Up to September the 25th, accordingly, I extolled the eggs of the country and lived my simple, unpretending life. On that day I read an article in the paper on the Parish Councils Act. I read that now for the first time the people in the villages would taste the sweets of local self-government. The change from fresh eggs struck my fancy, up to that time singularly dormant. I read on, dashing all unknowing to my fate. "It is the duty," I saw, "of every man of education, experience, and leisure in the village who has the welfare of his country at heart to study the Act, and to make it his business that his fellow-parishioners shall know what the Act does, and how the greatest advantage can be obtained from its working." Then my evil genius prompted me to undertake the task myself. I was educated—did I not get a poll degree at Cambridge, approved even by Mr. Charles Whibley as a test of culture? I had experience—had I not shone as a financial light in the City for full twenty years? I had leisure—for had I anything in the world to do? Obviously the occasion had come, and I—yes I—was the man to rise to it.
I bought twenty-nine works dealing with the Act. I studied them diligently section by section, clause by clause, line by line. I referred to all the Acts mentioned. I investigated all the Acts repealed. At the end of it all I felt like a collection of conundrums. But I was not to be denied. One evening, as I was walking through the village, I met Robert Hedger, "Black Bob," as he is always called. He is a farm hand, and for some reason looked upon as a leader of men in the village. I saw my chance, and promptly took it.
"Good evening, Bob," I said. "I've been wanting to have a bit of a talk with you about this Parish Councils Act."
"Well, Sir, and what about that?" Of course he spoke in dialect, but the dialect dialogues are almost played out, so I translate into quite ordinary English. It's easier to understand, and quite as interesting.
"What about it?" said I, with well-simulated surprise. Then I launched into a glowing account of what it would effect. I waxed poetic. The agricultural labourer would come home at night from his work proud in the consciousness of being a citizen. He would breathe a different air; the very fire in his cottage would burn brighter because a Parish Council had been established in his midst. I finished (it was a distinct anticlimax) by saying that I had been carefully studying the Act.
Two days later Black Bob and two of his mates called at my house—a deputation to ask me to speak at a meeting, to explain the Act. I pleaded modesty, and, saying I would ne'er consent, consented. It was a vain thing to have done, and the effects have been startling. But that meeting must have a chapter to itself.
ROBERT'S SOLLEM ADWISE.
I carnt on airth think what is the matter with me lately. I seems to have lost all my good sperrits, and am as quiet and as mopish as if I was out of a sitiation, which in course I am not, and am not at all likely to be. My wife bothers me by constent inquiries about the comin change on the 9th, but she ort to no, as I noes, that the cumming new Lord Mare is jest the same good, kind, afabel Gent as the noble Gent as is a going afore him, and who ewery body loved and respected, and who allers showed me ewery posserbel kindness. I aint not at all sure as them wunderful Gents as calls theirselves County Countsellers, and is allers a throwing their ill-natured jeers at the grand old Citty, hasn't sumthink to do with it. I'm told as they has acshally ordered one of our most poplar Theaters to be shut up, becoz the acters and actresses is so werry atracktive that they draws a wunderful contrast between them and the sollem Gents as is allers a interfeering in some way or other where they are least wanted.
One of their most wunderful and most conceeted fads is a longing desire to have charge of our nobel Citty Perlice, which, as ewery body knos, is the pride of the hole Metrolypus.