12 MAY 1894, Page 15

POETRY.

HODGE ; OR, THE PRIDE OF THE LAND.

CAW, caw, caw! D'ye know what 'a means up there ? He's oilers a-cawin' up yonder to us as 'as work down 'ere. An' wen yer a-saw, saw, sawin' all day in a bevrtiful pit, Yer doan't want bewtifal crows up there to mind yer, a cawin' of it.

Ten hours down 'ere standin', an' throte wi' the dust all dry ! An' I wish as those same tee-total foke wad saw in a pit an' try, An' th' land there callin' for labor, an' smelling so sweet wi' Spring, An' if I'd a few good hacres on't, I wudn't henvy a king.

But money ! It's 'ow to get money ? We torks on it hevery day, On a pot an' a pipe at the Checkers, but nun on it cams our way; We'se gotten our Parish Councils, but, bless yer, I sez to my mates: 'Councils doan't giv' yer money, more likely hadd to yer rates."

_Parson sez : Du it by savin' ! An' ow long time all it be ? Roke doan't live so long as they did in days of Methusalee. Then yer mite start at "ninety," an' soon 'ave money in purse; But "fifty" now is Room-attics, an' luck if it isn't worse !

Nothin' to say agin savinl I wunce stopped beer for a week : An' farmer, 'e giv' me notiss, I got that terribul weak ; An' wance I giv'd up baccy, but that didn't du nohow : 'Tak to letherin' Sally ; she's glad as I'm smoakin' now.

An' ow did yer make your money, Sur ? Time was as them five-pun notes Went fiyin' about at Elecshuns, wen gemmen wanted yer votes; Just for a lark they fought it, as didn't like to be beat : For 'o coorse wen old Sir Harry died, it ware yang Sir Harry's seat.

That ware the time to warm yer. They calls it bribury now ; Two o' them grand Elecshuns 'ad start me fair wi' a cow ; An' I say it's a grate mis-teary, a thing as noboddy knows, "Ow money goes after money, as water to water flows.

Blieve, it's all luck, or summat ! If wunce yer git to the top, Thare yer are (yer've plenty, ye're jolly), and thare yer stop ; But sum pigs fattens on rasping, an' others on cake is lean ; And some Jacks climes up a beanstork, I wish I cud find that bean.

'Think, Sur, thay'd lend us money ? Thare's ollers the land behind,

An' if as we cudn't pay it, thay'd 'ave it minted in kind.

Or make us all jint-stok-pardners P An' if we 'adn't to pay, .Jim mite go to prizzun—a brute as is well away.

Land doan't flit like foke do. An', 0! but it's ill to see Cottiges once so cheerful-like, 'ow empty an' waste thay be ! Doan% see smoke a-curlin' from wan' o' them roofs no more ; Doan% see bonny lasses a smilin' about the door.

All on 'em gone ! None wants 'em. Thay're off in a jiff to Town: :Sum on 'em thare goes uppards, but more on 'ern far goes down: Torks o' thare grand The-ayters, an' sights, an' vittuls, an' grog : But thay sleeps in a wun-roomed kennel, Sur, I wudn't giv' to a dog.

'Call that a man, John Tummas ? W'en old John wunce liv'd 'ere, Thare worn% a man cud tutch 'im, or carry 'is like o' beer : But yang John born in Lannon, 'e isn't a man, I say, Bat just a 'edd of a turnup atop o' two wisps o' hay : All to brains, no beddy ! An' ark to 'im ! Thare 'e goes

• Grabbin' away like a clapper or rattle as fritens crows : A' beets Schoolmaster in figgers ; a' teeches Perliceman law ; An' a' wanted to teech me sawin', as never 'andled a saw. _

Old John, 'e ware a good ma! An' then, Sur, luk at the land, Cover'd that thik wi' charlock ! an' farmin' cum to a stand! Wants more 'ands to work it, or 'ands as 'till work more time: Giv' me land at a fair rent, I'll make it hansur prime.

Pigs still pays—an' bless 'em ! Thare's money in fouls an' heggs : Bees is an orkerd ereetor, as gets up yer harms an' legs : But a cow'll giv' milk to the childern; they're wite as a tatur skinn'd: An' Sal 'as the porporations ; * that tea-slop tarns to wind.

Then, can't yer get us the money ? The country, we knows, is rich; Tory, or Wig, or Liberral—we ain't pertickle.er w'ich : An' I've bin but a drunken feller as never 'ad money in 'and: Bat I'll save, an' I'll—yes! turn sober, if yer giv' me the pride o' the land.

Tork o' the pride o' wages, an' tutchin' yer 'at all round ! Pride o' follering Dobbin on smnboddy helse's ground ! No, Sur, that doan't lift yer : but, dang it, yer understand, Thare's stimmut as puts yer " bully " up, wunce get the pride o' the land.

An' now I must saw. D'ye 'ear 'im ? D'ye 'ear that dom'd old bird P Caw, caw, caw, up yonder ! I b'lieve it's 'is own-lie word. Caw, caw, cawin' in elm-tree, if ever I stops wan bit ; An' it's saw, saw, sawin' for ever wi' me i' this beest-lie pit.

B.