STRAIGHT TALK

Fair Play, Volume I, Issue 16, 17 February 1894, Page 1

STRAIGHT TALK

A rumour has been circulated in Wellington during the last few days, by whom we are not in a position to say—although we can make a pretty shrewd guess—that Mr. Bell had arranged to pay the costs of the recent libel action brought by him against Fair Play —that the proprietors of Fair Play had been squared and that Mr. Bell would be mildly attacked in the columns of the journal for a few issues in order that the public might not be made aware of bis magnanimity all at once—as it were —but that ultimately the story was to leak out throngh the columns of the other papers. This version of the affair came to the editor of Fair Play from several quarters, and he wishes to take this opportunity of denying it in toto and of crushing the stupid canard at the start. No one has contributed one cent towards the maintenance of Fair Play since its inception, except its proprietory, its advertisers, and its readers; and no one has contributed one cent towards defraying the expenses attendant upon the recent action. The supposition that Mr. Bell had come to some arrangement with this journal after the decision by Mr. Justice Bichmond is absolutely ridiculous on the face of it, and quick though a rumour be to fly and receive credence, it seems incomprehensible that any sane individual should for a moment entertain the possibility of such a story being true.

In the first place Mr. Bell strove by every means in his power to utterly annihilate the paper, because forsooth in a spirit of fair comment, it spoke in a portion of one issue somewhat disparagingly of him. He brought all the weight of family influence, money and legal talent to help to crush us out of existence, and does it stand to reason to suppose that this man, this hyper-sensitive political parvenu, this would-be autocrat, this exponent of grovel, who takes his opinions said creed ready

made from the decision of the Houso of Lords, would in any way assist to sharpen the thorn that pierces his sido ! Does it seem probable that he would furnish the sinews of war to bombard the battlements of spurious Colonial caste that ho has hedged himself in with ? Rubbish; the suggestion is on its face an absurdity.

Again, Mr. Bell is not a man who would perform an action of that character by stealth. He does not come of a race that possesses such characteristics. No, had such a proposition been possible its accomplishment would have been shouted from the houso-tops and blazoned in the papers. The Associated Press would have telegraphed it throughout the Colony, and tho people of New Zealand would have been informed in lurid head lines of the “ marvellous magnanimity,” the “ more than generous great heartedness” of Wellington’s “ Worthiest Citizen.” The editor of the Evening Post would have gushed, the editor of the Press would have grovelled, and the editor of Fair Play would, like Judas Iscariot of old, havo had no resource but to hang himself for disgracefully betraying his master—tho pcoplo, for a fewpaltry pieces of silver.

Fair Play courts neither death nor dishonour, and had such a proposition been probable or even possible it would have been met with tho contemptuous refusal it deserved. There are plenty of needy institutions that would be the better off for a few of Mr. Bell’s hoarded hundreds, plenty of starving men and women who come before the Benevolent Trustees daily, who could feed their little ones on the price of his “ two whiskies and sodas ” a day, and myriads of the unemployed whoso hungry eyes would have feasted on the sight of the “ dinner "given to his canvassers and supporters.” Fair Play could accept neither his mpneynqr his patronage, 'and whoever circulated the. rumour referred tpi gave birth to a deliberate and wilful mis-statement of' the tnitih, apd we wish to emphatieally and absolutely deny any~ such rumour or suggestion. -*' - - “’ ; ' 1 ~\j

The Agricultural Department should not publish stale news. A Miscellaneous Leaflet, No. 1, published by them the other day and written by Mr. Lowe, the dairy expert, who acts for New Zealand in London, contains next to nothing that had not been previously said, and said much better, by the London correspondent who writes for the Auckland and Dunedin Stars , Lyttelton Times, and New Zealand Times.

By the way, it is not generally known that Mr. Rathbone, the London correspondent in question, was at onetime editor of the Auckland Observer. His younger brother now edits the New Zealand Graphic.

Ugly figures 1 "What is the reason for the very serious falling off in the exports ? For the December quarter the exports are put down at £1,702,005, as against £2,016,675 for the same quarter in 1892. There is a falling off on the whole year of nearly half a million. This sort of thing needs investigation and discussion, and the subject ought to occupy the attention of the daily press. Here in "Wellington all that the dailies seem to think of is blackguarding each other, and they’re so dense that they can’t see the public are full up of their dreary drivel.

We publish in this issue the portraits of Captain Hunter - Blair and his wife. The captain came to New Zealand as aide-de-camp to Lord Glasgow about two years ago, and since his residence here has made himself very popular amongst the people with whom he has come in contact. A short time back he married Miss Bhodes, of Christchurch, daughter of the late Mr. Bhodes, a well-known gentleman in Canterbury. Captain Hunter-Blair is a brother of Lady Glasgow, and an officer in the Gordon Highlanders. His recent resignation of the post of aide-de-camp to the Governor was with a view of returning to the Old Country and rejoining his regiment. We wish the Captain and his bonnie New Zealand wife bon voyage and a happy reception on their arrival.

Poor old Monk, ex-M.H.R. for Waitemata. It’s pretty hard lines for him to have been elected and then thrown out on petition. He can thank his son —a perfect sample of the common or garden ass, this latter—for his trouble. Every dead beat and disreputable tomato-nosed old harridan on the gumfields seems to have been looked up by Young Monk, and there can be no doubt but that corruption and bribery went on wholesale. The J petition must have cost Jackson Palmer a good bit. Wonder who found the stuff ?

But Jackson will not jump straight 'away into the seat without a contest. Major Harris is to run against him and although we believe that Palmer will win, nevertheless he will have to fight hard for his victory.

One of those awful humbugs, female thought readers, a resident in a southern city, prophesied the other day that in seven months time Sir Robert Stout would be Premier of New Zealand. This prophesy is just a trifle too previous. Stout’s show of ousting Seddon is mighty small, unless King Dick puts on too many frills and rides the high horse too frequently with the new Parliament. In political diplomacy, Stout is to Seddon, like a newly caught Hibernian bobby to the head of the Scotland yard detectives. What Richard the Fourth doesn’t know in up-to-date New Zealand political diplomacy, is not worth knowing.

The New Zealand Times, bless her dear old grandmotherly soul, hasn’t dared to take up Fair Play’s challenge about the electric motor. The Times announcement —“ first paper printed by electricity in the Southern hemisphere, etc. etc.”—was a splendid bit of bluff, but it was far too thin. As a matter of fact, the Times has not even yet been printed by electricity. Manager Brown is a smart fellow in his way, but there’s such a thing as being too smart. We gave all possible publicity to our challenge of £IOOO, and stated at the time that if the proprietors of the Times failed to accept it they would stand convicted of a deliberate attempt to deceive the public. They occupy this position to-day. We don’t presume to say that this is the first time this journal has deceived the public. Its reader, few though they be, have probably discovered that long ago. We only refer to the present situation, and warn the public to its further utterances with a ton or so of salt.

Christchurch Lies is now indulging in periodical wild sneers at the Press, with the idea, no doubt, of humbugging the public into the belief that the two papers don’t belong to the same people. It’s too thin, for fully half the matter in Lies —an evening paper—is “ lifted” bodily in the type from the morning organ. The great Evison, late "Ivo” of the Rationalist, keeps on snarling at the Hon. W. P. Reeves. It is the snarl of a whipped cur and just about as haiunless. The estimation in which Evison and Reeves are respectively held by the people of Christchurch was conclusively proved at the last election, when Ivo Evison was bottom but one on the poll out of six candidates, and the man he is always abusing topped it.

Here’s a useful tip to get rid of a bore which a Wellington man told us of the other day. When accosted by the buttonholing bore tribe on the Quay he shakes hands very warmly with his persecutor, glances round anxiously, and then dropping his voice confidentially remarks, •' Say, I must be off; there's an awful bore here that I want to dodge—talks a fellow to death. You understand, old boy.” The bore (with a wink): You bet, I understand, old fellow,” and departs without the remotest suspicion that he himself was the bore.

“ Good Queen Bess” is how we were taught in our youthful days to regard that tyrannical vain woman who had Mary Queen of Scotts murdered at Fotheringay, but a Yankee doctor has discovered an alleged secret which proves that the title of ‘•Virgin Queen” should not properly apply to the lady who befriended Raleigh and Leicester. Years ago we remember hearing it asserted by one who claimed the right to know, that among the documents in the English Record Office was to be found the record of the birth of a son of Queen Elizabeth, his father being a certain Ulicke Burke, Prince of Connemera. The story ran that Prince Ulicke, coming over to England to make submission, received apartments in the Tower. Here he was visited at night by a veiled lady, whose face he never saw. He was foolish enough to boast of his bonne fortune, and to speak of a ring which he had noticed on her hand. The result was that his snark turned out a boojum, and the Prince of Connemera swiftly and silently vanished away. Now this story

has turned up again under a now form, and comes round to us by way of America. It is softened down to meet modem re* quirements. The scene is still the Tower of London ; but the union is a legitimate one; the favored man is Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester; and the son is—Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam 1 Why the Tower of London should have been fixed on for the ceremony does not seem quite clear; perhaps, as in the days of Martin Chuzzlewit, there are still people in Amerioa who look on the Tower of London as the offioiol residence of the English Sovereigns. The discoverer of this State seoret is a Dr. Orville W. Owen, of Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A., who is the sole possessor of a cipher, or rather of the key of a cipher, which has revealed to him all this and muoh more.

There was a big rush to the Gothio on Saturday and Sunday, although, we think, sixponce would have been a sufficient charge. The majority of the fair sex thronged to the much-talked of bridal chambers, and how they did gloat over the luxurious fittings. One sour faced, nut-cracker chinned woman, of about fifty-five—and a bit—sniffed contemptously at the show and shouted out that “ she couldn't see anything wonderful in it, she knew she would never be able to put up with a honeymoon trip on board ship." “ Not muoh show of your having the chance, Molly," said a merry girl who was with her and the stare of frozen anger that the sour-faoed virgin gave her companion was terrible to seo. Personally when we got married nothing would please us bettor than to take our very ownest duckie—duckie and tho rest of it—for a trip in tho Gothic and you bet we’d have a big mortgage on one of those bridal chambers.

That dull and dreary thing which calls itself a newspaper, and which ought to be known as the Evening Depress, is somotimo unconsciously funny. This was the case one day last weok, when it alluded to a marriage taking place at St. Mary of the Angles (sic), Boulcott Street. Some one of the staff must- have been exhilira—but we refrain.

Mv Printer. Who always clamours to bo fed With copy, wrung from aching head, Who makes mo wish that I wore dead ? My Printer 1 What hero’s this, whoso every thought ’S to do just what he didn’t ought— Who’s always twenty columns short ? My Printer 1 My happiest efforts who doth queor, From simple choice, from malice sheer, Who worries me the live-long year ? My Printer I When I write "love,” who makes it “ low,” Puts “ u” for “ a,” and " i,” for " o," And never gives me half a show ? My Printer 1 Who wouldn't be a baddish sort, If he didn’t set up " shout" for " short," Who often makes the readers snort ? My Printer! Who has to read my vile handwriting, Which to peruse is not inviting ? Who swears he’d sooner take on fighting ? ■ ■■- My good old comp. 1

Mr. Scott is a member of the firm of Scott Brothers Christchurch, ironfounders, and in 1885 his firm took a contract from the Government to supply them "with a certain number of locomotives which were to be made in the colony, but the contractors imported various parts from the Old Country; on this being discovered the Government made a deduction which was afterwards refunded by Parliament as the result of an appeal from the firm. The contract was given to encourage local industry and the price of the locomotives made in this way was £1490 as against £ll4O for similar engines of heavier and stronger steel imported from the Old Country. This we believe was Mr. Scott’s first connection with the Bailway Department over which he now in company with his colleagues presides. He is a strong Prohibitionist and Protectionist and has been for some time President of the Canterbury Industrial Association. He takes a considerable interest in political matters and in 1886 unsuccessfully contested the Sydenham constituency. At the last general election he served on the Election Committee of the Hon. W. P. Beeves.

The worst smack in the eye the perky perniketty Post editor has had for sometime was the decision- not to hold the hospital ball in the new wing of the hospital itself. The Times people, who had scored, were chuckling last week, but the great Gillon was very pouri over the matter. That pompous would-be dictator of Wellington doesn’t like his advice being treated with contempt.

A Melbourne paper says that half the advertising midwives in that busted city, are in reality baby farmers or abortionists. How about Wellington ? The doctors could tell some queer Btories about one or two ladies’ friends here, so we have heard, but for some reason or other, the doctors generally hush up a disagreeable case when they come across one,

We have much pleasure in publishing the following lines roin one of our readers. We thank him for the compliment to our endeavours to be fair exponents of the people’s rights;—

A SMALL TRIBUTE TO FAIR PLAY. Fair is a jewel of wonderful price ; Upholding true virtue, admonishing vice, Whether practised in pulpits, in taprooms, or halls, Or the hustings where many a candidate bawls.

Fair Play gives advice to its friends and its foes— To the teetotal man with a red or white nose; And the classes who’ve grown very fat on the spoil, From the pockets of many a brave son of toil.

Fair Play never envies the rich or the great, Nor sneers at the poor, struggling hard with their fate; But ’tis down on the loafer, the swindler, and fraud, No matter who else their vile acts may applaud.

Long, long, may it live fair New Zealand to bless, By pointing out evils requiring redress, If our statesmen will read, it ’twill teach them the way To give us in future (our birthright) Fair Play.

John Cox, Buller.

We met our worthy sporting contributor “ Broncho," the other day and were astonished to find him in tears. “ What’s up ? ” we said, “ backed all the stiff uns again; been reading the sporting notes in the Evening Ghost ? what is the matter ?” “ Matter, cried he, just read this,” and he handed us a cutting from an Auckland paper. Commenting upon the fact that the Queen has ordered that in future no bearing reins shall be used on her horses at Windsor, the cutting went on to say : “We sincerely hope that this will be the death blow to a practice which is a stupid conformity with fashion at the cost of extreme cruelty. This Boyal pronouncement against the practice will gratify all friends of the lower animals, not only at home but in this colony.”

Poor ‘ Broncho’ sobbed afresh as we read it out.—“ Lower animals’ indeed: just fancy calling a horse, the noblest animal on earth, a “lower animal.” And, then meeting Horry Lyon and “ Vigilant” of the Times , he broke out afresh until they took him into a pub. and consoled his wounded spirit with Three-Star brandy—dose thrice repeated. These sporting writers are easily touched upon'the subject of their favourite quadruped.

The Eev. J. J Lewis, that pocket edition of a parson, who put his perky little nose into the Fair Play libel case, has been lecturing upon “The Road to Ruin” for the special benefit of young men. Well, some of the smug-faced young brothers of Ter-rewth in this city do want specially looking after. Tattle, who bolted to Bio, was “ such a good young man.” Some of the greatest gamblers and rakes in this city are "prominent members of goody-goody and Prohibition Societies.

When a lawyer steals his client’s money,'it is called appropriation,” and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the Law Association—a Trades Union of the closest description—tries its-hardest to screen the offender. The new "parliament ought to see to it that the law as to the lawyers’ custody of trust moneys is stricter, and not as it is now, capable of having a fivehorse waggon driven through it. But there are too many gentlemen of the long rob—long robe we ought to say, for there to be any reasonable hope of any drastic reform in this matter,”

The Sydney Bulletin contains in the last issue to hand a leading article on the subject of flogging, and gives as its text a recent utterance of the Governor of Delaware in the United States, referring to its existence there and speaking of it as a salutary deterrent. The Bulletin, as all who read it regularly are aware, goes to extremes on the subject of flogging. This particular species of punishment is its special bete noir, and in urging its abolition the editor sometimes confounds facts with fiction in his arguments. In the article referred to tho Bulletin says in effect“ The little moss grown State of Delaware, which has never furnished one of the- great men America has produced is behind all the other States.” To this assertion we must take exception, and we are surprised that our contemproary should have made so palpable an error. One of the most able members of the United Ststes’ Senate is Bayard of Delaware, who has been dubbed by his admirers the Mirabeau of American politics. Surely the Bulletin must have heard of this aristocratic exponent of democracy ;[if not, we would advise its staff to look up the political history of our Yankee cousins.

A flea once contracted a great affection for a dog, but it is doubtful whether the latter felt even flattered by the attachment ; nevertheless, as the flea was so insignificant a weight, and as, moreover, it had been brought up with him from its infancy, the dog felt some compunction about casting it adrift upon an unsympathetic world. So the flea rode on his back wherever he went, and as it could not see out of the forest of fur that encompassed it, not even standing on tip-toe, its knowledge of the world was inconsiderable. But despite this, as the flea grewup it also grew opinionative, and though not badly off, began to grumble, and getting other fleas to join it organised processions and demonstrations. Now no dog could be expected to stand that sort of thing, and the long-suffering beast sharply bade the procession move off. “Not till we have our rights,” said the opinionative flea; and with that he raised his battle cry," “ The land for the fleas." For the idea had got into his poor muddled head that the dog corporeal was a planet of erratic course, designed especially for the habitation of his kind, and ruled by an arbitrary despot—the dog spiritual—against whom it was only right to rebel. But the dog did not care to be let out in allotments. However, he spoke kindly to the flea. “ I have put up with you so long,’’ he said, “ that I suppose it is too late to contest your right of occupation. Keep the ‘ land,’ but remember that land confers risk and dangers, as well as advantages" ; and thereupon he rolled over on his back and squashed the flea flat, together with all its expectant fellowdemonstrators. The moral of this story lies in its application. Wellington possesses a number of opinionated fleas.

This is the way New Zealand political history is written now-a-days. Editor, Evening” Depress” : “ Six lines short to fill up a column." Brown: “ Just you write a smart paragraph stating that there is to be a deficit of that Seddon’s ruining the country, and that Bell and Tommy Gale and Hislop are the only men that can save the colony." Brown: “ But look here, there is a surplus, and between you and me Seddon’s doing . Editor: “Oh, bosh write the par. I’ll get a good start round the country papers, and in a day or two we can make some half-hearted sort of contradiction, saying that if there is a surplus Seddon won’t use it properly etc. But don’t forget to butter up Bell and Hislop and Tommy ',Gale. That’s what this show’s meant for 1

Not a million miles away from Wellington is a big boarding house where the boarders are nearly all men, most of whom possess more “side” than sovereigns, and have “ chalked it up” to such an extent with the long suffering landlady that they daren’t say a word when she fires into them steak like rhino* oeros hide, eggs which are fit for eleotion amiabilities, and tucker of an all-round awful charaoter. There was a big sensation, therefore, at the table the other morning when , one of the . boarders shouted out: “ Mary, come here. The steak’s .positively adamantine. It’s as tough to get through as the Poat leader. Just take it round to Mrs with my compliments, and say I’ve put up with this sort of thing long enough, and I’m d——d — yes, I don’t care who hears it, I’m d——d if I’ll stand any more of it—dy’e hear ? " And then there was an exoited nudging of elbows and signalling of forefingers amongst the other boarders, and they all exclaimed in whispered ohorus, " By Gad—he’s paid up ! ’’

There was a divorce case down at Dunedin the other day, on the wife's petition. She’d proved, through half-a-dozen witnesses, the adultery, but the cruelty wasn’t so easy to establish, for all that she could say on this score consisted in , the respondent’s having, upon one occasion, in a moment of .anger, “ thrown a common cane-seated chair " at her. Women ore getting too jolly particular in these days. It isn’t every 1 man who can afford to keep a set of "best rosewood Chippendale fixins with plush seatß, and upholstered in best hair," to chuok at a turbulent better half. Very properly tho petition failed.

The Yates “female woman," as Tommy Dwan would say, who now bosses tho municipal affairs of poor Onohunga, believes in cheapness, cheapness, always cheapness. The other day the Onehunga Council wanted a clerk, screw offered d£llo. There were 40 applications, among them being that of some poor creature who offered to do the work for to go a year—j62o a year less than the advertised rate.jjThe Yates person (she is of a Jewish extraction) moved that the cheap creature be appointed and appointed he was. She wished, she said, to save <£2o a year to the Borough. Poor thing I

The Bulletin is very outspoken on this sweating polity tof the only female mayor and J.P. in the British Empire. It says:—“ The Duke of Wellington, when British Premier, .once made a somewhat similar proposal in the British Parliament re , the salaries of excise and custom house offices, urging that^he l would get plenty of men willing to discharge the duties at reduced rates, to which O’Connell replied that, so far as Ireland was concerned, he would guarantee to get plenty of men to, do the same work—for nothing. Unfortunately there was no member in the Onehunga Council to urge any such telling argument against Her Worship’s action, although some of the more ignorant of them, being males, considered any kind of argument they advanced should have sufficient force to convince a woman against her will. But they were disappointed*, The Bulletin much regrets the bad start made by the pioneer Mayoress in this championing sneakery and starvation wages, Should a public body, of all employers, set the example of putting up its appointments to Dutch auction ? Does' Mrs ' Yates expect the wretch who has helped her to.* save£2o ratepayers ’ to keep a. wife ? Or does expect when he gets married, if he is not already married ? ”