As sooin as it wor ovver th' doctor went to Joa an' axed him ha he felt.

'Aw think awm gettin on gradely thank yo; ha's mi fayther gettin on?' he sed, in a voice as laad as if he wor hawkin his greens.

Th' parson wor soa takken wol he let his book tummel, an owd Stooansnatch jumpt ommost aght ov his booits, an' turned raand to see if it wor possible to be Joa 'at had spokken; an when he saw him sittin up, winking one e'e, an' a grin all ovver his face, he luk'd at him for a minit an then he sed, 'Joa aw allus thowt thee a daycent sooart ov a lad, but aw niver gave thi credit for havin mich wit, but tha's getten th' best on me this time. Tha's played thi cards pratty weel for that lass, an' tha hasn't wasted mich time ovver th' gam, but tha's ommost brokken mi heart.'

'Well, yo've ommost brokken my heead, soa we're straight.'

'Tha thinks tha's done summat clivver, but aw'll fix yo all, for aw willn't leave yo a hawpeny, noa net a hawpeny.'

'Yo can keep all yor brass an' welcome, an' mich gooid may it do yo, aw've getten all yo had at aw hankered after, an soa nah aw'll get up an' tak her wi' me, for shoo's mine nah, an' aw think that old donkey an' me will be able to find her summat to ait, at any rate we'll try.'

Joa jumpt up (for he wor varry little warse for his hurt,) an' tellin Bessy to put on her duds prepared to leeave.

'Well, Mr. Stooansnatch,' sed th' doctor, 'a weddin is better than a hangin after all, isn't it?'

'Hangin be hanged! yo've been just as deep i'th' muck as they've been i'th' mire, an' if awd my way awd hang yo all. But aw say, luk here, aw dooant want to be made a laffin-stock on, an soa if yo'll promise niver to mention this affair, maybe aw shall do summat for' em yet, an' if anybody axes owt abaat it, say it wor done wi' my consent.'

They all promised, an' as they wor leeavin Joa sed, 'gooid mornin fayther, yo mun come up an' see awr Bessy as oft as yo can, we'll mak yo welcome.'

'Joa tha'rt a scaandrel if iver ther wor one, an' thee Bess, see at tha behaves thisen, an let' em see at tha hasn't been brought up wi' extravagant ways; save a penny wheariver tha can, th' time may come when yo'll need it. Here's a bit o' summat to start wi',' he sed, an' gave her an old bacca box an' shut th' door.

They all laffed, an' as they wor goin up th' street Joa oppen'd th' box, an' inside wor a little bit o' paper, an' written on it thease words. 'For Bessy's wedding if she weds with my consent.' They all luk'd curiously to see what wor in it as he slowly oppen'd it, an they could hardly believe ther een when they saw a Bank o' England note for L500.

Well, yo may think ha capt Joa's mother wor when shoo saw him come in wi' Bessy on his arm, for it wor nobbut th' neet befoor 'at he'd goan aght cooartin, an' when he saw her he sed, 'Well, mother, yo sed aw wor gooin cracked, an' sin' aw saw yo aw've been cracked an' getten spliced, an' aw've browt yo a dowter; an' as aw've axed some friends o' mine to come to ther drinkin, yo mun side all them tubs an' buy some rum, an' let us have some rum an' teah, an' owt else yo can get us, for we want a gooid blowout. An' wol yo do that, Bessy an' me 'll goa to bed a bit, for we've been up all th' neet an' awm sure shoo must be sleepy.'

'Nay awm nooan sleepy Joa, thee goa to bed an' aw'll help thi mother.'

'That's reight lass,' sed his mother, 'aw mak nowt o' fowk sleepin i'th' day time, thee help me an' tak noa notice o' him, he isn't reight in his heead, aw cannot tell ha iver he caanselled thee to have him.'

'Nah mother, dooant yo interfere between a man an' his wife; yo forget at aw've had my heead smashed sin aw saw yo, an' aw want a bit o' rest.'

'Thee goa to bed an' get all th' rest tha wants, tha'll sleep better bi thisen 'coss tha'rt moor used to it, an' aw'll see at Bessy doesn't run away.'

'But, mother, yo see'—

'Aw see nowt abaat it, an' unless tha clears aght o' this hoil ther'll nawther be rum an' teah nor nowt else! Bless mi life lad! does ta think at ther wor niver onybody wed afoor thee? tha'rt war nor a child wi' a new laikon.'

Joa saw it wor noa use tawkin, soa he went aght to feed his donkey, an' luk after th' pigs an' poultry, an' mak believe he wor iver soa thrang.

At last drinkin time coom, an' a few friends coom up, an' a jolly time they had. Joa luk'd joyous an' Bessy luk'd bonny, an' just befoor they separated for th' neet an' wor all standin up to drink long life an' prosperity to th' newly married couple, th' door oppen'd an' in coom owd Stooansnatch. 'Well,' he sed, 'awm just i' time,' soa seizing hold ov a glass o' rum he says here's a toast;

'May thease young ens to-day has seen joined, Find all th' pleasure ther hearts are now cravin; An' when spendin my brass may they find, As mich pleasure as aw fun i' savin.'

Ov coorse this tooast wor drunk i' bumpers, an' sooin after they brake up, an' all went to ther hooams.

Joa an' Bessy seem to get on varry weel together; an Joa's mother says 'at all shoo wants to mak her happy is to be a granmother.

Stooansnatch seems to be altered famously sin Bessy gate wed, an' it is sed (but for th' truth on it aw willn't pledge misen), 'at one day he gave a little lad a penny to buy spice wi'. If its true, he isn't past hooap yet.

He spends th' mooast ov his time up at Joa's, but he's niver had a pooaker in his hand sin that neet, an' if yo want to see him mad, just say a word abaat hangin.



Th' New Railrooad.

Yo've heeard tell abaat th new railrooad aw dar say? It's an age o' steeam is this! Smook nuisance and boilers brustin are ivery-day affairs, an' ivery thing an' ivery body seem to be on at full speed. Aw wonder 'at noabdy invents a man wi a drivin pulley at his back soa's they could speed him up as they do a loom to soa mony picks a minit; th' chap 'at get's a patent for that ul mak a fortune.

But after all, they dooant seem in a varry gurt hurry abaat th' new railroad; but we mun remember Rome wor'nt built in a day, nor a neet nawther, an' soa we mun have patience. They've nobbut been agate two or three year, an' although it's hardly likely at' we shall live to see it finished, happen somedy else will, an' that's a comfort. But bi what aw hear, ther's some fowk at Ovenden fancy it'll be finished befoor soa varry long, an' they've started what they call "a railway trainin class," to taich some oth' young chaps to be railway porters, soa's they'll be ready when th' time comes. They meet in a cottage haase twice a wick to practice, an' they say they're gettin on furst rate. Ther's owd Billy 'at wor once a firer-up for a veal pie shop, an' he's th' president, an he's getten th' asthma soa bad wol if he sturs he puffs war nor a broken winded horse, soa they call him puffin Billy. When they're practisin', they stand o'th' side o'th' oven door i' ther turns, an' when Billy whistles one on 'em oppens it an' shaats aght "Change here for Bradford Beck, Halifax, Hull and t'other shops!" then he bangs it too ageean an shaats "All reight!" an another comes an' does th' same. When they began at th' furst they borrowed a Tom cat o' th' old woman, an' used to put it i' th' oven for a passenger, but one o'th' chaps wor soa fussy, 'at he bang'd th' door too befoor it had getten reight aght, an' chopped its tail clean off. Niver mind if th' owd woman didn't mak a crack—shoo declared shoo'd sue' em for condemnation. Billy tell'd her it ud be a Manx cat after that, but shoo sooin tell'd him shoo wanted nooan sich lik manx; soa they have to tak ther lessons nah withaat passenger. Two on 'em 'at's passed ther examination are studdyin nah for ticket collectors, an' they promise to mak varry gooid uns. When they practise that, they call th' haase door th' furst class, th' cubbord th' second class, an' th' oven door th' third class, an' they start at th' haase door furst, "Gentlemen, your tickets please," then they goa to th' cubbord door, "Tickets," an' then to th' oven door, "Nah then, luk sharp wi' them tickets."

But they'd a sad mishap one neet, for it seems th' owd woman had been bakin, and shoo forgate to mention it, soa when th' furst chap gate hold o' th' oven door hannel he burn'd his fingers, an' becos tother students lafft he sed they'd done it o' purpose; an' it led to a reglar fratch, an' he gate into sich a rage 'at he sed he'd swallow one on em, if he did'nt hold his din, an' it wod'nt be th' furst porter he'd swallow'd nawther! Soa th' taicher tell'd him 'at sich like carryin on wor varry unporterish, an' if he brake th' rules that way he'd have to be taken before th' inspector. But nowt could quieten him till he gate his fingers rubb'd wi sooap an' they gave ovver smartin, soa as th' oven door wor hot they had to practice another pairt. One on 'em borrowed a wheelbarrow, as they could'nt get a luggage lurry, an' they had to wheel it up an' daan th' haase floor i' ther turns, callin aght "By leave!" An' them 'at could manage to run ovver one o' th' tother's tooas, an' goa on as if nowt wor, gate one gooid mark, but him at could run buzz agean a chap an' fell him wor th' next on th' list for a guard. It used to be warm wark boath for him at wor wheelin' an' for tothers, but they wor all on 'em bent o' bein' porters, soa they tew'd at it, detarmined to maister all th' ins an' aghts abaat it. Whether all ther trouble will be thrown away or net aw connot tell, but ther's one gooid thing, it keeps' em aght ov a war turn an' saves th' police a deal o' bother.

But th' owd fowk dooant like th' idea; they see noa use i' bringin sich gurt stinkin things into their district, an' they've detarmined to do all they con to stop it; when a body's been able to live 60 or 70 year withaat sich like nonsense, they see noa reason why they shouldn't be let finish their bit o' time aght quietly. Ther wor one young lad went to ax his gronfayther if he mud join th' class, an' th' owd chap went varry near into a fit, he luk'd at him for a minit, an' then he says,

A'a, Johnny! a'a, Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee! But come thi ways to me, an' sit o' mi knee. For it's shockin' to hearken to th' words 'at tha says;— Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronfayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then, But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen; For they smook, an' they drink, an' get other bad ways; Things wor different once i'thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went coortin' a bit, An' walked aght thi gronny;—awst niver forget; For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze;— It wor nooa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's nooa lasses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed; They've false teeth i' ther maath, an' false hair o' ther heead: They're a make-up o' buckram, an' waddin', an' stays, But a lass wor a lass i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi th' poor, But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door; He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays; Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an' factrys i' ivery nook nah, But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah; An' ther's telegraff poles all o'th' edge o'th' highways, Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're teld to be thankful for blessin's 'ats sent, An' aw hooap 'at tha'll allus be blessed wi content: Tha mun mak th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays, But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.



Mose Hart's Twelvth Mess.

'Holloa! whear ta for, Dick? Tha'rt donned up fearful grand.'

'Nay, aw nobbut wish aw knew whear aw wor, but aw connot tell for th' life on me; but tha can happen put me into th' end, for awm seekin "Th' Fiddle Brig an' Blow Pipe Music Saloon," for aw've getten two tickets for a grand consart 'at's gooin to be gien bi some Morpheus Musical Society, an' aw've rammel'd abaat for a gooid clock haar, an' awm blow'd if aw can find th' shop.'

'Why, if tha's getten two tickets tha mud as weel gie me one, an' aw'll goa hooam an' get donned, an' we'st be company.'

'Bith' heart, lad, aw wish tha wod; aw dooant care bein my share towards a quairt if tha'll goa, but awm feeard we'st be lat; doesn't ta think them clooas tha has on'll do?'

'Nay, tha sees mi britches knee is brussen.'

'Ne'er heed, aw'l leearn thi mi kerchy, an' then as sooin as tha's getten set daan tha can spreead it ovver thi knees, an' nobdy'll iver know owt abaat it.'

'Well, if tha doesn't mind aw dooant, for a chap had better have a hoil in his clooas nor a hoil in his karracter, soa let's try to find this place. Sithee! what does that sign say 'at's hingin' aght o' th' charmer winder?'

'Nay, Seth, tha knows awm noa reader, an' besides aw havn't mi specks, but what does ta mak it into?'

'Well, ther's a Hess, an' a Hay, an' a Hell, an' two Hoes, an' a Hen, what does that spell?'

'Nay, aw connot tell, but it'll nooan be what we want awm sewer o' that, for thear's noa hens abaat thear.'

'Ha hens, lumpheead! It's th' letter N aw sed.'

'Litter hen! why aw nivver heeard o' sich o' thing; aw've heeard o' pigs havin litters but nivver hens, we call 'em cletches.'

'Tha gets less sense, Dick, ivvery day, aw do think. Doesn't ta understand? Ther's a Hess, an' a Hay, an' a Hell, an' two Hoes, an' a Hen, an' that spells saloon, or else aw've forgetten my algibra.'

'Well, well, happen it does; tha's noa need to get soa cross-grained abaat it; if tha goes on like that aw'll gie th' ticket to somdy else, nah mark that.'

'Tha can gie it to who the duce tha's a mind, Dick; awm nawther beholden to thee nor to thi ticket, soa crack that nut!'

'Well, tha's noa need to be soa chuff. Here's th' ticket an' mi kerchy, an' nah tha con follow clois to me an' we'll goa up stairs. Aw con hear some mewsic bi nah, come on.'

Just as they oppened th' door all th' singers wor standin up to begin.

'Dooant stand up for th' sake o' us,' sed Dick, 'get on wi' yer mewsic, we can caar daan onywhear.' Iverybody laff'd when Dick sed soa, an' as they didn't know what they wor laffin at they thowt it wor at Seth's britches.

'Yo've noa need to laff,' sed Seth, 'aw've some better at hooam.'

'Silence! silence!' bawled aght a lot o' fowk; an' when all wor quiet, th' chap at th' far end began shakkin a bit ov a stick 'at he had, an' Seth sed, 'Tha's noa need to shak thi stick at me,' but what he sed beside wor lost, for all th' singers struck up, an' Dick an' Seth set daan o' th' edge ov a big drum 'at ther wor in th' nook. In a bit Seth axed th' chap 'at set next to him what they wor singin.

'It's Mozart's Twelfth Mass,' he sed.

'Why, what dooant they turn him aght for?'

'Turn who aght?' sed th' chap lukkin raand.

'Why, Mose Hart. If he worked at awr shop he'd be secked for one mess, niver tawk abaat twelve.'

'Whisht!' sed th' chap, an' gave Seth a drive wi' his elbow just between his brace buttons, an' Seth went daan wi' a soss onto th' drum end, an' throo it he went wi' a crack as laad as a pistol gooin off.

'Thear, tha's done it,' sed Dick; 'Tha's letten all th' mewsic aght o' that, onyway; they owt to ha made a drum major o' thee.'

'It's noa fawt o' mine,' he sed, as he tried to scramel aght. 'Let me catch hold o' that chap' at knocked th' wind aght o' me, an' if aw dooant drum him it'll be becoss aw connot.'

When he gate to his feet he luk'd raand, but th' chap had mizel'd, but all th' singers wor standin raand laffin fit to split.

'Are yo laffin becoss mi britches knees is brussen or becose th' drum end's brussen, aw'd like to know?'

'What's th' matter wi' thi? tha'rt as mad as if tha'd swoller'd th' drum asteead o'th' drum swollerin thee; tha mud ha getten thi bally brussen,' sed Dick.

'It's very plain to me that there will be no more harmony here this ev'ning,' sed th' little man 'at wor shakkin th' stick, 'and so I shall leave you, an' I hope those who have tickets to dispose of, will in future give them to persons who can appreciate music.'

'Aw'll mak thee sick for two pins,' sed Seth, 'if tha says owt agean me, aw'll sing thee for glasses raand ony day.'

The conductor sed no more but went home.

'Who is yond leckterin fooil?' sed Seth, to a chap 'at stood near.

'That's th' conductor.'

'Corn doctor, is he? Why, what does he want at a singing doo? Connot yo cut yor own corns?'

'Tha doesn't understand, he's th' leeader.'

'Well, if he's th' leeader, what dooant yo follow him for? But nah luk here! aw'll tell yo what aw'll do. Aw've been th' cause o' braikin up yor spree, soa suppoas yo all stop an' have a bit ov a doo wi' me; aw've getten a shillin or two an' we'll send for some ale an' mak a reglar free-an-easy on it.'

'Hear! hear!' sed one.

'Ov course we'll have it here, whear else does ta want it!' Soa they all agreed to sit daan, and Seth sent for two gallon o' ale an' some bacca, an' nooan on 'em seemed to be sooary 'at things had turned aght as they had.

When they'd all had a second tot, an' getten ther pipes let, they made Seth into th' cheerman, an' he sed they'd have to excuse him for net knowin ther names, but when he wanted to call anybody up he'd do his best to mak 'em understand who he meant, an' to begin wi, he should mak bould to ax that chap wi' th' big nooas to sing a song.

Nubdy stirred, soa Seth pointed him aght an' sed, 'Will that chap wi' th' red peg i'th' middle ov his face oblige the company with a song?'

Th' chap couldn't mistak who wor meant this time, so he gate up.

'Mister cheerman,' he sed, 'aw doant know 'at my nooas owes yo or onybody else owt, an' why it should be remarked aw can't tell.'

'Aw should think it owes thee a gooid deal,' sed th' cheerman. 'If tha doesn't want it to be remarked tha shouldn't paint it sich a bright colour; but get on wi' th' singing.'

'Awm noa singer, aw play a offerclyde, but awm thinkin' o' changin, an' leearnin th' fiddle.'

'That's reight, lad, do. Awm sure it'll tak all th' wind tha has to blow that peg o' thine i' cold weather; a fiddle 'll suit thee better, an' tha'll niver be fast for a spot to hing up thi stick. But it's a song we want, an' not a speech, an' if tha doesn't sing tha'll be fined a quairt.'

That settled it; soa, clearin his voice, he began—

Tho' the sober shake the head, And drink water, boys, instead, And the foolish all strong liquors do decry; Yet the foaming glass for me, May we never, never see A friend without a draught when dry.

Then quaff, boys, quaff, and let's be merry; Why should dull care be crowned a king? Let us have another drain, till the night begins to wane, And the bonny, bonny morn peeps in.

Let us drown each selfish soul Deep in the flowing bowl; Let the rosy god of wine take the throne; And he who cannot boast Some good humour in his toast, Let him wander in the world alone. Then quaff, boys, &c.

O, I love a jolly face, And I love a pretty lass, And I love to see the young and old around; Then with frolic and with fun Let both wine and moments run, And the hearty, hearty laugh resound. Then quaff, boys, &c.

When man was placed on earth He was naked at his birth, But God a robe of reason round him threw; First he learned to blow his nose, Then he learned to make his clothes, And then he learned to bake and brew. Then, quaff, boys, &c.

If it's wrong to press the vine— Thus to make the rosy wine, Then it must be wrong to crush the wheaten grain; But we'll laugh such things to scorn, And although it's coming morn, Just join me in another drain. Then quaff, boys, &c.

'E'e gow, lad! that's a rare song. Aw'll say nowt noa moor abaat thy nooas after that, but tha munnot sing that amang teetotallers. It's thy call nah, let's keep it movin, call for who or what tha likes.'

'Well, if awm to call, aw shall call th' landlord to fill this pitcher, for this pipe o' mine's varry dry.'

'All reight, lad, order it to be filled, aw'll pay for it, an wol they're fotchin it call o' somdy for a song or summat.'

'Well, aw call o'th' cheerman for a song.'

'Nay, lad, tha munnot call o' me, for if awd to start ony mak ov mewsic aw should niver get throo it.'

'Yo went throo th' drum easy enuff,' said one.

'Eea, an' he brag'd he could sing better ner awr conductor,' sed another.

'Nah chaps, aw'll do my best to mak it a pleasant neet, an' as th' ale has just come up aw'll give yo a tooast an' a sentiment booath i' one.'

Hold up yer heads, tho' at poor workin men Simple rich ens may laff an' may scorn; May be they ne'er haddled ther riches thersen, Somdy else lived afoor they wor born, As noble a heart may be fun in a man 'At's a poor fusten coit for his best, An 'at knows he mun work or else he mun clam, As yo'll find i' one mich better drest.

Soa, here's to all th' workers wheariver they be, I'th' land, or i'th' loom, or i'th' saddle; And the dule tak all them 'at wod mak us less free, Or rob us o'th' wages we haddle.

'Them's just my sentiment,' sed one o'th' singers, 'an' aw dooant care who hears me say it, for aw dooant care whether a chap's coit is aght o'th' elbows or his britches knees brussen, noa matter if he's——'

'Thee shut up,' sed Seth, 'it's my call next, an' aw want thee to know, owd fiddle-face, 'at tha can give ovver talking abaat fowks clooas, an' sing as sooin an tha likes.'

'Mr. Cheerman, aw nobbut know one, but as sooin as aw've supt aw'll start, shove th' ale this rooad.'

'Get supt then, it taks more bother to start thee singin nor what it taks to start th' Dyke Engin.'

All kinds of songs I've heard folks sing, Of things in every nation; Of Queen's Road swells, and Clarehall belles, And every new sensation. But I've a song you never heard, Although the music's ancient; It's all about one Doctor Bird, And his fascinating patient. So list to me And I'll tell you all the story of this Doctor B.

One day he sat within his room, By draughts and pills surrounded; Strange pictures hanging on the walls Which timid folks confounded. He heard the bell, and strange to tell, He quickly changed his manner, And in there came his bosom's flame His darling Mary Hannah. So list to me, &c.

'Sweet Mary Hannah!' 'Doctor dear'— Such was their salutation; 'I've come,' sed she, 'for much I fear, I've got the palpitation.' 'O never mind,' says Doctor B., 'You need not long endure it; Just come a little nearer me, I fancy I can cure it.' But list to me, &c.

He took a loving, long embrace, Cries she, 'Oh, dear, that's shocking!' When the doctor's boy, to mar their joy, Just entered without knocking. And when he saw the state o' things, Then down the stairs he hurried, And ran to tell the Doctor's wife,— For Doctor B. was married. So list to me, &c.

The Doctor seized his hat and cane, And cried, 'Dear Mary, hook it!' Then down he ran, and found a cab, And in an instant took it— 'Drive for your life and fetch my wife, And need no second telling!' And in a very little time They reached the Doctor's dwelling. So list to me, &c.

His wife was there, said he, 'My dear Come with me to the city, I'm lonely when you are not near,' Says she, 'Why that's a pity.' He took her to the self same room, And in the self same manner; He kissed and coaxed his lawful wife, As he'd just kissed Mary Hannah. So list to me, &c.

In loving talk some time they spent, Says she, 'now I'll go shopping;' He kissed her and as out she went, The Doctor's boy came hopping; He saw her and he quickly cried, 'O, please excuse me missus, But Doctor's got a girl inside, And he's smothering her with kisses. So list to me, &c.

'You little sneaking cur,' she cried, 'That shows that you've been peeping.' She boxed his ears from side to side And quickly sent him weeping. The Doctor rubbed his hands and smiled, To think how well he'd plan'd it, And Mrs. B.'s quite reconciled, But the boy don't understand it. So you all see What a very cunning fellow was this Doctor B.

Now all you married men so gay, Just listen to my moral; Indulge your wives in every way, And thus avoid a quarrel. Pray do your best to settle down, Nor with the fair ones frisk it; You might not fare like Doctor B., It isn't safe to risk it. For you can see How very near in trouble was this Doctor B.

'Is that th' only song tha knows young man?'

'That's all aw know, Mr. Cheerman.'

'Why, tak my advice an' forget it as sooin as tha can, for aw niver heeard a war, an' see if tha cannot find a better. Nah tha can call for th' next.'

'Well, aw'll call o' owd Miles, an' if he con do ony better aw'll pay for th' next gallon.'

Old Miles stood up, an' crossed his hands i' front an turned up his een as if he wor gooin to relate his experience at a prayer-meetin, an' began:

They may talk of pure love but its fleeting at best; Let them ridicule gold if they will; But money's the thing that has long stood the test, And is longed for and sought after still. Love must kick the balance against a full purse, And you'll find if you live to four score, That whativer your troubles the heaviest curse, Is to drag on your life and be poor.

If you sigh after titles and long for high rank, Let this be your aim night and day, To increase the small balance you have at your bank, And to honors' 't will soon point the way. For you'll find that men bow to the glittering dross, Whate'er its possessor may be; And if obstacles rise they will help you across, If you only can boast L. s. d.

See that poor man in rags, bending under his load, He passes unnoticed along: No one lends him a hand as he goes on his road, He must toil as he can through the throng. But if he was wealthy, how many would fly To assist him and offer the hand; But he's poor, so they leave him to toil or to die, That's the rule in this Christian land.

'Nah, that's summat like a song; aw could lizzen to that all th' neet, an' aw think yo'll all agree 'at owd fiddle face has lost his gallon. Nah, lad, does ta hear? Tak to payin.'

But he didn't hear, for he'd quietly slipped away an' left 'em wi' a empty pitcher. 'Well, he's a mean owd stick, onyway; but aw'll pay for it fillin once moor. An' nah, Miles, it's yor turn to call.'

'Mr. Cheerman, aw'll call o' yor friend for th' next.'

'A'a, lad,' sed Dick, 'tha should pass by me, for aw niver sang a song i' mi life, an' awm to old to start, but if yo've noa objections aw'll give yo a recitation.'

'Gooid lad, Dick, goa on! Tha'rt gam, aw know.'

Ov all th' enjoyments' at sweeten man's life, Ther's nooan can come up to a sweet tempered wife; An' he must be lonesome, an' have little pleasure, 'At doesn't possess sich a woman to treasure. But them 'at expect when they tak hooam a bride, 'At nowt nobbut sunshine wi' them will abide, An' think 'at noa sorrow will iver oppress, They'll find ther mistak aght, yo'll easily guess. For th' mooast fascinatin an' lovable elves, Are all on 'em mortal, just th' same as ussels, An' show tempers 'at sometimes are net ovver pleasant, They find fault whear ther's room, an' sometimes whear ther isn't, An' to get there own way, why they'll kiss, coax, or cavil, They'll smile like an angel, or storm like the devil. But aw've monny times sed, an' aw say it ageean, 'At women are ofter i'th' reight nor are th' men, Just fancy gooin hooam to a bachelor's bed, All shudderin an' shakkin yo lig daan yor heead. There's a summat a wantin, 'at fills yo wi' fear, Yo can turn as yo like, but you find it's not thear, An' yo freeat an' yo fitter, or weep like a willow; An' for want o' owt better, mak love to a pillow. But him 'at's been blessed wi' a wife he can love, Liggs his heead on her breast pure as snow from above, An' ther's nubdy could buy it for silver or gold, An' he wodn't exchange it for Abrahams of old. An' he falls hard asleep, wi' her arm raand his neck, An' gets up lik a lark, an' then works like a brick.

'Nah, friends, aw wish to say a few words befoor aw goa. Awm varry sorry 'at aw brack that drum, but yo see it wor an accident, an' aw've done my best to mak it up, an' as Dick's recitation maks me think awd better be gettin hooam, or aw shall happen find it varry warm when aw get thear. Aw'll nobbut call o' one moor befoor sayin gooid neet, an' that's Mose Hart. If he's hear aw should like him to try agean; ther's nowt like perseverance, an' if a chap fails twelve times th' thirteenth may pay for all.'

'Mr. Cheerman, Mozart wor deead long befoor yo wor born or thowt on.'

'Then that chap 'at dug his elbow into my guts tell'd me a lie, for he sed he'd just made a mess for th' twelfth time when aw come in.'

Ther wor a crack o' laffin when he sed that, for th' chaps saw his mistak, an' soa one on 'em went quietly up to him an' explained it. 'O, then,' he sed, 'if he's deead we may as weel goa hooam, an' all aw've getten to say is 'at ony time yo chonce to come by awr haase, just luk in an' aw'll mak yo welcome, an' my owd lass'll mak yo a mess o' some sooart 'at'll do yo some gooid. Yo'll find it easy, for aw live th' next door to th' Pig an' Whistle, an' soa aw wish yo all a varry gooid neet—Come on Dick.'



Th' Hoil-i'th'-Hill Statty.

CHAPTER I.

Th' Hoil-i'th'-Hill Fowld wor a quiet little place; ther wor sixteen haases altogether, four on each side ov a big square yard, an' a pump i'th' middle. Th' fowk 'at lived thear had mooast on 'em been born thear, an' ther'd been soa monny weddin's amang 'em wol they wor all summat moor or less akin. Niver i'th' memory o'th' oldest on 'em had ther been ony change i'th' fowld, except nah an' then a bit o' fresh paint wor put on th' doors an' winders, until one day th' landlord coom and browt two or three smart lukkin chaps' at begun to messure hear an' thear, an' all th' wimmen an' th' childer watched' em wi' as mich anxiety as if they wor gooin to pool all th' haases daan.

Th' chaps wor all off at ther wark, but when they coom hooam at neet they wor sooin made acquainted wi' all 'at had gooan on, an' when they'd getten ther drinkins, one after another walked aght, wol they wor all met together raand th' pump.

'What does ta mak on it, Jacob?' sed one o'th' younger end, spaikin to an owd man wi' a grey heead. 'What does ta think they meean to do?'

'Nay aw connot tell, unless it's some o' them wrang-heeaded fowk 'at th' maister wor tawkin abaat, 'at want to start a schooil booard or some new-fangled noation.'

'Why, what mak o' schooils is them schooil board consarns?'

'Aw dooant know, nobbut it's a schooil whear yo send childer to leearn ther letters, an' they booard 'em at same time.'

'Why, that's nooan a bad thing if they give 'em owt daycent to ait.'

'Does ta think they'll have owt at we shalln't have to pay for? Did ta iver know th' Corporation give owt for nowt? All aw wish is 'at they'd let us alooan. We've getten on here for aboon fifty year withaat ony o' ther bother, an' aw could like to finish my bit o' time aght as we are.'

They all agreed wi' this, an th' wimmen 'at had gethered raand to harken sed they thowt soa too, an' it ud seem 'em better if they'd luk after ther own wives an' childer a bit moor, and net come botherin thear.

When th' bacca wor done, they went back into ther haases, one bi one, an' went to bed, but ther wor a sooart ov a claad hung ovver 'em all, and they didn't sleep varry weel.

Next mornin, as they started off for th' day, they each gave a luk raand, as if to fix iverything i' ther mind, for fear when they coom back they'd niver be able to own th' spot.

Sooin after they'd gooan, a lot o' navvies coom an' started o' diggin. Wor'nt th' wimmin aght in a crack! 'What are yo baan to do?' they sed.

'We're gooin to put yo all watter in,' sed th' gaffer, 'soas yo can do withaat this pump.'

'We dooant want ony watter puttin in; when we want watter we can fotch it,—goa abaat yor business!'

But he tell'd 'em they'd getten orders to do it, an th' landlord had agreed, soa they went on wi ther wark.

Nah, th' chap 'at had takken this job to do, hadn't takken it bi th' day; he'd agreed to do it for soa mich, soa yo may bet he kept' em all at it, an' it tuk varry little time to dig an' get th' pipes laid; an' then th' plumbers wor waitin to start, an' iverybody wor as thrang as if ther lives depended on it bein finished that day,—an' it wor finished,—an' as sooin as it wor done they set to wark an' pool'd daan th' owd pump, an' laid some flags ovver th' well, an' went hooam.

Th' wimmin didn't know whether to be pleased wi' th' new taps or mad abaat th' loss o'th' pump, an' soa they sed nowt until ther fellies coom back. It worn't monny minits afoor they began to coom hooam, an' as sooin as they saw th' pump ligged o'th' graand an' th' well covered up, they luk'd like—weel, it's noa use me tryin to tell what they luk'd like, for they luk'd so monny different ways 'at aw should be fast amang it; but ther worn't one on 'em suited, an' net one 'em had patience to luk at th' new taps.

Owd Jacob spit his teah aght ov his maath as sooin as he tasted it. 'Aw knew ha it ud be,' he sed, 'if iver we lost that pump.'

'Why, what's th' matter?' sed his dowter.

'Matter! connot ta taste th' difference between that watter an' th' watter tha used to get aght o'th' pump?'

'Why, father,' shoo sed, 'that is pump watter, for aw pump'd it mysen befoor they pool'd it daan.'

'Oh, did ta. It wor happen a bit o' bacca aw had i' mi maath. But allus bear this i' mind, if iver tha gets wed an' should leave this fowld niver go to live whear ther isn't a pump.'

After th' drinkin all th' chaps could be seen standin i'th' door hoils, leeanin agean th' jawm, for they felt lost, an' didn't know whear to goa. They'd allus been i'th' habit o' getherin raand th' owd pump, an' it seemed nah as if they couldn't tell whear to stand for th' pump had acted as cheerman for' em when they had ther argyfyin meetins,—an' a varry gooid cheerman too.

At last one on 'em screwed up courage to goa an' luk at th' owd pump case as it ligged i'th' muk, an' then one an' another joined him, wol it luk'd for all th' world as if they wor holdin an inquest.

'That's been a gooid friend to us all,' sed Jacob, 'an' aw dooant like to see it liggin thear.'

'Noa, moor do aw,' sed another, 'an' it luks a sooart o' desolate, sin they tuk th' guts aght.'

'Aw wish somdy'd tak their guts aght,' sed Levi, 'it ud sarve 'em reight. But what mun we do wi' it! Th' fowld luks lost withaat it. Suppooas we put it up agean just to luk at?'

'Aw propooas we bury it,' sed Jacob, 'an' then raise a monement ovver it. It desarves one better nor lots 'at get 'em. It wor allus sober, an' minded its own business, an' niver refused to give owt it had if yo shook it bi th' hand.'

'Well, but whear mun we bury it?' sed Jonas.

'Aw think,' sed Jacob, ''at as it's had a wattery life, it owt to have a wattery grave. Let's pool them flags up an' drop it into th' well.'

They all agreed to this, soa it worn't monny minits befoor they had th' well oppened, an' wor ready to drop it in, but one o'th' women happened to ax 'who wor gooin to read ovver it.' Nah this had n ver struck nooan on' em befoor, an' they saw at once 'at it should be attended to.

'Whear's Elkanah?' sed Jacob. 'He's allus ready wi' a speech, let's see what he can find to say.' Soa one on 'em whistled, an' Elkanah coom, an' they tell'd him what they wanted.

'All reight,' he sed, 'but if yor baan to bury it like that aw think ther owt to be a burryin drinkin.'

'That's reight, Kana!' shaated th' wimmin, 'let's have it reight if we have it at all.'

'That's my noation,' sed Elkanah, 'an aw'll see what aw con collect befoor we bury it,—aw'll be a shillin.'

'Soa will aw,' 'soa will aw,' 'aw'll be another,' an ther wor sooin thirteen shillin an' sixpence sam'd up. 'Nah, awm ready,' he sed, 'tak off yor hats, an' handle it gently for its rayther rotten.' They all did as they wor tell'd, an' havin getten ready Elkanah spake,—

'Into this well soa deep, We put thee daan to sleep, Farewell owd pump. Tho' some may thee despise, We know tha'rt sure to rise Up wi' a jump. 'Tha's sarved thi purpose weel, An' all thi neighbors feel Sad at thi fate. But as tha's had thi day, This is all we've to say, Ger aght o'th' gate.'

After this one on 'em struck up a temperance hymn, an' bi th' time they'd getten through an' th' owd pump wor sent to its restin place two o'th' wimmen wor ready wi' a gallon o' rum an' ale mixed, an' they totted it aght i' pint pots. This didn't go far amang th' lot, soa they fotched another an another wol ther brass wor done, an' then separated wi' heavy hearts an' rayther leet heeads an' went to bed, feelin glad to know 'at they'd done all they could towards payin a fittin tribute to an owd friend.

CHAPTER II.

Next day wor a gloomy day i'th' Hoil-i'th'-Fowld; whether it wor grief for th' loss o'th' pump, or th' effects o'th' rum an' ale, aw connot say, but all th' chaps stopt at hooam, an' it wor ommost dinner time when they mustered i'th' middle o'th' yard, an' owd Jacob, who'd been puffin at a empty pipe for a long time, luk'd up an' spake.

'Lads,' he sed, 'it seems to me 'at this yard will niver luk like itsen agean, unless we have summat standin up i'th' middle i'th' place ov th' owd pump; an' aw've been tryin to think what it had better be, but aw can't mak up mi mind abaat it. What do yo think?'

'Suppooas we put a tombstun ovver th' pump,' sed Elkanah.

'Tha wants th' job o' writin th' hepitaf, does ta?' sed Jonas.

'Well, aw dooant think that ud do, for a tombstun is nobbut a varry gloomy sooart ov a thing at th' best hand. Nah, what do you say if we have a statty? Aw think a statty ud look noble an' inspirin like.'

'Eea, aw think soa too,' sed Simeon, 'but who mun we have a statty on? Mun it be th' landlord?'

'Landlord be blow'd! What mun we have a statty o' him for? We see enuff o' him ivery month when he comes for his rent.'

'Well, who mun it be?'

'Aw dooant know 'at it matters mich who it is, for they put up stattys to onybody nah days, nobbut we mun pick aght somdy 'at gets a daycent wage, 'coss he'll have to find pairt o'th' brass. Nah, ther's Kana thear; he isn't baat a two or three paand. Suppooas we put one up to Kana?'

'Why, what's Kana iver done 'at he should have a statty?'

'What difference does that mak? What's lots o' fowk done 'at get stattys? Worn't his fayther th' bell-man for monny a year? an' didn't owd Sally his mother, bake the best havvercake 'at yo could get i'th' district? An' a statty's a statty noa matter who's it is? What says ta Kana?'

'Well aw dooant know ha mich it'll cost. What is it to be made on?'

'Oh, we'll have it made o' wood,—th' pump wor a wooden un, an' Simeon's a wood turner, an' he'll turn it cheap, willn't ta Simeon?'

'Aw'll do it as reasonable as aw con. Aw think aw could get up a varry gooid en for abaat thirty shillin.'

'Well, aw'll be ten shillin,' sed Kana, 'an' tother can be subscribed for at a penny a wick a piece.'

'Why, that's fair enuff, lads, what do yo say?'

'We'll all agree to that,' sed Jonas, 'but whear mun we put it? May be 'as th' Corporation's taen away th' pump they may want to shift th' statty.'

'Corporation be hanged! we'll put it up thear an' let them mell on it 'at dar.'

'Well' sed Simeon, 'aw'll start it reight away, but aw'st want Kana to sit aside o'th' lathe wol awm turnin, or else awst niver be able to get a likeness on him.'

'Oh, th' likeness matters nowt; tha can paint his name on it an' then iverybody'll know whose it is.'

'After a bit moor tawk they sauntered off, some one way an' some another, an' amused thersens as weel as they could wol bed time, an' then went to sleep, all except Simeon; he could'nt sleep, for he didn't like to admit 'at he couldn't turn a statty, an' still he didn't know ha to start; but he wor bent o' having th' thirty shillin ony way.

Next mornin he made a beginnin, an' he thowt he'd turn th' body pairt first, an' he made a varry daycent job on it he thowt, an' when they ax'd him at neet ha he wor gettin on, he tell'd 'em th' belly piece wor all reight, an' he'd have it all done bi Setterdy neet; an' he kept his word, an' when they all coom hooam thear it wor, wi' a gurt bedquilt ovver it, waitin to be unveiled, an' yo con bet it worn't long befoor they'd all swallow'd ther drinkin an' wor waitin—all except Kana, he felt a sooart o' modest abaat it an' had to be fotched aght.

Jacob wor th' cheerman, an' they maanted him on a peggytub turned upside daan; but he wor a sooart o' fast what to say, soa he ax'd Simeon. 'Why,' he sed, tha mun praise th' statty, an' say it's a life-like portrait, an' then tha mun tell all th' gooid things tha knows abaat Kana.'

'Why, but aw dooant know nowt varry gooid abaat him, nobbut he can cure a bit o' bacon dacently.'

'Niver heed, tha mun say all tha thinks he owt to ha done, it'll do just as weel.'

Kana wor wonderin all th' time what he'd have to say, soa he called Jonas o' one side an' axed him.

'Oh, thy pairt's easy enuff. Tha mun thank 'em all, an' say it's th' praadest day o' thi life; but dooant say owt abaat thi own ten shillin, coss it willn't do for iverybody to know that; an' then as tha's nowt to booast on thisen, put in a word or two abaat thi father. Owt tha says obaat thi father is sure to goa daan.'

'Order! order!' shaated two or three as Jacob gate ready to spaik. 'Feller citizens, an' citizenesses, under this bed quilt is a statty erected to th' memory of Kana, an' it's put here asteead o'th' pump. You all know Kana. He's a daycent sooart ov a chap, an' we thowt he owt to have a statty. At onyrate, we wanted a statty, an' it mud as weel be Kana's as onybody's else. He's a varry daycent chap, as aw sed befoor, an' upright—varry upright—as upright—as upright as a yard o' pump watter. An' aw've noa daat he's honest; aw niver knew him trusted wi' owt, but varry likely if he wor he'd stick to it. He's a gentleman, th' bit ther is on him, an' he allus pays his rent. Aw could say a gooid deeal moor, but th' least sed is th' sooinest mended, an' as yo all want to see what's under this quilt, aw'll say no moor but show yo at once.'

Off coom th' quilt, an' ther wor th' statty, but it didn't stand on its feet, for it wor raised on a powl, an' turned raand like a weathercock. Worn't ther a shaat when they saw it! Didn't they swing ther hats raand! Niver mind!

'Well,' sed Jacob, 'tha's made a gooid job o' that, Simeon; it's as nice a bit o' wood as aw've seen for a long time, but what made thi have it to turn raand?'

'Eea, it's a bit o' nice wood, an' them buttons 'at aw put in for his een cost me sixpence a-piece. Aw thowt it wor noa use puttin a nooas on, for tha sees it ud be sure to get brokken off, an' th' reason aw made it to turn raand is becoss aw thowt it wor hardly fair 'at fowk 'at live o' one side o' th' fowld should have his face to luk at allus, an' tother side his back; soa nah we con have it lukkin one way one day an' another th' next. But whisht! Kana's baan to spaik.'

'Kind friends, aw just stand up to spaik a few words hopin to find yo all weel as aw am at present. If onybody had tell'd my fayther 'at his son wod iver have a statty like that, aw think it wod ha brokken his heart. This is a praad day for me, an' aw shall niver see this work o' art withaat thinkin abaat what it cost. My father wor a gooid man, an' awm his son, an' this is my statty, an' aw thank yo one an' all, soa noa moor at present, throo yours truly, Elkanah.'

When he'd done ther wor some moor shaatin, an' then one o'th' wimmen sed shoo'd a word or two to say.

'Silence for Mary o' Sarah's!'

'Me an' tother wimmen has been tawkin it ovver,' shoo sed, 'an' we think 'at if ther wor a gooid strong hook driven in th' top of its heead, 'at we could fessen a clooas line to, 'at it wod be varry useful, an' we'd ommost as sooin have it as th' pump.'

'That's a gooid idea,' sed Simeon, 'aw'll drive one in, for ther's no brains in it.'

'Its soa mich moor like Kana,' sed Jonas, but nubdy tuk ony noatice.

They all kept waitin abaat after th' ceremony wor ovver, expectin 'at Kana wod ax 'em to have summat to sup at th' heead on it, but he didn't seem to understand things, soa Simeon went up to him an' whispered.

'Net another hawpney,' he sed, 'it's cost me enuff.'

When they heeard this they all turned agean him at once. 'If tha doesn't stand treat,' sed Jacob, 'we'll rub thi name off an' put on somdy's else at will.'

'Yo can put whose yo like on,' sed Kana.

An' one o'th' wimmen coom wi' a dishclaat an' wiped it off, for shoo sed 'it wor far to handsome a statty for sich a skinflint as him, as flaysome as it wor.'

Then Jacob gate on to th' tub agean an' ax'd who'd stand a gallon to have their name put on, but they all sed they wor hard up an' couldn't affoord owt, soa thear it stands, an' th' first chap 'at'll pay for a gallon o' ale con have his name put on whether he's a subscriber or net.

Ther's a chonce for some o' yo 'at wants a statty.



Owd Dawdles.

Ther's a deeal o' tawkin abaat owd-fashioned kursmisses, an' my belief is 'at moor nor one hauf 'at tawk or write abaat 'em know nowt but what they've heeard or read. Aw'm gien to understand 'at a owd-fashioned kursmiss wor one whear iverything we admire an' think comfortable wor despised, an' iverything we have a fear on wor sowt after. Awm net sewer whether ther wor ivver an owd-fashioned kursmiss withaat a snowstorm, but aw should think net; but as aw have to tell yo what happened one kursmiss when ther wor nawther frost nor snow, but when th' sun wor shinin, an' th' fields wor lukkin as fresh an' green as if it wer May asteead o' December, aw shall be foorced to call this a tale ov a new-fashioned kursmiss. Kursmiss Day wor passed an' ommost forgotten, but still th' fowk 'at live i' th' neighborhood o' Bingly or Keighly nivver think it's ovver until th' new year's getten a start. Abaat a duzzen sich like had been to Bradforth (as ther wives had been gien to understand on business, but as yo'd ha fancied if yo'd seen 'em, on pleasure), an' they'd set off to walk hooam, but they called so oft on th' way, wol what wi' th' distance an' what wi' th' drink they wor rare an' fain to rest thersens when they gate to th' Bingley Market Cross. It wor a grand neet, an' th' mooin wor shinin ommost as breet as if it wor harvest time; an' as ther purses wor empty an' ther pipes full, they argyfied it wor a deeal moor sensible to caar thear an' have a quiet smook nor to waste ther time in a public haase. Th' warst on it is wi' sich like, 'at they know soa mich abaat one another an' soa little abaat onybody else 'at it isn't oft 'at when they oppen ther maath owt new falls aght, an' unless ther's a stranger i' th' company things are apt to grow varry dull.

Amang this lot 'at aw'm tellin abaat ther didn't happen to be a stranger, an' soa th' owd tales wor tell'd ovver agean, an' altho' some on 'em wor ommost asleep, they allus laft at th' reight spot, for if they didn't hear a word 'at wor sed, they knew th' time when it owt to come in. In a bit one on 'em let his pipe tummel an' mashed it all i' bits, an' as nubdy had one to lend him, an' he'd nowt else to do, he sed: 'Did any on yo ivver hear tell abaat Owd Dawdles?'

'Nay,' they sed, 'they didn't know 'at they had.'

'Why, but he wor a queer owd chap, wor Owd Dawdles, an' they didn't call him Dawdles for nowt, soa aw'l tell yo summat abaat him wol yo finish yor bacca. He wor a chap 'at thowt he wor full o' sense, an' th' way he winked his left e'e after givin vent to one o' his cliver speeches, showed plain enuff 'at whether it wor satisfactory to other fowk or net, it wor quite soa to him. But if he hadn't a varry heigh opinion o' th' fowk he met, yet he worn't withaat pity for 'em, an' he generally ended up wi' sayin 'at it wor hardly reight to blame 'em for bein short o' wit when they'd had no orderation on it. But tho' he wor varry liberal wi' his advice, ther wor nubdy could charge him wi' bein too liberal wi' his brass, for he'd pairt wi' nowt if he could help it; yet he'd one waikness in his disposition, an' that wor 'at he couldn't say 'Noa' if onybody offered to treat him. Fowk wodn't ha thowt mich abaat that if it hadn't been for him allus draggin in his friend Michael for a share, an' it wor weel known 'at Michael had nivver existed except in his own imagination. If ivver he gate ax'd to a supper or a bit ova feed o' ony sooart, he used to stuff hissen wol he wor foorced to lawse his wayscoit, an' then if ther wor owt left, he'd say: 'If yo'll excuse me, ther's a bit thear 'at aw should like to tak for Michael,' an' he used to fill his pockets wi' th' best o' th' stuff, an' mony a rare blow aght he gate aght o' what wor supposed to be Michael's share. He used to goa to Bradforth market two or three times in a wick, an' he allus kept his een skinned to luk aght for a bargain; an' he didn't care what it wor, owt throo a cabbage to a cartwheel, if he could turn a penny into three-awpence. But he didn't allus mak a gooid spec, for strange to say ther wor other fowk 'at wor quite as wise an' even sharper nor hissen. One day he bowt a white bull cauf, an' he wor sewer he'd getten it as cheap as muck, an' happen he had, but haivver cheap yo buy sich a thing, it's varry likely to cause yo some bother unless yo've somewhear to put it. It wor a varry weet day, an' throo Bradford to Keighley is a long walk, but ther wor nowt else for it unless he tuk it with him on th' train, an' that ud be extra expense, soa he teed a rooap raand its neck an' they started off. It's an' owd sayin' 'at youth will have its fling,' an' this cauf wor detarmined to goa in for its share. Th' rooads worn't i' th' best order, yet they mud ha' managed to wade throo but for th' cauf seemin' to have a strong desire to find aght if Owd Dawdles could swim, an' whenivver it coom to a pond or a puddle it gave him a chonce to try, but like all young caufs it hadn't mich patience, an' th' way it jurk'd him in an' aght worn't varry pleasant for one on 'em. When they'd gooan a mile or two Dawdles wor inclined to think it would ha been cheaper to ha taen it bi rail, to say nowt abaat th' extra comfort. At ony rate it gave him noa troble to drive it, for it seemed to know ivvery step o' th' rooad, an' it seem'd a deeal moor like th' cauf takkin Dawdles nor him takkin th' cauf. He couldn't help but think 'at it had a deeal moor strength nor sense; but altho' he tried to pity it 'coss it hadn't had th' orderation ov it's own heead, he couldn't help blamin it for bein soa detarmined to have th' orderation o' th' way they'd to goa. When they'd getten to th' Bull's Heead he wor ommost finished, an' he thowt as he'd getten soa weet aghtside he'd better get a drop in, an' as he made towards th' door th' cauf went an' backed into th' passage, an' wodn't let him enter a yard. He tried his best to get it to stir, but all to noa use. Wol he wor tewin with it th' landlord wor scalin th' foir i' th' kitchen, an' he thowt he heard sumdy makkin a noise, an' he went to see; an' when he saw Dawdles tryin to pool th' cauf aght o' th' passage he thowt he'd help him, soa he gave it a prod behind wi' th' foir point, an' it flew aght o' th' door as if it had been shot aght ov a cannon, an' its heead happenin to leet i' th' middle o' Dawdles' wayscoit, he tummeld a backard summerset, an' ligged him daan i' th' middle o' th' rooad, an' th' cauf laup'd ovver th' wall o' t'other side an' gallop'd away, whiskin its tail abaat as if it wanted to cast it. Th' landlord went to see Dawdles. 'What's ta dooin thear?' he sed. 'Aw'm waitin' wol sumdy comes to help me up,' he sed. Soa th' landlord helpt him up, an' then sed: 'Come inside an' sit thi daan a bit.' 'Nay, lad, aw've been i' th' Bull's Heead monny a time, but tha's ommust sent th' bull's heead into me to-day. Ther's lots o' young caufs come to yor haase beside yond o' mine, an' yo've a deeal o' bother wi' 'em sometimes aw know, but if yo'll just tickle up wi' th' red wut foir point aw'll bet yo'll get shut on 'em in as little time as yo did that o' mine. All aw wish is 'at tha wor th' cauf an' me th' landlord for five minutes.'

'Well, tha has dropt in for it pretty rough, an' aw think tha's getten aboon thi share, tha mun see if tha cannot give a trifle to Michael.'

Dawdles wodn't answer him, but set off to catch his white bull cauf, an' after chasin it raand for a whole clock haar he gate hold o' th' rooap another time, an' they made another start for hooam. It went varry quietly on nah, an' th' owd chap thowt it ud be a gooid idea, as he wor soa tired, an' as ther wor nobody abaat, to get astride on it an' have a ride. Th' thowt had hardly entered his heead befoor it wor put into practice, but if you could ha seen that cauf yo'd ha been fit to split. It stood stock still for abaat a minit, an' then it started off, gently at furst, but it kept gettin faster an' faster, wol at last it gate into a two up an' two daan gallop, an' Dawdles began to find aght 'at altho' veal wor a nice tender soft sooart o' mait when it wor deead, it grew on varry hard booans when it wor wick, an' he wor twice as anxious to get off an' walk as he had been to get up to ride. He managed to twist th' rooap raand its heead an' he pooled for his life, but it didn't mak a bit o' difference. 'Wo up! connot ta?' he sed, 'tha'rt as heeadstrong as tha'rt strong i'th' heead. If ivver aw have th' orderation o' thee agean aw'll bet aw tak some o' that nowtiness aght on thee.' He'd hardly getten th' words aght ov his maath when, as they wor passin some pighoils 'at stood o' th' roadside, th' cauf made a dash at th' door o' one 'at wor nobbut just heigh enuff for it get in at, brast it oppen, gooin in an' strippin off Dawdles, left him sittin i' th' middle o' th' rooad, wonderin who'd hit him wi a looad o' bricks. Trubbles nivver come singly, an' to mak matters war aght rushed a lot o' pigs 'at rolled him ovver an' ovver wol he couldn't tell when he put up his hand whether it wor on his heead or his hat. Th' furst thing 'at browt him to his senses wor sumdy shakkin him an' shaatin aght, 'What business has ta to let out my pigs? Aw'll ha thi lock'd up!' 'Maister! maister! do let me spaik! Aw've had nowt to do wi' th' orderation o' this mullock, an' if ther's owt lost aw'll pay for it. Hah mony wor ther? Ther's my bull cauf i' th' pighoil an' if yo'll tak care on it for a bit aw'll goa an' see if aw can find th' pigs.'

Th' chap, thowt that wor fair enuff, soa he let him goa, tellin him ther wor six on 'em, an' he must find' em all. Owd Dawdles had nivver had sich a job in his life, it tuk him aboon an haar, an' when he coom back it wor droppin dark.

'Well, has ta fun 'em?'

'Eea, they're all here.'

'Why, whear did ta find 'em?'

'Aw fan one together, an' two bi thersen, an' three amang one o' Amos's.'

'Well, that's all reight, tak thi cauf an' be off hooam. It luks a varry nice en; it's just such a one as aw wor intendin to buy.'

'Yo can have this at yor own price, or aw'll trade wi' yo.'

'Nay, it luks too quiet for my brass, aw'd rayther ha one 'at's a' bit life in it.'

'Well, then, to be honest, aw dooan't think this will suit yo, for aw'm blessed if aw think ther can be much life left i' this considerin what it's let aght sin aw bowt it. Gooid neet.'

'Gooid neet, owd chap. Cannot ta walk i' th' front an' let it suck thi fingers? It ud be sewer to follow.'

'Happen it wod; but th' chap aw bowt it on suckt me quite enuff withaat lettin th' cauf suck me.'

After that he managed to get hooam wi' it withaat ony moor mishaps. It wor varry lat, an' all th' family wor i' bed, but he detarmined he wodn't goa huntin up an' daan for a stable at that time o' neet, soa he unlocked th' door an' tuk it into th' haase an' teed it fast to th' wringin machine i' th' back kitchen, an' then he went upstairs to bed.

'Tha'rt varry lat, Dawdles,' sed his wife, 'has ta ridden or walked?'

'Aw walked pairt o' th' way.'

'Has ta browt owt wi' thee?'

'Eea, aw browt a bit o' mait an' aw've left it daan stairs.'

He crept into bed as well as he could, an' in a minit he wor asleep. As th' cauf had had nowt to ait nor drink all th' day it did not feel varry oomfortable, an' in a bit it went 'B-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!'

'Dawdles! Dawdles!' shoo screamed, an' gave him a dig i' th' ribs 'at made him jump agean.

'What's th' matter wi' thee?' he sed.

'Matter enuff! Didn't ta hear yond din? Ther's summat flaysome getten into th' haase.'

'Aw heeard noa din; it's thee 'at's been dreeamin.'

'Dreeamin! Aw've nooan been dreeamin! Ger up an' see what ther is to do! Thear's a boggard i' th' haase as sewer as aw'm here!'

'Ne'er heed it! goa to sleep an' it'll nooan mell on thee.'

'Sleep! Awst sleep nooan! Awst lig wakken o' purpose to listen. A'a! men havn't a spark o' feelin! Thear, he's snoarin agean.'

'B-o-o-o-o-o-o-h! B-o-o-o-o-o-o-h!'

'Dawdles! Dawdles! wakken, lad; do wakken! It's th' dule hissen an' nubdy else. A'a! whativver mun we do, an' ther hasn't one o' th' childer been to th' Sunday schooil for a fortnit! Do get up lad, do!'

'Aw tell thee aw shalln't get up as what it is; but aw hooap if he's comed for onybody 'at he'll tak thee furst, an' then aw can get a bit o' sleep.'

'Tha'rt a brute! an' mi mother allus sed aw should find it aght! But aw'm baan to have yond childer aght o' bed.'

Up shoo jumpt an' went to wakken 'em, an' he wor soa worn aght 'at he dropt off to sleep agean. Sich a hullaballoo as ther wor i' that shop when all th' eight childer wor up, yo nivver heeard, for th' cauf kept at it, an' ther worn't one i' th' lot dar goa to see what it wor. At last they threw up th' chamer winder and skriked wi' all ther might. Th' neighbours wor up in a crack, an' th' poleese coom runnin to see what ther wor to do.

'Ther's a boggard i' th' haase!' they cried aght. 'Do see what it is, poleeseman, if yo pleeas.'

But as th' door wor lockt, an' nooan on 'em dar goa daan stairs to oppen it, ther wor noa way to do but to braik a winder pane, soa th' poleese smashed one ank stuck his heead an' his lantern in an' lewkt all raand, but ov coorse he could see nowt. But just as he wor baan to back aght th' cauf gave another 'B-o-o-h!' Daan dropt his lantern inside, an' away flew his heead aghtside, an' all th' fowk cluthered raand him an' ax'd him what he'd seen.

'Aw've seen nowt,' he sed, 'but aw've heeard summat.'

One o' th' childer upstairs shaats aght, 'Aw believe it's i'th' back kitchen.' An' away they all ran raand to see if they could see it thear. Another poleese had come up, soa he gate his lantern an' held it cloise to th' winder, an' ther wor sich a skrike an' a skutter as yo nivver heeard nor saw. Ther wor noa mistak abaat it nah, for they'd all seen it; them 'at hadn't seen th' een had seen th' horns, an' ther wor one or two 'at declared they'd seen a tail. Then they held a long confab as to what they'd better do, an' th' wimmen sed they thowt it wor th' duty o' th' poleese to goa in an' tak him up whativver he wor; but th' poleese didn't see it, for, sed one on 'em, 'If he's th' chap aw think he is he might tak us daan wol we wor tryin to tak him up.' At last a chap says, 'Aw've a gun, let's shooit him.' They all agreed wi' that, an' he went an' fotched his gun. Ther wor a gooid deeal o' squarin abaat when he coom back, befoor he could get fair aim; but at last th' poleese gate his bull's eye on th' bull's eyes. Bang! it went, an' th' boggard disappeared. Owd Dawdles wor varry saand asleep, but when th' gun went off he wakkened, an' wonderin what could be to do, he pooled on his britches an' ran daan stairs an' oppened th' door just as all th' fowk wor comin raand to try an' get in, for they hadn't a back door.

'We've peppered him his nut whoivver he is,' sed th' poleese.

'Peppered whose nut? What docs ta mean?' sed Owd Dawdles.

'We've shot th' boggard i'th' back kitchen.'

'Boggard be hang'd! Ther's noa boggard i'th' kitchen. It's nowt, nobbut a white bull cauf! Hev yo all lost yor wit?'

Dawdles went to see what wor th' matter an' t'others followed him; but when they saw what a mistak they'd made, the mooast on 'em slink'd off for fear they wud hev to pay for some o'th' damage. Dawdles wor ommost ranty abaat it when he saw it ligged deead, but he said as little as he could, for his furst thowt wor hah mich brass he could mak on it as it war. 'Well,' he sed, 'it's deead enuff, soa ther's nowt for it but to send for a butcher an' hey it killed, for aw knaw it'll be a bit ov as nice mait as ivver wor etten.' Soa he fotched a butcher an' had it skinned an' dressed, an' as he lukt at it he thowt it happen wodn't turn aght so varry bad after all, an' as th' poleese paid for th' winder, an' th' wife an' th' childer fettled up withaat sayin' a word, he decided to be as quiet as he could an' mak th' best of his bargain. Th' fact is he thowt it had nobbut sarved it reight, considerin' what a life it had led him th' day befoor. After a bit o' braikfast he set off to see if he could find a customer for it, but th' tale had flown all ovver th' district, an' whearivver he went he gate soa chaffed abaat it wol he wor fain to go back hooam.

'Nah, lass,' he sed to his wife, 'aw've tried all ovver, an' aw cannot sell a pund o' that cauf, so ther's nowt for it but to set to an ait it, for aw'm detarmined it shalln't be wasted.'

'Why, Dawdles, tha knows we can nivver ait it wol it's sweet.'

'Aw dooan't care whether it's sweet or saar, it'll have to be etten, soa tha'd better set to an' salt it, for ther isn't another aance o' mait comes into this haase till that's etten.'

Shoo did as shoo wor tell'd, an' shoo stew'd th' heead an' made some cauf-heead broth, an' rare an' nice it wor. Next day they had a rooast, an' th' childer sed they wished ther fayther'd buy another cauf when that wor done. It went on varry weel for th' furst wick, but towards th' end o'th' second they'd rayther ha' seen a boggard walk into th' haase nor another piece o' that cauf walk on to th' table. But Dawdles wor as gooid as his word, an' long befoor it wor done he declared it wor th' cheapest mait he ivver bowt. But aitin soa mich o' one sooart o' stuff seemed to have a strange-effect o'th' childer, for they fair seem'd to grow gaumless an' th' hair o' ther heead stood up like a caah toppin, an' Dawdles hissen wor terrified if one on 'em complained ov a pain i' ther heead, for fear th' horns should be buddin'.

'Nah, then, hah long are ta baan to praich,' sed one o'th' chaps 'at had been lissenin' to this tale, 'does ta know 'at it's ommost twelve o'clock?'

'Why, nivver heed! It's th' last day i'th' year, an' we'st all have halliday to-morn. Aw havn't tell'd yo hauf o'th' queer tricks he's noated for yet. Did yo ivver hear tell abaat that umbrella o' his 'at he lost at Bradforth market?'

'Noa an' we dooan't want to hear ony moor to neet,' they sed, as they gate up an' knockt th' ash aght o' ther pipes, 'tha's tell'd us quite enough for a Kursmiss stoary, an' tha mun save th' rest for th' New Year.'

Soa they all trudged off to ther hooams to get a warm supper an' let ther wives sympathise wi' 'em, for havin' to tramp an' tew wol past twelve o'clock at neet to mak a bit ov a livin' for them 'at wor caar'd warm an' comfortable at hooam.



Property Huntin'.

Ther's soa monny different sooarts o' fooils 'at it's hard to tell which is th' warst, an' th' best on us do fooilish things at times. It's varry fooilish for a young chap at's a paand a wick to live at th' rate o' twenty-five shillin', for hahivver clivver he may be at figures he'll be sure to find hissen in a hobble befoor long. Aw once knew a chap they called "Gentleman Dick:" he wor nobbut a warp dresser, but to see him ov a neet, when he wor donned up an' walking throo th' streets twirlin' his cane, yo'd ha' taen him to be a gentleman's son at th' varry leeast. Fowk 'at knew him sed he had to live o' mail porrige all th' wick, an' a red yearin for a treeat on a Sunday, to enable him to get new clooas, an', as it wor, he owed soa monny tailors' bills 'at when he heeard a knock at th' door he allus had to luk aght o'th' chamer winder to see who it wor befoor he dar oppen it. But whativver he had to put up wi he nivver grummeld, an' Setterdy neet an Sundy wor th' time 'at he enjoyed hissen to his heart's content. One day when he wor aght dooin the grand, he met wi a young woman i'th' train gooin to Briggus, an' he showed her soa mich attention wol shoo tuk quite a fancy to him, an' when he ax'd her if he might see her hooam, shoo blushed an' sed shoo didn't mind if he did. Shoo wor a varry nice lass an' dressed as grand as yo'd wish to see an' Dick sed such nice things to her, an' shoo smiled an' luk'd soa delighted wi him wol he hardly knew what ailed him. When they coom to some gates leeadin to a varry big hall shoo held aght her hand to bid him gooid-bye, for shoo sed, 'I'm at home now.' Dick begged hard on her to promise to meet him agean, an' at last it wor arranged shoo'd see him next Sundy neet on th' canal bank at Brookfooit. All th' next wick Dick's mates couldn't tell what to mak on him; he gave ovver singin' 'Slap Bang' an' 'Champagne Charlie,' an' tuk to practisin' 'Gooid-bye, Sweetheart' an' 'Bonny Jean,' an' whenivver he'd a minit or two to spare he wor scrapin' his finger nails or twistin' th' two or three hairs 'at he wor tryin to coax into a mustash. Sundy coom at last, an' what wi curlin' his hair, an' practisin' all sooarts o' nods an' bows i'th' front o'th' lukkin'-glass it filled up th' furst pairt o'th' day. He started off i' gooid time an' wor at th' meetin' place to a minit, an' shoo worn't long after him.

It's a gooid job at happiness is short-lived, for if his had lasted long he'd ha gooan cleean off th' side. Ivvery Sundy neet he tuk her for a walk, an' what delighted him moor nor all wor to find 'at shoo worn't a bit stuck up—real ladies nivver are. He gate to know 'at her name wor Matilda, an' 'at shoo wor nobbut twenty-five year old, an' had two nice little properties ov her own, an' he tell'd her 'at he had a share in a big consarn, an' after they'd met an' walked an' tawk'd a few times he began ta be varry anxious for her to name th' happy day. Shoo made a lot o' excuses an' sed shoo didn't know what her father 'd say, but Dick sooin showed her 'at it wor a varry easy thing ta manage it withaht lettin' him know, an' he begged soa hard wol, after a deeal o' sobbin' an' gettin' him to sware 'at he'd allus love her as weel as he did just then, an' 'at come what wod he'd nivver forsake her, shoo gave her consent.

When Dick bid her gooid neet an' had watched her in at th' gate, he couldn't help turnin' raand an' smilin' at th' idea 'at in a few days he'd be son-in-law to a gentleman 'at lived i' sich a style as that. Ther wor nowt for it but to be wed bi licence, an' hah to get th' brass Dick couldn't tell, but at last he detarmined to tell one ov his shopmates all abaht it, an' ax him to advance him twenty paand, to be paid back as sooin as he gate th' properties. Th' chap agreed to let him have it if he'd give him five paand for interest, an' th' bargain wor sooin struck. Dick lost noa time i' gettin' th' licence, an' they met one mornin' an' went to th' church, an' wor teed as fast as th' law o'th' land could do it. He didn't know what shoo'd say when he tuk her to his hooam, for it wor nobbut a haase an' chamer an' varry little furnitur, tho' he'd fettled it up an' made it lewk as smart as he could. They went to a public-haase to ther dinner, an' then they tuk a long raand abaat way hooam, an' as they kept callin' for a refresher it wor neet when they landed.

As sooin as ivver they entered th' door he began to mak all sooarts o' excuses abaat it bein' humble, but shoo stopt him in a minit, for shoo sed 'shoo didn't care hah little it wor soa long as shoo wor th' mistress, for shoo'd getten reight daan stall'd o' sarvice.' 'Why,' he sed, 'tha knaws nowt abaat sarvice Matilda, dear?' 'Aw should think aw owt to do,' shoo sed, 'for aw've been i' place ivver sin aw could walk ommost.' Dick stared like a throttled cat for a minit, for he couldn't believe his awn ears. 'Aren't ta thi father's dowter?' he sed. 'Why aw should think soa—whose dowter does ta think aw am?' 'But isn't that thi father 'at lives i' yond big haase?' 'What are ta tawkin abaat?' shoo sed, 'why th' chap 'at lives i' that haase is one o'th' richest chaps i' Briggus—aw wor nobbut th' haasemaid thear—my father lives at Salterhebble, an' hawks watter cress.' 'Why then, whear did ta get thi two properties 'at tha tell'd me tha had?' Matilda sat daan in a cheer, an' covered her face wi her handkertchy, an' began cryin' as if her heart wor braikin.

This touched Dick, for he wor ov a tender sooart, an' he did like her after all, soa he drew his cheer to her side, an' put his arm raand her waist an' tawk'd pratly to her an' tell'd her shoo shouldn't ha sed shoo had 'em if shoo hadn't. 'But it's true eniff,' shoo sed; 'aw wish it worn't, for that's what causes me to have sich an uneasy mind.' 'Why what's th' reason on it? Is ther some daat as to who's th' reight owner? Or is ther a morgage on 'em? Give ower freeatin', an if it's a fine day to-morn we'll goa an' luk at 'em.' 'Ther's noa daat who belangs to 'em; a woman has 'em aght at nurse at Sowerby Brig.' 'At nurse? At nurse? What does ta mean? An' is that what tha ment bi thi two properties? Tha'rt a deceitful gooid-for-nowt! To think 'at aw should wed a woman wi two childer!' 'Why, tha didn't expect aw should have two elephans, did ta? But tha needn't let it bother thee mich, for one 'em's a varry little en.' 'Awst nivver be able to put mi heead aght o'th' door ageean as long as aw live.' 'Nivver heed, lad, awl stop at hooam an' keep thee cumpny.' 'Well, but awl tell thee, tha'll be suckt, for aw hevn't a penny i'th' world, an' awm nowt but a warp dresser, an' cannot addle aboon two-an'-twenty shillin' a wick, an' awm ovver heead an' heels i' debt, soa tha'll be capt abaat that!' 'Nay awm nooan capt, coss aw knew it all monny a wick sin, for aw made it i' mi way to mak a few enquiries, an' if tha'rt satisfied aw am, an' ther's nubdy else owt to do wi it.' 'Aw've getten quite enuff to satisfy me, but tha can bet thi booits if it's ivver my luck to goa coortin ageean, awl mak it i' my way to mak a few enquiries.' 'Well, it's allus safer but aw dooant think tha'll ivver have th' chonce for nooan o' awr family dee young, but here's a two-a-three paand aw've managed to save, an' it'll happen help to pay some o' thi debts. What time is it? aw feel sleepy.' 'Aw think it's time to lock up.' Two days after, Dick sell'd up an' they went to America; he's been thear monny a year nah, an' th' last time aw heeard on him he'd getten some moor properties.



Abraham's Sparrib.

Old Abraham wor a jolly sooart ov a chap, an' he luk'd like it, for he'd a face ommost as big as a warmin pan, and it tuk ommost as mich stuff to mak him a waistcoit as wod mak some chaps a suit o' clooas, an' fowk 'at knew him varry weel sed he wor as fond ov his guts as he wor praad on 'em. Be that as it may, ther wor seldom a feed onywhear for two or three miles raand but what Abe wor sure to be thear, an' ther wornt a place within a day's march, whear they made a gooid meal for little brass, but what he knew it. When he wor young he wor put 'prentice to a cook-shop, but befoor he'd been a year th' chap failed, an' when th' bums had fetched aat all th' bits o' furniture, the maister stood opposite young Abe, wi tears in his een, an' he sed, 'Abraham, if tha'd been livin when thi name-sake wor, it wod ha been a bad job for th' Israelities. Awve tewd hard for monny a year, an' after all, awve nowt to see for it but thee.' 'Well,' sed Abe, 'its a bitter pill, noa daat, but yo mun swallow it as weel as yo can.' 'Swallow it! if it wor thee tha mud swallow it, for tha's swallowed all ther wor, an thart all ther is left for mi pains.'

'Well, maister, yo cannot charge me wi ingratitude for awve stuck to yo to th' last, an if yo like to start another shop, yo'll find me to depend on.' 'Aw dooant daat thi for a minnit, lad, but to be plain wi' thi, it'll be noa use me oppenin another shop unless tha shuts thine up.' Soa they parted, an Abe grew into a man, an wheariver he wor fed he didn't disgrace his pastur. At th' time awm tellin abaat he worked in a warehaase wi two or three moor, an' one mornin when th' waggon coom ther wor a big parcel for Abe, an' one o' thease chaps couldn't do but luk what wor in it, an' yo may fancy ha suited they wor when they saw a side o' sparrib. It wor sooin decided to have a lark, an' one o'th' chaps propooased to send it to th' 'Three Doves,' wi orders to cook it for th' supper, and to provide puttates &c. for a duzzen. Abe wornt long befoor he coom, soa one on 'em tell'd him 'at they'd been tawkin abaat having a bit ov a doo, an' they should be varry glad if he'd join 'em. Abe sed he had an engagement, but he'd put it off, an' they mud expect him.

They knew a few chums 'at could enjoy a spree an' soa they invited 'em to mak up th' number, an' let' em into th' secret. At eight o' clock they wor all i' ther places, an' in coom a big dish wi' this sparrib nicely rooasted. Abe wor vooated into th' cheer to cut it up an' deeal it aat, an' he did it wi' a willin hand. After sarvin 'em all he helped hissen, an' it began to disappear like magic. Abe thowt he'd niver been at sich a jolly do in his life, ivery body seemed i' sich gooid spirits, an' they laft wol he feeared they'd chooak. He wor as jolly as ony on 'em, but he didn't let it interfere wi' his business. Come lads,' he sed, 'pass up yor plates! let's see if we connot finish it, for awm sure its grand.' They wornt at all backward at bein helpt a second time, and rare gooid suppers they made. When th' aitin stuff wor sided, glasses o' hot punch coom in, for which ivery body paid a share, an' then one o'th' chaps propooased th' health o'th' gentleman 'at had given em' sich a treat. Another seconded it an' it wor carried. Abraham called for th' name, but they sed that wor a secret, but as he didn't get up to respond, they'd be mich obliged if Abe wod do so for him. Abe wor allus fond o' makkin a speech, soa he wor up in a minit. 'Gentlemen,' he sed, 'awm glad to see yo,—yo've done justice to what's been provided, an' awm sure yo're varry welcome.' When he sed this ther wor sich clappin an' stampin wol he wor foorced to drop it an' sit daan, an' he couldn't help thinkin 'at noa speech o' his had made sich an impression befoor.

After gettin warmed up wi punch, he tell'd 'em 'at he expected some sparrib comin th' next day, an' it had been his intention to mak a bit ov a doo an' invite 'em all, but as they'd had sich a supper that neet, he knew they wodn't enjoy another off th' same sooart o' mait, soa he shouldn't ax 'em. They all sed they'd had enuff for a week, but they thanked him all th' same, an' after singing 'For he's a jolly gooid fellow,' they went hooam.—Next day Abraham wor lukkin aght for his sparrib, but it didn't come, an' day after day he wor disappointed, an as th' chaps laft ivery time he mentioned it, a thowt began to creep into his noddle, 'at he'd been done.—He niver grumbled, but he's takken care to have his parcels 'livered at hooam sin then.



A Run ovver th' Year.

"A gooid beginin maks a gooid endin," fowk say, soa let's mak a gooid beginnin o'th year. But aw dooant altogether agree wi' thease old sayins, for aw've known monny a gooid beginnin 'at's come to a fearful bad endin, an' my advice to ony body 'at's startin owt is, niver crow till th' finish. Aw once heeard tell ov a young woman at wor a reglar glaid; one o' them sooart 'at nubdy could do owt wi'; tawk abaat taming a shrew! why, net all th' shrews in Shrewsbury wor a match for her. But a chap 'at lived net far off, thowt shoo wor a varry bonny lass, an' he felt sure he could manage her, soa he went an' made love in his best fashion, an' ivery time shoo call'd him a nasty offald scamp, he sed he lov'd hur moor an' moor; soa at last shoo cooil'd daan, an' all things were made sweet, an' befoor long they gate wed. Ov coorse they'd a few friends to ther drinkin, an' a bit ov a donce at after, an' then a drop o' whisky an' hot water, an' when th' husband had getten a glass or two into him, he began to tell th' cumpany ha he'd tamed hur. 'Why,' he sed, 'aw can do owt aw like wi' her nah, shoo's as gentle as a lamb.' 'If that's thy noation,' shoo says, 'th' sooiner tha gets shut on it an' th' better!' Soa shoo made noa moor to do, but gave him a crack ovver th' nooas wi' her naive, an' in abaat a minit it wor swell'd as big as a cauf blether. He made a gurt din an' quavered abaat a bit, but it wor noa use for shoo wor th' maister on him, an' ivver after that he let her do as shoo liked, for he sed 'nowt suited him as mich as to see her suit hersen.' But ther wor fowk 'at used to wink an say, 'poor beggar!'

Th' next comes Valentine's day, an' 'On Valentine's day will a gooid gooise lay,' is a varry old sayin, an' aw dar say a varry gooid en; an' if all th' geese wod nobbut lay o' that day ther'd be moor chonce o' eggs bein cheap. But it isn't th' geese we think on at th' fourteenth o' this month, it's th' little ducks, an' th' billy dux. A'a aw wish aw'd all th' brass 'at's spent o' valentines for one year; aw wodn't thank th' Queen to be mi aunt. Ther's nubdy sends me valentines nah. Aw've known th' time when they did, but aw'm like a old stage cooach, aw'm aght o' date. Aw'st niver forget th' furst valentine aw had sent; th pooastman browt it afoor aw'd getten aght o' bed, an' it happen'd to be Sunday mornin. Aw read it ovver and ovver agean, an' aw luk'd at th' directions an' th' pooast mark, but aw cudn't mak aght for mi life who'd sent it; but whoiver it wor aw wor detarmined to fall i' love wi her as sooin as aw gate to know. Then aw shov'd it under th' piller an' shut mi een an' tried to fancy what sooart ov a lass shoo must be, an' someha aw fell asleep, an' aw dremt,—but aw will'nt tell yo what aw dremt for fear yo laaf. But when aw wakken'd aw sowt up an' daan, but nowhear could aw find th' valentine. Aw wor ommost heart-broken, an' aw pool'd all th' cloas off th' bed an' aw luk'd under it, an' ovver it, but net a bit on it could aw see, an at last aw began to fancy 'at aw must ha dremt all th' lot, an' 'at aw'd niver had one sent at all; but when aw wor gettin' mi breeches on, blow me! if it worn't stuck fast wi a wafer to mi shirt lap. What her 'at sent it ud a sed if shoo'd seen it, aw can't tell, an' aw wodn't if aw could; but aw know one thing, aw wor niver i' sich a muck sweat afoor sin aw wor born, an when aw went to mi breakfast aw wor soa maddled wol aw couldn't tell which wor th' reight end o'th' porridge spooin, but aw comforted misen at last wi' thinking at aw worn't th' furst at had turned ther back ov a valentine.

Nah, th' vally ov a thing depends oft o'th' use ov a thing; her's an old sayin 'A peck o' March dust is worth a king's ransom,' but aw should think 'at th' vally o'th' ransom owt to depend o'th' vally o'th' king. It's oft capt me ha it is 'at becos one chap is son ov a king, an' another is son ov a cart-driver, 'at one should be soa mich moor thowt on nor tother. Noa daat we should all be sons an' dowters o' kings an' queens if we could, but then ther'd have to be a deal moor kings an' queens, or else they'd niver be able to keep th' stock up. Net 'at awm findin fault wi' awr Queen, net aw marry! shoo's done her best noa daat, an' her childer seem tryin to follow her example. But then, when princes an' princesses get moor plentyful they'll be less thowt on; it'll be th' same wi' them as it wor wi' th' umbrellas at one time, for th' chap 'at had th' furst wor run after wi' ivery body, an' when ther were nobbut two or three, fowk allus ran to th' winder to have a luk at 'em; but whoiver runs to luk at umbrellas nah? It wor th' same wi' steam engines, it's getten th' same wi' velosipeeds, an it'll be th' same wi' princes, princesses, or owt else, as sooin as they get common, unless they've summat moor to depend on nor a grand title, fowk ull tak but little noatice. We cannot all be fine fowk, but we may all be gooid fowk, if we try, an' a gooid cart-driver ull be better nor a bad king at th' finish. Rich fowk ha troubles as weel as poor, but ther's noa need for onybody to be troubled long; for if its summat they can't help its fooilish to freeat, an' if its summat they can help, why the deuce don't they?

Its fooilish to freeat, but fowk will freeat sometimes. Well, nivver heed! 'April shaars bring May flowers,' soa we willn't grumel if we get catched i' one nah an' then an' get a gooid sooaking, for ther's nowt i'th' world bonnier nor flaars, even cauliflaars. Ther's lots o' bonny things i'th' world besides flaars; ther's bonny words, an' if fowk wod nobbut use 'em we should all get on a deeal better. Aw remember once bein in a public haase, an' ther wor two chaps sat quietly suppin ther pints o' fourpenny, when all at once one o' ther wives coom in, an her een fair blazed when shoo saw him. 'O, soa tha'rt here are ta?' shoo began, 'soa this is th' way th' brass gooas is it! tha nasty gooid-for-nowt! Aw could like to smash thi face! sittin thear throo morn to neet sossin like a pig, an' leavin me an' th' childer to do as we con! Ha con ta fashion? Tha desarves teein to a cart tail an' hidin' throo th' streets, tha low-lived villain! All th' time shoo wor talkin shoo wor shakin her neive in his face, an' when he could edge in a word he sed. 'Aw'l tell thee what it is, this is nobbut mi third pint to-day, an' aw wor just commin hooam, but tha can hook it, for aw shall come when aw'm ready, an net before, an' that will'nt be yet a bit.' Just wol they wor fratchin tother chap's wife coom seekin him, an' as sooin as shoo saw him shoo smiled an' sed, 'O, aw've fun thi, come lad, aw want thee at hooam, awr little Jack has getten his new clogs on an' he will'nt let me put him to bed till tha's seen 'em, tha'll be like to come.' 'Howd a minit,' he sed, as he emptied his pint, then he went away wi' her. Tother stopt. Soa mich for kindness.

An' ther's moor ways nor one o' bein kind. Nah, yo've oft heeard fowk say, 'Niver cast a claot till May goas aght.' That's all varry gooid as far as regards top coits an' flannel shirts an sich like. But ther's another thing, its just abaat th' time for fowk to get new clooas an' throw off th' old ens; an' aw've a word or two to say abaat that, for ther's some poor fowk aw see sometimes 'at cannot cast a claot; th' fact is, they've nowt else to put on. Ha monny scoor fowk do we meet as we walk abaat, 'ats hardly a rag to ther back, or aw should say they've nowt but rags, an' that's what prevents 'em havin a chonce to addle brass to buy ony fresh ens. Ha monny have to creep aght o'th' seet, into ony sooart ov a low hoil, mix up wi bad compny,—first pine, then beg, then stail—an' all this becoss they've had th' misfortun to be ragged. If ther's one thing moor nor another 'at fowk mak a mistak in, it's sellin ther old clooas. Some may say they can't affoord to give 'em: Then aw say, wear 'em a bit longer till yo can; ther'll somdy be thankful for 'em after then. Ivery body can affoord to be charitable to a certain extent, an' ther's noa charity does as mich gooid wi as little cost as givin yor old clooas. Luk what comfort yo give a chap; then as sooin as he sees his sen luk respectable, he begins to want to be soa, he feels to have moor pluck, he doesn't hing daan his heead, he's a better chonce to win a honest livin, an' yo may safely think yo've gien a chap a lift on his way, when yo've gien him yor old clooas.

'If the 8th of June is a rainy day, it foretells a wet harvest, so men say,' but whether it does or it doesn't aw cannot tell: if it does we mun mak th' best on it, that's all; but we've one bit o' comfort left even then, for its sure to be fair at Halifax o'th' 24th. It's grand to goa to th' Fair an' see fowk starin at th' pictures; an' its cappin to harken to th' show fowk shaatin an' bawlin an' tellin all sooarts o' tales to draw th' brass aght o' yor pockets. Then ther's th' swingin booats, them's for cooarters: they're a grand institution for young fowk, for if a chap can get his young woman to get in, he's sure of a chonce to get his arm raand her waist, an' give her a bit of a squeeze. Then ther's th' flyin' horses, whear a chap can get made mazy for a penny: wheniver aw see 'em they allus remind me ov a chap aw knew; he stood abaat six foot two in his stockin feet, an' weighed abaat six stooan an' a hauf; an' one day he'd been poorly a bit, soa he thowt he'd ax a friend 'at had a donkey if he'd lend it him. 'Tha can have it an' welcome,' th' chap said, 'but aw'm feeard thi legs is too long.' 'Oh ne'er heed that,' he sed, 'if aw find 'em to trail aw'l hold 'em up.' Soa he gate it, an as he wor varry leet they went on nicely for a bit, but just as he wor comin on Charlestaan, a chap stopt him to ax him what they called that old church, soa he dropt daan his feet on to'th floor and began to explain an' as sooin as he'd done that, th' donkey walked away leavin him thear striddlin like a clooas peg. As sooin as he'd finished he sed 'gie up!' an he thowt o' sittin daan; an' he did, but it wor soa mich lower daan wol he thowt his back wor brokken; when he luk'd raand he saw Neddy trottin up th' Haley Hill. 'Tha's tow't me a lesson,' he sed, 'an' for th' futur, as long as iver aw can do for misen, aw'l niver seek onybody's ass istance.

Ther's nowt like bein independent, an mooast fowk have a chonce if they'll nobbut 'mak hay wol th' sun shines,' an' if yo dooant mak it then yo'll niver be able to mak it at ony other time. If yo want to mak love, yo can mak that when th' mooin shines, but it will'nt do for hay. Aw remember a queer tale 'at they used to tell ov a chap 'at had some strange nooations, an' allus thowt his own way best. An' one day as some chaps were gooin past his farm, they saw him runnin up an' daan i' th' front o' th' lathe, wi' a empty wheelbarro, and then rush in, an' upset it, and aght agean. 'Why,' says one, 'aw'm sure Ike must be crack'd, whativer can he be dooin?' Soa they went to ax him. 'What's up nah Ike?' said one, 'tha'll kill thisen if tha gooas on like that, are ta trainin for a match or summat?' 'Yo dooant know,' sed Ike, 'but aw'l let yo into a saycret; yo see aw'd getten all th' grass cut yesterday, an' aw fancied it wor baan to rain, soa aw haased it just green as it wor, an' nah aw'm wheelin sunshine in to dry it wi.' 'Well, tha'rt a bigger fooil nor aw tuk thi for! Does ta think tha can wheel sunshine into th' lathe, same as horse-muck?' 'Thee mind thi own business,' says Ike, 'aw should think aw've lived long enuff to know what aw'm dooin, an' when aw want taichin aw'll send for thee.' Soa they left him to his wheelin, but ha long he kept at it they didn't know, but in a few days they saw him agean an' axed him ha he fan his system to answer? An' he says 'Why, aw dooant get on varry weel, but it is'nt th' fault o' th' system, th' fact is, aw connot do it till aw get a bigger barro. But he wod'nt give in. An' ther's lots o' th' same sooart.

Perseverance is a grand thing. If it wornt for tewin, an' sewin, an' plowin whear wod th' harvest be? An ther's noa greater blessin nor a gooid harvest. Ther's a deal o' fowk have a harvest abaat this time. Flaar shows reap a benefit if th' weather be fine. Ther's nowt aw like better nor to goa to a flaar show, moor especially sich as th' Haley Hill, Ovenden, Siddal, or Elland, or ony other, whear th' mooast o' th' stuff has been grown bi workin fowk. Th' plants may'nt be as bonny, but they luk bonnier to me, an' they tell a tale 'at yo cannot mistak. Ha monny haars' enjoyment have they gien to th' fowk 'ats growin 'em? An' ha oft have they kept chaps aght o' th' alehaase? An' then see ha praad prize winners are! Aw allus feel sooary 'at they cannot all win th' furst prize, for aw'm sure they desarve it for ther trouble. An' if yo nooatice, yo're sure to see a nice cheerful woman or two, stood cloise aside o'th' plants 'at's wun owt, an' if yo wait a bit yo'll see her ivery nah an' then, touch somdy o'th' elbow as they're gooin past, an' point at th' ticket an' say, 'sithee, them's awr's!' 'What them 'at's won th' prize?' 'Eea.' 'Why they're grand uns!' An' then shoo'l whisper in her ear, 'Ther's nubdy can touch aw'r Simon 'at growin thease, tha sees he understands it.' A'a Simon! shoo's a deeal o' faith i' thee, an' if tha's made muck wi thi clogs sometimes when tha's trailed in withaat wipin thi feet, shoo forgives thi nah. Wimmen's varry soft after all an' its as weel it is soa, for ther's monny a gooid harvest a' happiness been gethered in at wod ha been lost but for a soft word or two.