POETRY.

HODGE IN THE SADDLE.

I DON'T know of a lot o' things, thare's sum as thinks me slow :

Poke torks so fast o' fifty things; I torks o' wot I know : Of Squoire, an' rabbuts,—drat 'em all, thare's thousands in the wood : W'en Squoire ware 'ere, 'e kep"em down : that Lunnon gent's no good.

Well, well, we've got our Council now ; I cum out at the top, An' Parson bottom : luk'd, 'e did, as summut choked 'is crop : Yet, "Jim," sez 'e, "yer 'ave fro' me congratterlashnns true ; " "Thanks, Sur," sez I, "is my reply, an' ere's the same to yon."

We gets to work at wrince ; we puts 'im (Parson) in the Cheer ; Sez 'e, " Yer'll pleese to keep yer seets ; an', wot I tells yer, hear; W'en I sez, Gee, then yer go on, an' stops w'en I sez, Wo ! An' wun at wunce, my frends, an' then yer'll see this coach 'till go."

"Now, Jim, yer first. Wot is't yer want, earth, water, air, or sky P

Ye're masters now." I 'em'd a bit.—" We wonts 'em all," sez L "God bless my soul," sez 'e, and Lawyer Jones, 'e w'istled, W-h-ew !

An' farmers' hands in poekits went, whare farmers' handses du.

‘' Well then," sez I, "my pump is mug, as Mister Gibbins knows, An' heveiy wun in Shutlanger as 'as but 'arf a nose.

That water's downrite pizon, Sure, an' as bin many a yeer ; An' mebbee that's the ray son why I've drunk so much o' beer."

An' so—then Gibbins 'e cut in, but Parson wudn't let 'im ; An' they'd a reglar wrastlin' bout, but Parson soon upset 'im ; For Parson, tho' in pulpit 'e do bid us to be meek, Yet in the Cheer, I'll say this for 'in, 'e won't stand any cheek "So friends," sez e', "this pump o' Jim's a noo-sence ; and we've power, Eh, Gibbins P" Gibbins giv' a Ink, as the' is beer wos sour ; But nodded ; then sez Parson, "Jim, we'll see yer pump is mended."

"Thanks, Sur," sez I, "it's tuk me nigh five yer to get that ended."

" Wot next P" sez 'e. I tuk a breth. Then Willum, 'e struck in. Jest like 'is fayther, Sara, is Will, as cares for nun a pin ! But w'ile old Willnm calls yer flat a fool, an' never shrinks it, Yung Willnm's bin to a Bord Scool, an' only shows 'e thinks it.

"We wonts the land," sez 'e, "our land." Oh! blazes, thay luk'd blue !

An' Mister lawyer Jones agen 'e saftly wistled, W-h-ew.

An' Gibbins sez, " Par-aps yer'd like the home-field on my farm, I've seen yer squintin' over th' hedge." Sez I," We means no 'arm : It's got to cum : yer've too much land : we dunnot wont it all : Yer'llollers 'ave the biggist slice : we'll 'ave to take the small : An', Sur," sez I, an' turns my eye on Gibbins, "I be shure W'en pump an' well 'aye bin cleened out, we'll 'ave sum fine manure." Pur-suasive-like. Then farmer A lnk'd sly at farmer B, An' sez, "'e thinks that field 'o his is jest the thing for we : An' farmer B, 'e giv't 'im back, jest like two dogs at play, "The parish-eye ware sweet," 'e sed, "on a close o' farmer A.'

An' then thay larfed to bust thare sides. Thay cudn't hunder. stand—

If we but knew! as farmers du, 'ow rooinus wos land! "Wont land," sez thay, "as closet pay !" "Wont land that all these yeers 'As brort us nowt," sez Mister Stout, "but starvin' an' hareers Then lawyer rose : 'twas dark before, 'e made it darker still : Ole Nick ain't darker w'en 'e likes, than lawyers w'en thay will : Thay shows yer things as isn't 'is, an' them as 'is can't be, 'Cos of "Victoria this or that," and Hada w'ich don't hagree.

An' then thay splits a 'air in parts, an' each wun part in two : Thay're wuss nor Parson by a deel to tell wot not to du : As if yer ask'd yer way o' wun purfessing for to know, Hoo tell'd yer each o' fifty turns by w'ich yer not to go.

An' then, thay're all for them as 'ave, an' not for us poor sinners;

An' saints is thay as hevery day gets regolar thare dinners An' thay as wants another's goods is theeves, or close adjining-

Ole Gibbins' weasully face at this grew habsolntely shining.

An' all ware wind. An' e sot down, an' Gibbins drumm'd the tabel, An' all on 'em sed "Hear, 'ear, 'ear," as 'ard as thay ware abel: As w'en a 'en 'as laid a hegg, an' all the 'ens is oinking, An' cock, he crows a purtish bit as if the wurld wos baking.

An' still thay torked ;—it cum to this, thare's wun field in the village, "The devil's dustbin," so we call 't, unfit for grass or tillage; An' we may 'ave it, Will an' I, an' it a mile away ; A rottin' nasty lane leeds to 't, wi' ruts knee-deep in clay.

An' then thay rote it in a buk, an' Parson sined it hnnder ; An' Will 'e sed a wurd at last as made 'em all to wunder. "Sit down !" sez I, an' w'isper'd, "think o' Job an' is relashuns, As got 'is own agen, an' more, an' hall by 'aving pashuns ! "

Then Parson cums ; sez 'e, "My lads, if both yer two is Yer'll take my glebe, six hacres good, its cheap at thirty shim': Yer pay the rates." Sea William, " Dan !" An' I, purliter, "Dun, Sur !"

An' that's a true haccount of 'ow our Council 'ere begun, Sur.

An' Parson's bin our frend—as Sal, she oilers sed 'e wad be— An' them as seemed our frends 'as bin no better than thay shnd be : An' p'raps I'll take a turn at Church, now Church an' glebe is 'andy : An' I don't know where taturs grow if not in soil that's sandy.

• Now Will an' I 'ave ta'en the pledge, an' meens to take to savin' ; That is, I meens : Will taps 'is 'edd : pur-aps 'e thinks I'm ravin But as 'e dos% 'is Will goes by. Sez 'e, "Cum 'ere, my sonnie Don't be a fool as fayther's bin, but Ink yer—Save yer money!"

B.