WHATEVER, my wife may think about my public meeting, and whatever I may
feel about it myself, one thing is quite certain--that it has left
Mudford a very different village from what it found it. When I
commenced my great efforts in the cause of citizenship there was apathy
and ignorance amongst the "idiots"--as my friend Miss PHIL. BURTT
insists on calling the villagers. Things travel quickly nowadays, and
at the present moment we are all ablaze with the excitement of
electioneering.
I ought to say at once that I have taken as yet no steps in my own
candidature. I feel that, after the part I have played in the great
Drama of Village Home Rule, the next move ought to come from a grateful
and appreciative peasantry. In point of fact, I have been expecting
every day, every hour almost, a deputation to ask me to allow myself to
be put in nomination--I fancy that's the correct phrase. So far the
deputations have been as conspicuous by their absence _since_ the
meeting as they were annoying by their frequency _before_. Another
curious fact I have noticed in this. We are to have a Parish Council of
seven. Thus far I have heard of _exactly seven candidates and no more_.
This means that when I am nominated, as I shall be, of course, by all
sections of the community (for I feel in my inward heart that it will
be "all right on the night"), there will be only _one_ candidate too
many. Who will be the unsuccessful one? I wonder!
Of the seven candidates, I should first mention Mrs. LETHAM HAVITT and
Mrs. ARBLE MARCH. Both of these ladies have started a vigorous
campaign, and--_mirabile dictu!_ (it makes one feel so literary to
introduce every now and again a tag of Latin)--are running amicably
together. At a Parliamentary election it's a case of war to the knife,
but now the lion lies down with the lamb; not that, for one single
instant, would I insinuate that either is a lion, or, for the matter of
that, a lamb. I should be ashamed to be so familiar. Mrs. HAVITT'S
placards are everywhere on the walls. The effect of contrasts is at
times surprising. For instance--
USE BANANA SOAP
LETHAM HAVITT
FOR THE PARISH COUNCIL.
Mrs. ARBLE MARCH is no less enterprising, and has purple appeals to you
to vote for "the March of Progress," and "the March of Ideas." It may
be very funny, but I have no patience with making a joke of such a
serious matter. No one, at any rate, can ever accuse me of being
intentionally funny.
It is announced from the Hall that the Squire has very kindly consented
to stand; the Vicar follows his neighbour's example, and will no doubt
be returned, if for nothing else, as a compliment to his two charming
daughters. (I think I must ask them to canvass for me when I come out.
My wife declares _she_ won't, and that she won't let my girls either.)
That makes four candidates. The other three are BLACK BOB and two of
his mates, who are claiming support as the "People's Three."
And now comes, perhaps, the most extraordinary thing of all--their
programme! I find that it is full of the most (so-called) advanced
ideas, but that the plank which seems to be the most attractive is
"Free Trout-fishing!" I confess I could hardly believe my own eyes when
I read it. In the first place, it seemed so farcical. In the second
place, the only trout-fishing in the neighbourhood happens to _belong_
to ME! What's more, I don't see any way out of the difficulty. I met
BLACK BOB a day or two ago and asked him how he ever got such an absurd
notion into his head that the Parish Council had anything to do with
trout-fishing. "It's all right, Mr. WINKINS," said he, "just remember
what Section 8 says." I said nothing at the time, because I thought as
a fact that that section referred to Boards of Guardians. When I looked
at the Act, sure enough I read, as being one of the powers possessed by
the Parish Council--
"(_e_) _To utilise any_ well, spring, or _stream within their
parish_"....
I read no more. I had read enough. How any Parliament can ever have
dared to insert such a monstrous section I cannot understand. But there
it is. "Free trout-fishing!" Well--there ought to be someone on the
Parish Council to defend the rights of property. I shall be the man.
Next Tuesday the Parish Meeting in the Voluntary Schoolroom at 7.30. It
cannot fail to be an eventful night.
* * * * *
Room-attics.
["Madame PATTI caught cold in a damp artist's room."
--_Weekly Paper._]
O MOIST, unpleasant artist, you were surely overbold
When your rheum--(corrected spelling)--gave our nightingale a cold.
When thermometers are falling you'll discover to your cost
That a singer who has started damp is bound to be a "frost."
* * * * *
NOT A GOOD NAME.--It came out in the HARDING-COX divorce suit that
"MCNAB" was the Scotch equivalent in hotel visitors' books for "SMITH"
or "JONES." It may be equivalent, but it isn't good for "MCNAB"; as
where SMITH and JONES might get off, the Scotchman would be "McNabb'd."
* * * * *