Another old sayin', 'September blow soft, till the fruit's i'th' loft,' for if strong winds blow nah it'll spoil all th' apples an' stuff, an' it'll be soa mich war for fowk 'at has to addle ther livin for whativer else fowk differ abaat, aw think they're all agreed o' one point, an' that is, ther's noa livin long withaat aitin. But it's hard wark gettin a livin nah days, an' them 'at's comfortably off owt to be thankful. But it's cappin i' what queer ways some fowk do get a livin! Aw knew a chap once 'at stood abaat seven feet, an' he wor soa small he luk'd like a walkin clooas prop. Talk abaat skin and grief! aw niver did see sich a chap, an' his face luk'd to be all teeth an' een. He used to waive a bit at one time, but he gate seck'd becos his maister catched him asleep in a stove pipe. But one day he wor wanderin abaat, an' wonderin ha to get a livin, an' in a bit a chap comes up to him, an' says, 'Does ta want a job?' 'Aw do that, can yo find me one, maister?' he sed. 'Well,' says th' chap, 'tha'rt just th' lad 'at aw want if tha'll goa, for aw keep a druggist's shop at Sowerby Brig, an' if tha'll stand i'th' winder an' flay fowk into fits as they goa past, aw'll gie thee a paand a wick.' 'It's a bargain,' he sed, 'an' he went wi' him, an' aw've been tell'd 'at that druggist made a fortun i' twelve months wi nowt but sellin fit physic. Whether that's true or net aw will'nt say, but aw'm sure ther's some fowk at Sowerby Brig 'at dooant seem altogether reight even yet.

An' its hardly to be wondered at, for one hauf o'th' fowk we meet i'th' streets on a neet, seem to be druffen. Aw hear some queer tales sometimes, but aw dooant tell all aw know. 'Ale sellers shouldn't be tale tellers.' But aw'm sooary to say at th' mooast ale sellers at' aw know are varry fond o' taletellin. Ther's nowt shows a chap's littleness as mich as to be allus talkin abaat his own or somdy else's private affairs; an' ther's nowt likely to produce moor bother nor that system o' tittle tattlin abaat other fowk's consarns. Ther's a deal o' blame ligg'd o' th' wimmen sometimes, for gossipin ovver a sup o' rum an' tea: an' noa daat its true enuff, but aw think some o' th' men hav'nt mich room to talk, for they gossip as mich ovver ther ale as ivver wimmen do ovver ther tea. Little things 'at's sed in a thowtless way sometimes cause noa end o' bother, an' it's as weel to be careful for ther's trouble enuff. A chap an' his wife 'at lived neighbors to me, had a word or two one neet, an' soa shoo went up stairs to sulk; an' when he sat daan to his supper he thowt he'd have her on a bit, soa he cut all th' mait off a booan, an' then he sed to' his oldest lass. 'Here, Mary! Tak this up stairs to thi mother an' tell her 'at thi father has sent her a booan to pick.' Th' lass tuk it up to her mother an' tell'd her 'at her father'd sent it, an' as sooin as shoo saw it, shoo says, 'Tak it him back, an' tell him 'at he isn't thi father, an' that'll be a booan for him to pick.'—An' it wor an' all, an' it's stuck in his throit to this day, soa yo see what bother that's caused.

It's nivver wise to be rackless naythur i' word nor deed, for whativver yo plot an plan agean other fowk it's ommost sewer to roll back on yorsens an' trap yor tooas if it does nowt else; 'Fowk 'at laik wi' fire mun expect a burn.' An soa all yo 'at intend to keep up Gunpaader plot munnot grummel if yo get warmed a bit. But gunpaader plot isn't th' only plot 'at gets browt to a finish this month; ther's lots o' plottin an' planin besides that. Ther's monny a chap 'at's been langin for a year or two to be made a taan caancillor 'at's been havin all his friends to ther supper, an' 'at for th' last month or two has been stoppin fowk 'at he's met, an' shakin hands wi 'em, an' axin all abaat ha ther wives an' childer are gettin on, tho' he's passed th' same fowk monny a hundred times befoor an' nivver spokken to 'em at all. It's all plottin. A'a this little bit o' pride! A'a this desire to be summat thowt on! Aw dooant know ha we should get on withaat it! Ther's a gooid deeal o' califudge i'th' world after all, but aw dooant think it does mich harm, for mooast fowk can see throo it. But it allus maks me smile when aw goa to a ward meetin, an' hear furst one an' then another get up an' thank a caancillor for dooin soa mich for 'em, an' prayin 'at he'll suffer hissen to be re-elected; when at th' same time they know 'at he's ready to fall ov his knees to beg on 'em to send him agean. Well, aw dooant know why a chap shouldn't be thanked for dooin that 'at's a pleasure to hissen an' a benefit to others! It's nobbut th' same as me writin this, it suits me to write it, an' it suits others to read it, yet aw think aw'm entitled to some thanks after all.

But one munnot expect to get all they're entitled to, an' its a jolly gooid job we dooant, for if we did ther'd be a lot on us 'at ud have to be burried at th' public expense. We're nooan on us too gooid, but 'It's niver too late to mend,' an' it's niver too sooin to begin, soa nah 'at we've getten to th' end ov another year, let us carefully reckon up an see ha we stand. Aw fancy we shall all find 'at ther's lots o' room for improvement yet, an' ther's nowt at yo can do 'at's likely to give yo moor satisfaction nor to detarmine to do better for th' future. A chap's allus awther better or war at th' end o'th' year nor what he wor at th' beginnin, an aw'm sure iverybody'll feel pleased to know at they're all o'th' mendin hand. It's a pity to think ivery time Christmas comes raand 'at ther's soa mony fowk 'at will'nt be able to have a merry un. Aw'm sooary it is soa, an' aw wod help it if aw could. Ther's nubdy enjoys a bit ov a spree better nor aw do, but ther's one thing aw dooant like, an that is to be pestered off my life booath at hooam an abroad wi fowk commin an sayin, 'Aw wish yo a merry Christmas an' a happy New Year,' when all th' time aw know weel enuff they wish nowt at sooart, but just come for what they can get. Nah if sich-like wod nobbut come an' say plain aght, 'we come to see what yo'll give us, an' we dooant care a button whether yo've a merry Christmas or net,' why, then yo'd know what to mak on 'em. Ony body at's ony gooid wishes to give, let 'em give 'em, but aw'm blow'd if aw care to buy' em, becoss they arn't genuine at's to sell. Th' price may be low enuff—a glass o' whisky or a shillin, but unless they come free gratis, for nowt, aw'd rather net be bothered wi' 'em. Shoolers, please tak nooatice.

THE END