PASSING NOTES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3336, 20 February 1918, Page 3

PASSING NOTES.

(From Saturday's Daily Times.)

There is only one way of winning a war;—you must beat the enemy. Preferably, in the field; at worst, by diplomacy, intrigue, and a predominant vote in the Peace Congress. But there are five-and-forty different ways of Josmg a war, and the British people seem fated to make experiment of them all. Being a parliamentary democracy, the British people have it as the first article of salvation that a war is to be managed as the Bolsheviks would navigate a ship or manoeuvre a regiment,—by majority vote. \Count of heads settles everything. The American people are a democracy out and out—l2o millions of them, heterogenous in blood, ar.d in political opinion of as many colours as Joseph's coat. Yet one great ruling ■.rfficial rides easily on the top of all; Prescient Wilson comes nearer to being an absolute boss than the Kaiser himself. The Romans of old. whilst still a democacy and a great people, had the saving grace of concentrating authority at moments of public danger. Th s' Senate fell back on a fixed formula. \ " Videant consoles ne quid detrimenti capiat," —Let the consuls see that the State tako no harm (I translate this for behoof of any University Senator who, reading this, might stumble at an unknown tongue);— and stx'aightway the consuls wielded absolute power; or, if they thought good, divested themselves of all power in favour of a dictator. But the many-headed rule centred at Westminster conducts its mauymwded plans and purposes on the immensely popular prineiple of How not to do it. That has been the British Empire during this war. Nothing but the inherited doggednes'j of British sailors and soldiers has saved its soul alive. Bewilderment absolute is the mental effect of reading the British parliamentary cables of this day, Friday. Who's who, and what's what, —whether the pacifists and Radicals are plotting the downfall of Lloyd George, or whether Lloyd George and a section of the Cabinet are plotting the disgrace of the generals at the front, the Imperial General Staff, and the War Office —you cannot tell. Wait and see, of course ; —we shall know presently. Meanwhile the conviction deepens that what is wanted at Westminster is a Pride's Purge.

Either that, or a new Cromwell with his " Take away that bauble !" Speaking for myself, I should prefer to see the Purge, — a sweeping out and interning of pro-Ger-mans under any name—pacifists, Radicals, Sinn Feiners, or what nob. The story of Pride's Purge may be read in the history books,—now that Colonel Pride and certain other colonels surrounded the House of Commons with their regiments; how that Pride himself at the door, a list of names in his hand, let in members or kept them out a 3 seemed to him good, and ordered the locking up of all who resisted. Unless something is done to evacuate, phlebotomise, or muzzle the present Parliament we shall have to leave it to the Americans to win the wax. Mr Massey as Premier and Sir Joseph Ward as Minister of Finance are to journey in company to London at the country's expense. "An ill-assorted pair, one would say. remembering the post and gone. But if only one of them went the other might " queer his pitch" in his absence. Politically, that is. Listen to Sir Joseph on the " imperative duty 1 ' laid upon both : If anvone run 3 away with the idea that there is anv pleasure about a journey of the kind, it is rather a pity he has not got to do it instead of us. _ You , only require to read what is going on in respect to the sinking of ships across the Atlantic, in the Mediterranean, and in other places that we are not advised of to recognise that it is a dangerous route for everybody, and a stav in London under war conditions, with the air raids that are frequently being made, and conditions of such a nature as are unknown in this country, is not pleasant. Some people appear to imagine that it would be a trip of pleasure and interest. Of course, that is quite a mistake. Hey Massey, man!—get up and pack I The call is sounding clearly. We two are for the road again Who fought each other, might and mam, And love so dearly! The sea is thick with submarines,, The London sky with raiders; No safety spot to set one's feet; "Take cover 1" sweeps the hurrying street Bare of paraders. .... They'll do uc well,— they always do, But now, in sober fashion: Kickshaws and luxuries out of reach, They banquet guests by giving each His war-timo ration. . . . Yet go we must, and both;—but not Because we love so dearly! The reason is that neither can Consent to leave the other man Behind. That, merely. Cheer up, old war-horse! You'll come back Just "Massey,"—nothing newer; For a good democrat that's enough; Whilst I—with luck—come back Lord Bluff Of Awarua. Looking to Australian precedent—the phenomenon presented by Lord Forrest of Bunbury—there is good - reason to think possible a New Zealand peerage; Indeed, we have the germs of it already. What harm ? " Social decorations dotted here and there improve the scenery. It remains, however, that we should mind our p's and q's. The Westminster Gazette prints a letter addressed to a baronet, a civil busi-' ness letter beginning "Dear/Sir," which letter had been returned to the sender with a red-cha.lked cross struck through the "Dear," and the following memorandum attached : —• There is a strong feeling amongst Baronets that the expression " Dear Sir," being constantly used in _ commencing a letter nowadays to their servants, 13 therefore not only incongruous, but also discourteous when applied to Members of this Ancient and Hereditary Degree. I will therefore ask you in futuro to kindly accord mo my title, and commence your letters to mo " Sir ' Norman " instead of " Dear Sir." How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. This is the case foreseen by the prophet :—" The age is grown so picked

that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galla his kibe." 1 am- bound to say, however, that the one member of the Ancient and Hereditary Degree who is most "in evidence amongst us lias shown no such sensitiveness. The example of " Sir Norman" is—in the words of the old song— Not for Joseph! not if ho knows it t 0 dear no I— not for Joe f

The Tablet, like the dog to his vomit and the sow to her wallowing in the mire, is "at it again." A German would read with profound satisfaction the villainous libel on the British people, the British armies, and the British press, quoted in the Daily Times leader of Friday; no German 'could have dene it better. This outpouring of bile, apropos of nothing in particular—a natural evacuation apparently—is to commend the duty of loving one's enemies. Loving one's enemies!— for the Tablet itself a large order. Gratuitously it is making enemies of the whole population of New Zealand. By its own rule the Tablet is committed to loving them all. Whether the whole population of New Zealand can be brought to We the Tablet is another matter. My private opinion is that the whole population of New Zealand would seo the Tablet—further first. It is easier to lovo an enemy outside the walls than a viper underfoot within. There are thousands and thousands of Protestants, in this country who see with sincere regret the official or quasiofficial organ of the Roman Catholic Church mailing itself generally odious.

From Somewhere in the North Island: Dear "Civis," —Here is a sample of enlightened war news as served up to us by our morning oracle: "A wireless Russian message denies the statements ' that there is terror and chaos in Petrograd and elsewhere. It declares that Kieff and Rada have fled, and the authority of Kharkoff in the Ukranian Counoil has been recognised." Up^till now I had fondly imagined that Kieff and Rada were a vaudeville turn on thq Fuller circuit, and that Kharkoff won the last New Zealand Cup. It comes as a bit of a shock to learn they are merely a species of Bolshevik. v Writ ironic. To prevent our missing that fact the writer would have done well to mention, privately, that Kieff is a town, that Kharkoff is a town, and that a Rada is presumably some form of revolutionary committee. But he proceeds in the same vein and finishes thus: I look to our local organ to inform us in the near future that Odessa has captured Nini Novgorod after a running fight, that Korniloff has been burnt to the ground, and that Moscow has effected a junction with Vladivostock.— Breathlessly yours, Fedufsky.

Since, however, no form or degree of madness is alien to the Russian cables, the country sub-editor, handle them how he may, can hardly go wrong. Ho is pretty much a " Fedupsky" himself. In current Russian affairs, read what you will and where you will, you are wandering through the" wards of a Bedlam. Stark lunacy raves on every hand, —lunacy armed with "bombs and machine guns. The Bolsheviks, since they are able to run newspapers, must include men of education. So did the Jacobin Club that organised the Paris "Terror." Journalists and lawyers were at the head of it. In the light of that historic precedent the world waits with what patience it can till the Russian Bolsheviks reach the reciprocal throat-cutting stage, or bomb and; blast each other into space. Meanwhile -it is a bad time for the "bourgeoisie," which term includes practically everybody who has anything to lose. Even the peasant has learned to mouth against the "bourgeoisie." In the Nineteenth Century 13 "A Letter from Petrograd," out of which I extract this char/ning vigrette : A peasant was talking on one of the Volga steamboats whose timetable and course are now changed at the caprice ~of soldiers going on them. YY e must get rid of this bourgeoisie. Down with the doctor.! And with the schoolmaster I We must have our own people. "That's right," said another. "Our committee made a resolution. Far too many bourgeoisie at the hospital. Three doctors, two trained nurses, and a midwife to boot! And what for? Look at the expense! ISO they decided to leave one doctor at the hospital; let him make his powders for himeelf, and his wife can help him." England, as the Bolshevik conceived it, is tho° native home, head centre, and perennial fount of " bourgeoisie." " England, that's where the capitalists are. They want to pay for all sorts of annexations with our blood. Down with England!" Dear " Civis,"—The following verso has been persistently in my mind for some timo,—can you oblige mo with the name of the author and further verses, if any? Were I the King of France, or, what'B better, Pope of Rome, I'd have no fighting men abroad or weeping maids at home; I'd havo all peoples live at peace, let kings assert their right, And I'd have the men that quarrel be tb* o'.ily men to fight.

"Jeannette and Jeannot," by Charles Jef* fereys, the_ song to which these line* belong, had a vogue in the mid-Victorian time. You are going far away, far away from poor Jeannette, There'll be -no ono left to love me now, and you too may forget,— thus the girl to her soldier lover about to march. And she winds up a tearful farewell with the verse quoted-—inaccu-. rately —above: O were I Queen of France, or, better, Pope of Rome, I'd have no fighting men abroad or weeping maids at homo; But all the world should be at speaco, and kings should have their right. And those who make the quarrels be the only ones to fight. There is a companion song, "Jeahnbt antf Jeannette," in which the so.'dier mag nines _ his office and the trado of warboasting the fascination that it has fot'' women. And would you put an end to deeds that ladies love so well? And have no tales- of valour left- for history to tell? The soldier's ia a noble trado! Jeannette. then rail no more; Were only kings allowed to fightihcr«'i! be an end of war. Apparently a consummation: to bo dreaded. But Jeannette's is the better sentiment, and to-day would carry alt votes. Here, apropos, I bethink me of another inquirer who asks about the "Red Flag" song which Socialists and malcontent trade-unions seem to be for aver singx ing; also about the German ranL "Deutschland über alios." Words ana music- both are wanted: —can I help! No, —and thanks be! Neither classic if in my repertory. Civis.