THE GLOBE. THURSDAY, MARCH 10, 1881. THE TAXGATHERER.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2196, 10 March 1881, Page 2

THE GLOBE. THURSDAY, MARCH 10, 1881. THE TAXGATHERER.

The collection of taxes at Waipn, in the Auckland district, is connected with a considerable amount of discomfort. Wo do not know if the gentlemen who aid in sweeping the property tax and other imposts into the colonial coffers are absolutely ostracised, but this is how they manage with the persons who collect the dog tax. At a recent meeting to consider the tax, the following resolution was passed : —“ That any collector of the said dog tax visiting Waipn be considered socially on a level of degradation with the common informer, and bo treated as a voluntary outcast from all possible association with any respectable member of society.” This is strong very strong. The dog tax is possibly not a popular one. Settlers generally require a dog, and indeed cannot get along without one in a wild country; shepherds and graziers must have one; but, on the other hand, it must be remembered that dogs would possibly increase out of all limits were no tax imposed, and, at least, the collector is but an official who has no say whatever in the matter. Whether it would be a great deprivation to be “out of society” in Waipn is another question. If the gentlemen who passed the resolution are specimens of the intellect of the place it is possible that others than dog tax collectors would voluntarily give up the benefits of participating in the joys of social intercourse in such a community. But, at all events, the residents of Waipu do not delight in half measures. Their creed is—love your dog ani hate the dog tax collector. The catechism is somewhat short, but it is simple, and suits the primitive spirits resident in that bucolic locality, THAT “SPECIAL” AGAIN. The good people of New Plymouth are not altogether delighted with the special correspondent of the “ Lyttelton Times.” On a recent visit to that town, the “ special ” wrote : —“ Again, I could not help contrasting Blenheim with New Plymouth (Taranaki). While in Blenheim, I had as my guide, philosopher, and friend, Mr. George Henderson, a retired merchant, who, as we met one Blenhemite after another, would explain that this man was a merchant, another a brewer, another a lawyer, another a wheelwright, as the case might be. Everyone seemed to have |a profession or trade by which he lived honorably. Now in Taranaki every third man you meet is described mysteriously as being ‘in the Government.’ This is a Taranaki phrase, meaning not that a man is a Civil servant in the recognised sense of the term, but that ho is a hanger-on of the Native Department. In Blenheim there is a marked absence of ‘in the Government ’ loafers.” Now it appears that the “ special ” has not spent more than fortyeight hours in all in New Plymouth, and those forty-eight hours consisted of the four nights he stopped in the town on his way between Normanby and the camp. He must either, therefore, have spent these four nights in knocking up respectable citizens and finding out that they were Government officials, or he must have been drawing solely upon his imagination. That he is quite capable of the latter, no one who has followed his erratic journalistic career, can for a moment doubt. But it would be more pleasing to think that ho had, for consistency sake, followed the other alternative, and interviewed the inhabitants in their nightshirts. Ho would have probably bad to run certain risks—he might have been shot as a burglar or been taken up as being illegally on the premises—but what of that, the “ special ”is brave; he is a journalistic Ulysses, and nothing comes wrong to him. We trust that he will enlighten an expectant public on this question, for the information would be valuable. The ordinary man when he arrives in a strange town at night, goes quietly to bed. But the special correspondent of the “ Lyttelton Times ” does nothing of the sort. By some mysterious process he meets the inhabitants, is introduced to them, finds out their callings, and writes brilliant despatches to his employers. Such is the power of genius ! It is more than Napoleonic, it is Munchausenic. A TEAM FOR THE GOVERNOR. The arrangements for the reception of the Governor appear to have developed with great rapidity, and, considering the shortness of the notice given that the City Council itself was not prepared to take the matter into its hands, there is every prospect of the affair turning out a success. Applications for tickets to the banquet are pouring in, the route of the procession has been planned, the attendance of the school children has been seen to, and the loyal lieges of Her Majesty will have ample opportunity of showing their devotion to her, through the way in which they greet her representative. The very team that is to draw his Excellency through the streets is to bo of a character quite out of the ordinary. The spirits of these steeds—like the spirits of Aladdin, in the well-known burlesque of that name—are to be “ tremengeous,” and it is even suggested that the tram-cars are to be invited to stop running for fear of accidents. And here arises the question if Sir Arthur Gordon will quite appreciate this part of the programme. Of course everybody enjoys the sight of a well appointed four-in-hand, and although wo believe that the Governor is not much of a sporting man, he would no doubt cast an approving glance on the turn out. But there is universally conceded to bo not much fun in sitting behind a team that may possibly bolt and leave you in the lurch. Curiously exact as modern newspaper literature is on the every day occurrences which happen to prominent men, we have been unable to find out whether the Governor has . yet been “ spilt.” His official life has been most successful, and ho has had a wide experience in sensations. He has been Governor of Crown colonies, and is now over one with Soother description of constitution. But has he, as yet, been spilt—that is the question. Would he really eujov a thoroughly new sensation ? Having found it he might indeed think that it was hardly worth while going

through bo much to gain so little, but would the experience bo a really new one, and as such valuable tc a man to whom all experiences must be useful ? Mr. Delamain possibly thinks that there may be something in this, outside of his desire to see that His Excellency has a first-class team. But the views of gentlemen who have been, passim, tumbled out of conveyances, and thrown heavily from the backs of too fiery steeds, will incline to the idea that safety is the soul of more descriptions of business than one. A flying stampede through the streets of the town, a hurried dispersion of the reception committee, a scuttling away of citizens and school children, before Mr. Delamain's thoroughbreds, might be picturesque, but it would not be business. The ancients knew better than this. According to the old sculptures, they made their triumphal entries drawn by horses quite above suspicion. The roman noses, the thick necks, and the colossal proportious of those creatures, show at onco that there was no " bolt " in them, and the feelings of the bystanders must have been soothed by this reflection. These horses were not beautiful, but they wore safe ; hence possibly the penchant exhibited by the swells of old for being dragged up the Via Sacra.