PASSING NOTES.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21010, 26 April 1930, Page 6

PASSING NOTES.

A week and a-Jiall to the Parnell by- ■ election, and already, say the press telegrams, “ the campaign is in full swing,’ - ! and " interest is quickening. - ’ With equal zest each candidate is claiming that Parnell’s verdict will show the trend of the Dominion s political thought. In other words, what Parnell thinks on j May 7 New Zealand will think on May | 8, and long after. Never before were the political opinions of the Parnellites , viewed ivith such awe-struck reverence I And never before was the imitative capai city o£ the rest of New Zealand rated 1 so high. Pity it is that the three champions are not left alone in the lists to fight it out among themselves, without a°group of seconds shivering like chorus girls in the side-wings, waiting for the stage cue. The metaphors here arc ; mixed, hut they typify _ very well the confusion of this three-sided combat, in which each contestant hits the head nearest to him. Only in politics and at Donnybr.ook is such a fight possible. Each* of the three leaders is eagerly 1 scanning the horizon. Will the dawning day bring him “ the sun of Austerlitz ” or the mists of Waterloo? He pins his hopes on Austerlitz, for Austerlitz was the “Battle of the Throe Emperors.” Yrites Lockhart: “Only promise us," cried an old grenadier, “ that you will keep yourtelf out of fire.” “I will do so," answered Napoleon. “ I shall be with the reserve until you need me. . . . The sun rose with uncommon splendour; on many an afterday the French soldiery hailed A similar day with exultation as a sure omen of victory, and the Sun of Austcrlitz has passed into a proverb. Till one or other of the leaders cry on lie morrow, like a New Zealand' Pitt, ■ 801 l up that map of New Zealand: it ill not be needed for a decade.” Various opinions have been expressed rom time to time of statisticians uid their statistics, “ A judicious man,” says Carlyle, “looks at statistics not to get knowledge from them, but to save himself from having ignorance foisted upon him.” Burke calls a statistician “ a Pindaric book-keeper, an arithmetician in the clouds.” but opinions with far more “ kick ” in them than these are expressed by suffering firms and public bodies on the arrival of the weekly or monthly batch of statistical returns which the New Zealand Statistical Department requests them to fill in. And for what? Some no doubt are intended to improve the appearance of gaping pigeon holes. Others are destined for the departmental “ oblivion basket.” Others again enable the bright young men of the department to write graceful essays on the results of their study of them. In published form they furnish a - sports ground for the parliamentary candidate. Used in one way they prove black is white, in another they prove white is black. Quoted in yet a third way they prove that everything is red. This New Slavery of lists and columns, schedules and forms, holds up the work of offices by day and reopens them by night. In some countries, inevitable Government returns are lightened and smoothed to the capacity of a pleasant Sunday morninc’s task. Says a Continental novelist, describing a sleepy French provincial Sunday: The schoolmaster, secretary to the village Mayor, spends his Sunday evaluating for official statistics the number of geese, hens, ducks, pigs, turkeys in his district, compiling his lists by consulting the columns' for preceding years, pleasantly varying them, diminishing or augmenting with in amused and tolerant smile the animal wealth of the commune. Which, if true, would suggest that Economics is merely a minor branch of I’syehology. To sonic of the posers put in the returns one is tempted to reply as the child replied to the bishop: A bishop visiting a country bouse saw the young daughter of his host absorbed in contemplation of his apron and gaiters. Desiring to raise her thoughts to higher things, he asked: “My child, do you know the Lord’s Prayer ? " “ Yes, sir." “ And do you know your Catechism?” “Yes sir.” “And the Collects?” Replied the child, “Damn it all, sir. I’m only seven! ” Two thousand years ago a Chinese Emperor, Shih Huang Ti, decreed that any one of his subjects making use of antiquity to belittle modern times should be put to death with all his relatives. He further enacted that all historical records should be destroyed, in order to remove temptation. New Zealand Statute Books contain no such enactment, and the heads of our relatives are safe when we turn past history to our use. History, for example, shows us the way Italy is heading, Said a Rome cable the other day : The question of a successor to Signor Mussolini has long been an active problem, and many names have been submitted. But the coming marriage of his daughter is generally regarded as setting the seal to the nomination of his son-in-law. Conatantzo Ciano. This is what the whole world has been waiting for. Mussolini founds a new dynasty. In default of a son, a son-in-law is the next best thing. A thousand years ago a Mussolini arose who, as “ Mayor of the Palace,” ruled the kingdom of the early Frankish kings. The monarch himself was hidden away in a secluded palace, rarely seen and rarely heard of, always contemptuously regarded as a figure head, recorded in history as belonging to the line of the “ rois faineants ” the “ do-nothing kings.” The Mayors of the Palace wore at first duly elected. But one of them —Pepin or Pippin—decided to appoint his son to succeed him. This was the beginning of the end of the royal Merovingian dynasty. A couple of generations later, the faineant kings were dethroned, and a Mussolini-Pippin established a new royal house. The modus operand! of the modern Mussolini is similar. Ornithologically speaking, wc may regard him as a cuckoo, laying her eggs in the hedge sparrow’s nest. The Sidney Webbs (Mr and Mrs), prescribing their ideal constitution for a Socialist commonwealth of Great Britain, start from the complaint that the world is badly run, and would be better managed by a committee. Many of us would agree pleasantly with their major promise, would look dubiously at their minor premise, and would altogether scout the conclusion of their syllogism. Non-soeialist politicians, jumping off from the same initial conviction, are seeking conclusions quite different. Little has been heard lately of Lord Bcaverbrook’s Now Empire Crusade, acclaimed as the P.P. Movement ‘ —Policy for Prosperity. Still less has been board of the activities of its great ! recruit who, under a -year ago, stepped ! out of the New Zealand High Commissioner’s chair into a now hillet.t as nn Empire Crusader. Hut no doubt lie is busy making or buying his armour, with his eyes, like those of the old-time Crusaders, already fixed hopefully on distant horizons. A Free Trade Empire, economically selfcontained, is an attractive proposal. The United States is a Free Trade Empire. So also is Germany. Doth have Free Trade within their boundaries, and Protection without; and the prosperity said to be duo to one of those policies may after all be due to the other. Which statement is as ambiguous as those of the Delphic Oracle or of some presentday Economic reviews. According to the evidence available, the Crusaders have been prematurely counting their chickens. Free Trade to some parts of the Empire is merely the Manchester School’s conception of a “ pedlar’s paradise.” And Air iScnllin, not many mouths ago. peered ! over (he parapet of a high tariff wall and

called out, “Not on your life,” Englishmen themselves, to whom Free Trade is a religion, would not think as kindly of “ England, Home, and Duties ” as of the more usual form of the phrase. The Bcaverbrook campaign is therefore viewed with misgivings by the very people whom it is proposed to lead on to prosperity. Britain does not quite know what she might be let in for. Therefore she cries:— Beware the Rubicon, and look Before you leap the Beaver Brook. Empire Free Trade is not the only scheme on foot. Mr William Alexander, Labour President of the Board of Trade, has proposed to Europe a two or throe years Customs truce. M. Briand, of France, advocates a United of Europe. In Britain there has arisen also the occult gospel of nationalisation of Industry —“occult” because few know its meaning. The name itself conveys the double suggestion that reason has hitherto been an unheard-of _ thing in British industry, and that it is now about to be applied. When the idea was first mooted, printers, it is said, showed uncanny insight in misspelling it “Nationalisation,”—which is precisely what the. opponents of the scheme allege against it. Says a contemporary writer:— Rationalisation is to modern students of industry rather what the phrase “ Liberty, Equality, 1 ratcrnity ” was to the French Revolutionists. Everyone talks_ about it, but not many know what it is all about. . . . Rationalisation of industry is a mental revolution. It is concerned not only with the scientific management of individual firms, biit with industries, groups of industries, and with national and even international economic life. Which is not very illuminating —ignotum per ignotius. A this week’s cable reports the formation of a Bankers’ Industrial Company —nominal capital six millions —00 shares of £IOO,OOO each. Object—to consider schemes for rationalising, and, if approved, to arrange for provision of new, and use of existing agencies for advancing guch money as is necessary. Not to finance reconstruction of industrial companies. but only groups of companies. Things therefore seem to be moving. But the ordinary man, not possessed of .an industry that requires buttressing and staying, can only contribute hope for the best. Something must be done. Said Dr Johnson, “ Sir, you must not neglect doing a thing immediately good from fear of remote evil.” But Dr Johnson was not an economist. The present movement may have our blessing. Its beneficent results may surpass expectations. Saul, son of Kish, went out merely to seek Ilia father’s asses, and found a kingdom. From a Melbourne correspondent:— Dear Civis,—ln the Passing Notes of March 20 appears a letter signed “ Discipulns," in which the writer makes the statement, or takes it for granted, that the Capping Song entitled “ Carnival Chorus ” is by Arthur H. Adams. I am afraid that Mr Adams will hardly feel flattered by having those verses attributed to him. On the other hand, ! cannot but feel flattered myself by reading that the lines are supposed to be worthy of Mr Adams’s brilliant pen; for in very truth, and in all modesty and humility, I must claim them as mine. “ A poor thing, but mine own.” — Yours, etc., J, R. Macdonald. A sisterless and brotherless father who gazes at the portrait of his son on the wall and asks himself wonderingly, “What relation is that man, to mu?” presents a serious case, in fact, there is almost a “ sinister ” ring about the problem. If it is a wise father that knows his own child, the man who doesn’t isn’t. This old “ catch ” reached me during the week from an Onniaru correspondent. Thu solution ho asks for has already been given times without number in these columns for over forty years —in the romantic 80’s, in the slumping DO’s, and the difficult IStOO’s, in the tragic 1010’s. And every time a wager has been at stake. Dear Civis, —Can you solve for me the following old problem:—A man pointing to a picture hanging on the wall, said, “Brothers and sisters have I none, but that man’s father was my father’s son.” What relation was the person in the portrait to him?— Wager. Here wc have a slender line of grandfather, father, and son; probably with wives in the background, but no other incumbrances. The man on the wall is the son of the father, who in his turn is ibe son of the grandfather. Is more required? The lineaments on the face of the picture may he such as to compel the father to wrap up the relationship in concealing verbiage. Affiliation cases arc sometimes cases of hardship, but a man can’t wriggle out of his social obligations as easily as he can out of a woollen jumper. Civis.