Parliamentary characters

The old HouseofCommons chaplaincy joke ‘‘Does the chaplain pray for the members?’’ ‘‘No, he looks at the members, and then prays for the country,’’ would hold good in Wellington if the Wellington House of Representatives had a chaplain. It has no chaplain; nevertheless it has prayers; and the official, whoever he may be, that says those prayers, if he looks on the members will straightway pray for the country. Take the first score of men you meet on the Princes street footpath; their facsimile or facsimiles, if you prefer the plural, sit

on the benches of the House. By way of relief are certain exceptions, a figure prim and neat, manicured, shampooed, clipped, trimmed, pared, and polished, quite the manufactured article. A companion figure, of aspect suave, gracious, wellfed, benign, yet not altogether illadapted for the dispensing of tapes and bobbins across a counter, reminding you a little of another old story. Shop walker to customer: ‘‘Who was it served you, madam? the gentleman with the long whiskers?’’ ‘‘No, the nobleman with the bald head.’’ Then there are returned soldiers of distinction; there are a few old officials who look the part: here and there sits a Maori, illhabited in pakeha dress. But the ruck, for the ruck scan the next man who chances to face you in a tramcar. Not that legislators are to be judged by their outward appearance, or how should we find a place for Lloyd George? nor sailors and soldiers by their inches. Lord Jellicoe does not run to length; nor did Lord Nelson,

nor Lord Roberts, not to mention Napoleon. And Wellington was no giant. Listen to Dr Watts of the ‘‘Divine and Moral Songs’’, who stood five feet nothing in his stockings: Were I of height to reach the pole, Or grasp the ocean with a span, I must be measured by my soul. The mind’s the standard of the man. A point well taken. — Civis.