BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 21090, 30 April 1932, Page 2

BY THE WAY

[By Q.V.]

“ The time lias come,” the Walrus said, " To talk of many tilings.”

From the suburban room where this is written ono can hear intermittent sounds coming from a distance of half a mile or so, which have a most cheeri; g note, in themselves they arc not musical. They bring back no memories of eminent composers, or even of those barbaric melodies which pass for music nowadays. They are, in fact, the sounds ”of hammering. Investigation proves that they are caused by sundry artisans who arc erecting a_ house two or three streets away. Nothing much in that, you say. Well, we hog to differ. They do not merely represent the noise of hammers falling at regular intervals on three-inch nails. They stand for hope, for confidence in the future, for faith in our country, in onr town, even in onr own suburb. From a distant view the prospective dwelling will not bo a very imposing one. All the better. It is not merely some far-sighted capitalist taking advantage of a slump to speculate on the ultimate appreciation of real estate. Much more likely it is the provision of a. home for someone of that lower midddlo class which is the salt of the earth, or perhaps it is for someone who proposes getting married shortly, and has put his savings, or haply borrowings, into a place from which ho cannot be ejected at the pleasure of a la 'lord. A very good thing, too. There is a very solid satisfaction in the thought that one has a roof over one’s head if the worst comes to the worst. Andrew Carnegie, who acquired so much money that ho would do without it, advised all young men to begin by owning their own houses. Andrew did not stop at that, but few of ns may emulate his later financial feats, and perhaps a good many would not wish to do so. In any case, may the sound of such hammering continue to be heard all over this country until every tradesman is fully employed. Each nail driven is a promise of good.

Australians visiting these isles Affirm that we’re a gloomy lot; Tho Aussie winks his eye and smiles, And we do not.

The Aussie, you must understand, Holds up his head, and feels no fear He trusts his country’s future, and We doubt it here.

Wo stroll around tho streets and slouch As if the times had got us down; Our conversation’s ono big grouch, Our face one frown.

We speak as if good times were done, And every morning look for rain, All doubting if the hidden sun Will shine again.

Tho Aussie looks with lightsome mien On loans and taxes, bills and dues, Each day he wipes his razor clean With LO.U.s.

And therefore—so we hear—he’s gay, And we are most morose and sad Concerning tilings—which, by the way, Is very bad.

Perhaps it’s futile, void, and vain To manifest such great concern. The longest worm (or is it lane?) Is tyound to turn. But still—although it’s bad to play The undiluted pessimist, It’s worse to shunt one’s debts, and say They don’t exist.

Likewise, although our point of view May show ns naught but skies of lead, Wo can’t escape from feeling blue By turning Reel.

For my part, I am confident There’s life in old Now Zealand yet; And also that she’s really meant To pay her debt.

But Lang and Co.—tho’ people vow They’re chock-a-block with smile and song— May bo extremely happy now, But not for long 1 * ♦ * « In his Auckland address the Gover-nor-General struck a much higher note than is usual in public oratory. By implication he laid his finger on our weak spot —the want of national unity. Wo aro almost invariably concerning ourselves with sectional interests. Wo work for the Labour Party, tho United Party, the Reform Party, the National Party—especially for tho best party of all—that is, of course, our own party, which alono is in possession of the truth, knows-i'lo secret, holds tho clue leading out of the labyrinth. Somewhat unreasonably, we think, this party never offers to share its knowledge with tho others. Unless tho country is to bo saved by it, it says it won’t be saved at all. Luckily the salvation of a nation depends very little on politics, but a great deal on effort, the more united tho better. Mere cr-iti-cising will not get anywhere. It will not make two sheep graze where one cropped the tussock before. It will not add an eighth of a penny per lb to their value. In war Napoleon, who had much experience, estimated the morale to the material as three to one; the mere coming together in a wholehearted atempt, to conquer our difficulties would remove many of them. We believe that tho National Government is doing its best, faulty in many ways though that best may be, but it spends much of its time and energy in fighting internal dissension and ex-

tcrnal hostility. One thing is certain: wo need not look for any outside assistance, the rest of the world being too much occupied with its own worries to think of ours.

If we ever felt any desire to be an M.P. it has left us of late years. In the first place, there is the “ great perhaps ” of being elected, a very big perhaps; then, if elected, ono leads a life of constant harrassment, with late hours and heavy expense during the session. The last point was not overlooked when the proposal to curtail the legislators’ salaries was being discussed. In fact, the only attraction we can see is that there is no ago limit to the job. The men who make the laws are exempt from that disability. They can look forward to drawing their screw at the end of the month with every confidence, conditional, of course, on their constituents not having sized them up at the end of the term. Unlike the judges, who used to enjoy the same immunity from an age limit, the legislator need not know anything, beyond perhaps a few of the arguments supplied to him free of charge by his party. These, delivered in a loud voice, with sufficient conviction, will suffice to convince the electors that he has devoted long and intense study to his job. Ho also has the advantage that while in the House, and within fairly wide limits, he is free from observing the ordinary rules of courtesy. He may, as Mr Semple did the other day, call a man a liar ; and if anyone objects he can simply withdraw the expression and explain that, while ho withdraws, he still remains of the opinion that the lion, member to whom ho refers is a complete stranger to the truth, and nothing happens; in fact, many will say that, while he may have gone a little too far, ho has the courage of his opinions and deserves credit for it.

It is quite possible that the seeds of much trouble were sown the other day without exciting a great deal of public attention. The United States, which has promised the Filipinos their independence for some forty years, having considered the matter in all its bearings, made a “ magnificent gesture,’’ and definitely stated it would hand over the keys of the Treasury and the privilege of selecting a national flag to them in eight years from now. So in 1940 Mr Forbes, if still in power, and he feels like it, may mobilise 60,000 special constables, declare war on the Philippine Islands, and annex them without infringing international law. The trouble seems to have arisen over sugar. So long as the Philippines belonged to the States, the large quantities of sugar grown there entered America free of duty, and competed with the less remotely grown article on equal terms. The growers of the latter therefore took steps, which in the end quickened into a run, to eliminate this virtually foreign competition, so in eight years’ time sugar from the Philippines will pay duty in the States, the same as other sweetening matter from foreign parts. Where the trouble comes in is that possibly some other nation may be beforehand with Mr Forbes, who, when he arrives, ho may find someone else in possession and the door locked. A great deal of rice is grown in the Philippines, and the Eastern nations are fond of rice and cannot grow enough of it in their own territories for their needs. Whether the States would be prepared to defend the new baby by force of arms, or whether the League of Nations would be very cross if any act of aggression was contemplated we have no idea, but to the pessimistic mind 1940 or so will add yet another to the problems of the Pacific, and there are already too many of these.

Cable.—There are over 3,600 candidates for 615 seats in tho French elections. At Saint Girons there are eighty-one candidates for one seat. N.B.—Saint-Girons is a town of about 6,000 people, in tho department of Ariege, at the headwaters of tho Garonne, and near the Pyrenees. There are woollen mills there, and a largo trade in nudes; also a papermill (doubtless for the purpose of supplying ballot-papers). LES CITOYENS DE SAINT-GIRONS (Tune: ‘ Lo Brigadier ’). If southward from Toulouse you’re driving Until you reach the mountains, you Will find a city, neat and thriving, About tho size of Oainaru. Wool-weaving gives them occupation, And rearing mules to ride upon. Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan. But what’s their greatest recreation, Lcs citoyens de Saint-Girons?

Perhaps, from this delightful corner They scramble up, on hands and knees, In chase of goats, and other fauna, That roam about the Pyrenees. Perhaps they climb up Maladetta, Or bathe within tho Haute Garonne. Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan. Mais non! they play at something better, Les citoyens do Saint-Girons, When all departments froth and bubble, And orators perspire and ra^e, Their goats and mountains (case to trouble The little Dept, of Ariego; When candidates proclaim dieir missions From Dunkerque down to Perpignan, Pr-r-rau, pan, pan, pan, par, pan, pan, Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pan, pai, pan, pan. They take the lead as politciaus, Ces citoyens de Saint-Girons.

Wo think two candidates a-plenty, And three or four an oicr-plus. In France, they might obect to twenty, But still they wouldn’t make a fuss. In Saint-Girons the'’re careless, whether It's nine times niuc-dt’s still “ tres bon.” Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pai, pan, pan, pan, Pr-r-ran, pan, pan, pm, pan, pan, pan. They sing “ The moro ; vc arc together ” Lcs candidate do Siint-Girons!

At every corner, squire, and crossing They spout in twos, and threes, and fours. And when the fight iccomes engrossing, Enunciate their vows by scores. And no one growl: if votes are splitting, Or meetings last a whole night long. Pr-r-ran, pan, pan pan, pan, pan, pan, Pr-r-ran, pan, pai, pan, pan, pan, pan. They never mind an all-night sitting, Los citoyens d> Saint-Girons.

They print the mnies in two or three rows, Accompanied >y needful notes, To guide the qioucs of patient heroes Who scratch their heads and give their vots. The eighty ms'ked as “ also started ” Marchcnt cLicun a sa niaison. Pr-r-ran, pan,pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, Pr-r-ran, pan pan, pan, pan, pan, pan. Un el’eux dit“ Are wo downhearted?” Les autrostons ropondont “non!” (Chorus i? distance, diminuendo.) Pr-r-ran, pm, pan, pan, pan, pan, pan, Vous neve' tronverez downhearted Ces brave gens do Saint-Girons!