Propositions and Prepositions.

A railway is rather a preposition than a proposition for, according to the book of Webster, a preposition “is put before another to express relation, quality, action, etc.” As a matter of fact the railway train is “put before another,” and all others becauseuthere is nothing else on wheels that can catch it. It “expresses relation” because it is the chief relation between town and country, town and city, town and town, and man and man; it is man's closest relation because he bore it and nurtured it and trained it. It does not express “quality and action,” for it is quality and action. It is the action of quality, the

“A run up the main trunk.”

page 51 quality of action, and the sublimity of traction. Without the railway the land would be a bare garden. The railway is the “tie that binds.” What would New Zealand be without a tie? For, nowadays, without a tie one is practically nude, and without the railway New Zealand would be denuded and deluded. While the rail rails there will be reaping and railing, and the land of the free will be fertilised with free fertiliser; the farmer will rail his railings and his pailings, and the merchant will shake out his balance-sheet and scud before the wind of fortune. The traveller will not travail nor wail, but will bless the bliss of the kiss of spring—seats. “Seats for all and all for seats, and call for eats,” will continue to echo in the land. “For eats are eats and wets are wets, and ever the twain shall meet,” is admirably applicable to our railways.

My heart goes out to the residents of the Sahara, the Great Wall of China, and the dreaded Gobi, where no trains go by—except camel-trains, which are humped and often go dry. On the Great Wall of China the Chinks are chinkless because they have no coin to chink, simply because the march of progress has not reached them in the “permanent way.”

But New Zealand, too, without rails would be derailed and bewailed. Let us imagine our isolated isles bereft of the link that binds and all that. In modern blank verse, which is more blank than verse, the situation would be not unlike the cry of an anguished sandwich which has failed to land the mustard. Thus:

Despatching The “Goods” On The Railway

Not a train! Oh, my brain
Whirls in pain. Am I sane?
Everywhere, I'm aware.
If I dare, to compare,
Tangled growth—oh, my oath!
It is stiff—that is if.
What I see, is the key,
To the me, that is ME.
All the land—it is banned,
Undermanned, understand!
Quick, a beer! do you hear?
I will swoon, mighty soon.
All is black, like a sack
Full of soot—shake a foot!
All is dead—oh, my head!
Not a toot, nor a hoot,
Not a scoot—and to boot
There's a chill, on the hill,
And a hush, in the bush—
Dead as mush, not a rush,
To the farm—keep me calm!!
All is dead, in my head,
Or instead, I am lead,
Full of pain—not a train—
What again! Am I sane?
Where's the rail? What a tale!
I am pale—quick, regale
Me with sack, for alack
We are back to the pack,
And we're stiff—that is, if–
Half a jiff! That's a whiff
Of a train—I am sane,
Son of Cain—it's a train!

That, dear reader, is an ejaculatory ejaculation of the emotions of one bereft of locomotions whose loco emotions have been stirred to motion—and aren't we all?