Part 34 (1/2)

Mister Ginnins;

I a red thic ballet o' yourn called f.a.n.n.y Fear, an, zim ta I, there's naw moril to it. Nif zaw be you da thenk zo well o't, I'll gee one.

I dwont want to frunt any ov the gennelmen o' tha country, bit I always a thawt it desperd odd, that dogs should be keept in a kannel, and keept a hungered too, zaw that tha mid be moor eager to hunt thic poor little theng called a hare. I dwon' naw, bit I da thenk, nif I war a gennelman, that I'd vine better spoort than huntin; bezides, zim ta I 'tis desperd wicked to hunt animals vor one's spoort. Now, jitch a horrid blanscue as what happened at Shapick, niver could a bin but vor tha hungry houns. I haup that gennelmen ool thenk o't oten; an when tha da hire tha yell o' tha houns tha'll not vorgit f.a.n.n.y Fear; a-ma-be tha mid be zummet tha wiser an better vor't; I'm shower jitch a storry desarves ta be remimbered. This is the moril.

I am, sur, your sarvant,

TEDDY BAND.

THE CHURCHWARDEN.

Upon a time, naw matter whaur, Jitch plazen there be many a scaur In Zummerzet's girt gorden; (Ive hir'd 'twar handy ta tha zea, Not vur vrom whaur tha zantots be) There liv'd a young churchwarden.

A zim'd delighted when put in.

An zaw a thawt a ood begin Ta do hiz office duly: Bit zum o'm, girt vawk in ther wa-- Tha _Porish_ o'ten called,--a girt bell sheep Or two that lead the rest an quiet keep-- Put vooath ther hons iz coose to sta, Which made en quite unruly.

A went, of coose, ta Visitation Ta be sworn in;--an than 'twar nation Hord that a man his power should doubt,-- An moor--ta try ta turn en out!

”Naw, Naw!” exclaim'd our young churchwarden, I dwon't care vor ye all a copper varden!”

Tha church war durty.--Wevets here Hang'd danglin vrom tha ruf; an there Tha plaisterin shaw'd a crazy wall;

Tha altar-piece war dim and dowsty too, That Peter's maricle tha scase cood view.

Tha Ten Commandments nawbody cood rade; [Footnote: Read]

Tha Lord's Prayer ad nuthin in't bit ”Brade;” [Footnote: Bread]

Nor had tha Creed A lain or letter parfit, grate or small.

'Twar time vor zum one ta renew 'em all.

I've tawld o' wevets--zum o'm odd enow; Tha look'd tha colour of a dork dun cow, An like a skin war stratched across tha corners; Tha knitters o' tha porish tak'd o knittin Stocking wi' 'em!--Bit aw, how unbevittin All tak like this!--aw fie, tha wicked scorners!

Ta work went tha Churchwarden; wevets tummel'd Down by tha bushel, an tha pride o' dowst war hummel'd.

Tha walls once moor look'd bright.

Tha Painter, f.a.gs, a war a Plummer An Glazier too, Put vooath his powers, (His workin made naw little sc.u.mmer!) In zentences, in flourishes, and flowers.

Tha chancel, church and all look'd new, An war well suited to avoord delight.

Tha Ten Commandments glitter'd wi' tha vornish; Compleat now, tha Lord's Prayer, what cood tornish.

As vor tha Creed 'twar made bran new Vrom top ta bottom; I tell ye true!

Tha altar piece wi' Peter war now naw libel Upon tha church, Which booath athin an, tower an all, athout Look'd like a well-dressed maid in pride about; Tha walls rejaic'd wi' texts took vrom tha Bible.

Bit vor all that, tha left en in tha lurch; I bag your pardon.

I mean, of all tha expense tha ood'n pa a varden.

Jitch zweepin, birs.h.i.+n, paintin, scrubbin; Tha tuts ad niver jitch a drubbin; Jitch white-was.h.i.+n and jitch brought gwain A power of money--Tha Painter's bill Made of itzel a pirty pill, Ta zwell which all o'm tried in vain!

Ther stomicks turn'd, ther drawts were norry; [Footnote: Narrow]

Jitch gillded pills tha cood'n corry.

An when our young churchwarden ax'd em why, Tha laugh'd at en, an zed, ther drawts war dry.

Tha keeper o' tha church war wrong; (Churchwarden still the burden o' my zong) A should at vust A call'd a Vestry: vor 'tis hord ta trust To Porish generasity; an zaw A voun it: I dwon' knaw