THE WAYS OF THE WORLD.

Temuka Leader, Issue 2233, 28 July 1891, Page 2

THE WAYS OF THE WORLD.

Home again! Home, did I say ? Well, X am back in Temuka, but lean scarcely call it home when I reflect on the villainous manner in which I have been treated. Twelve months ago I found that the tvpe with which this paper was then printed was not good enough to convey my thoughts to my readers in that lucid, brilliant style for which I am distinguished all over the world. I represented the matter to the proprietor, hut he only laughed a|t me, “ The type is all right,” he said, “ but your brains are all wrong ; you want new brains, not new type.” He was at the other side of the door

at the time he said this, and he speedily locked it, thus saving the expenses of a funeral. A few hours afterwards I was on a homewardbound steamer, determined to prove to the world it was the type and not my brains that had deteriorated.

To my dismay I found that there was no type in Great Britain possessed of the necessary strength and piquancy. ■* Our type would do for your brilliant effusions,” said one typefounder to me, “ but it would never stand the strain which the weight of your arguments would put on it. You must have type specially cast.” “ Cast it, then,” I said, but he replied “ Where is the money ?” Now this was a detail I never took into consideration until the type-founder spoke thus to me. Being a philosopher, I had hitherto despised money, but at that time I realised what a splendid thing it is. However, Petronius Arbiter, a gentleman who talked Latin, and was related to the Gladstone Arbiter, says that “ Poverty is the sister of a sound mind.” No doubt my poverty accounts for the soundness of ray mind, and its soundness carried me through the difficulty. I bethought of my Irish estates ; in an hour they were’mortgaged, and I flung the, filthy lucre to the type-founder, and said “ Cast it.” Result, new type.'

Now this would have been all right, but for the cold-blooded ingratitude of the editor, who vauntingly paraded the new dress of the paper, and never gave me any 1 credit for it. After mortgaging the last remnant of the O’Lanus estate,' after frightening the Bulmer Boozer out of the field, after all I had done, to give me no credit for it was, in the language of William company?” Scarcely, but, all the Shakespeare, Esq., “the most unkindest cut of all.” Can I feel at home in such same, lam going to stay.” I hold a mortgage over the property now, and I shall run it. I shall make it hum. I am not done improving, but shall not say any more about that at present. A hen never cackles until it has laid an egg. I shall adopt the policy of the hen.

I see you have been going it in my absence, trying to shut up the public houses, the fountaids of all wisdom, the source of all inspiration. Immediately on my arrival I found myself boycotted by the publicans. They stopped my beer because the paper did not support them. It is not true that it was 'my credit they stopped. This led to vigorous anathematisation (good word) on my part, too vigorous for any type to print, and I registered a vow to crush out Prohibitionists, Blue Ribbonists, etc., and herewith I proceed.

The first question is: “Who are those Prohibitionists ?” To answer that I must tell a story. Once upon a time there lived an old gentleman named Noah. He had a fine crop of grapes one year, aud he felt so delighted that he brewed a little drop of potteen for himself in his own private still, and he drank it, and felt a little jolly. If I were to say he was drunk I would run the risk of being let in for libel. Now Mr Noah had three sons, named, respectively, Sem, Ham, and Japhet, and when Ham saw that' the old gentleman had “ a wee drap in his e’ee,” hej was so illbred as to laugh at him. Naturally this riled Mr Noah, and he cursed Ham. In those days curses used to hit the mark. Now-a-days, curses, like chickens, come home to roost, but when curses were younger and less experienced they used to do exactly as they were told, as obediently as a well-disciplined volunteer force. Ham had a son named Canaan, and Mr Noah cursed him also. Arid at the same time he blessed his other sons, and the blessings hit the mark. In after years the descendants of Ham travelled under the name of Ganaanites, and descendants of His brothers under the cognomen of Israelites. But what has all this to do with Prohibition ? you will say. Simply that it is just here thu whole trouble originated.

Now, I shall . prove that the moderate as they call themselves, and the prohibitionists are identical with the Israelites and Canaanites. The whole story began in the moderate drinking of Noah. Hej. as J-have said,, blessed his two sons who treated him with proper respect, and of course no blessing would be. worth having if it did not include a bountiful supply of whisky. Proof blessing also included power. A fortune anywhere so rapidly as in|H|g»lichouse, Proof number 2. ' Owaat of Noah’s sons was named Sem, have in Temuka a gentleman of the same name, the only jihf erence l>eing that the letter “ i ” has taken the place of the letter “ e,” This difference is attributable to defective Scotch pronunciation. I would take my oath that my Temuka friend is a lineal descendant of Mr Shem, and that makes up proof number 3. Then Sir Julius Yogel was an Israelite, and he peopled New Zealand. Proof number 4. That proves that the moderate drinkers are undoubtedly the Israelites, and then, Where are the Caneanites, who were to be a thorn in their side and vek them in the land in which they dwelt ? They are the prohibitionists, of course ! Are they not thorns in the sides of the mo-

derates ? Proof number 5. Then a part of the primeval curse was that Canaanites should be poor, that is, be “ servants of servants,” The prohibitionists are poor. Proof number 6. The Canaanites were not to enjoy the blessings which made the Israelites happy. The prohibitionists don’t drink openly. Proof number 7, and that settles the whole question.

The whole thing, therefore, originated in the frivolousness of a young man, and the pevishness of an old gentleman, but how it will end is rather difficult to say. Had the Israelites killed the Canaanites when they crossed the Jordan, the whole thing would have been settled there and then, but they did not do so, and they were told “Whatsoever I had thought to do to them (Canaanites) I will do to you (Israelites).” That is, the Canaanites were to be killed, but as the Israelites did not kill them they themselves would be killed. On account of this I am afraid that eventually the Canaanites will kill the Israelites, and Great Scott what '"shall we do then when we shall not be able to get “ a drop o’the craithur ? ”

Meantime let us fight. Mr Tenny-, son Smith recently said the British nation was the most drunken on earth, but this only proves the value of drink. Practically the British people have subjugated the earth, a fact which i& chiefly due to the invigorating effects of exhilirating beverages. Look at the countries of the Khoran, where drink Is strictly forbidden. They are surtk to their necks in superstition; they are the most degraded and the most depraved on earth. They are as inactive as an extinct volcano, as incapable as a dead donkey; they lie, they steal, they plunder, and their wives have no souls. All this is due to lack of the soul-stirring, thoughtinspiring, heart-thrilling, glorious potteen, and are we to allow ourselves to sink to a similar level ? Not if we know it. No more moderate drinking, no half measures, but let us" fill to the brim and quaff to absolute drunkenness.

Mr Tennyson Smith also said that the nearest approach to a man’s brain is the white of an egg, and if that were soaked in alcoholic spirits it would become hard. By this he meant that drink hardened the brain. Of course it does. Recent statistics show that an Englishman drinks a gallon of whiskey in the year, and he is a pretty hard-headed fellow; an Irishman drinks a gallon and a half of whiskey, and he is more sprightly, more witty, and more eloquent than John Bull; a Scotchman drinks two gallons of whiskey in the year, and that is the reason that he is so hardheaded. Great Scott, are Irishmen to give up what gives them wit; and Scotchmen what makes them canny ? Never, and so say all of us. Com O’Lanus, K.C.M.G.