TOPICS OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue XV, 12 October 1895, Page 457

TOPICS OF THE WEEK.

milE extraordinary developments which have occurred I during the past week in the now notorious Dean case must have still further shaken the confidence of those credulous people—if indeed there be any such remaining—who regard law as synonymous with justice. From the flagrant initial offence of Judge Windeyer, through the whole dull, stupid business of the Dean Commission, up to this last revelation of the law behind the scenes, the public of New South Wales has been provided with an unparalleled series of atrocities ranging from cold-blooded carelessness and heartlessness, to lying and attempted bribery. And the whole of these offences have been committed, not by the man who stood charged with attempted murder, and who lay for some months in the condemned cell under sentence of death, but by the servants of the law—by the judge and lawyers whose duty it was to try the case. Whether Dean is innocent or guilty is now a matter of minor importance. The point to be solved is the guilt or innocence of the lawyers, and until the extraordinary and utterly diverse statements of Sir J. Salomons and Mr Meagher have been reconciled and explained, as it is scarcely conceivable that they can be, public distrust in the administration of justice must be wide spread and profound. Sir J. Salomons claims that in an interview with Mr Meagher the latter stated that Dean had confessed himself guilty of the crime with which he was charged. This Mr Meagher utterly and hotly denies. One of these statements is necessarily untrue, and in the absence of further evidence, the public may take its choice. To me it seems incredible that any man in his senses who stood even the remotest chance of escaping the consequences of his crime, could be so crassly foolish, so utterly idiotic, as to make such a confession as Sir J. Salomons claims was made by Dean. For what conceivable benefit could he derive from such a course ? While the disadvantages of having any partner in so hideous a secret is so obvious that it could not fail to occur to the most limited intelligence. There are no doubt crimes which a man might confess to a person of the social standing of Mr Meagher, but murder is not one of them. And now to add to the general excitement, some arrests have been made, and both sides promise further startling revelations. It is but another illustration of the old adage that truth is stranger than fiction. ON a recent afternoon gallery spectators watched with much interest while the Premier struck off bill after bill from the long list of those still unconsidered, leaving only those most important, and which require attention from Parliament assembled this year. This action heralds the near approach of the close of the session. The members meet on neutral ground now, and display mutual interest in hurrying through the remainder of Parliamentary work, and turning their thoughts and inclinations homewards to private and personal affairs. Stonewalling is a game that is dying out —though occasionally a member has a throw on his own account—and hurry is the ruling spirit of the fray.

Mr Earnshaw has been making himself conspicuous by his anxious and persistent enquiries about the Post-master-General’s private telegrams, which he avers are given undue precedence over all other transmissions of either a public or private nature. On Monday evening Mr Ward rose to refute this allegation, and a hush fell over House and galleries. The explanation was long and carefully worded. Mr Ward adopted the somewhat unsatisfactory policy, which is so often taken as evidence of weakness in argument, of answering an accusation by making others. He deplored the apparent violation of the oath of secrecy taken by officers on admission to the Post and Telegraph Department, which had furnished Mr Earnshaw with any information relative to the working of the wires. He assured the House that he was in the habit of paying double rates for telegrams from his firm, or in any way connected with his private business, and emphatically denied all knowledge of the instruction alleged to have been issued to telegraph officers respecting his telegrams. Mr Earnshaw had a fancy for carrying on the discussion, but the Speaker ruled that the Postmaster-General’s answer was full and satisfactory, so the matter ended.

The unusual sound of the Premier being called to order by the Chair greeted ears of the House the other evening. The Premier has wandered off the beaten track and neglected the question on hand. At sound of the Speaker’s (no, by the way, it was the Chairman's) admonition, Mr Seddon turned with an indulgent smile, and announced his ready acquiescence with the ruling of the Chair. Mr Guinness, the Chairman of Committees, has not been well lately, and his duties have been

frequently fulfilled by Mr Joyce. Some malcontents objected to this, and called for a division on the question whether Mr Joyce should take Mr Guinness' position. The matter was decided in the affirmative, so that it is frequently Mr Joyce who takes the onerous duties of Chairman—a billet which is no sinecure. The ladies’ gallery has not been quite so crowded lately. Political enthusiasm among women can hardly bear the strain of such a long-drawn-out session, which is and has been remarkable for its deadly dullness. The present Parliament has established no record for brilliant repartee or display of phenomonal intelligence. That which often raises a laugh and makes ‘ the House roar ’ is unconscious wit, of which latent germs lurk in most obscure and unsuspected corners, and expresses itself in humour not always patent to the perpertrator of the joke himself. It reminds one of the Scotch character drawn in one of Barrie’s books, who, grave and severely solemn himself, had gained a universal reputation as a joker. When twitted on the score of his own individual inability to appreciate a joke, he replied that it was too much to expect of any man to make a joke and see it too. One member, I think it was Mr Flatman, predicted that we shall soon have women habitually drinking afternoon tea in the morning. He has no time to pause and explain the unconscious bull, the time-limit weighing heavily on his burdened brain. On an evening when an exciting debate is expected, the Ladies’ Gallery fills up, and notes from below circulate freely, each one being scanned eager en passant, until it reaches its rightful owner. The general tenor of these notes is one of invitation to take a cup of tea with the writer in one of the committee rooms at the adjournment. This would hardly be called afternoon tea either, as it is not uncommon to have it at 11 p.m., or even later, I hear that the fame of Bellamy’s tea has reached from end to end of the colony, from Cape Maria Van Diemen to the Bluff, where stands in proud consciousness the most southerly lamp post in the world. A story is going round that one of our legislators lost his latch key the other night, and being thus unable to gain admittance into his lodgings, was forced to spend the night on a friendly sofa in the Chairman’s room.

The man in the street still tells us that Sir Patrick Buckley will be appointed to some cosy billet at the end of the Session. Sir Patrick is away at present, suffering from the season’s malady of general weakness. Some one says that Sir James Prendergast is on the eve of retirement, and the Chief Justiceship is a billet not likely to be scorned by the Attorney-General. Sir Walter Buller’s name is mentioned in connection with the Agent-Generalship, and yet another name long familiar to us all is often heard—that of Sir Julius Vogel, who is likely to be voted a pension added to the nominal duties of financial adviser to the Government.

Talking on salaries, Mr E. M. Smith caused some amusement by emphatically remarking, * If half the public men were doing the work that I am doing for the State, they would think themselves badly paid on /'a,ooo a year.’ Mr Smith seemed somewhat excited the other evening, and would brook no contradiction or interruption. To one member who offended in this way he turned, saying, ‘ Just you keep quiet, sir.’ The chair requested him to address himself only to the chair. ‘ Sir,’ retorted Mr Smith, ‘ I address the chair, the House, and the country, sir,’ and we heard Wairarapa chuckles long after the general laugh had subsided. Mr Pirani also waxes eloquent on the subject of reduced wages. He tells the House that he was four years in the Government Printing Office, and since leaving that billet he has earned from 20s to 30s a week increased wages. ‘ You were only a boy then,’ ejaculates the member for Ashburton. ‘ In years, yes,’ retorts Palmerston North, ‘ but a man in discretion.’ The New Zealand Court in the Imperial Institute has been another debatable subject, and we were amused at the different remarks relative to the Kiosk, about which many members displayed a most lamentable ignorance. One speaks of it as a huge butcher’s shop, another a frozen meat market ; yet another thinks of it as after the pattern of a soup kitchen, meat being substituted for soup, and the climax is reached when our honourable friend, the member for , talks of it as serving out afternoon tea to the aristocracy of London. THERE is a lot of solid comfort to be got out of a perusal of the Tariff schedule. This is not, I am aware, the general opinion, but then people are so pessimistic where their pockets are concerned. Yet after carefully reading the list of exempted articles, I am consumed with gratitude to the Government. In the matter of food, for instance, it is true I am taxed on tea, coffee,

groceries in general, and pretty well everything I eat or drink, but, bless you, am I not allowed aZuioWs free, and has not the generosity of the Government allowed me to import as many ‘anchovies salted in casks ’ as I choose ? Of course it might be ill-naturedly suggested that anchovies in salt in bulk are not so usual an article of diet as to make their free passage any advantage. That’s just the way ! There are always grumblers and always will be. ’ The women are death on the /'4O per cent, on London-made mantles, etc., and it does seem a wee bit stiff, but then you must remember that there is no tax to prevent your having a locomotive or a fire engine sent out. To be sure these are not the sort of thing one cares about ordering with any frequence, but it is surely a soul-stirring thing to live in a country where one can order a fire engine or a locomotive or a magic lantern without being asked for a cent duty. Glorious, glorious ! Then, too, the brass (volunteer) band instruments, how splendid to know they will be let in *on the never.’ Tacks are also in the free list. To tax tacks might certainly have been a big mistake. Indeed, a man prone to penning might have been tempted to make some illusion to putting on the screw, rubbing it in, hitting the nail on the head, or some other inanity. To be serious, however, why on earth are anchovies in bulk allowed in free ? So far as I can see the Government, knowing that none were imported, have determined to try and appear liberal. A CONSIDERABLE amount of discussion is going on in the Old Country re professionalism in football. The Rugby Union have seton a crusade against it, and are determined to stamp it out if possible, but as the Speaker says in a very able article, that will not be easy. * The new rules certainly appear stringent enough for all purposes ; but in their anxiety to cover all possible cases, the Union incur some risk of finding themselves outwitted by the clever persons who find loopholes in every elaborate code. A broad and simple rule for. bidding the disbursement of club money to individual players, and throwing upon the clubs or their secretaries the onus of paying all hotel bills, railway fares, and other expenses, would no doubt best meet the case. But this would be a drastic remedy not at all to the taste of those who were above suspicion, and in addition somewhat inconvenient in practice. However, short of some such self denying ordinance, the Union will, we fear, wage a rather unequal fight against the group ot clubs who are anxious to legalise the paid player. All rules in the long run must depend on the public opinion behind them ; and if the northern clubs take a strong adverse line, the Union may force them to secede, but hardly to submit. That they should submit, or, failing submission, be compelled to secede is. we need hardly say, our own very strong opinion, and we hope the Union will make it clear that this also is their intention.

’ But why, it may be asked, should there be this vendetta against the professional in football, while he is tolerated and even welcomed in cricket ? Occasionally, it is true, there is a little stir about him even in cricket, and Mr Grace himself in this month’s Strand Maijazine has some words of warning about the professionalising of first-class cricket. Nevertheless, the cricket professional is, on the whole, a popular person, and the distinction between him and the footballer seems to us quite arguable and defensible ; for the “ Pro. ” in cricket may say, with much plausibility, that he is indispensable to the game. Short of the higher walks of the profession, he is groundsman, coach, pavilion-keeper, and, if he chooses, in due course an honest tradesman of bats, balls, and stumps. It is a career open to all kinds of talent, and one to which a life may be not ignobly dedicated. Fame, it is true, is achieved by few, and though long cherished in memory, quickly passes. If a player keeps his form after twelve years, he may consider himself blessed beyond the common ; but there is an aftermath of steady and fairly-paid employment, and it is even possible for a man to be a very good professional without being more than a very modest performer. ‘ On the whole, professionalism in cricket justifies itself as an institution. But the same reasoning by no means applies to football. We will not say that football —whether Rugby or Association —is not a game of skill ; but it certainly is not an art which, like cricket, demands long training and rare natural aptitude ; nor does it offer any career after the brief period when a player can hold his own in his field. The ground requires no attention, ami we never heard of anyone who learnt his game from a professional coach. More than this, football is undoubtedly a game which offers ugly temptations to rough play, not always easily resisted by men whose market value and reputation with the crowd depend largely on a display of force. Rugby football is a fine enough game when played with moderation and good-breeding ; but with rough players, incited by a

gambling crowd, it may rapidly become an inferior kind of gladiatorial display which is brought to a climax with the mobbing of the umpires. This description does not exaggerate the scenes which have been witnessed, and there is a general agreement that the presence of the paid player contributes to them not a little. The Association must, we suppose, go their own way, and their case, it may’ be admitted, is a little different. But the Rugby game is obviably not a desirable one for the professional, and those who encourage him, or evade the rules by such devices as ‘ compensation for lost work.’ are not good friends of the game. The Rugby Union does well to take strong action, for there is no disguising the fact that, unless some effort is made to purge the game of violent play and other objectionable elements, it will rapidly lose caste with respectable people.’