But th' noise aghtslde gate laader, an th' wimmen's voices wor raised to th' screamin' pitch, soa aw ventured to luk aght, an' thear wor poor Dorothy ith middle ov a duzzen wimmen 'at wor shakkin ther umbrellas an tooastin forks ovver her heead, wol one on em wor holdin' up mi Sundy shirt, an other two wor tryin' to divide mi breeches between 'em, an ther wor sich a hullaballoo as yo nivver heeard. 'Tha's war nor him bi th' hawf!' sed one. 'What business as shoo wi his dooas under her arm, aw should like to know. It's a disgrace to ivvery woman ith fold, that's what it is!' sed another; an aw began to see 'at that cock had been th' meeans o' gettin' her into trouble as well as me.

Aw thowt th' best thing aw could do wor to leeave 'em to settle it amang thersen, soa aw went an gate weshed an donned, an it seems bi th' time aw wor ready to goa aght they'd managed to get hold oth reight end oth tale, an aw wor met wi a shaat o' laffin throo th' men, an even th' wimmen smiled, tho' some on 'em shook ther heeads in a mysterious sooart ov a way, as mich as to gie me to understand 'at they'd let me off that once, but if awd onny desire to keep ther gooid opinion awd better net get into another scrape oth same sooart. Aw knew they threw a gooid deal o' blame onto poor Dorothy, an aw wor varry sooary it wor soa, for shoo wor a nice quiet young woman, an tewed hard to keep hersen respectable, an noabdy hed a word to say agean her, nobbut shoo kept a tom-cat 'at worn't partiklar whooas dish he put his nooas in.

Aw nivver went near them hens agean wol Mundy mornin'. Aw knew they wor in a land flowing wi broth an breead, but ther wor noa fear on me forgettin' 'em, for that cock crowed wol he wor hooarse. Ther wornt one chap i' that fold 'at worn't up i' time for his wark o' Mundy mornin', an as for misen awd hardly a wink o' sleep all th' neet.

Aw wor foorced to stop in all th' day o' Sundy, becoss o' mi clooas bein' at Dorothy's, an when Mundy coom aw went daan ith cellar an cut' em all their heeads off, an detarmined to cook 'em all three an invite th' wimmen to ther drinkin', an see if aw couldn't mak things pleasant ageean. Aw saw a nay bar hingin' up some clooas, soa aw tell'd her what aw intended to do, an awd noa need to mention it to onnybody else, for th' news hed flown to ivvery haase i' less nor five minnits.

Dorothy browt me mi clooas back o' Tuesdy, an they luk'd ommost as gooid as new, an aw invited' em all to ther drinkin' for Fridy neet, an then aw went an bowt two pot dogs an a stag for Sam's dowter, an aw wor luk'd on as th' king oth fold. It wor a varry little haase for abaat twenty fowk, but aw cleared all aght, an put tables ith middle an cheers raand th' sides, an contrived raam for 'em all. Aw dooant think yo ivver hed onny experience i' cookin' for yorsen, nivver name cookin' for other fowk, but aw considered misen a varry gooid hand, an aw can assure yo when aw stewed them hens an rooasted th' cock, an boiled some puttates, an made a pile o' tooast, an some strong teah flavored wi rum, 'at it wor a set aght net to be despised.

All wor ready an promised for a success, an aw could see th' wimmen bobbin' aght o' one door into another wi ther new caps on, an aw saw bi th' clock 'at it nobbut wanted a quarter ov an haar befoor they'd be all thear, sea aw tuk a can an went to th' pump for some clean watter, so as we could keep th' kettle filled up, an aw left th' door oppen. Aw wornt aboon a minnit away, but as aw wor comin' back, what should aw see but that tom-cat o' Dorothy's comin' aght oth door wi abaat hawf a hen in his maath. Away it ran hooam an me after it; net 'at aw cared soa mich abaat th' loss oth mait, for aw knew we should hey enuff, but aw wor mad to think 'at after all mi trouble to cook it aw should be served i' sich a way.

Dorothy wor upstairs, an away it went to her, but aw didn't foller, for awd net forgetten th' bother awd been in at Sam's; but wimmen's all alike, they can nivver keep ther maath shut, an noa sooiner did shoo see it nor shoo set up a screeam an, ov coarse, that wor th' signal for ivvery woman ith fold to fly aght, for they wor all set waitin' for th' time for ther drinkin'. 'Ger aght wi thee! Tha nasty thief!' shoo sed, an aw could hear her chasin' it raand an raand, singin' aght, 'Ha can ta fashion, tha nasty gooid-fer-nowt? Awl hey thee hung for it befoor tha'rt a day older!' Daanstairs it coom ageean, an aw oppen'd th' door an ran it aght, an as aw foller'd it th' wimmen rushed past me in a body an all cried aght at once, 'What's he been dooin to thee, Dorothy? Shame on him!' Aw went into mi awn haase, an left Dorothy to mak what explanation shoo thowt best, for aw felt sewer aw should mak matters war if aw stopt. Aw dooant know what shoo sed, but they sooin all coom in laffiin an tawkin, tho' nah an then throwin' aght a sly hint at Dorothy an me, but aw wor too thrang to tak mich noatice, an' shoo'd moor sense. As they wor all wed fowk but her an me, it wor agreed 'at shoo should sarve aght th' teah, an' awd to sarve th' mait an stuff. They made a gooid deal o' fun, an th' braan creeam helpt th' teah daan famously, th' tooast seem'd ommost to melt away, an th' stewed hens didn't last long, but th' cock didn't seem to be in as mich favor. Noabdy wanted helpin' twice, an as awd taen a deeal a' pains to cook it aw felt rayther disappointed. 'Nan get on an mak a gooid drinkin',' aw says; 'does onnybody say a bit moor o' this cock?' But it wor all noa use, aw axd 'em an axd 'em wol aw wor fair stalled, an th moor aw tried to persuade' em an th' moor they laft.

'Just thee try a bit thisen,' sed one, 'an then tha'll see hah it is we want noa moor: Soa aw tried a bit, an awl be blest if it wornt like gutty percha. Awd some varry gooid teeth, but they could do nowt wi it. Aw wor varry soary abaat it, but it couldn't be helpt, an they all sed they'd nivver had a better drinkin' i' ther life, soa one or two helpt me to side th' table an straighten up a bit, for ther husbands wor all ta coom an hey a smook an a drop o' summat short after they'd eoom throo ther wark.

'What mun aw do wi what's left o' this rooast cock?' aw sed.

'Give it to Dorothy's tom-cat!' sed Sam's dowter.

'If it gets its teeth fast it'll pull its heead off!' sed another.

'An mich matters if it did,' sed owd Sarah; 'for it's a plague i' this fold, for yo can keep nowt aght ov it's rooad.'

'Aw think th' best plan ud be,' sed Sam, as he popp'd in his heead, 'for David an Dorothy to mak it up between' em, an then we'll all join an give' em a weddin' dinner, for awm sewer ther booath looansome, an as David's hed noa luck wi his poultry, an Dorothy's cat's allus getten her i' trouble, aw think nah as yo've swallered th' poultry shoo should hang th' cat, an then they could mak a fair start ith world, an aw believe ther isn't a nayhor 'at willn't gladly give 'em a lift.'

'This seemed to fall in wi ivverybody's ideas except mine and Dorothy's, an we sed nowt. Th' chaps coom in a bit, an a reight jolly lot they wor, an when th' wimmen tell'd 'em what a toff owd customer th' cock hed turned aght, they sed it ud be a gooid name for me, soa they kursened me Moorcock, an awve been known bi that name ivver sin. Yo'd hardly think' at Dorothy wod have agreed to become Dolly Drake, but shoo did, an th' naybors wor as gooid as ther word, an when we gate wed we sat daan to as grand a dinner as ivver yo'd wish to see, an monny a little thing we have nah 'at wor gein to us then towards haasekeepin'.

"But some way or other soa monny fowk gate to know abaat her tom-cat, an they used to come ta Iuk at it, far shoo wadn't hang it, an they made sich gam abaat it wol we coom up to this quiet corner, pairtly to get aght oth gate on 'em, an pairtly becoss aw anlls liked th' country best, soa here we are, just as yo see us, an here it's varry likely we shall stop till one on us is fotched away in a black box. Th' owd tom-cat's deead, an aw stuffed it, an yo can see it at top oth clock, so nah 'Yo know th' reason awm called 'Owd Moorcock.'"

"Ther's nivver noa end to thy tongue when it gets runnin'," sed Dolly: "th' supper's been ready for long enuff, an if tha hasn't tawkt him booath hungry an dry bi this time he's able to stand it better nor me."

We knocked th' ashes aght ov us pipes an went in to supper. It did'nt last long, an after thankin' 'em for ther hospitality an information aw shook hands an bid 'em gooid neet, an it'll be a long time befoor aw forget mi visit to, "Owd Moorcock."



Peace Makkin.

"Honest confession is gooid for th' soul," they say, an aw may as weel confess at once 'at awve been a fooil. Happen yo'll say "that's nowt fresh," but beggin' for pardon this is summat fresh. Yo'll happen think 'at awve been bettin' at Donkeystir Races, or 'at awve been bun for a chap in a money club, or 'at awve bowt a share in a manufacturin' company, limited, or 'at awve started th' newspaper business, or takken a hotel, or 'at awve joined th' Mormons, or 'at awve getten into a law suit. But whichivver yo'd guessed yo'd be sewer to be 'wrang. All awve been tryin' to do has been to act as a peeace makker, an if awd carried it on for onny length o' time, aw should ha been made into sich a lot o' pieces misen 'at it wod ha takken a besom to sweep me up.

Just anent awr haase lives a old cross-grained chap 'at's getten wed to a varry nice lass, an' as he's a bit o' brass an' shoo's a lump o' beauty, yo'd think they should live together as happy as two turtle doves. But awm sooary to say 'at sich isn't th' case, for they generally get up abaat hawf-past eight an have a feight befoor nine. Awm a varry tender-hearted sooart ov a customer, an awm sewer it's monny a time made mi heart bleed to see an hear ther goins on. Somehah or other awd allus sided wi th' wife, tho' aw nivver knew what th' rows have been abaat, an ov coorse soa long as they kept 'em i' ther own haase aw couldn't interfere. But t'other day, abaat a wick sin, they wor gooin it war an war, an shoo coom runnin' into th' street wi her hair all daan an her gaon ommost riven off her back, an he rushed aght after her wi a umbrella in his hand, strikin' at her reight an left, all all shoo had to protect hersen wi wor th' rollin' pin. Thinks aw to misen, this sooart o' thing has gooan far enuff, an as awd just been readin' abaat th' "atrocities," aw fancied misen England an him Turkey an her a poor Bulgarian, an aw determined awr wodn't see a poor inoffensive young woman ill-treated bi a brute like that, soa just as he wor gettin' ready to strike her daan into th' eearth, aw stept behund him an planted mi naive at th' back ov his ear, an he rolled ovver like a skittle pin. Just as he fell awd an idea 'at awd been struck wi leetnin or else ther wor an eearthquake, for a summat dropped onto mi heead wi sich a foorce 'at aw saw some oth grandest fireworks awd ivver seen, an aw sat daan wi sich a bang 'at awm sewer aw must ha left mi impression pratty deep somewhear. When aw began to collect mi scattered thowts aw saw her standin' ovver me quaverin' th' rollin' pin aboon mi heead to prevent onnybody hittin' me ageean. When aw gate up aw began to reason wi misen as to what had been to do, an aw couldn't help thinkin' 'at that rollin' pin hed summat to do wi th' lump o' mi heead. Aw felt sooary then 'at awd been soa rash as to knock th' old chap daan, an aw went to beg his pardon an sympathise wi him.

"Shoo's a shocker," he sed, "ther's nubdy knows what aw have to put up wi. Shoo ill-uses me throo morn to neet, an awm feeard o' mi life." Just then shoo made a dash at him as if shood made up her mind to knock his heead cleean off, soa aw catched hold ov her arm an gave her a swing raand 'at landed her just abaat th' same spot 'at awd left a minit befoor. Aw dooant know whether ivver yo've been hit at top oth heead wi a old-fashioned umbrella or net, but if yo have, yo know it's nooan a varry pleasant thing, for it seems to strike you i' three or four places at once. Whether th' owd chap hit me in a mistak or he did it o' purpose awve niver had th' chance to find aght, for things seem'd to get a gooid deeal mixt just abaat that that time, an all aw know is 'at awve been i' bed for ommost a wick, an awm soa stiff yet wol aw can hardly stir. One hawf o' mi heead is covered wi stickin' plaister, an awm covered wi black an blue marks throo mi neck to mi knees. As aw sit at th' winder suppin' mi gruel, aw can hear th' rows gooin on across th' street just as usual, an if they keep at it wol aw interfere agean they willn't have to drop it just yet, for it's towt me 'at it's best to let fowk feight ther own battles, for when it's nobbut one to one they've booath a chonce, but when it's two to one it's vary oft rough for th' one.



Awr Emma—A False Alarm.

"Aw dooan't know what tha thinks abaat it, Isaac, but aw know ther's summat nooan reight. Aw went to see awr Emma last neet, an' shoo doesn't luk a bit like hersen: an' if shoo hadn't been rooarin' awl nivver trust mi een agean. It's some sooart o' bother shoo's havin' wi' yond felly o' hers, depend on't. Aw warned her enuff befoar shoo gate wed, an' tawk'd to her wol aw wor fair stall'd, but nowt 'ud do but shoo mud have him, an' if shoo hasn't getten her hands full aw'm capt."

"Why, lass, aw dooan't know what reason tha has for sayin' soa, for aw'm sewer they seem varry comfortable together, an' aw've nivver heeard her say a word agean him, an' he seems as steady as old gold. Shoo wor happen low spirited last neet, or had a bit o' th' heead wark."

"Tha needn't try to lap it up; aw can guess eggs when aw see shells, an' aw know as well as if shoo'd tell'd me wi' her own lips 'at ther's summat at's nooan reight. Shoo's far too gooid for him, an' aw all us sed soa, an' if shoo'd ha' ta'en my advice shoo'd ha' waited wol shoo'd met wi' som'dy fitter for her. But shoo's thy temper to nowt, an' if shoo sets her mind on a thing, it's noa moor use tawkin' to her nor spittin' aght. Aw'm nooan soa mich up o' theas chaps 'at's as steady as old gold: they're varry oft moor decaitful bi th' hauf, an' when aw come to think on it, aw remember he didn't behave just as aw could ha' liked him if he'd just been wed to me, th' first day they wor wed, for he'd hardly a word to say to awr Emma at dinner time, but he could gabble fast enuff to that lass o' Amos's, an' if shoo wor a child o' mine aw'd awther tak' some o' that consait aght on her or else aw'd tak' th' skin off her back."

"Tha'rt too perticlar bi hauf. Tha allus luks at th' black side o' ivverything. Tha may depend on't awr Emma knows what shoo's dooin', an' tha'd far better leave 'em to feight it aght thersen if ther's owt wrang, for tha knows it nivver does to interfere between man an' wife, tha tell'd me that monny a year sin' when mi mother sed a word to thee."

"Eea, but that wor a varry different matter, for thi mother knew tha'd getten a wife wi' a deeal moor sense nor thee, an' a deeal moor feelin' too, for aw believe tha cares noa moor for yond lass o' thine nor if shoo wor nowt related to thi': but aw'm different, an' if that gooid-fer-nowt 'at shoo's thrown hersen away on, doesn't treat her as he owt to do, aw'l mak this taan too hot for him, or my' name isn't Angelina!"

"Why, lass, tha can do as tha likes, but aw think tha'll find it best to let 'em manage ther own affairs, an' aw dooan't suppooas awr Emma 'll get throo this life withaat a bit o' trubble nah an' then same as other fowk. Aw'm sewer aw connot; an' shoo's noa better nor me."

"Isn't shoo? But if aw thowt shoo worn't, aw'd nivver own her as one o' mine! But aw'd like to know what trubble tha's ivver had except what tha's browt o' thisen wi' thi own contraryness an' fooilishness? If ivver ther wor a chap 'at went throo' this world wi' silver slippers it's thee, for tha's ivverything done to thi hand, an' aw've been a slave to thee ever sin aw gat thee, an' nivver had ony thanks for it nawther; but aw dooan't want awr Emma to be trampled into th' earth as aw've been, an' shoo shalln't be, if aw know on it, for aw'l fotch her back hooam an' sharply too."

"Aw tell thi tha can do just as tha's a mind, an' aw'm sewer aw didn't know tha had been trampled on, for tha's been booath maister and mistress i' this shop ivver sin aw knew thi."

"Eea an' aw meean to be booath maister an' mistress, an' if tha'd a heart i' thi belly as big as a beean tha wodn't sit daan quietly as tha does, when tha hears 'at one o' thi own flesh an' blooid is pining away."

"Aw didn't know shoo wor pining away, for aw'm sewwer shoo's gettin' as fat as a pig, an' aw think it'll be time enuff to interfere when shoo grummels hersen."

"Tha tawks like a fooil, Isaac, an' aw've tell'd thi so over an' over agean. Tha knows shoo isn't like thee, at cries aght befoar tha'rt hurt, but aw'l waste noa moor wind o' thee for aw'l put on mi bonnet an' shawl an' goa up to their haase this minit, an' see if aw can't find aght what's to do, an' try to put things into a reight shap'." Soa shoo put on her things an' leavin' Isaac to luk after th' stew 'at wor i' th' oven, shoo sailed off in a famous flurry to have a tawk wi' Emma. It wor'nt monny minits walk, an' as shoo put th' speed on shoo managed to get thear befoar her temper cooiled, an' oppenin' th' door shoo stept in an' sed, "Nah, Emma, lass, aw've come to see ha' tha art this mornin'?"

"Aw'm first rate, mother," sed Emma, "Aw'm rare an' glad to see yo', but what's browt yo' here this mornin'?"

"Aw know tha artn't furst rate, an' it's noa use thee tellin' me 'at tha art, for aw've com'd here to know th' truth, an' aw'm detarmined tha shall tell me, for aw've hardly been able to sleep a wink sin aw wor here last neet, an' aw've been tawkin' to thi father this mornin', but one mud just as well whistle jigs to a mile-stoop an' expect it to dance as tawk to him an' expect to get ony sense aght on him, but aw want to know what bother tha's been havin' wi' that felly o' thine an' what he'd been dooin' to thi 'at made thee soa sorrowful last neet? Nah, dooan't goa raand th' corners, but come straight to th' point. Aw've nooan been wed all theas years but what aw know what poor wives have to put up wi'. Has he been drinkin'?"

"Nay, mother, yo' munnot tawk like that, for aw'm sewer ther' wor nivver a better man tied to a woman nor my Bob, an' yo' know he's a teetotaller, soa ther's noa fear on him gooin' on th' spree."

"Aw'm nooan soa sewer abaat that, an' if he doesn't drink he varry likely does war. Mun, aw know what men are, an' tha has it to leearn yet. Tha'n screen him all tha can, aw know that, just same as aw have to do thi father, but tha connot deceive me, aw've lived to' long to be easily chaited."

"Aw dooan't want to chait yo', mother, an' aw've nought to screen Bob for, for aw dooan't know 'at he's a fault, unless it is his thinkin' soa mich o' me."

"A'a, poor fooilish 'child! He thinks nooan too mich o' thee, net he marry! He doesn't think hauf enuff, or else he'd nooan goa on as he does! Aw tak' noa noatice o' ther coaxin' an' fondlin'; it's all mak'-believe, an' as long as they can manage to get all they want for a soft word or two they'll give yo' plenty on 'em, but aw know' em, an' they can't come ovver me. Ther' isn't a pin to choose amang th' best on 'em, for they're all as full o' decait as an egg's full o' mait. But aw want to know what wor th' reason tha wor lukkin' soa cut-up and daan-trodden last neet?"

"Why, mother, you're altogether wrang this time. Aw wor raythur low spirited last neet, but it's nowt yo' can blame him for, for aw'm sewer he works hard ivvery day, an' if he doesn't haddle as mich as he did it's noa fault o' his. An' this last two or three wicks his wage has been less bi five shillin' nor it used to be, an' at th' price o' mait an' stuff nah, it's hard wark to mak' ends meet, an' what aw wor trubbled abaat last neet wor becoss aw'd nowt to set him for his supper except a basin o' porrige, an' that isn't mich for a chap 'at's been tewin' all th' day, tho' he nivver says a wrang word what ther' is."

"An' what should he grummel for, aw'st like to know? Bless mi life if he had to goa withaat for a time or two what bi that? Ther's better fowk nor him had to goa baaht supper befoor to-day! He gets as gooid stuff as thee, an' better too, aw'l be bun' for't! But aw should like to know ha' it is 'at his wage is five shillin' a wick less nor it wor, for aw've heeard nowt abaat ony on 'em bein' bated, an' aw should ha' done if they had, for ther's two or three lives i' awr street 'at works at th' same shop, an' they'd ha' been safe to tell me. But what does he say abaat it?"

"He's nivver sed nowt, an' aw've nivver ax'd him, for he allus gives me all he has ov a Friday neet, an' aw mak' it do as weel as aw can."

"Raillee! Emma! aw think tha gets less wit ivvery day! Ha' can ta' tell what he's dooin' wi that five shillin' a wick if tha nivver axes him? But tha mun ax him! It's thi duty! Depend on't he's spendin' it i' some way 'at's nooan too gooid, or else he'd let thee know. But it's thy affair, net mine; aw've nowt to do wi' it, an' aw've net com'd to interfere; but aw should like to know if tha's seen Amos's dowter lately?"

"Shoo wor here this mornin' befoor yo' coom. Shoo luks in for a minit or two nab an' then."

"Oh! Has ta' noaticed whether shoo's getten owt new latly?"

"Eea, shoo'd a new bonnet on this mornin', an' varry weel shoo luk't in it!"

"Aw wonder whear shoo gets her new bonnets an' stuff, it's cappin' to me, but aw've a nooashun shoo doesn't buy 'em wi' her own brass. Let's see. Bob used to lodge wi' Amos befoor yo' gate wed, didn't he?"

"Eea, they thowt as mich on him as one o' ther own, an aw know nowt abaat whose brass shoo buys her things wi', but aw nivver heeard 'at shoo wor i' debt for owt, an' aw can't see' at we've owt to do wi' it."

"N'oa, an' tha can see nowt! But ther' is 'at can see if tha cannot, but as tha says it's nowt to us; but if aw wor a wife aw should want to know whear my husband tuk his five shillin' a wick."

"Ther's mi father commin', he's seekin' yo' aw expect."

"Aw'l be bun' for't! If aw stir off th' doorstun he's after me! What's browt thee here?"

"Th' childer's come hooam to ther dinner an' they're all waitin'."

"Couldn't ta tell' em to get that stew aght o' th' oven?"

"Aw know nowt abaat th' stew."

"Hasn't ta stirred it up an' put some moor watter in as aw tell'd thi?"

"Aw nivver heeard thi say nowt abaat it."

"A'a tha art a lumpheead if ivver ther' wor one i' this world! Why, it'll be burnt as dry as a chip! Aw mun be off! Gooid mornin', lass, an' see' at tha taks care o' thisen whativver comes o' other fowk, an' when aw've a bit moor time aw'l slip up to comfort thee a bit agean. Tha's noa need to come for ony dinner, Isaac, for ther'll be nooan for thi."

"All reight lass, aw'm nooan langin', for aw gate that bit o' pie 'at wor i'th' cubbord."

"An' tha'd ha' etten th' cubbord too, if it had been pie! Come stir thi!"

Chapter II.

A few wicks passed by, an' Angelina couldn't find aght what became ov her son-i'-law's five shillin's, an' tho' shoo kept een an' ears wide oppen to catch a whisper agean him, shoo saw, nor heeard newt. But her mind wor ill at ease, for shoo'd managed to convince hersen 'at ther wor summat nooan reight, an' becoss shoo couldn't find owt shoo put it daan to his decait, an' shoo generally finished up wi' sayin' 'at her dowter wor a fooil an' Bob wor a deep 'en. At last th' mystery had to be unveiled an' her mind set at rest.

One neet a little lass knock'd at th' door, an' sed 'at Emma had sent her to tell her an' Isaac to go a to see her as sooin as ivver they could.

"Nah then! What did aw tell thi? It's come at last, an' aw knew it wad I But if he's raised a finger o' his to hurt a hair ov her heead aw'l fotch law on him if aw have to sell up dish an' spooin! put this stickin' plaister i' thi pocket, an' theas cammomile flaars, an' poppy heeads, an' let's be off this minit!"

"What's th' stickin' plaister an' all this stuff for?". sed Isaac.

"Tha'll see what it's for sooin enuff! A'a, aw wish sometimes aw'd flivver been born! It's a bonny come off to bring childer into th' world an' keep' em an' luk after' em till they grow up to be treated war nor dogs!"

Isaac shov'd th' stuff into his pockets an' wor off after her as sooin as he could, for shoo'd stirred him up a bit, an' he gript his walkin' stick an' pooled his hat ovver his een as mich as to say he thowt it high time to let fowk know what they wor abaat. As sooin as they gate i'th' seet o'th' haase he sed, "Ther's noa fowk abaat that's one blessin'; if ther's been a row they must ha' been varry quite abaat it."

"Shoo'd niver utter a word if shoo wor to be riven i' bits, shoo's too mich like me for that, A'a, aw little thowt aw should ivver have to come o' sich o' eearand as this!"

They didn't stop to knock, but oppen'd th' door, an' thear they saw Bob an' Emma sittin' at th' teah-table lukkin' as cheerful an' as happy as could be.

"Come in, booath on yo'," sed Emma, "Yo'r just i' time for a cup o' teah. We didn't expect yo' quite as sooin, but yo'r allus welcome."

"Why yond lass tha sent coom wi' sich a tale wol we wor sewer ther' munt be summat serious to do, an' we started off withaat wastin' a minit."

"Aw'm glad yo've com'd," sed Bob, "We've getten summat to show yo', but yo' mun have a cup o' teah furst."

"What have aw to do wi' all this stickin' plaister an' stuff?" sed Isaac.

"Can't ta keep it i' thi pocket an' say nowt apaat it, softheead! Tha wants a piece on it across thi macth."

"Whativver made yo' bring stickin' plaister, mother, yo' sewerly didn't think ther'd been ony feightin'?"

"Does fowk nivver want ony stickin' plaister nobbut when they've been feightin'? Ha could aw tell but what one o' yo' had tummel'd onto th' foire, or getten scalded or summat? Thi father browt it, it wor nooan o' me."

"Eea, aw browt it, but—"

"But—Tha can hold thi noise an' tak' it back, for if ther'd been ony use for it tha'd ha' been sewer to ha' forgetten it. But let's see what this thing is 'at tha's sent for us to luk at, for aw can get noa drinkin' unless aw know what it is."

"Well, come yo're ways into this raam," sed Emma, "Here it is, an' tell me what yo' think on it."

"Why aw'l be shot if it isn't a sewin' machine! An' a grand en it is; but ha' mich have yo' to give for it?"

"Ther's nowt to give for it, becoss it's all paid for. Bob's bowt it me aght o'th' brass he's been savin'."

"Then that's whear his five shillin' a wick has been gooin'?"

"Eea, an' moor nor that, for he'd getten a raise of hauf a craan, an' he nivver tell'd me, becoss he wanted to buy this for mi birthday."

"What did aw tell thi, Emma? Didn't aw say 'at tha could trust Bob? They can't deceive me. Aw can tell a straightforrad chap as sooin as aw see him."

"Nah, tha sees Angelina," sed Isaac, "Things isn't just as black as tha thowt they wor, an' aw tell'd thi—"

"Tha tell'd me nowt, an' aw dooan't want thi to tell me owt; goa sit thi daan to thi drinkin' an' let thi mait stop thi maath.'"



Niver Judge by Appearances.

If yo niver heeard tell o' that doo 'at Broddington an Clarkson once had, aw'll tell yo abaat it; for when aw heeard on it aw lafft wol my bally wark'd, aw did forshure. Yo mun understand at Broddington kept a butcher's shop i' Snicket loin an Clarkson kept a puttaty shop ith same row. Well, it soa happen'd 'at Broddington's shop wor too big for him, an Clarkson's wor too little for him, soa they had a bit o' tawk together, an after a deeal o' bargainin, an boath swearin 'at it ud be a loss o' monny a paand, they agreed to swap. Broddington wor a single chap an lived bi hissen, but Clarkson had a wife an some bairns, an shoo wor a wife an noa mistak! for shoo'd tongue enuff for hauf a duzzen. Ther wor a sign ovver each shop wi th' name painted on, but as one wodn't fit t' other they agreed to swap signs as weel an to get' em repainted, each wi thee own name. Well, one day they set abaat flittin, an a varry hard day they had, but at last all wor comfortably arranged an nowt moor wanted dooin but names changin.

After a hard job like that, Broddington thowt he'd give hissen a bit ov a treat, an goa off on a cheap trip to Liverpool, for as it wor varry hot weather he hadn't mich to do—butchers niver have—but as he lived bi hissen, an wor a varry hard sleeper, he couldn't tell ha to manage to get up to be ready for four o'clock, an' he didn't like th' idea o' sittin up all th' neet, coss he knew if he did 'at he'd be fit for nowt all th' day. After studdin abaat it a bit an idea struck him, an' off he set to seek th' policeman 'at wor o' that beat, an get him to wakken him.

He wornt long afoor he fan him, soa he says, "Jim, aw want thee to do me a bit ov a faver if tha will." "Well, lad," he sed, "awl do it if aw can awl promise thi; what is it tha wants me to do?" "Aw want to set off o' that cheap trip tomorn 'at leaves here at four o'clock, an as awm a varry saand sleeper, aw want thee to wakken me abaat hauf-past three." "O, if that's all, awl do that an' welcome." "But tha knows," sed Broddington, "its nooan sich a easy task as tha seems to fancy, for when awm i' bed aw sleep like a stooan, an soa if aw dooant get up at once tha mun pawse th' door wol aw do." "O, awl pawse it niver fear, awl wakken thi afoor aw leave off, tha may bet thi front teeth o' that." "Well, aw darsay tha may, an awve made up mi mind to goa, but awm sich a sleepy-head 'at if aw get up its a thaasand to one aw shall goa to bed agean as sooin as iver tha turns thi back, so tha mun stop wol aw come daan stairs, an then tha shall tell me what tha thinks abaat some whisky 'at awve getten." "Leave that to me," sed Jim, "awl bet tha'll come daan afoor aw stur; if ther's ony whisky inside awl find mi way to it." "That's all right," sed Broddington, "nah awl goa hooam an' get to bed an' have a few haars sleep afoor tha comes." Soa off he went hooam, but unfortunately he'd forgetten to tell th' policeman 'at he'd flitted.

Well, old Clarkson stuck to his puttaty shop wol abaat ten o'clock an then when he'd getten shut up, he thowt he'd just goa an' spend an' haar or two wi a friend, so a as th' wife wor aght oth seet he snig'd off, an' it seems he faand ther company soa varry agreeable wol it wor ommost three o'clock when he landed hooam. He knew what a blowin up he'd be sure to get, but as his wife liked a drop o' whisky to goa to bed on, he bowt a bottle to tak hooam as a bit ov a sweetner. He crept in as quiet as he could, for he thowt if th' wife wor asleep it wad be a shame to wakken her. He tuk his booits off an' went ov his tiptooas into th' bedroom.

"O, soa tha's landed hooam agean has ta? Couldn't ta find ony body 'at ud have thi ony longer? If awd been thee awd ha done t'other bit aght. Awm capt 'at a wed chap 'at's a wife an' childer at hooam rakin aght i' this way! But ther's one thing certain, it's noa daycent place wheer tha wor wol this time oth' mornin! Niver heed! It willn't last long, aw feel awm gettin waiker ivery day—waiker ivery day; tha'll nooan ha me soa long, an' then tha can spree an' drink thi fill. Aw do, aw feel awm gettin waiker ivery day," shoo sed agean. But old Clarkson made noa reply, for he'd heeard th' same tale monny a time befoor, an' he knew if he sed he wor sooary, shoo'd say he wor a liar, an' praich him a sarmon as long as his leg abaat what he'd do if he wor sooary; an' if he sed he didn't think shoo wor waiker, shoo'd say, "Noa, aw ail nowt; ther's nivver any sympathy for me! aw mun slave mi soul aght for owt tha cares—nasty unfeelin wretch!" Well, Jim didn't spaik for he thowt "the leeast sed an th' soonest mended." But shoo wornt to be done, shoo at it ageean in another tone—"Eea, aw feel awm gettin waiker—Waiker ivery day; does ta hear what aw say?" "Hear thi," he sed, "mi ears are hoof'd wi harkenin to thi." "Eea, an they shall be hoof'd," shoo sed, "for as long as awve breath i' my body awl tell thi o' thi faults. Ha can ta fashion; but if tha doesn't alter awl niver put legs daan i' bed wi' thee agean I Shame o' thisen! but tha has na shame; tha'rt as brazzen as brass, that's what tha art!" "Nah, hold thi noise," he sed. "Sithee, aw've browt thi a bottle o' whisky; mun, awm allus thinkin on thi." "Dooant tell me sich like tales as them, for aw dooant believe thi," shoo says, "tha thinks tha can get ovver me wi a bottle o' whisky aw daresay, but tha'rt mistakken; an' aw dooant know whear tha's getten that at this time oth' mornin."

Jim kept a still tongue in his bead an' crept quietly into bed, an' it worn't long befoor they wor booath asleep.

Nah, it wor varry near time for th' polieeman to come to wakken Broddington, an' as he knew nowt abaat th' flittin he luck'd up at th' sign, an' feelin sure at he wor at th' reight shop he gave a varry gooid rat-a-tat at Clarkson's door.

"What's that?" sed his wife, jumpin up; "go daan and see."

"Net aw," sed Clarkson, "its nobbut some druffen chaps 'at's on for a spree."

"Eea, an they know whear to come it seems! A'a, if aw wor a man aw should shame to have sich like followin me."

Another rat-a-tat followed, but Clarkson wor detarmined not to get up, an' th' policeman wor just as detarmined to pail at th' door till he did get up. Rat-a-tat! rat-a-tat! went his stick time after time, wol at last old Clarkson baanced aght o' bed an threw up his winder, an' axed what he wanted; but when he saw a blue coat an' shinin buttons, he turned raand to his wife an' sed, "It's a bobby."

"Why," shoo says, "ax him what he wants."

"What does ta want?" sed Clarkson.

"Nah, then, is noa gooid tryin' to mak it strange; tha knows aw've come here for that whisky, an' awmean to have it befoor aw goa."

"O, that's it, is it?" sed his wife. "That's thee 'at's browt me th' whisky? It's grand to bring a wife whisky an' ax a policeman to come sup it."

"Aw niver ax'd onybody to come, aw dooant know what he wants."

"That's a varry nice tale, lad, but tha willn't mak me believe it; aw know better nor a policeman comin toa haase at hauf-past three ith mornin if he hadn't been sent for."

Rat-a-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! went th' policeman's stick, an old Clarkson flew to th' winder an shaats aght, "What th' d—— does ta want?"

"Nah, it's noa gooid thee puttin on an' makkin it all strange; tha mud as weel come daan sooin as lat, for tha'll ha to goa wi me an' th' whisky an' all, soa on wi them britches an come daan stairs."

"Nah, Clarkson," sed his wife, sittin up i' bed, "tell me th' truth at once; has ta getten that whisky honestly or net? If tha hasn't say so, an then awst know what to expect. Aw allus sed 'at tha'd bring me an th' childer to some end if this rakin aght ov a neet went on. A'a 'at ivver aw should ha lived to see this day!" An then shoo began rockin hersen backards an forrads, an moppin up her tears wi th' corner oth sheet.

Yo may guess what a din th' policeman made when it wakkened Broddington 'at lived six or eight doors off, an aght o' ommust ivvery winder ith row ther wor neetcaps bobbin in an aght, an some on 'em shook ther heeads an sed, "It's nobbut what aw expected; awve thowt many a time 'at if Clarkson could afford to dress his wife 'i silks an satins, 'at it didn't all come aght o' th' puttaty trade," an after that feelin remark they went back to bed.

Broddington gate up an dressed an went daan stairs to see what wor up. All at once he bethowt him abaat th' policeman, an th' fact a' th' wrang sign being ovver th' door, an he saw at once what a mistak had been made. "Well, it can't be helped," he sed, "but poor Clarkson 'll catch it aw'll bet." Soa he went daan an oppened th' door just at th' same time at Clarkson wor comin aght. When th' policeman saw Clarkson come aght an Broddington abaat twenty yards off, he luk'd a trifle soft, an after starin furst at one an then at t'other, he gave vent to his astonishment bi sarin, "Blow me tight!" Just then Mrs. Clarkson's heead show'd aght o' th' chamber winder, "O, it's all varry fine," shoo sed, "aw see ha it is; it's a made up doo throo th' beginin to th' endin; but awl have an alteration as sure as my name's Liddy:" After sayin this shoo popt back agean an went to bed, noa daat thinkin 'at shoo wor a varry ill used woman. As matters had getten to this pitch, Broddington tuk th' policeman an' Clarkson on to his haase, an after a gooid deeal a explanation, ivery body seem'd to be satisfied, an Broddington browt aght a bottle an put it i' th' middle o' th' table an invited 'em to help thersen. They did, an readily too, for th' policeman worn't a teetotaler, (an ther's summat abaat that 'at aw could nivver understand, for teetotal lecterers tell us 'at if all th' world wor teetotal 'at we should have noa murders, noa robberies, noa rows, all wod be peace an happiness an th' millenium be ushered in, an yet aw nivver met a teetotal policeman, tho ther may be sich like things, th' same as aw've heeard on ther bein white blackburds, an we know 'at policemen are th' varry chaps 'at have to keep th' peace.)

Well, glass followed glass, an Broddington decided net to set off at all, but to spend a friendly haar wi 'em, as he'd been th' cause ov a deeal o' bother, an he thowt th' best thing he could do wod be to apologize like a man an set things straight agean. Soa they all turned aght together at about a quarter to ten to goa to Clarkson's, but when they gate aght o' th' door what should they see but a lot o' furniture aghtside, an all th' appearances ov another flittin. "What's up nah, Clarkson?" sed Broddington. "Nay, aw dooant know," he sed, "but it seems to me 'at th' wife's sellin up, an shoo's sed shoo wod do monny a time; but awl put a stop to that, an sharply too." Away he went in a reglar tiff, an wanted to know who'd fotch'd his stuff aght o' th' haase, an sed he'd let' em see who wor th' maister thear. When his wife coom shoo wor fair maddled, an wanted to know what wor up. "Who's tell'd thee to sell th' furniture," he sed. "Sell th' furniture! Who is selling th' furniture, fooil! It's nobbut me 'at had it taen aght to cleean, becoss aw thowt tha wor off for th' day, an aw thowt awd do it before tha come back, sea as tha wodn't be put abaat wi th' bustle." "O, that's all reight," he sed. "Aw see nah; aw hardly thowt tha'd do as ill as that, though tha wor awful crusty this mornin; but ther's Broddington an th' policeman aghtside 'at want to come in an explain matters a bit." "Dooant bring' em here," shoo sed, "tha's been wi them to oft; it's sich like as them 'at's leeadin thee off."

"Well, we'd better have 'em in aw think, an hear what they've to say," he sed. Soa they went in, an when they'd tell'd th' tale shoo laff'd as hard as any on 'em, for shoo worn't a bad bottom'd woman though she had a tongue; soa after makkin all things straight shoo ax'd' em to have a drop o' summat, which they had, an as shoo sed, "Drink o' ony sooart wor a thing 'at shoo seldom or iver touched, though th' doctors had ordered it for her, time after time, yet considerin 'at Broddington had missed his cheap trip, an 'at all matters had been put to reights, shoo made hersen a drop o' whisky an hot watter, an as they sat tawkin an smookin they coom to th' conclusion 'at it wor nivver safe to judge bi appearances. Clarkson wor soa pleased at his wite takkin it i' sich a philosophical way, wol he bowt her a new gaan, an when th' naybors saw her turn aght in it th' next Sunday, they nodded an smiled at her as if they could like to put her into ther pockets, but as sooin as shoo'd turned her back they curl'd ther nooas an turned up th' whites o' ther eyes, an sed, in a varry mysterious way, "It'll do woll it lasts."

A'a dear I tak my advice an nivver trust to appearances.



Mi First Testimonial.

Young Gawthorp lived at t'Cat-i-t'well; some on yo may know him, he used to come to Halifax twice i' th' wick to buy his greens and stuff to hawk, an' he allus call'd at t'Tabor to get a pint as he went hooam.

Nah Chairley (his mother had kursen'd him Chairley becoss shoo wor sittin in a chair th' furst time shoo saw him); well, Chairley worn't like some country hawbucks at fancied' coss he sell'd puttates an turnips, 'at he needed no mooar knowledge nor to be able to tell th' difference between a parsnip an' a manglewurzell. Noa, Chairley had an inquirin' mind, an' if it hadn't been at one leg wor shorter nor t'other, he'd a been a sowdger, for his heart wor as brave as any greengrocer's heart cud be expected to be.

One neet he'd been to th' taan, an' wor trudgin hooam beside owd Testy—that's his donkey's name, an' aw owt to tell yo hah it happen'd to be call'd Testy; ther's nowt like explainin' things as we goa on. Chairley used to goa to th' Sunday Skooil, an' he wor allus soa weel behaved, an' hardly ivver missed a Sunday withaat bringin' his taicher awther a apple or toffy or summat, wol th' Superintendant took sich a fancy to him, 'at he determined to get up a testimonial for him; soa one day he call'd him to one side, an' strokin' his heead as tenderley as if it wor a whin bush, he sed, "Chairley tha's been a gooid lad, an' we ar detarmin'd to get up a testimonial for thi. Aw've mentioned it to th' taichers, an' they've all agreed to subscribe, an aw want thee to say what shape it shall tak." "Well," said Chairley, "if aw'm to pick, aw should like it to be as near th' shape o' Tim Hardy's as yo can get."

"What dusta meean?" sed th' Superintendent.

"Aw mean Tim Hardy's donkey."

"Nay Chairley, that'll nivver do for a Sundy skooil to give a donkey for a testimonial; that wodn't spaik weel for th' skooil—think ageean lad."

"Ther's nowt else at aw'd like, soa if yo cannot gie me that, it matters little to me what aw get; an' as for net spaikin weel for th' skooil, aw dooan't see that; Balaam's ass spake varry weel for him, an' aw dooan't see but what one mud spaik varry weel for th' taichers."

"Well lad, that's soa, an awm glad to see at tha hasn't studied thi scriptur for nowt, soa a donkey it shall be. But ther's just one thing awd like to mention, an that is; tha sees aw'm a poor workin' chap mysen, an aw'm hardly in a position to afford to give owt towards it, but it wodn't luk weel for me net to put daan mi name for summat, soa aw'! subscribe five shillings to help to buy it, an' when tha's getten it tha can pay me back i' puttates, kidney puttates, an' noa demiked ens. If tha'll agree to that, awl work this thing up for thi sharp."

"Aw'l agree." sed Chairley, soa th' thing wor all settled, an th' next Wednesday neet after th' special prayer meeting, Chairley wor called up to th' desk, an' after listenin' to a long speech, th' donkey wor browt in an presented to him, together wi' a beautiful address, painted an' illuminated on glass, wi a tollow cannel, soa's to be useful to him when hawkin' cockles an' mussels i' winter time.

Chairley wor famosly delited wi th' donkey, an when it stretched aght one hind leg, just to feel whoa it wor at stood behind it, he fairly shed tears, an' it wor some time befooar he cud get his wind back to thank' em. He tell'd 'em at that wor th' first testimonial he'd ivver had gien, an' on that accaant he should name it "Testy"; he thanked 'em one an' all, an' thowt it wor abaaght time nah for him to goa. Th' Superintendant sed he thowt soa too, an' he should advise him net to let Testy have soa many beeans for th' future, as they made his breath smell soa bad.

Soa Chairley an' Testy went hooam, an t'next morning they started aght hawkin, but it wor th' warst days bizniss he ivver had. He gate shut a mooar stuff nor ivver he'd getten shut on afooar in a wick, but his purse wor varry little heavier at neet nor it wor i'th' morning, for as t'mooast ov his customers wor connected wi th' Sunday skoal, an' they all wanted sarvin' that day, he discovered at Testy worn't likely to prove all profit after all. If a woman wanted a penny stick a ruburb shoo'd be sure to ax for a cabbage thrown in, an shoo'd say: "Tha knows tha'd nivver ha getten that donkey but for awr Simon givin' soa mich to'ards it."

When Chairley reckon'd up at neet he stud lukkin at t'donkey for a minnit an' then he sed—"Testy owd lad, aw dooant want to hurt thi feelins, but aw mun say, at if ivvery body's testimonial cost' em as mich as tha's cost me to-day, ther isn't quite as mich profit in 'em as some fowk think; an' unless ther's a lot ov Annani-asses amang my customers, th'aft abaat th' warst bargain i'th' donkey line at aw've seen for some time, for aw cud a bowt a horse wi' th' brass at wor subscribed for thee."

After that Chairley had to leeave th' Sunday skooil, for he sed if he didn't they'd ruin booath him an' Testy. Well, as aw wor sayin' Chairley an' Testy wor gooin' hooam an' bed just getten to th' Tabor, when they booath stopt for a drink. He teed up his donkey an' then went into th' tapraam for a pint a fourpny, (yo can get varry gooid fourpny at t'Tabor, ther's some body in it an noa sperrit, hah they brew it is a saycret, an' it's noa use tryin' to see throo it.) Just anent Chairley sat an owd sowdger tellin' tales abaaght different battles he'd been in, an' Chairley lizened to ivvery word as if it wor gospel, for ov cooarse he knew at noa man 'ats been in a battle wad say owt at worn't true, an' at last he sed, "Captin' aw've oft thowt aw should like to be sowdger, but yo see mi legs isn't booath just t'same length."

"That'll mak little difference," he sed, "tha'd be all th' better for that, it wodn't be as easy to put a bullet throo thi heead when it wor bobbin' up and daan, as it wod a chap at walk'd straight; but aw should advise thee to join th' artillery, that's th' regiment for thee; horse artillery, that's the ticket, tha'd just doo for that."

"Dun yo think aw should?"

"To be sewer, tha'rt just made for it."

This set Chairley a thinkin', an after treatin' th' owd sowdger wi' a pint, he set off hooam.

As he'd noab'dy else to tawk to' he tawk'd to th' donkey.

"Well Testy, what dus ta think abaaght it? Dus ta think aw should doo for a hartillery chap? They dooant have donkeys i'th' horse hartillery, or else awd tak thee. What are ta shakin' thi heead at? Well if aw doo goa, iwl mak a present o' thee to th' Sunday skooil, for aw cudn't tell what price to put on thi if aw wanted to sell thi. Hahivver, aw think it ud be a gooid thing for me to practiss a bit, an' awve two owd muskets at hooam at can be made come in, an' awl get up it' mornin' i' gooid time an practiss for an haar or soa befooar we start for bizness. It'll doo us booath gooid."

Chairley gate hooam, an' after stablin' Testy an' makkin him cumfortable, he gave him a bit o' extra corn to mak him lively next mornin'. He left t'stable sayin, "Well Testy, aw nivver thowt a makkin a war-horse aght o' thee, tho' awve seen war horses nor thee; but to morn tha'll have to be a chairger, an' if tha'rt hauf as gooid a chairger as t'chap wor at sell'd thi to th' Superintendent, tha'll doo to practiss on."

T'next mornin' Chairley gate his two muskets, an havin' teed one on th' top o' each pannier, he maanted Testy, an' rooad him to a croft at back o' th' haase.

"Nah," he says to hissen, "hah can aw pull these triggers when aw'm set up here? It caan't be done; but if aw lig on my belly on th' top of his back, aw can raich 'em then, an that'll be a better position to escape th' enemy." Soa he ligg'd his full length o' Testy's back, an tuk hold o' booath muskets wi' his fingers on th' triggers. "Nah Testy, see tha behaves thisen' for this may be a turnin' point i' thy life as weel as mine. Tha'll ha' to get used to th' smell o' paather, same as me. Nah for it," he sed, an' he shut his een an' whisper'd, "one, two, three—off!" He pooled booath triggers, booath muskets went off, an' Chairley went off at th' same time, an' soa did one o' Testy's ears, an' when Chairley lukk'd up Testy wor stanin' on his fore legs, sparrin' away wi' his heels, as lively as yo'd wish to see. Chairley maniged to sam hissen together, an' findin' at he worn't killed, he went to mak friends ageean wi' Testy; an' if ivver ther wor two disconsolate lukkin' jackasses i' this world, it wor them two.

"Well, this is a bonny come off," he sed, "tha'rt a bigger donkey nor aw tuk thi for. Had ta noa mooar sense nor to put thi ear i'th' front ova gun. Tha cud a heeard it goa off withaat lizenin' soa clois?

"Well, aw wish tha wor nicely aght o' mi hands. What to do wi thi nah aw connot tell, unless aw cut off t'other ear to match, an' tee a bunch o' horsehair to thi tail an' see if aw connot mak a galloway aght on thi; an' if aw doo that, aw expect tha willn't be able to keep thi maath shut, an' that voice o' thine 'll let ivvery body know. But hahivver aw mun try an' bandage that heead o' thine up an' then see what aw can do, for ther'll be noa hawkin' to-day, an' noa mooar hartillery practiss."

Chairley weshed th' donkey's heead, an' put some sauve on to his ear, an' teed it up as weel as he cud, an' then turned him inta th' croft an' sat daan wonderin' hah to spend th' day.

Nah ther wor nowt Chairley wor fonder on nor kite flyin', an' as he had a kite ommost as big as hissen, he thowt he mud as weel amuse hissen a bit; soa he fotched it, an' befooar monny minnits it wor sailin' away up i'th' air. He kept givin' it mooar band wol it wor ommost aght o' seet, an' beein' a breezy day, it pooled soa hard at he cud hardly hold it.

To mak matters war, Testy wor varry restless, an' kept wanderin abaaght, an' as ther wor noa gate to th' croft, Chairley had to follow him for feeard on him gettin' away. In a while it began to be rayther hard wark, he darn't let t'kite goa, an' ther wor nowt handy to tee it too, soa he thowt his best plan 'ud be to pull it in, but just then a thowt struck him, as he saw Testy trottin' off whiskin his tail, an' he went after him. As sooin as he'd catched him, he teed his kite band to th' donkey's tail, sayin' as he did soa, "Nah aw can watch yo booath at once." But yo shud a seen that donkey! At first he ran backards for abaaght a dozzen yards, then he shot aght his heels wi' twenty donkey paar; but it wor noa use tryin' to kick that kite, he cud just as easy ha' kicked t'mooin. He tried to turn raand, but that ommost twisted his tail off, then he planted his feet firmly i' t'graand, wi his tail stickkin' straight aght like a brooish stail, an' luk'd at Chairley, as if for some explanation.

"Well, hah dusta like kite flyin', Testy? tha'd a rooar'd thi 'een up afooar tha'd thowt a that. It's plain to be seen at tha connot run away wi' that kite, an' th' kite connot flyaway wi' thee, soa awl leeave yo an' goa get a bit a dinner."

He worn't long away, but when he coom back, noa kite cud he see, but theear wor Testy stud just as he'd left him. As Chairley walked to him he nivver sturd, but, fancy his surprise when he saw at th' donkey's tail wor missin'. It had dissolved partnership wi' Testy an' gooan to realms aboon. Maybe it'll fessen it sen on to some little star an' mak a comet on't.

Chairley an Testy stud lukkin' at one another for a gooid five minnits, an' at last Chairley sed, "Well Testy, tha caan't blame me; aw dooant think thi appearance is mich improved, but still, tha must admit at tha arn't as mich of a donkey nah as tha wor when aw gate tha. It seems to me we'd better pairt, for we dooan't get on soa weel together; awl sell mi stock an't panniers, an' thee an ivverything; aw shall ha' to sell' em wholesale though, for aw cannot re-tail thee. But awl promise tha one thing, whenivver aw fly a kite ageean, awl remember mi donkey's tail."

Just then, Testy's knees begun to tremmle, his body rock'd from side to side; he luk'd at Chairley as mich as to say, "assassin," an rowled ovver brokkenhearted; an', withaght a struggle, he breathed his last sigh to th' tune of "Good bye, Chairley, when aw'm away, dunnot forget your Testimonial."



Five Paand Nooat.

Aw remember th' first time at aw iver had a five paand nooat, an' awm like as if aw can see it yet. It worn't a new en, it wor one 'at had gooan throo a gooid monny hands,—it wor soft an' silky to th' touch, an' it wor yeller wi age, an' th' edges wor riven a bit, an it had a split up th' middle, whear it had been cut i' two at some time an' stuck together agean wi a bit o' postage stamp paper. Aw remember at that time aw used to sleep up in a garret, all bi mysen, an' th' walls wor covered wi bits o' pictures, an' shelves wor stuck up here an' thear, filled wi bottles o' all maks o' stuff, an' aw'd an old box 'at aw could lock up whear aw kept some pipes an bacca, an' owt else at aw darn't let awr fowk know 'at aw had, an' carefully put away under th' bed wor another little box whear aw kept cannels. Awm just th' same as if aw can see mysen nah, as aw wor then, sat daan oth edge oth bed an' th' five paand nooat on th' table anent me, studdyin what to buy. Aw varily believe 'at aw bowt one hauf oth taan o' Halifax, i' mi mind, before aw went to sleep; an aw didn't goa to sleep soa easily that neet as usual, for after aw'd put th' cannel aght, aw bethowt me 'at skyleet mud be left unfastened, an' soa aw had to get up an see. When aw'd getten to bed agean aw felt sewer aw could hear summat stir under th' bed, an' aw listened for a long time an' then aw felt sure ther wor somdy tryin to breik into th' haase, for aw could hear' em sawin away as if to cut a pannel aght oth door. At last aw thowt awd wakken up some o' awr fowk an let 'em know, but as sooin as aw oppened th' door aw heeard it wor mi father snorin, soa a crept back to bed. Aw wor just droppin off to sleep when a thowt struck me, 'at maybe some on 'em ud be comin up stairs ith mornin before aw wakkened, an' they'd be sure to see that five paand nooat, an' then aw should have to give an' accaant on it, an' mi father'd be sure to say he'd tak care on it for me, an' aw know what that meant, soa aw jumped up age an an' put it under th' piller. Aw did fall asleep in a while, but aw wakkened i' gooid time ith mornin an' th' furst thing aw luk'd for wor that nooat, an' thear it wor, all reight. Then aw gate up an walked aght a bit wol th' braikfast wor ready. Aw hadn't gooan far when aw met a chap smokin a cigar, an' thinks aw, awl have a cigar. Soa aw went into a shop an' axed far a gaoid cigar. 'Do yo want it very mild?' he axed. 'Noa,' aw sed, 'let me have it as strong as owt yo have.' For, thinks aw, aw'l let him see at awm noa new beginner,—tho to spaik th' truth aw dooant think aw'd iver smok'd hauf a duzzen i'mi life. 'That's the best and strongest cigar you can buy,' he sed, holdin one up between his finger an thumb, but keepin a gooid distance off. 'Weel,' aw sed, 'aw'l tak that.' 'But these cigars are sixpence each.' Is that all?' aw sed, as aw threw daan mi five paand nooat. As sooin as he saw that he picked it up an' held it up to th' leet, an stroked it, and luk'd at me an' smiled; and he seemed to tak a fancy to me all at once, an' axed m'e whear aw lived, an what they call'd me, an' a lot o' things beside. Then he gave me a leet for mi cigar, an' he sed he thowt aw wor a judge ov a cigar as sooin as he saw me, an' he had just one box 'at he'd like me to give my opinion on. Weel, aw worn't gooin to say at aw didn't know th' difference between a penny cigar an' one worth a shillin, soa he showed me a box, an' aw luk'd at 'em an' smel'd at 'em, an' tried to luk wise, an then aw sed, they did seem a varry nice cigar. 'You are right, sir,' he sed, 'I see you understand them,—I wish there were a few more like you.' An then he sed in a whisper, 'at that wor th' only box he had o' that sooart, in fact ther'd niver nobbut been that an' another, a'n t'other wor sent as a present to th' Duke o' Wellington, but th' Duke, he sed wornt hauf as gooid a judge as aw wor; an' he'd sell me that box for two paand, an' it wor worth three. Aw wor beginnin to feel a bit sickly wi that aw wor smokin, an' aw didn't care to tawk mich, an' as he hadn't given me onny change, aw just nodded mi heead, and he had lapped up th' box in a crack, and handed it me, an three soverings, an' wished me gooid day an hoped aw'd call agean, and bowed me aght oth shop i' less time nor it taks to tell it. As sooin as awd getten a few yards away, aw threw mi cigar into th' street an' detarmined aw'd niver smook agean befoore braikfast. Them cigars didn't last long, for ov coarse aw allus carried a lot i' mi pocket, an' as that used to spoil' em a friend o' mine persuaded me to buy a cigar case. He sell'd it me varry cheap, nobbut ten shillin; an' then another gate me to subscribe a guinea to a cricket club, an' aw wondered ha it wor 'at aw'd niver made friends wi' some o'th' members befoor, for they wor a nice lot. At th' end of three days mi cigars wor all done, an' soa wor mi five paand nooat. All aw had wor a empty cigar box, a pastboard cigar case worth abaat sixpence, a ticket 'at entitled me to visit all th' cricket matches free,—but as th' season wor just endin it wor o' noa use,—an' had a sooart ov an inklin 'at ther wor some truth i'mi father's words 'at aw worn't old enuff to be trusted wi' brass.

Aw went to bed, an' fell asleep withaat once thinkin abaat thieves; an' ther's noa daat 'at what yo loise i' brass yo oft tinles gain i' knowledge, for aw niver forgate th' fate o mi furst five paand nooat.



Silly Billy.

He wor a queer sooart of a chap wor Billy—allus makkin a fooil ov hissen or else somedy wor makkin a fooil o' him. He wor a very quiet chap too tho ivery nah an' then he gave hissen a bit ov a leetnin' i'th' shap ov a rant, or as he used to call it, a 'gooid brust.' It woint oft he did that sooart o' thing, but when he did he carried it on for a wick or a fortnit, an' altho' his father had left a nice little farm for him an' his mother, yet it sooin dwindled to nowt, for what wi' neglectin his wark, an' spendin a bit o' brass, it wor like a cannel lit at booath ends, it sooin swealed up. Aw remember one day when he'd been drinkin till his brass wor done, he coom hooam to ax his mother to give him some moor, an' coss shoo said shoo wod'nt he declared he'd set th' lathe o' fire; but sho wodn't give him onny, soa he went into th' lathe, an' in a bit one o'th' neighbors saw him gaping at tother side o'th' street an' went up to ax him what he wor starin at?

"It'll tinkle tip in a bit," sed Billy an' in a bit it did 'tinkle up,' for he'd set th' haymoo o' fire, an' in abaght an haar, booath th' lathe an' all 'at wor in it wor burned to th' graand. "Aw tell'd her aw'd do it," he sed, "an' aw'm nooan to be licked when aw start."

Th' poor owd woman wor sadly troubled, but what could shoo do, for what could ony body expect throo Silly Billy?

Shoo used to have some queer ways did Nancy; an' one system o' her's wor allus to do iverything like clock wark. When Billy wor having one ov his bits o' sprees, an' stoped away for two or three days, shoo allus made him his porrige ivery marnin, an' if he worn't thear to ait 'em shoo put' em i'th' cupbord, all in a row, an' when he did come, he could'nt get a bite o' owt else till he'd finished' em all, soa he used to start at th' oldest furst, an' as th' owd woman kept on makkin moor ivery mornin, it wor noa easy job to ovettak 'em, an' be able to sit daan to a warm meal. But like monny a one beside, altho' he wor soa mich put abaght, it did'nt cure him; but when he'd had a doo, an' been two or three days at cold poltices; as he call'd em, he used to say, "Niver noa moor! If aw once get ovver this, yo'll niver catch me at that bat agean! It's towt me a lesson 'as this." An' noa daat it had, but he varry sooin forgate it.

Ov coarse, when th' brass wor all done, he had to work a bit, an' aw recollect when he started business ov his own hook, fowk used to plague him sadly, an' weel they mud, for he gate a donkey an panniers an' started to sell puttates an' greehs; but it soa happened, 'at one mornin he'd nobbut as monny puttates as ud fill one pannier, an' as he put' em i' one it made it side heavy, soa he gate a lot o' big stooans an' put 'em i'th' tother to balance it a bit, an' then he started off. But he hadn't gooan far when a chap met him an' sed, "what are ta sellin, Billy?" "Aw'm hawkin puttates," he sed. "Why, what's all thease stooans for, has ta started o' leeadin balder?" "Noa," he sed, (an' then gave him a sly wink as mich as to say aw'l let thee into a secret), "but does ta see, aw'd nobbut as mich brass as ud buy one pannier full, soa aw wor foorced to put stooans it th' tother to mak it balance." "Why, lumphead!" sed th' chap, "couldn't ta put one hauf into one, an' tother into tother?" Billy scratched his heead for a minit an' then sed, "e'ea! but aw see a better road nor that—aw'l put hauf o'th' stooans amang th' puttates, an' hauf o'th' puttates, amang th' stooans, an' then aw'st be sure to have it." "Why but cannot ta mak 'em balance baght stooans, tup heead?" sed th' chap. "Ov coorse aw con! aw niver thowt o' that," sed Billy, an' he started an' squared 'em aght. But he niver made mich aght o' hawkin, for he could niver leearn th' difference between six dozen dozens and hauf a dozen dozens, an fowk 'at wor sharper used to chait him mony a bit.

One queer thing abaght him wor he delighted i' singing, an' if he heeard a song 'at took his fancy he could remember it word for word. His mother says 'at he's tramped mony a scoor mile to hear a song at pleased him, an' if ony body'd sing for him he'd give' em owt he had. One day, as he wor gooin his raands he met wi a chap 'at wor hummin a bit ov a tune, an' he hearken'd to him for a bit, an' at last he sed, "Maister, aw should like to know that song, ha mich will yo taich it me for?" "Oh, it's a patent is that, lad, aw should want a gooid deal if aw towt thee that." "Why," he said, "aw'l gie thi a bunch o' turnips an' four pund o' puttates if tha'll sing it me twice ovver." "Nay," he sed, "wheniver aw engage to sing, aw allus charge double, if aw'm honcoord; but I'll sing it' once if tha'll throw a rooap o' onions into th' bargain." "Well, tha'rt rather up i' thi price," he sed, "but aw'l agree soa start off." They booath set daan o'th' rooad side, an' th' chap (he luk'd like a gipsy), began:

Aw'm as rich as a Jew, tho aw hav'nt a meg, But aw'm free as a burd, an' aw shak a loise leg; Aw've noa haase, an' noa barns, soa aw niver pay rent, But still aw feel rich, for aw'm bless'd wi content, Aw live, an' aw'm jolly, An' if it is folly, Let others be wise, but aw'l follow mi bent.

Mi kitchen aw find amang th' rocks up o'th' moor, An' at neet under th' edge ov a haystack aw snoor, An' a wide spreeadin branch keeps th' cold rain off mi nop, Wol aw listen to th' stormcock 'at pipes up o'th top; Aw live, an' aw'm jolly, &c.

Aw niver fear thieves, for aw've nowt they can tak, Unless it's thease tatters' at hing o' mi back; An' if they prig them, they'lt get suck'd do yo see, They'll be noa use to them, for they're little to me, Aw live, an' aw'm jolly, &c.

Fowk may turn up ther nooas as they pass me i'th' road, An' get aght o'th' gate as if feear'd ov a tooad, But aw laff i' mi sleeve, like a snail in its shell, For th' less room they tak up, ther's all th' moor for misel, Aw live, an' aw'm jolly, &c.

Tho philosiphers tawk, an' church parsons may praich, An' tell us true joy is far aght ov us raich; Yet aw niver tak heed o' ther cant o' ther noise, For he's nowt to be fear'd on 'at's nowt he can loise, Aw live, an' aw'm jolly, &c.

"By th' heart!" sed Billy, "aw nivver heeard sich a song as that i' all mi life! Tha mun sing it ageean for me, wi' ta?" "Nay lad, aw'm nooan soa fond o' singin as that comes to." "By gow, but tha mun!" "Well if aw do aw'st want all th' puttates tha has left an' th' donkey an' all." "Nay, Maister, that's rayther too hard, yo willn't want all th' lot aw'l niver believe, yo'l throw me summat off?" "Well, aw dooant want to be hard o' ony body, but tha knows it's net to be expected aw shall taich thee a song like that for nowt, but as tha seems to be a daycent sooart ov a chap, if tha'll gie me th' donkey an' th' puttates aw'l mak thee a present o'th' panniers." "An' is that th' lowest hawpenny tha'll tak? Aw wodn't bate a hair off th' donkey's tail at that price; tha knows if tha wants to hear some reglar classified music tha'll ha to pay." "Well, blaze into it," sed Billy, "an' aw'l hug th' panniers mysel." "They're net a gurt weight." sed th' chap, "an' aw dar say they'll luk as weel o' thee as o' it." An' wol Billy wor takkin 'em off th' donkey an' puttin 'em on to hissen, th' chap sang th' song ovver ageean, an' when he'd done he walked off wi' th' donkey an' as mony puttates as he could hug, an' Billy started off hooam wi his panniers ov his rig, singin, "Aw live, an' aw'm jolly," wi such gusto wol th' fowk coom aght to see whativer ther wor to do, an' when they saw him huggin th' panniers they guessed what wor up, an' shook ther heeads, sarin, "Silly Billy!" Ov coorse when he gate hooam he tell'd his mother abaght it, an' wad have her listen to this new song. "Song, be hanged!" shoo sed, "aw'd a deal rather hear that donkey rant nor all th' songs at iha con cram into thi empty heead." An' away shoo went to get some fowk to follow th' chap an' get th' donkey back agean.

Two or three sooin set off an' within a few yards o' where Billy sed he'd been, they fan it quietly nibblin a bit o' grass bith' side o' th' gutter, for it seems th' chap had nobbut been havin a bit ov a joak, an' left it behund. They gate it hooam agean an'after Billy's mother had given him a gooid tawkin to, th' thing dropt.

But aw think aw'st niver forget a marlock some chaps played him one day: ther wor abaat six on 'em, an' they made it up to freeten him a bit, an' mak him believe he wor baan to dee; soa just as he coom off th' corner o' one o' th' streets, a chap steps up to him.—"Gooid mornin, Billy! ha does ta feel this mornin, lad?" "Oh! Furst rate!" "Why aw'm fain to hear it," he sed, "but, by th' heart! lad! tha luk's ill'!" "Does ta think aw do?" "Eea, aw'm sure tha does!" "Why aw dooant feel to ail owt 'at aw know on,' but aw dooant think 'at this hawkin agrees wi me so weel." "Happen net, Billy! it doesn't agree wi ivery body, but tha mun tak care o' thisen, nah do!" When he'd getten a bit farther another chap met him:—"Well Billy!" he sed, "ha's trade lukkin this mornin lad?" "Things is lukkin rayther black this mornin." "Tha luks white enuff onyway, has ta been havin another wick o' 'cold porrige aitin?" "Nay aw hav'nt! but aw dooant feel quite as weel as aw do sometimes, for aw fancy this job doesn't agree wi me." "Aw dooant think it does bi' th' luk on thi, if tha gooas on tha'll be able ta tak a lodger i' that suit o' clooas, tha'll ha room enuff,—but tak care o' thisen, lad." Poor Billy wor beginnin to feel poorly already, but when another met him an' axed him if it wor h' furst time he'd been aght latly, it knock'd th' breeath reig aght on him. He tried to shaat "puttates!" but he nobbut gate hauf way throo, for when he'd sed "put!" he had'nt breeath left to say "tates." "This'll niver do," he said, "aw mun goa hooam an' to bed, its noa gooid trailin abaat th' streets this fashion, a'a, ha badly aw do feel! an' all's come on soa sudden! A'a, man! man! what are ta?—as sooin as th' organ strings get aght o' tune, tha'rt noa moor fit for nor a barrel baght bottom, nor as mich! for they could turn a barrel tother end up; but man! a'a dear a me!" "Gee up, Neddy, aw'm feeard tha'll sooin have to luk aght for a new maister."

When Billy gate hooam wi' his donkey, his mother wor fair capt. "What's up, Billy," shoo sed, "Has ta sell'd up?" "Nay, mother, aw've nooan sell'd up, but aw'm ommost done up: get that bed ready an' let me lig me daan a bit." "Why what's th' matter? Has ta hurt thi or summat?" "Noa, but aw'm varry poorly." "Where does ta feel to ail owt, lad!" "Aw dooant know, aw think it's all ovver me, dooant yo think aw luk ill, mother?" "Luk ill! why tha knows lad, aw dooant think it's allus safe to judge fowk bi ther luks, but aw mun say aw nivver saw thi lookin better i' mi life." "Why but aw must be poorly, mother, for two or three fowk has tell'd me soa this marnin." Just then three or four heeads pop'd off th' side o' th' jawm an' set up a gurt laff. Billy luk'd an' saw it wor th' same chaps 'at had been tell in him ha ill he luk'd. "A'a Billy!" sed his mother, "aw wonder when tha'll leearn a bit o' wit, tha sees they've nobbut been makkin gam on thee." "Aw see," he sed, "but they've nooan chaited me soa varry far after all, for aw'm blow'd if aw iver did believe it! Gee up, Neddy!" an' away he went to his wark.

But like monny a chap 'at's considered rayther soft, he worn't all soft, an' one bit ov a trick he did is worth tellin. He'd been aght one day tryin to sell some red yearin, but it seemed as if noabdy wanted owt o' that sooart that day, an' as he wor commin back, a lot o' chaps wor stood at th' corner o' th' fold, an' one on 'em stop'd him an says, "Ha is it tha'rt bringin thi yearin back agean?" "Coss ther's noabdy 'll buy' em," sed Billy. "Well what does ta want for em?" "Aw'l tak owt aw can get, if aw can find a customer, but aw'st net find one here aw know." "Come dooant tawk so fast, Billy!" sed th' chap, winkin at his mates, "ha mich are they worth?" "They should be worth ninepence." "Well aw'l bet thee hauf a crown 'at aw can find thee a customer, if tha'll take what he offers thee for em." "Well aw dooant oft bet," sed Billy, "but aw'l bet thee haulf a craan if tha offers me a price aw'l tak it." "Done," sed th' chap, an' th' stakes wor put into a friend's hand to hold. "Nah then!" he sed, "aw'! gie thee a penny for th' lot." "They're thine," sed Billy, an' he handed 'em ovver. "That's nooan a bad trade," he sed, "a penny an' hauf-a-craan for ninepennorth o' yearin." Th' chap sa'w 'at he wor done, an' he luk'd rayther dropt on, an' ov coarse his mates wor suited. "Niver heed," sed Billy "aw dooant like to be hard o' anybody, soa if tha doesn't want 'em aw'l buy' em back at th' same price." "By gow, Billy! tha'rt a trump," sed th' chap, "tak th' yearins an' gie me hold o'th' brass." Billy took th' yearings, an' handed him a penny. "Nay! gieme th' hauf-craan an' all," sed th' chap. "Nooan soa, sed Billy, aw've gien thee th' same price for' em as tha gave me, an' aw know aw'm net as sharp as some, but as aw've ninepenorth o' yearin left, an a hauf-a-craan moor i' mi pocket, aw fancy aw've made a profit. An' th' next time tha wants to mak a fooil ov a chap, start o' somdy 'at's less wit nor this en, an' then tha weant be dropt on."

That wornt a bad move ov a chap they call Silly Billy.



Put up wi' it.

Aw think aw could tell what day it wor th o' aw didn't know if aw could see a lot o' factry fowk gooin to ther wark. Mondy's easy to tell, becoss th' lasses have all clean approns on, an' ther hair hasn't lost its Sundy twists, an' twines ther faces luk ruddier an' ther een breeter. Tuesdy, ther's a change; they're not quite as prim lukkin! ther topping luk fruzzier, an' ther's net as monny shignons as ther wor th' day before. Wednesday,—they just luk like hard-workin fowk 'at live to wark an' wark to live. Ther's varry few faces have a smile on 'em, an' th' varry way they set daan ther clogs seems to say, "Wark-a-day, Live-a-day, Laik-a-day, Get-noa-pay; Rain-or-noa, Bun-to-goa." Thursdy.—They luk cross, an' ther heeads are abaat hauf-a-yard i' advance o' ther tooas. Ther clogs seem to ha made up ther mind net to goa unless they're made. Friday.—That's pay day. Noa matter ha full ther belly may be, ther's a hungry luk abaat ther een; an'ther's a lot on 'em huggin baskets; an' yo can see it written i' ther faces 'at if they dar leeave as sooin as they've getten ther bit o' brass they wod. Then comes Setterday —Short day—an' yo can tell th' difference as sooin as yo clap een on' em. They're all i' gooid spirits. They luk at th' church clock as they pass, an' think it'll sooin be nooin, an' then!—An' then what? Why, then they'll have a day an' a hauf for thersen—abaat one fifth o' ther life—one fifth o' ther health an' strength for thersen. That doesn't luk mich, but ther fain on it. They owt to be thankful becoss they live in a free country. They can suit thersen's whether they do that, or go to th' workhaase. Justice, they say, is blind, an' if Freedom isn't, shoo must be put to th' blush sometimes.

Who'd be a slave, when Freedom smiling stands, To strike the gyves from of his fettered hands? Who'd be a slave, and cringe, and bow the knee, And kiss the hand that steals his liberty? Behold the bird that flits from bough to bough; What though at times the wintry blasts may blow,— Happier it feels, half frozen in its nest, Than caged, though fed and fondled and caressed. 'Tis said, 'on Briton's shore no slave shall dwell,' But have you heard not the harsh clanging bell, Or the discordant whistles' yelling voice, That says, 'Work slave, or starve! That is your choice!' And have you never seen the aged and grey, Panting along its summons to obey; Whilst little children run scarce half awake, Sobbing as tho' ther little hearts would break And stalwart men, with features stern and grave, That seem to say, "I scorn to be a slave." He is no slave;—he is a Briton free, A noble sample of humanity. This may be liberty,—the ass, the horse, Wear out their lives in routine none the worse. They only toil all day,—then eat and sleep, They have no wife or children dear to keep. Better, far better, is the tattered lout, Who, tho' all so-called luxuries without, Can stand upon the hill-side in the morn, And watch the shadows flee as day is born. Tho' with a frugal meal his fast he breaks, And from the spring his crystal draught he takes, Better, far better, seems that man to mel For he owns Heaven's best gift,—his liberty.

Aw dooant believe i' idleness—aw hate a chap 'at's too lazy to do his share—but what aw dooant like is 'at he should have to wark just exactly when, an' whear, an' for just soa mich (or, aw owt to say, just soa little) as another chap thinks fit. They'll say, if he doesn't like it he can leave it. Happen net—may be he can't get owt else, an' he's a haase an' family to luk after. Then they'll say, 'if he can't better hissen he mun put up wi' it.' That's what he is dooin, an' it's puttin up wi' it 'at's makkin him soa raand shouldered. It's puttin up wi' it 'at's made them hollow cheeks an' dull heavy een.



A Queer Dream.

Eight haars wark, eight haars play, eight haars sleep, an' eight shillin a day.—That saands nice; but them 'at live to see it will live to see moor nor aw it expect to see. Patience is a varty, soa let's have patience. Things are better nor they wor, an' they're bun to improve. Th' thin end o' th' wedge has getten under th' faandation o' that idol 'at tyranny an' fraud set up long sin, an' although fowk bow to it yet, they dooant do it wi' th' same reverence. Give it a drive wheniver you've a chonce, an' some day yo'll see it topple ovver, an' once daan it'll crumble to bits, an' can niver be put up agean. I' th' paper t'other day, aw saw a report ov a speech whear a chap kept mentionin his three thaasand hands. He sed nowt abaat three thasand men an' wimmen—they wor his 'hands'—his three thaasand human machines, an' aw couldn't help thinkin 'at it wor a pity 'at they'd iver been born wi' heads an' hearts, they owt to ha been all hands, an' then they'd ha suited him better. An' he seemed to think bi th' way he tawk'd, 'at but for him theas three thaasand hands wad ha had to starve, but Providence had raised him up o' purpose to find 'em summat to do. He didn't throw aght a hint 'at but for his three thaasand hands he'd a niver ha been i' Parliament. He didn't think he owed' em owt, net he! What wor he born for? Why, ov coarse, he wor born to have three thaasand hands. An' what wor th' hands born for? To work for him. It's simple enuff if you can nobbut see it. Aw had a dream t'other neet, aw'l tell yo abaat it. Aw thowt ther wor a little chap, he didn't stand moor nor abaat six or seven inches heigh, but he wor dress'd like a king, an' he had a sceptre in his hand, an' he had hundreds, may be thaasands, for aw couldn't caan't 'em, ov hands (aw should call 'em men an' wimmen, but he call'd 'em hands), an' they each stood abaat six feet. Some wor daycently clooathed, an' some wor hardly clooathed at all, an' they wor all working to build him a palace; but they wor building it as big as if a thaasand giants wor to live in it, an' th' stooans an' timbers wor soa heavy wol they ommost sank under ther looads; an' at times they seemed soa worn aght 'at aw thowt they'd be foorced to give it up. But th' little king coom strutting raand wi' his sceptre, an' they lifted him up i' ther arms, one bi' one, an' he patted' em o' ther cheeks, an' then they set him daan agean an' went on wi' ther wark, an' he went back to his velvet cushions an' ligged daan an' laff'd. But ther Iooads kept gettin heavier, an' at last they wor soa worn aght 'at they detarmined to goa an' ax him to ease 'em a bit or to give 'em a rest; but when they spake to him he jumpt up an' shook his sceptre at 'em, an' as sooin as they saw that they all ran back to ther wark terrified aght o' ther wit, an' he ordered ther looads to be made heavier still, an' if one on em offered to complain he shook his sceptre, an' he ran back to his labour. Aw wondered to mysen whativer this sceptre could be made on 'at should mak it be such a terror to 'em, an' aw crept behund him wol he wor asleep, an' put it i' mi pocket, an' then aw hid behund a pillar to watch 'em. In a bit some on' em grew tired an' luk'd towards th' king, an' he jumpt up an' felt for his sceptre, but it had gooan, an' then they rubbed ther een an' luk'd at him, an' then they laff'd an' call'd all t'others to join' em. Then they picked up th' little king to luk at, an' they all laff'd, an' th' moor he stormed an' th' better it suited 'em, an' they put him on a square stooan an' made him donce a jig, an' wol he wor dancing aw tuk aght th' septre to Iuk at, an' aw saw it wor a ten paand nooat rolled up like a piece o' pipe stopper, an' a hauf a sovereign at th' end on it. Then they all set up a gurt shaat an' went off, leavin him to build his own palace, an' as they hustled past me aw wakkened.



The Mystery of Burt's Babby

Chapter I.

It sets me thinkin', sometimes, when aw tak a rammel abaat th' hills an' valleys o' mi own neighborhood, what i' th' name o' fortun' maks ivvery body lang to get as far away throo hooam as they can to enjoy thersens. Change o' air may be gooid nah an' then; but as aw've travelled a bit misen, an' visited all them spots 'at they favour mooast, an' seen ha fowk conduct thersens 'at goa for th' benefit o' ther health, it strikes me 'at change o' air is a varry poor excuse, for it's just a spree 'at they goa for, an' nowt else, nine times aght o' ten.

Last June, aw had two or three days to call mi own (an', by gow! if yo nivver worked in a miln, yo dooant knaw what a blessing that is), an' aw tuk a walk as far as Pellon, an' then dahn throo Birks Hall an' ovver th' Shrogs to Ovenden, then throo Illingworth to Keighley, an' on as far as Steeton. (Ony body 'at thinks that isn't fur enuff for one day can try it thersen, an' see ha they like it.)

When aw gets to th' Gooat's Heead, aw wor fain to sit daan an' rest a bit. A pint o' ale ran daan mi throit just like teemin it daan a sink pipe, an' when aw set daan to th' cold roast beef an' pickled cabbage; well, yo' may think aw did it justice, but aw didn't, for that mait had nivver done me ony harm, an' th' way aw punished it was disgraceful, tho' I say it misen; an' when th' landlady coom in to tak away th' bit ther wor left (an' it worn't mich), aw saw her luk raand to mak sure 'at ther wor nobbut one 'at had been pickin' off that. Aw felt soa shamed 'at aw wor ivver so long befor' aw dar ax her ha much aw owed, an' when shoo said eightpence, aw blushed like a pyannet, and paid it, but aw knew varry weel 'at aw wor a shillin' i' debt then if ivverybody had ther own. Hasumivver shoo were satisfied; in fact, shoos allus satisfied, shoo'd nivver ha' been as big as shoo is if shoo let little things bother her (an shoo has lots o' bonny little things running abaat). Well, aw went to bed, an' slept till mornin'. Aw can't say whether all were quiet or not, for nowt could ha' disturbed me, aw believe aw should ha' slept saandly if ther'd been Sowerby Brig Local Booard o' one side, an' th' Stainland School Booard o' t'other, an' th' Haley Hill bell ringers playin' "Hail, smilin' morn." at th' bed feet. But all this has nowt to do wi what aw intended tell in' yo abaat.

Next mornin aw gate up, an' after braikfast (sich a braikfast! aw nivver felt soa stuck up i' all mi life as aw felt after gettin' that braikfast, aw couldn't even bend to see if mi shoes were blackened) aw set aght agean, an' went as far as Silsden. Nah, for th' information o' fowk at wor nivver thear, aw may as weel tell yo a thing or two. Silsden wor nivver planned, it grew, just like th' brackens i' th' woods, throwin' aght a branch one way or another, as it thowt fit. Thers one or two fact'rys, a nail shop or two, two or three brigs, some nice chapels, an' th' rummest owd pile for a church' at yo'll meet in a day's march; a lot o' nice, clean cottages, tenanted wi strong men an' hearty lukkin women, wi hearts i' ther breasts as big as bullocks, an' as monny childer raand th' doors as if they wor all infant schooils; an' a varry fair sprinklin' o' public haases.

Nah monny a one would wonder ha soa monny fowks could live an' thrive i' sich a place—aw wonder misen; an' some wod wonder whear all th' fowk coom throo to fill ther chapels an' church: but aw doant wonder at that, for wheriver there's a lot o' wimmen an' lasses 'at can spooart nice Sunday clooas there's sure to be a lot 'at'll goa to places o' worship to show' em; an' whear th' lasses, are, there will th' lads be also. (Aw believe that's a quotation, but awm net sure.) An' th' publics—they tell me they niver wod ha' been able to get on at all if it hadn't been for th' Sunday closin', but as sooin as fowk see th' doors shut they begin to feel dry, an' as th' constable is a chap' at wodn't lower his dignity bi goin' to see if fowks back doors wor oppen, things wark pratty weel. It wor at th' Red Lion aw thawt aw'd stop this time (that's whear iverybody stops 'at knows what gooid grub is; an' it's worth sixpence any time to see Tommy's face when he's mad, an' a shillin to see his wife's an' hear her laff when shoo's suited). It wor here 'at this tale wor tell'd to me—its's rayther sorrowful, but then it may happen to be relished bi some 'at read it.

Sally Bray worn't a beauty, but shoo wor what yo'd call a nice lass. Her hair an' een wor black as sloes, an' her cheeks wor ommost as red as her lips, an' they wor like cherries; her teeth wor as white as a china cup, but her noas worn't mich to crack on. Shoo wor rayther short an' dumpy, but ther wor allus sich a pleasant smile abaat her face, an' shoo wor soa gooid tempered at ivvery body liked her an' had a kind word for "awr Sal," as they called her. Nah Sally worn't like other lasses in one respect, shoo nivver tawked abaat having a felly, an' if others sed owt abaat sweethearts an' trolled her for net havin' one, shoo'd luk at 'em wi her een blazin' like two fireballs, but nivver a word could they get her to say. Shoo had noa father or mother, nor any relation i' th' world, unless it wor a brother, an' shoo didn't know whether he wor livin' or net, for he'd run away to sea when a little lad, an' shoo'd nivver heeard on him agean; but it wor noaticed 'at when once a sailor happened to call at th' Lion one day, 'at shoo showed him moor favor nor shoo'd showed any body else, an' even sat beside him for an haar, to hear him tell abaat ships an' storms. Well, he wor th' only one shoo ivver had showed any fancy for, an' he wor th' last, for little moor nor a year after that Sally had gooan.

Chapter II.

One mornin', about eight or nine months after that sailor's visit, a young farmer happened to be walkin' across one o' th' fields 'at formed a part o' th' Crow Tree Farm, when he saw a little hillock wi' fresh gathered wildflowers, an' bending daan wondering at sich a thing should be i' sich a place, all lonely an' barren, he noticed some fresh soil scattered raand it. Rooting wi his fingers, he sooin com to a little bundle, an' what should he see when he oppened it, but a bonny little babby, lukkin' as sweet an' pure as th' flaars 'at had been strewed ower it.

He wor a rough sooart ov a young chap, but noabody could ha handled that little thing more tenderly nor he did. "That's noa place to bury the likes o' thee," he sed; "aw dooant know who or what tha art, but tha shall have a better burying place nor that, if aw have to pay for it misen."

He folded it up carefully, an' carried it to th' farmhouse cloise by, an' when he entered it, slowly an' solemnly, an' laid his strange bundle on th' table, th' farmer's wife and dowters gethered raand an' eagerly axed "What's to do, Burt? What has to getten thear? Thou luks as if tha'd stown summat." "Aw've stown nowt, but aw've fun summat, an' aw've browt it here to be takken care on, wol aw cun tell what to do wi' it." He unteed his kertchey, an' when they saw what were in it th' lasses shriked an' ran away, declaring they'd ha' nowt to do wi' it; but th' owd woman luked at it a minit, and then turnin' to Burt, shoo sed, "Burt, is this some o' thy work, or what is it? Tell me all abaat it, an' mind tha spaiks truth."