POETRY.

HODGE ON TRESPASS.

HOW dull the country's gettin', I bear the naybare say,

Wi' notisses at every turn, as sez, "No road this way !"

Time wos, as one who ment no harm mite go which way he would, Wi' nare a notiss in the field, or a keeper in the wood.

Oh, the fezzant is a skeary bird, particolarly the hen, But I doant see how the woods were made for fezzants not for men "An' the partridg likes a quiet field, wi' few as passes by ;" Aye, yes, he likes to 'ave 'is way, of coorse ; an' so do I.

We made the country wot it is, an' ere our 'omes 'ave been Long ere he coin to set us rite, that chap in velveteen : As, if yer walk beside a 'edge, he thinks yer've got a snare, An' yer hat wos made for fezzant's eggs, an' yer pockit for a

bare.

When Squoire lived 'ere, I loved to see 'in, wi' pointer at 'is side ; Ther' was no drives or battus then, as isn't sport but pride : Then game woe less, but sport wos more ; an' he sed as he

went by,—

" Here, Jem !" (that's me) "this rabbet take, it 'nil feed yer famully !"

But now he's gon, an' summon's cam, as we 'ardly knows 'is name,

Sum furriner wi' fronds from town, an' they say he sells 'is game ;

Leastways he 'as a spring-cart wi"iin, as to the town it goes : An' he stays 'ere for a supple o' weeks, an' nare a sowl he knows.

Now, I tell yer wot, yer Gemmen, as lives in houses grand, Yer've got the luck, yer've got the gould, an' yer're owners o' the land : But the country-side wer' made for all, God made it open, free, An"twer' rover ment to be shut up, like door wi' lock an' key. An' I 'ate to walk on pathways, an' I 'ate to live by rool, "Yer must, yer musn't, go that road," jos' like a child at school;

An' I 'ate to see the old ways stop'd, wher' oilers ways 'as been ; An' Lust of all, I 'ate 'im wnst, that chap in velveteen.

But I likes to 'ave things plezzant, an' I grudges none 'is sport, Au' I likes the good old families, as wos o' the rite old sort, As shot, an' fished, an' hunted fair, for the plezzure not the

game, An' loved the old place wher' they lived, an' knew us all by name.

But these new folk as ties things up is another bizness quite, An' a country ain't worth livin' in wher' trespass is too tite An' if the law's agen the poor, an' for them as 'as the tin, Well, I've a voat, an' if they fight, we'll see 'ones side 'ull win.

B.