God's Own Country. (With abject apologies to the late Mr. Thos. Bracken.)

Free Lance, Volume VI, Issue 291, 27 January 1906, Page 15

God's Own Country. (With abject apologies to the late Mr. Thos. Bracken.)

The following skit has come to us from an other-sider, who evidently hasn't struck it quite so rich as he expected to do. * * * Give me, give me "God's Own Country" (fiom a spieler's poant of view, Where the scripper and the sharpenconjugate the verb "to do," Where the wild-cat thrives and! prospers like unto tihe green bay tree, Where une biz. is managed chiefly by the Official Assignee. Glorious Auckland I Happy Queenstreet ! Land ox baksheesh and oommxsh, Where the sharp-toothed legal shark assimilates the smaller fish ; Land of legal manageis who scoop the pool before the burst (The survival of the fittest — the survival of tne worst). Down to Wellington we travel, M.H.R. andM.L.C, Where we blue the hardhearned dollars of our bleeding countree; Oh, they toil not, neither spin tney, free from wordly care and strife; Oh, 'tis Heaven, aye, Nirvana, in the Upper House for lifeOn we go to Canterbury, where the squatcah, lordly grand, Holds the fertile plains and valleys in the hollow of his hand; Where the borrowed millions linger (very shortly coming due), Where the heavy mortgage playeth havoo with the cockatoo. Westland, Southland, grim Otago, where the southern gale is born--^ Scenery you have, I grant you, but its chiefly held in pawn ; Mines you have, with gold and salver, in the south and on the west, All producing chunks of bullion paying up the interest. Men with cash, and free, and' happy, landing on the southern shore, Seeing not the chewed up corpses in the quondam "-Liberal" jaws, Happier much the blithe investor, who a div. or balance bears, When he says : "Good-bye, New Zealand, fare ye well, ye southern snares 1" All Ohm trees are green and gorgeous, Mr. Bracken, I admit, Yankeediom can't lick the gorges, there is not a doubt of it ; But, whale every prospect pleases m each sun-lit, sea-girt isle, (Thank you, Bishop Heber) nearly every other man is vile. Life is not a little picnic — chicken, ham, and scenery; Life is not comprised of viewing gorge and bush and greenery; Never mind the goi ges, Bracken, as you wield your graceful pen, Tell us just as eloquently your opinion of the men. Tell us of the politicians, past and present, blue and buff, Plague <t both your Houses, say we, of the lot we've had enough. "God's Own Country" is not made by sea and sky and peaks of snow — Heaven itself woulld! be miakutued by Borne fellows that I know. "God's Own Country," Mr. Bracken, may be so as you affirm, But it's been leased to Ndcodemus for a pretty lengthy term 1 ; And it seems to me, between us, that the latter's little gam© Is to make negotiations for the freehold of the same. "God's Own Country" did you say, sir? Don't tell Richard Sedid!an that, He is rough on anybody owning such a large estate. Why, if such a thing were mooted, Dick, the sole and! only he, Would pass an Act to tax the owner as a hopeless absentee! — Mac.