"O, wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us, It wad fra many a blunder free us An' foolish notion. What airs in dress an' g'ait wad lea' us An' ev'n devotion."

Selfishness may do varry weel for this world, but we should remember it isn't th gooid one does to hissen 'at he gets rewarded for after— it's th' gooid he does to others, an' although we may be able to mak' a spreead here, wi' fine clooas, fine haases, an' sich like; unless we put selfishness o' one side an' practise charity it'll be noa use then.

"For up above there's one 'at sees Through th' heart o' every man; An' he'll just find thee as tha dees, Soa dee as well as t' con."



Try Again.

Look around and see the great men Who have risen from the poor Some are judges, some are statesmen, Ther's a chance for you I'm sure. Don't give in because you're weary, Pleasure oft is bought by pain; If unlucky, still be cheery, Up and at it! try again.



Jealousy.

It wad be a poor shop, wad this world, if it worn't for love! But even love has its drawbacks. If it worn't for love ther'd be noa jaylussy—Shakspere calls jaylussy a green-eyed monster, an' it may be for owt aw know, an' aw dooan't think 'at them 'at entertain it have mich white i' theirs. If ther's owt aw think fooilish, it is for a husband an' wife to be jaylus o' one another; for it spoils all ther spooart, an' maks a lot for other fowk; an' aw'm allus a bit suspicious abaat 'em, for aw've fun it to be th' case 'at them 'at do reight thersens are allus th' last to believe owt wrang abaat others.

Aw once knew a chap 'at wor jaylus, an' his wife had a sore time wi' him. If shoo spake to her next-door neighbor, it wor ommost as mich as her life war worth, an' shoo wor forced to give ovver gooin' to th' chapel, becos if shoo luk'd at th' parson he used to nudge her wi' a hymn book. Th' neighbours pitied her, an' set him daan for a fooil; but he gate cured at last, an' aw'll tell ha.' Once he had to set off, an' as shoo worn't varry weel he couldn't tak her wi' him, but he gave her a lot o' directions afoor he went, an' tell'd her 'at he might be back ony minit. Well, if iver ther war a miserable chap it wor Jim, wol he wor away; but he coom back as sooin as he could, an' what should he see but a leet up stairs. His face went as white as chalk, an' he wor just creepin' to th' winder to harken, when a chap 'at knew him happened to pass. He knew how jaylus Jim war, soa he thowt he'd have a lark. "Halla, Jim!" he said, "coom here; aw've summat to tell thee. Tha munnot goa in yor haase just nah, for tha ar'nt wanted."

"What ammot aw wanted for, awst like to know?" said Jim.

"Well, keep cooil, an' aw'll tell thi. Tha knows tha's been away a day or two, an' aw think it's my duty to let thi know 'at last neet ther wor a young chap coom to yor haase to luk at thi mistress; an' shoo's niver been aat o; door sin', nor him nawther; an' my belief is they're in that room together just this minit."

"Aat o' my rooad!" sed Jim, "let me goa in If aw dooant pitch him aat a' that winder, neck an' crop, my name isn't Jim." Up stairs he flew. "Nah then, whear is he? whear is he?" he haw'led, an' seized hold o' th' pooaker.

"Aa, Jim," shoo sed, "Tha wodn't hurt th' child surelee?" an' shoo held up a bonny little lad abaat two days old, 'at stared at him as gaumless as gaumless could be, an' 'at had his father's nooas an' chin to nowt.

"By gingo, aw'm done this time!" said Jim, as he tuk it in his arms an' kust it. "Aa, what a fooil aw've been! tha'll forgie me, lass, weant ta?"

"Sure aw will, Jim," shoo sed. An' after that they lived happily together, as all dacent fowk should.



Winter.

Winter's comin'! Top coits an' nickerbockers begin to be sowt up. A chap enjoys his bed a bit better, an' doesn't like gettin' up in a mornin' quite as weel. Tawkin' abaat enjoyin' bed makes me think ova young chap aat o' Midgley at' gate wed an' browt his wife to Halifax to buy a bed, an' nowt wod suit her but a shut-up en, like her father an' mother had allus had: an' they wor't long befoor they fun a second-hand en, 'at they gate cheap, an' as they knew a chap 'at coam wi' a milk cart throo near whear they lived, they gate him to tak it hooam for 'em, an' it worn't long befoor th' beddin' an' all wor nicely arranged, an' they war snoozelin' under th' blankets. They hadn't been asleep long befoor he wakken'd wi a varry uncomfortabie feelin', but as his wife wor hard asleep he didn't like to disturb her. He roll'd o' one side an' then o'th' tother, an' rub'd his legs an' scratched his back, but he couldn't settle do what he wod. In a bit summat made him jump straight up ov an end, an' if he hadn't been dacently browt up, it's very likely he mud ha' sed some faal words, Wi' him jumpin' up soa sudden, th' wife wakken'd, an' jumpt up as weel, but as th' bed heead war abaat six inch lower nor that shoo'd bin used to, shoo hit her neet cap agean th' top an' fell back wi a reglar sass. "Whativer is ther to do, Sammy," shoo sed, as sooin as shoo could spaik, "strike a leet' wi ta!" Sammy gate a leet, an' blushed an ovver his face, for it wor th' fust time onybody had seen him dressed that way sin he wor a little lad. "Aw dooant know what ther is to do," he sed, "but aw cannot bide i' that bed, an' that's a fact." "What!" shoo says, "are ta ruein' o' thi bargain bi nah? but tha's no need to freat, for aw con spare thee at ony time." "Nay, Jenny," he sed, it's nooan thee 'at maks me uneasy, but aw fancy ther's summat wick i' that bed besides thee an' me.' "Is ther," shoo said, an' shoo flew off one side; "why whativer is it, thinks ta?" Sammy turned daan th' clooas, an' it just luk'd as if sombdy had been aitin' spice cake an' letten all th' currans drop aat. Tawk abaat fleas! They worn't fleas! they wor twice as big, an' they wor marchin' away like a rigiment o' sodgers. He stared wi' all th' een in his heead, an' shoo started a cryin'. "A'a, to think 'at aw should iver come to this, to be walked over wi' a lot o' pouse like that! What mun we do?" "Do! we mun catch 'em, aw expect," he sed, an' he began wi pickin' 'em off one bi one, an' droppin' 'em into some water 'at wor cloise by. "Well, mi mother tell'd me," he sed, "'at when fowk gate wed they began o' ther troubles; an' it's true an' all, but aw didn't expect owt like this, for if aw'd known, aw'd ha' seen th' weddin' far enough; aw did think 'at a chap wad be able to get a neet's rest anyway." "Tha can goa back to thi mother," shoo sed, "an' stop wi' her for owt aw care, an' aw wish tha'd niver left her, for aw'st get mi deeath o' cold wi' paddlin' abaat wi' nowt on; but does ta think tha's catched 'em all?" "Aw think soa, an' if tha's a mind we'll get to bed agean." "Nay, tha can goa to thi mother as tha freats soa," shoo sed. "Tak noa noatice o' what aw sed," sed Sammy, "tha knows aw wor put abaat a bit, an' it war all for th' sake o' thee." "Tha'll tell me owt," shoo sed, "put th' leet aat, an' let's see if we con get a bit o' gradely sleep." They gate into bed once more, an' shoo wor off to sleep in a minit, but Sammy wor rubbin' an' scrattin' hissen. "Wen, aw've heeard tell abaat things bein' ball proof and bomb proof, but aw niver knew 'at anybody wor bug proof befoor." Wi' him knockin' abaat soa mich shoo wakken'd agean. "Nay, Sammy," shoo sed, "aw'm reight fair stawld, it's all consait, aw'm sure it is." "Consait be hanged!" he bawled aat, "just feel at that blister an' then tell me if it's all consait." Nowt could keep awther on 'em 'i bed after that, an' they paraded abaat all th' neet like two gooasts, wait in' for th' cock crow. Mornin' did come at last, an' Sammy worn't long befoor' he had th' bed aatside. "What are ta baan to do wi' it nah?" ax'd his wife. "Aw'm baan to leave it wheal' it is wol neet," he sed, "an' if they havn't forgetten which road they coom, aw think ther's as monny as'll be able to tak it back to Halifax." Next neet they made a bed o'th' floor, an' slept like tops, an' next mornin' when they gate up, th' bed wor off. Whether th' cumpny 'at wor in it had taen it or net, Sammy couldn't tell, but he niver went to seek it. Fowk 'at buy second-hand beds, tak warnin."



Persevere.

If you fail don't be downhearted, Better times come by-and-by; Soon you'll find all fears departed, If you'll only boldly try. He who would climb up a mountain, Must not sit him down and cry; At the top you'll find the fountain, And you'll reach it if you'll try.

Though your comrades call it folly, Persevere, you'll win the day; Never let Dick, Tom, or Polly, Stop you on your onward way, There is always joy in striving, Though you fix your goal so high; Nearer every day arriving, You may reach it if you try.



Booith-Taan Election.

This place 'is nearly a mile from the good old town of Halifax.

Aa! ther wor a flare-up at Booith-Taan Hall that neet! It had been gein aat 'at they'd to be a meetin' held to elect a new Lord-Mayor, for New-Taan, Booith-Taan, an' th' Haley Hill, on which particular occashun, ale ud be supplied at Tuppence a pint upstairs. Ther wor a rare muster an' a gooid deeal o' argyfyin' tuk place abaat who shud be th' chearman. But one on 'em—a sly old fox—had kept standin' o' th' floor sidlin' abaat woll ivery other chear wor full, an' then after takkin a pinch o' snuff, he said, "Gentlemen, aw see noa reason aw shuddent tak this place mysen, as iverybody else has getten set daan." Two or three 'at wor his friends said "Hear, hear," an' two or three 'at worn't said "Sensashun!"

When iverybody's pint had getten fill'd, he blew his nooas, tuk another pinch o' snuff, an' stud ov his hind legs to oppen th' proceedins. "Bergers and Bergeresses," he began, "aw've a varry unpleasant duty to perform to-neet, which is, namely, to propooas 'at we have a fresh mayor," (Cries ov "Shame," "Gammon," "Th' mayor we have is ommost allus fresh!" (etsetra, etsetra etsetra.) "Gentlemen," he began agean, "what aw have to say is this,"—

"Luk sharp an get it said, then," said Stander, th' grocer.

"If tha doesn't hold thy noise, Stander, tha'll get noa moor snuff off me, aw con tell thi that; aw mayn't be as flaary a talker as thee, but what aw say is to'th' point, an' aw think 'at a constituency like Booith-Taan owt to be represented by somebody ov standin'."

"Better send th' chearman, he's stud den long enuft," said one.

"Prathi sit thi daan, if tha connot talk sense," said another.

"Its's time for sombdy to stand summat, for all th' pints is empty," said th' lanlord.

"Well, gentlemen," went on th' chearman, "th' question just dissolves itsel' into this: Who has it to be? Has it to be a Doctor sombdy, or a Professor sombdy, or a Squire sombdy, or has it to be a plain Maister?"

"Oh I let it be a Squire," said one. "E'ea, Squire Broadbent ul do," said another.

"Nah, lads, yo' 'Ie heeard th' chearman's resolushun, an' aw sit daan to call upon Mr. Stander, Esquire, grocer, to address yo."

Th' chearman doubled hissel' into th' shape ov his chear, an' after they'd gein ovver pawsin' th' table legs, an' knockin' pint pots, Stander gate up an' began.

"Fellow Municipallers (hear, hear), aw agree wi' what awr chearman says, 'at we owt to have sombdy o' standin' i' society to represent us for this subsequent year 'at's forthcomin'."

"Tha happen want's to get one o' thi own relations in," said Snittle.

"It ud seem thee better to keep thi maath shut, Snittle, till tha's paid me for yond Garman Yeast."—(Shame, shame.)

"Gentlemen, aw propooas 'at this meetin' dissolves itsel' into a depitation to visit Professor Holloway, to ax him if he'll represent us for th' next year. Aw dooant know him mysen, but we've all heeard tell on him, an' we've seen his pills an' ointment advertised, an' aw think he'd be a varry likely man to work awr business to th' best interest ov the whole communicants; an' noa daat he'd be able to heal up ony bits o' unpleasantness 'at's been caused wi' this election. Aw believe him to be a varry pushin' man, an' one ov a spyring natur; for as Elijah Barrett says (i' his book on leeanin' to blacksmith), 'One inch the heighest,' seems to be the motto he works on, for goa where yo will yo'll allus see one o' his bills a bit heigher nor onybody's else, an for that reason aw beg to propooas 'at he should be acceptted as a fit an' proper person.

The chearman stood up an' axed "ony chap to I say owt agean that 'at dar." Up jumped Billy Bartle, an' said, "Aw object to that in total; aw see noa reason to goa to Lunnon to find a mayor, soa long as we've professors at hooam, an aw propoosas 'at we ax—" ("Shut up! shut up!" "Ta' hold, an' sup." "Gooid lad, Billy,") etsetra, etsetra. etsetra.

Just then th' lanlord coom in an' turn'd off th' gas, for he said "they hadn't spent aboon eighteen pence all th' neet."

Th' chearman said he thowt they couldn't do better nor all have a pinch o' snuff wi' him, an' have a pint i'th' kitchen woll they talked things ovver; soa they went daan th' stairs, an' somha they managed to re-elect th' owd en afoor they went hooam, an' six on em hugged him o' ther heeads to th' top o' Ringby, an' niver heed if ther heeads didn't wark th' next mornin'.



Election.

Candidates at an election allus reminds me ov a lot o' bees turned aat, for they fly abaat th' country buzzin' an' hummin', wol yor fair capt what a din they con mak; but as sooin as they pop into th' hive o' St. Stephen's yo niver hear a muff—they're as quite as waxwark. Aw varrily believe 'at one hauf on 'em niver oppen the maath throo th' yaar end to year end, nobbut when they're sleepy, then they may gape a bit, but they do it as quiet as they can. As for them chaps 'at tawk soa mich befoor they goa, abaat passin' laws to give iverybody a paand a wick whether they work or laik, an' reducin' th' workin haars to three haars a day an' three days a wick: Why, its just gammon!



None think Alike.

What suits one body doesn't suit another. Aw niver knew two fowk 'at allus thowt alike; an' if yo iver heard a poor chap talkin' abaat somebdy 'ats weel off, he's sure to say 'at if he'd his brass he'd do different throo what they do.

Aw once heeard a chap say 'at if he'd as mich brass as Baron Rothschild he'd niver do owt but ait beef-steaks an' ride i' cabs. Well, lad, aw thowt, it's better tha hasn't it. We're all varry apt to find fault wi' things at we know varry little abaat, an' happen if we knew mooar we shud say less. Aw once heeard two lasses talkin', an' one on 'em war tellin' tother 'at sin shoo saw her befoor, shoo'd getten wed, an' had a child, an' buried it. "Why, whativer shall aw live to hear? Aw didn't know 'at tha'd begun coortin'. Whoiver has ta getten wed to?" "Oh, awve getten wed to a forriner, at comes throo Staffordshur."

"Well, aw hooap, tha's done weel, lass; awm sure aw do. And what does he do for a livin'?" "Why, its rayther a queer trade; but he stails pots." "Stails pots, Betty! A'a aw wonder ha tha could bring thisen daan to wed a chap o' that sooart. Aw'll keep single for iver, woll awm green maald, afoor aw'll wed ony chap unless he gets his livin' honestly." "Aw should like to meet ony body 'at says he doesn't get his livin' honestly," says Betty; "nah thee mark that." "Well, Betty, that maks noa difference to me; but aw say agean 'at noa chap gets his livin' honestly 'at stails—noa matter whether he stails pots or parkins." "Why, Nancy, aw thowt tha'd moor sense, aw did for sure;— aw mean, his trade is to put stails on to pots." "Oh! A'a! E'e! tha mun forgi' mi this time, Betty, aw see what tha meeans; he puts hanels on to pots: that's it, isn't it." "E'ea." "Why, tha sees, aw didn't understond." "Ther's monny a one has a deeal to say abaat things 'at they dunnot understond, an' monny a one gets awfully put aat wi' what sich like do say; but it isn't advisable to be soa varry touchus at this day, an' as aw've read somwhear—

Time to me this truth has towt, 'Tis a truth 'at's worth revealin'; Moor offend for want o' thowt Nor for any want o' feelin'.

An' aw believe that's true; but at th' same time it's as weel to be careful net to offend onybody if we con help it, for a chap's fingers luk a deeal nicer, an' moor agreeabler, when they're oppened aat to shake hands wi yo, nor what they do when doubled up i'th' front o' yor nooas. Soa yo see, yo connot be to careful o' yor words an' deeds, if yo want to keep straight wi' fowk; an' it's a wise thing to be at peeace. And if this is a unsettled time o' th' year, that's noa reason 'at yo should be unsettled. But as it isn't iverybody's lot to know ha to get on smoothly, aw'll just give yo a bit o' advice; an' if yo learn that, an' act on it, yo'll niver rue th' brass yo've spent, especially if yo tak into consideration at th' profits are devoted to a charitable institution (that's awr haase).

If wisdom's ways you'd wisely seek, Five things observe with care; Of whom you speak, to whom you speak, And how, and when, and where.



Seaside.

Iverybody 'at is owt is awther just settin' off or just gettin' back throo th' spaws. Ther's nowt like th' sea breeze! But a chum o' mine says th' sea breeze is a fooil to Saltaire, but he cannot mak me believe it. Ther's nowt ever suits me as weel at Blackpool as to see a lot o' cheap trippers 'at's just com'd for a day—they mean to enjoy thersen. Yo can see that as sooin as iver th' train claps 'em daan, away they steer to have a luk at th' watter. Ther's th' fayther comes th' furst, wi' th' youngest child in his arms, an' one or two rayther bigger poolin' 'at his coit laps, an' just behund is his owd lass, puffin' and blowin' like a steam engine, her face as red as a rising sun, an' a basket ov her arm big enuff for a oyster hawker. At one corner on it yo con see a black bottle neck peepin' aat. At th' side on her walks th' owdest lass; an' isn't shoo doin' it grand for owt shoo knows! Luk what fine ribbons shoo has flyin' daan her back, an' a brass ring ov her finger, varry near big enuff to mak a dog's collar on, an' a cotton parasol 'at luks ivery bit as weel as a silk 'un; and yo con see as shoo tosses her heead first to one side an then to tother, 'at shoo defies awther yo or onybody else to tell 'at shoo's nobbut a calico wayver when shoo's at hooam. But they get aside o'th' watter at last. "Ha! what a wopper!" says one o'th' lads, as a wave comes rollin' ovver. "A'a! but that's a gurter!" says another. Then th' father an' th' mother puts th' young uns all in a row, an' tell 'em all to luk at th' sea—as if ther wor owt else to luk at i' Blackpool. But yo may see at th' owd lass isn't comfortable, for shoo keeps peepin' into her basket, an' at last shoo says, "Joa—aw believe sombdy's had ther fooit i'th' basket, for th' pasty's brusscn, an th' pot wi' th' mustard in is brockken all to bits." "Neer heed, if that's all, its noa war for being mix'd a bit; it's all to goa into one shop." As sooin as owt to ait is mentioned, th' childer's hungry in a minit-even th' lass' at's been peraidin' abaat an' couldn't fashion to stand aside ov her brothers an' sisters coss they wor soa short o' manners—draws a bit nearer th' mother's elbow. Daan they sit like a owd hen an' her chickens, an' dooant they put it aat o'th' seet? It means nowt if th' mustard an' th' pickled onions have getten on th' apple pasty or potted mait an' presarved tairts squeezed all into one—they're noan nasty nice; an' then th' bottle's passed raand: cold tea flavored wi rum, an sweetened, wol th' childer can hardly leave lawse when they've once getten hold. An' wol they're enjoyin' thersen this way, th' owd chap's blowin' his bacca, an' tak's a pool ivery nah and then at a little bottle, abaat th' size ov a prayer book, 'at he hugs in his side pocket. After this they mun have a sail i' one o'th' booats, an' in they get, tumellin' one over t'other, an' bargain wi' th' chap for a gooid haar. Th' owd chap pools his watch aat an mak's sure o'th' time when they start, an' away they goa like a burd. "Isn't it grand?" says furst one an' then another. But in a bit th' owd chap puts his pipe aat an' tak's another pool at th' little bottle, an' his wife's face grows a deeal leeter coloured, an' shoo axes him ha' long they've to goa yet? Aat comes th' watch, an' they're capt to find 'at they've nobbut been fifteen minutes, an' th' owdest lass lains ovver th' side, an' after coughin' a time or two begins to feed th' fish, an' th' little uns come to lig ther heeads o' ther mother's knees, but shoo tells 'em to sit o'th' seeat, for shoo connot bide to be bothered; then shoo tak's a fancy to luk ovver th' edge, an' ther's another meal for th' fish. Th' owd chap's detarmined to stand it aat, soa he shuts his e'en, an screws up his maath wol it's hardly as big as a thripny bit—then his watch comes aat agean, an' he sighs to find they've nobbut been one hauf ther time. Th' chaps i'th' boat see ha' matters stand, an' bring' em back as sooin as they con. Aat they get, an' th' brass is paid withaat a word; but th' owd woman shakes her heead an' says, "Niver noa moor! It's a dear doo! Sixpence a piece, an' all th' potted mait an' th' apple pasty wasted."

THE END