Chapter II: Part 2

Gooid bye, lass, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss is hard to bide! For it wod ha' been a shame, Had tha ivver been the bride Of a workin chap like me; One 'ats nowt but love to gie.

Hard hoot'd neives like thease o' mine. Surely ne'er wor made to press Hands so lily-white as thine; Nor should arms like thease caress One so slender, fair, an' pure, 'Twor unlikely, lass, aw'm sure.

But thease tears aw cannot stay, Drops o' sorrow fallin fast, Hopes once held aw've put away As a dream, an think its past; But mi poor heart loves thi still, An' wol life is mine it will.

When aw'm seated, lone and sad, Wi mi scanty, hard won meal, One thowt still shall mak me glad, Thankful that alone aw feel What it is to tew an'strive Just to keep a soul alive.

Th' whin-bush rears o'th' moor its form, An' wild winds rush madly raand, But it whistles to the storm, In the barren home it's faand; Natur fits it to be poor, An 'twor vain to strive for moor.

If it for a lily sighed, An' a lily chonced to grow, When it found the fair one died, Powerless to brave the blow Of the first rude gust o' wind, Which had left its wreck behind.

Then 'twod own 'twor better fate Niver to ha' held the prize; Whins an' lilies connot mate, Sich is not ther destinies; Then 'twor wrang for one like me, One soa poor, to sigh for thee.

Then gooid bye, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss it's hard to bide, For it wod ha' been a shame Had tha iver been mi bride; Content aw'll wear mi lonely lot, Tho' mi poor heart forgets thee not.

Duffin Johnie.

(A Rifleman's Adventure.)

Th' mooin shone breet wi silver leet,
An' th' wind wor softly sighin,
Th' burds did sleep, an' th' snails did creep,
An' th' buzzards wor a flying;
Th' daisies donned ther neet caps on,
An' th buttercups wor weary,
When Jenny went to meet her John,
Her Rifleman, her dearie.

Her Johnny seemed as brave a lad
As iver held a rifle,
An' if ther wor owt in him bad,
'Twor nobbut just a trifle
He wore a suit o' sooity grey,
To show 'at he wor willin
To feight for th' Queen and country
When perfect in his drillin.

His heead wor raand, his back wor straight,
His legs wor long an' steady,
His fist wor fully two pund weight,
His heart wor true an' ready;
His upper lip wor graced at th' top
Wi mustache strong and bristlin,
It railly wor a spicy crop;
Yo'd think to catch him whistlin.

His buzzum burned wi' thowt's o' war,
He long'd for battles clatter.
He grieved to think noa foeman dar
To cross a sup o' watter;
He owned one spot,--an' nobbut one,
Within his heart wor tender,
An' as his darlin had it fun,
He'd be her bold defender.

At neet he donn'd his uniform,
War trials to endure,
An' helped his comrades brave, to storm
A heap ov horse manure!
They said it wor a citidel,
Fill'd wi' some hostile power,
They boldly made a breach, and well
They triumph'd in an hour.

They did'nt wade to th' knees i' blooid,
(That spoils one's breeches sadly),
But th' pond o' sypins did as gooid,
An' scented 'em as badly;
Ther wor noa slain to hug away,
Noa heeads, noa arms wor wantin,
They lived to feight another day,
An' spend ther neets i' rantin.

Brave Johnny's rooad wor up a loin
Where all wor dark an' shaded,
Part grass, part stooans, part sludge an' slime
But quickly on he waded;
An' nah an' then he cast his e'e
An luk'd behund his shoulder.
He worn't timid, noa net he!
He crack'd, "he knew few bolder."

But once he jumped, an' said "Oh dear!"
Becoss a beetle past him,
But still he wor unknown to fear,
He'd tell yo if yo asked him;
He couldn't help for whispering once,
This loin's a varry long un,
A chap wod have but little chonce
Wi thieves, if here amang em.

An' all at once he heeard a voice
Cry out, "Stand and deliver!
Your money or your life, mak choice,
Before your brains I shiver;"
He luk'd all raand, but failed to see
A sign of livin craytur,
Then tremlin dropt upon his knee,
Fear stamp'd on ivery faytur.

"Gooid chap," he said, "mi rifle tak,
Mi belts, mi ammunition,
Aw've nowt but th' clooas at's o' mi back
Oh pity mi condition;
Aw wish aw'd had a lot o' brass,
Aw'd gie thi ivery fardin;
Aw'm nobbut goin to meet a lass,
At Tate's berry garden."

"Aw wish shoo wor, aw daoant care where,
Its her fault aw've to suffer;"
Just then a whisper in his ear
Said, "Johnny, thar't a duffer,"
He luk'd, an' thear claise to him stuck
Wor Jenny, burst wi' lafter;
"A'a, John," shoo says, "Aw've tried thi pluck,
Aw'st think o' this at after."

"An when tha tells what thinga tha'll do,
An' booasts o' manly courage,
Aw'st tell thi then, as nah aw do,
Go hooam an' get thi porrige."
"Why Jenny wor it thee," he said
"Aw fancied aw could spy thi,
Aw nobbut reckoned to be flaid,
Aw did it but to trie thi."

"Just soa," shoo says, "but certain 'tis
Aw hear thi heart a beatin,
An' tak this claat to wipe thi phiz
Gooid gracious, ha tha'rt sweeatin;
Thar't brave noa daat, an' tha can crow
Like booastin cock-a-doodle,
But nooan sich men for me, aw vow,
When wed, aw'll wed a 'noodle.'

Lost Love.

Shoo wor a bonny, bonny lass
Her een as black as sloas,
Her hair a flying' thunner claad,
Her cheeks a blowing rooas;
Her smile coom like a sunny gleam
Her cherry lips to curl;
Her voice wor like a murm'ring stream
At flowed through banks o' pearl.

Aw long'd to claim her for mi own,
But nah mi love is crost;
An aw mun wander on alooan,
An' mourn for her aw've lost.

Aw couldn't ax her to be mine,
Wi' poverty at th' door:
Aw niver thowt breet een could shine
Wi' love for one so poor;
But nah ther's summat i' mi breast,
Tells me aw miss'd mi way:
An' lost that lass I loved th' best
Throo fear shoo'd say me nay.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c,

Aw saunter'd raand her cot at morn,
An' oft i'th' dark o'th' neet;
Aw've knelt mi daan i'th loin to find
Prints ov her tiny feet:
An' under th' window, like a thief,
Aw've crept to hear her spaik,
An' then aw've hurried home agean
For fear mi heart ud braik.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c,

Another bolder nor misen,
Has robb'd me o' mi dear,
An' nah aw ne'er may share her joy
An' ne'er may dry her tear;
But though aw'm heartsick, lone, an' sad,
An' though hope's star is set,
To know she's lov'd as aw'd ha' lov'd
Wod mak me happy yet.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c,

Th' Traitle Sop.

Once in a little country taan
A grocer kept a shop,
And sell'd amang his other things,
Prime traitle drink and pop,

Teah, coffee, currans, spenish juice,
Soft soap an' paader blue,
Presarves an' pickles, cinnamon,
Allspice an' pepper too;

An' hoasts o' other sooarts o' stuff
To sell to sich as came,
As figs, an' raisens, salt an' spice,
Too numerous to name.

One summer's day a waggon stood
Just opposite his door,
An' th' childer all gaped raand as if
They'd ne'er seen one afoor;

An' in it wor a traitle cask,
It wor a wopper too,
To get it aat they all wor fast
Which iver way to do;

But wol they stood an parley'd thear,
Th' horse gave a sudden chuck,
An' aat it flew, an' bursting threw
All th' traitle into th' muck.

Then th' childer laff'd an' clapp'd their hands,
To them it seem'd rare fun,
But th' grocer ommost lost his wits
When he saw th' traitle run;

He stamp'd an' raved, an' then declared
He wodn't pay a meg,
An'th' carter vow'd until he did
He wodn't stir a peg.

He said he'd done his business reight,
He'd brought it up to th' door,
An thear it wor, an' noa fair chap
Wad want him to do moor.

But wol they stamped, an' raved, an' swore,
An' vented aat ther spleen,
Th' childer wor thrang enough, you're sure,
All plaisterd up to th' een,

A neighbor chap saw th' state o' things,
An' pitied ther distress,
An' begg'd em not to be soa sour
Abaat soa sweet a mess;

"An' tha'd be sour," th'owd grocer said,
If th' job wor thine, owd lad,
An' somdy wanted thee to pay
For what tha'd niver had.

"Th' fault isn't mine," said th' cart driver
"My duty's done I hope?
I've brought him traitle, thear it is,
An' he mun sam it up."

Soa th' neighbor left em to thersen,
He'd nowt noa moor to say,
But went to guard what ther wor left,
And send th' young brood away:

This didn't suit th' young lads a bit,
They didn't mean to stop,
They felt detarmin'd 'at they'd get
Another traitle sop.

They tried all ways, but th' chap stood firm,
They couldn't get a lick,
An' some o' th' boldest gate a taste
O'th neighbor's walkin sticks

At last one said, I know a plan
If we can scheam to do it,
We'll knock one daan bang into th' dolt,
An' let him roll reight throo it;

Agreed, agreed! they all replied,
An here comes little Jack,
He's foorced to pass cloise up this side,
We'll do it in a crack.

Poor Jack war rather short, an' coom
Just like a suckin duck,
He little dream'd at th' sweets o' life
Wod iver be his luck;

But daan they shoved him, an' he roll'd
Heead first bang into th' mess,
An' aat he coom a woeful sight,
As yo may easy guess.

They marched him off i' famous glee
All stickified an' clammy,
Then licked him clean an' sent him hooam
To get lick'd by his mammy.

Then th' cartdriver an th' grocer coom
Boath in a dreadful flutter,
To save some, but they coom too lat,
It all wor lost ith gutter:

It towt a lesson to 'em boath
Before that job wor ended,
To try (at stead o' falling aat)
If ought went wrang to mend it.

For wol fowk rave abaat ther loss,
Some sharper's sure to pop,
An' aat o' ther misfortunes
They'll contrive to get a sop.--

To Let.

Aw live in a snug little cot, An' tho' poor, yet aw keep aat o' debt, Cloise by, in a big garden plot, Stands a mansion, 'at long wor to let.

Twelve month sin' or somewhear abaat, A fine lukin' chap donned i' black, Coom an' luk'd at it inside an' aat An' decided this mansion to tak.

Ther wor whiteweshers coom in a drove An' masons, an' joiners, an' sweeps, An' a blacksmith to fit up a cove, An' bricks, stooans an' mortar i' heaps.

Ther wor painters, an' glazzeners too, To mend up each bit ov a braik, An' a lot 'at had nowt else to do, But to help some o'th 'tothers to laik.

Ther wor fires i' ivery range, They niver let th' harston get cooiled, Throo th' celler to th' thack they'd a change, An' iverything all in a mooild.

Th' same chap 'at is th' owner o'th' Hall, Is th' owner o'th' cot whear aw dwell, But if aw ax for th' leeast thing at all; He tells me to do it mysel.

This hall lets for fifty a year, Wol five paand is all 'at aw pay; When th' day come mi rent's allus thear, An' that's a gooid thing in its way,

At th' last all th' repairers had done, An' th' hall wor as cleean as a pin, Aw wor pleased when th' last lot wor gooan, For aw'd getten reight sick o' ther din.

Then th' furniture started to come, Waggon looads on it, all spankin new, Rich crimson an' gold covered some, Wol some shone i' scarlet an' blue.

Ov sofas aw think hauf a scoor, An' picturs enuff for a show? They fill'd ivery corner awm sure, Throo th' garret to th' kitchen below.

One day when a cab drove to th' gate, Th' new tenant stept aat, an' his wife, An' tawk abaat fashion an state! Yo ne'er saw sich a spreead i' yor life.

Ther war sarvents to curtsey 'em in, An' aw could'nt help sayin', "bi'th mass;" As th' door shut when they'd booath getten in, "A'a its grand to ha' plenty o' brass."

Ther wor butchers, an' bakers, an' snobs, An' grocers, an' milkmen, an' snips, All seekin' for orders an' jobs, An' sweetenin th' sarvents wi' tips.

Aw sed to th' milk-chap tother day, "Ha long does ta trust sich fowk, Ike? Each wick aw'm expected to pay," "Fine fowk," he says, "pay when they like."

Things went on like this, day bi day, For somewhear cloise on for a year, Wol aw ne'er thowt o' lukkin' that way; Altho' aw wor livin soa near.

But one neet when awd finished mi wark, An' wor tooastin mi shins anent th' fire, A chap rushes in aat 'o'th' dark Throo heead to fooit plaistered wi' mire.

Says he, "does ta know whear they've gooan?" Says aw, "Lad, pray, who does ta meean?" "Them 'at th' hall," he replied, wi a grooan, "They've bolted an' diddled us cleean."

Aw tell'd him 'aw'd ne'er heeard a word, He cursed as he put on his hat, An' he sed, "well, they've flown like a burd, An' paid nubdy owt, an' that's what."

He left, an' aw crept off to bed, Next day awd a visit throo Ike, But aw shut up his maath when aw sed, "Fine fowk tha knows pay when they like."

Ther's papers ith' winders, "to let," An' aw know varry weel ha 't 'll be; They'll do th' same for th' next tenant awl bet, Tho they neer' do a hawpoth for me.

But aw let 'em do just as they pleease, Awm content tho' mi station is low, An' awm thankful sich hard times as thease If aw manage to pay what aw owe.

This precept, friends, niver forget, For a wiser one has not been sed, Be detamined to rise aat o' debt Tho' yo go withaat supper to bed,--'

Fault Finders.

If ther's ony sooart o' fowk aw hate, it's them at's allus lukkin' aght for faults;--hang it up! they get soa used to it, wol they willn't see ony beauties if they are thear. They remind me ov a chap 'at aw knew at wed a woman 'at had a wart at th' end ov her nooas, but it war nobbut a little en, an' shoo wor a varry bonny lass for all that; but when they'd been wed a bit, an' th' newness had getten warn off, he began to fancy at this wart grew bigger ivery day, an' he stared at it, an' studied abaght it, wol when he luk'd at his wife he could see nowt else, an' he kept dinging her up wi' it wol shoo felt varry mich troubled. But one day, as they wor gettin' ther dinner, he said, "Nay, lass, aw niver did see sich a thing as that wart o' thy nooas is growing into; if it gooas on tha'll be like a rhynockoroo or a newnicorn or summat!"

"Well," shoo says, "when tha wed me tha wed th' wart an' all, an' if tha doesn't like it tha con lump it."

"Aw've noa need to lump it," he says, "for it's lumpin' itsen or aw'll gie nowt for it."

Soa they went on, throo little to moor, till they'd a regular fratch, an' as sooin as' he'd getten his dinner, he off to his wark, an' shoo to her mother's. When Jim coom back an' fan th' fire aght, an' noa wife, he felt rayther strange, but he wor detarmined to let her see 'at he could do baat her, soa he gate a bit o' summat to ait an' went to bed. This went on for two-o'-three days, an' he wor as miserable as iver he could be, but o'th' Setterdy he happened to meet her i'th' shambles, an' they booath stopped an' grinned, for they'd nowt agean one another i'th' bothem.

"Nah, lass," he said, "aw think it's abaat time for thee to come hooam."

"Nay, aw'll come nooan," shoo says, "till aw've getten shut o' this wart."

"Oh, ne'er heed that, lass; it doesn't luk hauf as big as it did, an' if tha wor all wart, aw'd rayther have thi nor be as aw am."

"Soa shoo went back wi' him, an' throo that time to this he's allus luk'd for her beauties asteead ov her faults, an they get on swimmingly. One day shoo axed him if he thowt th' wart wor ony bigger?" "A'a lass," he sed, "thi een are soa breet, aw didn't know tha had one!"

-----------------

What aw want yo to do is to be charitable, an' if yo find ony faults, think--yo happen may have one or two yorsen. Ther's net monny on us 'at's killed wi sense, but he hasn't th' leeast at's enuff to know he's a fooil.

This world wad be a better spot,
Wi' joys moor thickly strown,
If fowk cared less for others' faults
An tried to mend ther own.

There's plenty o' room for us all to mend, an' them 'at set abaat it sooinest are likely to be perfect furst; at ony rate, if we try it'll show willin'.

Disapointment.

"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall net be disappointed."

Aw once knew a chap they called old Sammy; he used ta gaa wi a donkey, an th' mooast remarkable things abaat him wor his clogs an' his rags. Sammy had niver been wed, tho' he war fifty years old, but it wor allus believed he'd managed ta save a bit a' brass. One day he war gain up Hepenstull Bunk, Jenny o' Jooans a' th' Long Lover wor goin up befoor him, an' whether it wor at her clogs were made a' his favrite pattern, or her ancles had summat abaat 'em different to what he'd iver seen befoor, aw cannot tell, but it seems a feelin coom ovver him all at once, sich as he'd niver had befoor, an' when he'd managed ta overtak her, he sed, "It's loaning for heeat aw think, Jenny." "Eea, aw think its likely for bein wut," shoo sed. "Awve just been thinkin," sed Sammy, "at if I wornt na a single old chap, aw shouldn't have to trail up an' daan in a lot a' rags like thease, for awm sure this jacket has hardly strength to hing o' mi rig, an' mi britches are soa full o' hoils wol awm feeared sometimes when awm puttin em on, at awst tummel throo an braik my neck." "Well, reight enuff, a woife's varry useful at times," shoo sed, "but as tha hasn't one if tha'll learn mi thi jacket, aw'll see if it cannot be mended far thi a bit." "Aw allus thowt tha war a gooid sooart, Jenny, an' awl tak thi at thi word," he sed: so he pool'd off his coit an gave it her an' it were arranged 'at he should call for it next neet. You may bet yor life he didn't forget, an when he saw it mended up, an' brushed wol it luk'd ommost as gooid as new, he luk'd first at it an then at her, an at last he sed, "Aw think we should be able to get on varry weel together, what says ta?" Aw dooant know what shoo sed, but it wornt long befoor they wor wed, for Sammy thowt shoo'd be worth her mait if it wor nobbut for mendin up his old duds. They hadn't been wed long, when he axed her to mend his britches.-- "A'a," shoo sed, "Aw cannot mend em, aw niver could sew i' mi life!" "Why that is a tale," he sed, "tha mended mi jacket all reight!" "Nay, indeed aw nawther!--Aw mended nooon on it! Aw sent it to th' tailor an paid for it doin." "Then awm dropt on," sed Sammy, "for aw expected tha'd be able to do all sich like wark." "Tha should niver expect owt an' then tha willnt get dropt on," shoo sed.--"That, wor a bit o' varry gooid advice.

Work Away.

BONNY lads, and bonny lasses!
Work away! work away!
Think how swift each moment passes,
Time does never stay.
Then let's up and to our labours,
They who _will_, must sure succeed,
He does best who best endeavours,--
_Try again_ shall be our creed.

New Machinery &c.

It shows varry little sense for fowk to object to a new machine till they've tried it, or to fancy it'll be th' means o' smashin th' trade. Luk at th' paaer looms; when they I wor started all th' hand-loom weyvers struck wark, becoss they said it ud do 'em all up, an' ther'd be noa wark at all for weyvers in a bit; but it hasn't turn'd aat soa, for ther's moor weyvers i'th' country to-day, nor iver ther wor; and they addle moor brass, an' awm sure they've easier wark. For if this country doesn't get new machines, other countries will, an' when we're left behund hand an' connot meet 'em i'th' market, we'st be a deeal war off nor ony new invention can mak us. All at's been done soa far has helped to mak us better off. They connot mak a machine to think, they're forced to stop thear; an' aw dooant daat if we'd to live long enuff, ther'd be a time when chaps ud ha nowt to do but think-but it's to be hoaped 'at they'd have summat else to think abaat nor rattenin', or shooitin', or ruinin' fowk. Aw've tawk'd to some abaat it, an' they say they're foorced to do sum way to keep wages up, but if aw can tell em ha to mak brass goa farther, they'll be content to give up th' Union. But aw think it goas far enuff--what they want is to keep it nearer hooam, to let less on it goa to th' ale haase, to spend less o' dog feightin', pigeon flyin', an' rat worryin'; an' if they'd niver spend owt withaat think in' whether it wor for ther gooid or net, they'd find a deal moor brass i'th' drawer corner at th' month end, an' varry likely a nice little bit to fall back on i'th' Savings bank at th' year end. An a chap stands hauf an inch heigher when he's a bankbook in his pocket; an' butchers and grocers varry sooin begin to nod at him, an' ax if they can do owt for him. But if he goas on th'strap, an' happens to be a month behund, he's foorced to stand o' one side till iverybody else gets sarved, an' then if he doesn't like what's left they tell him to goa leave it. It isn't what a chap addles, it's what a chap saves 'at makes him rich.

Sellin' drink has made mony a chap rich, an suppin it has made thaasands poor. But still aw must honestly say 'at aw cannot agree wi' teetotalism altogether. If noa men gate drunken, ther'd be noa need for anybody to sign th' pledge;--an' aw dooant think they goa th' reight way to get fowk to be sober. They publish papers, but what use is made on em? Yo hardly iver see a midden emptied but what yo'll find two or three pieces o'th' "British Workman," or th' "Temperance Advocate" flyin' abaat; an' they hold meetings an' spend a sight o' brass o' printin' an' praichin', an' still they doant mak one teetotaller 'at ov a thaasand. Aw should advise em to try this way. Let em offer a £500 prize for him 'at can invent a drink as gooid takin' as ale--an' one, 'at willn't mak fowk drunk. Chaps mun sup summat when they're away throo hooam, an it is'nt iverybody's stumach 'at's strong enuff to tak watter, unless it's let daan wi summat; an' ther is noa teetotal drink invented yet 'at's any better nor Spenish- juice-watter. They're all like pap. Coffee an' tea are all weel enuff, but if yo want that yo munnot goa to a Temperance Hotel for it. Aw'ye tried it monny a scoor times, but aw niver gate owt fit to sup, an' if it hadn't been for th' drop o' rum aw gate 'em to put into it, aw couldn't ha swallowed it. Tea an' coffee are things 'at dooant mend wi' warmin up, an' yo connot allus wait woll fowk mak it, an' soa if yo want to sup yo mun awther goa an' beg a drop o' watter, or pay fourpence for a glass o' belly vengeance, or yo mun get a glass o' drink--but yo've noa need to get a dozzen. Teetotallers say it contains poison, an' noa daat it does--but it's of a varry slow mak, an' if yo niver goa to excess yo may live to be a varry owd man, an' dee befoor it begins to operate, Ther wor once a chap killed hissel wi' aitin traitle parkin, but that's noa reason we shouldn't have a bit o' brandy-snap at our fair. Aw allus think a teetotal lecturer is like a bottle o' pop. Ther's a bit ov a crack to 'start wi', an' a gooid deal o' fooamin, an' frothin', an' fizzin', but when it's all ovver, an' settled daan, what's left is varry poor stuff. Still aw think one teetotaller is worth moor nor a ship-load o' drunkards.

September Month.

Blackberries are ripe in September, an' we may consider th' year's ripe, for when this month gets turned, things 'll begin o' gooin' th' back way. Its vany wonderful when we look reight at it. This world's a wonderful spot, an' ther's a deal o' wonderful things in it. Ther's some things at it's varry wonderful to see, an' ther's some things' at it's wonderful net to see. Aw thowt it wor varry wonderful, a week or two sin', when aw pass'd Stanninley Station, 'at ther worn't a chap wi' a dog under his arm; it's th' furst time aw iver pass'd an' didn't see one. But aw niver think it's wonderful for ther to be a fooil in a company; an' aw dooant think its wonderful when aw find 'at th' biggest fooil has allus th' mooast to say.

Nah, its a varry nice time o'th' year is this for fowk to have a bit of a pic-nic;--aw dooant know owt 'at's a better excuse for a chap to tighten his belly-band nor a pic-nic, becoss iverybody taks twice as mich stuff to ait as they know they'll want, for fear fowk might think they wor shabby. If yo get a invite to a doo o' that mak', be sure yo goa, if you've owt of a twist. But talkin' abaat invites maks me study a bit. When yo get an invitation, allus think it ovver befoor yo tak' it Ax yorsen one or two questions abaat it. If yo think it's becoss yo can play th' peanner, or becoss yo can sing--tell 'em yorterms. If yo think it's becoss some owd uncle is likely to dee an' leeav yo a lot o' brass, an' they've a dowter or two 'at isn't wed-- tell 'em yor engaged (to a lady). If yo think it's becoss they fancy yor a shinin' leet--tell 'em yo're gooan aat. I yo think it's becoss they want to borrow some brass, an' yor daatful whether yo'll iver get it back agean--tell 'em yo've soa monny calls made on yo, wall yo're feeard yo connot call o' them at present. But if yo think it's just becoss they want yo, an' they'll be glad to see yo,' put on yor hat an' off in a minit.

Aw once knew a chap 'at had getten a invite to a doo, an' he wor gooin' to tak his wife wi' him; an' he wor tellin' some mates what a shimmer shoo wor gooin' to cut. "Mun," he says, "sho'll just luk like one o' them figures i'th' waxworks! Aw've bowt her a goold cheen as thick as my thum; it's cost ornmost a paand. An' tawk abaat a dress! why, yo' niver saw sich a dress it's a real Mary Antique! Th' chap 'at sell'd it me, said it had been made for th' Princess o' Wales, but it wor soa mich brass wol th' Prince couldn't affoord to pay for't, so he let me have it cheap; an' it's just like buckram--it'll stand ov an end." "Why," said one o'th' chaps, "the Princess willn't be suited if shoo hears tell 'at thy wife's gettin' it." "Noa," he said, "aw dooant think shoo wod, but awst noan tell her; an' if shoo gets to know, she mun try an' put up wi' a bit ov a trial nah an' then. Ther's allus troubles for th' rich as weel as th' poor." Well! all this gooas to prove what aw said at th' startin'--it's a wonderful world, an' ther's a deeal o' wonderful things in it;--an', to quote from the poet (Milton aw think), aw may say--

It's a varry' gooid world that we live in
To lend, or to spend, or to give in;--
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own,
It's th' varry worst world 'at iver wor known.

Hi, an' its th' best 'at iver wor known yet; an haiver mich fowk may say agean it, awve allus nooatised at' ther's varry few seem inclined to part wi' it.

A Hawporth.

Whear is thi' Daddy doy? Whear is thi' mam? What are ta cryin for, poor little lamb? Dry up thi peepies, pet, wipe thi wet face; Tears o' thy little cheeks seem aat 'o place. What do they call thi, lad? Tell me thi name; Have they been ooinion thi? Why, its a shame. Here, tak this hawpny, an' buy thi some spice, Rocksticks or humbugs or summat 'at's nice. Then run of hooam agean, fast as tha can; Thear,--thart all reight agean; run like a man.

He wiped up his tears wi his little white brat, An' he tried to say summat, aw couldn't tell what; But his little face breeten'd wi' pleasure all throo:-- A'a!--its cappin, sometimes, what a hawpny can do.

Buttermilk &c.

May is the month for Buttermilk! A doctor once tell'd me it wor worth a guinea a pint; he sed it licked cod liver oil, castor oil; or paraffin oil. Castor oil, he said, war varry gooid for ther bowels, cod liver oil for ther liver, an' paraffin oil for ther leets (whear they'd noa gas), but buttermilk wor better nor all three put together, an' he ad vised me to tak it. "Why," aw sed; "what's th' use o'. me takkin it when aw dooant ail owt?" "Ther's noa tellin' ha sooin yo may," he said, "an' an it's a varry simple remedy, yo'd better tak it whether yo do or net." "Reight enuff," aw sed, "simple things sometimes do th' best. Aw once knew a woman 'at had been confined to her bed for twelve year, an' her husband cured her in a minit, after all th' doctors at th' infirmary had gien her up." Th' doctor pricked his ears when aw sed soa, an' wanted to know all abaat it, soa aw at it an' tell'd him. "Sally an' her husband lived at th' Arred Well, but he oft used to goa as far as th' Coit Hill ova neet to have a pint an' enjoy an haar or two i' company, an' when he gate haoam he used to catch it, an' finely too, aw con assure yo, for altho shood ligg'd i' bed soa long, shoo had'nt lost th' use ov her tongue, an' her felly said 'at shoo hadn't lost th' use ov her teeth nawther, for shoo could ait as weel as iver shoo could. One neet as he wor gooin hooam, he bethowt him he'd try a bit ov a dodge on, for although he felt varry sooary for his wife, yet he could'nt help thinkin' it wor partly consait at shoo'd suffer'd throo; soa when he gate in, shoo began a blowin' into him i' fine style. 'Th' owd time, lad! It shows what tha cares for me! Aw hav'nt had a wick soul to spaik to sin tha went aat, but it's all one to thee! Tha'll come hooam some time an' find me ligg'd deead, an' then tha can spree abaat throo morm to neet.' 'Nay, lass, aw dooant think aw should spree abaat any moor nor aw do nah. But who does ta think aw met to neet?' he said. 'Ah know nowt abaat it, nor care nawther.' 'Why, but as aw war comin' up bith' Brayvet Gate, aw met Betty Earnshaw, an' soa aw went gaiterds wi her a bit, an' that's reason aw'm soa lat.' 'Oh! tha mud weel be lat! Shoo war an' owd sweetheart o' thine, wor Betty.' 'Eea, shoo war axin me ha tha wor gettin' on, shoo seems vany sooary for thi.' 'Sooary be hanged! aw want nooan ov her sooarys! If shoo could nobbut get me aat o' th' gate, shoo'd be all reight. Did shoo ax when tha thowt tha'd be at liberty?' 'Nay shoo did'nt, but shoo did say at shoo thowt tha lasted long, but shoo pitied thee an' me.' 'Pitied thee, did shoo! An' what did shoo pity thi for, aw should like to know? Shoo happen thowt shoo could do better for thee nor what aw've done, but if shoo wor as badly as me shood know summat. 'Eea, but shoo isn't, for aw nivver saw her luk better i' mi life, an' shoo talks abaat commin' i'th' morn in' to clean up for thi a bit; aw sed tha'd be fain to see her, an' tha sees if owt should happen thee, shadd be getten into th' way a bit, an' begin to feel moor used to th' haase.' 'Niver! wol my heart's warm, Tom. Aw'll niver have sich a huzzy i'th' haase, wheal' aw am! aw'm nooan done wi yet! aw'll live a bit longer to plague yo wi', an' as for cleanin', aw'll crawl abaat o' mi hands an' knees afoor shoo shall do owt for me! Yo think aw'm poorly an' soa aw'm to be trodden on, but aw'll let yo see awm worth a dozen deead uns yet; nasty owd ponse as shoo is!" An' as sure as yor thear, Doctor, shoo gate up th' next morn in' an' kinneld th' fair, an' when Tom coom hoam to his braikfast all wor ready, an' shoo wor set daan at th' table wi a clean cap on, an' lukkin as smart as smart could be. When th' chap saw this, he said, "Lass, aw think aw'd better send Betty backward," "Eea, aw think tha had," shoo sed, "an' th'a can send her word throo me 'at aw may live to donee on her gravestooan yet." Tom bafs in his sleeve a bit sometimes, an' if iver one ov her owd fits seems likely ta come on, he's nowt to do but say a word or two abaat Betty, an' shoo's reight in a minnit. That licks buttermilk, Doctor.

It's a comfort.

It's a comfort a chap can do withaat what he connot get. It feels hard to have to do wi' less nor what a body has at present, but if it has to be it will be, an' it's cappin' ha' fowk manage to pool throo haiver bad th' job is. It's naa use for a chap to keep longin' for sum mat better, unless he's willin' to buckle to, an' work for it; an' a chap wi' an independent mind ne'er freeats becoss he hasn't all he wants; he sets hissen to get it, an' if he's detarmined he oft succeeds, an' if net he doesn't sit daan an' mump, but up an' at it agean. Havin' a lot o' brass doesn't mak a chap happy, but spend in' it may do, an' if a chap's wise he'll try to spend it in a way 'at'll bring happiness for a long time to come. Ther's some fowk feeared 'at they con niver spend brass safely; they're allus freeten'd of loisin' it; but they've noa need, for if they spent it i' dooin' gooid, they'll allus be sure o' gooid interest, for they'll be pleased every time they think on it. Nah, ther's some things i' this world 'at yo connot looise. It's a varry easy thing to loise a cork aat ov a bottle, but it's impossible to loise th' hoil aat ov a bottle neck. Yo may braik th' bottle all to pieces, but th' hoil is somewhear; it nobbut wants another bit o' glass twistin' raand it, an' yo'll find it's as gooid as iver it wor, an' it's just soa wi' a gooid action; yo may loise th' seet on it, but it's somewhear abaat; it nobbut wants circumstances twistin' raand it, an' yo'll find it's thear--it's niver lost. If fowk 'ud get into this way o' thinkin', ther'd be a deal moor gooid done nor ther is. Haiver mich brass a chap has, if he's moor wants nor he con satisfy, he's poor enuff; an' aw think if fowk 'ud spend a bit less time i' tryin' to get rich, an' a bit moor i' tryin' to lessen ther wants, they'd be moor comfortable bi th' hauf. But yo' may carry things too far even i' savin'. Aw once knew a chap 'at wor a regular skinflint; he'd gie nowt--noa, net as mich as a crumb to a burd; an' if iver any wor seen abaat his haase they used to be sat daan to be young ens 'at hadn't le'nt wit. Well, he once went to buy a seck o' coils, an' to be able to get 'em cheaper he fetched 'em throo th' pit; it wor th' depth o' winter, but as he had to hug 'em two mile it made th' sweeat roll off him.. When he gate hooam he put 'em daan an' shook his heead. "By gow," he sed, "awm ommost done, but aw'll mak' yo' pay for this, for aw willn't burn another coil this winter." An' he stuck, to his word, an' wheniver he wor starved, he used to get th' seck o' coils ov his back an' walk raand th' haase till he gat warm agean--an' he says they're likely to fit him his bit o' rime aat. "Well," yo'n say, "that chap wor a fooil," an' aw think soa misen, an' varry likely if he'd seen us do some things he'd think we wor fooils. We dooant allus see things i'th' same leet--for instance, a pompus chap wor once tawkin' to me abaat his father. "My father," he said, "was a carver and gilder, an' he once carved a calf so naturally that you would fancy you could hear it bleat." "Well, aw didn't know thi father," aw sed, "but aw know thi mother once cauved one, for aw've heeard it bleat." Yo' should just ha' seen him when aw sed soa!--didn't he pull th' blinds daan, crickey!

Progress.

This is the age of progress; and it is not slo progress nawther. The worst on it is, we're all forced to go on whether we like it or net, for if we stand still a minit, ther's somedy traidin' ov us heels, an' unless we move on they'll walk ovver us, an' then when we see them ommost at top o'th' hill, we shall find us sen grubbin' i'th' muck at th' bottom. A chap mun have his wits abaat him at this day or else he'll sooin' be left behund. Ther's some absent minded fowk think they get on varry weel i'th' owd way an' they're quite content, but its nobbut becoss they're too absent minded to see ha mich better they mud ha done if they'd wakken'd up a bit sooiner. Aw once knew a varry absent minded chap; he wur allus dooin' some sooart o' wrang heeaded tricks. Aw' remember once we'd booath to sleep i' one bed, an aw gate in fust, an' when aw luk'd to see if he wor commin', aw'm blow'd! if he hadn't put his cloas into bed an hung hissen ovver th' cheer back. Awm sure aw connot tell where all this marchin' is likely to lead us to at last, but aw hooap we shall be all reight, for aw do think ther's plenty o' room to mend even yet, but the deuce on it is,' ther's soa monny different notions abaat what is reight wol aw'm flamigaster'd amang it. Some say drink is the besetting sin; another says 'bacca is man's ruination. One says we're all goin' to the devil becoss we goa to church, an' another says we'st niver goa to heaven if we goa to th' chapel, but aw dooant let ony o' them things bother me. 'At ther is a deeal o' sin i'th' world aw dooant deny, an', aw think ther is one 'at just bears th' same relation to other sins as a split ring bears to a bunch o' keys; it's one 'at all t'other things on: an' that's _selfishness_, an we've all sadly too mich o' that. We follow that "number one" doctrine sadly too mich,--iverybody seems bent o' gettin, but ther's varry few think o' givin'--(unless its advice, ther's any on 'em ready enuff to give that; but if advice wor stuff 'at they could buy potatoes wi', ther' wodn't be as mich o' that knockin' abaat for nowt as ther' is).

We're all varry apt to know the messur o' ivrybody's heead but us own; we can tell when a cap fits them directly, but we con niver tell when ther's one 'at just fits us. Miss Parsnip said last Sunday, when shoo'd been to th' chapel, "at shoo wondered ha Mrs. Cauliflaar could fashion to hold her heead up, for shoo niver heeard a praicher hit onybody harder in all her life," An' Mrs. Cauliflaar tell'd me "'at if shoo wor Miss Parsnip shoo'd niver put her heead i' that chapel ageean, for iverybody knew 'at he meant her' when he wor tawkin' abaat backbitin'." An'soa it is; we luk at other fowk's faults through th' thin end o' th' spy glass, but when we want to look at us own, we turn it raand.

"O, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us,
It wad fra many a blunder free us
An' foolish notion.
What airs in dress an' g'ait wad lea' us
An' ev'n devotion."

Selfishness may do varry weel for this world, but we should remember it isn't th gooid one does to hissen 'at he gets rewarded for after-- it's th' gooid he does to others, an' although we may be able to mak' a spreead here, wi' fine clooas, fine haases, an' sich like; unless we put selfishness o' one side an' practise charity it'll be noa use then.

"For up above there's one 'at sees
Through th' heart o' every man;
An' he'll just find thee as tha dees,
Soa dee as well as t' con."

Try Again.

Look around and see the great men
Who have risen from the poor
Some are judges, some are statesmen,
Ther's a chance for you I'm sure.
Don't give in because you're weary,
Pleasure oft is bought by pain;
If unlucky, still be cheery,
Up and at it! _try again_.

Jealousy.

It wad be a poor shop, wad this world, if it worn't for love! But even love has its drawbacks. If it worn't for love ther'd be noa jaylussy--Shakspere calls jaylussy a green-eyed monster, an' it may be for owt aw know, an' aw dooan't think 'at them 'at entertain it have mich white i' theirs. If ther's owt aw think fooilish, it is for a husband an' wife to be jaylus o' one another; for it spoils all ther spooart, an' maks a lot for other fowk; an' aw'm allus a bit suspicious abaat 'em, for aw've fun it to be th' case 'at them 'at do reight thersens are allus th' last to believe owt wrang abaat others.

Aw once knew a chap 'at wor jaylus, an' his wife had a sore time wi' him. If shoo spake to her next-door neighbor, it wor ommost as mich as her life war worth, an' shoo wor forced to give ovver gooin' to th' chapel, becos if shoo luk'd at th' parson he used to nudge her wi' a hymn book. Th' neighbours pitied her, an' set him daan for a fooil; but he gate cured at last, an' aw'll tell ha.' Once he had to set off, an' as shoo worn't varry weel he couldn't tak her wi' him, but he gave her a lot o' directions afoor he went, an' tell'd her 'at he might be back ony minit. Well, if iver ther war a miserable chap it wor Jim, wol he wor away; but he coom back as sooin as he could, an' what should he see but a leet up stairs. His face went as white as chalk, an' he wor just creepin' to th' winder to harken, when a chap 'at knew him happened to pass. He knew how jaylus Jim war, soa he thowt he'd have a lark. "Halla, Jim!" he said, "coom here; aw've summat to tell thee. Tha munnot goa in yor haase just nah, for tha ar'nt wanted."

"What ammot aw wanted for, awst like to know?" said Jim.

"Well, keep cooil, an' aw'll tell thi. Tha knows tha's been away a day or two, an' aw think it's my duty to let thi know 'at last neet ther wor a young chap coom to yor haase to luk at thi mistress; an' shoo's niver been aat o; door sin', nor him nawther; an' my belief is they're in that room together just this minit."

"Aat o' my rooad!" sed Jim, "let me goa in If aw dooant pitch him aat a' that winder, neck an' crop, my name isn't Jim." Up stairs he flew. "Nah then, whear is he? whear is he?" he haw'led, an' seized hold o' th' pooaker.

"Aa, Jim," shoo sed, "Tha wodn't hurt th' child surelee?" an' shoo held up a bonny little lad abaat two days old, 'at stared at him as gaumless as gaumless could be, an' 'at had his father's nooas an' chin to nowt.

"By gingo, aw'm done this time!" said Jim, as he tuk it in his arms an' kust it. "Aa, what a fooil aw've been! tha'll forgie me, lass, weant ta?"

"Sure aw will, Jim," shoo sed. An' after that they lived happily together, as all dacent fowk should.

Winter.

Winter's comin'! Top coits an' nickerbockers begin to be sowt up. A chap enjoys his bed a bit better, an' doesn't like gettin' up in a mornin' quite as weel. Tawkin' abaat enjoyin' bed makes me think ova young chap aat o' Midgley at' gate wed an' browt his wife to Halifax to buy a bed, an' nowt wod suit her but a shut-up en, like her father an' mother had allus had: an' they wor't long befoor they fun a second-hand en, 'at they gate cheap, an' as they knew a chap 'at coam wi' a milk cart throo near whear they lived, they gate him to tak it hooam for 'em, an' it worn't long befoor th' beddin' an' all wor nicely arranged, an' they war snoozelin' under th' blankets. They hadn't been asleep long befoor he wakken'd wi a varry uncomfortabie feelin', but as his wife wor hard asleep he didn't like to disturb her. He roll'd o' one side an' then o'th' tother, an' rub'd his legs an' scratched his back, but he couldn't settle do what he wod. In a bit summat made him jump straight up ov an end, an' if he hadn't been dacently browt up, it's very likely he mud ha' sed some faal words, Wi' him jumpin' up soa sudden, th' wife wakken'd, an' jumpt up as weel, but as th' bed heead war abaat six inch lower nor that shoo'd bin used to, shoo hit her neet cap agean th' top an' fell back wi a reglar sass. "Whativer is ther to do, Sammy," shoo sed, as sooin as shoo could spaik, "strike a leet' wi ta!" Sammy gate a leet, an' blushed an ovver his face, for it wor th' fust time onybody had seen him dressed that way sin he wor a little lad. "Aw dooant know what ther is to do," he sed, "but aw cannot bide i' that bed, an' that's a fact." "What!" shoo says, "are ta ruein' o' thi bargain bi nah? but tha's no need to freat, for aw con spare thee at ony time." "Nay, Jenny," he sed, it's nooan thee 'at maks me uneasy, but aw fancy ther's summat wick i' that bed besides thee an' me.' "Is ther," shoo said, an' shoo flew off one side; "why whativer is it, thinks ta?" Sammy turned daan th' clooas, an' it just luk'd as if sombdy had been aitin' spice cake an' letten all th' currans drop aat. Tawk abaat fleas! They worn't fleas! they wor twice as big, an' they wor marchin' away like a rigiment o' sodgers. He stared wi' all th' een in his heead, an' shoo started a cryin'. "A'a, to think 'at aw should iver come to this, to be walked over wi' a lot o' pouse like that! What mun we do?" "Do! we mun catch 'em, aw expect," he sed, an' he began wi pickin' 'em off one bi one, an' droppin' 'em into some water 'at wor cloise by. "Well, mi mother tell'd me," he sed, "'at when fowk gate wed they began o' ther troubles; an' it's true an' all, but aw didn't expect owt like this, for if aw'd known, aw'd ha' seen th' weddin' far enough; aw did think 'at a chap wad be able to get a neet's rest anyway." "Tha can goa back to thi mother," shoo sed, "an' stop wi' her for owt aw care, an' aw wish tha'd niver left her, for aw'st get mi deeath o' cold wi' paddlin' abaat wi' nowt on; but does ta think tha's catched 'em all?" "Aw think soa, an' if tha's a mind we'll get to bed agean." "Nay, tha can goa to thi mother as tha freats soa," shoo sed. "Tak noa noatice o' what aw sed," sed Sammy, "tha knows aw wor put abaat a bit, an' it war all for th' sake o' thee." "Tha'll tell me owt," shoo sed, "put th' leet aat, an' let's see if we con get a bit o' gradely sleep." They gate into bed once more, an' shoo wor off to sleep in a minit, but Sammy wor rubbin' an' scrattin' hissen. "Wen, aw've heeard tell abaat things bein' ball proof and bomb proof, but aw niver knew 'at anybody wor bug proof befoor." Wi' him knockin' abaat soa mich shoo wakken'd agean. "Nay, Sammy," shoo sed, "aw'm reight fair stawld, it's all consait, aw'm sure it is." "Consait be hanged!" he bawled aat, "just feel at that blister an' then tell me if it's all consait." Nowt could keep awther on 'em 'i bed after that, an' they paraded abaat all th' neet like two gooasts, wait in' for th' cock crow. Mornin' did come at last, an' Sammy worn't long befoor' he had th' bed aatside. "What are ta baan to do wi' it nah?" ax'd his wife. "Aw'm baan to leave it wheal' it is wol neet," he sed, "an' if they havn't forgetten which road they coom, aw think ther's as monny as'll be able to tak it back to Halifax." Next neet they made a bed o'th' floor, an' slept like tops, an' next mornin' when they gate up, th' bed wor off. Whether th' cumpny 'at wor in it had taen it or net, Sammy couldn't tell, but he niver went to seek it. Fowk 'at buy second-hand beds, _tak warnin._"

Persevere.

If you fail don't be downhearted,
Better times come by-and-by;
Soon you'll find all fears departed,
If you'll only boldly _try_.
He who would climb up a mountain,
Must not sit him down and cry;
At the top you'll find the fountain,
And you'll reach it if you'll _try_.

Though your comrades call it folly,
Persevere, you'll win the day;
Never let Dick, Tom, or Polly,
Stop you on your onward way,
There is always joy in striving,
Though you fix your goal so high;
Nearer every day arriving,
You may reach it if you _try_.

Booith-Taan Election.