THIS AND THAT.

Lake County Press, Issue 508, 30 June 1892, Page 3

THIS AND THAT.

[By Old ’Un.] By Jove ! So the Mon. Mr Fergus does not intend to wield the thunder of Demosthenes any longer. In other words, he is going to retire from the political arena. His place in the great talking-shop will ho vacant, and his Ciceronian orations heard within its walls no more. It was ever thus from childhood’s hour. No matter whether it were a gazelle ora. politician, it was, as before stated, “ ever thus.” lie was likable, and we liked him, and banqueted him, and cherished him, oh ! so fondly and muddy ; and now we are going to lose him. Just when he had firmly established himself in our hearts he leaves us lamenting and wondering ; Lmeuting our loss, and wondering wh ther we can get another to fi'l his j lace so well. For, take him for all in all, he was a good allround man. He might have been better—but this can be said of any man. He might have served us better, perhaps I ought to have said ; for he was, and is, a Protectionist. Being, however, a man of considerable personal magnetism, he had many faithful adherents, who, but for this engaging, attribute, would probably have fallen away from hint. Fur any man who favors Protective duties is not a true friend to the mining industry. Caveat emptor ! Protection means, to the goldminer, dearer necessaries of life; it reduces his purchasing power, and, consequently his wages. It is sanctioned by law, and by public opinion, but it is none the less a plan of extortion from the gold-miner, who is boycotted by it ; and prevented from Inlying many things that he wants, lie can house, clothe, and feed himself belter under Fre.-trade than Pro lection. lb would puz/.le the most pronounced Protectionist, subtle as he might be in reasoning, to prove satisfactorily to the gold-miners that they are in any way beneficiaries of Protection. If our new member is not a thorough-paced Freetrader, lie is not the man for Galway.

Woman lias Iron defined as a being who pokes the fire at the top. As if a woman hadn’t as much natural gumption as a man. I will hack a young and pretty woman against any man at raising A flamK. What a feeling of cheapness would come over the satirist at such a- retmt from the lips of a charming dams'l ! Just the kind of man, I should say, who would be opposed to female suffrage—on principle, of course. Women are not so intelligent as men, he would say. No 1 But I am very much inclined to believe that they are more influential. There is clanger lurking here, perhaps. Still, men are but human ; and the best of them are apt at times to, be brought under the influence of “thing* divine.” These are two in number, according to the poet. If one be allowed within

the precints of the House, why not the other? But, I must be serious. This is a subject that should not be treated with levity. The theme has been taken up by Rome of our lending politicians. Sir Julius Vogel, in “Anno Domini 2000,” places a lovely woman in th“ presidential chair of the United States, if my memory serve- me—the romancist probably echoing the statesman’s thoughts of what might be in the distant future. It sterns very fantastical and absurd, no doubt, bub the tim-* may come when “ petticoat government ” will suggest a totally different kind of authority. “ The future in the distance ” is b u yond any man’s ken ; but “ coining events casts their shadows ” before. What appears unsubstantial now may in time have a real existence. Women will have a vote in New Z land yet, and I am going to live to see it, 1 hope.

I think I have before mentioned that I prefer a city to a country life. I did not mean a poky little township, but a place where en« can hear the hum of a multitude, and thn clatter of streetpacing steeds ; “ where the movements of the many shroud the one.” Dear old London ! Shall I ever again wander unseen through thy lab/rinth of streets ? Perhaps ! As it is, I can wander unseen, but, oh ! the difference to me ! The bloating of the sheep, and the murmur of the brook ; the soughing of the wind, and the rustle of the grass are all the sounds I now hear, each situation has its charm. Some like a reclusive life, whilst others prefer a companionable one ; and happy is the man who can adapt himself to circumstances. This is not so difficult if the groat lubricator is to be had for the seeking. Gold is an excellent thing whore too is any friction. It smo ifchs one’s path through life, no matter where one’s lot may be cast.

Speaking of cities and towns reminds me that I have not seen a mining township for years. One of these days I must have a lock at one • and yet I feel that such a visit will fill me with fear and trembling. The old order has changed so. I have seen the time when even a mayor was approachable, familiar, and-chatty. But that is past. Nowadays, so many of the old stock, have what is called a “ position” to maintain, that a sense of my inferiority becomes painfully apparent. I fee! as if I were one of plebs., you know—not on the same plane exactly ; “hardly our set,” don’t you see ! Isn’t it remarkable that no sooner does an old miner throw away his moleskins, than he commences to walk on stilts ; no sooner does he renounce paper collars than ho puts on frills 1 Then, suppose a fellow were to meet some of the lawn tennis part\ whew ! —or someone in office —a man hedged round with dignity, maybe, and one-who considers it his duty to treat that hydra-headed monster, the public, to that typical, »nd freezing look of nonchalance, and to gorgoniae them from head to foot with “ a stony British stare.” No, I think J’ll wait a bit. I might meet somebody better dressed, and with more ready cash than myself, who might address me as “My good man.” ’Tis then my bosom would heave, and my spirit yearn for a shillelah or a shot-gun.

Hope I haven’t been too “ fearless” in my writing, Mr Editor. Shouldn’t like you to be “ puttin’ your fut down,” after the manner of the Lancashire lad, Dick Sedclon. I would as soon face J. L. Sullivan as a country editor. Bound to get knocked out, either way. At the same time, I rather like to see somebody else getting a dressing. Ye gods!, how I' have laughed at the luckless wight who has been rash enough to t ike field against an editor. It is glorious fun. The controversialist fancies that he has the editor by the hip—the simpleton. He accordingly writes something that the editor finds distasteful—l mean to his readers, of course—and so the editor at once shuts down upon him with that stereotyped but withering snap : “This correspondence is now closed.” It is delicious.