Picturesque Parish, thankless-hearted Parish, Holding a pippin big as a pine-apple, Came up upon the fourth to judge and vote. Fronting the dawn he moved; his Sunday smock Draping his shoulders, and his sun-burnt hair Clustered about his forehead, freshly oiled; And his cheek brighten'd as a cheek will brighten After brisk towel friction; and my heart Misgave me as to what might be his game.
He smiled, and opening out his horny palm, Showed me the fruit of long, fierce party fight, The Power-Pippin, and what time I look'd, And listen'd, his full-flowing river of speech Came heavy on my heart. "Wha' cheer old 'Ooman! Old frump o' the Old Times as fules ca'd good, Just twig this fruit! It's gotten to be given 'To the most fit.' At present thof, 'tis mine, And I'll consider ere I pairt wi' un!" And added "This wur cast upon the board By Fowler when the full-faced M.P. lot Ranged in the Halls of Stephen; wheerupon Rose row, with question unto whom 'twere due; But artful 'Enery quickly settled that, Delivering this to me by t' common voice Selected oompire. Passon cooms to-day, Varmer, an' Grocer-chap, demanding each This fruit as 'fittest.' Ho! ho! ho!—to Me!!! Ne'er thought to see sic spoort till Latter Lammas! Squoire will look on as red as any fox, An' as fur Passon's missus,—grutherem-grouts! Wunt she fume foinely? Ye'd best stand asoide; Hide your old-farrant face behind yon ellum, Hear all, and see your Parish judge the nobs!"
'Twas as he said. To woo his voice they came, Humble they came to that smooth rustic sward, And at their feet the daisies seemed to droop At the un-English, strange, new-fangledness Of such a notion as for Church, and Land, And Trade to "tuck their tuppennies in" to—what? This rustic Parish, once their humble slave Now their authoritative arbiter, And chuckling critic. Fools to Parish make Proffer of plenteous power, ample rule Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue Wherewith to embellish village state and make The rustic home a rural paradise. What tommy-rot it is! So "Passon" says (In sleeker language, be it understood), But offers him fair creeds and catechisms. And nice long sermons, and benevolent doles; Tendance in sickness, help at marriage-time, A "gentlemanly presence," crowning boon!— At church a happy place—in the free seats, Behind the pillar, with undying bliss In knowledge of True-Blue Supremacy.
He ceased, and Parish held the costly fruit More closely cuddled. "Varmer" next spake out. "You know me, Hodge: I woo you not with gifts. Long generations have not altered me, And Parish Meetings shall not. Trust your boss, They're bosh, lad! Judge thou me by what I am, And you will find me fittest. But allow Those dashed Rad agitators to upset Our old relations, fill your mind with fudge Concerning healthier homes and higher wage. And it's all up with England, Me—and You! Tip me the Pippin!" Parish cocked a snook, And held the apple tighter. As for him, The sleek mild grocer, Parish shut him up Almost 'ere he had spoken. "I promise thee A good cheap article and lots of tick——" But Parish said, "Talk not to me of tick! I shall not need 'un wi my whacking wage, And 'overflowing revenue'; new cottage, Allotment patch, three acres and a coo, And a' the rest o' 't. As for this here Pippin, I've grupped at last, 'tis mine, an' I dunno As I won't have first bite at 'un mysel'!"
He spoke and laughed. I shut my eyes in fear, But when I look'd, Parish had raised his hand. And I beheld the Parson's angry eyes, The Farmer's furious glance, and, weazel-like, The glittering of the Grocer-man's amaze.
"THE JUDGMENT OF 'PARISH.'"
Hodge (meditatively). "Grocer-Chap, Passon, and Varmer, each on 'em wantin' th' Apple. Well,—I dunno as I won't have a Bite at it Myself!"