Chapter M

Maddle, or Maffle, C, to talk or act in a silly manner.

“O, _mafflin_ Gwordie, t’ou’s been feulish lang.”
_Graham._ Gwordie and Will.

Maizelt, or Maiz’t, C, stupified.

“We war fairly _maizel’t_ wi’ t’ cāld.”
_Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent.

“Whyte _maiz’d_ wi’ loungin’ on i’ th’ neuk.”
_Stagg._ Auld Lang Syne.

Maizlin, C, a simpleton.

“Banton lads grew parfet guffs,
An’ Thursby lasses _maizlins_.”
_Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot.

Mak, C, sort, kind.

“It taks o’ _maks_ to mak ivery mak.”
_Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard.

Māp’ment, C, imbecility; compounded of mope and ment, like manage-ment, etc.

“He toked for iver sa lang, but he toked a deal o’ _maapment_.”—_Ibid._

Mattie, C, the mark at quoits or pitch and toss. _Skifting his mattie_ is proverbially used for shifting position or changing policy or course.

Maukin, S, the hare.

“The fuddlin’ bodies nowadays
Rin _maukin_-mad i’ Bacchus’ praise.”
_Ferguson._ Caller Water.

Maunder, S and C, to think, talk, or act dreamily.

“Aw wish this wanderin’ wark were o’er,
This _maunderin_’ to and fro.”
_Edwin Waugh._ Sweetheartin’ Gate.

Meat-heàl, C, very able to eat.

“He’s beàth _meat-heàl_ an’ drink-heàl. Ther’ can’t be mickle t’ matter wid him.”—Said of a Hypochondriac.

Mell, C, meddle.

“Gangin’ frae house to house hearin’ news an’ _mellin_ e ther nebbors.”—_Mrs. Wheeler._ Dialogues.

Mell, S, a mallet; the prize that used to be given to the last in a race. “Winning the _Mell_” in any contest is figuratively equivalent to taking the wooden spoon at the Cambridge examinations for honours.

Mense, S and C, propriety, creditable behaviour.

“I’ve seàv’t beàth my meat an’ my _mense_.”
Proverb, used when proffered hospitality is declined.

Messan, S and C, a small dog of indefinite breed.

“We hounds slew the hare, quo’ the bleer’d _messan_.”
Proverb.

“A little black _messet_ danced sae like old Jenny.”
_Miss Blamire._ Sec a Durdum.

Mirk, S, dark.

“It fell about the Martinmas,
When nichts were lang an’ _mirk_.”
Old Ballad—The Wife of Usher’s Well.

Mischanter, S and C, misadventure.

“Thou’rt welcome, wean, _mischanter_ fa’ me.”
_Burns._

Mittens, S and C, gloves.

“He coft me a rokelay o’ blue,
An’ a pair o’ _mittens_ o’ green.”
_Macneil._ I lo’e ne’er a laddie but ane.
“Twee yards o’ red ribbon to wear for his seake,
Forbye ledder _mittens_ he bowte me.”
_Anderson._ First Luive.

Mowdie, S; Mowdie-warp, C, the mole.

“The _mowdie_ powler’t oot o’ the yirth,
An’ kyss’t the synger’s feet.”
_Telfer._ The Gloaming Bucht.

“An’ teeak us intil lile hooals under t’ grūnd, ameeast like _mowdie-warps_.” _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard.

Mūd, C, the past tense of must.

“He thowte ’at he _mūd_ treat ye.”
_Miss Blamire._ The Meeting.

Mutch, S, a woman’s cap.

“She aff wi’ her apron, put on a silk goon,
A _mutch_ wi’ reed ribbons, an’ cam’ awa’ doon.”
_Lady Nairne._ The Laird o’ Cockpen.

N.

Nab, C, a promontory in a lake.

“It’s o’ _nabs_ an’ neuks is Windermer’ Watter.”
Said by a Coniston Man.

Neb, S and C, nose, beak.

“Gae tak this bonnie _neb_ o’ mine,
That picks amang the corn,
An’ gi’e’t to the Duke o’ Hamilton,
To be a touting horn.”
Old Song—Robin Redbreast’s Testament.

Neàf, C, the nave of a wheel.

“T’ fells spreead oot fray a centre like t’ spooaks of a wheel fray t’ _neàf_.”—A Langdale Statesman.

Neif, or Neive, S and C, the hand, or fist.

“Sweet knight I kiss thy _neif_.”
_Shakspeare._ King Henry IV.

“What’s a gowpen o’ glaur? It’s just twa _neive_ fu’s o’ clarts!”—_Wilson._ Noctes Ambrosianæ.

Nick’t i’ t’ heid, C, non compos mentis.

“Toakin sike mafflement! Ye mun be _nick’t i’ t’ heead_.”
A Coniston landlady to a chattering guest.

No’but, C, nothing but, only.

“He’s but a simplish sooart of a body,
’At thinks there’s _no’but_ ya kind o’ shoddy.”
_W. Bowness._ Brough Hill Fair.

Nowte ’at dowe, C, nothing of ability, fit for nothing.

“In o’ her flegmagaries donn’d,
What is she?—_nowte ’at dowe_!”
_Anderson._ Betty Brown.

O.

Oomer, C, shade.

“Howay wi’ the’, an’ lig down i’ t’ _owmer_ o’ t’ trees till I’ve time ùt tak’ the’ afooar Mr. Machell.” Said by a farmer at Colton to an idle servant.

Oald-folk’s neet, C, an assembly for feasting, dancing, and card-playing, held at the rural public houses; once, probably, confined to married people, but now open to, and attended by, young and old.

P.

Paddock rud, or rid, or ridding, C, frog spawn.

“Auld Grizzy the witch, as some fwoke say,
Maks _paddock-rud_ ointment for sair e’en.”
_Anderson._ The Witch Wife.

Pang, C and S, to cram.

“An’ some there wer could scarcely speak,
Their thropples wer sae _pang’t_.”
_Stagg._ The Bridewain.
“It kindles wit, it waukens lair,
It _pangs_ us fu’ o’ knowledge.”
_Burns._ The Holy Fair.

Parlish, C, remarkable, worth speaking of.

“An’ _parlish_ pranks ’mang Silloth banks
They hed as they were comin’.”
_Stagg._ The Bridewain.
“A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone,
A _parlous_ knock.”
_Shakspeare._ Romeo and Juliet.

Said to be a corruption of _perilous_, which is certainly not its meaning in Cumberland.

Pash, C, to dash or thrust down forcibly.

“Barne! I _pash’t_ them doon.“—Said by Wm. Jackson to a neighbour’s daughter after his first victory at the Flan wrestling.

Pauchtie, S, proud, supercilious.

”_Pauchtie_ damsels, bred at courts,
Wha thraw the mou’ an’ tak’ the dorts.”
_Ferguson._ The Gowdspink.

Pawkie, S, sly.

“A thief sae _pawkie_ is my Jean.”
_Burns._

Peerie, S, a peg-top. In Cumberland called a Cas’ley.

“He sleeps as soon’ as onie _peerie_.”—Common saying.

Phraise, S, smooth or fondling talk.

“He’s ta’en her in his armes twa,
Wi monie a kiss an’ _phraise_.”
Ballad—Young Huntin.

Pigs, S, pots, crockery.

“Where the _pig’s_ brocken there let the sherds lie.”
Proverb.

Plack, S, the smallest coin of the old Scottish currency.

“He’ll never mak his _plack_ a bawbee.”—Proverb.

Pleen, C, complain.

“Thou’s spoil’t for o’ manner o’ wark,
Thou no’but sits peghan an’ _pleenan_.”
_Mark Lonsdale._ Love in Cumberland.

Plumb, C, (in Furness, etc., pron. Plowmb) perpendicular.

The old landlady at the boat house on Ennerdale water said of a neighbouring doctor who had visited her, and who carries his head well back, “He was mair nor _plumb_!”

Poap, C, to walk aimlessly.

“Sūm _poapan_ aboot as if they’d be hoaf dazed.”
_Rev. T. Clarke._ T’ Reysh Beearin’.

Powe, S, head, poll.

“There’s little wit within his _powe_
That lichts a candle at the lowe.”
Proverb.

Pree, S, to taste.

“An’ aye he _preed_ the lassie’s mou’
As he gaed but an’ ben, O.”
Old Song.

“I _preed_ her mou’.” The Scotch think this phrase a poetical way of saying “I kissed her.” Its literal translation into common English, “I tasted her mouth,” doesn’t sound like poetry; while its Cumbrian form, “I teàstit her feàce” sounds like anything rather _than_ poetry; and their different versions of the same phrase illustrate rather happily the difference of character on the two sides of the Border.

Proddle, C, poke, or stir up.

“_Proddlin’_ up the smudderin’ embers.”
_Stagg._

Pubble, C, plump.

“At Michaelmas a _pubble_ goose—at Kersmas, standin’ pie.”
Old Saying.

Putten down, C, put to death.

“That nane may ken that ye are clerks,
Till ye be _putten doon_.”
Ballad—The Clerk’s Twa Sons.

Puzzen, C, poison.

“The doctor he’s a parfit plague,
An’ hauf the parish _puzzens_.”
_Anderson._ The Village Gang.

R.

Rackups, C, a game at marbles where the loser has to place his knuckles on one side of a hole to be “fired” at with the taws of the winners. “He mun stand his _rackups_” is a proverb implying the necessity of accepting the consequences of misconduct, defeat, or miscarriage of plans.

Rakin, C, wandering far or wildly.

“They ga rakin aboot widoot ayder errand or aim.”
Said of pedestrian tourists by a dalesman.

Rantin’, Ranty, S and C, wild, riotous.

“The _rantin’_ dog the daidie o’ ’t.”
_Burns._ Song.

Ratch, C, to search vigorously, to ransack.

“_Ratch_ as ye will, ye’ll mak nowte out.”
Said to hunters in a wood.

Reek, S, smoke.

“The death o’ deevils, smoor’d in brimstone _reek_.”
_Burns._ The Twa Brigs.

Riggin’, S, the roof (probably from Ridging primarily).

“Ane may like the kirk weel aneuch without aye riding on the _riggin’_ o’ ’t.”—Proverb.

Rooers, C, (or rather Furness and Westmorland) oars.

“Why do you call them _rooers_?” “’Coase they irr _rooers_.” “They call them oars elsewhere.” “They may co’ them what they will, but if they _roo_ wi’ them, they’re _rooers_.” Conversation on Esthwaite lake.

Roose, S, praise, exalt.

”_Roose_ the ford as ye find it.”—Proverb.

Rowp, S, auction; Rowp-crier, auctioneer.

“I canna pay’t an’ ye _rowp_ me at the cross.”
Said by a hopeless debtor.

Rowth, S, abundance.

“Rich fouk ha’e _rowth_ o’ frien’s.”—Proverb.

Rowe, S, roll.

“Where Cart rins _rowin’_ to the sea.”
_Burns._ The Gallant Weaver.

S.

Sackless, C, silly (originally, innocent).

“Our parson sweers a bonnie stick
Amang thur _sackless_ asses.”
_Anderson._ The Village Gang.

Sairy, C, sorry.

“A _sairy_ wife I trowe she’d mak
’At cudn’t muck a byre.”
_Ibid._ Betty Brown.

Sark, C and S, shirt (male or female).

“She won’t mend a _sark_, but reads novels, proud brat.”
_Ibid._ Elizabeth’s Burthday.

“Our women are nowadays a’ grown sae braw,
Ilk maun ha’e a _sark_, an’ some maun ha’e twa.”
_Ross._ The wee pickle tow.

Sarra, C, serve.

“The witch wife begg’d i’ our back-side,
An’ went _unsarra’d_ away i’ the pet.”
_Anderson._ The Witch Wife.

Sauch, S, willow.

“Whereby the glancing waves o’ Clyde
Through _sauchs_ an’ hangin’ hazels glide.”
Old Song—Bothwell Bank.

Scraffle, C, scramble.

“We _scraffelt_ on i’ this fashion, an’ it was quite dark afooar we gat till Ammelside yatt.” _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent.

Screes, C, sloping banks of fragmentary stone under precipices.

“Whoariver there’s _screes_
There’s mair steàns nor trees.”
Old Rhymes.

Scrimp, S, pinch, reduce.

“For lack o’ thee I _scrimp_ my glass.”
_Burns._ On a Bank Note.

Scrowe, S and C, a lot of children, etc., rough or numerous.

“There’s sic a _scrowe_ o’ Irishmen come ower frae Skinburness.”—Said at Annan.

Scunner, S, shuddering disgust—noun and verb.

“An’ yill an’ whiskey ga’e to cairds,
Until they _scunner_.”
_Burns._ Ep. to Smith.

Sec, C; Sic, S, such.

“Feegh! _sec_ a yen we’ve hed at Codbeck,
As niver was under the sun.”
_Anderson._ The Codbeck Wedding.

“_Sic_ as ye gie, _sic_ will ye get.”—Proverb.

Shap, C, to seem likely, or tend to.

“They’re _shappin’_ to gang heàm wid empty pockets.”
Said of two losing whist players at a Merry Night.

Shinny, C; Shinty, S, a rough game played with knobbed or round ended sticks—called in the south of England, I believe, hocky.

“_Shinny’s_ weel aneuf if shins wer’ seàf.”—Old saying.

Sinsyne, S, since then.

“She charm’d my heart an’ aye _sinsyne_,
I canna think o’ onie ither.”
Song—O’er the Muir.

Skeich, S, shy, distant.

“Maggie coost her heid fu’ heich,
Look’d asklent an’ unco _skeich_.”
_Burns._ Duncan Gray.

Skirl, S, scream.

“White and bludy puddings rowth
To gar the doctor _skirl_ wi’ drowth.”
_Ferguson._ St Andrews.

Skreich, S; Skrike, C, shriek.

“It’s time aneuch to _skreich_ when ye’re strucken.”
Proverb.

Skurl, C, slide.

“_Skurl, skurl_ the’ doon—I’ll kep the’, come thy ways,
I’ll leuk ahint me—niver mind thy claes.”
_Ewan Clarke._

Slake, C, a light smear as of grease, etc.

“Let’s tak’ _slake_ an’ _slake_ aboot till it’s done.”
Said in licking out a treacle pot.

Slape, C, slippery.

“I mun tell her fadder when I see him—she’s gittin’ varra _slape_,” old John Howe of Branthwaite Hall called out when he witnessed, by chance, a meeting of sweethearts on a lonely road.

Slare, C, to walk slowly.

“He may be a sharp worker, but he’s a _slarin’_ walker.”
Said by a farmer’s wife of a new come man servant.

Slashy, C, sloppy.

“It was beginnin’ to thowe, an’ was varra _slashy_ an’ cāld.”
_Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent.

Slatter, C, slop.

“Wi’ jaws o’ yell some durty beuts
Pat loft seun in a _slatter_.”
_Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot.

Sleekie, or Sleekit, S, sly, smooth.

“O we were sly, sly!
O, we were sly an’ _sleekit_.”
Song.

Slipe, C, to slip away, to “hook it.”

“_Slipe_, my lad, while thou’s weel. _Slipe_, I say, an’ let neàbody see the’ gang.”—Said to a youth in a row.

Slocken, S and C, to slake thirst.

“Ha’e ye any clippin’ drink left?” “No!” “Ha’e ye any common yall? No! Ha’e ye any smo’ beer? No! Why than, hang it—ha’e ye any pig-stuff? I mun be _slocken’t_ wi’ summat!”—John Kendall at Hawkshead Hall the day after the sheep-shearing feast.

Smaik, S, a small boy, or other small animal.

“He’s but a _smaik_, but he’s a man at the books.”
Said of a schoolboy.

Smittal, C, infectious.

“As _smittal_ as t’ Smo’-pox.”
Said of a successful male animal kept for breeding purposes.

Snape, C, snub, also blight.

“Yet tho’ sec bruolliments galwore
Oft _snaip’t_ the whyet of our days.”
_Stagg._ Auld Lang Syne.

Sneck, C, latch.

“The Buckabank chaps are reet famous sweethearters,
Their kisses just sound like the _sneck_ of a yett.”
_Anderson._ Bleckell Murry-Neet.

Sneck-posset, C. When a man has the door shut in his face, figuratively or literally, he gets a _sneck-posset_.

“Glooar’d at me a bit, an’ than clyash’t dewar i mi feeace——He g’e ma a faer _sneck-posset_.” _Rev. T. Clarke_, Johnny Shippard.

Snell, S, cold and cutting.

“There cam’ a wind oot o’ the north,
A sharp wind and a _snell_.”
Ballad—Young Tamlane.

Snirrup, or Snirp, C, to curl up the nose, etc.

“As seun as she fund I depended on labour,
She _snirp’t_ up her nose an’ nae mair leuk’t at me.”
_Anderson._ The Lasses o’ Carel.

Snirt, or Snurl, C, the sound of imperfectly suppressed laughter.

“But seckan toke! nin could tell what aboot,
I stop’t my lugs for fear o’ _snurtin’_ oot.”
_Graham._ Gwordie and Will.

Snod, S and C, smooth, neat.

“Her cockermonie _snoddit_ up fu’ sleek,
Her haffet locks hung wavin’ owre her cheek.”
_Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd.

“You’re making this road rough!” “Ey, but we’ll mak it _snod_ afoor we’re deun wi’ ’t.” Reply of the road surveyor at Hawkshead.

Snowk, C, to snuffle audibly.

”_Snowkin’_ like pigs at a sew.”—Common saying.

Snug (as a verb), C, to nestle.

“We _snugg’t_ in togidder.”—Ibid.

Sonsie, S, comfortable looking, also lucky.

“Tall and _sonsie_, frank and free,
Lo’ed by a’, an’ dear to me.”
_Lady Nairne._ Kind Robin lo’es me.

“Whistlin’ maids an’ crawin’ hens are no _sonsie_.“—Proverb.

Sorn, S, to live on others, to sponge.

“_Sornan_ frae place to place,
As scrimp o’ mainners as o’ sense or grace.”
_Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd.

Souch, S, the sound of gentle wind or breath.

“Hark how the westlin’ win’ _souchs_ through the reeds.”
_Ibid._

Spang-hew, S and C, to fling to the winds.

_Spang-hewing_ is a cruel mode practised by school-boys of putting birds, frogs, etc., to death. A stick is laid across a block, the victim placed on one end and the other struck sharply, throwing the poor animal high into the air, killing, and generally, mutilating it.

Spats, S and C, abbrev. of spatterdashes—gaiters.

“Their stumps, erst used to philabegs,
Are dight in _spatterdashes_.”
_Ferguson._ Leith Races.

Speel, S, climb.

“Monie a time,
Wi’ you I’ve _speel’d_ the braes o’ rhyme.”
_Ferguson._ My Auld Breeks.

Speir, S, ask, enquire.

“A feul may _speir_ mair questions than a doctor can answer.”
Proverb.

Spretty, S, covered with Sprett, a kind of coarse grass.

“Till _spretty_ knowes wad rair’t an’ risket
An’ slypet owre.”
_Burns._ The Auld Mare Maggie.

Sprogue, C, a pleasure ramble.

“I’ve been to t’ top o’ Knock Murton.” “What took ye there?” “I just went for a _sprogue_!” Part of a conversation in Arlecdon.

Squab, C, a long low seat with a back.

“Sit on t’ _squab_ till I bring ye summat to sup on.”—Said to me once when I reached a farm house exhausted from struggling through a snow storm.

Stammer, or Stummer, C, to stumble.

“Oft wittingly I _stummer’t_, oft I fell.”
_Relph._ Kursty and Peggy.

’Statesman, C, landed proprietor—Estatesman.

“It is a bonnie job, if gentlemen an’ gentlemen’s servants is to ower-ride us _steàts fooak_.” Said by an old lady at Coniston after a vestry meeting.

Stayvel, or Stayver, S and C, to walk in a listless manner.

“Ther was hundreds o’ fwoke _stayvelan_ aboot.”
_Ritson._ The Borrowdale Letter.

Stoore, S and C, dust.

“This day the kirk kicks up a _stoore_.”
_Burns._ The Ordination.
“The Bible ligs _stoory_ abeun the door heid.”
_Anderson._ Caleb Crosby.

Stound, S and C, ache or pang.

“An’ aye the _stound_, the deidly wound.
Cam frae her e’en sae lovely blue.”
_Burns._ A waefu’ gate yestreen.
“It _stoundit_ sare, an’ sare it swell’d.”
_Relph._ After Theocritus.

Straddel’t, C, brought to a stand.

“I think oald P—— was varra nār _straddel’t_ iv his sarmon.”
Heard at the door of a Wesleyan chapel after service.

Sumph, S and C, a fool.

“An’ onie _sumph_ that keeps up spite,
In conscience I abhor him.”
_Rev. J. Skinner._ Tullochgorum.
“I sit like a _sumph_, nea mair mysel’.”
_Anderson._ Barbary Bell.

Swap, S and C, exchange.

“I trowe we _swappit_ for the worse,
Ga’e the boot an’ better horse.”
Song—Carle an’ the King come.
“Lal Sim’s geane an’ _swapp’d_ the black cowt.”
_Anderson._ Nichol the Newsmonger.

Swat, C, sit down, squat.

“Come, Cuddy, _swat_ an’ tak’ a whiff.”
_Anderson._ The Cram.

Sweir, S, loath, unwilling.

“Forsooth they cried, anither gill.
For _sweir_ we’re aye to gang awa’.”
_Mac Phail._ Song.

T.

Taggelt, C, a scamp.

“He mud know they wor o’ arrant _taggelts_ an’ taistrels.”
_Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard.

Taistrel, C, a good for nothing.

“Yae son proved a _taistrel_ an’ brak up i’ Lunnon.”
_Anderson._ The Twee Auld Men.

Taws, S, a strap of thick leather slit into several tails; an implement of punishment in Scottish schools.

“Never use the _taws_ when a gloom ’ill do the turn.”
Proverb.

Tawtie, or Tawtit, S, roughly matted (applied to hair or wool).

“Nae _tautit_ tyke, though ne’er sae duddy.”
_Burns._ The Twa Dogs.

Teem, C; Toom, S, empty, pour out.

“About her lank and all o’er-_teemed_ loins.”
Hamlet.
“And there _toom_ thy brock skin bag.”
Ballad—The Fray of Suport.

Teul, C and S, a bad one (probably from devil).

“Let women deu what gud they can,
Thur wicked _teùls_ ’ill lee.”
Jwohnny and Jenny.

Tew, C, harass, fatigue.

“An’ while they skew’t an’ _tew’t_ an’ swet,
Wi’ monie a weary sidle.”
_Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot.

Theek, S, thatch.

“An’ wi’ a lock o’ his yellow hair,
We’ll _theek_ our nest when it blows bare.”
Ballad—The Twa Corbies.

Thir, S; Thur, C, these.

“An’ sad an’ silent was the nicht
That was atween _thir_ twa.”
Ballad—Clark Saunders.
“_Thur_ taxes! _thur_ taxes! Lord help us, Amen!”
_Ewan Clark._ Ballad.

Thole, S, endure.

“He that has gude crops may _thole_ some thistles.”—Proverb.

Thowless, S and C, soft, inapt.

“Fortune aye favours the active an’ bauld,
But ruins the wooer that’s _thowless_ an’ cauld.”
_Ramsay._ The Widow.

Threep, S and C, to aver, or argue, insistingly.

“An’ fowk wad _threep_ that she did green
For what wad gar her skirl
An’ skreich some day.”
_Ramsay._ Christ’s Kirk on the Green.
“Some _threep_ ’at the times ’ill get better.”
_Anderson._ Carel Fair.

Throssle, C, the thrush.

“The _throssle_, when cauld winter’s geane,
Aye in our worchet welcomes spring.”
_Anderson._ The Lass abeun Thirty.

Throughly, C, corpulent.

“_Throughly?_ ey, a gud yard through an’ mair!”
Said of Hannah Page, who sold toffy in Whitehaven.

Thyvel, C, a porridge stick.

“She’ll lick a lean _thyvel_ ’at weds you.”
Said to a poor Schoolmaster at Workington.

Tine, S, lose; Tint, lost.

“_Tine_ thimble, _tine_ thrift.”—Proverb.

“O have ye _tint_ at tournament
Your sword or yet your spear?”
Ballad—The Gay Goss Hawk.

Tip, S and C, a ram.

“She was nae get o’ muirlan’ _tips_,
Wi’ tawtit ket an’ hairy hips.”
_Burns._ Puir Maillie.

Tipe, C, to drink off.

“_Tipe_ it up an’ hev anudder.”—Common fuddling invitation.

Toozle, S and C, to rub up, to ruffle or make untidy.

“I ance was abused i’ the kirk
For _toozling_ a lass i’ my daffin.”
_Burns._ The Jolly Beggars.

Top-sark, C, an over-shirt, generally made of coarse woollen cloth.

“We cannot bed ye o’, but we can lend ye _top-sarks_.”—Said to a weather-bound party at Cockley Beck in Seathwaite.

Towp, C, capsize.

“The leevin surs! she _towp’t_ her ower
Or yen cud say, ’Od bliss her.”
_Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot.

Toytle, C and S, totter.

“Tak care thou doesn’t _toytle_ intil t’ beck.”
Said to a top-heavy neighbour at Branthwaite.

Tryste, S, an appointed meeting, also to appoint a meeting.

“Crack _tryste_, crack credit.”—Proverb.

“I daurna _tryste_ wi’ you, Willie, I daurna _tryste_ ye here,
But I’ll meet wi’ you in heaven Willie, i’ the spring-time o’ the
year.”
_Aytoun._ Annie’s Tryste.

Tyle, C, to distress, as with pain or fatigue.

“I’s _tyled_ to deeth wid this kurn. I’ve been kurning iver sen mwornin’, an’ I seem as far off butter as iver.” A farmer’s wife.

U.

Unco, S; Unket, C, strange, remarkable.

“A hungry care’s an _unco_ care.”—Proverb.

“What, is there owte _unket_ i’ your country side?”
_Anderson._ Bruff Reaces.

Up-bank, C, upwards.

“Till watters run _upbank_ an’ trees they grow down-bank,
We niver can leuk on his marrow agean.”
_Anderson._ Kit Craffet.

W.

Waistrel, C, an unthrift, a useless fellow.

The late Sergeant Wilkins, in reply to the Court, once defined _waistrel_, not very accurately, as “something spoiled in the manufacture, and sold at half price in the Lowther Arcade.”

Wale, S, choose, choice.

“For sake o’ gear
Ane _wales_ a wife as he wad buy a mear.”
_Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd.
“The king o’ gude fellows an’ _wale_ o’ auld men.”
Song—Auld Rob Morris.

Wankle, C, weakly, flaccid.

“As _wankle_ as a wet seck.”—Common saying.

Wanter, C, one wanting a wife or husband.

“He leeves aw his leane, but he’s seerly to bleame,
When a _wanter_ like me’s to be hed sa near heame.”
_Anderson._ Auld Robbie Miller.

Wanwauchtie, S, unable to drink freely (wan, un, and waucht a hearty draught.)

“He’s unco _wanwauchtie_ that scunners at whey.”—Proverb.

War-day, C, work-day—so distinguished from the day of rest.

“She cheerfu’ wrowte her _warday_ wark,
Than sat down at her wheel.”
_Rayson._ Ann o’ Hethersgill.

Ware, S and C, spend.

“Jockey and Jenny they went to the fair,
Jockey gave Jenny a penny to _ware_.”
Children’s Rhyme.

Wat, S, know.

“She’s a wise wife that _wats_ her ain weird.”—Proverb.

Waukrife, S, wakeful, or preventing sleep.

“Fleas and a girnin’ wife are _waukrife_ bedfellows.”
Proverb.

Weird, S, fate, destiny.

“After word comes _weird_, fair fa’ they that ca’ me madam.”
Proverb.

Welch, C, saltless, insipid.

“What foats may poddish hev? They may be sooar, seùty, sodden, an’ savvorless, soat, _welsh_, brocken, an’ lumpy!” Common Saying.

Whang, C and S, a strip of leather, a piece cut off anything.

“The mergh o’ his shin bane has run down on his spur leather _whang_.”
The Fray of Suport.

“Wi’ sweet milk cheese i’ monie a _whang_.”
_Burns._ The Holy Fair.

Whick, C, alive, quick.

“Sec fashions I’ll not follow while I’s _whick_,
Lang as plain grogram and thur locks please Dick.”
_Ewan Clark._ The Faithful Pair.

Whiles, S, sometimes.

“Wha does the utmost that he can
May _whiles_ do mair.”
_Burns._ Ep. to Dr. Blacklock.

Whins, C; Whuns, S, furze, gorse.

“When t’ _whins_ is oot o’ blossom kissing’s oot o’ fashion.”
Proverb.

Whunstane, S, a kind of hard dark stone.

“Wha’s ragin’ flame an’ scorchin’ heat
Wad melt the hardest _whun-stane_.”
_Burns._ The Holy Fair.

Whuddering, S and C, shuddering or tremulous in sound.

“_Whudder_ awa’ thou bitter, biting blast.”
_Mactaggart._ Mary Lee’s Lament.

Widderful, C, looking withered or unthriven.

“That barne leuks as _widderful_ as if it was its oan gran’-fadder.”—Said of an unhealthy child.

Wimple, S, to curl and wheel as running water.

“But I’ll big a bower on yon green bank sae bonnie,
That’s laved by the waters o’ Tay _wimplin’_ clear.”
Song—Bonnie Dundee.

Win, S, to make way, to get to.

“Ye maunna think to _win_ through the world on a feather bed.”—Proverb.

Winnock, S, diminutive of window.

“At yon farmer’s _winnock_, nichtly,
Still he taks his eerie stan’.”
_John Johnstone._ Bodkin Ben.

Winsome, S, winning, attractive.

“She is a _winsome_ wee thing,
That sweet wee wife o’ mine.”
_Burns._ Song.

Wizzent, C, withered, shrunk.

“He keeps a lad’s heart in his _wizzent_ āld skin.”
_Stanyan Bigg._ Granfadder Jones.

Won, S, to exist, to dwell.

“Kissing has _wonn’d_ i’ the world
Sin ever there were twa.”
Old Song.

Worchet, C, orchard.

“Our meadow sud be a girt _worchet_,
An’ growe nowte at o’ but big plums.”
_Anderson._ King Roger.

Wrowke, C, to disturb roughly, or stir up.

“I ola’s liked John, but I cared sa lāl for Grace ’at I cūd ha’ teàn her an’ _wrowk’t_ t’ fire wid her.” A Cumberland lady, about her children.

Wudde, S, mad.

“I’ve ridden a horse baith wild an’ _wudde_.”
Ballad—Kinmont Willie.

Wummel, C, to enter in a sinuous manner, as an auger bores.

“He’ll _wummel_ his-sel’ intil t’ creuktest rabbit whoal i’ Siddick.”—Said of a terrier.

Y.

Ya, Yan, C, one; Ae and Yin in Dumfriesshire.

_Ya_ is used when the noun indicated is named—_yan_, when it is understood; thus—“How many fwoke was theer?” “_Yan!_” “No’but _yan_?” “No’but _ya_ man!” _Ae_ and _yin_ are used in the same way. The use of the first is illustrated in the conversation without consonants which is said to have come off in a shop in Dumfries—Customer, referring to some cloth, asks, “A’ ’oo?” Shopman assents, “Ou aye, a’ ’oo!” Customer again, “A’ _ae_ ’oo?” Shopman, “Ou aye, a’ _ae_ ’oo!” That is, “All wool?” “O yes, all wool!” “All one (or the same) wool?” “O yes, all one wool!”

Yabble, C, wealthy (literally, able).

“A varra _yabble_ man i’ heeh life was wantan ta simma.”
_Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard.

Yammer, S and C, to articulate quickly and indistinctly from any feeling.

“Fareweel to the bodies that _yammer_ and prowm.”
Song—Bide ye yet.
“There’s been a lang _yammer_ in t’ papers last week.”
_Dickinson._ Scallow Beck Boggle.

Yewl, C, to weep.

“A lāl thing mak’s a barne _yewl_, an’ a lāl thing mak’s it laugh.”—Proverb.

Yoad and Yad, S and C, a mare.

“Frae Tindal-fell twelve pecks she’d bring—
She was a _yad_ fit for a king.”
_Anderson._ My bonnie black meer’s deed.

Yoke, S and C, to engage with, to set to, to put a horse to a vehicle, etc.

“At length we had a hearty _yokin_
At sang about.”
_Burns._ Ep. to Lapraik.

“An’ they _yoak’t_ it ageàn an’ laid at it wi’ t’ whup.”

_Dickinson._ The Ore Carter’s Wife.

Yowl, S and C, to howl.

“A dog winna _yowl_ an’ ye hit him wi’ a bane.”—Proverb.

GEO: COWARD, PRINTER, 75, SCOTCH STREET, CARLISLE.

A LIST OF BOOKS

PUBLISHED BY

_GEO: COWARD, CARLISLE_.

THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND, to which are added Dialect and other Poems; with Biographical Sketches, Notes, and Glossary. Edited by Sidney Gilpin. With Portrait of Miss Blamire. Small Crown 8vo. Price 7s.

(_A New Edition in preparation._)

One of the most interesting collections of poetry which have been lately published is the “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland.” How many people know anything of Miss Blamire? Yet she was the author of that most beautiful and pathetic of ballads beginning, “And ye shall walk in silk attire.” Every one will, therefore, thank the editor for the conscientious way in which he has issued her pieces, and given us some account of her life. It was she, too, who wrote that other beautiful ballad, worthy of Lady Anne Lindsay, “What ails this heart o’ mine?” which, in our opinion, is poetry full of truth and tenderness. Indeed, we should be disposed to look upon it as a critical touchstone, and to say that those who did not like it could not possibly appreciate true poetry.... We can only advise the reader to buy the book, and we feel sure that he, like ourselves, will be thankful to the editor.—_Westminster Review._

We like the Cumberland Songs a good deal better than the Lancashire ones which we reviewed a fortnight back. There is more go and more variety in them; the hill-air makes them fresher, and we do not wonder that Mr. Gilpin feels—now he has got “tem put in prent”—

Aw England cannot bang them.

We certainly cannot recollect a better collection.... While the author of “Joe and the Geologist” lives, we shall rest assured that the Cumberland dialect will be well represented in verse as well as prose, though we suppose he cannot love to describe the roaring scenes at weddings and the like that his predecessors witnessed.... The dialect is rich in reduplicated words—in good forms—in old English words; and the volume altogether is one that should find a place on the shelf of every reader of poetry and student of manners, customs, and language.—_The Reader._

The truly Cumbrian minstrel towards the close of the last century seems to have approached the Scotch in his pictures of rural courtship, and to have been still greater in his descriptions of weddings, as of some other festivities of a more peculiar character. He had a healthy and robust standard of feminine beauty, and his most riotous mirth was more athletic and less purely alcoholic than that which flourished in Burns’s native soil.—_The Spectator._

These Cumberland lyrics—till now scattered—are on the whole well worth the pains spent on their collection. In some cases, as in those of Relph and Miss Blamire, there is evidence of real genius for the ballad or the eclogue; and with respect to other writers, if the poetic feeling be less deep, humour and keen observation are displayed in dealing with the people and customs of a district which, in its lingering primitiveness and time-honored traditions, is richer in materials for fancy and character than regions which lie nearer the metropolis.—_The Athenæum._

It is seldom that a book compiled on the local principle contains so much good matter as this collection of the “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland.” In the pathetic vein, Miss Blamire is a host in herself; and the humorous and “character sketches,” as we may call them, by various hands, are more vigorous and picturesque, and less vulgar or coarse, than is at all common in the works of local poets. To some readers the peculiar dialect may be objectionable; but to any one who can read Burns, it need be no stumbling-block to the enjoyment of the varied contents of this elegant and well-arranged volume.... The biographical and other notes are carefully and well written, judiciously informative, and not too long.—_Scotsman._

Cumberland has a goodly store of ballads, the natural offspring of her hills and lakes, and fells and “forces,” a wealth of ballad literature, in fact, whereof the Southron in general knows, we fear, but little. Miss Susanna Blamire is a name of celebrity up North, the poetess of Cumberland; and Robert Anderson and many others hold almost equal repute there. Mr. Sidney Gilpin, himself owning a name which has belonged to more than one Cumberland celebrity, has collected and edited a volume of the dialect-songs and ballads, and other specimens of the minstrelsy of his county, and offers it to the appreciation of the English public. The “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland” ought to be a welcome volume to all who can relish the home-spun simple language of a genuine muse of the hills. There is much true and tender poetry in the book, and much rough, natural vigour.—_Morning Star._

Cumberland has found in Mr. Sidney Gilpin an able and zealous champion; and the present collection of her Songs and Ballads, though not, perhaps, absolutely exhaustive, will decidedly extend her poetic fame, and no doubt surprise many even among the students of this peculiar lore.—_Church and State Review._

_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d., in neat Cloth binding._

MISS BLAMIRE’S SONGS AND POEMS; together with Songs by her friend MISS GILPIN of Scaleby Castle. With Portrait of Miss Blamire.

She was an anomaly in literature. She had far too modest an opinion of herself; an extreme seldom run into, and sometimes, as in this case, attended like other extremes with disadvantages. We are inclined, however, to think that if we have lost a great deal by her ultra-modesty, we have gained something. Without it, it is questionable whether she would have abandoned herself so entirely to her inclination, and left us those exquisite lyrics which derive their charms from the simple, undisguised thoughts which they contain. The characteristic of her poetry is its simplicity. It is the simplicity of genuine pathos. It enters into all her compositions, and is perhaps pre-eminent in her Scottish songs. _Carlisle Journal, 1842._

In her songs, whether in pure English, or in the Cumbrian or Scottish dialect, she is animated, simple, and tender, often touching a chord which thrills a sympathetic string deep in the reader’s bosom. It may, indeed, be confidently predicted of several of these lyrics, that they will live with the best productions of their age, and longer than many that were at first allowed to rank more highly.—_Chambers’ Journal, 1842._

_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s., in neat Cloth binding._

ROBERT ANDERSON’S CUMBERLAND BALLADS.

As a portrayer of rustic manners—as a relator of homely incident—as a hander down of ancient customs, and of ways of life fast wearing or worn out—as an exponent of the feelings, tastes, habits, and language of the most interesting class in a most interesting district, and in some other respects, we hold Anderson to be unequalled, not in Cumberland only, but in England. As a description of a long, rapid, and varied succession of scenes—every one a photograph—occurring at a gathering of country people intent upon enjoying themselves in their own uncouth roystering fashion, given in rattling, jingling, regularly irregular rhymes, with a chorus that is of itself a concentration of uproarious fun and revelry, we have never read or heard anything like Anderson’s “Worton Wedding.”—_Whitehaven Herald._

_Just Published, F. Cap 8vo. Price 5s._

POEMS BY MRS. WILSON TWENTYMAN, of EVENING HILL. Dedicated, by permission, to H. W. LONGFELLOW.

_From the ILLUSTRATED TIMES, November 7th, 1868._

Her verses are occasionally poetical, and always dictated by some fine genuine feeling, which must come home to an honest reader. She does not write about “Men and Women,” as Mrs. Browning calls two of her most beautiful volumes, but about human nature—i.e., our hopes, fears, loves, aspirations, etc., are never personified and put into the dramatic form. The volume consists of short pieces, and the whole domestic morality of them will be fairly appreciated in houses where Longfellow is looked upon as the one poet.

_From the CARLISLE EXPRESS, January 8th, 1869._

A spirit of piety and domestic affection permeates all Mrs. Twentyman’s pieces, but she has not yet attained the full power of her art which is to inspire as Nature inspires, by reproducing that which charms the mind. In all probability she has not made this her aim, her poems being the simple and unaffected outflow of pure womanly thought and feeling: the apparent aim of the volume being religious rather than literary.... Mrs. Twentyman’s best efforts are those in which her own experience as a wife and mother have helped her most. There she rises into the region of true poetry, drawing from Life and Nature. “Love’s Inspiration,” in which she evidently speaks of her own wedded life, is an example. “Our Ain Bonnie Bessie” is another flowing from the same fount—sweet, maternal love evidently inspiring the heart of the writer.... We give her a hearty “God-speed,” feeling that all local talent should have its just honour and encouragement. The proper encouragement of local literature generally improves it, and there are cases in which it has eventually called forth gifts of no ordinary power and compass. Sympathy and interest are the special needs of the poet who often cannot sing at all unless prompted to faith in his own powers by some sympathetic friend.

_Crown 8vo. Price 2s. in extra Cloth binding; or 1s. in neat Paper Cover._

OLD CASTLES: Including Sketches of CARLISLE, CORBY, and LINSTOCK CASTLES; with a Poem on Carlisle. By M.S., Author of an Essay on Shakspeare, &c.

_From the CARLISLE EXPRESS._