What Fighting a Minister Means

Southland Times, Issue 12772, 4 December 1893, Page 2

What Fighting a Minister Means

The local paper is very outspoken concerning the proceedings at Mr §. Mackenzie’s Palmerston meeting on Monday night. It says “ The people of Palmerston were in no way to blame for the rowdyism, which had been imported from Shag Point for the specific purpose of frustrating Mr Mackenzie’s intention of replying to the criticisms of the Minister ou his (Mr Mackenzie’s) speech, the Pomahaka purchase, and other matters of special importance. There was an immense gathering of electors from near and far to hear Mr Mackenzie’s ‘revelations,’ but owing to the disgraceful conduct of the rowdies, who were urged on by, we are informed, a liberal supply of whisky, many returned home disappointed and disgusted. We accuse no one of being privy to the discreditable proceedings, which were endured with feelings of the keenest pain by the ladies present and the respectable portion of the audience. Let us hope that Palmerston will never again be the scene of such a disgraceful outrage on British fair play, which can only result in damaging the cause its promoters desire to serve.” “ Givis,” in the Otago Witness, says : — The Homeric contest between the Mackenzie and the McKenzie has gone exactly as I expected it to go—the seat to blustering John, the honours of war to Scobie. Provided with two private secretaries to prime him, coach him, run his errands, correct his speeches, and transmit to expectant billetseekers the Minister’s nods and winks and wreathed smiles, privileged with the unlimited use of the telegraph, and carrying in his pocket the votes of Mr Scddon’s “ cooperators”—a patriotic crowd always disposable where wanted to turn an election ; armed, moreover, with the power to buy up embarrassed estates at prices eminently satisfactory to needy owners—with these killing advantages John couldn’t very well have thrown the election away, even though he had tried to do it. I have bantered him on the possibility of his coming off second best—banter is my trade. But I didn’t expect a miracle. And yet—by all that is comic—it is the next thing to a miracle that has happened. John was bound to win on a count of heads —human nature being what it is—but who could have expected that his win[would be[a pitiful 10 per cent majority in a poll of over 3000 votes ? Therein Scobie carries off the honours of war. It is something, also, to have raked and riddled the enemy from stem to stern, and to have left him battered, shattered, and in a sinking condition. If this is not John's actual plight in re the Pomahaka scandal and some others I am much mistaken. And that is why the fight was worth fighting. A minority can’t out count a majority—am I likely to forgetit, I who, oftener than most men, find myself in a minority of one?— but it can make itself a. very efficient drag upon the majority’s chariot wheels to keep them from triumphantly driving to the devil. This is Scobie’s merit in his chivalrous crusade at Waihemo, and he has served the country better by making blusterous John to shake in his Ministerial shoes than he ever could have done by compromising with his enemies—as at one time their talk was — and ingloriously accepting at their hands the nomination to a safe seat that would have cost him only a formal contest. One ray of humour lighls up the last stage of tho Waihemo duel—a single ray, but unspeakably precious—next door to a miracle, indeed, for it comes from the John McKenzie side. The Hon. Jock has made a joke! It was anent the final election meeting on Monday night at Palmerston. “ Let us both be there,” had Scobie said to him ; “we will discuss Pomahaka and other things, you and I, in fair argument—2o minutes’ spells—one up and one down. I

have engaged the hall on that express under- 1 standing.” “ Thanks, no,” wrote John in reply. “You should have informed me earlier of your kind intention. As it is, I have made my own arrangements for Monday evening without your assistance.” Curt but civil. Scobia’s curiosity may have speculated for a moment about the nature of the “arrangements” that John had made for Monday evening, but little did he suspect, I imagine, the deadly double, entendre contained in the word. • He was enlightened by the event. What John had arranged for Monday evening was the arrival of a squad of howling roughs from Shag Point to take possession of the hall and prevent his opponent from uttering an audible word. From John’s point of view, doubtless, this was the only desirable way of discussing the Pomahaka purchase—Scobie on one side, the Shag Point howlers on the other; so much one sees at a glance. But it is not the political sagacity of this move—much on the lines of the pickle bottle “argument ” in Wellington — that impresses me, it is the humour of it when taken in connection with the courteous but ambiguous phraseology of John’s reply —“ I have madej’my own arrangements, thank you, without your assistance.” Neveragain can we accuse the bovine Jo’ek of constitutional and congenial incapacity to produce a joke. Unless we are to suppose the co-operation of the two private secretaries, he must be credited with the paternity of the best joke of the elections.