The Globe. SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1877.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 852, 17 March 1877, Page 2

The Globe. SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1877.

There is, surely, something in the air, in this flourishing period of our colonial history, which tends to make men seek the assistance of the powerful—and expensive—arm of the law, at a single moment’s notice. In the good old days of Irish history, the guiding rule transmitted from father to son was wont to be, “ Be ye always ready with the pistol, aye !” Now, writs for unheard of damages, which generally eventuate in “ brass fathing ” verdicts, have been substituted for the ancient tradition, and the universal motto apparently is, “ Be ye ready with writs for damages, aye!” The latest exhibition of this kind of legal pugilism, was displayed, but a few days ago, by one whom most people think, would have known better than to parade his feelings of wrong on any trivial score, before a jury of his countrymen. allude to this wonderful action for libel, brought a few days ago in the Wellington Courts by no less a person thon Mr. W. T. L. Travers, a gentleman well known —not only in Canterbury —but we may say over the whole of the colony. The G-overnment organ, this time, ia the culprit; and, for having trodden upon that distinguished statesman’s toes, all that can be brought to bear upon the unfortunate editor of the JSfew Zealand Times, at the hands of our old Christchurch representative, will shortly be hurled upon his devoted head. “ And it is all about a whale, Sirs! ” Mr. Travers, one of our most distinguished scientists, was mildly “ chaffed” by the funny paragrapher of the Times , who would have it that, in his eagerness to obtain possession from some fishermen of a dead whale’s carcase for scientific purposes, bo had — well, we feel nob inclined to “ swim in the same legal coracle,” just at present, with our impetuous contemporary; therefore let us refrain from exciting further the natural curiosity of our readers, who would like to know more “ about that whale.” But, jocularity apart, we have a keen sense of the fact, that there is more beneath the surface of this wonderful law-suit than most people imagine. What the alleged libel consisted of, is a puzzle to everybody, let them be laymen or followers of the learned profession. No one, in Wellington even, can scent any flavour whatever about the so-called damaging strictures of the Times. But then, let it be said, a contest of unusual magnitude is just now raging in the political atmosphere, the prize for which is the seat just vacated by the late M.H R. for the Empire City. Mr. Travers is a candidate, and so is the Mayor of Wellington, Mr. Hutchinson, a somewhat clever and popular man. Doubtless this placing in motion of the ponderous machinery of the law is merely an oldfashioned device of that colonial veteran who disputes the field with the Chief Magistrate of Wellington City, whom the Times supports in his candidature ; and, following the manoeuvres of the Wellington journals in their viows on the contest, they are indeed wonderful to behold. If ever there were a hurricane in a teacup, it is now taking place in the “ Wooden City.” All usual rules of journalistic etiquette are laid aside, the struggle being carried on in the good old Hibernian style, when the favorite motto prevailed that “ Wherever you see a head, hit it!” What adds considerable grotesqueness to the fight is, that of the two candidates whose numbers are “ up ” on the board, one is the head of the City Corporation, while his opponent actually holds office under him, being the solicitor of that Municipal body. And the battle wages fast and furious; and the henchmen of either side stick not at trifles, but dig as low as they can under their opponent’s armour, and twist and turn about the dagger in the wounds. Personalities are exchanged, lies direct given, private characters dissected, things of the past unearthed and thrown to the wind, so as to vitiate the social atmosphere, if possible at the expense of one’s opponent. If Mr. Travers suddenly turns Grood Templar, derisive explanations are given of that untimely conversion. When, on the other hand, Mr. Hutchinson joins the Foresters, interested motives by the bushel are circulated and worked upon by the opposing host, Wellington was always noted for the fury with

which politics were worn threadbare on hustings days. But it would seem as if this “ ado about nothing” —as the candidates are both able men who scarcely differ in their views—has temporarily turned our colonial capital into a fiendish pandemonium. Surely, among all this turmoil, our inspired contemporary may succeed to effect an escape from the tenacious clutches of the law courts. At any rate, whatever happens, he will—as appears to be the case with the denizens of the beach — have had his fun for his money. Yet Mr. Travers is an obstinate opponent. Who does not remember how once upon a time, when sitting at Nelson as a District Judge, he sent the then Superintendent of that province, to prison for contempt of Court. These were the palmy days of New Zealand, when people stood no nonsense from one another, and in all probability the Wellington folks regret them still.

Our evening contemporary has always been noted for its unquenchable ferocity, but now it would seem as if its blood-thirstiness knew no bounds. In its last Saturday’s issue it almost expresses an opinion that it would be well for every citizen to arm himself for personal protection, with “ bowie knite and Derringer.” We are not quite clear what the latter term may mean, but of course we are behind the times in Americanisms, and sadly deficient in knowledge of Yankee notions. We do not altogether disagree with our pugnacious friend as to the necessity for greater police supervision ; but then we would suggest blunderbusses of the dear good old shape instead of the intricate murdering piece of machinery which he so lovingly suggests, until such a time as every corner of our streets is duly fortified by the presence of a man in blue. Of course incipient ruffianism, as the Star designates it, makes itself visible at intervals, and the sooner it is checked with a strong hand the better. But we fancy that it is exaggerating facts a good deal to affirm that “we have reached that point already when no woman in her senses would venture abroad by herself after dark, and when many children are kept away from school on account of the incipient ruffianism with which they would be brought into contact if suffered to attend.” This, by the bye, our contemporary calls “ baby-black-guardism,” and a very suggestive name it is too. The cause of the spread of larnkinism lies mainly in the fact that parents are not sufficiently strict with their children at home, and do not sufficiently supervisetheir actions when away from school. During holiday times, for instance, the antics of juveniles let loose about the streets not unfrequently assume unpleasant proportions, and it is unfortunately the ease that many parents send their children to school, simply to gwoid the bother of looking after them. Home restraint should, go hand ia hand with class teaching, and in either case should the old English adage be remembered, “ Spare the rod and spoil the child! ” We know of some useful young men to whom a good caning, before the incipience on their upper lip was visible, would have proved ol considerable value.