there should spring up a quartette of political braves to go through electioneering hakas eclipsing, in some sort, the brilliant displays of their great political forbears, and to make Waipu generally and Gisborne particularly, classic ground? The smiling sarcasms of Carroll, the squirmproducing, come - one - come - all defiances of Clayton, the suave, but quietly decisive declarations of Wall, and the squashing black map f ulmina-

tions of that last moment competitor, Darton, all made up a variety entertainment “ never before seen on any stage,” whereat the back-seat orators excitedly poured out their interj ectory eloquence, and. some of them actually disported their graceful figures on the platform, to belabor the haka-per-forming candidates with “ questions,” some of which related to everything in general and nothing in particular, while the ladies (bless ’em!) ornamented the candidates and the whole proceedings with choice bouquets of flowers, as if with the delicate desire of transforming the political pandemonium into a rose-scented Arcadia. This part of the programme was no doubt highly gratifying to the candidates, and if some of them didn’t get votes enough to realise their ardent ambitions, they got flowers enough to keep busy at the refreshing exercise of smelling for a month. Those bestowments of flower bouquets al-

most made me resolve to become a candidate at the next triennial. All this was very gratifying, in some sort, if not edifying, though there was a good, deal in it that was puzzlingly mystifying, but the mystification reached a most affecting climax in that pathetic open air exhibition when the polling totals were announced, and “ Jimmy ”

was proclaimed winner. electors, gjdid not your eyes fill with tears, and did not your hearts tend erly throb in unison with your stirred

emotions and sympathetic snuftlings when the three unsuccossfuls mota“ pho ically Ml oa “ Jimmy's ” n:ck, kisied him, and slobbered him over with assurances that he was " the best member Wuiapu over had,” that lie was 11 a strictly bonoiable man,” etc., and that their little gaino of candidature was only for the purpose of gently “ shaking Jimmy up.” All this was very mystifyiug —muchly so, considering the squirming end black U 1 tp episodes, and was graifjing, too for Jimmy ; but was it—nov, was it er—a edifying ? 0 ver this conundrum Iso atch my poor, bare footed head with unaccustomed vigo; and give it up ; not the head, but the oenundrum.

Through all this election hubbub there wai ore man wbom I deeply sympathised I with, to wit, His Worship the Mayor. To tho dutio3 of chairmanship the kindly, j gonial little gentleman was a veritable martyr, but it was a new phafo of martyr- j o ogyjfor h) wtnt t ijih i sla— ir every time with a smiling cheerfulness that was an inspiration in itself, and encouragingly pattod overy canlidate on tbe back iu suob kindly, tactful t.smiJ os to impress you with the notion that ho iotenlod to voto for the lot of them. I oall that masterpiece of diplomacy; and yet there were no bouquots of flowers far him, not even a sohtory rose 1 Doar ladies, will you kindly remember the de~ solving on the next occasion ?

One move mystery and I have don 9 with this election pow wow I deeply sympathise with Mr H H. Wall. There must have been something undeniably rot—a —shady in the prohibition style of Denmark, when that gontloman was so sevorely left out in tho cold. Figuro it oct, Prohibitionists declaro that they want prohibition, ardently, earnestly want it. Well and good. Then here is a gentleman known for years as a prohibitionist, spending time and money in the

oause, and also, a gentleman of well ykaown, unimpeaohablo integrity, with at hast as tnuoh intelligence as any prohibitionist, and a stronger sonso of rfght and justice than serno of them can boast of, yet tho majority, of prohibitionist votes (I am referring strictly to tho elootoral poll) woro actually dividod boiwoon two candidates, who loft tho quostion of prohibition sovoioly alone, and didn’t care a snap whether it woro oarriod or not, in foot, would bo tather pleased than otherwise that it were not oarriod. This is a mystory requiring some mystorious kind oflogio to solve. Tho No-License League deoiinos to favour any one particular oondidato on tho ploa that prohibition is not a politioal question. Piiow ! Who in tho world coorood a cajoled I hem into that? Messieurs le Leaguers, bo educated, and learn that any question requiring parliamentary legislation, and that is aotually tabulated to bo legislated upon, is ossontially a politioal quostion, and if you had boen ooDsistont with tho principles you profess, you would have voted holus-bolus for Wall I That’s tho logical, straight-out issue, without any mystification. Voila!

And Christmas is here again 1 Thai

time-honored, benevolent old gentlemaD, Santa Claus, has to resume his annual, world-wide oontract of making his midnight rounds to inflate vacant juvenile socks and stookings with wondrous toy treasures and elegant koiok knacks, and on Christmas morning thorfi will bo a smiling, laughing oratorio of juvenile delight all over tho laod, just as in tho days when wo ourselves wore oherub-like innocents, and cro.ved with rapture over the precious toy gifts surreptitiously supplied to us by the exceedingly active, white-boarded old patriarch who never grows older, and in whom in those halcyon days wo as fondly boliovod. God bless tho dear little people 1 Let them rejoioo in tho pleasant and pardonable Santa Claus fib, and enjoy all

tho sunshine they can, tho shadows will fall athwart their sweet young lives quite soon enough, and if we can make their fi'st days bright and happy days, they wi", in the future, at least have tender memories to oomfort and oheer them Christmas is specially a time when human sympathies grow warmer, and less of hard selfishness finds plaoe and voioe. Whatever higher signification may be attached to tho season, it certainly brings to us many good and graoious memories, softens the usual hard-headed indifferentism that usually subsists between us, and draws us nearer to each other in generous feelings and sympathetio goodwill. Then “ A Merry Christmas to you all,” with bright and prosperous days to follow. N.B.—Should any of my readers desire Santa Claus to favor me with substantial tokens of Chriatmes goodwill, I beg respectfully to inform them that my address is 11 office of this paper.”