THE BLAND OLD MAN.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 6, Issue 1711, 14 June 1884, Page 4

THE BLAND OLD MAN.

(Lyltldoii, Times,) , The Bland Old Man to the South has gone, Upon t .eostump you'll Hud him,! Playiug the tunooii Ids blind old horn That echoos still behind him. But sweetly singinj ere ho went. Bo told us, guileless charmer, . '"Mo, take tho Unearned Increment, Aud tax, oh tax the farmer I" Ho sang of servitude aud sweat, fcix bob a month and rations, And how the wo.kmg uiau'o in debt liocause he pays the nation's; Of rtiicient Ore ks, of modern slaves, Of Jabor market ri -.gers; Of early settle*s who were knaves Aud tiGated men liko hi-gci'S, Of friendless beggars—ti'l we knew We'd ne'er a triend to love us; Of homeless outcasts-till wo grew To feel no roo! above us, And tlun bo san» a holy cause, W'lich was (if I coulii follow il), That whit was others should be ours, And that we ou»ht to collar it. Aud as he sang id accents bland, Still calm, and ever calmer, I saw how we could save the land By ru'ning tho farmer, And as our host still hotter waxed, As o'er our wrongs he maddened, I felt as though I h id been taxed, Although I knew I hadn't. Ho sang how men all earthly weal Attain by owning lanJ, Until each mason there could feol A farmer out of land; i!ud iicxt how fanners all should quaff The cup of tribulation, Should pay a million aud a half j. Per annum of taxation. Ho bade us let the railways be, ijiueo we'd no call to uso 'tin ; And Separation was, said bo, A wicked, false delusion. ; ' If money to th? North tako wiug, Don't think of that but let it: The Unearned Increment's the thing, So set to work and get it," I shouted for the land, I screamed That for a farm I'd fi-ht; Then home (went to bed and dreamed A fr;ghtful dream that nl'lit, A shauo there came with eyes of flame: "It cried with horrid lauidi, Ho, farmer! I'm your tax, my namo Is One Mdliou and a Half.'" 1 hat horrid, hon-id, horrid tax, It haunts me even now; Upon my chest 1 feel its wacks, It's fingers on my brow. The thought of land now maker me weep, And if that lax bo meant, Pray let the bloated farmer keep The Unearned Increment.