BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 19841, 14 April 1928, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By Q.V.]

“The time has come, 1 ’ the Walrus said, ** To talk of many things." We are glad to sec that our old friend, the Rev. Mr Archer, Mayor of Christchurch, has been elected president of the Labor Party.. If his ambitions tend that way we would like to see him in Parliament. He would make a good member. He is -not one of those who accept ready-made opinions without question.’ He thinks for himself, and when lie has arrived at a conclusion he sticks to it. Possibly you may not agree with his conclusion, but that is not the question. Also, and this is a very important matter, lie realises that his opponents may be actuated by motives quite as worthy as his own, a most rare accomplishment. It is so much more easy to see one’s own party as lily white, and the other side as coal black. It saves mental exertion, and mental exertion is a toilsome thing. Most of us look on what we call “ Labor ” as a pack of wolves ravening for our lives, or, at anv rate, our property, or on what we call “ capital ” as a giant Blunderbore living on the blood of women and children 0 and enjoying his meals. 'When those ideas enter the head it is hard to get back to a more reasonable frame of mind. Judging by Mr Archer’s record we should say that he looks on both parties as composed of human being, fundamentally much the same, having many good points and plenty of bad ones; capable of astonishing self-sacrificc to-day and incredible meanness to-morrow; loving each other much and themselves a great deal more, and generally, as that most democratic poet, Burns, remarked, “little to be trusted.” —Selah.

The coming election promises to he the liveliest ever known in the dominion. Wo purpose taking a vacation at the end of the year and spending it in a tent on the shores of Lake Te Anan. How do we know that all records will he broken when we decide whether the devil we know, or the one we don’t know but strongly suspect, is the better fitted to govern ns? We know it because a tourist recently return sd from America has informed the northern Press that wc are less lawabiding than the Americans. We have just been reading the preparations for winning the first round in the Presidential election so far as Chicago is concerned. Apparently some 5,000 regular police and 25,000 auxiliary' forces have been mobilised on the side of law and order. The other parties have not published any statistics as yet, but no doubt they arc not sleeping. As a sidelight wo arc sorry to see that the rates for murder Imre been cut to a quite nnremnnerative figure. If reports are to be believed, one can have a person to whom one objects removed for 50doI —say, in round figures, £lO. Naturally this is what might be called the basic wiigo. To assassinate anybody of importance—a mayor, for example—would cost very* much more, the attendant trouble and risk being much greater. Admitting this, we cannot see that this “cut-throat” (though wo understand the automatic is the more favored rveapon) competition can do any good either to the contractor, the public, or the insurance companies. It is possible to do good honest work at the money, and one should not try to got anything for Jess than it is really worth, though most of us <lo. We are a small community, and possibly we may get through our elections at the cost of a black eye or two, hut we are not taking any risks.

Have you studied the immediate objective of the Labor Party as laid down by Mr Robert Semple? We have, and we are pleased with it. The platform was originally constructed by King Hatshopsitu (n.c. ItSUO), when he was young and suffered from illusions in the Lead. It has been re-erected at intervals ever since, and with increasing frequency since democracy began to feel its helm. Mr Semple, who is a much more clever man than perhaps you think, puts first “the winning of New Zealand for the useful people.” Who are the useful people? That is an easy one. They are you and J, and perhaps a tew of our friends. Brother, a splendid inheritance lies before ns, though, like. Mark Twain’s friend, who was so meek that he expected to inherit the earth, we may never get our property. Still, Mr Semple has promised inferentially to do his best for us. Next comes the “ establishment of a society based on social justice.” Possibly the early Christians attained this ideal within their own ranks, but certainly social justice has never been found in the world since. It is an absentee, and should be taxed accordingly, and if Mr Coates call obtain its address no doubt it will be. There is quite a lot more, hut that will do to go on with. When we have ascertained definitely which are the useful people and which the useless, and won flic dominion for tho former class, and have worked out a sound and fool-proof scheme of social justice, we may rest content. In the meantime we would like to know more about Mr Semple’s views on taxation, the Summer Time Bill, and other sordid, hut more practical matters.

Wo would like to write something about racing, and the fact that we know very little indeed about it ought not to be an insuperable obstacle, it has been called the sport of kings—and other blackguards, but racing men usually omit the later section in their references, while the opponents of racing leave out the allusion to kings. Whichever view may be the correct one, there is no doubt but that tho sport is very popular. One has only to look at the space allotted to it in tho papers to gauge how popular. In support of the argument that much money is wasted at race meetings, figures are often quoted showing that so many thousands of pounds are “invested,” as it is ironically termed, on the totalisator in a single day. The same money, or as much of- it as is not deducted by the “tote,” is usually “ invested oyer and over again, leaving a commission behind it on each transaction. Strangely enough, very few people lose money at the races. According to their own testimony, and surely they ought to know, they all come home “a little to tho uood,” to use their favorite expression. We once had tho pleasure of endeavoring to unravel tho result of a lady’s “ investments ” during one afternoon at Wingatui. She had apparently won £1.7 10s” but the item, “ cash in hand,” which was the only one which could he accurately checked, amounted_ to 6s 7d. She regards us as a very indifferent accountant to this day. Racehorses are the animals which form the excuse for people to go to race meetings. They are very handsome, and are all descended ' from the Arab steed, which was sold, apparently without guarantee, to someone unspecified,- in a thrilling poem bv Mrs Homans, or it may have been Longfellow. We always mix these authors up, but it does not matter in anv ease. After mature consideration, ive have arrived at the conclusion that there are too many race meetings, as Sarah Bernhardt said about tho ten commandments.

i * * * * The phrase “exterminate the pests,” used in the recent controversy regarding the respective rights of pedestrians and motor cars, struck us greatly it the test of good English is its ability to accurately convey thought from one

brain to . another, it is beyond praise. We cannot hope to emulate it. We merely limp humbly in the rear. IRREGULAR AND VERY INFERIOR BALLADE OF MOTOR CARS. By day they pass in an unending stream, At night I hear their beastly klaxons bray. Their bonnets shine, their radiators gleam, No matter where my errant footsteps stray. And some of them are blue, and some are grey, Some are gigantic, other ones arc small. Signs of the nouveau riche they are, i’fay, Would that I could exterminate them all. Though I have written letters, ream on ream, Hoping that I might thus opinion sway, The more I write, the more the blighters seem To think that they possess the right of way. Perhaps they will give ear unto this lay Writ, as it is, in vinegar and gall; But should they not, then let me once more say, Would that I could exterminate them all. Would I could see once more the bullock team — The days of solid work and slender pay. Life now seems like the weird, nightmarcish dream That comes to those who sup on stout and cray. Would that I could of all those cars make hay; The drivers, too, ignoring pity’s call. Sparing not age, nor sex, nor grave, nor gay. ■With luck I might exterminate them all. Friends of a bygone, much more peaceful day, Are those good times indeed beyond recall ? The hour has passed for ns to preach or pray. “ Up Guards and at ’em ” ! Spifliicat thorn all!