Tinklin' Tom.

Some time ago I was accidentally thrown into the im company of a number of workmen, who were just wondering how to pass the remainder of the dinner hour agreeably; and, as they were all indulging in the favourite after dinner pipe, with one exception, it was proposed that this one, whom they called Amos, should tell them one of his stories. Amos, nothing loth, and, evidently accustomed to occupy the position of a story teller, without any apology commenced:—

"Nah, aw dooan't think for a minit, 'at yo all knew this tinklin' Tommy, 'at aw'm gooin to tell yo abaght. Nowt o'th' soort! Its net to be expected! But aw dar say yo've all known a tinklin chap o' some sooart—one o' them 'ats allus boddin an' doin jobs they niver sarved ther time to—a sooart o' jack-o'-all-trades, one 'at con turn his hand to owt ommost. Nah, aw like a chap o' that sooart, if he doesn't carry things too far: but when he begins to say 'at he con build a haase as weel as a mason, an' mak a kist o' drawers as weel as a joiner, or praich a sarmon as weel as th' parson—or playa bazzoon, or spetch a pair o' clogs better nor ony man breathin—then, aw say, tak care an' ha' nowt to do wi' him. It isn't i'th' natur ov ony body to be able to do ivery thing, an' yo 'll oft find 'at them 'at con do all bi ther tawk, con varry seldom do owt reight.

This Tinklin Tom, 'at aw knew, lived at Northaaram, an' he'd managed to mak fowk believe 'at he wor a varry cliver chap, an' whoiver wanted owt doin they wor sure to send for Tom; an' varry oft he did better nor like, to say 'at he had to do it aght ov his own heead; an' if iver he made a mess o' owt, it wor sure to be th' fault o' th' stuff, or else them 'at held th' leet: it wor niver Tommy's.

It happened one time 'at Tom had a bit o' spare time ov his hands, soa he went up to th' aleus to get a pint o' drink, singing as he went, "Ye lads an' lasses so blithe an' gay, come to the 'Woodlands,' come away." "Hallo, Tom," said th' landlord, "tha'rt just th' chicken aw wor wantin! Tha mun gi' us a lift, wi' ta?"

"A lift! What does ta mean? What is it tha wants liftin? Aw dar say aw con do mi share, for aw've seen th' time when ther worn't a chap i' Awrram 'at could lift as mich as me."

Why, Tom! aw'm capt tha hasn't heeard! Doesn't ta knaw 'at we're goin to have a grand tea-drinkin up stairs to neet, an' a grand ball ta finish off wi'?"

"Noa, ther's niver noabdy tells me owt," says Tom.

"Well, aw thowt tha knew all abaght it—its to be a furst rate doo; tickets to be a shillin a piece, an' them 'at taks two con have' em for one an' ninepence; an' we're gooin to have a peanner, for tha knaws noa beershop's thowt respectable nah, unless ther's a peanner i' th' chamer an' an ale pump i'th' bar, soa as aw dooan't want to be behund other fowk, aw've borrowed one ov a musichener 'at keeps a shop, an' a grand un it is as iver tha clapt thi een on."

"What is it made on?" says Tom.

"Aw dooan't knaw reightly, but aw think its awther mogny or wallmuck—aw forget whether; but there it is. Luk! Sithee!" he sed, runnin to th' winder, "come help us to get it in."

They booath ran aght to help th' lads at bad browt it, to get it off th' spring cart, an' they varry sooin had it inside. As sooin as Tom an' th' landlord wor left to thersen, they began to try to get it upstairs; but they'd a job; they gat it up a step or two, an' thear it stuck.

"Nah, then!" sed Tom, for he wor at th' top side, "nab then, lift! howd on! lift! lift! howd on! lift! What th' shames are ta dooin?"

"Aw'm liftin," sed th' landlord, "what should aw be dooin, thinks ta?"

"Well, try agean," says Tom, "nah then, lift! lift! Oh-h-h! Howd on! what the hangmit are ta doin?"

"What's up?" says th' landlord.

"Can't ta see, lumpheead! tha's ommost brokken mi fingers ageean that step!"

"Tha should keep thi fingers aght o'th' gate, an' then they willn't get brokken."

"If tha doesn't mind what tha'rt saying, aw 'll pitch booath thee an' it to th' botham; an' it will ha' to goa thear yet, for it'll niver come up this way. They must be fooils 'at mak stuff ta big ta get up th' steps. Aw once made a mangel 'at aw could tak up steps hauf this width."

"Well, its net gooin up, that's plain enuff, Tom, soa what mun we do nah?"

"We mun get it back, an' try to pull it in 'at th' charner winder, but we shall want a stee."

"Oh, we can sooin get that," says th' landlord, "just thee stop an' see 'at noabdy touches it, an' aw'll goa borrow one."

Off he went, an' wor sooin back wi' th' stee; an' they reared it up agean th' charner winder an' teed a roap raand th' middle o'th' peanner, an' wol th' landlord went up th' stairs to pool, Tom stopt daan to put it on an' shove, an' it began to goa up varry nicely, an' Tom followed to steady it. When it had getten abaght hauf way, th' stee began to bend a gooid bit. "Steady fair," says th' landlord, "tha munnot come ony farther, Tom: if tha does, it'll smash! Aw think awst be able to manage nah." Soa Tom went back, an' th' landlord kept poolin it up a bit at a time. As it kept gooin up an' up, it kept gettin a bit moor to one side. "Ha is it nah, Tom?"

"Oh, its all serene—th' centre o' gravitum's all reight up to nah," says Tom.

Up it went—little an' little—an' ivery time it stirr'd it gat a bit moor off th' edge, an' just as he'd getten it to th' winder bottom, ovver it went an' daan it fell wi' a crash an' a buzz, like a volley o' donce music shot aght ov a cannon, an' aght coom all th' neighbors to see what wor up.

An' it did luk a seet, reight enuff. Th' top had flown off, an' one leg stuck aght one way an tother stuck aght another. It wodn't ha' luk'd hauf as ill if it had been an owd deal box o' some sooart; but a grand mogny peanner—it luk'd just awful. Its like a druffen chap 'ats dressed i' black cloath—he allus luks war nor one 'ats dress'd i' fushten.

"Well, what's to be done nah?" says th' landlord, when he'd getten daan ta Tom agean, "tha reckons to knaw a bit o' summat abaght music, doesn't ta? What mun wi' do wi' this lot?"

"Well," says Tom, "aw've put a hanel or two on to a box organ an' polished a flute or two i' mi time, soa aw owt to knaw summat, but aw've niver had owt to do wi' peanners; but aw dar say if we had it inside, aw could do a bit o' summat wi' it."

"We can easy manage that," said th' landlord, "for we can tak it up i' numbers!"

In a short time they had it carried up an' put together, but what bothered Tom wor, all th' strings wor in a lump, for th' wood 'at they wor screw'd to had brokken lawse an' tumelled into th' bottom.

"Nah, if we could nobbut get this wood wi' all thease pegs in, an' all thease wires fesend to it, lifted up into th' reight spot, aw think ther'd be a chonce o' gettin some mewsic aght on it—soa seize hold an' lift," said Tom. An' they did lift I for they lifted th' peanner clean off th' floor.

"A'a dear! this'll never do," says Tom, "aw niver saw ony body frame wor i' mi life; we mun ha' somdy to sit on it to hold it daan. Connot th' mistress spare time, thinks ta? Shoo's a tidy weight.

"Sally, come here!" shaated aght th' landlord, an' shoo wor up in a minit. "Nah, we want thee to sit daan o' this article wol we lift."

"What, sit me daan o'th' kays, does ta mean? Tha doesn't think at aw con play, does ta lad?"

"Sit thee daan! says th' landlord, varry cross; tha's noa need to be feeard o' been blown up—its nooan a wind instrument."

Shoo set daan, tho' shoo didn't seem mich to like it, an after a gooid deal o' tuggin an' poolin, th' chaps managed to get it up within abaght an inch o' whear it had been befoor.

"Thear!" said Tom, "that begins to luk moor like summat." "Eea, it does," says th' landlord, "aw shouldn't be daan abaght makin a peanner after this; but if aw did mak one, aw'd mak one 'at wodn't braik wi' fallin an odd stoory. Aw dooant think him aw borrowed it on 'll be able to find owt aght."

"Well, aw dooant knaw," says Tom, "aw'm th' fastest what to do wi' thease thingams 'at waggles abaght soa; tha sees they owt to hit thease wires, but they're all too long someha."

"Why, doesn't ta think 'at tha could shorten 'em a bit? It luks to me as if it 'll do if them gets shortened, Sally! get up! Are ta baan to sit thear all th' day? Go an' borrow yond butcher's saig, an' then Tom can cut thease foldedols."

Sally went an' left' em booath starin at th' music box, as shoo called it, an' when shoo'd gooan th' landlord walked raand it two or three times, an' then stoppin i' front o' Tom, he said, "Well, Tom, aw allus thowt 'at tha wor fond o' tinklin at all sooarts o' jobs, but aw didn't gie thee credit for being able to do owt like this."

"Why, yo' see, maister, its born i' some fowk,' replied Tom. "Nah when aw wor a lad aw once made a tin whistle aght ov a brass canel-stick, an' they could ha' played on it too, but it tuk sich a deal o' wind, but ther wor a chap 'at used to come to awr haase 'at blew it mony a time."

"Tha doesn't say soa! A'a, what a thing it is to be born wi' sich a heead as thine; aw wonder tha doesn't crack thi brain wi' studdyin soa mich abaght things. Aw've thowt mony a time when aw've heeard fowk tawk abaght thee 'at its a thaasand pities thi mother hadn't twins."

"Why," said Tom, "aw think sometimes 'at if aw'd been edicated aw should happen a capt somdy; but that's Sally's fooit, aw think."

Sally browt th' saig, an' after a gooid deal o' squarin abaght, Tom said "Aw think th' best plan 'll be to cut th' lot off to start wi', an' then we can mak 'em what length we want 'em."

"Suit thi sen, tha owt to knaw," said th' landlord, an' Tom began to saig away. He'd getten th' hauf on 'em cut, when up comes th' chap at they'd borrowed it on. "I understand you've had an accident," he said, "but I hope its not much worse?"

"Well, it has getten a bit ov a shake," says Tom, "but aw think we'll be able to mak it all square agean in a bit."

"Why, my dear fellow, what are you doing? You are destroying the whole affair—you are cutting the action!"

"Action! What action? What does ta mean?" says Tom.

"Why, you are cutting the working part all to pieces!"

"Warkin pairt! Aw'm dooin nowt o' th' sooart—its th' playing pairt 'at aw'm cuttin; but if aw ammot dooin reight, tak th' saig an' lets see ha tha'll do it."

"No, indeed—I shall have nothing to do with it—the whole thing is ruined; and the landlord will have to pay me for it, so I wish you a very good day."

Tom an' th' landlord watched him aght o'th' seet, an' for a minit or two nawther on 'em spake, but 'at th' last th' landlord says, "What's to be done, Tom? what's to be done?"

Tom seemed as dumb as th' peanner an' dived his hands into his britches pockets varry near up to th' elbows.

"If aw wor yo maister," he said, "aw wodn't bother ony moor wi' this to day, for ther's a deal o' tinklin wark to be done at it afoor its fit for mich; aw'd shove it into a corner an' say nowt abaght it for fear it might stop th' tickets for sellin, an' when fowk have getten ther tea an' want to donce, ther's sure some music to turn up throo somewhear."

Th' landlord seemed convinced ther wor some truth i' what he said, soa they lifted it carefully into a corner an' left it.

Ther wor a rare sale o' tickets that day, an' when tea time coom they wor as mony as three sittins daan, but th' pots were noa sooiner sided nor they began to ax abaght th' mewsic. Tom had set varry still wol he saw all ready—then standing up wi' his cap i' his hand, he coff'd an' began, "Ladies an' gents—its a vary unfortunate affair, is this; but yo see troubles are niver to seek: th' landlord said he'd have a peanner to neet, an' he's getten one, but its aght o' tune; but rayther nor yo should be disappointed aw'll whistle a tune for yo misen, an' aw think ther's two or three moor at '11 be able to help me a bit."

Withaat moor adoo he struck up a tune: th' lasses giggled an th' lads luk'd soft; but in a bit one or two gate up, an' began turnin raand, an' it worn't long afoor they wor all whirlin away like a lot o' scopperils, an' as happy as happy could be. Tom sooin fun two or three moor to help him at whistling, an' afoor it wor ovver they all agreed 'at they'd niver enjoyed thersen hauf as weel at ony ball they'd iver been at afoor, as they had that neet; but th' best o' friends mun pairt, an' th' time coom when they mud goa hooam, soa just bith' way ov a wind up, Tom stood ov a bench an' then made a varry nice soort ov a speech, an' ended bi sayin "ha sorry he felt for th' landlord: for he'd have a deal o' brass to pay to mak up for th' accident 'at's happened, an' as they'd all enjoy'd thersen soa weel, he thowt they wodn't object to mak a collection ov a trifle to help him, an' he should have mich pleasure i' gooin raand wi' th' hat."

After this speech they all began fumlin i' ther pockets an' declaring they'd do what they could for him; an' when th' hat went raand they worn't one but what gave summat an' as ther wor twenty-three on 'em, it coom to eleven-pence-hawpny. Tom handed it ovver to th' landlord, who thanked' em in a varry neat an affectin way, an' begged on 'em to have a shillin oth' o' warm ale at his expense, which they had. After that they separated, thankful to think' at they'd been able to do a trifle towards helpin a chap aght ov his troubles.

Th' landlord had to pay for th' peanner at last, an' as they couldn't mak it play, Tinklin Tom an' a plumber turned it into a ale pump, an' it stands i'th' bar to this day, an' they say its th' handsomest machine o'th' sooart i' Northaaram. Th' landlord's studied music a bit sin' then, an' as sooin as he hears th' kay nooat ov a chap's voice, he can tell whether to draw him flat ale or sharp ale, as natural as con be. An' they're gooin to kursen th' haase a "music ale haase;" an soa mony fowk goa to see it, 'at th' landlord says he "fell i' luck for th' furst time in his life when th' peanner fell aght o'th' winder."

"Ha! ha! ha! Well, that's a stunner, Amos! Tha's done that a gooid en, but yond's th' whew, soa we mun goa an' do another bit for th' maister. Ha! ha! ha!"



Th' New Schooil Booard.

In a village not very far from where I am now sitting, and in the principal street, (for it was the only one,) was situated an old-fashioned hostelry where nightly all the Solomons of the district used to congregate. The room they occupied was a large kitchen, the floor of which was scoured and sanded; and all the furniture, which was immovable, was brushed as white as it was possible to be. Here they held their political discussions, and showed how Gladstone had missed it, and clearly demonstrated that had their advice been acted upon, the world would very soon have become so regenerated that soldiers, sailors, parliaments, and policemen, would be things altogether useless, and we should soon be in such a position that pleasure would be the only business of life. On the night of which I write, the conversation turned upon the question of School Boards. Old Michael, who was a great authority on the question of education, owing to his daughter being a pupil teacher, was at once appealed to for his opinion.

"Well," he said, "awve net gooan soa deeply into this matter as some things, but aw should think 'at they'res gooin to be a mistak all th' way through. If aw understand it reight, iverybody's to be eddicated to sich a pitch, wol they'll be able to tak a sitiwation awther as a clark at a bank or a clark at a chapel, an' yo know as weel as aw do 'at ther's some fowk yo connot eddicate. My dowter has tell'd me monny a time, 'at ther's a deeal o' fowk 'at's born withaat heeads. Yo may think it saands strange but aw believe it's true—they've nobbut getten lumps, an' they're like blind boils, yo may pooltice 'em as long as yo like, an' yo can niver draw 'em to a heead, an' that bein th' case aw think 'at Forster's made a mess on it. Nah if he'd ha takken my advice, he'd ha letten it alooan until sich times as fowk had getten sense enuff to understand things."

"But Michael," said Dick Dardust, "aw must say at aw dooant agree exactly wi' all tha says, an' aw connot help thinkin 'at thy dowter may happen be mistakken abaat fowks' heeads."

"Nah, if tha'rt gooin to set thisen up as superior to my dowter, ov coorse aw've done at once. If somdy 'at's spent soa monny year i' improvin ther intellectul an' morbid sensibleness is to be questioned bi a ninkumpoop like thee, it's time to drop it."

"Aw dooant want to set misen up at all, Michael, all aw have to say is 'at th' best on us may be mistakken, an' aw've heeard a chap say, an' yo may tak his word for it, for he comes throo London, 'at this Schooil Booard an' this technical eddication is baan to revolutionize this country."

"God forbid! 'at we should iver have ony revolution i' this country as long as aw live," said Simon o' th' Lee, who had been listening, 'for ther's been blooid enuff shed latly.'

"Nay," said Michael, "tha doesn't understand what he meeans, he doesn't meean wars, he meeans 'at things will ha to be turned raand. Nah my dowter tells me 'at th' world's in a revolution allus, that is, it keeps turnin raand ov its own axle tree throo morn to neet an' niver stops."

"A'a Michael,' said Simon, 'aw think thy dowter is tryin to cram thi a bit; nah did ta iver catch th' world th' wrang side up, for aw niver did, an' aw've lived a year or two?"

"Well, awm net able to argify it, all aw know is 'at awm tell'd soa. But to come back to th' old point, abaat this Schooil Booard, and technical eddication? nah what do yo call technical eddication? Come, aat wi' it some o' yo 'at reckon to be soa weel up."

"Wel," said Dick, "technical eddication is, aw suppooas, summat 'at fowk leearns to do 'em some gooid, an' if aw understand it reight, it's summat 'at fowk leearns withaat ony books or owt o' that sooart."

"Nay," said Simon, "tha'rt wrang this time,—if aw understand it, technical eddication meeans leearnin th' names o' things sich as stars an' plants an' joints o' mait, an' iverything o' that sooart; isn't that it, Michael?"

"Aw dooant think it is, aw think Dick's nearer th' mark nor thee, for aw believe it's as he says, yo leearn it withaat ony books; in fact it's that sooart o' eddication at fowk have 'at niver went to th' schooil, it's a sooart o' common sense view o' things,—a sooart o' beein able to invent a way to do owt yo want ommost. Nah, aw'll gie yo a sample o' what aw call technical eddication. My gronfayther wor booath deeaf an' dumb an' laim, aw can just recollect him, tho he deed when aw wor a lad; he wor born deeaf an' dumb but he wornt born laim, that happened after he gate to be a man. Well, he niver went to th' schooil, but yet he wor one o' th' mooast genius chaps 'at iver yo met i' yor life; he'd a way ov his own o' dooin iverything. Aw've heeard mi fayther tell 'at when he wor a lad, ther wor a family o' five on 'em, an' they all worked at th' factory, an' as lads will, they sometimes stopt aat soa lat ov a neet 'at they fan it varry hard wark to get up next mornin; an' they had to be up at five o'clock 'coss they'd a long way to walk. Nah, mi gronfayther could nawther get up nor call aat, but ha do yo think he managed to get' 'em aat o' bed? He used to allus keep abaat a barro looad o' brokken bricks at his bedside, an' th' lads used to know as sooin as they felt 'em flyin abaat ther heeads 'at it wor time to be stirrin: one used to be enuff in a general way, but th' second wor sure to do it, even if he wor a hard sleeper, an' if th' third didn't wakken him, yo could book him for a tombstooan ony minit. Nah that's what aw call technical eddication."

"Well, if throwin bricks at a chaps heead is technical eddication, aw dooant see 'at we want a Schooil Booard to taich us that," said Jabez, "for ther's lots 'at can manage that job withaat. Nah awl tell yo what technical eddication is as yo all seem fast amang it."

"Well, if tha can lawse us, we desarve putting in a pooak an' shakkin up," said Michael, low down, but just loud enough to be heard.

"Aw heeard thi what tha sed Michael, but technical eddication is that sooart 'at taiches 'em a trade, an aw think its a varry sensible thing, 'an aw for one am i' favor ov a Schooil Board, 'an if we dooant get one up, ther's sure to be some o' them local board chaps at will, an' aw consider this to be a varry gooid time to consider th' subject, 'an depend on it, them 'at start it will have th' best chonce o' being vooated in members; an' as nooan on us but Michael has ony public office, aw beg to propooas 'at we form ussen into a quorum an mak application for a Schooil Booard, an' aw beg also to propooas 'at Michael is th' cheerman."

This last proposition was a varry good hit, for he knew that if Michael had the chance to be chairman, that he would not care a farthing what the object might be,—and there are a many like Michael in that particular.

Michael hum'd and ha'd a few times, but at last he overcame his scruples and said, "he didn't know but what it wor for th' best, and if it wornt, if it had to be done they might as weel have th' honor o' doin it as onybody else."

They held a meeting, but it would be useless for me to attempt to make you understand their arguments, for I did not, and I am pretty well convinced that they were similarly situated; but at last it was unanimously resolved that they should have a School Board, and Simon called for pen, ink, and paper to draw up a petition, and he began in a very promising manner, and proceeded very well until he came to the word technical, then he scratched his head.

"What's to do nah?" said Michael.

"Ha do yo spell technical?" said Simon, "is there a K in it?"

"Ho eea! ther must be a K in it," said Dick, "let's see, teck, neck, peck, reck, check, deck, leck;—hi! ther must be a K in it, ther's a K i' all words o' that sooart."

"Well, but aw believe ther isn't a K in it for all that," said Simon, "but whear's ther an old newspaper, we can happen find it mentioned thear."

So he got an old paper, and whilst he was running down the columns, the rest of the members were arranging when they could have th' furst feed at th' heead o' th' Booard.

"Nah," he said, "awve fun it."

"An' ther's a K in it ov coarse," sed Michael.

"As it happens tha'rt wrang for once," said Simon, "for ther isn't."

"Then ther owt to be, that's all, but aw dooant put ony faith i' newspapers, for when aw wor wed, they put in my name Michael withaat a K."

"Well, that wor reight enough, ther isnt a K i' Michael."

"Oh, isnt ther?—varry gooid,—aw know 'at my dowter spells it wi' a K an' shoo's a pupil taicher, soa shoo owt to know," said Michael.

"Thy dowter be blowed! tha wants to ram thy dowter daan ivery body's throit."

"Do aw?—Awd be looath to ram her daan thy throit anyway, tho it wodnt be sich a varry hard job, for thi maath's ommost big enuff."

"If its ony bigger accordingly nor thy nooas awl be smoored; but tha con tak th' Schooil Board an thi dowter too for what aw care, an' mich gooid may shoo do thi, for awl niver be under a cheerman at spells Michael wi' a K.

"Nah chaps," said Dick Dardust, "dont yo fratch."

"Simon does reight to fratch," said another, "Michael has noa business allus to be draggin in his dowter if shoo is a schooil mistress. My wife's sister-i'-law had a hont 'at wor a schooil mistress, an' aw dooant keep reapin it up."

As each of them had had their pints replenished a number of times during the discussion, the old saying that "when drink's in wit is out," began to be illustrated; and there was such an uproar in the place that the landlord was compelled to send for some policemen to assist him in turning them out, and when they had gone he muttered to himself, as he picked up the broken pints, "Schooil Booards! its time they'd summat. What do they want wi' Schooil Booards? Aw niver went to th' schooil an' luk at me! why aw could sup a 18 gallon to mi own cheek an net mak soa mich bother."

Whilst all this had been going on, a few of the quiet and unassuming people of the village had met at the school room for the purpose of considering the same subject. The clergyman was in the chair, and as might be expected, the business was carried on in a very different manner, and they decided to hold a public meeting, and give all an opportunity to express their opinions. Judge the dismay of the pot house Solomons, when they saw the village placarded with announcements on which the words "School Board," were in very large letters. They at once set about raising some opposition, for they felt themselves aggrieved.

Michael and Simon o'th' Lee happened to meet as they were going to work. "Nah Simon, tha sees what a mess thy stupid wark's getten us into. If tha hadn't sed ther wornt a K i' technical it ud niver ha' come to this."

"If tha hadn't sed 'at ther wor a K i' Michael it would niver ha happened, an' ther isnt a K i' technical."

"Well, happen net, but ther is a K i' Michael, becoss my dowter says—"

"Thy dowter's a fooil! shoo taks after her faither!" said Simon, as he walked away.

"Ha ha, ha! Well shoo hasnt lived to thy age withaat leearnin to know at ther's a K i' Michael," he shouted after him.

But the public meeting was held, and there was some very strong opposition, and Michael made a very long speech against School Boards, for he said that "his dowter wor a pupil taicher, an' shoo sed 'at Schooil Booards wor nobbut necessary i' them places whear they required 'em, an' he should propooas 'at this meetin wor ov opinion 'at this question should stand ovver until his dowter wor old enuff to have a schooil ov her own, an' if shoo couldn't eddicate fowk up to th' mark, it wod be time enuff to have a Schooil Booard then."

"Gooid lad, Michael!" said one.

"Michael wi' a K!" said another.

"Goa home to thi dowter, an' tell her to give thi brains a soap lather!" shouted a voice that was verry like unto Simon's.

There was a good deal of uproar for a time, but the meeting at length decided by a vote of ten to one in favour of a school board, so the opposition did no good after all, and Michael's daughter will have to take her chance.



Tha Caps me Nah!

"Has ta heeard th' news?"

"Niver a word! What's up?"

"Old Duke's getten wed."

"Nay, tha caps me nah! An' who's th' gurt maddlin getten wed to? Awst ha thowt he'd gettin to old to do that."

"He's wed Mary o' Nathan's o'th' Sludge Hoil."

"Well, tha does cap me nah! Why, he's old enuff to be her gronfayther ommost. A'a dear, A'a dear! Whativer wor shoo thinkin on? But I reckon shoo mud have a felly o' some sooart; but awd ha waited a bit longer if awd been her befoor awd ha' taen up wi' old Duke; besides he's a peg leg."

"Well shoo may'nt like him ony war for that, an' tha sees it'll save her a bit o' trouble, for shoo'll nobbut have one booit to black. But shoo's a trimmer, an' if he doesn't live to rue his bargain, awst be chaited. Shoo play'd him one o'th' nicest tricks, th' day after they gate wed 'at awve heeard tell on for a long time."

"Ha wor that?"

"Well, tha sees he gate rayther fresh o'th' weddin day, an' he wor varry dry when he wakken'd next mornin, soa he sed he'd get up an' goa as far as 'Th' Quiet Corner,' for a leck on; but shoo tell'd him he'd ha to do nowt o'th' sooart, for it wor ill enough to have a druffen chap at neet withaat havin one 'at started as sooin as he gate up. But he sed he should goa, an' shoo said he should'nt, an' they started o' threapin, but what does shoo do when he worn't lukkin, but shoves his peg leg up th' flue, an' he sowt it all ovver but couldn't find it?"

"That wor a cunnin trick onyway, but what sed Duke?"

"He had to stop at hooam ov cooarse, for shoo wod'nt tell him whear it wor until he promised net to goa near th' alehouse that day, an it had getten towards neet when he promised and as shoo'd kept a gooid fire all th' time it had getten a fairish warmin, and' old Duke noa sooiner gate it on an' wor walkin abaat a bit, nor it mashed like a pot, an' he fell his whoallength on to th' floor with his heead i'th' coilskep."

"Nay, tha does cap me nah! Ther'd be a bonny rumpus awl bet. Did ta hear?"

"Aw heeard nowt noa farther, nobbut some ov his chums gate to know, an soa they made a subscription, an' bowt him another, an' they had it painted red, white and blue, an' sent it lapt up i' silk paper. Old Duke wor ommost malancholy when he saw it, but Mary nobbut laft, an started on an' blackleeaded it, an' in a varry little time he wor set i'th' 'Quiet Corner,' wi as handsome a peg leg as tha'd wish to see. They chaff him a gooid bit abaat weddin Mary, but he taks it all i' gooid part, an' they've sent all sooarts o' presents to him. One day last week they sent him a creddle, an' Mary wor soa mad wol shoo gate th' blocker an' wor baan to chop it into chips, and wol shoo wor stormin on, a little lad coom to th' door an' sed, 'please aw've browt a pair o' specteckels for old Duke to rock th' creddle in.' An' shoo catched him a drive at side o'th' heead, wol his een fair blazed, an th' specteckels flew into th' middle o'th' rooad."

"Well, but it wor hardly reight on her to claat th' lad, coss he knew nowt abaat it."

"Why tha sees shoo didn't just think abaat it, but shoo made it all reight at after an gave him a butter cake, an' old Duke sam'd up th' specs, an' after saigin th' heead off, he turned th' creddle into a manger for his donkey."

"Well, tha caps me! But has ta heeard abaat that barrel o' ale runnin away throo old Nipsomes tother wick?"

"Noa, ha wor that? Aw hardly thowt he'd ony ale 'at had strength to run away."

"O but he has, for th' last gill awe gate fit three on us, an' we left some then. But it wor sellable stuff, awve had war:—net mich. But awl tell thi abaat this barrel. Th' brewery cart wor liverin some, an' tha knows their ale-cellar door is just at th' top o'th' old hill, an th' cartdriver let a barrel slip, an' away it roll'd daan th' hill slap agean th' gas lamp, an' it braik th' pooast i' two, an off it went till it coom to th' wall at th' bottom, when th' barrel end brast aat an' all th' ale wor wasted. Soa tha sees ther must ha been some strength in it if it could braik a iron lamp pooast; an' it wor nobbut common ale."

"Well th' loss wodn't be soa varry mich after all, they'll get ovver it. But has ta heeard they're gooin to turn Bill Summerscales' tripe shop into a limited liability company?"

"Nay, it's niver true, is it?"

"Its true enuff, for aw've been tell'd all abaat it bi a chap 'ats had it throo Bill hissen, but its a saycret tha knows, soa tha munnot tell onybody; but what does ta think on it?"

"Well aw hardly know what to think, but it seems to me 'at ther'll be noa limit to th' limited's in a bit. But what's th' shares to be, has ta heeard?"

"Ho e'ea! Ther's to be two hundred shares at a shillin a piece; nineteen twentieths he's baan to keep for hissen, an' his relations are to have th' furst chonce o'th' other, so as it'll be as mich a family affair as possible. Does ta see, that's done soa as if ivery thing doesn't work as it should, or ther should be ony fallin off i'th' quality o'th' tripe, they'll keep it quiet for ther own sakes."

"Well, aw cannot see what iver he's turnin it into a company consarn for?"

"Does ta see, he's rayther fast for that stuff fowk buys pigs wi, an' he's niver been able to pay for yon shuts painting yet, an' tha sees if theas shares are all taen up, it'll put him into a bit o' ready brass; an' th' dividend is to be declared once a year, an' th' shareholders can have ther choice whether they tak it aat i' tripe or trotters; an if th' first years' profit doesn't run to as mich as'll be a meal a piece, it'll be carried to a presarve fund, though what presarved tripe 'll be like aw cant tell."

"Well, tha caps me nah! Does ta think o' takkin up a share or two?"

"Aw hardly know yet. If aw tummel ovver as mich on mi way hooam as'll pay th' deposit, aw happen shall, but net else."

"Well, they'll net be mich i' my line. Who does ta think aw met to-day? Try to guess."

"Net aw marry! Awm noa hand at guessin."

"It wor Jim Wilkins, don'd up like a gentleman. It licks me whear he gets his brass; if ther isn't a smash up thear some day awst be capt. But he ows me nowt."

"Aw suppose his wife's a varry highty tighty sooart ov a body. Shoo's been browt up at th' boardin schooil."

"Why then, shoo'll be a poor dowdy in a haase. It's a queer thing, but eddication seems to mar as mony as it maks. Aw dooant know what Foster's bill may do."

"Is he baan to get wed?"

"Who?"

"Bill Foster."

"Aw ne'er sed owt abaat Bill Foster, aw mean Foster, M. P. for Bradforth. He's browt in a bill to eddicate fowks childer."

"Ho has he, aw niver heeard on it."

"Why tha'rt awfully behund hand."

"Aw may be i' mi politics, but net i' me payments, an' that's what monny a thaasand connot say. Aw wonder sometimes ha it wod ha been if iverybody 'at owed owt had been foorced to put it o'th' census paper. But what does ta think abaat old Strap puttin daan all his five childer musicianers?"

"Nay aw dooant know, but he wor allus a foxy sooart ov a chap an' he'd have some reason for it. But ha does ta mak it aat 'at they are all musicians?"

"Why, ther's two bellringers, two drummers, an' one drum hugger, an they all play off nooats, an' a varry long way off 'em sometimes. Did ta hear tell abaat them two lads o' his havin that do i'th' church steeple?"

"Noa, indeed aw! Let's have it."

"Well tha knows it happened to be practice neet an' as Ike wor gooin to th' church he bowt a sheep's pluck an' tuk it wi him, intendin to tak it hooam an have it cooked for ther supper. He happened to be th' furst 'at gate into th' bell chamer, soa he hung th' sheep pluck up agean th' wall, an' then went daan agean, leavin a little lamp burnin i'th' steeple. He'd hardly getten off th' step when his brother coom, an' findin th' door oppen he went up; but befoor he gate thear, a gust o' wind blew aat th' leet an' all wor as dark as pitch. He thowt it wor varry strange for he knew Ike had come before him, soa he bawled aat 'Ike!' but nobody spaik. 'Aw know tha'rt up here,' he sed, 'soa let's ha nooan o' thi tricks. Spaik, wi' ta?" but nowt spaik. Sid felt rayther freetened, but he began to grope all raand th' walls, bein sure his brother wor thear i'th' dark. All at once his hand coom agean a piece o' liver, an' it felt soa cold, an' soa mich like a face, 'at he started back, an' as sooin as he could find th' step, he ran daan as fast as he could, an' when he gate to th' bottom he luk'd at his hand an' it wor all blooidy. 'Awr Ike's cut his throit,' he sed, 'Whativer mun aw do?' An he wor just gooin to yell aat 'Police!' when who should come up but his brother. Th' seet on him tuk a gurt looard off Sid's mind, but yet he wor varry freetened. 'What's th' matter, Sid,' sed his brother, 'tha luks ill; Isn't th' pluck all reight?' 'Th' pluck's gooan,' sed Sid, shakkin his heead an' puttin his hand on his heart. 'Gooan!—Aw'll niver goa into that bell-chamer ageean as long as aw live! Aw've allus sed, if a chap 'll rob another ov his livin, he'll rob him ov his life if he's a chonce.'"

"'Well aw wor just thinkin a gooin for th' police,' sed Sid, 'but we dooant know who it is.' Its one o'th' ringers as sure as we're here.' 'Hi, its one o'th' ringers noa daat, but aw hooap he hasn't a wife an' a lot o' childer.' 'Well,' sed Ike, 'if he has, an taks it hooam for 'em to ait, aw hooap it'll chooak th' lot on 'em.' Just as he sed this, all th' rest o'th' ringers coom up, an' were capt to find Ike an' Sid soa excited, soa pairt cluthered raand one an' pairt raand tother, an' Sid tell'd one lot 'at a chap had cut his throit i'th' bell chamer, an' Ike tell'd tother 'at somdy'd stown his sheep's pluck. 'Well we mun goa an see,' sed some on 'em, an they gate some leets an away they went up. Ike wor th' first an' Sid th' last. When they gate into th' chamer, Ike saw th' pluck hung up just whear he'd left it, an' he turned raand an' saw Sid peepin off th' corner o'th' door. 'This is one o' thy tricks, Sid,' sed Ike, but th' words wor hardly aat ov his maath befoor Sid wor on his knees declaring, 'at he'd niver harmed onybody i' all his life. 'Tha's noa need to goa onto thi knees abaat it onyway,' sed Ike, 'haiver, hear it is, soa all's reight, tha con hug it up hooam for me; an' he gave it him. Sid wor soa taen, wol he put up his hands to mak sure 'at he worn't asleep; an' th' chaps 'at he'd been tellin his tale to, began to smell a rat, an' at last it wor all explained, an' niver mind if ther worn't some laffin an' chaffin. Poor Sid gets plagued abaat it yet, for ommost ivery body's getten to know, an' if onnybody, livin abaat that church, wants a sheep's heead an' a pluck, they order th' butcher to send 'em a New-Taan Boggard."

"Well tha caps me nah!"

"Gooid neet.—Awr Mally 'll think aw'm niver comin."

"Gooid neet.—But is it true?"

"True!—It's just as true as all sich like."

"A'a, well,—tha caps me nah!"



Nay Fer Sewer!

Nay fer sewer!" sed Betty Longtongue, as Sally Jibjab had finished tellin her 'at one o' th' neighbor's husband's had getten turned off. "Well, awm capt he didn't get seck'd long sin, for they tell me he wor niver liked amang th' work fowk, an' awm sure aw've seen him go in to his wark monny a time a full clock haar after awr lot's had to be thear. But aw thawt he'd find his level at last, an' awm net oft mistakken, far aw can see a hoil in a stee as weel as th' maaast."

"Why but it has'nt been owt abaat his wark 'at he's been seck'd for, but him an' two or three moor have been playin a trick o' Jane Sucksmith's husband, an' its getten to th' maister's ears, an' soa they seck'd him thear an' then."

"Nay fer sewer! whatever will ta say! Why what has he been dooin? Same mak o' pousement aw'll be bun for't."

"Well, aw can nobbut tell th' tale as it wor tell'd to me tha knows; but her 'at tell'd me, had it tell'd bi somdy 'at had heeard it throo one 'at owt to know, soa its true enuff. It seems old Sucksmith had been drinkin tother day, an' he must ha getten moor nor he could carry, an' tha knows as weel as me 'at he can sup moor nor what ud mak some fowk druffen, an' walk as steady as if he'd swallow'd a church, steeple an' all; an' he ligg'd him daan o' some sheets o' wool 'at wor bi th' rooad side, an' as Musty wor goain past he saw him, an' soa he thowt he'd have a marlock, an' he went an' fun up some ov his chums an' they gate sooit an' daub'd his face wol he luk'd war nor old Scrat hissen."

"Nay fer sewer! Why they mud easily do that aw believe, for he's nooan a gooid favvor'd chap at th' best hand."

"Noa he isn't, but they worn't content wi' that but Musty went an' gate some sooart o' paader 'at they use to dye red worset an' sich like stuff wi', an he tuk off his cap an' sprinkled it all amang his toppin, an then they left him, an' in a bit he wakken'd up, for all th' childer ith district wor gethered raand him, starin at him. Just then Musty, 'at had been waiting abaat, reckoned to come past in a great hurry, an' as sooin as he saw Sucksmith, he set up a gurt shaat o' laffin, an says, "Whativer has ta been doain, aw niver saw sich a freet i' mi life." Sucksmith wor reight gaumless for a while, but he says, "What is ther to laff at? Did ta niver see me befoor thinks ta?" "Well aw niver saw thi luk like that affoar onnyway. Whoiver is it 'at's been playin thee this trick?"

"What trick does ta meean?" he sed.

"Why doesn't ta know at thi face is all daubed wi sooit?"

Sucksmith put up his hand to feel, an' when he saw his fingers all grimed, he sed, "Aw wish aw knew who'd done this, Musty; awd be straight wi' him, an sooin too. To think 'at a chap connot fall asleep in a Kristine country withaat havin his face painted war nor a paysayger, but awst find it aght someday."

"Well, aw think its th' best plan to goa wi' me to th' "Blue Dunnock," sed Musty, an' gie thisen a gooid wesh."

Soa they went an' all Musty's mates wor set waitin in another raam.

Th' landlady wor varry gooid i' findin him some sooap an' watter, o'th' sinkstooan, an' he started to give hissen a reight gooid swill, an as sooin as th' watter gate to this stuff 'at they'd put ov his heead, it began to roll daan th' color o' blooid, an' as sooin as he oppen'd his e'en he saw it, an' he thowt at first it must be his nooas 'at wor bleedin, an' as th' landlady worn't abaat, he blew his nooase oth towel to see, but it worn't, then he put up his hand to his heead an' thear it wor sure enuff. He ommost fell sick when he saw it, an' he called for Musty as laad as he could, to see what wor to do. "Whativer's th' matter wi me thinks ta, Musty? Just Iuk, awm bleedin like a pig."

"A'a, dear, A'a dear! Why tha must ha brokken a blooid vessel."

"Aw think awve brokken two or three," sed Sucksmith "but what mun aw do?"

"Sewse thi heead wi cold watter; ther's nowt stops bleedin like cold watter. Why, if tha gooas on tha'll bleed to th' deeath."

"Aw begin to feel faint already," sed Sucksmith, as he started o' throwin moor watter on his heead; but th' moor he put on an' th' moor blooid seemed to come, an' he sed, "Oh, dear! aw believe awm done for this time, Musty; doesn't ta think tha'd better send for a doctor?"

When he lifted up his heead, Musty wor foorced to turn away for a minit to get a straight face, for Sucksmith's wor dyed th' color ov a raw beef steak, an' his heead luk'd like one o' them red door mats 'at tha's seen. But Musty advised him to goa on wi' th' watter, an' he did, an' in a while it begun to have less colour in it, an' Sucksmith's mind began to feel a bit easier.

"Aw think its ommost gien ovver nah," he sed, but luk at mi hands! why they're like a piece o' scarlet cloath."

"Eea, an thi face is th' same; tha luks to me as if tha'd getten th' scarlet-fayvor, an' awm sure ther's summat nooan reight wi' thi; but wipe thisen an' come into tother hoil, ther's some o' thi mates thear, an' we'll see what they say."

Sucksmith did as he wor tell'd, an' went into tother raam with Musty, but ther wor sich a crack o' laffin as sooin as he showed his heead, wol they mud ha fell'd him wi' a bean. "Nah lads," sed Musty, "yo shouldn't laff at a chap's misfortunes, an' awm sure ther's Summat matter wi awr friend Sucksmith, aw tell him it must be th' scarlet fayvor.'

"Well aw niver saw sich a heead i' mi life," sed another, "but its nooan th' scarlet fayvor; my belief is its th' cattle plague, an if it is, an' th' police gets to know they'll have him shot, bi th' heart will they, for they've orders to destroy ivery livin thing 'at shows ony signs o' havin it. But whear has ta been to get it thinks ta?"

"Nay, awve been nowhere 'at aw know on," sed Sucksmith, "aw felt all reight a bit sin, an' aw ligg'd daan o' some sheets o' wool an' fell asleep, an' aw niver knew aw ail'd owt wol aw coom in here to wesh me."

"Why then it will be th' cattle plague, its nowt else, ther's a deal o' sheep had it lately; an' varry likely that's some o' ther wool 'at tha's been sleepin on. But ha does ta feel?"

"Oh, aw feel varry mich alike all ovver,—awm feeared its up we me ommost, an' this has come for a warnin, for aw havn't behaved misen reight latly. But if awm spared to get ovver this awl alter."

"Why tha luks as if tha'd awther getten a warnin or a warmin, bith color o' thi face," sed one, "but aw think tha'd do wi' a glass o' summat to cooil thi daan a bit,—a red Indian's a fooil to thi."

"It must be summat serious," sed another, "are ta th' same color all ovver?"

"Aw dooant know awm sure, an'. aw havn't strength to luk," he sed.

But one o'th' chaps roll'd up his briches slop to see; "Nay, thi leg is all reight." "Well," sed Musty, "tha knows it may be soa, for we've heeard tell o' th' fooit and maath desease, an' this may be th' heead an' hand complaint. But what do yo think it'll be th' best for him to do?"

"I shuild advise him to goa hooam at once, but if ony body should see him they'll varry likely tak him for a literary chap becoss he's so deeply red." "Well, whether they tak him for a little-hairy chap or net, he'll pass for a red hairy chap an' noa mistak," sed Hiram.

But Sucksmith fancied he felt soa waik wol he didn't think he'd be able to walk hooam, soa after all biddin him "gooid bye," for fear they mud niver see him agean an one chap axin him to be sure an' tell his first wife if he met her up aboon, 'at he'd getten wed to her sister, they sent him hooam in a cab.

"Nay fer sewer! Whativer wi ta say? An' whativer did their Margit say when shoo saw him? He must ha luk'd a pictur."

"Nay, aw dooant know what shoo sed, but ther wor a rare racket ith' hoil awl a-warrant thi. But th' gurt softheead stuck in it, 'at he wor poorly, an' as shoo saw he wornt sober shoo humoured him wi lettin him goa to bed. Next mornin he'd come to his senses a bit, soa shoo let him have sich a bit o' tongue as he hadn't had latly, for tha knows shoo's a glaid when shoo starts, for if awd to say quarter as mich to my felly as shoo says to him sometimes, he'd niver darken th' door agean. He began to see what a fooil they'd been makkin on him, an' he gate up intendin to goa to his wark, but when he saw hissen ith' seamin glass, he couldn't fashion, an' soa he began o' weshin hissen first i' cold watter an' then i' hot; but it wor what they call a fast color, an' he couldn't get it to stir do what he wod.

"What mun aw do, Margit?" he sed, when he'd swill'd his heead wi' hot watter wol it wor hauf boiled; "th' moor aw wesh it an' th' breeter it seems to get. If iver aw get all reight agean ther's somdy'll want a new suit o' clooas, but it'll be a wooden en."

"Hold thi noise, lumpheead," shoo sed, "an' get thi braikfast an awl see if aw connot do summat for thi. Aw expect it'll have to be scaar'd off."

Soa after th' braikfast shoo made him ligg daan o' th' hearthstooan, an' shoo gate some wire scale an' started o' scrubbin one side ov his head, as if shoo'd been polishin th' fender; but he couldn't stand that, an' he laup'd up, an' donced up an' daan th' hoil, sayin all sooarts o' awkward things.

"What the dickens are ta thinkin on," he sed, "does ta fancy awm made o' cast-iron?"

"Aw dooan't know what tha'rt made on, but aw know tha artn't made o'th' reight sooart o' stuff for a fayther ov a family to be made on; but if tha connot get it off thisen, an' tha weant let me, tha'll be forced to stop as tha art, that's all." An' away shoo flew aat o' th' haase and left him.

"Nay fer sewer! An' whativer did he do?"

Well, he set daan and studied a bit, then he sent for a doctor, net becoss he felt poorly, but becoss he wanted to know what to do to get it off. Soa th' doctor coom, an' they say he couldn't spaik for iver soa long, for laffin at him; an' he tell'd him he'd be monny a week befoor he gate reight, an' it wod have to wear off by degrees; but his hair, he sed, wod niver be reight, soa he mud as weel have it shaved off sooin as lat. Soa he sent for Timmy, th' barber, an' had it done, an' when his wife coom back, thear he wor set, lukkin for all th' world like a lot o' old clooas wi' a ball o' red seealin wax stuck at th' top; an' thear he is i'th' haase nah, whear he'll ha to stop wol his hair grows agean.

"Nay fer sewer! An does he niver goa aat?"

"Niver,—he did goa to th' door one day when Hiram's little lass went to borrow th' looaf tins, but shoo wor soa freetened, wol shoo ran hooam, an' her mother says shoo believes shoo's gooin to have soor een; mun, he's flaysome to luk at, an' th' child has niver been like hersen sin, an' shoo connot sleep ov a neet for dreamin abaat it."

"Nay fer sewer! An what says Musty?"

"Awve niver heeard what he's sed sin he lost his shop, but Sucksmith says he's noan gooin to let it rest, for he'll send 'em some law if it costs him a paand—An' Musty says he doesn't care ha sooin for he wod be sure ov a bit o' summat to ait if he wor sent daan th' rails—but aw think it'll get made up agean. But awve left yond child ith' creddle bi hersen, soa aw mun be off." Away shoo went an' Sally watched her aat o'th seet, an' then sank into a cheer, roll'd up her arms in her appron, stared into th' fire, an' sed, "Nay fer sewer! Well ov all!—Nay fer sewer!"



Th' Battle o' Tawkin.

"Tha'rt a liar if iver ther wor one! An' that's a hard thing to say, but aw wodn't hang a cat o' thi word! It's as sure yor Alick 'at's brokken awr winder, as awm standin here, an' tha knows it too!"

"Aw say it isn't awr Alick, for he's niver been aat 'oth' haase this blessed day! Tha's awther brokken it thisen or' else one o' thi own's done it,—an' they are a lot 'oth' warst little imps 'at iver lived; an' if aw mud ha' mi mind on 'em, awd thresh' em to within an inch o' ther lives! But yo can expect nowt noa better when yo know what a bringin up they've had."

"They've had a different bringin up to what ony o' thine's likely to have, but whativer comes o' ther bringin up, yo'll have to pay for that winder, for it isn't th' first he's brokken, an' if yo dooant, next time I catch him, awl have it aat ov his booans.'

"Let me catch thee ligging a finger o' one o' mine, an' awl mak this fold too little for thee, an' sharply too; ha can ta fashion! A gurt strappin woman like thee, to mell ov a child? Tha owt to be 'shamed o' thi face! But tha has noa shame an' niver had."

"Well if tha's ony its nobbut latly come to thi! Awve too much shame to come hooam druffen of a neet after th' neighbors has getten to bed."

"Whoas come hooam druffen? Does ta mean to say 'at aw wor iver druffen? Aw'll mak thee prove thi words if ther's a law 'ith land 'at can do it! Aw'll let thee see 'at my keracter is as gooid as onybody's, an' a deal better nor sich as thine."

"Aw niver sed who it wor 'at coom hooam druffen, but aw dar say tha can guess."

"If its onnybody its thisen! gurt brussen thing 'at tha art! Who is it 'at sends ther poor husband to his wark wi' a sup o' teah an' dry cake, an' then cooks a beefsteak to ther own breakfast? Can ta tell me that?"

"If aw connot, tha can, an' that isn't all;—can ta tell me who it is 'at invites th' neighbors to rum and teah 'ith' after nooin, when they know th' husband's gooin to work ovver? Can ta tell me that?"

"Well, if ther's been onny rum an' teah stirrin, tha's allus takken gooid care to have thi share on it, but they've allus been wimmen 'ats' come to awr haase when th' maister's been aat, that's one blessin."

"Does ta meean to say 'at ther's onny fellies been to awr haase when th' husband's been off? Tha'd better mind what tha says or else that cap o' thine ul suffer!"

"Aw dooant say onny fellies has been;—tha should know th' best, but awm nawther blind nor gaumless. But aw'll tell th' what tha art;—Tha'rt a nasty, ill contrived gooid-for-nowt, an' all th' neighbors say soa, an' they wish to gooidness tha'd flit, an' all at belangs to thi, for ther's niver onny peace whear tha ar't."

"Noa, an' ther niver will be onny peace wol tha pays for yond winder! Does ta think fowk's nowt else to do wi' ther brass, but to put in winders for yor Alick to mash?"

"Aw tell thi he hasn't mash'd it, for he's niver cross'd th' doorstun sin he gate up. Th' fact is he's niver getten up yet, for he isn't at hooam, for he's aboon twenty miles off, at his gronmothers."

"Dooant tell me that! Ther's awr Vaynus comin, he knows who mash'd it. Vaynus! Who wor it 'at mash'd yond winder? Nah tell a lie at thi peril,—did ta see it brokken?"

"Eea, aw saw Topsy jump up at th' birdcage, an' it missed it click an' tumbled throo th' winder."

"A'a I drabbit that cat! Aw'll as sure screw its neck raand as awm livin!"

"Nah tha sees, aw tell'd thi it worn't awr Aleck!"

"Noa, it couldn't ha been! Are ta sure tha saw yond cat do it, Vaynus?"

"Eea awm sure aw saw it."

"Why then it wornt yor Alick! An aw hardly thowt it wor, for he's abaat as quiet a lad an' as daycent a one as ther is abaat here. Aw oft tell awrs to tak a lesson throo him."

"Ther's noa better lad iver breathed nor awr Alick;—aw dooant say'at he's better nor onnybody's else, but he's as gooid. An' awm sure tha's a lot ov as fine childer as onnybody need set e'en on, an' if they are a bit wild, what can yo expect when ther's soa monny on 'em. But aw mun get these clooas dried wol ther's a bit o' druft. Wi' ta leean me that clooas prop o' thine agean?"

"Vaynus! What are ta dooin? Goa fetch that prop this minit, an' see 'at tha allus brings it when tha sees her weshin, withaat lettin her allus have to ax for it."

"Well, awm soa glad it worn't awr Alick 'at mashed that winder."

"Soa am aw, awd rayther it had been one o' mi own bi th' hauf. What time does ta think tha'll ha done weshin?"

"Abaat four o'clock if awm lucky."

"Well, wi ta step across an' have a cup o' teah wi us?"

"Eea, aw dooant mind if aw do."



"Owd Tommy."

(A Yorkshire Sketch.)

Of all the seasons of the year,—that portion when winter treads upon the skirts of the retiring autumn, always seems to me to be most deeply fraught with sorrowful associations. A few short weeks before, one has beheld the year in stately pride, loaded with blessings, and adorned in nature's most luxurious garb, waters in silvery streams have lightly leaped and bounded in the shadow of the waving ferns,—and little flowers have nodded on the brink and peered into the crystal depths, as though in love with their reflected loveliness;—the little hills have decked their verdant breasts with floral gems, and the frowning crags have seemed to smile, and from their time-worn crevices have thrust some wandering weed, whose emerald tints have lent a soothing softness to the hard outline of their rugged fronts. The feathered songsters on untiring wing, have flitted in the sunny sky, pouring forth melodious sounds in thankfulness and joy, as though their little hearts were filled too full of happiness and overflowed in drops of harmony.

Light fleecy cloud's like floating heaps of down have sailed along the azure sky, casting their changing shadows on the earth, whilst sighing winds have whispered soothing songs amongst the rustling leaves, and ripened fruits have hung in tempting show their sun-burnt fronts, courting the thirsty lip, to tell us in their silent eloquence that the year has gained its prime.

Even when the ice-king reigns, and howlling storms drive with remorseless fury o'er the plains, or wreck their vengeance on the sturdy woods,—roaring amongst the pliant branches, and entwining around the knarled trunks, uprooting some as though in sport to show its giant strength. And the cascade which formerly leaped forth from sylvan nooks where the wild flowers half hid its source, and bathed themselves in the ascending mist,—now roaring down in sullied swollen force, bearing along the wrecks of summer beauties,—tumbling and hissing through its frost bordered bed,—growling in foaming rage around the rocks which here and there protrude their sullen face to check its mad career;—even this has much of majesty and beauty, and claims our admiration. But when some glories of the autumn yet remain, and e'er stern winter has usurped the sway,—one wide-wide field of death and desolation is all that's left for man to ponder over;—fading flowers, trembling and shrinking in the raw cold blast;—half naked trees, that day by day present a more weird aspect—fields still green, but stripped of every gem;—whilst still some russet warbler may be heard chirping in sorrow and distress, and heavy looking clouds anxious to screen the cheering ray, which now and then bursts forth with sickly smile, that seems like ill-timed mirth amongst the dead.

On such a time as this, and in the early Sabbath morning, might be seen a stalwart farmer strolling o'er the hills which command a view of the little but interesting village of Luddenden.

I do not think that the dreary look of decaying beauties had much effect upon him,—the pale blue smoke that issued from his mouth, in measured time, seemed to afford him every consolation. He evidently saw some one approaching in whom he was interested. Having satisfied himself that he was not mistaken, he began talking aloud:—

"Oi! that's him sure enough; nah whativer can owd Tommy want laumering over thease hills at this time o'th' morning? He's a queer chap, takkin him all i' all; an' still if ought should happen him aw doant know where they'd find his marrow; he's been th' same owd Tommy iver sin aw wor a lad, an' aw'm noa chicken nah—he said—stroking a few grey hairs, which, like a tuft of frosted grass, adorned his ruddy cheeks. Aw sud think he's saved a bit o' brass bi this time, for he wor allus a nipper; but he wor allus honest, an' it isn't ivery man yo meet i'th world 'at's honest; but aw doant think Tommy ud wrang ony body aght o'th' vally o' that;"—saying which, he snapped his finger and thumb together to denote its worthlessness.

A few minutes more and Tommy might be plainly seen slowly ascending the somewhat rugged road toward the spot where stood the farmer leaning against the wall awaiting him. I could not better occupy the time that intervenes than endeavour to picture the approaching traveller. His age I would not dare to guess, he might be 60, or he might be 90. He was a short thick-set man, and rather bent, but evidently more from habit than from weight of years. He wore a long blue coat which plainly spoke of years gone by, and bore in many places unmistakable evidence that Tommy was no friend to tailors; beneath this an old crimson plush waistcoat, that had long since done its duty, some drab knee-breeches, and a pair of dark grey stockings which hid their lower extremities in a pair of shoes about large enough to make two leather cradles; on his head a hat that scorned to shine, and in his hand he carried an oaken staff; his small grey eyes glistened with a spark of latent wit, whilst on his face was stamped in unequivocal characters some quaint originality.

"Gooid morning, Tommy," said the farmer.

"Gooid morning Dick," replied Tommy, "it's a nice day ower th' head but fearful heavy under th' fooit."

"You're reight," said Dick, "but where are yo trapesing to this morning?"

"Waw, aw'm gooin as far as Dick's o' Tom's at th' Durham, to get my tooa nails cut," said Tommy.

"Well, yo'll happen bait a bit and ha a wiff o' bacca wi' me, for its a long time sin aw saw yo afoor," said Dick.

"Waw, aw dooant mind if aw have a rick or two, but aw munnot stop long, for it luks rayther owercussen up i'th' element; but ha's that lad o' thine getting on sin he wed quiet Hannah lass? Aw've wondered sometimes if he wod'nt rue his bargain,—is shoo as fat as sho wor?"

"Eea, shoo keeps i' varry gooid order, shoo puts her mait into a better skin nor th' mooast; they didn't hit it soa well at th' furst, for shoo wor varry waspish, an' tha knows awr Joa's as queer as Dick's hatband, when he's put aght a bit. One morning, abaght a wick after they wor wed, Joa woran't varry weel, an' had to ligg i' bed a bit,—shoo gate up to muck th' beeas,—(for shoo can do a job like that, tha knows, when shoo's a mind.)"

"Eea! eea!" said Tommy, "noabody better,—shoo's a pair o' gooid end,—shoo's nooan afeared o' dipping her finger i' water, nut shoo."

"Well, aw tell thi, shoo gate up, an' in a while shoo call'd aght 'at his porridge wor ready when he liked to come daan, an' then shoo went aght. Soa in a bit, he gate up, an' th' pan wor stood o' th' rib flopping away rarely. Well, he gate a plate, an' thowt he'd tern' em aght to cooil, when asteead o' porrige, aght come th' dish claat slap on to his fooit;—talk abaght single step doncing!—tha should just ha seen him; he ommost lauped clean ower th' breead flaik;—an' thear shoo stood grinning at him throo th' winder, an' he wor soa mad—he wuthered th' pan fair at her head;—he miss'd his aim an' knock'd th' canary cage to smithereens, th' cat gate th' burd, an' th' pan fell into th' churn. Nah, what wod ta think ov a thing like that?"

"Waw, its just loike one ov her tricks;-tha knows shoo wor allus a trimmer o' one, Dick."

"Shoo wor, Tommy, an shoo allus will be to her deeing day. It put awr Joa into a awful passhian, but shoo didn't care a pin, shoo said shoo'd lived too long near a wood' to be fear'd ov a hullet,—but they're as reight as Dick and Liddy nah. Aw'll tell thi ha that happens. Tha knows, awr Joa allus thowt a deeal ov his mother, an he wanted th' wife to do i'th' same way; an one morning shoo' wor neighding th' dooaf, when Joa says, 'Mally', that isn't th' way to neighd, my mother allus 'used to do soa;'—an' he wor baan to show' haa; Shoo made noa mooar to do, but lauped into th' middle o'th' bowl wi' her clogs on, an' started o' traiding it wi' her feet, an' shoo says, 'does thi mother do soa?' After that, he let her have it mooastly to her own way, an' they seem to get on varry weel amang it nah—an' if he keeps steady they're putting it together nicely. An' what have yo fresh, Tommy?"

"Nay, nowt 'at means ought aw think, Dick—but aw'd like to been pooisened t'other wick, but as luck let, aw wor noa war."

"Pooisened! Tommy, nay, surelee nut."

"Yos, but aw had—tha sees aw live at th' Ee'Gurnard, an' aw'd just been into th' mistal wi' young maister William, an' he'd been holding th' canel for me whol aw siled th' milk, an' he wor full ov his marlocks an' bluzzed th' canel up mi nooas an' put it aght,—he's a shocker."

"Waw, Tommy, yo wodn't be pooisened wi' a canel, aw'll niver believe?"

"Noa, but as aw wor telling thi, aw'd been i'th' mistal, an' aw went into th' kitchen for a bit o' summat to ait. Aw saw some fat o'th' ooven top in a pot, soa aw gate some breead an' ait it up. Aw thowt it wor fearful gooid an' savored summat aw'd niver had afoor; but just when aw'd finished it, one o'th' young mistresses come daan an' axed me what aw'd done wi' what wor i'th' pot? Soa aw tell'd her aw'd etten it. Etten it!!' shoo skriked. 'Etten it!! Why,' shoo says, 'yo'll be pooisened, Tommy, its pumatum!' Well, aw says, 'pumatum or net, aw've etten it,'—an' away shoo ran an' browt th' maister an' th' mistress, an' all t'other fowk i'th' haase, an' rarely they laffed tha minds; but maister made me a glass o' rum to settle it, an' aw felt noa mooar on it."

"Well," said Dick, "tha mayn't feel it nah, but aw shouldn't be capped if thi inside wor to grow full o' ringlets."

"Niver heed that, they'll keep mi belly warm," said Tommy, "but th' bacca's done, soa aw mun be making mi way shorter. Gooid day, Dick."

"Gooid day, Tommy. Aw hope tha'll have a fine day for thi walk."

"Eea, eea, aw hope aw shall, but if it rains aw sholl'n't melt."

"Nooah, but its rayther coolish."

"It'll be warmer as it gets ooater, Dick. Gooid day."

And thus the two friends parted; each smiling at the quaint humor of the other;—the one to climb seven miles of rough and heavy road to get his toe nails cut, and the other to pay an early visit to his son, and rest his limbs, which by six days of willing toil had earned a Sabbath's rest. He walked slowly, musing as he went, and every now and again making audible the current of his thoughts.

"Its monny a long year sin aw saw owd Tommy before, an' it may be monny a long year before aw see his face agean; aw think owd Time must use him wi' a gentler hand nor he uses me. Aw remember th' first time aw saw him, he wor coming past th' churn milk Joan, wi' a lump o' parkin in his hand as big as awr ooven top; an' that wor th' day 'at Jenny an' me wor wed. It seems like a dream to me nah. Poor Jenny!—if there's a better place, tha'rt nooan soa far off thear!" And then he paused to wipe the heavy drops from off his cheeks. "Aw thowt aw'd getten ower this sooart o' thing, nah he sed, but aw believe aw niver shall. Its just five year come Easter sin aw laid her low, an awve niver been able to aford a grave stooan for her yet, but aw can find that bit o' rising graand withaat a mark, an prize it nooan the less. But its noa gooid freating abaght things we cannot help. Aw'll have another reek or two an' goa an' see awr Joa." So filling his little black clay pipe with the fragrant weed (which for convenience he carried loose in his waistcoat pocket), he puffed his cloud of incense in the air and hastened on to gain his journey's end. A walk of a few minutes brought him to the door of a low whitewashed farm-house, around which the cans were reared, ready to be filled with the morning's milk. He ventured in, (first carefully removing all the mire from his shoes, lest he should soil the nicely sanded floor,) and drawing up the old arm chair which shone like polished ebony,—he looked around the strange apartment. "Its a queer fancy (he said at last) at Mally should be soa fond o' pots,—what ther's mooar here nor what ud start a shop; it saves th' expense of slapdashing onyway." And he was right, for, from floor, to ceiling, and along the old oak beams, appeared one medley of crockery—pots of all sizes—cups and plates of all shapes and patterns were hung or reared against the wall until it was impossible to find another place where one might be displayed; and on the mantle shelf, a long array of china images of fortune-telling gipsies, guarded at each end by what was supposed to represent a dog—they might resemble dogs, but surely such a breed exists not now, for if there was a point about them to recommend, it was what Mally often said, "They ait nowt." In a short time both Joe and Mally made their apperance—health bloom on their cheeks, and with a hearty welcome prepared the morning's meal. A clean white cloth spread on as clean a table, the requisite pots, the fresh churned butter, and the wheaten bread was all that was displayed to tempt them to the meal; but it was all that was required, for appetite gave relish to the plain repast, and many a wealthy man in stately rooms, with every luxury around, might well have envied them their simple fare, sweetened by labor, and so well enjoyed—whilst savory meats, of which they never knew, in vain invited him whose satiated tastes loathed every dish. But the old farmer did not seem at ease, and when the meal was over—after a short conversation, he bade them both good day, and turned his steps towards his lonely home. Perhaps it was the son who called up in the old man's mind some thoughts of former days—or perhaps the train of thought he had indulged in previously might have laid a load of gloom upon him; but, be it as it may, he seemed inclined to spend the day under his own roof tree.

The winter came and spread its spotless snows o'er hills and dales; the wild winds wailed; the woodman's axe echoed amidst the woods; the song birds fled; the dauntless redbreast twittered on the window sills; the cawing rooks wended their weary way in solemn flight. The spring again, like a young bashful maid, came smiling upon old Winter's track; the field's looked gay again; and trees seemed vieing which could first be drest in verdant green. The Summer followed on, the sun shone o'er the fields of ripening grass; the mowers scythe was dipped in fragrant dews, and Flora bounteously bestowed her favorite flowers. Autumn succeeded, and once more the' eye was gladdened with the bearded grain, waving in golden splendour in the breeze;—again the luscious fruits are tempting one to pluck; and soon again the year,—weary with its labors, prepares to sleep, and desolation reigns.

'Tis Sunday morning, and the sun looks down through murky mists;—the ground is slightly hardened with the nipping frost; here and there some hardy flower endeavours to look gay:—the tolling bell rings out its morning call, and straggling groups wend their way to worship in the village church. But on the hill, which rises high above, was stood a man in deep and earnest thought. One could scarcely have believed that the pale, aged looking man, who dressed in sombre black was standing and looking over the quiet scene, was the stalwart farmer, who just one year before was holding converse with old Tommy;—but he begins to speak.

"Its just twelve months to day," he said, "sin aw wor talking to him o' this varry spot, an nah he's gooan, an awm left to attend his funeral: ther's nowt to feel sorry for 'at aw know on, but when an owd face is noa mooar, 'at one's been used to see—it tells a tale 'at's easy understood;—it leaves a gap i'th' world 'at's never shut—it bids us to prepare an reckon up awr life to see if all's as we could like it to be,—an' use what time's left to square accounts,—soa's when we're called to 'liver up, we may be ready. Jenny wor ready, an soa wor Tommy. It isn't ivery man yo meet i'th world 'at's honest."



It Mud ha' been War.

If iver onybody had th' luck to get off th' wrang side o'th' bed ivery mornin, an' to allus be gettin into scrapes all th' day long, it 'wor Jack throo' th' Jumpels. It seemed as if some evil genius wor allus abaat makkin spooart on him. If he gate mezzured for a suit o' clooas, th' tailor wor sure to tak th' length ov his coit sleeves for his britches slops, or else mak 'em after another mezzur altogether; awther soa mich too big wol he luk'd like a wanderin bedtick seekin th' flocks, or else soa mich too little wol he used to send his arm's an' legs soa far throo, till yo'd fancy he'd niver be able to get 'em back. But wi' all his bad luck, an' i' spite o' all th' scrapes he gate into, he wor a varry gooid-hearted chap, an' iverybody 'at knew him gave him a gooid word. He went to see a hont o' his one day, an' he'd donned his best duds, an' he couldn't help thinkin as he wor gooin whether be should be able to keep aght ov a mess or net, an' as he knew his hont wor a varry particlar body, he detarmined to do his varry best. When he gate to th' door he saw' at shoo'd nobbut just scarr'd th' steps, an' he luk'd at his feet an' thowt it wod be a pity to put sich mucky booits on to sich nice wark, soa he went raand to th' back yard; but when he gate thear th' door wor fesand, soa he thowt th' best plan wod be to climb over th' wall, for as it wor th' middle o'th' day, an' all th' fowk i'th' tother haases could see what wor gooin' on, he knew shoo'd niver forgive him for callin her aght if shoo didn't happen to be weshed an' tidied; soa up he climbed, an' as it wor twice as deep o'th' tother side he worn't disappointed to see a big tub just standin nicely ready to step on to; soa ovver he jumpt, an' as might be expected, th' top gave way, an' he varry sooin fan hissen up to th' middle i' pig-mait. But he nawther stamped nor sware nor made a din like mooast fowk wod ha' done—for he'd getten soa use to messes o' one sooart an' another wol he'd begun to tak 'em as a matter o' cooarse.

"Well, here's another bit o' my luk," he sed; "this is another mullock aw've getten into, soa aw mun get aght on it someway; it's noa use freeatin' abaat what cannot be helped, an' ther's one consolation, it mud ha' been war." Just as he wor scramlin' aght, his hont coom to see what wor to do, but shoo didn't fly into a pashon as yo might fancy. "Hallo, Jack!" shoo says, "aw thowt it must be thee; tha's dropt in for it another time, has ta?"

"Eea, aw reckon aw have, but if aw havn't spoilt th' swill aw dooant care."

"Oh, aw'll forgie thi that, lad; tha's'made a nice pictur o' thisen, reight enuff; aw could just like thi fottagraff takkin nah, but come thi ways in."

"Nay, hont aw'll nooan come in i' this state; aw'll call agean some other day, for awst mak nowt but muck."

"Niver heed th' muck; come thi ways in, for tha lukes like a hauf-draand ratten; tha'll catch thi deeath o' cold if tha hasn't summat warm. Come in an doff them clooas, an' aw'll see if aw connot find some o' thi uncles 'at'll fit thi wol thine's fit to put on agean. Aw niver did see sich a mess i' all my life. Th' idea ov a chap fallin' up to' th' middle in a swill-tub!"

"Why, its net varry nice, reight enuff, but it mud ha' been war, hont."

"Aw wonder ha," shoo sed.

"Why, if aw'd gooan ovver th' heead."

"Well, that wodn't ha' made, things ony better, truly; but th' next time 'at tha'rt comin' ovver that way just let me know, an' aw'll have that tub aght o'th' gate. Goa thi ways into th' chamer an' change them stinkin' things, an' then come an' sit thi daan an' let's tawk to thi a bit, an' see if aw can get ony sense aght on thi, for aw'm sure nubdy can put ony in."

"All serene," sed Jack, an he went an' changed his clooas, an' when he'd getten donned afresh he coom daan stairs an' sat daan i'th' arm-cheer beside th' fire. "Yea-a-aw! yea-a-aw!" went summat, an' up he sprang as if th' cheer-bottom wor redwoot. "A'a, tha gurt gaumless fooil!" sed his hont, "couldn't ta see a cat an' three kittens? Aw do believe tha's killed 'em ivery one! Poor little things!" Nay, nay, aw niver did see sich a thing i' all my life! tha's killed 'em all three, an' it's a wonder tha hasn't killed th' old cat an' all. Dear-a-me, aw did intend draandin 'em to-morn, an' to think 'at they should be squeezed to deeath this way, Aw shalln't get ovver it for monny a day."

"Well, aw'm varry sooary, hont; but aw niver saw' em, iw'm sure. Whoiver expected to find a cat an' three kittens in a arm-cheer? But let's be thankful, for it mud ha' been war."

"Nay, net it! it couldn't ha' been war nor it is: tha's killed em, an' tha couldn't do ony moor if tha'd to try." "Well, but aw mud ha' killed th' old cat as weel, yo know."

"What does ta say? Killed awr Tibby? Tha'd better keep thi heels this rooad as long as iver tha lives nor think o' sich a thing, for aw browt her up wi a spooin throo being blind, an' aw wodn't swap her for all th' cats i'th' world. An' if it had been anybody else nor thee 'at had done this, they'd ha' heeard a bit o' my tongue, aw con tell thi; but, haiver, it is as it is, soa sit thi daan. Tha's noa need to luk soa jaylus, mun, ther's nowt under thi nah but a wish in; tha luks as white as a gooast; aw expect tha's getten thi deeath o' cold, but aw'll get thi a sup o' whiskey, an' see if that'll warm thi a bit."

Shoo went to th' cubbard an' browt aght a bottle, an' put it onto th' table, teld him to help hissen. "Tha's noa need to be flaid on it," shoo sed, "it's some o'th' reight sooart; it's what thi uncle allus taks when he ails owt, an' aw believe if th' time iver comes when a sup o' that willn't cure him, it'll be a case o' curran cake an slow walkin: for aw believe its saved his life manny a scoor times already, an' it's a deeal cheeaper nor doctor's physic."

Jack tem'd some into a glass an gate a gooid swig; an' if yo could ha' seen his face yo'd niver ha' done ony moor gooid. If it had been stricknine he couldn't ha' pooled a faaler mug. "What's th' matter," shoo says, "is it to strong?"

"Aw dooant know whether it's to strong or net," he said, "but it's aght ov a different tap to what aw'm used to; just yo taste, an' lets see ha yo like it."

"It's thi maath 'at's aght o' order, mun; it's a drop o' old Slicer's best, an' aw'm sure ther's noa better to be getten abaat this quarter. Aw dooant reckon to tak owt to sup misen," shoo sed, "but aw'll just taste wi' thi."

"Eea, do, sup it up, aw'm sure tha'rt welcome, for aw've had enuff."

Shoo gate a drop into her maath, but it coom aght agean sharper nor it went in; aw thowt her heart ud come up. "A'a dear! a'a dear!" shoo says, "it's Harryget watter! it's Harryget watter! aw've made a t'mistak!' aw've made a mistak! but it's just thi luck."

"Eea, aw expected yo'd say soa; it's allus put daan to my luck, whether it's my mistak or somdy else's; but it mud ha' been war."

"Thear, tha'rt at it agean; aw believe if it h'ad been pooisen tha'd say soa; but, here, sithee, try this bottle; aw fancy tha'll find this'll run daan better nor th' last." Soa he made hissen a drop, an' after tawkin' a bit abaat ha things wor gooin on in a reglar way, he axed if his uncle wor varry weel.

"Yos, he's varry weel, aw think; at ony rate, he wor all, reight when he left here at braikfast time. Aw'm just gettin his dinner ready, an' tha con tak it him if tha's a mind; tha'll find him up i'th' brickfield yonder, doom summat at th' old well."

Jack sed he'd be glad to goa, for he wanted to see him befoor he went back, soa as sooin as all wor ready he set off an' went towards th' well, but befoor he gate up to it he 'heeard his uncle shaatin an' bawlin an' gooin on as it he wor mad. "What's to do, uncle?" he sed as sooin as he gate up to him, "whativer's to do?"

"Do! it's enuff to drive me cracked, aw do declare! Here have aw had a lot o' chaps leadin watter to this old well for monny an' monnya day, so as we can pump it as we want it into that long field, an' aw'm blowed if summat hasn't getten to th' valve or summat, an' ther willn't a drop come."

"Why what will yo have to do nah!" sed Jack.

"Do I what can aw do? Ther's nowt for it nah but for somdy to goa daan an' set it reight, an' aw'm far to old for sich a job'."

"If that's all," sed Jack, "aw think aw con scrammel daan that pipe; ha deep is is it?"

"It's nobbut abaat fifty feet, an' ther's a gooid flange to rest on at ivery two yards, but aw hardly dar let thi try, for tha maks si'ch a mess o' iverything."

"Dooant yo freeat abaat that; aw'll goa daan, just see."

"Well, mind what tha'rt dooin', for ther's a gooid deeal o' watter in nah." Jack began to slide daan, one length at a time, an in a bit he called aght "all reight."

"C'an ta raik th' valve," sed his uncle.

"Eea, but aw cannot stir it unless yo send me a hammer daan."

"Well, stop thear wol aw fotch one, an' aw'll lower it daan wi' a bit o' band." An' away he ran to th' bottom o'th' next held for a hammer. He'd getten abaaf hauf way daan, when up comes another looad o' watter, drawn bi two horses, an' two men wi' em.

"This'll be my last looad to-day, Jeffry," sed one to his mate.

"An' aw'm glad on it," sed Jeffry; "aw wonder if th' gaffer's getten th' valve altered yet; he wor sayin' summat abaat it when aw coom wi' th' last barrel."

"Aw can't say, aw'm sure; but another barrelful can't mak soa mich difference, whether he has or net, soa here goas." As sooin as he sed that, he knocked a gurt bung aght o'th' back o'th' barrel, an a stream as thick as mi leg began paarin daan th' well. It wor a gooid job for Jack 'at he happened to be claspin his arms raand th' pipe, for if he hadn't he'd ha' been swum ovver th' heead, an' noa mistak; an' as it wor, he could hardly get a bit o' breeath, for th' watter seemed to spreead aght like a sheet, an drive all th' air aght. He did try to shaat once or twice, but it wor noa use, for th' watter made sich a din wol nubdy could hear him.

It didn't tak th' uncle aboon three or four minits to fotch th' hammer, an' as he war comin with it he saw this wattercart bein emptied into th' well, an' his heart gave ovver beeatin for abaat a minit; then he set up sich a shaat, an' ran at sich a speed, wol th' chaps wondered what could be to do. "Hold on!" he sed, "for goodness sake, hold on! Didn't yo know 'at my neffy wor i'th' well?" "Noa bi th' heart did we!" an' th' barrel wor bunged up in a crack, an' th' uncle bawled daan th' well as laad as he could, "Jack, if tha'rt draanded spaik! He's deead sure enuff," he said; "one on yo goa daan an' see if yo con bring up his body." Just then coom a saand o' summat knockin th' pipe at th' bottom, an' th' uncle called aght, "Jack, whear are ta?"

"Aw should think yo've a gooid nooation whear aw am," sed Jack, "aw've managed th' job, soa nah aw'm comin up; luk aght an' give me a lift." As sooin as his heead wor within th' raich ov his uncle's fist, he collared hold ov his toppin, an niver let goa agean wol he stood o' safe graand. "By gow, Jack, tha's given me a shock; awst be some time afoor aw get ovver this; tha owt to manage better nor soa; it's like as if ivery thing tha touches tha maks a mess on it."

"That's reight, uncle, lig it o' me! But aw wonder whether yo or me gate th' mooast ov a shock. Aw should fancy it wor me."

"Well, reight enuff, lad, it wor'nt a nice place to be in, an' that suit o' clooas 'll niver be fit to be seen agean."

"Noa, aw dooant think they will," sed Jack; "but it mud ha' been war, for they arn't mine."

"Why, whoa's are they? aw thowt as tha coom up 'at tha luk'd varry respectable."

"Aw dooant know whoa's ther reightful owner, uncle, but mi hont has lent 'em me to put on wol mine gate dried, for, yo know, aw've been i'th' swill-tub once today."

"Why, then, that's my best Sundy suit 'at tha's gooan an spoiled! aw wonder 'at thi hont had noa moor sense nor to leean 'em to thee."

"Aw wonder aw'd noa moor sense nor to goa daan that well to spoil 'em, for it's nooan a nice hoil to be in, an' when aw've a shaar-bath, aw'd rayther have it withaat onybody's clooas."

"Well, let's lig away, an' get hooam as fast as we can, for thi hont'll mak a noise aw'll bet, soa we mud as weel get it ovver as sooin as possible."

They went hooam an' tuk th' uncle's dinner back wi 'em, an' as sooin as shoo saw Jack shoo rested her neives on her huggens, an lukkin at him throo heead to fooit sed, "What's ta been doin nah; can't ta stur withaat gettin into a scrape?"

"Well it seems net, for if aw dooant get into a mess misen, ther's somdy gets me into one."

"Tha'll keep me dryin cloas for thee, aw can see that; but goa upstairs an' put on thi own duds, an' awl see if aw can fettle them up at tha has on."

"Awm sooary to give yo soa mich trouble, but then it mud ha been war, if awd gooan daan an' niver come up."

"Tha'd ha been noa loss, lad, tha needn't think; but luk as sharp as tha con, for aw've begun to get th' teah ready."

"Awl net be long," he sed, an' wol he wor changin his clooas th' uncle tell'd her all 'at had happen'd, on shoo laff'd wol her face wor as red as a turkey cock.

When Jack coom daan th' table wor set an' all ready for th' teah, an' th' uncle an' hont had takken ther places at th' table.

"Come sit thi daan," sed his hont; "but before tha does, just hand me th' tea pot off th' rib; an' mind, for th' hanel's hot."

"Awl mind," he sed; an' as he began to think he'd had mishaps enuff for one day, he thowt he'd steer clear ov ony moor, an' soa as he'd been wan'd th' hanel wor hot, he tuk hold o'th' spaat, an' he'd hardly getten a yard away throo th' fire wi' it, when a streeam o' boilin teah began to run daan th' inside ov his jacket sleeve; but he held on like a man, an' he wor detarmined he'd land it on to th' table, soa he ran wi' it an' bang'd it into th' middle o'th' tea things, smashin cups an' saucers an' upsettin th' sugar basin an' th; creeam jug, an' makkin sich a mash as yo niver saw.

Up jumpt booath hont and uncle. "Just luk at my yollo satin dress," sed his hont; "it'll niver be fit to be seen agean!"

"If tha doesn't tak thysen aght o' this haase," sed his uncle, "awl pawse thi aght, for tha's made moor bother sin tha coom in nor enuff."

But poor Jack wor sufferin badly, which his hont (woman like) noa sooiner saw nor shoo forgave him all th' damage he'd done, an' went to sympathise with him. His arm wor varry badly scalded, an' soa shoo put some traitle an' flaar on it, an' lapp'd it up, an' then he sed he thowt it wor time he trudged hooam. "Aw wish tha'd trudged long sin," sed his uncle, "an' if tha doesn't come here agean wol aw send for thi, tha willn't come yet a bit."

Jack gate his hat an' wor just gooin aght, when they discovered 'at it wor rainin varry fast. "Awl leean thi a umberella," said his hont, "but aw dooant think awst iver see it agean, but as tha's been wet throo twice to-day aw think tha's had baat enuff."

He took th' umberella an' went to th' door, an' they follow'd him to bid him gooid day.

He shoved th' umbrella under his arm, an' held aght his hand, "Gooid bye hont, wol aw see yo agean." "Confaand thy stupid heead!" shaated aght th' uncle.

"What's up nah?" sed Jack.

"Can't ta see? Tha's shoved th' end o' that umberella stick reight into mi e'e."

"Why, awm varry sooary," sed Jack, "but it mud ha' been war!"

"Ha could it ha' been war, softheead?"

"Why if awd shoved it into' em booath," sed Jack as he hooked it, for he thowt he'd better be goin.

Whether he landed hooam withaat ony moor mishaps or net aw cannot say; but varry likely net. But aw think, we've follow'd him far enuff for once, an' yo can form yor own opinion ov what sooart ov a chap he wor, but altho we're inclined to laugh at sich a chap, yet they've happen as mich wisdom as some 'at think they've moor; an' a chap's moor to be envied nor pitied 'at can console hissen wi' thinkin 'at haiver bad things are, 'at they mud hai been war.



Ha a Dead Donkey Towt a Lesson.

Respectfully dedicated to my ill-used long-eared friend,

Neddy Bray

Some fowk choose one thing, some another, To grace ther prose or rhyme; Some sneerin say 'at tha'lot my brother, Maks me choose thee for mine; Well, let 'em sneer owd Neddy lad, Or laff at my selection, Who fail to see ther type i' thee Are void o' mich perception.— Ther's things more stupid nor an ass, An things more badly treated, Tho' we ait beef, an' tha aits grass, May be we're just related. Throo toil an' trouble on tha jogs, An' then like ony sinner, Tha dees, an' finds a meal for th' dogs;— We furnish th' worms ther dinner.

Deemas an' 'Becka used to keep th "Cock an' Bottle," i' awr street. They'd lived thear iver sin th' haase wor built, an' won iverybody's gooid word, at worn't particlar abaght a sup o' drink. One day they sent aght invitashuns to all ther neighbors an' friends to come to a tea drinkin. Niver mind if ther wornt a rumpus i' that district! Th' chaps winked when they met one another, an' said "Aw reckon tha'll be at yond doo?" "Aw mean to be nowt else," they'd reply; an' away they'd trudge i' joyful anticipation of a reight spree!

But th' women! Hi! that's it! It's th' women 'ats th' life an' soul ov a jollificashun yet. They wor buzzin aght o' one door into another just like a lot o' bees, to see what soa an soa wor gooin in. "What sooart ov a bonnet art ta baan in Zantippa?" said Susan Stooanthrow; (or rayther aw should, say, Miss Stooanthrow, for shoo reckoned hersen th' lady o'th ginnel).

"Well, aw've nut made up mi mind yet," shoo says; "but aw have thowt aw should goa, aw hardly know ha'; but what does ta think o' gooin in?"

"Well, aw suppooas it's ta be a varry spicy affair, soa aw have thowt aw should goa i' full dress. Yo' see, being a single woman, an' rayther a stylish shape, aw think it 'ud just suit me. What do yo' think?"

"Just the varry ticket, lass! Tha' couldn't do better! For, as aw've mony a time said to Betty Wagstang, ther's noabody con mak up a moor lady-liker appearance nor what tha con, when tha's a mind! But talkin' abaght Betty, has ta seen that new cap o' hers?"

"Do yo' mean that shoo bowt up th' street t'other wick?"

"Th' same! Did ta iver see onybody luk sich a flaycrow i' all thi life? Her heead reminds me ov a gurt pickled cabbage. Shoo doesn't keep up her colour wi' nowt, tha may depend on't. Awther shoo can mak brass goa farther nor other fowk, or else summat else; but they tell me 'at thers nut mony shopkeepers abaght here but what has her name daan ofter nor they like. But that's noa business o' mine."

"Aw shouldn't be at all apprised at that, for aw've heeard fowk say 'at her family wor allus fond o' summat to sup afoor shoo wor born, an' they niver had a gooid word at th' shops. Is she gooin' ta be at this swarry?

"At this what does ta say, Susy?"

"Aw said swarry, some fowk call it sooary. It means a pairty like yo' know; it's th' French for a sooart ov a dooment, that's all."

"Oh, well, awm sooary to say 'at booath her an' her felly gate a invite, but tha knows we've noa need ta mix up wi' sich like unless we've a mind. Aw'm capt whativer made Becka ax her, for ther's hardly a woman i'th ginnel but what had leever goa a' mile another rooad nor meet her; but aw declare shoo's comin' sailin' daan like a fifty-gun ship! Talk abaght owd Nick, an' he'll show his horns."

"Well, Zantippa I aw do declare shoo is! Soa we mun stand it aght, but aw shall be varry reverse i' my talk, yo'll see."

"Gooid morning, lasses!" said Betty, burstin' in. "Aw thowt awd just come daan to see what yo' thowt o' doing abaght this doo at th' Cock." "Are ta baan Susy?"

"Yes, aw expect soa, for aw received a 'billy duck' the t'other day, a askin' ov me to be present, if nothing didn't interspect my 'rangements no otherwise."

"Why, Susy! hang it up! sin' tha began o' dressmakin' an' wearin' thi hair like th' Empress Uginny, wi' all them twists an' twines, aw con hardly tell what tha means. Are ta studdyin' for a skooilmistress?"

"Nut exactualy, but yo' see aw' begun to talk a bit moor propperer; for when aw've to do wi' th' quality fowk, gooid talk an' a gooid redress is one o'th requirations 'at yo' connot disperse wi'; but aw mun goa mi departure, for aw've soa mich to execute afoor neet, woll awm fair consternationed when aw think on it,—for aw've noabody to help me nah, for my 'prentice has to stop at hooam wi' her fayther."

"Ho, eea! Why, what's th' matter wi' him, is he badly?"

"He is; for he hurt his leg a month or two sin', an' he's had to goa to th' infirmary to get it anticipated."

"Why, whativer's that, Susy?"

"To get it cut off, yo' know. But aw munnot stop, soa, gooid day."

An away Susy flew daan th' ginnel, famously suited wi' th' way shoo'd capt 'em wi' her scholarship.

"Well, if iver aw saw sich a flybysky as yond Susy i' all my life, aw'll niver be trusted. Guy, hang it! shoo mud be as handsome as wax work, shoo thinks soa mich ov her' sen! But aw fancy shoo'll ha' to dee an owd maid, for its nooan her sooarts 'at fellies wants. It's all varry weel to sit nigglin' away wi' a needle an' threed, stickin' bits o' poasies into cap screeds, an' stich in' mooinshine, but when a chap wants a wife, he wants somdy 'at con brew, an' bake, an' scaar th' floor. Why, aw could whip raand hauf a duzzen sich like to my thinkin'! An' when aw see her screwin' up her maath an' dutchin, an' settin' her cap at ivery chap shoo sees, it maks mi blooid fair boil in me; an' awm sure, if ther is a young chap abaght, shoo's wor nor a worm ov a whoot bakstull. Odd drott it! it caps me 'at fowk should have noa moor sense nor ax sich like to a party. But ha are ta off for clooas Zantippa? Con ta leean me a under coit? Aw've all else ready."

"Nay lass, aw connot; for th' last doo 'at aw wor at aw had to borrow one o' Susy. Aw've getten one nah, but aw'st want it.'

"Aw wonder if Susy 'ud leean it me," said Betty, "Aw hardly like to ax her, for tha sees aw didn't give her the job o' makin' yond cap Tha's seen mi new cap, hasn't ta?"

"Eea! aw saw thi have it on t'other day."

"Well, it's what aw call a nobby un; but awd better net waste ony time, soa aw'll goa an' see if Susy 'll leean me yond coit. Shoo can nobbut say noa." An' away went Betty.

'An' it's to be hooapt shoo will say' Noa, 'for if tha gets it, shoo'll ha' to luk sharp if iver shoo sees th' edge on it agean,' said Zantippa "Aw'd leean thee nowt unless awd made up mi mind to pairt wi' it. Aw dooan't mak' mich o' Susy, but shoo's worth a barrow-looad sich like as thee. Bith heart! tha'd ma' a daycent looad for a barrow thisen! An' if all's true aw've heeard, it's nut long sin' tha' wor one, an' had a bobby for a cooachman. But that's nowt ta me He! gow! it's turned o' twelve o'clock, an' my chap an' th' childer ul be here to ther dinner! Consarn it! Aw hate to live amang a lot o' gossippin' fowk sich as ther is abaght here, noabody con get to do owt. Be hanged, if th' fire isn't aght! an' aw expect it'll tak' me as long ageean to leet it, coss a'wm in a hurry. There's niver nowt done reight when a body's in a fullock. Aw wish ther tea drinkins wor far enuff. Aw'd rayther sail across th' salt seea nor be put i' sich a mooild as this. Yond's th' bell! An' they'll be here in a minnit! A'a dear! A woman's wark is niver done!"

"Aw think it niver is done, bi'th luk on it!" said Dick, as he stept into th' haase. "Ha' is it thers noa dinner ready? It's as ill as th' weshin' day, or else war!"

"Dinner! tha may weel ax abaght th' dinner," said Zantippa, "doesn't ta see 'at th' place is ful o' reik? Aw dooan't know what tha means to do, but if we connot have that chimley altered aw know one 'ats baan to flit."

"Why, aw niver knew it smook'd afoor; but this fire's nobbut just lit."

"What's ta been dooin' baght fire?"

"Fire? does ta want me to be smoord? It's grand for yo' 'at con walk aght to yo're wark as sooin as yo' get up, an' just come in to yo're meals an' aght ageean, but yo' niver think o' what's to come o' me 'ats ta tew amang it throo morn ta neet."

"Why lass, ha' is it 'at it niver smooks ov a Sunday?"

"Ha con I tell? tha mun ax it! Can't one o' yo' childer get th' bellus an' blow a bit, or are yo' baan to stand thear wi' yo're fingers i' yo're maath woll aw fair drop? But it'll nut allus be soa, yo'll get me ligg'd low some day, an' then yo'll have ta shift for yoursen."

After a gooid deal o' botherin' an' grummelin', an' a varry deal o' wangin' th' cubbord doors, an' clatterin' th' pots abaght, Zantippa managed to mak' a sup o' coffee an' butter a bit o' bread. Dick didn't like this, but as he saw his wife wor th' wrang side aght, he thowt, for th' sake o' peace, he'd say nowt; soa he swallow'd his coffee an' cake (if nut wi' thankfulness, at least i' quietness), an' then him an' th' childer budged off.

"Thear!" said Zantippa, as shoo watched 'em aght o'th seet, "Aw've managed that varry weel. Aw wod'nt ha' let him know for all th' brass i'th bank 'at aw'd been talkin' woll aw'd letten th' fire goa aght. Aw do hooap 'at ther'll nut a wick soul come an' bother me agean to-day, for aw've niver had time to tak' th' cowks up yet, an' aw've all th' stockins ta mend' at should ha' been done last wick, an' aw know Dick hasn't a button left on his halliday shirt, it's time somdy stirred thersen. Aw dooant know ha' fowk manage 'ats allus gaddin' abaght, aw declare if aw ammut' allus slavin' at it, aw connot keep things nowt-bit-like straight. Drabbit it! ('at aw should say sich a word) ther's Betty comin' agean! Aw'd rayther be stranspoorted to Botny Bay nor be as aw am. Ther's hardly a minnit but what ther's somdy o' th' doorstun!"

Betty coom in smilin' all over her face. "Nah!" shoo says, "aw've managed, an' aw've come ta see if tha'll goa wi' us, for Susy's baan up th' street to buy a staylace, an' aw thowt aw'd just goa an' get th' stink blown off, for aw've cawered i' this yard woll aw'm feear'd awst grow maald. Put thi bonnet on, an' goa wi' us, we'st be back i' gooid time."

"Aw could like to goa, but aw've soa mich to do woll aw hardly dar, for woll aw wor talkin' to thee an' Susy this fornooin, th' fire went aght, an' when Dick an' th' childer coom hooam ther wornt a bit o' dinner for 'em."

"Well, awm capt, 'at tha'll bother wi' cookin' 'em dinners. Aw allus let awrs tak' ther jock wi' em, it saves a deal o' trouble, an' aw say a woman's wark enuff, shoo haddles owt shoo gets, an' if we dunnot luk aght for ussen noabody else will for us. But please thisen, if tha doesn't tha darn't."

"Oh! as to that, aw dar goa, but aw've nowt to goa for, an' lots o' wark at hooam. Aw think aw'd rayther nut."

"Well, tha'll get noa better on for cawering ith' haase like a moldwarp. But aw mun goa, for Susy's waitin'." Away went Betty, an' Zantippa ommost rued 'at shoo hadn't goan too: but it wor nobbut for a minit, for shoo teed her apron string a bit tighter, tuck'd up her sleeves, pooled in a long breath, an' as shoo said, "began ta make a sidashun."

Nah, if iver yo' want a chap to study a bit, an' resolve to mend his ways, let him be quiet; but if iver yo' want a woman to start o' thinkin' an' resolvin', let her have summat to do. If a woman sits quiet shoo begins to mump. Aw niver hardly met a woman 'at could sit daan quietly for five minits withaat sighin' two or three times; they think an' think, an' sigh, an' shake ther heeads, an' if they're let alooan they manage to wark thersen inta a bad temper abaght summat, but what that is, aw've never met one 'at could tell. Zantippa didn't sit daan an' mump, but up stairs shoo went an' made th' beds, an' a rare shakin' they gat, for shoo wor just ful o' summat an' shoo mud vent her feelins someway.