WELLINGTONIA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XVIII, 3 November 1894, Page 416

WELLINGTONIA.

CHIT-CHAT FROM THE EMPIRE CITY" (BY OUR WELLINGTON SENTINEL.) FAREWELL to the Session ! at last it is ended, and Mr Siddon and his colleagues have reached the asylum which a Parliamentary joke of obscure origin has christened * Chicago.* I believe this joke originated some ten years ago, and was made at the expense of the Stout-Vogel Ministry. Though its meaning has been explained so me several times, I have either forgotten, or never could grasp it, but be the jest good or bad, it has added an expression to our political vocabulary, and, so long as the New Zealand Parliament lasts, * Chicago ’ will probably be the name given to that haven of rest which Ministers are supposed to reach at the end of the Session. By the bye, how few political phrases there are, coined and cuirentinNew Zealand public life, as compared with the ample slang terminology of American politics. I can only recall four or five. Sir George Grey was, of course, the author of the famous ‘ unborn millions and of the complimentary *my talented young friend.’ Sir Harry Atkinson was the parent of * political rest.’ It was the Hon. Mr Ollivier, I think, who once cautiously promised concerniug some request that he would * keep it steadily in view.’ Mr Ballance brought into proverbial use the words ‘men of the right colour.’ The Minister of Education is, of course, responsible for ‘Social Pest.’ So long as Sir Harry Atkinson lived, the words * hoo nailed boots ’ were in daily use amongst his enemies ; but one seldom, or never hears them now. On the whole our New Zealand political vocabulary seems to me to be as sadly wanting in copiousness and contour as in populaiity. New Zealand political partisans do not hurl at each other such picturesque and vivid terms as * Mugwump,’ * Copper-bead,’ * Stalwart,’ and so forth. In this respect we certainly lack the felicitous inventiveness of the Yankee mud-slinger.

Some of the Auckland members have had to prolong their stay in the South two or three days, through the inability of the Government Printing Office to strike off, on Tuesday night, those mysterious but doubtless all important documents to which His Excellency the Governor has to append his vice-regal signature, before Parliament can be legally sent about its business. The result was that after waiting till nearly midnight, the disgusted M H.R.’s. found that their release bad to be postponed till noon on the following day. The fault did not lie with His Excellency this time, but with the printing office. Far different was it on a certain occasion in bygone years, when both Houses of Parliament were kept kicking their heels about the lobbies, because Her Majesty’s Representative of that date chose to betake himself in the last hours of the Session to a secluded valley to fish for trout. Great was the confusion and irritation caused thereby. The only way to cut the knot was to turn one of the Minister’s secretaries into a Queen’s messenger, and despatch him at full gallop on a good horse to get the Governor’s signature. His Excellency had to lay down his fishing rod and sign the papers, and the temporary Queen’s messenger, whose horse was bespattered with mud and sweat, got safely back to Wellington, having done some 25 miles of posting in what he claimed to be the quickest time on record.

Mr Watson, the new President of the Bank of New Zealand, is now settled here, having taken up his quarters for the present at the Wellington Club. Report says of him that he has not only a thorough grip of banking business, but is a man possessed of that highly necessary part of a banker’s anatomy—a good backbone. Also a willingness to stiffen the said vertebra: when required. While perfectly willing to believe that Mr Watson possesses as much firmness of character and resolution as the best friends of the Bank of New Zealand could wish, I am bound to say that at first sight he does not strike one as a particularly merciless or terrific personage. For the benefit of those of your readers who have not seen the new President I may say that he strikes me as bearing rather a strong likeness to Lord Oaslow, though somewhat more strongly built, and less obtrusively bald than that noble lord. I daresay, however, that like Bret Harte's Jack Hamlyn and many other famous characters, both of fiction and real life, Mr Watson’s quiet and lather mild manner conceals an adequate amount of determination and fighting power.

The session concluded, as usual, with a mock Parliament. But though some of the jokes were not altogether bad, tbeie was nothing overpoweringly brilliant. Moat of th? fun turned upon travesties of Parliamentary rules or little personal pointe, or peculiarities with plenty of meaning in them for the M.H.R. concerned, but not much significance for the outside public. For instance, a statement made as a burlesque Ministeiial announcement, to the effect that the Honourable Sir Robert Stout had been prevailed upon to put an end to a certain difficult position by accepting the office of Serjeant at Arms, though laughable enough to Honourable members, who have listened hour after hour to Sir Robert thundering in denun-

ciation of the Fraser appointment, would seem pointless enough to any but habituts of the House of Reps. Perhaps the best joke of the evening was perpetrated by Mr HallJones, who took up Mr Collins very neatly when the latter solemnly gave notice that he would introduce a Lunacy Act. Mr Hall Jones promptly raised a point of order as to whether an Hon. member could introduce a Bill in which he was personally interested. The mock Speaker, of course, sustained the point, and Mr Collins collapsed. One of the best mock Parliaments I ever saw was held in England by one of the University Debating Unions. On that occasion one of the members persisted in walking in and sitting down in his seat, while holding an open umbrella over his head. A point of order raised as to whether a member could sit in Parliament with an umbrella over his head instead of with his hat on was raised, and debated with a wonderful deal of spirit and fun on both sides.

With the session the Wellington season comes to an end. As I have before told yon, it has been rather a bright and gay time here than otherwise. Wellington people still show a good deal of hospitality while Parliament is sitting, though the same reason does not exist for entertaining nowadays as once upon a time. Twenty years ago, before King Demos had come to the throne and placed the crown upon his royal brow, most of the members of both Houses of Parliament either belonged to what is called * society,* or at any rate were anxious to do so. In these democratic days three-fourths of the Lower House and some members of the Council as well, are so far from being society men that they would be horrified at the bare idea of such a thing. I don’t say that they are any the worse or any the better on this account, I merely note the change which has come over the personnel of our Parliament. One of the results of it is certainly good. It used to be alleged in old days that doubtful members were often captured by social attentions paid to them or—more effectual means still—to their wives. Ministers were accused of keeping themselves in office by balls and dinner parties. In particular it used to be said of Sir Julius Vogel that his most persuasive arguments were addressed not to the brains of wavering members but to their stomachs. I daresay it was true that Lady Vogel’s tact and success as a hostess were politically valuable to her husband. These were the reasons why the brutal nickname of the * Casino ’ was applied to the Ministerial residence in the Tinakori Road. Now * The Casino ’ stands empty and desolate. The Ministerial house in Molesworth-street is in the like dismal case, the two other residences are let to private tenants. Two Ministers live during the session in a hotel, three more in lodgings, two more at a club. So utterly have the champagne days of New Zealand’s short boom passed away.