Women have a deal better way o'managin' that sooart o' thing nor what men have. Ther are times when we're all brimful o' summat, th' steam's up, an' if we connot find a safety valve we shall brust. Nah, a woman drives up to th' elbows i'th' weshin' tub, or rives all th' carpets up, or pools all th' pots aght o'th' cubboard an' puts 'em back agean. Shoo lets her tongue have full liberty, an' what wi' talkin', an' sweatin', an' scrub bin', an' brushin', shoo finds hersen reight daan tired, an' after a bit ov a wesh an' snoddenin' her toppin', shoo sits daan to her knittin' or sewin', as cooil as a cucumber, an' as ful o' gooid natur as an egg's ful o' mait, an' her een sparkle wi' pleasure, like dewdrops sparkle on a rose in a summer's mornin'. But wi' a chap it's different, nine times aght o' ten he flies to th' ale pot, or else he begins growlin' at hooam. "Th' tea's hot," or "th' muffin's cold," or "th' butter's wor nor cart grease." "Th' childer's noisy," or "th' wife's quiet," an' noa matter what's done for him it's all wrang. Sometimes bi th' way ov a change, he'll pawse th' table ower, an' braik as mony pots as it'll tak a gooid part ov a week's wage to replace, an' at last, after makin' iverybody abaght him miserable, he'll goa to bed lukin' as black as a mule an' sleep woll mornin', when (unless he's ova bad sooart) he'll feel reight daan shamed ov hissel, an' set to wark to put things reight agean. Nah, Zantippa wor just i' one o' these moods; an' shoo made th' beds, coom daan stairs, an' weshed all th' pots, scaled th' fire an' took the ass aght, gave th' hearthstun another dooas o' idleback, scattered a bit ov fresh sand o' th' floor, an' after weshin' hersen, an' donin' a clean print dress, shoo laid th' table ready for th' teah, gate th' kettle onto th' rib, an' sat daan wi' her bag ful o' worset an' a heap o' stockins, an', as shoo luk'd raand shoo felt as pleased as Punch to see what a difference shoo'd been able ta mak in an haar or two. "Aw'm nooan sooary 'at aw stopt at hooam," shoo said to hersen. "Aw know Dick'll be suited when he sees all fettled up, an' if aw get theas stockins done ta neet the'll be aght o'th gate. Aw wonder ha it wor 'at he tuk things sooa quietly this nooin; aw dooant think it's reight when a chap's been work in' iver sin six o'clock ov a mornin' for him to come hooam an' find noa dinner ready. Reight enuff, a woman's plenty to do to follow her haase, an' cook, an' mend, but if ther wor noa wage comin' in, ther'd be less cookin' an' moor mendin', aw've a noation. Aw've made up mi mind woll aw've been sidin' up 'at aw'll nut waste mi time as aw have done, talkin' an' gossippin', for ther's noa gooid comes on it, an' altho' aw want to keep thick wi' mi neighbors, aw'm determined aw'll chop that sooart o' thing off at once; for my mother used to tell me, 'If ther were noa listeners, ther'd be noa taletellers;' an' th' time 'at one spends is war nor wasted, for it oft leads ta 'fendin' an' provin', for them 'at come an' tell yo summat abaght somdy else will just as sooin tell somdy else summat abaght yo. An' luk what scrapes one gets into wi' it. Nah, aw made Dick believe 'at th' chimley smookd, that wor a lie to say th' least on it, an' he'll be sure ta noatice 'at it doesn't smook ta-neet, but if he names it aw'll tell th' truth, for, aw'm sure noa gooid comes o' lying."

When Zantippa had just made this resolve, th' door opened, an' Dick au' three childer coom in throo th' miln. He saw th' difference in a minnit. "Wipe them clogs," he said as th' childer wor walkin' in. "Tha's been fettlin' a bit, lass, aw think. Are ta baan to ax some o'th' neighbors to ther drinkin'?"

"Noa!" shoo says, "aw'm baan to ax noabody but thee an' th' childer. Does ta want me to ax somdy?"

"Nay, nooan soa! Aw'd as gooid as promised to goa as far as 'Th' Cock' ta neet, to talk ovver this bit ov a doo, but aw think aw'll stop at hooam, what says ta?" Zantippa smiled, nay even blushed, shoo knew what he ment an' shoo felt pleased. It wor a bit ov a compliment, an' paid her for all her trouble.

"Please thisen," shoo said, as shoo poured aght a cup o' teah for him, an' lifted a pile o' tooast aght o' th' oven, "but aw think th'rt as weel at hooam."

"Well, an' aw think aw'm better," he said, as he luk'd raand, "aw think th' chimley doesn't smook as ill as it did, does it?"

Shoo hung her heead, an' stooped ta pick a pin off th' floor, but shoo couldn't find one, an' when shoo luk'd up ther een met. Shoo didn't spaik, nor moor did he; it worn't needed. It wor a long time sin they'd sich a comfortable teah, an' when they'd done they sat some time at th' table i' silence. Ha' long they might have sat aw connot tell, hadn't th' door oppened, an' Betty come runnin' in wi' a pot to beg a sup o' hot watter, for shoo said "Her chap had coom hooam, an' shoo'd been rayther longer nor shoo expected, an' he wor playin' th' varry hangment for his drinkin'."

Shoo gate her hot water, an' went away. Dick luk'd at his wife, an' takkin' howd ov her hand, said, "Aw'm glad 'at tha hasn't to goa seekin' hot water, an' aw hooap tha niver may have."

"Aw hooap nut," shoo said, an' sat daan evidently varry ill set ta see her stockins. Nah, what a little con make fowk happy or miserable. Dick wor as content as a king, becoss all th' haas wor tidy. He saw at somdy had been tryin' to mak' him comfortable; an shoo wor as delighted as if shoo'd getten a fortin left, becoss what shoo'd done had suited him.

When th' childer had getten all put ta bed, Dick said, "Lass, aw've been thinkin' 'at aw dooant care soa mich abaght gooin to this teadrinkin' for aw've a noation 'at we connot goa ta th' tea withaat stoppin' an' spendin' a lot o' brass at after, an' aw've heeard thee say as thar't fast for some flannel. Nah, if we stop at hooam an' spend th' brass o' what it is tha wants, it'll do us moor gooid nor th' ale, what says ta?"

"Just thee please thisen, Dick. Aw had thowt o' gooin, but as tha says it's sure to cost summat, an' awr Billy wants some new clogs, for yond tak watter varry ill, an' aw dooant know what we could do better wi' th' brass, an' aw think we con have as comfortable a teah at hooam."

"Aw'm sure, an' moor soa, an' as tha's decided nut to goa, aw'll tell thi ov a marlock some o'th' chaps has been playin' but tha munnat split, for it hasn't to get aght woll after th' pairty. Tha knows Hungary at works wi' us?"

"Does ta meean him 'at once ait a pailful o' draff?"

"Th' same chap! An' he declared 'at if he gate aside o'th steaks at this doo, he'd polish th' lot (an' aw believe he can ait owt less nor a bullock), soa some o'th chaps made it up 'at he should have a dish to his own cheek; but they'd ta be donkey steaks—for owd Labon ('at hawks cockles an' mussels) had let his donkey catch cold or summat, at ony rate it dee'd, an' soa they thowt if they could get some steaks off that they'd just come in, but they knew 'at owd Labon had rayther part wi' his heead nor let onybody mell o'th donkey, for he thowt as mich on it as if it wor a Christian. But they determined to scheme some way to get it, soa Joe Longfooit offered to go into th' yard where it wor, an' cut off one hinder leg an' tak it hooam ta cook, if Sam Sniggle 'ud watch aght to see 'at noabody coom. Labon kept his donkey, tha knows, in a place at th' top o'th long stepses, an' used ta goa raand th' back rooad wi' it, soa one dinner time they'd watch'd Labon aght o'th' yard, (where he'd been standin' rubbin' his een, an' strokin' his owd favourite,) an' when he'd getten nicely off they ventured to try ther luck. Joe Longfooit went up wi' a gurt carvin' knife, an' left Sam at th' bottom to whistle if he saw onnybody comin', an' he stood thear for a while, but he wanted a bit o' bacca, an' ther wor sich a wind i'th' steps 'at he couldn't get a leet, soa he went across the rooad into a doorhoil for shelter. He worn't aboon a minnit or two away, but when he coom back what should he see but owd Labon within a few steps o'th' top. He hardly knew what ta do, but he managed as mich wind as made a whistle, an' stood watchin' for th' next move. Joa heeard the signal, but it wor too lat, for he couldn't get aght withaat th' owd chap seein' him, an' he'd getten th' leg cut off ready for huggin' away, soa seizin' hold o'th' shank, he watched for owd Labon's hat showin' aboon th' wall top, when he gave it sich a clencher wi' th' thick end o'th' leg, woll he forced th' brewards reight onto his sholder, then he laup'd ovver th' wall an' ran hooam wi' his prize as fast as his legs could carry him, leavin' Laban to find his way into dayleet ageean as weel as he could. Sam met him at th' haase an' they worn't long i' cutting some grand lukkin' steaks off, an' puttin' 'em ov a dish i'th cubboard, an' bith' time they'd done that, th' bell rang an' they'd ta goa back ta ther wark. When Labon gate his hat, once more onto th' top ov his heead, he went ta see his owd deead friend, an' when he saw it ligged thear wi' nobbut three legs, he vow'd vengeance agean them 'at had done it, an' declared 'at if iver he fan it aght, he'd mak 'em pay for it, for it wor nowt noa less nor robbin' th' deead, an' he'd have' em tried for assasination. Joa's wife wor aght when they took th' leg hooam, an' after they cut th' steaks off they'd hid t' other part under th' coils. But they hadn't been gooan soa varry long when shoo coom in, an' as shoo wor gettin' th' pots aght o'th cubbord, shoo saw this dish' ful o' steaks. "A'a!" shoo says, "it's just like yond chap to put thease in here an' say nowt abaght it, but aw con just relish one o' thease to my drinkin', an' aw dar say he'll want one, an' awm sure th' childer 'll do wi' a bit. We hav'nt had as mich fleshmait i' awr haase afoor for many a wick. Fotch that gridiron, Polly! We'st ha to do it o'th' top o'th' coil, for ther isn't fat enuff to fry it."

Shoo worn't long afoor shoo had it nicely cooked, an' the tea made, an' a thowt struck her' at shoo'd ax Sam's wife to her tea, for shoo knew 'at they didn't oft get steak at their haase, so Polly went an' browt Mistress Sniggle an' all th' childer to ther tea, an' as ther wor eight on' em, they varry sooin put thersen o'th' aghtside o'th' steak. They set to wark then to get some clean pots ready for Joa, an' sent one o'th' childer ta watch th' miln loise, ta tell Sam ta come wi' him. When they come all wor nicely ready for' em, but ther minds worn't easy, for ther'd been a policeman axing abaght 'em at ther wark, for Labon had seen Sam at th' bottom o'th' steps, an' he thowt he knew summat abaght it, soa they declared they'd niver own to it to a wick soul. As sooin as they gate in they smell'd what wor up, for Joa knew ther wor noa mait i' th' haase else, an' his wife had no brass to buy ony. He looked at Sam, an' thear they stooid i' th' middle o' th' floor as white as two ghosts, staring at one another, but they darn't spaik, an' booath waited to see what t'other did.

"Come on to your drinkin'," said th' women.

"A'a! tha'rt a grand un, Joa," said his wife, "to put them steaks i' th' cubbord an' niver say a word abaght it, an' tha knows ha fond aw am ov a bit o' steak, an' it's a bit o' nice mait too, tho' it isn't as tender as some. We've savvor'd it, aw con tell thi, for considerin' th' price o' mait nah, a gooid steak's hardly within th' raich o' workin' fowk."

Joa wor dumb struck, he stirred his tea, but he couldn't tak his een off th' steak. Sam rested his head on his hand an' complained abaght bein' poorly.

"It's for want o' some gooid support, mun," said his wife, "get some o' that mait into thi. It's made me feel a different body, awm as frisky as a young foil, an' luk at th' childer, they're wrastlin' thear like young bullocks. Mun, it puts a bit o'th' natur o'th' beast into 'em."

But Sam declared he felt poorly, an' couldn't touch mait; but Joa couldn't spaik at all. As he sat starin' at th' dish, old Laban went past th' door, wi' a basket o' awther arm shaatin' aght "Cockles alive! Mussels alive, oh!" As sooin as Joa heard that he seized a fork, an' stuck it into th' mait wi' sich a force, 'at he smashed th' dish an' pinned it fast to th' table top. "Woa, up!" he said, "stop thee thear!"

"A'a! gaumless! tha's been having summat to sup this afternooin, aw can see," said his wife. "Tha mud ha' thowt owd Labon wor callin o'th' steak to goa wi' him!" But poor Joa couldn't get a word off. Drops o' sweat stood ov his foreheead as big as pays, an' he couldn't tak his een off th' mait. "Is ther summat th' matter wi' that steak, makes thi 'at tha connot touch it?" said his wife; "awm sure it's nicely enuff; what is ther to do wi' thi?"

"Oh, th' steak's reight enuff," said Joa, raisin' courage to spaik, "th' steaks all reight, but aw'm nut i'th' knife an' fork line to-neet. What's that noise i'th' cellar?" he said, starting aght ov his chear, wi' his hair ommost studden ov an end, an' his een starin', an' his teeth girnin', like a sheepheead between a pair o' tangs!

"What noise! Does ta mean that rawtin' daan i'th' cellar?"

"Eea!"

"Oh, it's nobbut th' childer 'at's laikin, some on 'em's recknin' to be donkeys an' t'other's drivin' 'em; they've been at it iver sin they'd ther drinkin'; it's that mait 'at's suited 'em soa, mun, woll they dunnot know what to do."

"Aw mun goa hooam," said Sam, "aw can't bide, aw'm varry poorly."

"Why yo booath luk awther poorly or summat," said his wife. "An' aw think th' sooner yo get to bed an' th' better."

Sam an' his wife and childer went hooam, an' it wornt long afoor Joa wor burrying his heead under th' blankets, an' tryin' to fall asleep; but he couldn't, for as sooin as he began to dooaz off, he began dreamin' 'at he wor tryin 'to swallow a donkey an' wakkened wi' it stickin' in his throit.

Th' next mornin' when they met ther faces luk'd moor like two dazed cakes nor owt, for they'd hardly a mite o' color left. "We're reight in for it this time, Sam," said Joa. "Aw believe this job 'll tell ov itsel'. Does ta think 'at it makes ony difference wi' fowk aiting donkey beef?"

"Well, aw dooant know; but aw did once know a chap 'at wor a reglar cauf heead, an' he hardly iver ait owt but veal, an' tha knows th' bass singer at awr church gets bacon to ommost ivery meal, an' he grunts as ill as a pig, bi'th' heart does he;—an', awm sure, my childer's ears luk'd longer to me this mornin', or else aw thowt soa!"

"Well, an aw'm sure my wife snoor'd i'th neet moor like a donkey rawtin nor owt else, an' th' fust thing awr Isaac axed me this marnin' wor to buy him some panniers so as he could be a mule. But what are we to do wi' yond t'other pairt o'th' leg?"

"Oh, we mun burry that, we'll ha' noa moor truck wi' that, an' aw think we'd better ax some advice abaght some o' them 'at's etten th' other; for it wod be a doo if they'd to start o' growin' tails or summat! ther's noa tellin'."

They were boath soa terrified woll they left their wark, an' they went to see an owd chap 'at's varry skilful o' heearbs, an' they tell'd him all abaght it, an' axed him "if he thowt it 'ud mak ony difference to them 'at had etten it?"

"Well," he said, "considerin' what sooart o' fathers they have aw dooant think it will mak mich difference to th' childer, it hardly con, an' if th' wives get rayther unruly, yo mun try an' bridle 'em a bit. But if yo'll tak my advice for't future, yo'll let that alooan 'at doesn't belang to yo, for yo'll allus find ought dishonestly getten, will breed moor trouble to yo nor what th' loss 'll mak to them yo've ta'en it throo,—soa goa hooam, an' bear i' mind 'at "Honesty is th' best policy," an' if 'owd Labon's donkey has towt yo that lesson, it hasn't dee'd for nowt."

They went back to their wark, but someha' or other it's getten wind, an' aw fancy 'at th' doctor's tell'd, but be that as it may, aw consider they wor reight sarved, an' aw dooant think they'll show up at this tea-drinkin'.

"Well, aw niver heard sich a tale i' my life," said Zantippa. "An' aw should think they'll never see a donkey withaght thinkin' on it, an' if soa it'll noa daat be for th' best. Noabody owt to be aboon learnin' when they've a chonce, an' aw think aw've lent a lesson to-day."

"Does ta lass, an' what is it?"

"Why, 'at to mak hooam comfortable owt to be a woman's furst duty, for a clean hearth an' a cheerful fire do a deal towards makin' a cheerful heart; for when a haase is upset a chap's temper gets upset, an' it's a deal better to prevent a few cross words nor to try an' mak things up agean."

"Tha'rt a gooid lass, Zantippa! God bless thi! Let's goa to bed!"



One, Two, Three.

Nah number one is onybody an' iverybody; for we're all number one to ussen. Ther's an old sayin, an' it must be true, for ommost iverybody seems to believe it, 'at we should all remember number one—that is, it's set daan to be iverybody's duty to do th' best they can for thersen, an' it's becoss this doctrine is soa well acted up to, 'at maks me think 'at ther may be a bit ov amusement an' profit i' studying abaat it at this time—yo can tak th' amusement an' let me have th' profit. Nah, if you act up to my advice, aw think yo may be happen better nor yo are, an' if yo dooant aw dooant think yo'l be ony war, an' that's one comfort. Ther's nowt like startin at th' faandation ov a subject, if yo want to deal wi' it in a reight way, an' aw intend to goa to th' rooit, an' as money is th' rooit ov all evil, an' th' number one doctrine is i' my opinion an evil, aw shall start wi' brass. We mun awther believe money to be th' rooit ov all evil, or else we daat th' wisdom o' him at sed it, but at th' same time my experience taiches me at it's a varry useful thing to have i' yor pocket when yo goa to market, an' it's a wonderful thing for stiffenin a chap's back booan. Allus remember this, at th' heigher yo hold yor heead an' lower other fowk 'll bow theirs. Ther are exceptions to this rule, for ther are 'at think a honest man has as mich reight to hold up his heead, even if he hasn't a penny in his pocket, as one 'at's thaasands o' paands. Ov coorse, yo know better nor that; for a empty heead an' a full purse can pass muster even i'th' Parliament. Then, whativer yo do, yo mun get hold o' this brass, an' niver heed, if becoss your gettin moor nor yo want causes some others to goa short—that's nowt to yo—yor number one an' luk to that. If yo can nobbut get a fortune, yo'll find friends come withaat seekin. But mind whativer yo do to get yor brass honestly-that is, get it i' some way 'at th' law cannot touch yo. Dooant knock a chap daan an' tak it throo him, but start some sooart ov a society wi' a long name, get some offices in a garret in a grand street, get some chap wi' a hannel to his name to be president, an' a lot o' directors 'at nawther yo nor onybody else iver knew, pay a poor begger fourteen shillin a week to be scratchetary, mak yorsen into th' treasurer, an' then advertise. Somdy'll be sure to tak shares, an' as sooin as ther's ony brass to goa on wi,' vooat yor sen a salary ov two thaasand a year,—mak sure to get it—an' then, if ther's ony claims at yo connot meet wind up th' business. Fowk'll be sure to sympathise wi' yo, and yo'll have as mich as 'll keep yo respectable for a bit, an' then yo can luk aght for another chonce o' turnin a honest penny. Yor belly'll be full an' your back weel clooathed, your conscience—well, tak noa noatice o' that,—an' if yo can get a front seeat in a chapel yo'll stand a gooid chonce o' been made a taan caancillor or a member o'th schooil booard. This number one doctrine has another advantage, a chap 'at follows it aght has nubdy's else interests to bother abaat; he doesn't care who dees soa long as he lives, nor who sinks soa long as he can swim. But allus tak care net to let other fowk know 'at yo live up to this system; for although iverybody thinks a gooid deeal o' ther own number one, nubdy seems fond ov another's. Some even goa soa far as to call a number one chap selfish. Well, worn't we born into th' world to be selfish? What have we nails for if we munnot scrat? What have we teeth for but to bite? What have we een for but to look after awr own interests? What have we ears for but to listen for iverything to us own advantage? What have we bodies for but to serve? This is number one doctrine. Its varry popular, an' does varry weel for this world; ther's a deal o' hansom gravestooans stand ovver once successful number ones. What ther number is i'th' next world is moor nor aw can tell, but aw know they'll have to start afresh, for all they iver gained they've left behund.

Fowk 'at niver loise seet o' 'number one,' are a hard workin set as a rule, but even they have to amuse thersen a bit sometimes, an' they find it a nice change to luk after 'number two.' To a chap o' this sooart, iverybody's 'number two,' 'at's a bit better awther i' luks, position, or pocket. Nah if yo want ony fun o' this sooart aw'll tell yo ha to get it. Furst ov all, find aght sombdy 'at yo fancy yore mates think moor on nor they think o' yo—watch him ivery time yo get a chonce, an' see if yo connot pick aght a hoil in his coit. Dooant be disheartened if yo have to luk a long time before yo can find a fault—be sure ther is one somewhear, an' if yo can't see it at a distance, hutch cloiser up, mak a gurt fuss on him, niver say owt contrary to what he says; if he says summat funny, laff fit to split yor sides, an' if he says owt serious, luk solemn an' shak yor heead. Watch him carefully, an' it's a thaasand to one but some day yo'll catch him trippin. If, when yo've fun a hoil, it's soa little as to be hardly worth noaticing, dooant despair, wol yor clappin him on his back an' smilin in his face, yo can happen get yor finger in, an then rive it a bit bigger. Do it gently at furst, just a little bit at a time, and then when yo've getten a chonce, rip it as far as yo can. But be sure yo have nowt ony moor to do with him after that. If yo see him comin, cross on t'other side o' th' rooad, niver let on 'at yo've seen him, but as sooin as he's getten past, shak yor heead sorrowfully an' sigh; if yo happen to have a clean hankerchy i' yor pocket, yo may tak it aght and mak believe to wipe off a tear—niver heed if ther isn't one, fowk'll think better o' yo, an' all the war o' him. If onybody should come an' ask yo if yo've heeard that sad tale abaat him, say. 'God forbid at yo should hear owt war nor what yo've heeard before.' Dooant seem inclined to listen, but when they've done, say, 'Well, well it's a thaasand pities, but if that wor th' warst it wodn't matter mich.' He's sure to go away wi' th' noation 'at yo know summot abaat th' same chap 'at's ten times war nor owt he's heeard, but yo've too mich gooid natur to tell it. Nah this is all varry gooid fun for' number one;' an when yo see poor' number two' loise his shop, or shunned, or luked shyly at wi' them at wor once his admirers, an' yo know 'at it's allowing to yo, then yo can goa hooam an' shut yorsen up all bi yorsen, an' laff, an rejoice to yor heart's content. But dooant be surprised if, when yo chuckle, yo should hear another chuckle cloise to yor elbow, for haiver yo lock an' bolt th' door, yo connot keep th' devil aght. He enjoys a bit o' fun o' this sooart as weel as yo, an' he's nobbut come to show yo ha pleased he is. If yo dooant like his compny sarve him th' same way —remember yo're 'number one,' an he's nobbut 'number two' to yo. Pool as long a face, an' luk as sanctimonious as yo can, an' wheniver yo've a chonce, tell fowk to shun him an' all his works, tell 'em 'at he's prowlin raand like a lion seekin who to make a meal on th' next. Yo needn't be mailly-maathed abaat him, becoss he's net suppooased to have ony friends. He willn't care a button what yo say, 'coss he knows yo cannot injure his character, an' he laffs to hissen as he sees yo sighin, an lyin, an scheamin, all for 'number one,' an he puts a mark opposite yor name to show 'at he's noa need to luk after yo ony moor—yo're all safe—an' then he turns his attention to some 'number twos.' It's gooid spooart, isn't it? May be yo think it's a spooart 'at's niver entered onybody's heead but mine, but yor mistakken. It's a varry common spoart. Mind yo dooant catch yorsen indulging in it some day.

Number three reminds a body ov a deeal o' things, but nowt as mitch as a pop shop. Them three gold balls 'at hing aght to show whear th' poor fowk's bankers live, if they could nobbot spaik, could tell a tale 'at wod cap some o' them wiseacres 'at reckon to know all poor fowk's troubles, an' th' way to cure' em. Nah, it's a puzzle to me to accaant for one o' these things, an' that is, 'at fowk's actions should be regarded through a different standpoint to owt else i' th' world. A little tree is a tree, an' it's nobbut a tree ha big it is—a puttate is nobbut a puttate if it grows as big as a churn-an' a man considers hissen a man whether he's a Goliah or a Tom Thumb. But actions are different altogether. Whether they're to be considered gooid or bad depends entirely o' th' bugth on 'em. A chap 'at can chait somdy aght ov twenty thaasand paands is considered smart: but a poor begger 'at stails a looaf is a thief. A chap 'at walks into th' joint stock bank, an'. leaves th' title deeds ov his property for th' loan ov five or six hundred paands, is an honerable tradesman, 'an it's considered a business—like act; but a poor woman' at taks her fiat-iron to th' pop shop, an' borrows sixpence on it, commits a sin—it's a disgrace. Aw wonder what th' mooast o' th' banks are but pop shops. What difference is ther between a pop ticket an' a check book? Varry little nobbut th' bugth. I' my opinion it's noa moor a disgrace for a chap to pop a paper coller nor for another to morgage a property. Ther's a gooid deal o' speculation sometimes i' booath cases. Nah, aw once knew a chap at popt a haufacraan for two-an-four-pence, an then sell'd th' ticket for a shillin: soa he didn't loise owt. They're useful places i' ther way, though aw dooant mean to say at ther's noa evils connected wi' 'em. Nah, aw once knew a woman 'at popt her husband's Sunday clooas so as shoo could buy a new dress for hersen, 'an when he fan it aght he gave her a lickin an' had to goa befoor th' magistrates, an' they fined him ten shillin or to goa to quad for a month, soa his wife popt her dress to' pay th' fine. Nah, it isn't ivery evil 'at can reighten itsen like that; an' varry likely bith time they've getten 'em aght agean they'll have lernt moor wit.

Ther's summat else 'at number three reminds me on, an' that's th' three things at we all owt to have—Faith, Hope, an' Charity. As to Faith, ther's awther a gooid deeal on it i' th' world, or else fowk dooant spaik truth. Hope we've all enuff on, an' some fowk moor nor what does' em ony gooid, for they're ofter hopin nor strivin. But when it comes to Charity, then aw'm a sooart o' fast amang it. It's a nice word, a bonny word aw think; it luks nice in a church or a bazaar. It's a nice word to tak for a text, it saands nice onytime unless it's at a meetin o' th' poor law guardians, then it saands harder an' harsher someway. For mi own part, aw've niver been able to understand exactly what it meeans. I have an opinion o' mi own; but then aw know it must be wrong, becoss it's so different to other fowk's. Aw wor once walkin aght wi' a chap 'at wor chock full o' charity. He wor soa full on it 'at it used to roll aght ov his maath ivery two or three minutes, and we hadn't gone far when we met a little lad, wi' hardly a bit o' clooas on him, an' he luk'd as if he'd been livin o' th' smell ov a cook shop for a wick, an' he coom beggin a hawpney. Well, to tell th' truth aw wor gooin to pass him, for aw hadn't a fardin, but my charitable friend did stop, an' he patted him on his heead, and axed if he he'd a father an' mother, an' if he went to th' Sunday schooil, an if he knew his Catichism, an' then he sed, Well, be a good boy, an' sometime when aw've a hawpny aw'l give it thi,' an' we went away. When we'd gooan a two or three yards he sed, 'Let's have a glass o' ale, for aw'm dry—aw feel sooary for yond lad, but yo connot allus be givin.



Sammy Bewitched.

Aw shall niver forget Sammy Sawney. He's deead nah an' it's a pity at owt like him iver should dee, for he wor net only t' first but aw believe t'last o' 'tsooart. Aw niver remember him as a lad, for he wor a gooid age when aw wor born, but aw've heeard enuff abaat him to mak me feel as if aw'd known him at that time, an' judgin' bi what aw knew on him as an old man aw can believe it ivery word true.

Sammy's mother wor a widdy, an' he wor her only child. Shoo wor worth a little bit o' brass, an' his fayther had been considered varry weel to do, for he'd abaat twenty hand-loom weyvers workin for him, an' his bumbazines wor allus considered t'best i' t'market. When Sammy wor four year old shoo detarmined to send him to t'schooil an' have him eddicated for a banker's clerk, for to be handlin brass all t'day long wor to her t'happiest condition i' life.

It wor easy enough to send Sammy to t'schooil but to get him eddicated wor another matter, an' whether it wor as t'schooil-maister sed, 'at his heead wor too thick iver to drive owt into it, or, as his mother said, 'at t'schooilmaister knew nowt an' soa he could taich nowt, aw dooant pretend to say.

Little Sammy hadn't a varry easy time on it, for he wor shifted abaat throo one schooil to another, wol he hadn't mich o' a chonce o' leearnin' even if he had some brains, an' ther' wor at sed he hadn't.

But his mother had faith ther wor summat in him, an' varry likely ther wor, for nowt iver coom aght, an' what some fowk called wrangheeadedness, shoo considered to be genius badly directed.

One day he wor at t'beckside, an' shoo went to see what he wor dooin', an' as shoo saw he'd nobbut one clog, shoo axed him what he'd done wi' tother, an' he sed he'd made it into a booat, an' it had sailed away down t'beck, soa shoo tawked nicely, an' tell'd him he shouldn't do soa, for it wor lost, an' he mud allus remember 'at if he put owt into t'beck, he'd niver see it ony moor, for t'watter ran daan at sich a rate; but he sed he'd fun aght a better way o' dooin' it next time, for he'd put t'furst in wi' t'toa pointin daan t'hill, but when he put t'next in, he'd point t'toa up t'hill, an' it wouldn't find it quite soa easy gooin.

"A'a, Sammy lad," sed his mother, as shoo stroked his heead, "tha's a deal moor i' this nop nor ivver thi fayther had, or me awther, for aw should niver ha' thowt o' that." Sammy put tother in, takkin care to point t'toe t'contrary way to what t'watter wor runnin, but as sooin as he left lawse it turned raand an' foller'd tother, an' wor sooin aght o' seet.

"Nah, then!" he sed "didn't aw tell yo? If it hadn't turned raand, it 'ud ha' been goin' up t'hill, but t'chap 'at made them clogs didn't mak' 'em reights an' lefts. Yo see they're booath left, an' aw believe that's the reason aw've allus been lat to t'schooil."

"Niver heed, Sammy, tha shalln't go to t'school ony moor, for aw believe tha'rt better able to taich t'maisters nor they are to taich thee."

"Awm sewer on it mother; for t'last maister aw had sed awd towt him patience, an' awm sartin he niver towt me owt."

"Come thi ways, lad, an' awl buy thee some new clogs at another shop, but dooant put any moor into that beck, unless tha tees a string to 'em, if tha does awst ha' to give thee a lickin, soa tha knows; for even knowledge can be bowt too dear."

After gettin his new clogs, shoo tuk him into a spice shop to buy a penorth o' owt he liked, soa he ax'd t'old woman for a penorth o' humbugs; but as sooin as he'd getten 'em, he altered his mind an' thowt he'd have acid drops, soa shoo changed em'; but he'd hardly getten 'em when he changed his mind, an' said he'd rayther have a rockstick, an' when he'd gate that, he wor walkin' aght, an' shoo sang aght after him 'at he'd niver paid her for it.

"Why, aw gave yo t'acid drops for it."

"Eea, but tha niver paid for t'acid drops."

"A'a, what a tale I didn't aw give yo t'humbugs?"

"But tha niver paid for t'humbugs."

"Why, aw havn't etten t'humbugs, have aw? Didn't aw give' em yo agean? Yo dooant want payin' twice, sewerlee?"

"Well aw dooant know hah it is, what tha says saands reight enuff; but what aw do know is, at tha's getten a rockstick, an' aw havn't getten a penny."

"You see what it is to be a scholar," sed his mother; "but yo'st loise nowt bi a child o' mine," soa shoo gave her t'penny an' coom away.

As they wor walkin on, Sammy put t'last bit into his maath an' sed, "mother, can yo tell me why is old Sally like that rockstick?"

"Nay lad, awm sewer aw cannot."

"Becoss they've booath getten suckt."

"A'a, lad, dooant study soa mich, awm feeard strainin thi brain, but can ta spell brain?"

"Brane."

"Nay, lad, ther's a I in it."

"Then aw must have three, if aw've two i' mi heead an' one i' mi brain."

"Aw niver thowt o' that, but tha'rt far too clivver for me, an' awst nivver rest until aw get thi into a bank."

Now it soa happened 'at ther wor a man 'at had done business wi' Sammy's fayther i' former days, an' after a bit o' persuadin he consented to tak' him into his office, an' t'lad wor soa praad ov his place, 'at, strange as it seems, he did begin to leearn a bit o' summate T'chap tuk a deeal o' pains wi him, an' his mother's heart wor oft made glad wi' hearin a gooid accaant of his gooins on. When he used to goa to his dinner wi' a pen stuck behind his ear, an' his finger daubed wi' ink, as if he'd been cleeanin' aght t'ink bottles, shoo could hardly keep her arms off his neck, an' monny a time shoo'd sit watchin him as he put t'puddin aght o' t'seet, wi' tears in her een, an' wish his farther wor thear to see him. But his face grew whiter an' he didn't seem to have as mich life in him as he used to have, an' this caused her a deeal ov uneasiness, an' at last shoo decided to goa an' have a word wi' his maister. Shoo went to t'office, an' they made a gurt fuss o' t'old woman an' ax'd her into a private raam to sit daan.

"Aw've come," shoo sed, "to have a word or two abaat ahr Sammy; aw should like to know hah yo think he gets on?"

"Better than we expected," he said; "he runs errands very well and his writing is better than it was, but his spelling wants improving, yet we think we shall be able to make a man of him."

"Well, if that's all aw think he'll get better on it, an' as for spellin a word wrang nah an' then aw dooant see 'at that maks mich difference soa long as yo know what it meeans. But what do yo think troubles him t'mooast?"

"Well at the present time it's with the which's, but you must excuse me just now for a very important customer has called and I must see him." Soa he jumpt up an' left her. It didn't tak her long to get hooam, an' as shoo'd allus been ov a superstitious way o' thinkin, her mind wor filled wi' anxiety abaat her lad.

"Just to think," shoo sed, as shoo trudged along, "'at he should be bewitched! A grand lad like him-but it's somdy at's done it just aght o' spite, an' aw've a varry gooid noation who's done it. It's that nasty gooid-for-nowt 'at lives at t'back o' awr haase,—shoo's niver been able to bide t'seet on him sin' he cut her cat tail off, an' shoo knew well enuff he nobbut did it for fun. But awl see if aw connot braik t'spell." As shoo had to pass a smithy on her way hooam shoo went in, an' axed if they'd an old horseshoe to give her, for shoo knew that wor a thing 'at witches couldn't bide t'seet on.

"Why, Meary, what dun yo want it for. Are yo freetened o' t'boggards?"

"Awst nooan be freetened o' thee if tha wor a boggard," shoo sed, "but has ta getten one?"

"Well, aw dooant know, but aw've a pair o' donkey shooin here, if tha thinks they'll fit yor Sammy tha can have' em an' welcome."

"Aw think they'd be a deeal moor likely to fit thee, judgin bi t'length o' thi ears," shoo sed; "but aw want a horseshoe if tha's getten one, an' if tha hasn't say soa, an' dooant keep me waitin here."

He hunted abaat till he rooited one aght, an' he gave it her, an' shoo put it in her pocket an' went off withaat iver stoppin to thank him for it. When Sammy had getten his supper shoo sent him to bed, an' tell'd him to leave her his waistcoit, as shoo wanted to do summat at it. As sooin as shoo wor bi hersen shoo pool'd t'horseshoe aght ov her pocket an' began to plan hah shoo could fasten it to t'back ov his waistcoit, for shoo thowt that wod be t'best place for it, an' although it wor a nasty thing to hug up an daan, yet it wor a deeal better nor havin to live under t'influence ov a evil eye. It tuk her a bit o' seheamin befoor shoo gate it stitched on to her fancy, but patience won t'battle, an' when shoo went to bed she felt easier in her mind.

T'next mornin shoo'd a deal o' trouble to get Sammy to put it on, for he couldn't tell t'meanin on it, but his mother lukt soa serious abaat it 'at he didn't like to say he wodn't wear it.

He went to his wark, but his jacket didn't fit quite as well as usual, an' as for keep in his waistcoat i' ony-bit-like shape, he couldn't do it, for t'weight behind wor soa heavy wol it pool'd t'buttons ommost up to his chin, an' when he sat on his stooil i' t'front o' t'desk, he felt as if somdy wor tryin' to upset him backards. When he went to his dinner, he felt as if he wor huggin a pack, an' he begged hard ov his mother to let him goa withaat it, but shoo sed shoo darn't trust him aght ov her seet if he hadn't it on, for it wor to shield him. "It's a queer place for a shield," he sed, "but awl try it this afternooin, an' if it doesn't feel easier awst niver put it on agean."

When he coom hooam at neet, he wor booath tired an' cross; an' after his Supper he gat a slate an' pencil an' sat daan to write, lukkin' varry glum. His mother watched him varry anxiously for a while, an' then shoo sed quietly, "Tha doesn't look varry weel to-neet, Sammy, does ta think tha'rt goin' to have a spell o' sickness?" "Noa, but awm sick o' spellin', for t'gaffer's allus agate on me becoss aw connot spell 'which.' Aw've spell'd it wich-whitch-witch-an' which-du' awl goa to hummer if aw can tell which is which even nah. Aw wish ther worn't a which."

"Which witch does ta mean, Sammy?"

"Aw can't tell which which, aw wish aw could."

"A'a Sammy," shoo sed, an shoo threw her arms raand his neck, "tha's taen a load offmy mind!"

"Well, you've putten me one on to mi waistcoit."

"Tak it off, lad, for tha doesn't need it! Tha doesn't know hah thankful aw am, for when aw wor tawkin' to thi maister yesterday he sed tha wor troubled wi' witches, an' aw sewed t'horseshoe on to scare 'em."

"Which whiches did he mean?"

"Which witches witch?"

"Aw can't tell which is which."

"Nivver heed which it is, Sammy, soa long as it isn't a witch. If it's nobbut a difference ov a letter or two aw can't see 'at it means owt. Goa thi ways to bed, an' dooant let me have to call on thee for a clock haar before tha frames to get up."



Hard to Pleeas.

"Aa, well! Wonders'll nivver cease! Come thi ways in! Whativver's browt thee here ov a day like this? It isn't fit to turn a dog aght ot door."

"Noa lass, an' if awd been a dog aw dooant think awst ha turned aght, but bein' a poor widdy woman my life's war nor a dog's life onny day ith wick."

"Tak thi bonnet an shawl off an creep up to th' range. Awm sure awm fain tha's com'd, for aw wor gettin' reight looansum, for my felly an booath oth lads have gooan to th' taan, an they'll nooan be back afoor neet. But what is it 'at's made thee turn aght ov a day like this?"

"Tha may weel ax, but aw hardly dar tell thee Nanny, for aw knaw varry weel 'at them 'at goa a borrowin' goa a sorrowin', an to mak a long stooary short, awve come to see if tha can leean me ten shillin' wol awr Harriet Ann's next draw day, for awm behund hand wi mi rent, an tha knows what sooart ov a chap awr landlord is, for although we've lived i' yond haase aboon twenty year, he'd think noa moor abaat puttin' th' bums in, if we were an haar behund wi th' rent, nor he wod o' spittin' aght."

"Why, Jenny, tha knows hah awm fixed, Aw've nooan too mich to stir on, for yond lads' bellies tak moor fillin' nor onnybody'd believe, an' that felly o' mine smooks moor bacca nor aw do believe ud fill a seck. He's nivver th' pipe aght ov his maath nobbut when he's aitin or else asleep, an not allus then, an as times is it's ommost a wonder to see a shillin' or two, an' aw've nivver had a new cap sin last Mikelmas, an ther's noa signs 'at aw see on, for awr Alick's naggin' at me ivvery day for a new this or a new that, wol mi life's a looad to me; but awl see what aw can do for thee, but goodness knaws awm poor enuff."

Soa Nanny went to th' little corner cubbord, an after clatterin' th' cups an plates abaat, shoo managed to find ten shillin', an shoo caanted 'em aght one bi one, an' then wi a sigh 'at wor ommost a sob, shoo sed, "Thear it is, an aw hooap tha'll net forget to let me have it back as sooin as tha can. But hah is it tha's managed to run short?"

"A'a, lass! It's th' same old tale. It matters little what yo do for a child at this day, yo're niver onny better thowt on, and when they've takken th' bit aght o' yer maath, they'd have yor teeth if they could mak onny use on 'em. Aw think awr Harriet Ann 'll bring mi grey hairs wi sorrow to th' grave."

"Why, awm capt to hear thee say soa abaat her, for aw allus thowt 'at yor Harriet Ann wor one oth nicest lasses awd iver met. But what's th' matter? Shoo hasn't started o' gooin to th' doncin' classes or owt o' that sooart, surelee?"

"Nay, nowt o' that sooart; it's war nor that. Shoo's net to be called a ill en, but shoo's sich a fooil, an if shoo sets her mind o' owt shoo'll do it if shoo has to wade throo fire and watter. But it maks me fair poorly to think on it, to say nowt abaat tellin' it."

"Why, tak hold o' that teah pot an sup aght oth spaat, it'll cheer thee up a bit; for if there is owt 'at's heartsluftin, it is what mothers have to put up wi throo undutiful bairns."

"A'a, aw want noa teah, lass; awd mi braikfast just afoor aw started aght."

"Thee taste o' that an tha'll find it'll do thee gooid."

"Eea, an it is gooid too! That warms me reight daan to mi tooas. Ther's nivver nowt seems to settle my stummock like a drop o' gin an watter. But whativer maks thee keep it ith teapot?"

"Why, tha sees, it doesn't allus do to have a bottle an a glass oth table, for yo niver know who may pop in, an aw dooant like to set it befoor th' childer for fear it mud tempt 'em to tak it befoor they've getten sense to know hah to use it, an awm sewer aw should nivver think o' lukkin t'side it wor on throo one year's end to another if it worn't for theas pains i' mi inside, for it's phisick to me an noa mistak."

"Aw can believe thee weel enuff, for ther's nowt seems to do as weel for me."

"Well, tha hasn't tell'd me thi trubble yet, an awd like to know, an may be aw can help thee a bit, for two heeads is better nor one, if one is nobbut—tha knows what."

"Tha sees, awr Harriet Ann wor as gooid a lass as iver stept till shoo began o' coortin', an th' furst warnin' aw had wor th' last draw day, for asteead o' givin' me two paand ten, shoo nobbut gave me thirty shillin', an when aw axed her hah it wor shoo sed aw mud try an mak it do, for shoo wanted to buy a two-o'-three bits o' things, for shoo'd made up her mind to get wed. Tha could ha fell'd me wi a bean when shoo sed that, for if ther wor owt i' this world 'at aw wor anxious abaat it wor 'at shoo'd ha moor sense nor to get wed, soa aw axed her who it wor, but shoo nobbut laft an sed aw should varry likely know him when aw saw him. Nah, tha knows, Nanny, it wor nivver my way to goa abaat pryin' into other fowks' consarns, but aw couldn't do but ax one or two ov her comrades an try to get to know who he wor, but all awve fun aght soa far is 'at he's a young gooid-fer-nowt, 'at nawther is owt nor nivver will be, an he wants her for nowt i' this world but to work to keep him, wol he spends his days drinkin' an dog feightin an pidgeon flyin', an' after all th' trouble 'at aw've been at to bring her up in a respectable way, awm sewer it's enuff to braik th' heart ov a stooan. Shove that teah pot on here agean, for awm reight daan faint."

"Sup lass, for aw can sympathise wi thee, an if it 'ad been a paand tha'd wanted to borra tha should ha had it. But tha hasn't all th' trouble to thisen, for aw've getten a share as weel as thee. Awl tak a drop o' that if tha'll hand th' teah pot this way. But mine's a deeal war nor thine, for awr Alick (a better lad nivver wor born—aw used to say when he wor a babby 'at he'd nivver live, for when he wor varry near doubled up wi th' ballywark he'd ligg in his creddle an hardly mak a muff) he's gooin to mak a fooil ov hissen an all, for he's pickt up some idle trolly, an he's savin' up his brass to ware it o' her, an he's aght two or three neets ith wick, an if aw ax him owt he says, "Yo'll find it aght in a bit," an if he doesn't find it aght it'll cap me, for his fayther tell'd me 'at he saw him walkin' abaat last Horton Tide wi a woman hook'd ov his arm, an what maks it war is aw've heeard at shoo's nooan to gooid, an he's as simple as a cauf, an shoo can just twist him raand her little finger. When aw wor puttin' his Sunday clooas away last wick aw fan a thimmel an a hairpin, an a mintdrop 'at had been hauf suckt (an aw know awr Alick niver aits spice) in his britches pocket, an when he coom hooam he wor ommost ranty wol he knew what had come on 'em, an when aw gave 'em him he lapt 'em up i' paper an lukt as suited as if he'd fun a fortun."

"Th' teah-pot's empty if it means owt, but aw wor just gooin to say 'at tha knows we can nivver put old heeads onto young shoolders, an awm sooary to hear 'at yor Alick's noa moor wit, but still it isn't as bad a case as mine, for tha sees if a chap gets wed he's th' maister, but a lass has to do as shoo can."

"Nay, net it! It's th' wimmen 'at's th' maisters oth men, aw know that mysen. Whear wod that felly o' mine ha been if it hadn't been for me? Why he'd ha been ith warkus long sin, if he hadn't been in his grave. Try this, sithee, it's sweeter nor th' last."

"Eea, it's sweeter, but it 'ud do wi a drop moor gin in it if it's all th' same to thee."

"It is rayther waik, but as aw wor sayin', tha sees awr Alick's allus lived at hooam, an he's nivver known what it's been to want for owt, even to his booits bein' blackened for Sunday, an if he gets hold o' that nasty powse (for shoo's nowt else who shoo is), whativver mun come on him."

"Eea, an whativer mun come o' awr Harriet Ann? Did ta put owt into th' teah-pot, Nanny?"

"Aw filled it nobbut a minnit sin, an if it's empty tha must ha supt it."

"Nay, awve nobbut tasted abaat twice. Happen it runs."

"Awm sure it runs, but it's aght oth spaat. Put it aght oth seet. Ther's awr Alick comin' up th' gate, an yor Harriet Ann follerin' him. It's reight fair wearisome. If a body gets set daan for a bit ov a talk ther's sure somebdy to come. What's browt yo two here at this time aw should like to know?" "Whear's ta left thi fayther, Alick?"

"He's gooan to luk at some pigs aw believe. He said he'd be hooam i' gooid time, an yo hadn't to get him onny drinkin' ready, for he'd have some o' that cold broth."

"Then he's baan drinkin'! Aw know as weel as can be, for he allus taks some wrang-heeaded noation when he's baan to get a bellyful o' ale. A'a! It caps me what fowk can see i' gooin an makkin a swill tub o' ther guts! If aw mud ha my mind ther shouldn't be a drop for onybody unless they wor poorly! But whear's ta been, Harriet Ann? Aw thowt tha wor at thi wark?"

"Shoo wod ha been but for me," sed Alick; "but aw chonced to meet her, an as we'd a bit o' bizness we gate that done, an then we went on to Jenny's, but th' door wor lockt, soa aw sed varry likely shoo'd be up here, an it seems aw wor abaat reight, an aw persuaded Harriet Ann to come up wi me, for it isn't fit weather for noa Christian to be aght in."

"Come on an sit thee daan, Alick. Awm sooary to hear sich a bad accaant on thee, but tha art better nor awr Harriet Ann, for shoo knows awm behund wi mi rent, an shoo couldn't do but waste another day."

"Dooant yo bother yersen, Jenny, we've just com'd to keep yo company a bit. Aw say, mother! dooant yo think yo've a drop o' summat short, 'at yo could mak Harriet Ann a sup to keep her throo catchin' cowld?"

"Tha knows ther's nowt 'short' i' this haase nobbut a drop o' gin 'at's kept o' purpose for thi fayther when he's th' backwark, but as it's Harriet Ann awl mak her a little drop."

"A'a, aw cannot sup all that, Nanny, aw nobbut want a tooithful," sed Harriet.

"Ther's happen somdy else wants th' cold keepin' aght as weel as thee," sed Jenny.

"Awve been hearin' some sad tales abaat thee Harriet Ann," sed Nanny. "Awve allus thowt as mich o' thee as if tha wor one o' mi own, an' thi mother's been tellin' me abaat some sad gooins on; but aw hooap 'at tha'll allus remember 'at tha's coine ov a daycent stock, an awm sewer yon gooid-for-nowt 'at's allus hankerin' after thee meeans thee noa gooid. Bi all aw can hear he's a low-lived offal'd scamp, an' if tha gets wed to him tha'll have to sup sorrow bi spooinsful."

"Dooant keep that gin all to thisen. Basta noa manners?" sed Jenny.

"Aw dooant know what yo're tawkin abaat," sed Harriet.

"Yi tha does; aw meean that chap 'at's reckonin' to cooart thee! When aw wor thy age awd moor sense nor to believe ivvery lyin' lumpheead 'at coom i' mi way, but lasses dooant seem to care who get's 'em nah. If it's owt ith shape ov a felly it'll do."

"Why, awm sewer yo must be mistakken, Nanny, for ther's nubdy cooartin' me."

"Nah it's noa gooid denyin' it 'coss awr Alick's here, for yo're both ith same box! He's as big a fooil as thee! Net 'at awve owt ageean him gettin' wed, net aw! Aw shall be rare an' glad to be shut on him, but aw did think he'd have gumshun enuff to luk aght for somdy 'at wodn't disgrace booath him an' all 'at belangs to him. But he Wor allus a strackle brain, an' he will be till he's bowt his wit, an' it'll be varry weel for him if he doesn't buy it too dear. But if he does wed a trolly like her, he mun keep her, an' aw hooap he'll nivver let me see her, that's all; for shoo shall nivver enter my door nor have a bite nor a sup in a haase o' mine! Here, Harriet Ann, lass, taste o' this for awm Sure tha luks as if tha'd do wi' summat."

"Aw dooant know what yo meean, mother," said Alick, "for awm sewer my cooartin days is ovver."

"If aw thowt they wor aw should be th' happiest woman under th' sun, but tha must ha dropt it varry suddenly."

"Well, it's true, an awl promise yo 'at awl nivver start agean till ther's a death ith family."

"What wor aw tellin' thee, Jenny, before he come in? Isn't he a gooid lad thinks ta? He'll nivver get wed wol his old mother's alive, he's too mich sense."

"He's a lad to be praad on, Nanny; aw wish awr Harriet Ann could say like him."

"Awl promise yo 'at awl nivver cooart agean whether ther's a deeath ith family or net."

"You've booath turned varry gooid all ov a sudden, aw should like to know what it all meeans?"

"It means nowt, mother, nobbut this-'at Harriet Ann an me thowt we could be varry comfortable together, an soa we've getten wed this mornin'."

"Yo desarve to be horsewipt! Awm in a gooid mind to thresh thee Alick as long as aw can bide to stand ovver thee! Had ta noa more sense nor' to throw thisen away after a thing like Harriet Ann."

"Does ta meean ta tell me 'at tha'd noa more respect for thisen nor to wed a haufthick like Alick. A'a, Harriet Ann, what wod thi fayther ha sed if he'd been here?"

"Awr Alick's noa fooil Jenny I dooant thee say that. Yor Harriet Ann knew what shoo wor dooin."

"Awr Harriet Ann's as gooid as yor Alick!"

"Well, awr Alick's as gooid as yor Harriet Ann!"

"Noa daat we're one as gooid as t'other, an as we're satisfied aw think yo owt to be, an' here's yor varry gooid health," sed Alick, seizin hold oth teah-pot to sup.

"Put that daan! Tha doesn't want onny teah!" sed Nanny.

"It's geoid teah is this; aw've monny a time ta'en a gooid swig aght o' that teah-pot before to-day."

"O, soa that's where thi fayther's physic go as is it. Tha's allus been a bad lad Alick, an' awve had to put up wi' thee, but dooant say owt abaat th' teah-pot to thi fayther."

"It's ommost time mi fayther wor here, isn't it?"

"Well, aw dooant know ha yo can fashion to luk him ith face when he does come, but it's done nah, so we shall have to mak th' best on it, but awst niver forgie Harriet Ann for deceivin' me. Here's thi fayther! Nah for it! Aw wish aw wor a thaasand mile away throo here this minit."

"Hallo! Are yo havin' a teah-drinkin'. What's to do, Jenny?"

"Nay, yo mun ax yor Nanny."

"What's up, Nanny lass?"

"Can't ta see what's up? Tha must be blind aw think or else druffen! Aw could see what wor to do as sooin as aw dapt mi een on 'em! Awr Alick an' Harriet Ann's gooan an getten wed, that's what's to do!"

"Why, an' a gradely pair they mak! Aw nivver thowt tha wor hawf sich a judge ov a lass as tha's proved thisen. Aw allus sed aw thowt Harriet Ann wor th' bonniest lass i' Yorksher. Awm soa suited wol awd ommost forgetten awd th' backwark. Is there a drop o' gin i' that bottle, Nanny?"

"Tha gets a deal more gin than does thee onny gooid, an aw think that backwark is oft an excuse."

"Dooant lets have onny grumlin' o'th' weddin' day, for Alick's suited me to nowt, an awm sewer shoo's th' lass awve heeard thee say tha could like him to have."

"Awve nowt agean th' match 'at aw know on, nobbut they should ha been content to wait a year or two. They're both on 'em sadly to young."

"Why, thee an' me started when we wor monny a year younger nor them. Awr Alick wor born before tha wor as old as Harriet Ann. Awve wondered monny a time if Alick wor iver baan to start.'

"Has ta noa moor sense nor to talk like that afoor bits o' childer. If shoo's as mich bother wi' him as awve had wi' thee, shoo'l wish shoo'd nivver set een on him."

"But whear do yo meean to live? Yo'll want a haase somewhear."

"We've takken yond little cottage 'at yo can see o'th' hill-side yonder, an' we've getten a bit o' furniture into it for a start."

"Why, that's the varry haase aw allus sed aw should like to live in if ivver awd to flit," sed Jenny.

"Well, yo can come as sooin as yo like an' keep for Harriet Ann company, an' if yo'll nobbut behave yorsen awl buy yo a teah-pot like that o' mi mother's, an' yo can have it oth hob end throo morn to neet."

"That's reight enuff Alick, but aw should ha been better satisfied if—

"That's what aw say Jenny, aw should ha been better satisfied if—

"Caar ye daan, an' let th' young ens alooan, for for like all old wimmen, for hard to pleeas."



Ratcatchin'.

Ther's roguery i' ivvery trade but awrs, awve' heeard fowk say, an "ivverybody's honest till they're fun aght." That white hen at' nivver lays away hasn't been hatched yet. It taks all sooarts to mak a world an aw suppooas if they wornt ratcatchers ther'd be summat short. Sam Sniffle wor a karacter in his way, he seemed to have a bit ov a smatterin' o' iverything, but what he professed to know th' mooast abaat wor dogs an rats. Noa daat he had a bit o' knowledge, but what wor far more sarviceable to him nor owt else wor a simple luk 'at he could put on, an' a bit ov a lisp 'at he had, made him seem soa harmless an simple 'at yo wodn't believe it possible for him to do owt wrang. He worn't varry big, but he wor varry wiry, an as full o' pluck as a gamcock.

Aw remember one neet as he wor gooin hooam (net becoss he thowt it wor time, but becoss his brass wor done), he happened to hear a bobby comin' as he turned th' street corner. It wor varry dark, soa he just stept back an waited for him comin', an as sooin as his heead popt past th' corner, he gave him what he called a cauf-knock an sent him sprawlin' his whoal length ith middle oth rooad. He wor hardly daan befoor Sam ran to help him up. "A'a! whativver's to do mister poleeceman?" he sed. "Are yo hurt? Do tell me," an he helpt him up an began to wipe th' muck off his clooas wi' his pocket hankerchy. Th' poleeceman turned his bull's-eye onto his face, but nubdy could suspect Sam. "Did ta see it done?" he axd. "Eea, aw saw it as fair as could be. It's a burnin' shame 'at sich like fowk cannot be stransported! it is act'ly. Awm sewer aw could ommost roar mi een up when aw see onnybody ill used like that." "Does ta think tha'd know him if tha'd to see him agean?" axd th' bobby. "Awm sewer aw' could, an' th' furst time he passes me awl bring him up to th' poleece office if aw have to wheel him in a barro." "Well, here's a shillin' for helpin' me up, an be sewer an keep thi een oppen." "Nay, nay, keep yor brass," sed Sam, "awm naoan one a' that sooart 'at wants payin' for dooin a kindness 'at costs me nowt, but awl tak it, tho' awst nivver have th' heart to spend it, but awm mich obleeged to yo, an aw wish yo gooid neet, an hooap yo'll meet wi noa moor misfortunes." "Aw hooap net, an' if they wor all like thee th' poleece ud have a easy time on it." "Why, maister, if they wor all like me ther wodn't be onny poleece, for aw havn't a heart i' mi belly big enuff for sich a job." Sam left him, an th' furst public haase he coome to he went in an had a rare spree wi' th' shillin', but when he coom aght, if onnybody'd met him they'd ha been just as likely to think he'd been to a teetotal meetin' an' signed th' pledge.

But if yo'd wanted to see him when he put on his varry simple smile, yo should ha seen him when a lady browt him a pet dog 'at wor poorly. He wor noated far an wide as a dog doctor, an ladies used to come throo all pairts wi ther pet's to ax Sam's advice. Hahivver ugly a little brute chonced to be brawt, Sam had his nomony ready. "A'a, that is a little beauty, mum, aw havn't seen one like that, mum, aw can't say when, mum. Aw dooant think yo'd like to pairt wi' it mum?"

"Oh, no! I would not part with it for its weight in gold I It's such a faithful little dear!"

"Awm sewer on it, mum, yo can see it in it. It's the varry picture o' faithfulishness. If yo leeav it wi' me it'll be weel takken care on, mum. An what name might yo call it, mum?"

"We call it Lion."

"That's just th' name for a little pet like this, it is fer sewer."

"What do you think is the matter with the little darling?"

Then Sam ud tak it in his hands, an after strokin' it an smellin' at its breath, he'd give it a nip 'at ud mak it yelp aght ten thaasand murders, then he'd shake his heead an say, "Aw thowt what wor th' matter as sooin as aw saw it, mum; yo see it's soa varry tender it can hardly bide touchin'. It's sufferin wi' enflimashun ov its liver. It's a strange thing, but it's a disease 'at's gooin abaat amang dogs just at present. Ther's monny a scoor dee ivvery wick, for yo see ther's net monny 'at know hah to doctor 'em for it. It's a pratty little thing. It'll have to have some castor hoil an a paather, mum. Aw think aw can cure it in a wick, mum."

"Well, then, I must leave it with you, and be sure to treat the little thing kindly."

"Kindly! Why, mum, awd give it th' bit aght o' mi maath. It owt to have some warm milk an a paather th' furst thing, but aw dooant happen to have onny ith haase, an my lad willn't be hooam befoor dark, an it's been awr rent day to-day, but as sooin: as ivver he comes wi his wage awl get it some, tho' it's a pity, poor thing, 'at it connot have it nah, but yo see aw didn't know 'at it wor comin'."

After this speech he wor sewer to get a shillin', an sometimes hauf-a-craan, an as he nivver reckoned owt off his doctor's bill, he called that "extra bunce."

As sooin as shoo'd getten nicely aght oth gate he'd give it a claat oth side oth heead, to let it know at th' beginnin' what it might expect if it didn't behave, an then he'd tak it into th' cellar an tee some band raand it neck an festen it to th' wall, an throw it a bit o' strea to lig on, an after chuckin' it a crust o' breead an' givin' it some watter, he'd leeav it tellin' it 'at as sooin as it had browt its stummack daan to that it ud noa daat feel better. It ud be pratty sewer to freat a bit but Sam ud tak noa noatice wol th' next day, an when he went to luk at it, if he fan th' breead an waiter untouched he'd leeav it agean. Abaht th' third day he says they generally begin to nibble a bit, an as sooin as he saw that he used to give 'em a bit o' sop or summat, but he took gooid care net to give 'em too mich. Bi th' end oth wick they wor cured, an' he used to wesh 'em an cooam 'em, an tee a bit a blue ribbon raand ther neck, an' tak 'em hooam, an' when ther mistresses saw 'em jumpin' an' caperin' abaat, an ommost fit to ait th' fire iron's, they paid him what he charged withaat a word, an gave him credit for being th' best dog doctor ith country.

He made a gooid deal o' brass i' that way, but that didn't pay him as weel as ratcatchin'. Ther wor nivver onnybody could equal Sam at catch in' a rat, for he wor nivver known to fail. At all th' big haases ith district he wor as weel known! as th' pooastman. He's gien up th' trade nah, or else aw wodn't let yo into th' saycret. This is th' way he used to do. Th' cooachman or th' buttler throo Some hall wod come to tell Sam 'at he wor wanted as sooin as ivver he could spare time, to goa up to th' hall to catch a rat 'at one oth sarvents had seen ith pantry, for they wor all soa freetened 'at they darn't goa in.

Sam wod promise to be up directly, an he'd put a net into his coit pocket, an a two-o-three breead crumbs in a bit o' paper, an a rat, ommost as big as a kittlin, but withaat a tooith in its heead, into his inside brast pocket, an then he'd set off. When he gate thear all th' sarvent lasses ud cluther raand him an tell him whear th' rat had been seen an all particulars. "Well, they're a nasty thing to have abaat a haase, an a varry dangerous thing; but awl do mi best to catch it if yo'll give me a sup o' ale if yo have it, an if net, pooarter'll do. Aw want it to mix up summat to tice it aght." They seldom browt less nor a quairt, an after takkin abaat a thimbleful to mix up his breead crumbs, he swallow'd t'other for fear on it bein wasted. Then he'd tak a cannel an goa to whear th' rat had been last seen, an all th' lasses followin at a distance. After puttin his bait on th' floor an th' cannel ith far corner, he'd begin chirpin an huntin under th' barrels an all abaat to see if ther wor a rat, but as he seldom fan one, when he thowt he'd carried it on long enuff, he'd set up a gurt shaat, "It's here! it's here!" an pawse th' cannel ovver with his fooit, an as they couldn't tell where it might be they all flew off skrikin, leavin' Sam to quietly pool his "owd forrester," as he called him, aght ov his pocket an lap it up ith net an come aght holdin' it at arms' length. Then away went th' haasekeeper to tell th' mistress, an th' mistress to tell th' maister, an in a varry few minits ivverybody abaat th' place wor ith kitchen, standin in a ring wi Sam an th' rat ith middle. Sam wor a hero just then, but to luk at his face yo'd fancy he hadn't sense enuff to know it. Ov coorse ther wor nowt to gooid for Sam after that, an he'd allus as mich to ait an drink as he could tuck into him an a hauf-a-craan beside. Aw dooant know hah monny times he catched that rat, but aw do know 'at he catched it three times i' one haase, an he tell'd me he made as mich brass on it as monnya chap could mak wi a horse an cart. He'd a deeal more queer tricks, but as he gate older he gave it up, for he said it wor all vanity; an as he wanted to settle daan an leead a quiet life, he tuk a beershop, an nah he amuses hiss en an his customers wi sittin' at th' end oth langsettle an tellin' his experience, an if one hawf o' what he says is true, when he dees he owt to be put under a glass shade an stuck ith Halifax museum.



Owd Moorcock.

It's monny a long year sin what awm gooin to tell tuk place, but aw remember it as weel as if it wor yesterday. He wor a queer sooart ov a chap, wor owd Drake, an although some laft at him, an considered him an oddity, ther wor a gooid deeal moor 'at believed him to be a born genius. He wor a cobbler bi trade, an a varry gooid cobbler too, tho' he'd nivver sarved his time to it; an altho' he'd had two or three gooid chonces o' startin' business ith' taan, yet he allus shook his heead, an sed he'd rayther goa on as he wor a bit longer. Th' fact wor he loved his liberty, an he'd getten a noashun 'at if he left his little hooam i' th' country, he'd leeav his freedom wi it. An it's hardly to be wondered at, for his snug cot lukt th' pictur' o' comfort. It wor a one-stooary buildin' wi a straw thack, an all th' walls wor covered wi honeysuckle an' jessamine, an th' windows could hardly be seen for th' green leaves 'at hung as a veil i' th' front on 'em. Stooan-crop an haaseleek had takken up a hooam i' th' gutter, an th' chimley wor ommost hid wi ivy. It wor a queer-shaped place altogether—all nucks an corners—But it wor just what suited David. They called him David Drake, tho' he wor known best as Owd Moorcock. I' th' front wor a nice bit o' garden, allus kept trim, an seldom withaat a show o' bloom o' one sooart or another; an away to one side wor what he called his farm—a bit o' land abaat ten yards wide, an twenty long—whear he grew his cabbages an puttates an sich like; an all araand for miles wor moorland covered wi heather, an stockt wi game, except at th' back ov his cot, whear a bluff-lukkin hill sprang ommost straight up, makkin' a stranger feel afeeard lest it should tak a fancy to topple over an' bury booath th' cot an all in it. But if th' aghtside wor curious, th' inside wor a deal moor soa; an it wornt to be wondered at if a gooid monny fowk paid David a visit when they'd hauf a day to spare. He'd a wife—geniuses generally manage to get a wife if they get nowt else, an it isn't allus 'at they mak th' wisest choice; but David mud ha done war, for Dolly-o'-Dick's-o'-th'- Dike, as shoo wor called, wor as queer a customer as her husband, an if we're to believe what shoo says, if it hadn't ha been for her, Dave wod ha been a poor lost craytur. Shoo didn't appreciate his genius that's true, but wives as a rule niver do; but shoo let him have his own way, an sometimes, when her wark wor done, shoo'd even help him wi some of his fooilery. Aw'd heeard a gooid deal abaat 'em, soa one day aw detarmined aw'd pay 'em a visit, soa, after gettin' off at th' Copley Station, aw started to climb a rough, steep loin, moor like th' bed of a beck nor owt else, but trees o' awther side hung over wol they met at th' top, an made a cooil shade 'at wor varry welcome, for aw wor ommost sweltered. After a long scramel aw fan misen o Norland Moor—an it wor a seet worth tewing for, for th' heather wor i' bloom, an it lukt as if a purple carpet had been laid for th' buzzards an bees to frolic on; an ther wor sich a hum raand wol it saanded as if they wor playin' bass to th' skylarks 'at wor warblin' up aboon. Aw struck aght in as straight a line as aw could for David's, an havin come to th' garden gate, aw stopt a minnit to admire th' flaars 'at covered th' graand an th' walls, an even stretched far onto th' thack. Aw hadn't stood long when a voice claise to my ear sed—

"Might yo be lukkin' for somdy?"

"Are yo Mistress Drake?" aw axed.

"Eea, aw believe aw am; but what might yo be wantin'? If yo've owt to sell yo've comed to th' wrang shop, for brass is varry scarce here?"

"Aw've nobbut comed to see yor maister," aw sed; "is he in?"

"Nay, he isn't, an aw dooant know whear yo'll find him, for aw've niver met him yet; but if it's awr Dave yo meean, he's inside, soa yo can walk forrad, an if it's onny shoes yo want mendin', aw can see to that as weel as him, for he's reckonin' to be thrang this afternoon?"

"Aw've nobbut come to have a bit o' tawk," aw sed.

"Oh, if that's all yo can come in; there's a deeal moor fowk come to tawk to him nor what brings him any wark; but it's happen as weel, for if it worn't for me bein' allus naggin' at him, he'd nivver get done th' bit he does; an as it is, he's hammerin' away when he owt to be i' bed, an' keepin' ivverybody else wakken; but aw've tried to taich him sense wol aw'm fair stall'd, soa he mun goa his own gate an tak th' consequences. Come yor ways; we's find him i' th' far raam makkin marks an' spoilin' cleean paper."

We went up a narrow passage, an as th' door wor oppen aw'd a gooid luk at David an his raam befoor he saw me. It wor a varry little place, wi a varry little winder, an hardly heigh enuff for a chap to stand up in, and all th' walls wor covered wi picturs, an he wor set cloise to th' winder hard at wark at another. He wor a short, fat gooid-tempered-lukkin chap, wi a bald heead an just a bit o' white hair hingin' daan like a fringe all raand, an his cheeks wor as red as a ripe apple, an his hands, brooad an braan, show'd they'd had to face booath wark an weather. As Dolly went in he lukt up an saw me.

"Come in," he sed, "come in do, it's varry whut, sit yo daan. Whativer browt ye up here to-day? Why, yo'll be ommost melted. Can yo sup some buttermilk?" An he filled a glass 'at stood o' th' table, an handed it to me. Aw swollered it, an then aw sed, "Aw thowt as aw'd a bit o' spare time awd just come up an mak yor acquaintance, for awve heeard a gooid deeal abaat yo, an happen yo'll nooan think onny war o' me for comin' bi misel'."

"Tha's done reight to come, lad; aw'm allus glad to see anybody pop in. Aw wor just thrang makkin marks, as awr Dolly calls it, but, as awd nivver onybody to taich me, awm feeared aw havn't getten th' reight way o' gooin abaat it yet. Yo see all theeas picturs? Well, yo'll not think mich on 'em, but sich as they are, they please me, an they niver ait owt."

"An what are ta shappin at nah?" sed Dolly.

"This is to be th' erupshun o' Maant Vesuvius."

"Why, what is it eruptin' for?" sed Dolly. "Aw guess it's like thee, it's nowt better to do? Is that th' reason tha's put so mich brimston' colour abaat it? Ther's nowt better nor brimston' an traitle for curin' erupshuns."

"Dolly, aw've tell'd thee for aboon twenty year 'at tha's noa taste nobbut for summut to ait, an yond lad tak's after thee. Aw'd allus a fancy for my lad to be an artist," he sed, turnin' to me, "but he seems to care moor abaat hawkin' bits o' garden stuff; but then we am't all born alike, an aw made up mi mind nivver to try to foorce him to owt 'at he'd noa hankerin' after, for if aw'd had two trades to pick aght on, an one on 'em had been cobblin, awst ha takken t'other whativver it had been; but aw could ha liked mi lad to ha been summut better, for aw gave him a gooid name when he wor kursened; but yo cannot order theeas things as yo wod."

"Noa; an it's a gooid job yo cannot, for aw've quite enuff to put up wi to have thee messin' abaat as tha does; but aw know varry weel that lad wod ha been a painter if tha'd had patience to taich him. But whear's that pictur' he did paint? Tha'rt fond enuff o' shewin' thi own wark; let's luk at somdy's else."

"He nivver tried his hand but once, an it wor this," he sed, as he' pooled one aght o' th' corner, "an when he showed it me aw'd to luk at it for a long time befoor aw could tell what to mak on it, but at last aw decided it wor a camel; but he wor soa mad 'at he sed he'd nivver paint another so long as he lived, for it wor a drake. Soa, to prevent onybody else makkin sich another mistak, aw've written on th' bottom' This is a drake."

"Tha can say what tha likes, David, but hawf a bad en, an if yo can nobbut catch leets, aw'm sewer ther's monny a thing less like a drake nor that. Dooant yo think soa?" shoo sed, turnin' to me.

Aw sed aw thowt soa, too: an then David axed me to goa into his study, "For yo mun know," he sed, "aw've a study, an a studio, an a museum, an a wild beast show i, this haase, as little as it is."

He led the way into another raam abaat as big as that we'd left, an showed me a row o' shelves filled wi books, an a little table covered wi papers; an aw tell'd him aw thowt he wor quite a literary sooart ov a chap.

"Why," he sed, "aw've allus been fond o' readin' sin aw wor a bit ov a lad, an sometimes aw string a line or two together 'at jingles varry nicely, an two or three times aw've had some printed i'th' papers. Mun, it's varry nice to be able to sit daan an eease yor mind wi writin' a bit, even if nubdy reads it. That lad o' mine cares nowt abaat it; aw wish he did, for aw believe if he'd takken to study he'd ha been a wonder, for he's a rare heead—it tak's a hat ommost as big as a coil-skep to fit it. Aw gate him to try one time, an he wor a whole day i' gettin' theeas four lines, aw allus keep 'em by me, for aw know he'll nivver write ony moor.":—

'Aw once wor lost on Norland Moor, An' if aw'd ne'er been fun, Mooast likely aw'st a been thear yet, An nah mi tale is done.'

"Tha'rt varry fond o' runnin daan them 'at belangs to thee," sed Dolly, "an to hear thee tawk fowk ud think he could nivver do owt reight; but if that isn't poetry, aw should like to know what is, for awm sewer ther's a deeal more common sense in it nor ther is i' lots o' thine. But thear he is gooin past th' winder, an he knows ther isn't a drop o' watter i' th' haase, an aw can't bide to fotch ony. If he's like his fayther i' nowt else he is i' leavin' ivverything for me to do; but aw'll let him see different!" an throwing th' winder oppen, shoo yell'd aght, "Rubensrembrandtvandyke Drake! Tha'll come in this minit, or else aw'll warm thee!" An away shoo flew aght.

"Whativver made yo call him sich a name as that?" aw axed.

"Why, aw'd a fancy he'd be a cliver chap if he lived, an soa aw gave him a cliver name; but if aw had it to do nah, aw think summat less wad ha to fit him. But let's have a luk at th' museum."

"Aw should like to hear one o' yor pieces," aw sed, "if yo'd be soa gooid as to reead one."

If that'll suit thee, aw'll reead one, an welcome. Ther's one here 'at aw wor felterin' mi brain wi' last neet:

'Aw'm havin' a smook bi misel', Net a soul here to spaik a word to, Aw've noa gossip to hear nor to tell, An ther's nowt I feel anxious to do.

Aw've noa noashun o' writin' a line, Tho' aw've jist dipt mi pen into th' ink, Towards wor kin aw don't mich incline, An aw'm ommost to lazy to think.

Aw've noa riches to mak me feel vain, An yet aw've as mich as aw need; Aw've noa sickness to cause me a pain, An noa troubles to mak mi heart bleed,

Awr Dolly's crept off to her bed, An aw hear shoo's beginnin' to snoor; (That upset me when furst we wor wed, But nah it disturbs me noa moor.)

Like me, shoo taks things as they come, Makkin th' best o' what falls to her lot, Shoo's content wi her own humble hooam, For her world's i' this snug little cot.

We know 'at we're both growin' old, But Time's traces we hardly can see; An tho' fifty years o'er us have roll'd, Shoo's still th same young Dolly to me.

Her face may be wrinkled an grey, An her een may be losin' ther shine, But her heart's just as leetsum to-day As it wor when aw first made her mine.

Aw've mi hobbies to keep mi i' toit, Aw've noa whistle nor bell to obey, Aw've mi wark when aw like to goa to it, An mi time's all mi own, neet an day.

An tho' some pass mi by wi a sneer, An some pity mi lowly estate, Aw think aw've a deealless to fear Nor them 'at's soa wealthy an great.

When th' sky stretches aght blue an breet, An th' heather's i' blossom all raand, Makkin th' mornin's cooi! breezes smell sweet, As they rustle along ovver th' graand.

When aw listen to th' lark as he sings Far aboon, ommost lost to mi view, Aw lang for a pair ov his wings, To fly wi him, an sing like him, too.

When aw sit under th' shade ov a tree, Wi mi book, or mi pipe, or mi pen, Aw think them 'at's sooary for me Had far better pitty thersen.

When wintry storms howl ovver th' moor, An snow covers all, far an wide, Aw carefully festen mi door, An creep claise up to th' fire inside.

A basin o' porridge may be, To some a despisable dish, But it allus comes welcome to me, If aw've nobbut as mich as aw wish

Mi cloas are old-fashioned, they say, An aw havn't a daat but it's true; Yet they answer ther purpose to-day Just as weel as if th' fashion wor new.

Let them 'at think joys nobbut dwell Wheear riches are piled up i' stoor, Try to get a gooid share for thersel', But leave me mi snug cot up o' th' moor

Mi 'bacca's all done, soa aw'll creep Off to bed, just as quiet as a maase For if Dolly's disturbed ov her sleep, Ther'n be a fine racket i' th' haase.

Aw mun keep th' band i' th' nick if aw can, For if shoo gets her temper once crost, All comforts an joys aw may plan Is just soa mich labour 'at's lost.

"Weel, aw call that a varry nice piece; an if yo're aullus soa contented, yo must have a happy time on it."

"Awm happy enuff as things goa, an aw dar say aw'm as contented as th' mooast; but it isn't allus safe to judge ov a chap bi what he writes, for fowk often pen what they'd like things to be nor what they find 'em to be."

He led th' way into another raam 'at wor filled wi boxes full o' butterflies, an buzzards, an twitch clocks, an rare an praad he wor on 'em; an then he showed me what he called his wild beeasts, but they wor tame enuff, for they wor nowt but catterpillers, but aw believe ther wor thaasands on 'em, all alive an feedin o' one sooart o' stuff or another; an he tell'd me they ait a barraload o' greens ivvery day. He said he kept 'em till they come into butterflies, an then he cured 'em an sent 'em away to London an sometimes to Paris. Th' year befoor he sent 15,000 to one man. "Soa, yo see, awm a butterfly merchant as weel as a cobbler," he sed.

As we wor lukkin at 'em Dolly coom up to tell us we'd better goa to us drinkin' if we wanted ony, for, as Rubensrembrantvandyke had started, ther'd varry sooin be nooan left. We tuk her advice, an awm thankful to say ther wor plenty for us all, an when we'd finished we went an sat ith garden, an David filled his pipe an sed if awd noa objections he'd tell me hah it happened 'at he coom to live oth moor, an th' reason fowk called him Owd Moorcock. Aw sed nowt could suit me better, soa he began.

"Yo mun know," sed David, "'at befoor aw gate wed an coom to live here, aw lived in a little haase in a fold cloise to Halifax Parish Church,—it isn't thear nah, for it's been pool'd daan to mak way for improvements o' differernt sooarts,—an awd an idea at that time 'at aw should like to live thear all mi life, an awd noa thowts aw should iver get wed."

"Its a pity tha ivver altered thi mind," said Dolly.

"Well, happen soa,—but let me tell mi tale i' mi awn way an it'll be finished soa mich sooiner. One Setterdy aw donn'd misen up i' mi Sundy clooas an went for a walk throo th' market, an when aw coom to th' butter-cross aw saw a chap 'at had a cock an two hens in a basket for sale, an he offered 'em to me for ten shillin'. 'Ten fiddlesticks!' aw sed, 'awl gie thee five,' an he put on a luk as if awd stab'd him to th' heart, an begun tellin' me hah mich they'd cost him, an 'at he'd nivver ha tried to sell 'em but he wor behund wi his rent, an wor foorced to pairt wi 'em to keep th' bums aght, an he assured me they wor layin' ivvery day. But th' fact wor, aw didn't want 'em at onny price, for aw'd noa place to put 'em, an aw tell'd him soa. 'Well,' he sed, 'gie me three hawf craans an tha shall have 'em, for aw think tha'll luk weel after 'em an aw wodn't like 'em to be ooined.' 'Nay,' aw sed, 'aw weant gie aboon five shillin', for awm nooan i' want on 'em.' 'If tha weant, tha weant,' he sed, soa that settles it, but awd rayther let th' bums tak away nearly ivvery stick aght o'th' haase nor awd take a farden less nor seven shillin'; that's th' lowest aw ivver will tak, an if tha doesn't buy'em at that price tha'll rue, for tha'll niver have sich a chonce ageean.' 'Well, then, awst be like to rue,' aw sed, 'for aw weant gie thee a hawpny moor nor five shilin'.' 'Tha'rt a hard un,' he sed, 'but If tha'll promise me tha'll treat 'em weel, an at tha'll nivver tell anybody what tha's gien for 'em, tha shall have 'em for six shillin'; nah, tha cannot say noa to that. Two hens an' a cock! Why it's nobbut two shillin' a-piece, an they're as cheap as muck at hawf a sovrin' aw think tha doesn't understand th' hen trade. Awm fair sham'd to offer' em at sich a price, an awm sewer aw hardly dar goa hooam wi th' brass." 'Nay,' aw sed, 'one word's just as gooid as a thaasand wi me, an awl stick to what aw sed, an if yo like to tak five shillin' awl buy' em, an if net yo can keep' em.' 'Tak' em wi thee,' he sed; soa aw pottered aght five shillin', an he began bawlin' 'Sowld agean' an aw had 'em under mi arms ommost afoor aw knew what aw wor dooin, an as aw wor walkin' away he pool'd me to one side to luk at another basketful. 'Nah,' he sed, 'yo'd better buy theeas, yo can have 'em at th' same price, an they're better nor them. Wod yo like a two-or-three ducks or a couple o' pigeons?' 'Aw want noa moor to-day,' aw sed, 'but awst like to know if all theeas belang to yo?' 'All tha sees i' this row belangs to me,' he sed, 'an if tha wants onny tha'll finnd me here ivery Setterdy, an awl sell thee owt aw have at thi own price,' 'Well aw should think yo'll be able to keep th' bums off if yo sell all them,' aw sed, an aw started for hooam, but somehah aw didn't feel just as weel suited wi mi bargain as aw thowt aw should, an aw wor bothered aboon a bit wi wonderin' whear to put 'em, for awd noa room for 'em nobbut ith cellar, an that wor as dark as a booit, but, hahivver, aw thowt they'd be a bit o' company for me, for aw wor oft varry looansome, an aw should be able to have a fresh egg for mi braikfast whenivver aw liked. As sooin as aw gate hooam aw lit a cannel an went into th' cellar, takkin care to shut th' door after me, an then aw unteed ther legs an set 'em at liberty. They worn't a varry prime lot, but aw didn't care for that, for it wor th' eggs aw wanted. Th' cock gave hissen a shak, an set up sich a cock-a-doodle-doo wol aw wor ommost deeafened—aw nivver heeard sich a voice i' mi life—if he'd been trained he'd ha been a rare leeader for a rorytory—an wol aw wor wonderin' if it ud be safe to leeav 'em as they wor wol aw went to fotch 'em some screenins, one oth hens flew onto th' shelf whear aw kept all mi jock an stuff. 'That'll niver do,' aw thowt, soa aw went towards it to tak it off, when th' cock tried to foller, an wafted th' cannel aght wi his wings an let fair at th' top o' my heead, so aw grabbed at th' shelf to steady misen, when daan it coom wi all th' plates an pots, an sich a clatter an crash yo'd ha thowt th' haase had tummeld. Th' milk wor all spilt, an th' breead an cheese wor rollin' amang th' coils, an a bowl o' broth had emptied itsen onto th' front o' mi clean shirt, an aw wor sylin weet throo mi neck to mi feet. Th' hens wor chuckin' i' different corners, an th' cock started crowin' laader bi th' hawff, an aw tried mi best to groap mi way up th' steps into th' haase. Aw managed at last, an if yo could ha seen me as' aw lukt just then, yo'd ha believed aw should niver be able 'to get cleean agean. Mi heead wor covered wi mail, an mi clooas wor sooaked wi broth an ornamented wi bits o' chopt carrots, an turnips, an onion skins, an hawf a pund o' butter wor stickin' to one booit heel an pairt ov a suet dumplin' to t'other, an as aw wor standin' wonderin' which end to begin at to set things straight, a young woman 'at lived next door coom in to ax me if awd been buyin' some hens, for shoo'd heeard th' cock crowin', an when shoo saw me i' sich a pickle shoo held up her hands an skriked as if awd getten mi throit cut. 'Whativver has ta been dooin?' shoo sed. 'Tha'rt fair flaysum to luk at.' Shut th' door, Dorothy,' aw sed, 'an come in an see if yo can help me aght o' this mess;' soa she put th' door to, an aw tell'd her all hah it had happened. 'Why,' shoo sed, 'tha mun tak all thi clooase off, for they'll have to goa into th' tub-ther'll nowt ivver get that greeas off but bailin' watter an weshin licker; goa upstairs an get 'em all off an fling 'em daan to me, an awl see if aw can do owt wi 'em.' 'Awl pay yo whativver yo charge,' aw sed, 'an if aw dooant screw yond cock an hens' necks raand it'll be becoss awve changed mi mind!' 'O tha'll manage weel enuff wi 'em after this,' shoo sed, 'tha knows th' hen trade is like ivverything else, it wants sombdy 'at understands it; but that cock's a rare voice; is it a young un? Sithee, th' childer's standin' ith middle oth yard wonderin' wheal th' noise comes throo.'

Aw went up stairs an tuk off all mi clooas an threw' em daan to Dorothy, an a grand lot they lukt, an awd just pool'd on mi warty britches when shoo called aght, 'David, David! I come this minnit! Th' childer's oppend th' cellar winder an letten th' cock aght!' Daan stairs aw flew withaat stoppin' to festen mi gallowses or put mi booits on, an as sooin as aw went aght th' lads set up a shaat an th' cock flew into a chamber winder at t'other side o' th' yard. Th' naybors all coom runnin' aght, an Dorothy foller'd me wi mi clooas tukt under her arm, an a shirt sleeve an a britches slop trailin' behund her. Aw ran into th' haase after th' cock, an' withaat spaikin a word to Sam or his dowter, 'at wor just at ther dinner, aw baanced upstairs and shut th' winder to mak sure 'at it couldn't get aght, an then aw called aght, 'It's nobbut me, Sam, my new cock's flown into your window, an awve coom'd for it, wi ta help me to catch it?' 'Why, has ta nobbut just getten aght o' bed? Aw think it ud seem thee better to put thi clooas on befoor tha cooms runnin' into a body's haase this fashion, scarin' ivverybbody aght o' ther wits.'

'Yo mun excuse me this time,' aw sed, 'its noa fault o' mine. Come an help me to catch this chap.' Soa they booath coom up, but that cock had made up his mind net to be catched, an he'd peearkt up fair at top oth bed heead, an he set up another crow wi as mich impudence as if he'd been on his own middin. Sam made a grab at it, an it flew to th' winder-bottom, upsettin two plant-pots, an we all made a rush for it, but it slipt past an swept all th' chany ornaments off th' mantel-shelf an made a dive at th' chimley, an away it went aght oth seet. Th' lass skrikt wi all her might, an Sam shaated, an aw made as mich din as aw could tryin' to keep 'em quiet, an th' cock screamed ith chimley wor nor a railway whistle. Bi this time ther wor a craad o' thirty or forty fowk aghtside, an they wor callin aght for th' police, for they seemed to think ther wor one or two gettin' murdered at least, an things began to luk serious. 'Tha'll have a bonny penny to pay for this,' sed Sam. 'Ha can ta feshun? Just luk at all them ornaments brokken to bits, an th' plants an stuff destroyed! Tak that cock aght oth chimley an get aght o' here as sharp as tha can, an nivver let me see thee nor owt belangin to thee agean!' Aw sed nowt, for aw saw he wor riled, an aw didn't wonder at it, soa aw put mi hand up th' flue, an aw could feel its legs, but it seemed to be wedged fast. 'It's here,' aw sed, 'but awm feeard aw can't get it withaat hurtin' it.'

'Ger aght oth gate,' he sed, 'aw care nowt abaat hurtin' it! Awl stir it, or else awl rive it's legs off!' an he shov'd his arm up, an daan it coom an browt all th' sooit wi it, an flapt it into us faces wol we wor ommost smoored.

Aw seized hoid oth burd an made th' best o' my way aghtside, an as sooin as aw showed mi face ther wor a reglar yell, an they all squandered to let me pass. Th' chaps had getten pooakers an tangs, an th' wimmen wor armed wi umbrellas an tooastin forks, an then aw turned raand an axed 'em whot ther wor to do. Just then Sam an his dowter coom aght, an when they saw me ommost undrest, wi mi face grimed wi sooit an mi heead whitened wi mail, an Sam an his lass lukkin varry little better, it set some oth chaps laffin, an aw went inside an festened th' door, an puffin' an blowin' like a brokken-winded horse, aw sat daan convinced 'at that chap wor reight when he sed aw knew nowt abaat th' hen trade.