The Week in Review

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLI, Issue 6, 5 August 1908, Page 1

The Week in Review

Mrs. Annie Besant, the president of the Theosophical Society, who is on a .visit to New Zealand, is perhaps the most notable woman now alive. The thousands who have listened to her wise and inspiring words will agree that, as an orator, she has few rivals, even among public speakers of the “ superior ” male sex. Her mental powers are of the masculine order, and her lectures are consequently models of convincing logic-, rather than of emotional appeal. The clearness of her intellect and her readiness of Speech were even better shown in her ■ public conversations n than in her lectures. At the " conversation ” in Auckland, Mrs. Besant replied to a score ox more of puzzling questions put by students of Theosophy, or by opponents, and in every ease her explanations were lucid, masterly and satisfactory. Attempts were made to elicit from her expressions Of opinion favourable to Socialism and to Prohibition; but the lady of the logical mind could not commend either of these political movements. Instead, she utterly condemned them —declaring most emphatically that no coercive measures could work out temperance reform, and that no compulsion of law would solve the social problems of the day. For the drunkard, reason, persuasion, help- and sympathy; for the down-trodden “the Socialism of Love,” not that of confiscation and spoliation. The prohibitionist questioner struggled hard, by putting the matter in different ways, to extort from Mrs. Besant a word or two in approval Of the no-license movement, but failed. The drunkard, like other people, must “ work out his own salvation.” In the astral world, he would be tormented with a craving for liquor, with no means of gratifying it, and when “ born again,” would enter this world with an instinctive dislike of intoxicants, as the result of his sufferings. People, in short, must go on drinking to excess until they learn the folly of it. Although Mrs. Besant 'did not state the point, it seems evident that prohibition ordters, rigidly enforced, would have beneficial results in the way of reform -— would be analogous to the purgatorial sufferings of the after life. Individual prohibition is, therefore, a good and desirable thing, but not national, or even local prohibition. ’ J* On the subject of slavery and serfdom Mrs Besant holds views which, at first eight, appear rather startling. Asked at Auckland whether she approved of the abolition of slavery in America, she replied that she did not. Her reason was, that the negroes were enfranchised before they were fitted for liberty, and in consequence had suffered, and would suffer, much more than if they had been left as they were. The torturings, “lynchings," and slaughterings that the 'American negroes have undergone since their liberation have exceeded the atrocities of the slave trade. At the time Mrs Besant spoke, the news had not arrived of the cruelties practised under the conyict leasing system in the Southern States of America; but these revelations amply confirm her judgment. It is the old lesson that Lord Byron impressed On the modern Greeks: —• bondsmen! know ye not Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow!” -Freedom is a matter of growth and evolution, and Nature objects to any "forcing” methods. Mrs Besant instanced the Russian peasantry as further examples of the evil consequences of premature enfranchisement. Certainly, it seems true that these people were better under despotic control than they have been since the abolition of serfdom. Of course, despotisms are not always so benevolent as they should be, and fear-

ful wrongs are suffered under them; but Mrs Besant’s contention is that only by suffering can progress of any kind be attained, and the normal process is for the slaves or serfs to endure until they have the spark of freedom and manhood aroused within them, when they will strike off their fetters and visit retribution on the wrong-doers. It is the same with the “wage-slaves” of more advanced communities. They cannot hope by legislative enactment or any other mechanical or material means to improve their conditions. They must improve themselves. There is no royal road to equality, any more than there is to learning. Mrs Besant has been a true friend of the workers in all countries, and that is practically her advice to the workers of New Zealand, who are now seeking by Socialistic agitation an alleviation of their alleged “wrongs.” J® J® With the opening of the magnificent new bath house in the Sanatorium Grounds at Rotorua next week, the ceremony being performed by Sir Joseph Ward, in honour of our American visitors, a very spirited discussion will probably spring into existence. Have the Government done wisely in spending so great a sum of money on one building, and, if this is granted, have they got money’s worth for the £40,000, more or less, mentioned as the £40,000, more or less, mentioned as the price of splendour. That Rotorua can now boast one of the handsomest and most picturesque architectural creations in the Dominion, is beyond argument, and standing as it does in the midst of exquisitely kept gardens and grounds, with a background of lake and distant hills, it is strongly reminiscent of some palatial Old World country seat. It will, indeed, be generally admitted that it is an imposing and impressive advertisement of the prosperity and progressivenesss of the Dominion, and a standing monument to the enterprise and courage of those directing its spas, and “booming” its tourist attractions. And it is just at this point that, aided by a pungent whiff of sulphur from the boiling shores Of the lake, we find ourselves wondering, “Is it a permanent monument?” Will it stand forever, or for even such a reasonable length of time as to justify its erection? J® J® To the lay mind, on walking over and around the lake shores immediately behind the towering and apparently massive building, nervous speculations, not to say doubts, will probably occur. For here be furiously boiling pools, geyserettes, cauldrons of bubbling mud of various colours and consistencies and everywhere in the uncleared ti-tree mysterious puffs of cloudy evil-smelling steam arise in a manner suggestive of the close proximity of the nether regions. To the smells of Rotorua, and the surrounding Wonderland, one speedily gets accustomed, and even attached, but to its ever-changing uncanniness one is seldom wholly reconciled. The architects are, however, positive. They laugh to scorn suggestions of subsidence and collapse, and point out that th building is about one-eighth as heavy as ordinary, being built of pumice concrete, and on piles, which have struck solid foundations right through the crust. One believes this, because it is told one, and because there is the building, but if it disappeared with the suddenness of an Aladdin’s palace, you would not be able to resist murmuring, "I told you so.” Inside the building, nerves take unto themselves wings, and one at once ad-

mits that granting the foundations are for all time, the money has been well spent and full value obtained. J® There can be few more elaborately fitted, more luxurious and more scientifically fitted bath houses in the world. Human ingenuity seems to have excelled itself in devising strange, and in many cases, attractive-looking “treatments” for ailments which are exceedingly modern, or which, at all events, now wear new names. For example, how like you the “Imitation Sunlight Bath?” It stands in one of the electrical rooms in the gorgeously proportioned gallery, which gallery is itself a complete and satisfying “sight,” with vaulted roof and huge mullioned windows looking on to the brilliant grounds. The bath is a large cabinet of Milner’s safe appearance, and a ponderously shut door admits the single bather. Inside it is fitted with scores upon scores of incandescent electric lamps, and two or four arc lights of considerable power. Into this you are shut, and to all intents and purposes hermetically sealed also, only your head projecting through a collar which fits with skin-like closeness and comfort, and which is also charged with electric light. The electric current is turned on, and the patient is bathed in warmth and an exact reproduction of sunlight. The precise ills for which this is a specific were not mentioned, but it seems worth while cultivating one to fit. The electric appliances are of prodigious and bewildering variety, and must have cost a small fortune; but they will doubtless yield a good dividend in fees for treatment, since they can apparently alleviate all bodily pains, from indigestion to stiff neck, not to mention nervous diseases, in which they arc specially valuable. In the private baths you may have any of the famous Rotorua waters, and at the high natural temperature of the spring, or cooled to your liking with cold water (from the same spring, but specially refrigerated). You can have a bath let into the ground, most luxurious affairs, or the usual glazed terra-cotta baths. If you require attendance, you press a button, and a disc flies out opposite your door, while a bell rings till the attendant comes to see if you have parboiled yourself. “The Aix massage and douche treatment" is exceedingly elaborate, and there is a perfect maze of pipes, besides vapour rooms and hotair rooms and what not. J® J* The question which naturally presents itself as one views all this costly equipment, is, “Who is going to pay?” The wealthy tourist and over-seas sufferers, no doubt, have been accustomed to, and will pay the considerable but not excessive fees charged in similar Continental establishments. But how about the native-born New Zealander ? If Continental charges are made, can he afford to pay them, and will he? The humble shilling for the pleasure of a swim in the Duchess is not excessive, but one lias heard it carped at. It is to be trusted that the pockets of our own people may be considered when the tariff is arranged. We already send Our choicest mutton, beef, and lamb to our good friends beyond the sea. Wo want them to enjoy, and to pay for, our baths when they visit us, but we trust prohibitive rates will not prevent our sampling the delights and healing virtues of the new bath-houses at Rotorua, even if there is at first a deficit to be made up at the yearly balances. J® J® “Fleet Week” is at hand, a« the competition editor is painfully aware from his drawerful of odes and other “poetical" effusions conveying a welcome to our American cousins. A preliminary sifting

of these competitive verses is apt to give rise to some queer reflections upon the standard of poetical taste in our conimunity. There are many genuine poets in the Dominion, anu it is most gratifying to know that a large number of them have, in response to our invitation, sent in poems of a high oruer of merit, quite worthy of the great occasion that has evoked them. The final adjudication on these will be no easy matter. It is, however, quite different with a score or more of effusions by writers who cun succeed in doing no more than make “Staggering prose to stand And! limp on stilts of rhyme around the land.” Why, O, why, will these rhymesters persist in imagining that they can write poetry? Their standard of taste must be low indeed, if they think that their efforts require any more than a glance to condemn them utterly. Some of these competitors cannot even rhyme decently. For example, one opens his “Welcome" thus: Out from the Golden Gate it comes, A mighty, proud Armada, Bound for another strand, Tis Auckland’s lovely harbour. Another —a young lady thia time—begins: The American fleet will think it a treat To visit New Zealand if only for one week; They arrive in the harbour of Auckland on Sunday, So no reception takes place till the following Monday. And she goes on, in the course of an enumeration of the projected festivities, to remark: A garden party is to be held at “Cintra”--They are nice during summer, but not in the winter; For at 4 p.m. it begins to freeze. So during next day they’ll do nothing but sneeze! Now, that may be very sound commonsense, but it is not poetry. A competitor, who from his handwriting is a juvenile, is commendably brief. Hero is his welcome in full: — The fleet is sweet For New Zealand to meet Out on the ocean deep, And when they arrive hundreds will meet At the end of Quoen-stret To see the grand fleet. Under the arch Bluejackets will march To see some fine tarts. If one had set out to write a burlesque poem, he could not have made n bigger success of it than is achieved by that serious effort. Another youthful aspirant sends 15 verses, of which the following is a fair sample: — So we’ll all sing “Yankee Doodle,” Long live your President; And we’ll help you spend the boodle, If it’s down to our last cent. A lady competitor’s idea of a welcome is something humorous. We are to “gas about kiwis and kakas,” and tell our American cousins that, “but for the lack of a tanner, how gladly for them wo would shout." Also— We’ll show them our brave standing army. Our pleecemen, our prisoners and gaols. We’ll show them the latest in tramcars, Which generally run on the rails. But sometimes stand in idleness When arbitration fails. A male contributor, who is by turns humorous and satirical, but never poetical, hits off various aspects of the coming welcome, including the following on behalf of our brown brother: — Says the Maori man, “Tenakoel” "Kia-ora” says their small boy, “Kapai To Yankee-Uoodle-Doodle-Dool We will give our dance of joy. And tho girls their graceful "poi.” So to Akarana we all welcome you.

There is a dubious compliment in the declaration of one aspirant in the following verse:— “We think President Roosevelt Is a man without fear, To send such a monster fleet Into this far Southern Hemisphere!” These specimens are by no means the 'worst of the stuff that is fondly deemed •to be poetry by its writers. There are long effusions, devoid of metre, of most ungrammatical structure, and sometimes absolutely incoherent. But one gratifying feature runs through them all, which is perhaps better than elegant diction and fluent metre, and that is a sentiment of hearty hospitality and friendship towards the American people. This sentiment is well voiced by one competitor, thus: — “Oh. list! ye American seamen, To our joyful acclamations, !As we look upon this splendid thing, The joining of our two nations. Hurrah! hurrah! for the Yankee fleet; Hurrah! for the men so merry! Hurrah! for the country that sent them here! Hurrah! for Admiral Sperry!” lAnd “Hurrah!” we all shout —even the Competition Editor, who bears no malice, but cordially thanks all the contributors who have helped to make evident the hearty nature of New Zealand's welcome to the fleet. The prize poems it is hardly necessary to repeat, will be published in the Special Fleet Number of the “Graphic” next week. J* The labour agitator in this country deserves all the hard things said about his being a curse to the community. He does not always state his opinions so nakedly as was done the other day by Mr. Hickey (who took a prominent part in the recent strike of Blackball miners) in the course of an address to the unemployed at Wellington. “I’ve never looked for work,” said the valiant Hickey ,“ I’m looking for the means to live. . . I don't suppose you're particularly fond of work. You’d be foolish if you were! ” This is honest, if nothing else. It was not always the wont of the chronic unemployed to be so outspoken; it was left for the satirists and critics to declare that doles, and not work, was the aim of these people. During the cotton famine of last century, crowds of English operatives used to march through the streets of the Oldl Country towns singing some doggerel, of which the refrain was:— “ We're all the way from Manchester, And we've got no work to do.” A sentiment which the satirist parodied to run: “We want no work to do.” Nowadays Labour (with a capital L) has made such progress that it has thrown iff all disguise, and it openly confesses that what it demands is not work, but the right to live without working. Well might Mrs. Besant, in the course of a ■lecture at Auckland, deplore the decadent tendencies of the day, and ask: “What has become of the pride of the workman in his work? ” It has gone with the snows of yester-year. The workman’s chief concern of to-day is how to get the maximum of pay for the minimum of work. This much was candidly stated by the Hon. John Rigg, a Labour member of the Legislative Council, a few years ago, and the bad leaven has been working until it seems likely to leaven the whole lump. The “ca ’anny” policy, slummed work, idling ,the trade-union principle of equal pay for unequal work—all these are now among the accepted ethics of the misnamed labouring classes. d* fiome of the workers must be exempted from this general condemnation—there is a remnant that is eager to work and unwilling to accept doles. At Christchurch last week, after a mass meeting of unemployed had been harangued by agitators, a resolution was passed to canvass the city for food supplies, but only about half-a-dozen had the courage to travel around and accept a donation of meat from a benevolent butcher. loiter, ■when tbe Salvation Anny opened a soup kitchen Io relieve cases of genuine distrees, only one applicant turned up to take advantage of the well-meant charity. The men are not nearly so bad as their-solf-constituted leaders; and it would be a good thing if means -were found of suppressing vicious agitators of the Hickey stamp, whose example and precept are calculated to corrupt ami degrade the community. Perhaps a new definition of

high treason should be devised, making it a heinous offence to propound doctrines hurtful to the State. It is to be hoped that such an extreme step will not be necessary; but the only way to avert it is for the real workers to assert themselves, emphatically repudiate the professional agitator, and assist in placing him in his proper place. Certain it is we shall go rapidly down the incline of national decadence if we accept the view that labour is a curse, and imagine that there is any other path to happiness and independence than that of honest and strenuous endeavour. When the unemployed of ancient Rome began to clamour for “bread and circuses” rather than for manly toil, the fall of the Empire was near at hand. So, too, will our civilisation end in ruin and chaos if the Gospel of Idleness is preached and practised. Those who wish to live without -working should be assisted to migrate to some Pacific island, where they may vegetate on bread-fruit and bananas, “wed some dusky woman” and “mate with narrow foreheads.” All civilisation is the result of resolute and sustained effort. As the wheat, without cultivation, would soon revert to a wild grass, so will culture degenerate into savagery if the impulse to exertion is withdrawn. It is well for the New Zealand workers to know that this is the inevitable ultimate result of Hiekeyism. At Christchurch the other day Mr. G. T. Booth, a well-known manufacturer, argued very cogently that legislation against strikes would be of no avail so long as workers were able to pursue the “go slowly” policy. He quoted a concrete example of the effects of that policy in one particular trade, proving that between 1901 and 1905 the product per man employed had decreased by 12 per cent, so that for an increased capital expenditure of £208,000 tiro employers only received a return of £440. The result of this decline in the efficiency of the workers was seen in the fact that while the New Zealand product had increased by £ 15,310, the value of the imported goods of the same class had increased' by £234,194. This means, of course, that the local industry is being crushed out of existence, while the work is performed by cheaper or mo-re efficient foreign labour. Thus the vicious circle of cause and effect is completed—inefficient work, unemployment, agitation for relief, or for further “protection,” and higher prices to the consumers of the goods. These processes are not peculiar to New Zealaaid. The “New York Independent” has recently pointed out that the Americans are also on this down-grade. "We have,” it declared, “educated a ruling class, but we ■have educated our common people away from the land and from that sort of knowledge which enables them to honour work and aehievemeint. Industrial education alono can save our working classes, from degeneracy.” And, it may lie added, something more than manual proficiency is required, viz., moral stamina and a recognition of the principles of equity, along with a revival of that pride of the craftsman which has been crushed out by the sordid conditions of modern industrialism. “Conscience in work has quite gone out of date,” wrote a poet a good few years ago. The only things that can restore it are (1) cooperative industry, (2) profit-sharing, or (3) the “exertion wage” proposed in our own Legislature.