better in New South Wales than in Victoria. Here, as there, the ‘Free
Selectors’ by force of numbers can carry elections and bend everything
in their favour. The vicious system of balloting for blocks of land
has not been introduced; for the extent of the country and thinness
of the population have made the number of applicants for land in
any one district comparatively few. On the other hand, not merely
certain surveyed areas, as in Victoria, but the whole country, with
the exception of small reserves, is open to free selection at a fixed
price at any time. More than that, if a Squatter wishes to purchase a
piece of his own run, even if no one else has expressed any desire to
purchase it, he must give the requisite public notice to the Government
officer, and then any other person who does not possess land may step
in and buy the piece at the regulation price in preference to him.
Thus, a Selector, made aware by the Squatter’s notice of the portion of
his run which he values most, may (and sometimes does) purchase it as a
speculation, in the hope of annoying him into buying him off in a few
years at an increased price. Every Squatter who leases a run from the
Crown is liable to invasion by Free Selectors. An abatement of rent is
indeed made in case of land being taken from him, but the compensation
is quite inadequate to the loss and injury sustained. For the Selector
has grazing rights over a certain area in addition to the fee-simple
of his block of land, and as he is under no obligation to fence, there
is nothing to prevent his stock from feeding all over the Squatter’s
run. I was told that in some districts it has been found impossible
to carry on cattle stations, and they have been abandoned or turned
into sheep stations, owing to the Selectors. It was notorious that the
latter, having in general little skill in agriculture, and being far
from any market, could exist only by eating or selling the Squatters’
cattle. Indeed this was pretty well proved by their often disappearing
altogether from the neighbourhood when the keeping of cattle was given
up. With sheep it is not quite so bad. They are under the shepherd’s
eye, and are sooner missed. And according to the bush code of morality,
in some districts cattle are almost _feræ naturæ_, and taking them is
not stealing in the same degree as taking a pocket handkerchief or even
a sheep is.
A large proportion of the small settlers and Free Selectors in New
South Wales are Irish. The English and Scotch in the Australian
colonies amalgamate easily. They have no national or religious
antipathies to overcome, and frequently even attend each other’s
churches. The Irish remain apart. They generally are glad to get a
government situation of any kind, and are said to make very good
officials, and they contribute the great majority of domestic
servants. One does not hear of many of them being in trade. The greater
number seem to go up the country, as they are generally desirous of
becoming possessors of land, often in larger quantities than they can
turn to profitable account. This desire once accomplished, which is a
very easy matter in New South Wales, their ambition seems to be too
readily satisfied. There seems no reason why a small settler should not
earn money enough to live in comfort and even luxury by occasionally
combining labour for wages with the cultivation of his own land. But,
for what reason I know not, it is seldom that anything like comfort
is to be seen amongst this class up the country. A man will just run
up a rude slab hut for himself and his family, often with room enough
between the slabs to put a hand through. The roof is easily made with
sheets of bark tied on. Sometimes there is not even a window, and only
one hole in the roof for the light to come in and the smoke to go out
at. The floor is the bare ground, good enough in dry weather, in wet
weather very likely killing off a child or two with consumption or
rheumatic fever. The bread they eat is sometimes so bad and so sour
that it is impossible for anyone unused to it to digest it, though any
good bushman can make a damper in the ashes as sweet and wholesome as
possible. Their mutton is often half wasted, and the rest cooked to
the consistency of leather. The bones are thrown away, for who ever
heard of soup or broth in the bush? It is too much trouble to grow
vegetables. I went to one ‘accommodation-house’ (an inferior kind of
inn), where there was a cow and plenty of milk, but it was too much
trouble to drive her in to be milked, or even to tie up her calf so
that she might not stray; and so all the children, two or three of whom
were down with the measles, drank their bad tea, which is the staple
beverage at all meals, and was especially needed here to disguise the
abominable dirtiness of the water, without a drop of milk to it. Why
are not children taught a little about kitchen economy and cooking
at school? In the bush reading and writing are elegant and refined
accomplishments, useful in their way, but mere ornamental accessories
to a complete education compared with the knowledge how to make a loaf
of bread and cook a bit of mutton.
De Tocqueville remarked on the depression and melancholy expressed
on the countenance of the American backwoodsman and the harassed,
prematurely aged look of the wife. Something of this is to be seen
in the settler in the bush. You seldom see a smile or hear a laugh.
It is not that there is any need to work harder than is good for
health. Still less is there anything approaching to want. But the
great loneliness is very trying to most minds. I have been told by
a shepherd’s wife that she did not see anyone but her husband much
oftener than once in three months, and he was generally away all day,
and often all night. Possibly she may have exaggerated a little. But
this was within four miles of a township and a main road. What must it
be in remote districts, where stations are sometimes twenty miles and
more apart? Shepherding is the most lonely occupation of any, and it is
said that a large proportion of the inmates of colonial lunatic asylums
have been shepherds. If you ask anyone not born in the colony if he or
she would like to go home again, not one in twenty but will wistfully
and unhesitatingly answer ‘Yes;’ though not one in twenty but is richer
and has greater means of living in comfort now than before leaving
home. Not but what it would be a mistake to make too much of this
preference for the old home. Happy memories live while sad ones perish,
and those whom you ask are old now, probably, and were young when they
were at home, and what they really mean (though they don’t exactly know
it) is that they liked being young better than they like being old.
The Irish here, as everywhere, multiply much faster than the rest of
the population. It is said that at one time great efforts were made
to swamp the rest of the population with Irish emigrants, and make
New South Wales essentially a Roman Catholic colony. There is no
chance of this happening now; but there is an element of disturbance
and lawlessness in their separate and sectarian organization which in
critical times might be dangerous, and is at all times injurious to
political morality. Roman Catholicism among the Irish in Australia
seems to be becoming less a Church than a political society. The
priests are said not to be very strict about a man’s morality, or how
often or how seldom he goes to mass or confesses. If he pays his
subscription to the priest or the new chapel when he is asked for it,
and votes as he is told at the elections, he is a good Roman Catholic.
It may almost be compared to the Vehmgericht, the Jacobin Society, the
Evangelical Alliance, the Reform League, or the Trades’ Unions. For all
these have, or pretend to have, a germ of religion or _quasi_-religion
in them which gives them their strength and coherence; and all have set
up an authority unrecognised by the law, and have exercised influence
chiefly by open or disguised intimidation.
Their ecclesiastical organization gives the Roman Catholics more
political power than naturally belongs to them. A Squatter told me
that even the maid-servants in his house up the country were called
upon to pay a certain subscription, being assessed sometimes even
as high as ten shillings, and woe to them if they refused! This is
what is commonly called the voluntary system, for the law does not
enforce payment, and its advocates point to the result in triumph. At
the elections, if for any reason it is required of them, they obey
orders, and vote as one man. Any ‘private judgment’ in such a case
would be a grievous offence. A candidate at a coming election for a
town in New South Wales was once asked for a subscription to a Roman
Catholic charity. He promised a liberal donation, on condition that the
money should not be used for proselytizing purposes. This, however,
the applicant for the subscription refused to promise—in fact it was
admitted that the money would be so employed—and so the candidate
declined to give it. This was at Sydney. A few days later he went to
the town where the election was to be, at some distance up the country.
He was unquestionably the popular candidate, and justly so, for he had
been a benefactor to the neighbourhood. To his surprise one or two of
his supporters came to express their regret that they could not vote
for him, but assigned no reason. The election took place, and he was
left behind in a small minority. The electors had obeyed ecclesiastical
orders at the poll. They had not been, in the electioneering sense of
the word, intimidated—had they not had the protection of the ballot,
that infallible nostrum against intimidation?—and they had voted in
accordance with their religious or ecclesiastical conscience, though
against their individual inclination or judgment. Now they were free to
express their own sympathies, which they did by seating the favourite
but defeated candidate in a carriage by the side of the successful one,
and making him share in the triumphal progress round the town.
This sort of influence is in its origin, if not in its essence,
religious, and therefore out of reach of state interference. But its
effect is political, and by producing a compact and powerful _imperium
in imperio_, might become subversive of good government to a very
serious extent, under a constitution in which a numerical majority,
however composed, is all-powerful. If a third of the population, or
thereabouts, choose to abdicate their individual wills and delegate
their united strength to nobody knows who, bishop or conclave or
priest, it may produce very serious political results.
People talk glibly enough about separation of Church and State as
if it were a mere matter of pounds, shillings, and pence, a very
simple connection capable of being made or dissolved in a moment by a
vote or an Act of Parliament. But it sometimes happens that a man’s
Church allegiance and his State allegiance are much too intricately
interwoven for any Act of any Parliament to separate. Where a man’s
religious creed (if he have any) centres, there generally will his
political heart be also. The old Whig notion of a population holding
all possible different beliefs and disbeliefs and yet remaining none
the less cordially loyal to the State, may be a wholesome ideal for a
statesman to have in his mind, but is impossible—even if desirable—to
be really attained. The ex-Queen of Spain a short time ago sent a very
handsome present of church-plate to the Roman Catholic Cathedral at
Sydney. There was a great festival of the Roman Catholics on occasion
of its being consecrated or placed in the Cathedral. It would have been
interesting, if it had been possible, to analyse this _rapprochement_
between Roman Catholic Spain and Roman Catholic Australia, and to
discover how much was political and how much religious in it. Probably
many an Irishman, if he had been asked, would have honestly answered
that he believed the Queen of Spain to be the best and noblest of
Sovereigns, and her government the most just, liberal, and enlightened
in Europe; and if an occasion offered would vote or act in accordance
with that idea, as with a similar idea the Irish joined the Papal army
to fight the King of Italy some years ago.
Fortunately, Australia is a long way from Rome, and it may be hoped
that the ultramontane element in Romanism may give place gradually to
a purer and more enlightened, if less strictly consistent and logical,
secular patriotism. I believe there are some slight indications of
this, here and there, already. _Cælum non animum mutant qui trans mare
currunt_ is a maxim which does not apply so closely when the voyage is
a very long one. But it may perhaps take a generation or two before any
great change takes place, and in the meantime the element of divided
allegiance is a dangerous one in the hands of the fanatical or the
unscrupulously ambitious.
A few months ago the Roman Catholic chaplain of one of the Sydney
convict establishments was found to be systematically inculcating
Fenianism on his flock of gaol birds. He was dismissed. But from the
outcry made in the House of Assembly and elsewhere about certain
formalities or informalities in the manner of his dismissal, it was
evident that the sympathies of many were with him. This is the more
significant, from the fact that the priests in Ireland have, ostensibly
at least, opposed the Fenian movement.
Not twenty years ago an Irishman who for a seditious libel had
become acquainted with the inside of a gaol, and through a technical
legal mistake had narrowly escaped a second conviction, emigrated to
Melbourne. His reputation had preceded him, and he was received on
landing with an ovation and a very handsome present of several thousand
pounds. In responding he showed his sense of the course of conduct
which had procured him this popularity, and announced with emphasis
that he always had been and always should be a _rebel to the backbone_.
Within a few years he was a member of the Ministry, and holding one
of the most important offices in it. Being now comparatively wealthy
and enjoying a very large pension for not very arduous services, he
has become rather conservative than otherwise—does not altogether go
with the present Government in the matter of the Lady Darling vote,
for instance—and would fain have it forgotten, it is said, that he is
pledged for life to ceaseless rebellion.
XII.
ARISTOCRACY AND KAKISTOCRACY.
The members of the Upper House or Legislative Council of New South
Wales are nominated for life by the Governor, not elected, like those
of Victoria and Tasmania, by a higher-class constituency. This plan
was adopted by the framers of the Constitution with the intention of
giving it a Conservative character. The effect has been the reverse of
what was intended. A nominee of the Governor is generally in reality a
nominee of the Ministry for the time being. Subject to his consent, it
is in the power of the Ministry to swamp the Council by the creation
of new members, and thus obtain a preponderating majority; and on
at least one occasion this has been done. It is indeed understood
that the Governor who gave his consent much regrets having done so,
and it may be hoped that the experiment will not be repeated. But
the authority of a legislative chamber cannot fail to be impaired by
the bare possibility of such treatment. Under the most favourable
circumstances, the Members, being nominated for having already attained
a certain position in the colony, are not likely to be very young
when appointed; and as they hold their seats for life, it is likely
that there will generally be an unduly large proportion of old men.
A Council so constituted, and having but little prestige of superior
birth or education to support it, is not likely to be a match for
a capricious and turbulent Lower House, borne on the flood-tide of
present popularity, and ever ready to provide for present emergencies
at the expense of the future. Hence it is not to be wondered at if it
does not occupy so prominent a position relatively as the Victorian
Council, which has lately so firmly and successfully opposed the
unconstitutional proceedings of a Ministry supported by a large
majority of the Lower House, and by a small majority of the population.
In answer to a question as to the character and composition of the
Lower House, or Legislative Assembly, I was told that it was _now_
no worse than that of Victoria. Probably this was about as much as
could be said for it. The facts which I mentioned in a former letter
concerning the Victorian Assembly may be an assistance in estimating
the force of the comparison. I may add that since I wrote, one of its
Members has been sentenced to a term of imprisonment for forgery,
and the keeper of one of the most notoriously disreputable taverns
in Melbourne has entered it, being chosen for an important district
in preference to an opponent who is an old colonist, an educated
gentleman, and a man of unquestionable ability and integrity.
One does not, however, hear in Sydney of the wholesale corruption,
the taking of palpable 10_l._ notes, universally attributed to
several legislators of the sister colony. The present Ministry of Mr.
Martin and Mr. Parkes, in spite of some recent failures in finance,
is generally described by reliable people as about the best since
the existing Constitution came into force; and as the Opposition
is weak, and contains few, if any, men of ability, the Government
can do things pretty much in its own way. But other Administrations
have been less powerful, and when they felt themselves tottering
have, in order to prolong their lease of office a little longer,
been sometimes by no means fastidious in the means they employed to
obtain support. Different people were to be conciliated in different
ways, and one of the results was the creation of a certain number of
_Windmill Magistrates_. Lest the term _Windmill Magistrate_ should be
unintelligible to those who are not fully initiated into the mysteries
of colonial democracy, perhaps I should explain that there have been
persons aspiring, and not always in vain, to the honour of being
magistrates, whose early education was not very comprehensive, and who,
not being able to sign their names, were in the habit of affixing their
mark x instead. The supposed resemblance of this mark to the sails of a
windmill suggested the term.
Whatever be the cause or causes, the Legislative Assembly certainly
is not held in much respect. It is in vain that its members strive
to assert their importance by voting themselves free passes on the
railways and a Members’ Stand at the races. The leading Sydney paper,
‘The Sydney Morning Herald,’ has been publishing a series of articles,
appearing two or three times a week, entitled ‘The Collective Wisdom
of New South Wales,’ in which all the bad grammar, bad language, and
extravagant and unbecoming behaviour of the Members, not mentioned
in the reports of the debates, are chronicled and commented on. The
following observations are from a leading article (not from one of the
series I have alluded to) in the same paper,[12] which is as temperate
and well conducted as any in Australia:—
‘The specimens we have had of ribaldry and vituperation are,
unhappily, too familiar with the Assembly, and even these hardly
represent what is heard within the precincts of the Houses. We say,
and with much regret, that there are members pretending to political
leadership whose language would be a disgrace to a stable; who, when
excited by drink or passion, pour out a stream of invective which
is not merely blasphemous, but filthy. They have no hesitation to
couple the names of persons with whom they have had more or less
friendly intercourse, according as the changes of private interest or
political sentiment may permit.... We believe that such language is
rarely heard in British society of the present day. That it lingers
in some parts of New South Wales is to be traced to causes which we
shall not describe more specially, but which will, we hope, some
day disappear. It is unfortunate when men who have been taught from
their early youth to express themselves in a strain which becomes
too natural by indulgence are in a position to propagate their
example.... We can produce proofs to establish every syllable we
say, namely, that the conspicuous men in the House, with one or two
exceptions, have been for the last seven years accustomed to speak
of each other in such terms as gentlemen never apply, and excepting
under the power of that mighty principle which conquers resentment,
which gentlemen never forgive.’
Here is an extract from a debate in the Sydney Legislative
Assembly:—[13]
‘_Mr. M._ said that he only knew of one minister who ever attempted
to make political capital out of religious differences.
‘_An Hon. Member._—Who?
‘_Mr. M._—The Colonial Secretary.
‘_An Hon. Member._—“Shut up!”
‘_Voices._—“Boots,” “laughing jackass,” and other remarks, the
application of which could only be seen by persons actually present,
and the import of which it is hardly worth while to explain.
‘_An Hon. Member._—“How’s your nose?”
‘_Mr. M._—Sir, I am sober; I hope you are.
‘_An Hon. Member._—“Who?”
‘_Mr. M._—Is the hon. member addressing me or addressing the chair?
‘_Mr. F._—The hon. member is addressing the “jackass.”
‘_An Hon. Member._—Is that the “jackass?”
‘_Mr. M._—I have been told that there are liars and blackguards in
this House, and I believe there are one or two.
‘_Mr. P._—I can see one now.
‘_Mr. F._—I move that the words be taken down.
‘The words having been taken down by the clerk, and handed to the
Chairman,
‘_Mr. G._ read—“I see one now.” (Great laughter.)
‘_Mr. F._.—I have no hesitation in saying that the hon. member meant
to say, and I do not think the hon. member is coward enough to deny—
‘_Mr. P._.—Does the hon. member accuse me of cowardice? Let him come
outside and do it.
‘_Mr. L._—The hon. member does not accuse you of cowardice.
‘_Mr. P._—I know what he means. Let him come outside and say it.
‘_Mr. H._ called attention to the presence of strangers in the House,
and the reporters were again directed to withdraw.
‘Up to our going to press, the House continued to sit with closed
doors.’
As I write, the following account of a debate in the House, telegraphed
to the Melbourne papers, is brought in:—
‘The Opposition prevented a single item of the Estimates passing last
night. During the debate a disgraceful scene took place. Mr. Forster
insinuated that the Premier began his public career with perjury.
Mr. Martin (the Premier) called Mr. Forster a liar and a blackguard
repeatedly. The galleries were cleared, and the disorder lasted for
two hours. Mr. Martin’s words were taken down, but the Government
members carried the previous question. Mr. Martin then apologized.’
Nor do members always confine their abusive language to each other. It
sometimes happens that they bring charges against persons outside the
House which those persons have no opportunity of answering, and for
which, if false and libellous, no legal redress can be obtained, as
the speakers are protected by privilege of Parliament. One of the very
best and most valuable institutions of Sydney is the Grammar-school.
Unfortunately there have been disputes about its management, and it has
its enemies. One day a member rose in the House and charged one of the
masters with habitually using expressions of the grossest blasphemy.
The accused demanded of the School trustees an investigation. It was
held. The charge broke down completely, being supported solely by the
evidence of another master who in cross-examination was compelled to
confess himself guilty of a string of deliberate falsehoods. Yet no
retractation was made, no apology offered.
This state of things is not cheering. Men of by no means conservative
or retrograde instincts will tell you sadly that it was not always so,
that sixteen or seventeen years ago, in the days of mixed government,
not only was the colony better governed, but it was in many respects in
a sounder and healthier condition generally. The wealthy were not so
wealthy, but neither were the poor so poor. There was work for all who
wanted it, and at high wages. Now there is not a little pauperism and
distress. Immigration was steadily increasing then; now it has almost
ceased.
What is the cause? It is always dangerous to attempt to couple cause
and effect in political matters, especially when events are so nearly
contemporary. But there can be no doubt that the discovery of gold,
if it has conferred wealth and brought advantages, has also brought
serious temporary disadvantages which have not yet passed away.
It would be hard to strike a balance between them. The population
was greatly increased. But the whole framework of industry was
put out of gear, and has hardly yet recovered the shock; and the
stream of immigration was not, as in Victoria, so great as to give
an entirely new character to the colony and its population, and to
build the framework afresh. It gave, too, a sudden and undue impulse
to extreme democratic tendencies; and I think that the majority of
well-informed men look upon the extreme democratic character of the
existing constitution as amongst the principal causes of much of the
misgovernment and corruption that exist. There are indeed few who ever
say so publicly, and withstand Demos to his face; but at least one
man, long the foremost champion of the anti-bureaucratic or popular
party, to whom that party, in the days when they had real grievances
to complain of, owed more than to anyone, has not shrunk from saying
openly what he thinks or from deploring publicly the evil results of
universal suffrage in the colony.[14]