I had written thus far, when the tarnished gold letters of the Green Man seemed to be suddenly re-gilt; and on looking upwards, I perceived that a sort of sky-light had been opened in the clouds, giving entrance to a bright gleam of sunshine, which glowed with remarkable effect on a yellow post-chaise in the stable-yard, and brought the ducks out beautifully white from the black horse-pond. Tempted by the appearance of the weather, I put down my pen and strolled out for a quarter of an hour before dinner to inhale that air, without which, like the chameleon I cannot feed. On my return, I found, with some surprise, that my papers were a good deal discomposed; but, before I had time for much wonder, my landlady entered with one of her most obliging courtesies, and observed that she had seen me writing in the morning, and it had occurred to her by chance, that I might by possibility have been writing a description of the village. I told her that I had actually been engaged on that very subject. “If that is the case, of course, Sir, you would begin, no doubt, about the Green Man, being so close by; and I dare say, you would say something about the sign, and the Green Man with his top boots, and his gun, and his Indian liver-and-white pointer, though his white to be sure is turned yellow, and his liver is more than half gone.” “You are perfectly right, Mrs. Ledger,” I replied, “and in one part of the description, I think I have used almost your own very words.” “Well, that _is_ curious, Sir,” exclaimed Mrs. L., and physically, not arithmetically, casting up all her hands and eyes. “Moreover, what I mean to say, is this; and I only say that to save trouble. There’s a young man lodges at the Green Grocer’s over the way, who has writ an account of the village already to your hand. The people about the place call him the Poet, but, anyhow, he studies a good deal, and writes beautiful; and, as I said before, has made the whole village out of his own head. Now, it might save trouble, Sir, if you was to write it out, and I am sure I have a copy, that, as far as the loan goes, is at your service, Sir.” My curiosity induced me to take the offer; and as the poem really forestalled what I had to say of the Hamlet, I took my landlady’s advice and transcribed it,--and here it is. OUR VILLAGE.--BY A VILLAGER.