WHO'S TO GO ?

Observer, Volume XVI, Issue 949, 6 March 1897, Page 20

WHO'S TO GO ?

The Premier's I,ittle I4st.

(Fob the Obsebveb )

King Richard the Great reclined in his chair, He tugged at his whiskers and tousled his hair, And his front locks stood up like bristles erect As he puzzled his versatile intellect; While over a list of names he pored He looked fatigued and decidedly bored — That -well-known look which we sometimes see When the House is sitting till half past three, And his Bills are being mauled, And their clauses stone-walled. And the acts of the.Ministry over-hauled. He stared at the list, . And banged his big fist That had ' knocked ' out many a pugilist, When, as plain Dick Seddon, He sometimes put a head on Any man on the Coast his coat-tail dared to tread on, Ard with something that sounded, I fear, like a cuss,He sat back in his chair and soliloquised thus : — 1 Of course, I must boss this Queen's Jubilee, For it's hopeless to think they can do without me; And it's right to bring under the Premier's review The names they propose for his own retinue. There's the right colour, too, To keep well in view, Or else there will b« a fine how-do-you-do. The hundred I choose Must be men of sound views, To impress them at Home with a fitting idea Of the fine class of men we develop out here. Or rather the class I develop myself. Who scorn all such worldly ideas as pelf. There's Beehan, the boss of the Liberal crowd, And others with high aspirations endowed ; There's Jennings, who makes a brave show, I am told. Attired in Druidical costume of old, ParadiDg the town In a white beard and gown, With Kidd, a great Druid oi ancient renown ; There's t ole, who makes baskets to hold all the votes, And Fawcus, on whom every working man dotes ; George Fowlds, the great draper of Single Tax fame, And Withy, and more I might easily name. I regret to condemn Auckland's new G.0.M., G.O.M. No. 2, Whose political hue Is not always as right as the rest of the crew But Holland, the new M.H.R., must be there, For he might teach a wrinkle to London's Lord Mayor In the way to behave in the high civic chair. There's Faylix McGuire, and Fisher and Hogff, And Carsoi.-, who's rolling' the temperance log* There's my friend, Hee Hem Smith, who's defeated, alas ! And no longer will blow about ironsand and gas, And whose sweet, dulcet tones will enthral us no more, While his haitches are strewn like dead leaves on the floor. There's spruce Jackson Palmer, The great lady-charmer, And sweet little hhera, To the fair sex still dearer ; Jimmy South, the sharebroker. a knowing old joker — They'd be useful at Home to secure our release If we chanced to run foul of the London police ; Then there's smart little Glover, who knows all the rolls, And i 9 useful in bringing our men to the polls. If I wanted to be A British M.P., The bookie would suit me, I'm sure, to a T. There's the Cardinal, too, That old stager Hugh, Who for years has been teaching the old propaganda At tire corners of streets and beneath the verandah, And bravely has borne, waving proudly aloft, The Liberal flag on to victory oft. There's Foley, who studies Shakespeare for his grub, Not the great Avon bard, but the name of a pub; Jimmy Carroll, elect of the classic Waiapu, Who teaches the Maoris a wrinkle or two In whisky and euchre and morals and law, The gift of the gab and political jaw ; And young Hone Heke, a learned 8.A., Who thinks he'll get knighted at Home right away, Though a mean little thing like a K C.M.G. Is a bauble, you bet, that would never tempt me. He may wait a long while till such rank he attains, He's not likely to get it while I hold the reins. There's young King Mahuta, Who likes a long pewter In spite of the fact That a teetotal a cfc Prohibits the sale of the very least drop Of anj thing stronger than weak ginger pop. In this list I have here, all these names do appear, And how I'm to pick 'em is not very clear, For the way they're mixed |up is deucedly queer. Such a comical set I never yet met — Politiciins, publicans, sinners ad lwc. Ex H.M.B.'s and the men on the block ; Some men of right colour, and aome who are wrongIt's a puzzle to tell to which side they belong ; As motley a crew As ever you knew, A nd I wish to the Lord I had only got through 1' (Here he wiped tis hot brow and his nose loudly blew, And drank a long beer of the very best brew). He glanced at his list, Exclaimed ' What's this I missed ? . John Abbott, the Auckland philanthropist, George Garrard, the hero, the man without fear. Who drove all the Russians out of the Crimea,

And_ now. peacably onward on life's journey Protector of puppies and poor vagrant dogs ; Great Joe, the upholder of old soldiers' claims, Who Demoßtbenes - like in street lectures declaims, Who, near Vulcan Lane -and the chief, public haunts, ~" Ephemeral literature volubly chaunts. There's Vaile's 'Talks on Rails,' Skipper Windsor, who's weathered some very stiff gales, And Oliver Mayp, Well-versed in the ways Of nobbling votes on election days ; But, great General Jackson, whatever is this ? Why, they've stuck in the name ' Mary SteadmanAldis.' Well, this lets me out, knocks me all of a heap By thunder ! I think if s a little too steep.' Then he threw down the list in a deuce of a pet, And he hasn't completed the hundred names yet.

Overheard in the tram : — ' Yes, he promised to take me, so I will be at the Premier Picnic' 'We are going, too,' said another fair speaker. ' Yes, we'll all be there,' chorused the whole car load of prssengers.