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Deganwy Action in Liverpool.

Talycafn Mart Sale.


Socialism at Llandudno.


Y.M.C.A. Conference at Colwyn…

Dinglewood v. Abergele CountyI…

'Taxi-Cabs for Colwyn Bay.

IAbergele Sparks.


Abergele Sparks. I should strongly advise you not to read "Abergele Sparks this week, because the man who penned them is confined to his bed, fairly and squarely in the grip of that terrible infectious disease, the "flu." If you are infected with a dose of it after this solemn warning, you will only have yourself to blame, as the railway company say when people send crockery by goods train at owners' risk and get them smashed to smithereens. Are you already beginning to feel as if chunks of the North Pole were tumbling helter-skelter down your spine ? Yes ? Well you've caught it! Now for posal triog and mustard plasters. It won't be the fault ol the Abergele National School authorities if the local wives of the future are not immeasurably better cooks than their mothers, the majority of whom are as adept in the culinary art as were their great-great-great, grandmothers of the Stone Age. Every Monday girls from Standards V., VI., and VII. are taken to the County School, where, in a spacious and up-to-date room, they are given several hours practical lessons in good plain cooking by an expert lady cook. Hear, hear! There are thousands upon thousands of married women in this country whose knowledge of decent cooking y Z, is deplorable. Give some of them a roaring fire, and they can cremate a respectable looking red- herring into something resembling a piece of charcoal. But the Abergele housewives Of the future will be cooks, Who will put before us viands Fit for lords and earls and dukes, They'll be able to distinguish Potted shrimps from pigeon pie, And no doubt they'll grill the bacon 11 And forget th'eternal fry." They'll be busy in the morning, Shaking beds and cleaning house, And by noon they'll cook a luncheon Out of scraps, and call it scows." Yes, the housewives of the future Will entrance us with their food, And we men must call them Angels," When we catch them in that mood. But I'm wond'ring, hourly wond'ring, And I have'nt finished vet- Will the" Angel" of the future Style herself a Suffragette? Well, of two evils, I would rather have a bad cook than the best Suffragette on earth for a wife. 6s. NOVEL BOILED DOWN. Her name was Martha Matilda, and she was the only daughter of her agricultural father. She was very lonely, oh so lonely, living on her father's farm. It was a bright afternoon, the sun shining like a silver shilling. Martha Matilda was languidly humming a Welsh air, to the tune ot Mochyn Du," while feeding her father's pigs. Beastly work this, she soliloquised. "How nice it would be twisting ribbons and chiffons ;n a milliner's shop, like Mary Jane Jones." The pigs seemed of the same opinion and grunted in unison like the sound of a great Amen. Bang! Something falls from the clouds right on the back of the biggest hog in the pigstye. It was a man—an aeroplanist, in fact. Martha Matilda screamed with the power of a steamboat whistle on double tap. Heavens," exclaimed the fallen aeroplanist, where am I?" "Well," shyly answered Martha Matilda, with the corner of her coarse apron in her mouth, you have the appearance of being in my father's cwt mochyn for the time being, and your crawling pos- ition suggests that you are a pig, pro. tem." The man got up on his hind legs and said, Datling, you are the apple of my eye and the missing link in the chain of my affections. Will you be mine? Will you not say good-bye to this life of pig-feeding and fly with me to a palace where pigs are only tolerated when nicely sliced and cooked for breakfast with dry toast and but- tered muffins ? Fly with me, ducky, fly < They flew. They were happy for twelve whole months, when Mrs. Martha Matilda Balzaczola returned home, asking her father for forgiveness, and telling him that she would rather feed the pigs for ever than live with a flying Frenchman another week. She did. SEARCHLIGHT.



Socialism at Llandudno.