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POETRY.

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POETRY. OUR VILLAGE-BY A VILLAGER. (BY TOM HOOD, 1798-1845.) Our village, that's to say, not Miss Mitford's village* but our village of Bullock Smithy, p conic into by an avenue of trees, three oak pollards, two elders, and a withy And in the middle there's agraen of about not exceed- ill" au acre and a half; It's common to all, and fed of by nineteen cows, six ponies, three horses, five asses, two foals, seven l'i&s. and a calf Joules a pond in the middle, as is held by a similar sort of common-law lease, And contains twenty clu-cks, six drakes, three ganders, two dead dogs, four drowned kittens, and twelve geese. Of course the green's cropt very close, and does famous for bowling when the little village boys play at cricket; Onlv some horse, or pig, or cow, or great jackass is sure to come and stand right before the wicket. There's fifty-five -private houses, let alone barns and workshops, and pigsties and poultry-huts, and such- like sheds; With plenty of public-houses-two Foxes, one Green Man. three Bunches of Grapes, one Crown, and six king's Heads. The Green Man is reckoned the best, as the only one that for love money can raise A postilion, a. blue-jacket, two deplorable lame white horses, and a ramshackled neat postchaise." There's one parish church for all the people, whatso- ever may be their ranks in life or their degrees, Except one very damp, small, dark, freezing-oold, little Methodist Chapel of Ease And close by the churchyard, there's a stonemason's yard. that when time is seasonable Will furnish with afflictions sore, and marble urns and chernbims very low and reasonable. There's a cage comfortable enough I've been in it with Old J itek Jeffrey and Tom l'ike; For the Creen Man nextdoor will send you in ale, gin, or anything else you like. I can't speak of the stocks, as nothing remains -of them but the upright post But the pound is kept in repairs for the sake of Cob's horse, as is always there almost. There's :L smithy of course, where that queer sort of a chap in his way, Old Joe Bradley, Perpetually hammers and stammers, for be stutters and shoes horses very badly. There's a shop of all sorts, that sells everything, kqpt bv the widow of Mr Task But when you go there, it's ten to one, she's out of everything you ask, You'll kuow her house by the swarm of boys, like flies about the old sugary cask: There are six empty houses, and not so well .papered inside as out, For bill-stickers won't beware, but sticks notices of sales and election placards all about. That' s the Doctor's with a green door, where the garden pots in the windows are seen— A weakly monthly rose, that don't blow, and a dead geranium, and a tea-plant with five black leaves I Itlid ullc,-I,eell- As for hollyoaks at the cottage doors, and honey- suckles and jasmines, you may go and whistle; But the tailor's front garden grows two cabbages, a dock. a ha. ponh of penny-royal, two dandelions, and a thistle. There are three small orchards—Mr Busbby's the schoolmaster's is the chief- With two pear trees that don't bear one plum and an apple, that every year is stripped by a thief. There's another small day school too, kept by the respectaluc Mrs Gaby, A select establishment, for six little boys and one big and four little girls and a baby; There's a rectory, with pointed gables and strange odd chimneys that never smokes, For the rector don't live on his living like other Christian sort of folks There's a barber's, once a week well-filled with black- bearded, shock-headed churls, And a window with two feminine men's-heads and two masculinc ladies in false curls. There's a butcher's, and a carpenter's and a plumber's, and a small greengrocer's, and a baker But he wont bake on a Sunday and there's a sexton that's a coal merchant besides, and an undertaker, And a toyshop, not a whole one, for a village can't compare with the London shops One window sells drums, dolls, carts, bats, Clout's balls, and the other sells malt and hops, And Mrs Brown, in domestic economy not to be a bit behind her betters, Lets her house to a milliner, a watchmaker, a rat- catcher, a cobbler, lives in it herself, and it's the pust-office for letters. Now I've gone through all the village—aye, from end to end-save and except one more house, But I haven't come to that—and I hope I never shall— and that's the village poor-house.

SMILERS.

I GENERAL NEWS.

I WELSH AND BORDER NEWS.

THE OSWESTRY PERJURY CASE.I

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THE OLD AGE PENSIONS COMMITTEE.

CEFNYBEDD "ANCIENT BRITONS.'*'I

CO-OPERATOR'S EXHIBITION AT…

.BRYN LLITHRIG STUD, SEASON…

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THE MINERS' CONFERENCE.

I-THE COLLIERS RESUME WORK.I

A CHECKWEIGHMAN DISMISSED.…

TRYDDYN ANNUAL PLOUGHING MATCH.

0 DENBIGH BOROUGH MAGISTRATES'…

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ILITERARY NOTICES & REVIEWS.

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MOLD PETTY SESSIONS.

DENBIGH SHOP ASSISTANTS'I…

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I HOUSE OF LORDS.—FRIDAY.

IHOUSE OF LORDS—MONDAY. I-…

! HOUSE OF LORD S.-T UF, SDAY.

HOUSE OF COMMONS.—WEDNESDAY.

HOPE WHISPERS.-

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