THE WAYS OF THE WORLD.

Temuka Leader, Issue 2236, 4 August 1891, Page 2

THE WAYS OF THE WORLD.

My attention has been called to the existence of an obscure print published in an out of the way place called Timaru. It is known as the Herald, and published in the interests of science, the idea being to guage the length, breadth, and thickness, of human credulity. How ipuch lying will the British public swallow before revolting against .falsehood, is the scientific problem which is the aim and object of the Herald to solve. In its article on last Wednesday it said the members “ voted for themselves full honorarium and expenses for a session extending over a few days.” That is lie number one. They did not vote at all on the subject. The law made by their predecessors allowed them the money, and the law would have had to be changed to disentitle them to their honorarium. Again it says “ they will also vote for themselves half honorarium this session.” The law in the same way allows it. No voting. Then it says that they are going to get a salary of £2O a month besides the honorarium. That is another absolute falsehood. The intention is to make the salary payable next year, and not this year.

With regard to this honorarium question I should like to say a word. The laborer is worthy of his hire, and a member of Parliament ought to be paid as well as anyone else. It is no joke to get elected, and there is no

fun at all in sitting in a badly ventilated chamber until 2,3, and even 6 o’clock in the morning, during the winter months. Setting aside all consideration of having to leave ones home, the work of a member of Parliament is very hard, and he ought to be properly paid. The present salary is not enough, and the proposed salary of £240 is not by any means too much, but if the Liberal party took my advice they would defer this question until the last year of their term of office. They could then come to their constituents and say, “ we did not increase our own salaries, but we have taken care that whosoever you elect, shall be properly paid.” By doing this they would shut up the mouths of such as would accuse them of selfishness.

Before I mortgaged my Irish estates I was a Tory in politics. I had a thorough contempt for Liberal principles. I was just like a friend of mine who owns a farm of land which he has stocked with a mortgaged of £6 per acre. Some time ago the mortgagee stepped in and offered the land for sale, but the highest bid did not exceed £4 per acre, and it was not sold. My friend still pays interest on the £6 per acre. He still calls it “my land ” and declaims on the rights of property eloquently, although the mortgagee thinks he has none. I used to feel like my friend, but now that I have mortgaged my estate, I am inclining to the notion, that the “ bursting-up policy ” is good, and that a general divide would be better. Still I have not lost all hope yet. There are seven millionaires editting papers in London, and who knows but there may be one millionaire editor in Temuka yet. Think of this you squatters, lawyers, doctors, and big wigs generally, and be civil. You don’t know but that in me you have a millionaire in embryo.

Talking of doctors puts me in mind of a good story told me by a medical friend. He was called in as a witness at an inquest, and gave evidence to the effect that the deceased came by his death through having been overtaken by someone of the ills which flesh is heir to. This, however, did not satisfy the jury. They came to the conclusion that a post mortem examination ought to be made, and the coroner ordered the doctor to make it. This meant three guineas instead of one to the doctor, and consequently he proceeded to work, with the result that he was able to verify his previous diagnosis. The verdict was in accordance with the medical testimony, and the whole thing wound up in the ordinary way. By-and-bye the foreman of the Jury drew the doctor aside and said, “ Doctor, do you know why we ordered the post mortem The doctor declared he did not “ well ” said the foreman, “ we had a suspicion that the man was not altogether dead, and we came to the conclusion that by the time you had finished the post mortem you would have found out whether he was or was not dead,” and the foreman did not see why the doctor laughed. I feel just now in great fettle, as learned men say. My attack on prohibitionists resulted in the removal of the boycott, and now I am supplied from the private bottle, the contents of which would have passed muster with Mr Dennistoun of the Raukapuka Licensing Committee. But after all I have my troubles. There is now another of those prohibition lunatics, Felix Maquire, introducing into Parliament a Bill to prohibit the importation of all alcoholic liquors, and if that passes what shall we do. While reflecting on these things last Saturday evening my attendant muse stood by me and guided my hand while I penned the following poem to Felix Maguire. Bad luck from you Felix Maguire, ’Tis you has developed my ire; I can sware like a tar, Or a soldier of war, Since to shut out potteen you aspire— On fire My blood is now, Felix Maguire. I If you shut out potteen, Felix dear, And rob a poor man of his beer, The Gods will look down On your head with a frown And Bacchus will lop off your ear With a leer, And laid you’ll be then on your bier. You don’t mean it, Felix avickI know your the son of a brick ; You’re poking your jokes i At those temperance folks Who are wishing potteen with old nick, you’ve chic, To gull them with such a neat trick. Be careful now, Felix agrah ; Don’t ape the pragmatic jackdaw Or it will come to pass, Like the man and his ass, No party you’ll please with your law Or jaw, For such things they care not a straw. Do the thing straight my dear boy, And never attempt to decoy, For others can see Just as far off as thee No matter what arts you employ— My eye But you are the broth of a boy. Your bill is a long way too soon—’Tis like trying to fly to the moon On Joyce’s Bill vote, Or by the hole in my coat I shall think you’re a funny old coon, Arooin, If you’re not a thorough buffoon. Cori O’Lanus, K.C.M.G-.