The Daily News (Perth)/1897/05/27/In Memorium. Hamilton Mackinnon.

by "W.E.M."

IN MEMORIUM.

HAMILTON MACKINNON.

By "W.E.M."

Of all the words that tongue or pen can trace
'Tis sad to say—It might have been;
More sad are those we daily see,
It is—but hadn't ought to be.

I knew the deceased journalist well. Almost since the death of his dearest friend, the late Marcus Clarke, we have been intimately associated in literary and other business concerns, an intimacy which. imposes upon me the sad duty I owe my departed friend, to pen these few poor lines by way of an epitaph to his memory. Mr. Mackinnon was of Scottish birth and parentage, being the younger son of a distinguished General, an officer in the British Army, and a near relative of the late Mr. Lachlan Mackinnon, one of the proprietors of the Melbourne Argus.

Possessing a vigorous constitution and an excellent physique, he was at an early age designed for what appears to have been the hereditary profession of the Mackinnon family—that of a soldier, and with that view entered the Waterloo College, whither his two brothers had already preceded him. Those who knew him best during life will regret that destiny did not fulfil in his regard the predisposition of his family for a place on the tented field.

The late Lord Clyde (Sir Colin Campbell) under whom his brothers served in India, and where one at least found a grave at the cannon's mouth, was in after years sincerely attached to the deceased journalist. Many a time and oft has the grand old commander of the Highland Brigade recounted for the son of his old comrade the deeds of heroism performed by his brothers in the field, and mourned the misadventure—mischance, or whatever it was which drove him to the less exciting pursuit of literature—a pursuit, albeit, associated with so many of those unaccountable fatalities which, has plunged some of the most brilliant of its adherents into premature graves. Mr. Mackinnon was a gentleman of high scholastic and literary attainments,possessing many of the best traits which result from a careful education operating on a well balanced mind, yet there was a marked individuality of character perceptible utterly at variance with the traditions of the society in which he was educated and subsequently moved.

While retaining all the instincts of a gentleman, he had a Cromwellian disregard for the forms and ceremonies which dominate the "set" from which he sprang. He was a radical of radicals in politics, and his outspoken, sympathies and hatred of conventionalities won for him the esteem of such men as Lord Rosebery, Marcus Clarke, and the Victorian liberal phalanx with, whom the latter was closely identified in Victoria, and which carried the powerful Berry regime into power on the memorable 11th May 1887. Poor Clarke in his 'Future of the Australian race," considers that all vegeterians are Conservatives, and 'Red Radicals' for the most part meat-eaters, while fish-eaters are invariably moderate Whigs. I well remember Mackinnon, while seated at lunch one day at Government House with his noble friend, recounting this bit of spicy philosophy, at which. 'Lord Rosebery laughed heartily, and casting a glance at the comfortable proportions of his guest, said, with piquant emphasis, 'Let me help you to a little more fowl, Mr. Mackinnon.' As literary executor of poor Clarke, which duty the latter imposed on him before his decease, Mr. Mackinnon, was indefatigable in his exertions to give the world those genis of poesy and prose which like meteors scintillated from the brain of the gifted author of "His Natural life."

His own journalistic work embraced a large field of contributions to the Australian press, but probably no more, pathetic morsel of sincere devotion to a departed friend could be written than his masterly biography of Marcus Clarke, recently published in the "Australian Tales." A few lines will suffice. And now comes the last scene of all, and it is with a sorrowful heart I pen these lines, for memory flies back to the bright days of our early friendship, when, boys together, we never found "the longest day too long," and one whispers in mournful tone, "Ah! What might have been." But it was not to be, and I bow in silent submission to the Omnipotent will."

Of the democratic force of Mr. Mackinnon's character, no better evidence exists than his 'Ode to Liberty,' which he wrote in 1884, in commemoration of ths triumph of the Eight Hours system, and was recited with great power by Mr. Alfred Dampier in the Theatre Royal on April 21 of this year.

ODE TO LIBERTY.

As after days of weather black with low'ring' cloud,
Whose sullen gloom is only broke by thunder loud,
The sun shines forth with radiance bright,
Dispelling clouds and shedding light
On lowly worm and lordly man,
Part all of Nature's God-like plan—
So after years of Bigot's zeal and Tyrant's power,
Of Ignorance -and-Superstition's cursed dower,
Of protests vainly made by Mind-in darkest hour
Thou shinest—Heavenborn Liberty!
With noblest rays of Charity,
That gently soothe Adversity,
That pay the due to Honesty
That, bind the bonds of Unity,
Making all men manly, free,

In the future yet to be.
We, sons of Australasia's soil,
Her sons of labor and of toil,
Hail thee with Freemen's true Australian cheer,
On this our Emblem Day of all the year.

Such, was Hamilton Mackinnon as I knew him, and who, through sad misadventure, has now followed to the grave so many of his brilliant collaborators—poor Lindsay Gordon, Marcus Clarke, Kendall, and many others, whose names and memories will yet find a fitting place in the affections of the people of their adopted country, and when the history of Australian literature shall be, written as it deserves—till then

"Peace to their ashes."