IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 476, 24 December 1875, Page 3

IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS.

Taxation in New Zealand. [Conversation at Christchurch Club—Two Squatters sitting in the window.] 1st —Well, friend, how pleasant it is to indulge in a fragrant weed, and to have the dolce fxr niente feeling concerning this taxation that is so much agitated. 2nd—Ha, ha! Didn’t we manage those elections well to get Richardson, who is a squatter, and Moorhouse, the father and friend of squatters and pre-emptives, put into Parliament for such a commercial city as Christchurch ? [Five working men, with tools on their backs, cross Latimer square.] Ist—There go some of the working men, eh ! How pleasant it is to put their noses to the grindstone of taxation and escape scot free ourselves. 2nd—You know I’m only a duffer at politics ; just give me a little light. Ist—Well, you see, your run, secured by pre-emptives, gives you a profit of £IO,OOO a year; and, tell me, how much do you pay towards the education of your many servants ? 2nd—My run is not in an educational district, so I pay nothing. Ist—Precisely. Those working men and the citizens and the farmers, &c, pay a £1 poll-tax to educate servants for you. How much do you pay for road rates ? 2nd—Ah.! you see, I’m not in any Road Board district, so I pay nothing ; lout I use the roads that are made to drive my sheep and cattle] ;to market, or my wool to the station. That’s quite right; is it not ? Ist—lf you were not such a duffer at poli tics, I should think you were poking fun. But how much do you pay for the railway that brings you within twenty miles, instead of eighty, to the seaport ? 2nd—Railway ! My friend, Sir Julius, does all that little business out of loans, and some other fellow pays for it; but 1 don’t. I think it is quite enough if I condescend to patronise the train with my wool, my mutton, and sometimes with—aw—my august person and baggage. Ist—Very good. Don’t you catch the idea now ? 2nd—What idea ? Do you mean political idea, or what ? I should have thought that was—aw —some question of profit and loss, such as some of these commercial fellows like Treadwell take up, Ist—Treadwell is a dangerous fellow. If we had not cried mad dog—burlesque—at these elections he might have got in, and then the rich and the squatters would have stood a queer chance; but give a dog a bad name, and it’s all right—it is as good as hanging him, 2nd—Can’t see how Treadwell’s politics would touch me. Ist—He would assess your run at a yearly profit rental, and call on you for education tax and property tax towards roads and rails, 2nd—The deuce he would. Before I would pay his taxes—I —I—bother him. [Enter W. S. M-rh-se, Esq., M.R.H.] Both—Good day, M—rh—se, glad you are in old boy. 2nd—l say, M—rh—se, we have been at this confounded political business, and my friend says Treadwell wanted to tax all the freeholds and leaseholds, and our party cried mad dog. Is that true ? Do you think he’s dangerous ? M—rh —se —Well, I’m in for five years certain ;so make your minds easy. He’s dangerous, but he’s chained, you know. So at any rate he’ll have to wait till 1880. I won’t tax you. [ End of first scene. The curtain falls. ] Written for the benefit of Christcurchh, b y J. W. Treadwell. [The Editor disclaims all res onsibility in the ideas expressed in this “ imaginary conversation.”—Ed. Globe.]