BY THE WAY.

Evening Star, Volume 8505, Issue 8505, 2 May 1891, Page 1 (Supplement)

BY THE WAY.

Let your sense be dear, Nor with a weight of words fatigue the ear. Hobace.

There was one possible outcome of the reductions in the Civil Service which I feel sure was not anticipated by any of the Ministers when they set about their work. It never occurred to them that some of the discharged officers might be cradled into poetry by wrong, and be tempted to take Ministers themselves for the theme °f *neir muse. Such, however, I believe to be the case. Scarcely had I got settled in this column of the Evening Stab than there came addressed to mo an anonymous letter from one of the sufferers in the Hon. John M Kenzie s department (so I judge), who relieves his feelings by breaking out in poetry, the merits of which my readers shall have an opportunity of judging. Perhaps, too, they will be able to assist me in identifying the writer by means of the internal evidence supplied by the effusion. It is entitled

THE HONORABLE JOHN. By one who knows all about him, and proceeds as follows : Ob, have you ever heard about the Honoiable

Hi’/ths craftiest chiel in Parliament-and

the luckiest, bar none ; It’s fit to make a donkey laugh, or shake a

grey tombstone, To hear how he became (and i •) the Honorable

John,

The poet, I may here remark, seems to have forgotten that he was branding as a donkey any reader who happens to be amused at veraea tb&t clearly intended to be comic, which fact, of course, predisposes one to seriousness at the very outset. We will, however, let that pass, and proceed with the verses :

The Union strike had oome about, and labor had

gone mad, And dire misfortune had strusk down S'r

Harry A tkinson ; , So the general election sent the *' party to

the bad, And—what was worse—it sent us back the

Honorable John,

The next three; verses betray so much knowledge of politicians that at first I was led off the scent of the writer, and began following the tracks of some of the Honorable John’s political opponents ; but the evidence later on is strong in favor of the Civil Service: —

Not only that; a magic path was cleared by fortune'* wander Stout was out, and Larnach down, and

Walker, too, had gone ; Vogel was "cff.” and Lance “kite enough, and Fish we could not stand—_ There, in short, was nothing for it but the Honorable John.

It waa really very comic—there was not ano her 8011 l ... £s a Southern representative that could be Ditched upon; , So tha" Premier gulped, looked pleasant, and remarked that on the whole He supposed that he must take our friend, the Honorable John.

The next verse to my mind has a gentle touch of something approaching ill-nature in it, not so much in what it says as in what it suggests; but as it is necessary to close the first part of the story I will give it as it was sent to me:—

Then a messenger was sent to find W aitaki s chosen man. And he ran him down in Bellam —well, jaat where I won't let on ; Qioth Ballance: " I’ve got ncbody for Lands—done all I can — , Will you take it r ’ "Wull'.a duck smm . said the Honorable John. Having got the Hon. John into office, the poet proceeds to give us a specimen of that gentleman’s soliloquies on the occasion : That fixed it, and the oath was taken—yes, aad wetted too; . And the day was pissed in murmuricg the magic prefix *'Hon.' And hi» landlady says in passing she heard times not a few, “Is it—it can’t bo-yes, lAM the Honorable John!’ I really can’t believe it, it’s the vety deuce’s A labor*crowd, too! though I’ve [slanged and cursed the Union. Whit will they say ? Pshaw ! let it be, so long as here I’m stuck. Heth! the honorable, honor-r-able, Honor-r-r-r-rable John.” “ It’s awkward, though, the record’s there in ‘ Hansard ’ black and white, A little shuffling must be worked, a little hedging done; . There’s no mistake, I did speak straight, and, hang it, I was right— In fact my title should have been The On-a-rable John.”

At this stage two verses come in which I propose to omit, because our poet is a trifle expansive, and partly because the memory of his wrongs somewhat overmasters his muse. But these verses conyiot him, according to my judgment, of having dropped out of the Civil Service at some time or other. The next verse shows him, without any doubt, to be a Highlandman—a countryman of the Minister himself. The soliloquy still continues

“ But, Lord 1 I’m used to twisting—can do that without a wink; . What’s a little thing like that against the * screw ’ and ‘ psrks ’ I’ve won; There’s no ore looking—just another Highland fling. I think! Stch 1 Sgcaeh nam geach dam Jlzmygig i I’m the Honorable John !” What “ geach dam fizmygig ” may mean I can’t for the life of me say, but the words are clearly Gaelic, and I hope not compromising in any way. Now I come to the concluding verse There’s an end to all things, doubtless, and the end must come, it’s plain ; Soma day there will be mourning m the streets of Palmerston, When comes without a “sekketry, by ordinary train, A sadder, wiser, but no longer Honorable John! The poet’s letter concludes with a postscript, which is as important as such things proverbially are. It is to the effect that he does not know the “figure ” generally given for poetry, but he “ will be content with the ordinary pay.” This is a case, I fear, in which contentment, like virtue, must be its own reward.

We have had several spicy things served u3 to ns of lata in the shape of English news, including Mr Parnell’s little freaks and the baccarat scandal, but nothing to my mind so savory (I give my word that this is not intended for a pun) as the account of the Loid Mayor of London’s sermon at the new Polytechnic Institute in Hegent street. Everyone in London is astounded and scandalised that Alderman Savory should have <nven the young men at the institute ft sermon the greater portion of which is word for word one that had been delivered by Spurgeon twenty-seven years ago—delivering it as his own, of course. More astounding still is it to find the Lord Mayor, when the theft had been discovered, declaring roundly that he had never seen the sermon in question, and requesting a copy for perusal. I should like to have seen his face as he read it, so that I might have been able (by a psychological process peculiar to my- ' in to give the readers of this column the true explanation of the mystery, which however, I may perhaps beable to do as it is. In the meantime I have been much amused at the explanations offered by others, betraying as they do different tyP üß°fu B ° f character in our City of Dunedin. “ Depend upon it,” said one, “ there is a mystery in it which is only to be explained by the operation of psychic forces we don t nnderThe objection was obvious, and was pfomptly stated —viz., that every other mystery could be accounted for in the same way, and that what we wanted was a soln?on 4 did understand. The next theory tom .m.nol the.arid and of ..me observation. “It seems to me, he said, “‘that if them’s anything on_ earth a man would think himself safe in cribbing it w be a sermon; because, you see, most of us don’t go to church, and those who do go don’t listen.” His method of applying this cynical theory was at once faulty and uncomfortable. “Let me assume,” he said, turning to me, " that you were in church last Sunday—and I only make the assumption for the purpose of argument-and that I just now reproduced as my own a portion of the sermon, would you detect it . Of course you wouldn’t (pure assumption oohis part), and if you couldn tdeteotit at the Ld of a week what oould you do after a lapse of twenty-seven years? My own

Well, then, I have two theories, and of these the reader shall take his ohoico. For myself, I lean towards the second. The first is that the Lord Mayor, when be undertook to deliver the sermon, had no idea that he would be reported in full. The London newspapers do not report sermons preached by the moat eminent divines. Was it likely that they would report a sermon by a man who is not a divine, and is in no sense Intellectually eminent ? A brief notice to the effect that the Lord Mayor delivered at the Polytechnic Institute a “most eloquent sermon ” on the text 1 Thou Shalt not Steal,’ or whatever else it was, was all that could be reasonably expected. After all it would never do, as I shall show pro aently, to have as stringent a, code of morals for literary as for other kiuds of property. In such a case no one can imagine Lord Mayor Savory’s dismay when he saw the sermon in full. Now this theory, though plausible enough, still leaves ns wjth the difficulty that the Lord Mayor denied having ever seen Mr Spurgeon’s sermon. Hence I reject the theory. A lord mayor, though morally no higher than the rest of mankind, is not absolutely a fool, and would run no outrageous risks with his position and repute. I therefore conclude that he did what many a better man has before employed a literary hack to write his sermon for him, I’m told that the practice is not uncommon, even among clergymen. If this be so, his misfortune is that he wont to an unreliable quarter for assistance, as also that he cannot clear himself by admitting the fact. For, although he was not consciously palming off Mr Spurgeon’s sermon as his own, he was another man’s.

But is literary plagiarism theft in any sense of the term ? Is it a moral offence of any kind whatever ? Let us suppose that two thieves mark me out as their vietjm. The first steals my purse (thus proving himself to be a thief of very slender judgment), while the second —the literary thief—takes one of the e notes from ‘ By the Way,’ and reproduces it as his own, (The retort that the second man is every whit as foolish a thief as the first is, of course, obvious ; but I let it pass.) What respectively do I suffer at the hands of the two men, and how do I treat them ? Upon the tracks of the first I set the policeman; and, incensed at the less of my few shillings of hardlyearued money, I rejoice when the rascal gets a week’s time for reflection in gaol. To the second thief, however, I take off my hat and say: “My dear fellow, many thanks to you; you have done me a real kindness. May I hope that you will continue to steal from me for the rest of your life ?” After which I demand from the editor of the Evening Star an increased price for I By the Way,’ because it is well worth stealing. The thief informs me also that the public have benefited, “because,” he explains with more truth than politeness, ‘‘the stuff was good, and more attention was paid to it with my name attached than with yours.” Here, then, we have a form of theft which does everybody good all round, and therefore is clearly not theft at all. To show the absurdity of ths thing, let me tell the story I heard the other day of the man—a New Zealander—who was gravely accused of stealing from himself. * * * *

Smith (as I shall call him) was an active man, who ran a kind of newspaper of his own. Brown (we’ll say), a friend of his, occasionally helped him with an article —gratis. A oertF.-.i commercial subject was occupying a good deal of public attention, and the good-natured Brown presented his friend with a leading article upon it which duly appeared, but was not extensively read. Shortly afterwards a public meeting was called to consider the same subject, whereat Brown made a speech, in which he largely travelled over the ground about which ho had previously written. Next day Smith, who ran the newspaper, met another friend of his (Jones), who was enthusiastic over the previous day’s meeting, remarking; “I thought Brown made a most excellent speech yesterday.” “So he did,” assented Smith ; “ and the only thing I have to find fault with is that he cribbed it all out of my newspaper, the ‘Frozen Meat Gazette.’ At this present moment I am on my way to tackle him with it.” Little did the unconscious Brown suspect what was in store for him as his office door opened to admit his friend Smith.

‘‘l think, Brown,” said South reproachfully, if not severely, 11 that when you were speaking yesterday it was hardly right of you to take your arguments from the ‘ Frozen Moat Gazette ’ without acknowledgment.” “ But, my dear fellow,’’gasped the astonished Brown ; “it was my own article !” ‘‘Pardon me, if I correct you there. The article had been yours, but it was mine when you made use of it for your speech.” “ but, God bless my soul,” protested the now thoroughly-oonfased Brown, “ I gave It you.” “No d mbt you did,” was the imperturbable reply ; “ but surely you perceive that that only proves it was mine, and not yours.’’ “ But the ideas were mine,” persisted Brown, who now began to feel himself getting cornered. “ Again I ask your pardon,” rejoined Smith, “if I remind you that the ideas had been yours, but were actually mine at the time you used them for your speech without acknowledgment. Suppose you presented mo with a picture now. Would you afterwards consider yourself at liberty to break into my house and steal it ? If not, why steal my article ?” What could the unhappy Brown do but acknowledge his error and make suitable amends? And what conclusion can I come to except that plagiarism is in no sense a crime ? •* * * *

Why should the name of Sir George Grey have become associated in my mind for some time back with that of Prince Bismarck ? And why reciprocally should a cablegram about Prince Bismarck call up the picture of Sir George Grey ? For some time I could not explain the phenomenon myself until I had discovered that it was because both curiously illustrate the “littleness” of great men. I make no apology for calling Sir G, Grey a great man ; for if phenomenal courage, unflagging persistence, and the most absolute self-possession are elements of greatness, he, with his other great gift of expression, is entitled to the name. Well, then, for the comparison : Bismarck carves his wav until he becomes known to the world. He makes a great nation, rules it almost despotically, sways the destinies of other nations, presumes on his position, and gets suddenly overthrown. Sir George Grey, confined, it is true, within a narrow sphere, does pretty much the same thing, and from the same cause comes to the same end. The difference is that, being infinitely the smaller man, he gets kicked off when a third of the way up the ladder, instead of from the top. Both take their humiliation with a very bad grace. Both endeavor to “ make it hot ” for their former patrons, and for that purpose use the same weapon—a parliamentary career. Both are,l suspect, a trifle disposed to forget patriotism in the process. Sir George Grey is, however, the first in the parliamentary field, and he fails. So, great as he is, will Bismarck. For the world is invariably intolerant of a man with a grievance, whether he is prince or peasant. * * * * *

Last Monday’s meeting of the new City Licensing Bench wae to me delightful reading. In common with the rest of mankind, I have a tendency to enjoy the misfortunes of my dearest friend. But to have five of my dearest friends sitting in a row, all in dire misfortune, and nnmistakeably wriggling under it, provides for a man a bit of enjoyment such as does not often fall to his lot. The report of the meeting is given in that wastefully expansive way to which newspapers are prone. I propose to give to my readers nothing but the essence of it, and to be scrupulously accurate in that. In the following I extenuate nothing nor do I set down aught in malice : Mr Gourley: I propose that Mr Sparrow take the chair.

Mr Sparrow: I’d rather not, thank yon, gentlemen. It is not every net that can catch an experienced sparrow like me. I stood for this infernal business with a light heart, lue the rest of you. I now find that “ something muse be done ”; where is I never bargained to do anything. Perhaps Mr Stanford will take the chair. Mr Stanford: I don’t mind taking it for this once! but I could not think of it permanently, because the plain fact is that I mean to clear. You see, gentlemen, I've got a reputation to lose, —(dries of “ Oh 1 ”) I’ve done my share in converting others, but now I to got suddenly converted myself. I want to close the pubs; K' Hows don’t. Xharafep f res * n

Mr Myers: Don’t let us quarrel over It, gentlemen. We’re all in the same boat. Mr M'Qregor: We may ha in a boat now, but it won’t be long before w -be in the water Let Mr Qourley take the chair. Aft'-r all It is the safest position, and there must be somebody left to bury us. Mr Qourley : Well, then, gentlemen, _if there’s a job sticking out I don’t mind taking the chair. In the meantime, let us adjourn and have a nip while there is a pub left, We mightn’t have the chance long.

Issuing from the same pub there was shortly afterwards heard the mournful strains:—

Taking one consideration with another, The Moderates’ lot Is not a happy one— Happy one. And on the floor was found a scrap of paper on which were some cabalistic signs that have been interpreted to me as an acknowledgment on Mr Gourley’s part that, in return for support in putting him in the chair, he (Gourley) would take the edge off that vote of censure which the Reserves Committee of the City Council passed on their chairman. And he was as good as his word—as he ever is.