THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 21985, 21 June 1933, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer.

From a correspondent who has evidently bought his experience dearly at standard legal rates: —

Dear “ Wayfarer .’—Could you find a place among your epitaphs for one which doe« justice to a well-known profession? It was written, I think, by good Ben Jenson; —

God works wonders now and then, Here lies a'lawyer, an honest man

A visitor to the graveyard added later, I understand, the comment: “What, two men buried in the same grave? ” —I am, n etc., Parsley. It is a pretty thought, and expressed inoffensively. We have all heard what happens to the lawyer when he dies—he lies still.

Some such cynical thought must have motivated Tom Moore, too, when he was delivered of the follbwiug:—

Here lies John Shaw, Attorney-at-law, And when he died The devil cried. Give me your paw, John Shaw, Attorney-at-law! But all the cynicisms at the expense of the legal profession are not reserved for these members who are no longeV capable of talking back; nor to critical laymen. No earlier than Saturday ,the> papers contained comments by the judge presiding at the hearing of an action for slander in the north which. have a_ somewhat surprising import. Plaintiff had complained that counsel for the defendant, sitting behind him, had passed derogatory remarks under his breath. His Honor, in accepting counsel’s explanation that , his sotto voce comments were not addressed to plaintiff, added: — Counsel should be able to confer so that if they are using abusive or derogatory terms of opposing counsel or party their conversation cannot be over-

Who knows what ribaldries or unpleasantries may be passing when two bewigged heads bend dost* together over a Statute Book and the low, learned-sound-ing murmur of counsel xu collaboration drones through the courts?

A more sombre, note is struck by a correspondent who,. years ago, retrieved from impermanent- stone some of the salutations to immortality of those whom this dty knows no more. One suggests adventurous aspirations and a questing spirit the earth will not confine:

He sank In that swift stream. 1 Short was his life And all his hopes a dream. He sank—no human power Was near to save—- ' Ho hand to snatch him From a watery grave. That grave he once so little •- Thought to? find. ■ When Dunedin and his friends He.left behind,‘ . i.? The other contains its admonitory message for those who may walk proudly in the confidence of many years of living:— In the prime of life I was cut oft; No longer could I stay, Because It was my Saviour « wish To call mo hence away. Farewell, my parents and brothers dear, Farewell, dear husband, dry up your My end’you know, my grave you see. Prepare your soul to follow me. Dismal thoughts! > “ Sufficient unto the moihent is the appearance of reality,” kays D. H. Lawrence, and the best -wc can.do, while waiting to fulfil this prediction from the grave, is to keep up appearances.

Recent despatches to the newspapers remind us that the sportsman, the lover of wild life and conservator of our friends of the field, stream and forest, is abroad again. Here we eee him at hia good-natured, healthsome recreations in the north, on Tatipo:—- . . . So far as the southern end of the lake is concerned, the season proved to be a record one, judged by the number of visitors attracted to the locality. Anglers generally arc of the opinion that the fishing, from both a quantity and quality point of view, was much better than it has been for years. . . ; Mr , who fished throughout the ■ Season, succeeded in catching about 900 fish, of a total weight of H tons.

And in Otago these amiable hunters have not been idle;—

The quail shooting, parlies in the Wanaka district have been meeting with a considerable amount of success; A well-known sportsihan from Christchurch, Mr spent a week in the district in quest of quail. His bag for a week’s shooting totalled 134 birds. . .

Well, we are not, we think, hypercritical of the ways in which other people choose to spend their time. Crusading _is neither our aim nor our business. “ Live and let live” is as good a rule,of conduct for “Wayfarer” as for anyone else, and it is one . that: all good sportsmen will endorse. A Let them reconcile it to their avocations as they will —if they can!

We heard recently of a sportsman who, returning from a duck-shooting expedition, bore with hint a ■ of small, plump birds for identification. The proper authorities—Buller, Hutton, and Drummond, and Oliver—were consulted' and the - species established : as black teak - Beautiful little birds,” said the slayer, stroking their soft, inert forms. , “ What a sanguinary shame it is that they are, being shot out. Soon they’ll be extinct, and only a few yeare ago there were plenty of them,” One who was present ventured mildly a suggestion that to bring down a male and female when there was no open season was not the best means of preserving the species. “ Wpll,” quoth the sportsman, “if I hadn't knocked them over some damned poacher would have. been sure to get'them.”": This.-be it said* is not.a fairy story, nor would we question' the sincerity of the hero of it. ‘ M

It was an honest, sportin’, right-think-ing peer who, in Mr A. P. Herbert's comic opera, epitomised the attitude of the shootist towards his profession:— It’s really remarkably pleasant To wander about in the wood, And kill an occasional pheasant, Provided the motive is good. . . . And they’re lucky to die as they do, Fdr If they do not, '■ They’re sure .to be shot By someone who’s not in " Who’s Who.’ So it is in New Zealand, where acclimatisation has provided a multitude of excellent “bags” at the expense of our forests and our native bird life. Set, a bare to provide a soup, set a weasel to catch a bare, and- a trap to exterminate the weasel' (for it is killing our own dear birds) ; set a deer to provide some hunting, and a culling party to slaughter thfc doer (lest our lovely bush be despoiled by its ravages) and you have the-grand business of transforming a formerly upverniinous country into a sportsman’s paradise.

Not so long ago a trio or so of gentle Virginian deer was set loose in Stewart Island to increase its attraction for the limited number of sportsmen who can appreciate beautiful country only for its yield of carcasses. So fruitfully have those little creatures fulfilled the expectations of the acclimatisation authorities that to-day there are herds estimated at thousands, and one of the last and loveliest preserves of native bush in New Zealand is threatened. The trouble is, of course, as good conservators will solemnly inform yon. that on this peaceful island the Virginian deer has no natural enemies to control its rapid reproduction. The logic of acclimatisation suggests a remedy. We may yet read of the introduction of a family of tigers to Stewart Island to combat the terrible deer menace.

Yet the sportsman is not without his sense of humour, nor does he pursue his quests without trial and tribulation,

was a noble specimen of the tribe who told, against himself, the story of a deerstalking expedition which ended with sore feet and n, weary back. With a guide he had made far into the high country which is marked “ unexplored ” even on recent maps. Three days they toiled through virgin bush, heavy-laden, a packhorse their salvation from sheer collapse. At last on the third night they reached the chosen shooting block, pitched camp and crawled into sleeping bags. But our friend was too tired to sleep, and anxious to begin the hunt. Rising silently, be took his rifle and trudged noiselessly through the bush. Suddenly his expectant car heard a sound among the trees. His hunter’s caution aroused, he crept to windward, and at last in the dim light saw a haifdsome animal outlined faintly through the heavy growth. He drew careful aim, fired, and at that deadly shot the prey dropped without a sound. Jubilantly he made his way to the prke, to find the guide surveying, with rage too deep for words, the body of the packhorse! Of that long walk back to civilisation, laden with tents, blankets, pots and pans, as well as his regular equipment burden, our friend speaks feelingly. One is assured that in death that humble horse was appreciated as never in its life of inglorious drudgery.