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in the bowels of an unhappy sucking-pig. This, however, I am somewhat inclined to doubt; but even if true, it can in no wise impeach the good order of the procession.

One circumstance, indeed of great political importance, I must not omit to mention. Disappointed, the one of his speech, the other of his boiled beef and carrots; both Dr. Breechem and David have turned radicals. They have since discovered that England is ruined, that Lord Londonderry* has got a secret plan for bringing over the Pope, changing the Protestant religion, and cutting off the heads of those who refuse to become Catholics. This they are in the habit of discussing at the Red Lion, and swallowed together with a glass of sour ale, it has a bitter effect upon the audience.

No one indeed can describe the gloom that their principles are daily shedding over the once happy village of Llangadock. A few weeks ago, a meeting was actually held on Carrick-Southey, where Dr. Breechem exhorted his congregation to stand up for reform, and was lodged in the stocks for his patriotism. From that time to the present, he

* This was written prior to the death of that accomplished Statesman.

has become an altered character. He reads Cobbett's Register; buys Hunt's breakfast powder, and has taken to running in debt, an accomplishment which he considers necessary to the completion of a genuine radical. Mistress Roderick too is not without her discomfitures. Her pride has evaporated, and she is at the mercy of the landlady of the Castle, who retails many a sly sarcasm, at which, whether bad or good, her party are sure to laugh. As for the Lieutenant he daily employs himself in practising military tactics with his stinging nettles, while David - heaves the most pathetic ululations, at having lost so good an opportunity of suffocating himself, like his ancestor Noodle-ap-doodle, with a mouthful of boiled loyalty.

To increase if possible, the discomfiture of the village, a dashing belle from the purlieus of Covent Garden, has lately taken up her residence in it. On her first arrival, (nominally to retrieve her health) she was looked up to with infinite respect. She had been, she said, to all the theatres, had associated with the genteelest company in Tottenham Court Road, and had purchased her bombazeen-gown at the Soho Bazaar. This last circumstance rivetted the respect of Dr. Breechem, who observed, that the word Bazaar, according to his friend Mr. Dapomeibomenos Polyphlosboio, was

of Eastern origin. He then proceeded to discuss the point; and in the warmth of argument, discharged a shower of such tough polysyllables at the Lieutenant, that had he not been blessed with a thick skull, the shot of one single consonant would have been enough to fracture it.

From the time of this good lady's arrival at Llangadock, I date the decay of its golden simplicity. The young village lasses are all agog for high life. They dream of nothing but bombazeens and Bazaars, Tottenham Court Road and short petticoats. Even the Lieutenant has caught the infection. He endeavours to screw his grim features into a leer of bewitching blandishment; has taken to rubbing up his regimentals, and was actually detected the other day, in inditing an “ Elegy on a Love-sick Swain." Now and then he is heard to whisper something about an old soldier's settling for life; which taken in connection with the circumstance of his growing absent and melancholy, betokens an important family change.-Such at present is the distracted policy of Llangadock. The Lieutenant is evidently in love, and so, I am afraid, is the Doctor; while from high to low, from the cottage to the hovel, nothing is heard but sighs for bombazeen-gowns and Bazaars, Tottenham Court Road and short petticoats.

Sweet little village where the women never

grow old, and the men are always handsome; where the mountains are very high, and the mutton very low; where children are dear, and coals cheap; where the milk-maids are good for love, and the toasted cheese is good for nothing; where the lawyers are so wise, that they know every one's business but their own; peace and prosperity be with you. May the cloud of discord that now overbangs your community be dispersed by the sunshine of benevolence; and friendship again brighten with her cheering smiles the little front parlour of the Red Lion. For me, I shall never more be the witness of your festivity. Old age creeps on apace, and the divine voice, that like Samuel I have heard calling on me in the dead hour of midnight, represses with its stern warning the joyous dictates of the heart. But you will rejoice in the calm sunshine of heaven, when the spring flowers are blooming upon my grave; and your daughters will still listen to the sweet echos of the village bell, as they ring above the sod that grows over me. Farewell! kind and hospitable Llangadock. Think of me as of some summer vision that hath departed : and oh! when fancy is busy with the past, should friendship heave a sigh, or the silken eye-lash of beauty rain a tear upon my grave; from the pavilion of clouds wherein it dwells, my soul shall look down and be comforted.


Of Llynn-y-Van.

And lest its terrors meet my view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true.”


Among the mountains in Wales, and especially among that stupendous chain, better known by the name of the “Black Mountains," in Carmarthenshire, there are to be found numerous pools or tarns. These are usually situated at an elevation of many hundred feet above the level of the sea, and from their desolate appearance, are graced with the most romantic legends. The pool of Llynn-yVan in particular, (which I have more fully described in my first fishing excursion) is remarkable for the wild superstitions connected with it. On a certain night, in August (I believe) the witches and spirits of the elements assemble before their night-queen, and discuss the mischiefs they have wrought since their last diabolic anniversary. These

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