THE MAD WORLD
£ . By SANCHO PANZA. £
•J It's a mad world, my masters. — 5 Don Quixote. <2
Ladies nnd Gentlemen, 1 am not standing fo_ Parliament, and can afford to speak tlio truth. The world is not much (if any) better than it was when I wrote ia*., and it .1 could see ar.y honourable way out of it 1 would be temptod to take it- Man, proud Man, with VI. I. alter hSs name, continues to talk and say things that must make th© judicious grieve. Rabbie Burns once wrote "O wad so mo power the gii'tio g"ie us, i'o sco oorsels as it hers see lis." This would be r.io good to the man who has got into the Talking Shop, _ud forthwith straightens his spine when before his fellow men. Whjafc h*» wants, although it is t.oi exactly what lie needs, is a, Gift, a No. S Gift, that will enable plain people, like your humble- -servant, to see nan as he sees Himself. That would b* a Gift worth while—at least to Him. Whether it would b e worth anything to anybody else is open to doubt. # * -;;- * Little Billy Hughes, who used to earn an honest living mending -umbrellas, is being made a Hero of by Uie Australians, whose hero-worship seems to be in a bad way. His progress i'roiu West to East resembled a triumphal march, and was t n © cause of more re* j.icing that his transit from a peanut vendor to an alleged Statesman who can do great things—by word of mouth. According to an Australian daylio paper, ono of those non-essential concerns that produce dividends, Hughes is becoming less fluent in his speech, and frequently relies on typewritten notes. Besides his oratory is less ornate; there are fewer trimmings to it. At times lie seem to be at a loss far a word. Thi9 recalls a strange incident that' happened iv London once. This Political Great Man was present at the opening of Australia House a year or two ago, and in the course of his remarks declared that h© felt almost robbed of tlio power of speech! At the time Saueho regarded this as a judgment, or the threat of oi.<e, and asked on© of hid junior Bards to wax prophetic in flowing verse, with the result that follows:— I stand beforp the world bereft of all; Like Niniveh I hasten to my fall, And drink life's bitter cup of hateful wine, The glory fades, the glory that ""as mine. Grim spectres shade my path, ah! wee is mc, Who plucked the fruit lVoni Fortunes favoured tree, Who cried aloud that man might be redeemed, And so I talked, and oftentimes 1 screamed. In polities 1 rose to heights untold. From vending little peanuts (hot and cold) And like a meteor of flashing flume. I leaped from nought and talked my way to fame. I talked, I talked, and nations blessed my tongue, I roared and thundered, and fair ladies flung The rarest roses in my path ol gold. As did the beauteous Roman maids of old. .Ne'er did 1 claim a sapei-mui.ir.-l brain; Talk w__ my portion in my splendid reign, Bui in*", ah! now- the nation's idol ! i c ~ . jiiui':-...! aud dumb, awaiting Paradise. Oft in a fitful dream I now do see, A ruined nation calling out for vie, "Come back" it says, "and rais c that clarion voice, Thai-, all the nation may again rejoice." Alack! alas, now all the world can see, The meaning of this dire calamitee. And as 1 wheel my peanut cart along, My soul is sad, 1 have no heart for song. Perhaps Billy will never reach this sad plight. He has mado a bit out of politics—more than he ever made be telling umbrellas. They say talk's cheap. Look at what it costs Australia and New Zealand! -;. # * # Old Man Earnshaw, of the Old Man's Home, otherwise the Legislative Council is ashamed of his class—the- Working Class. He says the workers don't give goods equal in value to the wages they get. This is e__ual to saying that Capital keeps a Reserve Fund out of ! which to pay Labor when Labor goes slow, whica, as Euclid says, is absurd. The workers are not too well up in political economy, or the nature of capital, but they know the Fat Mai_ better than that. Old Man Earnshaw has seen the flowing tide, come in and go out again, leaving him stranded high *nd dry on the sands of time. A considerable amount of fuss is being made in the papers about a trou. ivltit-h is allcgt-d to have lived in a i well for twenty year.. There is nothing | iv that to -strike any t'oolos-opher dumb. Truth is said to live in a well; and there ate people who would dump ait those (of whom I am one), who love the Truth aud ensue it, into a well. Well, well! Coming back to the trout, it may be said without fear of successful contradiction that th e fisin had a better time than many human beings. H e (or she as the case may be) was in his or her native element. Now there ar e human beings, made a little lower than the angels, who have lived in slums for more than twenty years. This i 3 the kind of thing that strikes
mc dumb, and makes mc wish I «Mi« ■i trc.ni. lather than a poor, forkk'l leutherle. . biped doomed to wear troUsers for the term of my unnatural life. •x- ->.- * *
The Minstrel lh.y, whose poetical efiusioi.s have graced tor disgraced); the .Mad World at times, has returned from Ui t » country, wlimv he has been ru.£iea.ing, and forwards a poetic spasm,' which, whil,. not up r<> __is highest _-»»-; dard, bears the marks of his peculiar and Hibernian genius. He lias noticed that the ■ex-Kaiser of Deutsehland serifs fated to disappear from the rndo goz€ of thie world, whether by means of a drop of a few fep-fc or on account °f his inability any longer to interest the world, and attempr- to stay hi.s progress towards Oblivion. Xo more the World looks up to mc. I am as on,, who never was, Time was ! held World in fee, 1 ruled an Fmpire, made its laws. And now 1 am an e\ilo lone, And States no lont-*r fear my nod. Gone is my sceptre. g-Jiie my throLO, 1 bow my head L-iieulh thie rod. Ambition and tho pride of kings, Have humbled mc into the dust, I turn my mind to better tilings, And own that, pale is not unjust. The pomp and glory of this world, That out. were mine, I now abjure,; Soon: may they be to Chaos hurled. And Right's foundations made secure. Amen, so it may b*.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/MW19191001.2.6
Bibliographic details
Maoriland Worker, Volume 10, Issue 447, 1 October 1919, Page 2
Word Count
1,140THE MAD WORLD Maoriland Worker, Volume 10, Issue 447, 1 October 1919, Page 2
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