With some small variations the scheme as to parliament and executive government is the same in South Australia as in the other colonies. There are king, lords, and commons,—or in other language, Governor, Legislative Council, and House of Assembly. The most remarkable variation is to be found in the mode adopted for getting together the Legislative Council or House of Colonial Lords,—which mode I regard as the worst ever yet invented for summoning a chamber of senators. In England our House of Peers is hereditary, the Crown having the power to add to its number as it pleases,—and thus, at any rate, the country does acquire the services of a body of legislative magnates without any trouble to itself. It is a great thing to be a peer, and the peers as a rule live up to the position which the country assigns them. In the United States the senators of the National Congress are elected from their different States by a complicated machinery which certainly effects its object, by bringing the leading politicians of the day into the Upper House, and by conferring on that House dignity and reputation. In some of our colonies, in New South Wales for instance, and in Queensland, the members of the Upper House are nominated by the Crown,—or rather, in fact, by the responsible ministers of the day, who are accountable for the selections which they make, and who confer the honour on men anxious and for the most part able to take a part in public affairs. As one party becomes stronger than another in the colony, so does the minister of one party have more frequent opportunities of introducing his friends into the Legislative Council than the ministers of the other party,—and the preponderance of public opinion is represented by the Upper as well as the Lower Chamber. In other colonies, as in Victoria and South Australia, the members of the Legislative Council are elected by the people,—but the manner of doing so is different. In Victoria the whole colony is divided into provinces, and each province periodically elects its members. Even then the interest felt is not very great, as I endeavoured to explain, when speaking of the Victorian legislature,—but the provinces do in some sort identify themselves with their own members; and, though the political feeling in the matter is mild, it exists and has its influence. In South Australia the members of the Upper Chamber are elected by the colony at large, and therefore when elections come round, no political feeling is excited.

This Upper House consists of eighteen members. Every fourth year six members retire, in February, and the votes of the entire colony are taken as to the election of their successors,—so that the members are elected for twelve years. There is a property qualification for voting,—£20 leasehold, £25 household, or £50 freehold. Very slight interest is taken in the elections,—as might be expected from such a scheme. The distances in the colony are enormous, and each district feels that as the election is to be made by the colony at large, its own effect must be very small. When the result of a national election is of extreme importance to parties,—as is the case with the election of a President in the United States,—the country can be awakened to the work; but no political animation can be aroused by the national importance of sending six members to the Upper House. As a consequence men do not vote except in the towns, and do not vote there with any regularity. At the election of 1869, 4,468 votes only were cast, by a body of 15,773 electors. Certain members who have long been in the House keep their seats when the day for their re-election comes round, because no one cares to disturb them; but every now and then some obscure but ambitious and probably absolutely unfit individual puts himself forward, and is elected, to the scandal of the House,—because there has been no interest felt in the matter. The expenditure of a few hundred pounds would almost certainly carry an election,—not because a few hundred pounds have much force in the colony, but because the amount of antagonistic force used is very small. I look upon this as the very worst plan yet adopted for maintaining the existence of a legislative chamber.

The Lower House consists of seventy-two members, who are elected by thirty-six districts,—two members for each district. They sit for three years,—or would do but for dissolutions. Manhood suffrage, with vote by ballot as a matter of course, prevails; but residence for six months is required for an elector,—so that the nomad tribe of wandering vagrants who call themselves workmen, but are in truth beggars, is excluded. The competition for seats in the House of Assembly is sufficiently lively to show that a seat is desired, but it is not very keen. At the time of the election for the House of Assembly in 1870, there were 39,647 men in the colony entitled to be electors, but only 17,233 voted.

I found the ballot to be generally popular,—because it tended to make things quiet at elections. Sir James Fergusson, the governor of the colony,—who as a Conservative member for a Scotch county, and as one of the Conservative government at home, cannot have loved the ballot here, in England,—thus expresses his opinion on the subject to the Secretary of State:—“I am bound to state that the ballot is generally and remarkably popular in the colony. To the people of the colony it appears to give entire satisfaction.” I am bound to report this as the opinion which I found to prevail among almost all classes as to the use of the ballot in Australia. I give my evidence unwillingly, because I myself very much dislike the ballot for English use, and believe that a mistake is made by those who argue that because it suits the colonies, therefore it will suit ourselves. With us the object is secrecy, which I think should not be an object, and which I think also will not be obtained. In the colonies secrecy is not desired, but tranquillity is felt to be a blessing. It is clear that the ballot does assist in producing tranquillity.

But it may be questioned whether even tranquillity at elections is to be regarded as an unmixed blessing. Apathy is certainly not desirable, and it may be that tranquillity will show itself to be akin to apathy. Men are always eager as to that in which they are truly interested, and real human eagerness will produce excitement and noise. Broken heads are bad things, but even broken heads are better than political indifference. They who have framed the Australian constitutions and have selected the modes of election for the legislative chambers of the colonies, have had before their eyes an idea of human political excellence which has never hitherto prevailed, and never will prevail till that good time comes which we call the millennium. They have desired to produce great vitality in the electors without any excitement at the elections. Men are not to rush to the polls,—certainly not to go thither under stress of fear, or bribery, or drink; but all men are to walk there in orderly strings, under the pressure of a high sense of national duty. They are to be debarred from the interest of personal contest by the ballot and other means,—but are nevertheless to be constant in voting. The ballot, and the other means, are successful for the required ends,—but the people are indifferent as to the results. It is the boast of Australian politicians that the elections are quiet. They are often too quiet. If it be the case, as a great man once said, that any first six men caught walking through Temple Bar, would make as good members of parliament as any other six men, the South Australian scheme of voting for members of the Legislative Council may be good,—but under no other theory.

I doubt whether South Australia can boast that its parliament contains its best men. Neither do members of the government or members of parliament in any of the Australian colonies have that relation to the country at large which they certainly hold in England. In England the premier is the head man of his country for the time; and in common estimation with us, a member of parliament is felt to be a man who has achieved honourable distinction. It is not so in the Australian colonies generally, and certainly is not so in South Australia specially. Prime ministers there have succeeded each other with wonderful celerity. The first parliament with responsible government was opened in Adelaide, on April 22nd, 1857,—not yet sixteen years ago as I write,—and since that date twenty-seven different ministries have been formed. I found that no less than six of these combinations had been made by Mr. Ayres, who was the chief secretary or head of the government when I was in Adelaide,—but even he has succumbed again. There is, however, always this comfort to be extracted from such speedy reverses,—that a quick return of triumph may be expected. When last I heard of the colony Mr. Ayres was out; but very probably he may be again in before this is published.

The real work of government is done in South Australia by the Governor in Council with a cabinet of five. Of these one always sits in the Legislative Council, and the other four are supposed to have seats in the House of Assembly. The constitution requires that no minister shall be in office above three months without a seat either in the Upper or in the Lower House.

The debates are fairly well conducted,—at any rate without riot or that personal abuse and continual appeal to the Speaker which I have witnessed elsewhere. There is much useless and quite vapid talking,—members making speeches without even an attempt at a new point or a new argument, to which no one listens, but which are endured with patience. It is understood that when a gentleman has taken the trouble to get a seat, and is willing to sacrifice his time, he should be allowed to air his voice, and to learn by practice to speak with fluency. Mr. Lowe and Mr. Childers have taught colonial legislators the possible results of such lessons; and why should any man throw away a chance? I heard a debate on the great question of cab-lamps,—whether legislation should content itself with requiring simply cabs to be lighted at nights, or whether it should extend the precaution to other vehicles,—on which two-thirds of a full House were eloquent. I heard impassioned eloquence on the question whether the excellent Bishop of Adelaide should be allowed to retain his right of walking out of the room before other people,—a right which, as it came from the Crown, the parliament could not take from him, but which he gracefully abandoned when it gave annoyance to scrupulous politicians. Their minds were much excited on this question. And I heard another debate as to the governor’s salary, carried on with much energy. The Lower House, with hot parliamentary zeal expressed in fervid words, decided on cutting off £1,000 a year from the salary of future governors. But the measure of retrenchment, though essentially a money measure, was lost, because no seconder could be found for it in the Upper Chamber.

There was another great debate when I was in the colony,—of which, however, I only heard a small portion, and it gave rise to an incident which I will mention as giving an idea of the feeling displayed towards the House. It was decided, as a new measure, that there should be after-dinner sittings,—and on a certain evening there was an after-dinner sitting. There was a spirited debate, which was conducted with a fair amount of parliamentary animation. One of the leading Adelaide newspapers, giving its history of the affair on the following morning, described the speakers in round terms of having been—unfit for parliamentary work, because they had dined. On the following day one of the gentlemen attacked brought the matter forward on a question of privilege, and there ensued a debate in which it was at any rate shown that the accusation was altogether groundless. But nothing was done. No one seemed seriously to think that the writer of the article, or the editor, proprietor, or printer of the paper, should be punished for the insinuations made. On the next morning the newspaper in question ridiculed the complaining members for having adopted the only meaning of the words of the article which they would bear. I could not but think that had the “Times” or “Daily Telegraph” accused the House of Commons of being generally unfit for its duties because it had—dined, that the House of Commons would in some way have made its displeasure felt. But I was anxious to know why such an unwarranted attack should be made by one of the leading newspapers of the colony upon the parliament of the colony,—and I received information on the subject. The newspaper in question had to report the debates, and disliked the trouble and expense of keeping reporters late into the evening.

Few countries can, I think, show a more favourable account of their public financial matters than that exhibited by South Australia. Custom duties are the only taxation to which her people are subject, and the amount paid by them in that shape averages no more than 25s. a head. On the 31st December, 1871, the population was 189,018, and the duties levied in 1871 had amounted to £234,980. The total revenue in that year had been £785,489, and the total expenditure, £759,339. But the revenue so stated is made up of various sums, which have no reference whatever to taxation. It includes the gross amounts received from the post-office, from the railways, from the telegraph offices, and from the water-works;—whereas the total of the expenditure includes the expenses of those establishments. The revenue includes also the money carried to the public credit for the sale and lease of lands, which I find estimated for 1872 at £145,000. The public debt amounted to £1,944,600 on the 31st December, 1871, which had been chiefly,—I believe entirely,—expended on public works. One hundred and thirty-three miles of railway had been opened in the country, the working of which in 1871 had cost £88,000,—and which had produced £111,000 by its traffic, thus giving £23,000 as dividends on the cost, and paying about a quarter of the interest on the total of the public debt.

In what I have said it will, I fear, be thought that I have intended to depreciate the parliament of the colony. I have not sought to do so, but I am merely giving my personal impressions of what I heard and saw. Parliaments, like puddings, should be judged by the proof of their results, as shown in the eating. One of the main works of all parliaments is so to adjust the financial affairs of the country entrusted to it, that the people shall not suffer from over-taxation, that the public credit shall be maintained, and that a sufficiency of revenue shall be collected to insure the safety and general well-being of the community. If this be adequately done, a parliament need certainly not be ashamed of its doings. And this is adequately done in South Australia.