COMEDY POLITICS.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3044, 14 November 1908, Page 7

COMEDY POLITICS.

PANDEMONIUM AT BROOKLYN.

'With the very beat intentions in the world, Mr James Johnston is endeavouring to enter Parliament as the elect of Wellington South, but the progress ot his election campaign has been flavoured with a spice of farce-comedy, which has cast a fatal blight upon his prospects, for .he has been unable to induce his .■audiences to listen seriously to his political views. With a callous levity, those elactors of Wellington who attend his meetings make sport of his utterances, sing -songs, and create such a pandemonium that the proceedings develop into burlesque of the choicest description. At Mr Johnston's first meeting at Newtown, pandemonium raged supreme; at his second, at Alexandra Hall, he fared no better; at his third, at Victoria Hall, he had to make a hurried exit by the rear of the building. On Thursday night, says the "Dominion," the candidate -was announced to deliver an address at Fullford's Hall, Brooklyn, and a large audience assembled to heai him. The candidate managed to get a better hearing than at his previous meetings for part of the time at < ' ~ ' Having l with some ditficultyj §6cured the services of a chairman# Mr Johnston announced that he would, before entering upon the main questions of politics—he l pronounced it "polittics"—sound a personal note of introduction. This slip in pronunciation was a fatal one.

"We want 'polittics,' " demanded the audience. Then some one called for three cheers for the candidate; an ironical salvo rent the air, and the 'crowd struck up "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." Just then the proprietor ot the hall, Mr A. H. Fullford, "entered. "Mr Johnston —Mr Fullford," said some one, introducing the two with a ridiculous intonation of Voice and the audience collapsed. The candidate, who kept his tem#Elr, admirably throughout the evening, then addressed himself to his task. It was uphill wo,rk, and no mistake; He was getting along fairly well with a short dissertation on I the necessity of returning to Parlia- I ment educated men, when a huge "'double-banger" came soaring on to the platform, and exploded at his feet with a noise liKe a cannon. "'Ere," protested a voice, "the man ain't a Guy Fawkes! Give 'im a chance." "Righto! Three cheers for Mr Johnston," suggested another voice, by way of encouragement. The cheers were given, with the usual convivial chorus. "Next, spasm, please," said a voice when chorus had finished, and the candidate, accepting the frivolous suggestion in the spirit in which it was given, cheerfully attacked the next topic of his speech. The audience bore with him for a while, and then, led by the rowdies at the back, y sang, "Won't y OU come home, Jim Johnston?" ■and "We'll Hang Jimmy Johnston •on a Sour Apple Tree." At this juncture the chairman, 'Who was very young, succumbed to the levity of the situation, and gravely conducted the chorus, using a roll of paper as a baton. Then a .youth advanced towards the edge of the platform, and, bowing dramatically, obsequiously handed a bag of peanuts to the "chair," and the ■"chair," , bowing his thanks, opened the bag, emptied its contents upon the table, and calmly proceeded to feast upon the delicacies. The condition of the audience at this stage may be better imagined than described; the uproar was hideous, and when the "chair" rose in expostulation he was requested "not to speak with his mouth full." The "chair" vacated his "furniture," and after a temporary absence returned with a glass of water, which he presented to the candidate j with elaborate and exaggerate 1 j courtesy. The aspirant to political honours made the best ot the absurd situation, and drank about half of the contents. The "chair" than took the glass, and, bowing like an ambassador, drained the vessel, amid an uproar which defies description. The bacchanalian refrain, "Beer, Glorious Beer!" broke out from lusty throats at the rear, while the p»p-pop of crackers was heard all over the hall. Another amusing "side" took place between the "chair" and the candidate, the former being observed to make hysterical gesticulations. "Stop Yer Ticklin', Jock," sang the audience suggestively. The row ended at last. Mr Dineen, a resident of Brooklyn, rose and appealed to the audience to "give the man a chance." The policeman made his way up the hall and stood ostentatiously in front of the rowdy element, and Mr Johnston then got a hearing of a sort.