“SHIFTING THE BLAME.”

Southland Times, Issue 21728, 14 June 1932, Page 7

“SHIFTING THE BLAME.”

To the Editor. Sir, —Since reading your article of lhe fourth in which you again take up tlie question of shifting the blame, I have had a touch of the flu.’ Tobacco can only soothe me, and gives no clearness to my thoughts. I am not seeking sympathy; only seeking tolerance on your part. Let me first disclaim having any “bee in my bonnet.” No Shylock presents himself to me demanding a pound of Christian flesh from nearest his heart. Like yourself the “Field” of my imagination has its limitation. I cannot even say I believe in the unseen assassin altogether. Only a strong suspicion crosses my mind at times that there is a “nigger in the wood pile somewhere.” For want of evidence to the contrary I am forced to admit that Britain may not be able to pay more for our goods. It seems unreasonable to me to try and take the trousers off a Highlandman. May I, therefore, close this , part of the discussion by hoping that John Bull will not try and take the kilts off a New Zealander. What I mean by the kilt is this: Sometime ago I met my friend Donald McLean. He said the sheep he bought in the rosy past, for nine hundred pounds, are worth about three hundred now. Donald is a frugal-living Scotchman with nothing red about him except his hair. I hope they do not try to take the kilt off Donald. He is a sensible man and, as I said, the only thing at present that is red about Donald is his hair. You are, Sir, a careful writer and there is a certain precision in your statements somewhat unlike my scribbling. Could you say how far our national wealth has decreased? Are you sure we have a kilt? I blow fine tobacco smoke rings, Mr Editor. The word repudiation is hateful to our Donald; and sometimes I see letters in my smoke rings and they spell the word “consideration.” (Donald agrees with you re Lang). It must be the flu,’ for I find I am clear about Donald's sheep, but still misty about the gold question. Gold remains so stable, or may I say almost rigid, Donald’s sheep treble themselves. I hear the whirr of wheels and there is a whirl of production. The wizardry of applied science in the creation of wealth awes me. Oh, for some gold, Mr Editor, to remain practically rigid in the midst of this productive expansion, or to back a paper currency with it, say, at the proportion of two to one and get my interest and wait my time! To lend Donald the paper till his sheep increased threefold and my gold and paper to have the same old value. But there, Mr Editor, it must be the flu.’ I imagined I saw that nigger. His name was, No! Sir) Otto . (I am like Sir Walter Scott; I spell badly.) Only he seemed quite benevolent and wore a fine, long grey beard and caftan. I even heard him say solemnly, “Vain and fleeting as the wind is the world. One and eternal is the God of Israel.” It is certain I have the flu.’ I am, etc. JAMES STOUT. [Publication of this letter was delayed by pressure on our space. The “unseen assassin” is public opinion.— Ed. S.T.]