Mr. Oseba's Last Discovery

Here there was a digression, and an essay on “the rights of man,” for the poetess Vauline inquired by what “right” the Europeans were “portioning out Africa,” if that country had already 150,000,000 people?

“This,” said the sage Oseba, as he moved his eyes from his admiring critic to his audience, “this is a pertinent question; but remember, my children, most of the inhabitants of Africa are black—they are very black.”

“But is that an answer to my question?” said the poetess Vauline.

“Well,” said Oseba, “it would be so deemed among the Outeroos, for questions of right and wrong do not apply to people who are unbleached.”

This created great surprise, for the Shadowas had not gone entirely through the bleaching process.

“But why, among so-called civilised people, have the blacks no rights?” said the poetess Vauline.

“Plain enough,” said Mr. Oseba, “for black people have no blunderbusses, and among the most civilised Outeroos ‘rights’ are measured by the carrying power of the guns and the skill of the men behind them. Among all the ‘civilised nations’ on Oliffa ‘right’ is measured, not by the pleadings of the master, not by the demands of humanity or justice, but in the first instance by color, for this indicates the capacity of the blunderbusses, and the nerve of the gunner.

“Yellow have rather more rights than black people, for they sometimes have a few guns and some saltpetre. ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and ‘Thou shalt not steal’ apply only to white men; and even then, only to small neighborhoods or in police affairs, for ‘nations’ are above these honeyed ravings, and expediency, not right, becomes the patriotic guide.

“But, my children, as John Bull is rapidly painting Africa red, we will preserve an open mind regarding that much-talked-of and little known country, though for the present it is no place for saints or Shadowas.

“I may say, in referring to colour in the discussion of questions of right, that ‘red’ is considerably respected. Then, too, of recent years, with improved tastes among the nations, ‘red, white and blue,’ thusly arranged is quite respected, while ‘yellow’ is very unfashionable, and ‘green’ is mostly admired when in uniform.

“That black Africa will, ere long, be about all red, about all British—at least in language, in sentiment, in human sympathy, in social, industrial and political methods and aspiration, if not in allegiance—can hardly be doubted; and as her ideals alone of all the races on the upper crust would satisfy us, our children may hope for further communication with these British-African colonies.”

SPANISH AMERICA “DISCOVERED.”

The orator here hesitated, then threw the map of what he termed “Spanish America” on the screen.

“This, my children,” said he, “is Spanish America, with an area—including Central America and Mexico—of over 8,000,000 square miles, and a population of about 50,000,000 souls. This is a ‘new’ country, called ‘new’ by the Outeroos because it had been little improved since the old occupiers were blessed and sent to heaven.”

The orator claimed that, in forest, in soil, in mineral wealth, and in all the resources of Nature necessary to the subsistence of a great population, South was probably superior to North America; yet, behold the mighty difference! The world had never presented so conspicuous an opportunity for weighing the merits of different races as colonisers and civilisers as are shown in the present conditions of South and North America, and all these marvellous disparities lie in the character of the invading or colonising races.

North America sprang from the loins of Britain; South, from the loins of Spain. That tells the story. But a comparison in all the late colonial enterprises of the world, shows Britain to hold an equally favorable position, for of all the “foreign” dependencies of all the other nations of the globe, there is not one that enjoys a sufficient degree of liberty and social progress to render it self-supporting—possibly, save Java, held by the Dutch.

The 50,000,000 Spanish-Americans, he observes, write less than one-half the number of letters written by 5,000,000 Canadians, and they have less commerce than 4,500,000 Australians, and less newspapers than 800,000 New Zealanders—and education and commerce means civilisation.

A TEMPEST.

Here the sage amusingly described a Spanish-American revolution.

He said:—

“When the young men of any city become weary with the more common excitements, the theatre and the bullfight, they organise a ‘revolution.’ For this ‘outing’ they call together their friends, arm themselves, establish a camp on the outlying hills, and make ready for ‘slaughter.’ The ‘loyalists’—salaried clerks usually, with a few hangers-on—rush out to meet the belligerents, and approach to within a reasonably safe distance, when both sides ‘fall in,’ fire simultaneously—each over the others’ heads—when all break and run for the treasury.

“If the ‘loyalists’ win the race they vote themselves extra pay, smoke a cigar, and enjoy a siesta; while if the others win, the treasury is looted, a new set of clerks installed, the taxes are raised to repair the damages, and the new ‘push’ enjoy the siesta.

“The security of the public from too frequent changes rests in the fact that usually the camp of the ‘loyalists’ is taken up between that of the insurgents and the treasury, so the ‘loyalists’ have a shorter run to make in the home stretch.

“Think, my children, what civilisation would have been to-day had the British been content to remain on their Island home, or had both the Americas been permanently held by the Spanish race—or, to judge by later history, by any other than the Anglo-Saxon.

“Well, my friends, I have no interest in booming any country, but if I had owned all Spanish-America in ‘fee simple,’ and had a long lease on Hades, I would rent my freehold out, and reside on my other holding.”

(Leo remarks:—“Oh, for a laugh with Sir Marmaduke.”)

“No,” said the sage, “there is nothing worthy of imitation in Spanish-America, and there is no room under the present rule in these countries for the staid virtues of the Shadowas.”

SCENE VI.

But in material prosperity, the orator said that during the first century of America’s national life, she achieved not only unparalleled, but unapproached success, and during the last half of that period she accumulated more wealth than was ever possessed by any other nation. With nearly half of the railways of the globe, she furnished half the food and raiment products, and manufactured more goods than any other four nations—aside from Britain—and by the brightest inventive genius the world ever knew, she had furnished more of the cunning devices that ease the care and toil of man, than all the world besides.

In moral progress, she has been equally successful, for she had about two-fifths of all the newspapers of the world; 72,000 post offices, 180,000 churches, 450,000 school teachers, and more libraries and more readers than any other country; while more than half of the institutions of higher learning on the globe were hers, and counting only the real Americans, more enterprising, ingenious, intelligent and educated people, than any other nation.

“Verily,” said Oseba, “America was Britain’s greatest contribution to the world’s progress. These two kindred countries flourished through reciprocal interests; by their industrial methods they have lifted the world from medieval barbarism, and they are destined to give their language, their civilisation and their notions of liberty to the whole human race.”

Here the poetess Vauline inquired why America, with all her great wealth and opportunities, would not be a desirable country to which to send a colony of the Shadowas?

Oseba answered, “I love that great and wonderful country so deeply, and I so much admire its splendid audacity, that I would gladly speak kindly, even of its faults; but, my children, it is not all ‘rosewater and glycerine’ in Yankeedom.

“In wealth, in enterprise, in education, in intelligence, and in opportunities for further progress, America may justly claim to be the foremost nation on the globe, and she has ‘rights’ no other would care to dispute. But,—

It is they, of whom we may profitably inquire. A nation may be rich, though the people may be poor; a nation may be strong, while the people are weak; a nation may be feared because the people can be relied upon to obey designing masters, but the true greatness of a nation must ever depend upon the quality of the individuals composing the nation.

“In America, my children, they sing many choruses. Listening across the sea, the groans of despair are heard, mingled with the inspiring chants of robed priests, and, the public heart being touched with pity, the bandmaster mounts his pedestal, looks serenely benevolent, and, raising his baton with gracefully curving signals, the populace join in one voice:—

“These dulcet tones were always supposed to help fill the immigrant ships, the vacancies caused by the strike, and the land-boomer’s pockets, but just as the last faint echoes die away, there arises from the narrow lane ‘hard by’—just off Broadway—the plaintive wail:—

“Of course, my children, these borrowed lamentations may come from the fellows who were left out in the cold at the last elections, for one ‘can’t most always sometimes tell,’ in America, whence come the inspiring motives of the entertainment.

“Let me tell you a little story, my children.

“One November afternoon, while on a west-bound train, I had as a travelling companion a very intelligent, patriotic, and sorrowful man. His manner was subdued, his voice was plaintive, and he spoke earnestly of the condition of his country.

“Skipping his most emphatic words, and toning down portions of his most lurid sentences, I will recite to you the substance of his fervid oration as we hurried over the plains to overtake the rapidly sinking sun.

“Speaking of the greatness of America, my friend said, ‘Some qualifying words may be necessary, or the ideas sought to be conveyed may be confusing. We Americans,’ said he, ‘boast of “equality before the law,” yet in no other civilised country has favoritism been carried to more deplorable extremes. We boast of freedom, yet in no country does a smaller number of men control the conditions under which all must live, and we boast of our constitutionally guarded rights, yet the accidental head of a party may exercise a power unthinkable by any constitutional monarch of Europe.’

“‘But with so intelligent a people, may not these abuses be remedied?’

“‘Intelligent?’ said he, with a sigh. ‘The people in America are frequently informed that they are very intelligent and free, but would a very intelligent people shovel coal so furiously into the furnace of a locomotive that was rapidly running their train to the devil?’

“‘In theory, the Americans have erected the most symmetrical political temple, at whose altars the devout head of patriotism ever bowed a humble allegiance; but in practice,’ said he with emotion, ‘well, the upper rooms are occupied by schemers and the halls are crowded by a more rapacious set of money-changers than the Master whipped from the temple of Jerusalem.’

“‘Dollars, dollars,’ said he bitterly, ‘there is nothing in America more potent than a million dollars.’ Then after a moment’s silence he muttered, ‘yes, five millions are more potent.’

“‘However, it would be mockingly absurd,’ he sorrowfully continued, ‘for any American to hoist a danger signal, for the pleasures of the occasion must not be marred; but,’ said he, with a gleam of satisfaction, ‘while Belshazzar is playing high jinks at the feast, Daniel is changing his slippers, making ready for a call. As a fact,’ said my companion, ‘America is being looted by her caretakers, and, while the Philistines are packing away the booty, the silly Samsons are sleeping in the lap of Delilah.’

“My friend was eloquent and impressive—his language was lurid and expressive, his manner was quite American, and I sympathised with him, for ’tis sad to behold the patriot, sitting with bowed head and solemn visage, contemplating the waning glory of his own proud country, and he seemed very earnest.

“Well,” said Oseba, “we pulled up at a pretty city where there was confusion, and my friend disenrailed. As he stepped off, he met some friends. They, too, looked unhappy, and, feeling inquisitive, I alighted, and observing a pleasant looking fellow on the platform I approached him, and waving toward my late companion’s party, I interrogatively said: ‘Funeral?’

“The man actually laughed, and observing my seriousness, and that I was not of his country, he laughed again, and glancing at my friend’s group, he said:—

“‘Funeral, stranger! We’ve had an election, and it was the d——st landslide ever seen in these parts, and he—ha! ha!—is out in the cold.’”

Oseba, the notes say, remarked that the bell rang, he “waved” to his companion, re-entered his train, dropped into his seat and—thought.

A DIGRESSION.

The notes indicate that Mr. Oseba was deeply affected by the revelations of his “travelling companion.” He need not despair.

This race has been rather prominently before the footlights for some time, and it is of such a mixed and sturdy stock that it seems endowed with the spirit, if not of “perpetual,” at least, of long-continued youth.

The Anglo-Saxon has not yet filled his mission, and surely America should not, so early in its unparalleled career, betray evidence of decadence. While “grow quick, decay quick,” seems to be a law of nations, as well as of Nature, while wealth is often an evidence of injustice, and while in numbers there are often germs of weakness, with America still in her vigorous youth, there must be virtue in her strength sufficient to meet these very apparent difficulties.

It must be remembered, too, that America, though she had great opportunities, had a stupendous task before her at her birth as a nation. In vindication of an inherited British instinct, the “British colonies” revolted against a king, too Dutch to appreciate a British sentiment, and a parliament, too weak to resist him, and the “British American” colonies became the “American nation.”

But the responsibilities of the new nation were as tremendous as her opportunities were fabulous. Politically, she was adrift without pilot or compass, and she set about to erect a temple on whose altars her people might worship, and, without law or precedent, she built, better than she knew, a theory of government the astonishment, the pride, and the admiration of a hopeful world.

Well might the heads of the people have been a little turned, but lured by the most tempting opportunities ever offered to man, they hurled an awakened energy against the doors of the treasure house of Nature, and soon marched among the leaders of industrial art—yes, away in the vanguard. In defence of her commerce, her little navy was the first to humble the Barbary pirates that for centuries had levied blackmail upon the whole Mediterranean trade. Her flag was soon seen in every port, and from the profits of trade in her products, Britain laid the foundation of a stupendous industrial system, that made her the commercial mistress of the world.

Her pursuits were industrial, her ways were ways of peace. Soon she carried one-third of the ocean tonnage, and the struggles of the whole human race were being eased by her inventions.

During these formative stages of development, real poverty was unknown, and great fortunes—such as are being heaped up to-day—had never been dreamed of.

But what a period, and what a country for the development of character! In those peaceful but industrious and frugal days arose that splendid school of writers, poets, essayists, philosophers, publicists and reformers of New England, and the orators, statesmen, and patriots of the young days of the Republic. With such achievements, Mr. Oseba, liberty cannot perish from the earth. The grotesque anomalies in America are incidents of the changing times and will soon disappear.

But to the notes:—

“Room for a colony? Quantity, my children, but no tempting quality for us.

“No,” said Oseba, “earnestly I love America and her splendid people, but the flag of social progress has been transferred to other lands, so America must hold the ’phone, while others of that splendid race—more strays from the Classic Isles—answer the calls of Justice and lead Humanity to a broader, higher and nobler liberty.

“Well, I will ring off America, for while every phase of the recital is so charming that one is inclined to loiter, we catch a glimpse of coming scenes that hurry our hopes for a pleasing goal.

“From great and grand America, I took a long ocean voyage, my children, and on the ‘other side’ I found the beginning of the end of my task, for here, all the dreams of all my weary wanderings, and all the hopes of all my fancied visions of better things, found realisation, and with a glad heart I turned my thoughts to the friends of Cavitorus.”

SCENE VII.

AUSTRALASIA DISCOVERED.

At this juncture the loved and lost Leo Bergin notes a short intermission, for, as there is everywhere a limit to human endurance, Oseba had grown weary.

During the recess, the notes inform us, there were many whisperings, many doubtful shakes of the head, and many real fears expressed as to results regarding the conclusions of the report.

“We have gone over the globe,” said a learned-looking matron, “and we have no encouragement.”

“Better know the truth,” said another.

“It is a matter of no small importance to Cavitorus,” said a third.

The people stood, or sat, in groups and conversed earnestly, some consulting a small globe which stood on the edge of the rostrum. At the expiration of an hour, the people resumed their seats, Amoora Oseba took the platform, and the audience was all attention.

When he arose, he told the people that he understood their feelings, their hopes, their fears, and their anxieties. He had done his best, and his devoted comrades had been as solicitous as he for their beloved country and its cause. To err is human, but it were better to be over-cautious than over-anxious for a change. Not all changes mean progress, though this is not always understood, even by the world leaders.

He told his audience they were not finished—Oliffa had not yet been wholly reported upon, for they had made other discoveries. There were yet two countries to inspect, and he bid them be of good cheer. He said the countries to which he was now to call attention were quite “new” in the sense that they had been known, even to the Outeroos themselves, but a comparatively short time. He then turned on the light, exposed the full globe, and proceeded:—

“The earth has practically been circumnavigated, and, when you have seen all, I hope you will be satisfied with my efforts.

“We have visited all countries inhabited by man, and my discoveries have revealed many interesting facts, suggesting many conclusions.

“Mankind,” argued Mr. Oseba, “is akin. All sorts and conditions of men emerged from a common ancestry. The vast differences in form, color, language, custom and mentality have been caused by the varied environing conditions slowly working throughout many ages. From common passions, common wants and common efforts for their gratification, has man slowly pressed forward, the pace varying as Nature invited or forbade the movement.

“But genius has annihilated time and space. The world is being brought in touch, and the race that improved the cunning of the hand, and aroused the inquiry of the brain, is destined to guide, unify, and dominate the world.

“The Anglo-Saxon is a peculiar compound of many mixed and sturdy tribes, and in the genius of race, there is the magic potion that is giving tone, language and inspiration to humanity.

“But the modern Briton is the finished product of Anglo-Saxon aims, and inherited aspiration. The Briton is a trinity composed of English, Irish and Scotch, a compound of the most stubborn vices and most sturdy virtues ever found in an organised society.

“Janus was not a Briton; the Briton has but one face, and it is always looking to the front. The Briton is sturdy, so he presses forward; he is weary, and he never runs; he is tenacious, and he appropriates everything having one loose end. Having more wants than industry, he invents that he may be satisfied. He adjusts himself to new conditions, so he hoists his flag over his new cabin and annexes all in sight. Being dull as a linguist, the people of all climes have to learn his speech, or abstain from the banquet of the present, and—the future.

“Yes, the British are of a sturdy race. They were developed in a fine climate. But people can’t live on climate, and these people had appetites. No thing can come from nothing. Thoughts and actions are ‘products,’ but the finished goods always reveal the character of the raw material. Strange,” he argued, “but as a man eats, so is he. The Frenchman eats frog, and he dances; the Italian eats macaroni and he runs a hand organ; while the Briton as a regular diet takes beef-steak and lion, so he wanders about, and—paints the world red.

“In less time than it took the old nations to build a city, the inhabitants of the small British Isles had pre-empted more than one-fifth of the surface of the planet, and were masters of the affections of a fourth of the human race. But the noblest works accomplished by this resistless people are now to be revealed, for the admiration of my countrymen.”

Here he turned on the great forty-foot sphere to an axial angle of twenty-three degrees, well exposing the Southern Hemisphere. After noticing the southern orifice—the back door of Symmes’ Hole—and the difference in the distribution of land and water near the respective poles, he turned the globe so as to give a fair exposure of Australasia.

In Oseba’s more cheerful demeanor, his more ready speech, and his radiant countenance, there was a gleam of joy, and when once the full import of this new scene was appreciated, there was a generous burst of applause—Leo notes, “almost enthusiasm.”

“This,” said the sage Oseba, “is the ‘Austral climes,’ the last dry dirt on the surface of Oliffa, wholly rescued from darkness and devoted to civilisation.

“Its color indicates its social condition—it is civilised and free, for on Oliffa, my children, ‘red’ is the emblem of hope. ‘Painting the world red,’ means turning on the light, and John Bull always carries a bucket of carmine—and he often has a ‘brush.’”

Oseba said that in the whole inquiry he had endeavoured to follow an example set, many centuries ago, by a Personage whose advice is constantly quoted on Oliffa—and more constantly ignored—of keeping the best to the last.

Australia was of old called an island, but as in area it about equalled the United States of America, and almost that of Europe—having near 3,000,000 square miles—it was now regarded as a “continent,” though it had less than 4,000,000 people.

“Room for a colony?” said the poetess Vauline, with something bordering emotion.

“Yes,” said Oseba.

But let us proceed cautiously. I boil down.

He said there was plenty of “room,” and for sometime there would be “room to let,” but as a fact, while a lovely land, inhabited by a splendid people, it was not quite all it seemed on the map. On the borders of the “Australian continent,” and reaching back long hundreds of miles, there was much beautiful country, but there was a vast interior, which, though red on the map, was almost too thin even to hold the paint.

As a fact, much of the surface of Australia was afflicted, like many of her people, with an insatiable thirst. To the uninformed, this “dry” and hot interior gave Australia a “bad name,” as people are usually influenced by “sound,” and they rarely stop to reflect how many grand empires might be carved out from these fertile borders and plains.

He described how Cook “found” Australia in 1770, and how, by the directions of Sydney, Colonial Secretary, it was first “colonised” in 1779. He recorded its struggles and growth during the silent years; how colonial authority was exercised; how self rule, or so-called “responsible government” was established; and how, to reach more remote portions of the country from convenient seats of authority, several autonomous colonies were formed.

Owing to the large expense of coming, immigrants were usually of the better class; and, owing to the distance from central authority, the colonist became self-reliant, and soon began to apply new ideas to new conditions.

He dwelt with evident pleasure upon the development of the cities of the continental colonies as splendid centres of wealth and population, and praised the spirit that was ready to cast tradition to the winds, and boldly experiment upon various expedients, that seemed a solution for some pressing problem.

In describing Australasian cities, he declared that Sydney was the most beautiful city on earth, having a society which, for culture and character, equalled that of any other country. He admired the competitive spirit as between the different or several political centres, and of the many departures from old notions.

The courage of the people in the adoption of new political methods, and their re-arrangement of the relations between governments and industrial forces, seemed to please him greatly.

He declared that “these self-governing autonomous colonies, aroused by inviting opportunities of a novel environment, inspired by a sphere of undefined liberty, with reckless readiness to resort to new expedients for the accomplishment of new purposes, had produced in Australasia, in all the essentials of true worth, the highest average type of man and womanhood on the surface of Oliffa—with the more isolated New Zealand probably leading.”

Oseba said the Australasians enjoyed a higher average plane of living than any other people; they were better educated, better clothed, better fed, and better housed, and, with comparisons made on the same or like basis, they were the greatest commercial people on the globe, with proportionately much greater banking power than any other people. In proportion to population, these 4,500,000 Australasians had four times the capital of the people of other leading countries, and their commerce was four times larger.

He applauded the tendency towards holding the lands at nominal or low rents for the use of the people; the construction, ownership and management of the railways, telegraphs, telephones and other public utilities, by the government for the convenience and use of the governed, as the acme of political wisdom.

He claimed that the Australasians had confirmed every lesson of history, for all experience taught that only through colonial enterprise were experiments in legislation safe, and advanced ideas crystallised into law. Small communities might safely experiment, and when the people bore sway, the dangers possible from rapid changes were preferable to the mildew of stagnation.

In political and social progress, in material prosperity and moral worth, the people of Australasia were conspicuously at the head of the procession.

Only through the influence of colonial enterprise, had real liberty ever gained a substantial victory, and only through expedients suggested by colonial necessities, had great economic changes hurriedly come.

America, in her free and fearless youth, far excelled the motherland in liberal legislation and economic progress, but the millstone of aggregated wealth and “vested interests” weighed her down, and she retired from the leadership, while Australasia, with her novel surroundings and the experience of all the former ages to contemplate, proposed to sail a little further over the inviting seas of social progress, and her success had vindicated the wisdom of her determination. At a time when many other nations were almost madly pushing colonial experiments, she had written a new volume corroborating the evidence of the centuries, that Britain alone, of all modern nations, possessed the requisite qualities for successful colonisation.

“Australasia deserves well of the world,” said Oseba, “for under the separate standards of her many colonial chiefs, she has moved the people on to a most advanced position.

“But in Australia proper there has recently come a change that must necessarily check the rapidity of Australian progress. Six of the Australasian colonies—New Zealand not joining—have left the skirmish-line, and formed into a less mobile mass. The light infantry have buckled on heavy knapsacks—the flying artillery have been re-cast into siege guns. The ‘states’ are now anchored to the past, and the ‘Commonwealth’ must be unwieldy. The members of this compact may chafe, but the chains are unyielding, and the ponderous hulk, in which all the luggage has been tossed, will be found cumbrously slow in its movements.

“As social groups, the Australians, in their ‘free colonies,’ were in their vigorous youth—they were buoyant and ambitious. They looked abroad, beheld what others had done, and said, ‘Let us take another step,’ and being free and self-ruling, they were able to hurriedly adjust their political machine to their local requirements.

“Inspired by novel environments, great opportunities and hard necessities, the Phœnicians and the Greeks, as colonisers, gave to Europe its commercial instincts; and, inspired by like opportunities and necessities, the British have not only made the dreams of the ancients a reality but they have created and firmly established modern civilisation. America is the Carthage of Phœnicia. Australasia is the Magna Grecia of Greece. Australia has played well her part.

“But a new king has come, my children, ‘who knew not Joseph,’ and no Moses can lead the people rapidly out from the shadow of the ‘Commonwealth.’

“Australia has a genial climate; she has broad, fertile acres enough to support a grand empire; she has a magnificent people, and she has advanced the standard of social progress many a league, but a ‘tribal’ exuberance has been hampered by allegiance to a central authority, so the leadership in social progress must be passed to less incumbered hands.

“The world stands in mute admiration at Australia’s social achievements; but, to gratify the ambition of a few men who desired a broader field for the display of a splendid talent, she has lost her ‘innings,’ and ‘New Zealand’ has the bat.

“When the Commonwealth band struck up, it was whispered across 1,200 miles of sea to New Zealand, ‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ but the sturdy Seddon answered, ‘No, thanks! we will go ahead, and turn on a little more light.’

“Then, while I love the Australians and shall ever hope for their future prosperity, we will ‘ring off,’ and review the last, the loveliest, and the most free and inviting field ever explored by man, for already the colors are in worthy hands, and the leaders have proposed to take another step.”

Summing up for a conclusion, the sage Oseba said that China, even with “opportunities,” presented no varieties; and while Japan had variety, she had no room. Europe was too strongly wedded to militarism for healthy mental growth; Britain has become a park for her nobles; Africa had the black plague; America was owned by the trusts, and was managed in their interests by the party bosses; and Australia, like a child crying for bracelets, had put on hand-cuffs.

“So, none of these answer the requirements of our commission,” said the orator, “and I now invite you, my children, to another series of pictures in our elaborate gallery—’tis of my last ‘discovery.’”

Here, pending the re-adjustment of the instruments, the audience indulged in a few moments of lively conversation, for the promises seemed to be more encouraging. But soon Mr. Oseba stepped to the front with a confident dignity, and in a pleasing voice said:—

“My learned colleagues, and you, my beloved countrymen and women, I have detained you long, and, that you might appreciate my conclusions, I have gone somewhat into details in my extensive review. I have shown you many of my discoveries, on the outer surface of our planet; I have explained the political systems of many peoples, and I have observed the play of your emotions as the conditions of men were portrayed; but I now promise you only pleasing revelations, for in beauty, in climate, in soil and social situation, I am going to show you the paradise of Oliffa, and this means a portion of Australasia that declined to join the federation of which I have spoken—it means New Zealand, on the map, ‘Zealandia,’ with the poets, but Zelania, as it would be called in our more musical speech, and by this euphonious title shall we speak of that charming land. This, my children, was my last discovery, and while many people on Oliffa don’t care to be discovered at all, I hope the ‘Zelanians’ will never regret my having landed on their blissful shores.”

SCENE VIII.—Act I.

We know not the mystery of a dream, but in Leo Bergin’s brain the hoary mountains rise, the restless seas moan, and the scenes of ever-enchanting Zelania unroll like a magic scroll. In modest phrase he sings the memories of early wanderings, and that through his mental gleams we may reach a higher appreciation of the unfolding views, I quote his rippling rhymes:—

LEO BERGIN’S REVERIE.

Well, indeed that is pretty; but let us down from Leo’s fancies to Mr. Oseba’s facts, and while I shall strive to retain a seasoning of Mr. Oseba’s richness, time and the love of ease whisper persuasively of the virtues of the blue pencil.

With more animated eloquence, Mr. Oseba resumed his oration. “The audience,” says Leo Bergin, “gave the most profound attention.”

“Knowledge,” said Mr. Oseba, “is a priceless treasure, but,” with a smile he continued, “many a good story has been spoiled by over-inquisitiveness. Poetic fancy suffers from flirtations with cause and conscience. Unless inquiry has been thorough, my children, it is wiser, in most cases, to note impressions than to assume to record facts, so I shall give you but a ‘bird’s-eye’ view of these enchanting isles, with the characters as they appeared before the visual camera when I made my observations.

“Had I gone fossicking among the weary ones of Zelania, I should doubtless have found many excellent people who, in some phase of the inquiry, would have questioned the correctness of my conclusions. I might have heard some sighs, amid the almost universal joy—some smiles with the general congratulations, and some discordant groans mingled with the generous applause—but where there is not sufficient diversity of interest to produce mental friction, there is more danger from decomposition than from revolution.

“Yes, I incline to think had I stood on the corner and listened I would have met some well-to-do gentlemen who disliked the land tax; some business men who disliked the labor laws; some farmers, who wanted a free ride and no rent; some patriotic men who failed to admire many of ‘Richard’s’ taking ways. I might also have found healthy gentlemen from ‘Home’ who, though their conditions were bettered by coming, have little love for ‘the colonials,’ and who, by virtue of their unwillingness to grasp the true situation, regard every statement of a fact as an extravagance, and every forward movement as a revolution. Then, I should have felt it necessary to inquire how much of such criticism was due to private interest, to defeated ambition, to party or factional prejudice, or to differences in opinion as to who would best grace the conspicuous chair.

“For this I had neither time nor inclination. Man can equivocate, can even lie, ’tis said, but visible conditions never deceive an observing stranger, and when I considered the brief history of that country and compared its early social and political policy with the present free, happy and prosperous situation, I had little care to banquet with private grievance or public criticism.

“I was concerned, not in the salaries of the public servants, but in the character of the public conscience; not in who, for the time being, guided the ship of state, but how the passengers and the crew were being brought to their destination.

“On a lonely elevation, far removed from the murmuring crowd, I levelled my glass, and, without sampling the fluids from which the stage actors drew their inspiration, I noted my ‘impressions.’ They were favorable, and if I’m guilty of nothing worse than failing to note the faults of those chosen by themselves as ringmasters of the performance, I feel that the Zelanians will not regret my having ‘discovered them.’

“As the beauties of Zelania so far transcend the powers of the painter’s brush and the poet’s metaphor, I pay her homage of my admiration, in modest speech.”

IN SILENT WONDER.

“In scenic wonders, these playful Isles present a peculiar series of thrilling charms, which seem to satisfy best the yearnings of those who have visited other lands.

“In geography, Zelania is beautifully isolated, as every beach is washed by more than a thousand miles of sea. Its borders are so erratic, so indented by bays, harbors, and inlets, that its shore-lines are over 4,000 miles in extent, and, in altitude, it reaches from the sea-shore to the clouds.

“Configuratively, it is milder than a dream, and topographically, it presents a most romantic and pleasing aspect. In scenic beauty, the Isles of Greece, the Lakes of Ireland, or the ‘Vales of Cashmere’ do not surpass it, and in the awe-inspiring wildness of its mountain grandeur, it rivals the noblest of Norway or Alaskan scenes.

“In bold magnificence, the glacial glories of the Swiss Alps are tame comparisons, and its geysers, its boiling lakes, its roaring vents from subterranean fires, its hundreds of spouting caldrons, its grottos and waterfalls, could not be surpassed, if all the rest of Oliffa’s wonders were brought together and placed on exhibition—such a congerie of curiosities has Nature thrown in young Zelania’s lap.

“When Nature made Oliffa, my children, she nourished a sly intent to show her skill when in the flower of training. With this in view, as she deftly moulded other lands and tempered them from her laboratory, she tossed aside the choice bits of material, and took notes on ‘effect.’ Then, after finishing the rest, and ‘behold it was very good,’ with a glance to the gallery gods, she said, ‘Now look at me!’