CHAPTER III.

A change had taken place in the atmosphere since Bessy and Abe had

returned. Here and there green patches could be seen on the hill side,

and the distant town presented a view of smoke-blackened roofs that

shone, dripping with wet as the sickly' sun glanced over them. Little or

no snow was to be found in the streets, and all the hideous sights stood

out once more rejoicing in their naked deformities.

The giant engine--the factory's heart--was ceasing to beat once more, in

order to allow the workers time to swallow the food necessary to enable

them to bear up until noon. The gates were opened, and the crowd swarmed

forth, but all seemed instinctively directed to a group at a short

distance, whose pallid faces reflected the ghastly sight before them.

The group soon swelled to a vast crowd. Enquiries were made on every

hand by those in the outer circle--"What is it? what is it?" "_Frozen

to death._" Tenderly those rough handed, rough-spoken men raised the

death-frozen little ones. Some there were who knew them and had heard of

their loss. It was to them an easy task to account for their deaths, and

curses low but deep were cast on them, at whose doors the blood of those

innocents must lie.

The bodies were taken to the nearest inn to wait an inquest. Those in

authority were quickly on the alert; whilst some who were acquainted

with the parents prepared to carry them the sorrowful tidings.--Poor

Bessy! thy cup of bitterness is nearly full!

Old Becca had come according to promise, and found Bessy laid partially

upon the bed in a swoon, her arm around the neck of him who had been her

faithful partner for a dozen years. She raised her, bathed her forehead,

and used all means in her power to promote her recovery. After a short

time she was successful; and having prepared the other bed and placed

Bessy upon it, she hastily left to get some assistance.

The poor have but the poor on whom they can depend in an emergency; and

it is a blessing that the request for help to each other is rarely if

ever made in vain.

She soon returned with plenty of willing hands--one took the babe, and

others remained to perform the last sad offices to the remains of him

who had gone "a little while before." Soon the men arrived with the

mournful account of the discovery of the children, but Bessy knew it

not. God had had compassion upon her, and to save her heart from

breaking, had thrown a cloud over her reason.

Silently they stood for a moment in that house of death; and as they

turned to go, one after another placed what money each had, noiselessly

upon the table: the whole perhaps did not amount to much, but who shall

say that it was not a welcome loan to the Lord--an investment in heaven

that should in after time yield to them an interest outweighing the

wealth of the whole world?

As the day advanced, numbers gathered round the inn where the coroner

and jury were assembled. The usual form of viewing the bodies was gone

through; and, with the exception of the girl's ancle, which was found to

be dislocated, there appeared nothing to account for death save exposure

to the cold.

The coroner quickly summed up, and addressing the jury said--"he did not

see how they could bring in any other verdict than 'died from natural

causes.'" With one exception all acquiesced, and this one refused to

agree to such a verdict, saying that death had been caused by unnatural

causes! At last the verdict was altered to "Found frozen to death." To

this a juryman wished to add something about arbitrary laws and

inhumanity, but he was overruled.

It needed nothing now but to put them in the earth, and cover them up.

The following morning the whistles shrieked as fiercely, the wheels went

round as merrily as ever; two other children were in the places of the

lost ones, and it was as if they had never been.

The day for the funeral arrived--the father and children were to be

interred together. There was a large gathering of sympathising friends.

Poor Bessy! had partially recovered, but seemed like one just waking

from a dream; the mournful cortege gained the church yard. The coffins

were slowly lowered into the grave. The grey-haired pastor's voice was

at times almost inaudible--every heart was touched, for all took the

case home to themselves, and asked the question, "How if they were

mine?" "Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes," and the ceremony was

completed.

Few of them had failed to remark the presence of a strange mourner--one

whose dress bespoke him to be a gentleman; and as the widow turned to

leave the grave, he stept up to her and offered her his arm for support.

She took it mechanically, and wended her way to her desolate home. He

was the only one, with the exception of Old Becca, who entered with

Bessy.

He looked around the forlorn room, gazing now here, now there, to hide

his emotion. He seemed about to speak when a knock at the door

interrupted him.

Becca opened it, and returned with a letter stating that the bearer

required an answer. The stranger took it with an air of authority and

broke the seal; as he did so, a five pound note fluttered to the ground.

While he read the letter his eyes flashed with a strange fire, and his

quivering nostril showed the strength of the passion raging within.

Turning to the boy, he thrust the letter into his hand, and bade him

pick up the note. "Take this answer to your master, boy," he said; "we

return the letter and his money with disdain, and tell him that Bessy

Green is not so desolate and friendless that she needs accept five

pounds as the price of two innocent lives. The debt is one that no man

can cancel: but the reckoning day is sure to come! tell him that, boy,

from the brother of Bessy Green, from the uncle of Tom and Susy."

The boy hurried away with the message; and Bessy, who had been aroused

by the stranger's vehemence, at the word "brother," threw herself upon

his neck, crying--"It is George!" What follows is quickly told: Bessy's

grief was deep, and it took long long months before she was fitted to

engage in the ordinary occupations of life; but change of scene and

cheerful company, together with the daily expanding beauties of her only

child, partially healed her lacerated heart. Her generous brother, who

had returned from a distant land,--where fortune had smiled upon his

labours--took her to live with him, and adopted her child as his son.

Becca and Abe became also installed in the house as helpers; and now,

far away from the regions of factory whews, they are all living amicably

together.

"That is my story for this; Christmas. How do you like it?"

It is very sorrowful, uncle John, but we are much obliged to you for

telling it us, but it is surely wrong for children so young to be

compelled to go to work at such an early hour?

"It may not be wrong to require them so to do, but it would at least

show a desire on the part of the employers to ameliorate the hardness of

their lot if, while endeavouring to enforce strict punctuality, they

would provide some shelter for those who, having come from a distance,

fail to arrive in time for admission."

"Hark, the village Waits!"

Pill Jim's Progress Wi' Johns Bunion.

It wor a varry wild day when John set off to see Pill Jim, as he wor

called, but as it wor varry particklar business, he didn't let th'

weather stop him.

Nah, Pill Jim wor a varry nooated chap i' some pairts o' Yorkshire. He

wor an old chap, an' lived in a little haase to hissen, an' gate a

livin' wi' quack-docterin' a bit; an' whativer anybody ailed, he'd some

pills at wor sure to cure 'em; soa, as John had been sufferin' a long'

time, he thought he'd goa an' have a bit o' tawk wi' him, an' see if he

could get any gooid done.

It chonced, as luck let, at Jim wor at hooam, an' he invited him in, but

as he'd nobbut one cheer, John had to sit o'th' edge o'th' long table.

"Well, John," he sed, "an' what's browt thee here this mornin'?"

"Nay, nowt 'at means mich, Jim; but aw've heeard a gooid deal o' tawk

abaght thy pills, an' aw thowt they'd happen do me a bit o' gooid; but

aw wanted to have a bit o' tawk to thee th' first abaght it, for tha

knows one sooart o' physic doesn't do for iverybody."

"Tha'rt just mistakken abaght that, John, for my pills cure owt; they're

oppenin' pills, an' although aw'm a chap 'at doesn't like to crack

abaght misen, aw con just tell thee a thing or two 'at'll mak thee

stare."

"Well, that's what aw want, Jim, s'oa get on wi' thy tellin'."

"Aw hardly know whear to begin, but, hasumiver, aw'll tell thee one

thing: ther's lots o' fowk livin' raand abaght here 'at's been oppen'd

by em, an' to some tune too; an' although aw consider physic an evil at

all times, still my pills must be regarded as a necessary evil. A chap

once coom to see me, an' browt a lot o' oysters, but he wor fast ha to

get into 'em; aw made noa moor to do but just put two or three pills

amang 'em, an' they wor oppen'd in a minit. He sed he'd niver seen sich

a thing afoor. An' if tha con keep a secret, aw'll tell thi summat else

but tha munnot split. One neet just at th' end o' last summer, a

queer-lukkin' chap coom an' sed he didn't feel vary weel, an' he'd come

to me becoss he didn't want tother doctors to know; soa aw axed him who

he wor. He didn't like to tell me for a bit, but at last he sed' he wor

th' Clerk o'th' Weather Office, an' he'd just getten a day off, bi th'

way ov a leetnin'.' 'Well,' aw says, 'aw'll gie yo a box o' pills, an'

yo mun tak two ivery neet.' He thanked me an' went away, an' aw've

niver seen a wink on him sin, but tha may be sure it's them pills 'at we

have to thank for sich a oppen winter as we've had, for as aw sed

befoor, they'll oppen owt."

"Well, Jim, tha fair caps me! Aw wonder tha hasn't made a fortun befoor

nah! But aw dooant think aw want ony pills, tho' aw'm badly enough."

"Why, what does ta ail? Has ta getten th' backwark, or th' heeadwark, or

does ta feel wamly sometimes an' cannot ait?"

"Nawther, John; it's summat else nor that."

"Why, is it summat 'at tha has o' thi mind!"

"Noa, it isn't mi mind, it's mi understandin' 'at's 'sufferin'. Th'

fact is, Jim, aw'm troubled wi' a bunion."

"Let's luk at it," says Jim, "ther's nowt easier to cure nor a bunion."

John took off his shoe an' stockin', an' when Jim saw it he sed, "Oh, aw

see what it wants; it wants bringin' to a heead."

"Well, aw think bi th' rate it's growin', it'll be a heead afoor long,

for it's as big as mi neive already."

"Nah, aw'll tell thee what tha mun do. Tak five or six o' thease pills

ivery neet till tha feels a bit ov a difference, an' when tha gooas to

bed tha mun put thi fooit into a pooltice, an' tha'll find it'll get

better as it mends."

"Well, aw think ther's some sense i' what tha says, soa aw think aw'll

try some; ha does ta sell 'em?"

"If tha buys a box they're a penny, but they corne in cheaper to buy 'em

bi weight, an' as its thee aw'll let thi have a pund for a shillin'; if

it wor onybody else, they'd be sixteen pence."

"Well, aw'll tak a pund, onyway. An' if aw can't tak 'em all misen,

they'll happen be useful to somdy else."

"Tha mun tak 'em all thisen, an' then tha'll feel th' benefit on em,"

sed Jim.

"Well," sed John, when he'd getten 'em teed up in his hankerchy, "aw

wish yo gooid day, an aw'll come an' see yo in a bit to repoort

progress."

John limped hooam as weel as he could, an' after puttin' th' pills into

a pint basin i'th' cubbard, he went to bed. His wife axed him what he

could like to his supper, but he sed he worn't particklar, soa shoo went

daanstairs, an' when shoo luk'd i'th' cubbard, shoo saw this basin o'

pills, but shoo thowt they wor pays; soa shoo gate a bit o' mutton an'

made a sup o' broth an' put 'em in; an' when they'd been boilin' awhile

shoo couldn't find 'em hardly. "Why," shoo sed, "aw niver saw sich pays

as theease i' all mi life; they've all boiled to smush." Shoo tuk him a

basinful upstairs, an' after a spooinful or two, he sed he thowt they

tasted rayther queer. "Oh! it's thi maath at's aght o' order, mun,"

shoo sed; "get 'em into thee, they're sure to do thee gooid."

John tew'd hard wi' 'em an' at last he finished 'em. "Niver buy ony moor

pays at that shop," he sed, "for aw'm sure they're nooan reight.

"Aw didn't buy 'em," shoo sed, "they're what wor i'th' cubbard; aw thowt

tha'd put 'em thear thisen."

When John heeard that, he knew in a minit what shoo'd done, an' he

stared at her.

"What are ta staring at, wi' thi een an' thi maath wide oppen like

that?" sed his wife.

"Tha'd ha' thi een an' thi maath oppen if tha'd swallowed what aw have,"

he said, "for they'll oppen ewt."

John gate up an' dressed an' went aght, an' as he didn't offer to come

back, his wife an' two or three ov his mates went to seek him; an' a few

yards off th' door they fan his clooas an' hat an' a pair o' booits, an'

in one o'th' booits they fan a bunion,--an' that wor all ther wor left

o' John.

It wor rayther a awkard thing to swear to, but his wife sed shoo

couldn't be mistakken, for shoo knew it soa weel wol shoo'd be bun to be

able to pick it aght ov a looad o' new puttates. Ov cooarse, they'd a

inquest, but as ther wor noa evidence, an' sich a case had niver been

known befoor, they returned a oppen verdict.

A few days after, as Pill Jim wor gooin' past th' church yard, he saw a

chap oppenin' a grave, an' axed him who he wor oppenin' it for; an' when

he heeard it wor for th' remains o' poor John, he muttered to hissen,

"Noa wonder! noa wonder! them pills, they'll oppen owt. Aw wor sure

they'd awther drive th' bunion away throo John, or John away throo th'

bunion, which wor for th' best aw connot tell; its an oppen question--

them pills leeave ivery--thing oppen."

Moravian Knight's Entertainment.

If yo want to know owt abaght me, let me tell yo 'at they called mi

father Knight, an' when aw wor born he had me kursend Moravian; but noa

sooiner did aw begin to laik wi' th' lads abaght ner aw began to be

called Morry Neet. Soa mich abaght misen.

Aw oft think 'at fowk mak a sad mistak, i' spendin all ther time

leearnin. Aw think if them 'at know soa mich had to spend part o' ther

time taichin other fowk what they know, th' world mud ha' fewer

philosophers, but it 'ud have fewer fooils. As that's my nooation, awve

detarmined to let yo know ha aw gate on th' furst time aw went to a

penny readin, an' may be somdy 'll leearn summat bi that.

Awd seen a lot o' bills stuck up for mony a day, statin' at th' 16th

select penny readin' wor to tak place i'th' Jimmy Loin National Schooil,

an' aw thowt awd goa. Soa when th' neet coom aw went to th' door aw

clap daan mi penny like a mon, an' wor walkin in--

"Stop! Stop!" shaated aght th' brass takker, "Tha mun come back, tha's

nobbut gien me a penny."

"Aw know aw've nobbut gien thee a penny," aw says; "Ha mich moor does ta

want? Its a penny readin, isn't it?"

"Eea, its a penny readin, but its thrippince to goa in," he sed.

"Well, if that's it," aw says, "here's tother tuppince, but awm blowed

if aw see it." But aw went in, an' a rare hoilful ther wor. In a bit

Alderman Nonowt wor vooated into th' cheer, an' then he made a speech--

"Ladies and Gentlemen--(then he coughed two or three times, an' supt o'

watter),--I can assure you 'at nothink gives me greater pleasure, or

greater enjoyment, or I might say greater satisfaction, (a varry deal o'

clappin i'th' front seeats--supt twice), when I look around me, ladies

and gentlemen, and see so many old and familiar faces that I have never

seen before, and when I see so many strangers that I have passed long

years of social intercourse amongst, I feel, ladies and gentlemen, I

feel moved, very much moved, and when I gaze again I begin to feel

removed. Our object which we have in view, in keeping agate of giving

these here readings, are to throw open the doors of knowledge, so that

all may come and drink from the inexhaustible bottle, so to speak,

ladies and gentleman, which says 'drink and thirst no more' (great

cheering--women wi' cleean pocket hankerchies blow ther nooases). These

meetings have also another himportant object, a nobject noble and great,

which is namely, to draw people out of the public houses, and create a

thirst in them for wisdom. How many men, after a hard day's work, go and

sit in the public house, or what is still worse, often spend their time

at some thripny concert room until nine or ten o'clock, whereas now they

can come here and sit until 10 or 11 o'clock, where they are not only

hentertained, but hedicated and hedified. With thease few remarks, I

call upon the first reader for a solo on the German concertina."

An' it wor a solo! It reminded me o' being in a bazaar at Fair time,

an' abaght a thaasand childer blowin penny trumpets; an' he whewd his

arms abaght like a windmill; an' aw wor nooan sooary when he'd done.

But fowk clapt an' stamped wol he coom back agean; an' he bow'd an' sed

he'd give 'em an immitation o'th' backpipe, an' awve noa daat it wor

varry like it, for awm sure noa frontpipe iver made as faal a din.

After that th' cheerman made a few remarks an' sed, music had charms to

soothe the savage beast, an' he'd no doubt we all felt soothed with what

we had heard. He had now the pleasure to call for something of a more

elevating nature still. The next reading would be a comic song. "Up in

a balloon boys."

Th' chap 'at gave that wor varry wise, for as sooin as he'd begun

singin' he shut his een an' niver oppened 'em agean till he'd done, an'

if he'd kept his maath shut aw should ha' been better suited still. Ov

coorse he wor honcored, an' he coom back an' sang "Be--e--eutifool oil

of the Se--e--e--he!" wol he fair fooamd at th' maath, but awl wave mi

opinion o' that. Then coom th' gem o'th' evening, an' th' chap wor a gem

'at sang it. Th' cheerman sed he was always proud to be able to sit an'

listen to such like, for it show'd what a deal better world ther might

be if we all did our best for one another.

Th' peanner struck up, an' a chap in a big white hat an' longlapp'd coit

sang "What aw did for Hannah," an' afoor he'd finished aw thowt if he'd

done hauf as mich for Hannah as he'd done for us he owt to be shot. But

when a chap's i' favor he con do owt, an' when he'd done an' been called

back three times, th' cheerman sed it wor now his duty to introduce the

Rev'd Dowell to read a selection from Heenuck Harden.

As sooin as he'd sed this ivery body began to walk aght, an' soa as aw

thowt they must be gooin into another raam to hear it, aw went aght too.

But when awd getten aghtside aw saw they wor all awther leetin ther

pipes or laikin at soddin one another. Aw axed one on 'em if it wor all

over. "Net it," he sed, "we've nobbut come aght wol yond dry old stick

has done talking. Th' best pairt o'th' entertainment has to come off

yet! Ther's three single step doncers gooin to contest for a copy ov

'Baxter's Saint's Rest,' bun up wi' gilt edges."

When aw heeard that aw ihowt, well, awm nooa saint misel, but if awm a

sinner awl have a bit o' rest, whether it's Baxter's or net. Soa aw

walked quitely off hooam, thinkin ha thankful we owt to be at fowk 'll

labor as they do to improve an elevate poor workin' fowk. That wor th'

end o' my entertainment.

Sperrit Rappin.

Did yo iver goa to a sperrit rappin' doo? Aw did once, but aw can't say

it wor mich i' my line.

It happen'd one Setterdy neet 'at aw'd been to have a pint at th' "Rompin

Kittlin," an' aw heeard some chaps say 'at ther wor baan to be a meetin

i'th' owd wayvin shop o'th' Sundy afternooin, an' iver so mony mediums wor

commin to tell all 'at wor gooin on i'th' tother world, soa as awd nowt

else to do, aw went, an' after a bit o' thrustin aw managed to get into a

front seat: but they wor varry particlar who they let in. As aw wor set,

waitin for th' performance to begin, aw thowt it luk'd varry mich like a

inquest, for ther wor one chap set o'th' end o't' table, an' six daan each

side; an' they wor a lot o'th' rummest lukkin fowk aw'd seen for a long

time. They all seem'd as if they wanted sendin aght to grass, for ther

faces wor th' color ov a lot o' tallow craps. In a bit they started, an'

we all sang a hymn, an' varry weel it wor sung too, considerin 'at that

radical gravestoan letterer joined in it; for if ther is ony body 'at can

throw a whole congregation aght o' tune, its owd Cinnamon, for he owt

niver to oppen his maath onywhear unless all th' fowk is booath deeaf an'

blind, for th' seet o' his chowl is enuff to drive all th' harmony aght ov

a meetin. Aw dar wager a trifle 'at he'd be able to spoil th' Jubilee.

But as aw wor sayin, we did varry weel considerin, an' then th' cheerman

gate up an' addressed a few words to us. He sed he'd noa daat 'at ther wor

a goaid many amang us 'at didn't believe i' sperrits, but he could assure

us 'at ther wor moor i' sperrits sometimes nor what we imagined. He sed he

knew one man 'at had been under th' influence ov a sperit, 'at went hooam

an' tell'd his wife sich things 'at made her hair stand ov an end, an' when

he gate up next mornin he knew nowt abaat it till he saw his wife wor i'th'

sulks, an' he ax'd her "what ther wor to do." "Ther's plenty to do, aw

think," shoo says; "ha can ta fashion to put thi heead aght o'th' door?

But tha can have yond nasty gooid-for-nawt as soain as tha likes, for awst

leeave thi if aw live wol awm an haar older! It's a bonny come off, 'at me

at's barn ommoss a duzzen children to thi should be shoved o' one side far

a thing like yond!" "Why, lass, aw doant know what tha'rt talking abaat,"

he sed, "tell me what tha meeans!" "Aw've noa need to tell thi," shoo sed,

"tha knows weel enuff, an' aw believe ivery word 'at tha sed, for they say

'at druffen chaps an' childer allus spaik th' truth, an' awve suspicioned

yond Betty for a long time! What reight has shoo to be dawdlin abaat other

fowks husbands for? If shoo wants a felly, let her get one ov her own!

But tha may tak her an' welcome, an' mich gooid may shoo do thi, an' may yo

allus be as happy together as aw wish vo--an' noa happier! drot her!"

"Why, did aw say owt abaat Betty? Tha mun tak noa nooatice o' owt aw say

when aw come hooam throo a meetin, tha sees, sin aw wor made a medium, aw

ammot allus just i' mi reight senses, an' it isn't me 'at spaiks, it's

what's in me." "Eea, an' it wor what wor in thi 'at spaik last neet!

Tha's noa need to tell me 'at tha worn't i' thi reight wit, for tha hasn't

been that for a long time but aw can tell thi one thing--if tha'rt a

medium, awm net gooin to be made one! aw'll awther be one thing or tother,

soa if tha'd rayther have yond mucky trolly, tak her; an' may yo booath

have a seed i' yor tooith an' corns o' yor tooas, an' be fooarsed to walk

daan th' hill, all th' days o' yor lives; that's what aw wish." He talked

to her for a long time, but it wor noa use, for yo see shoo'd niver been

enlightened, an' all he could say didn't convince her 'at he worn't

answerable for all he'd sed an' done; but ov cooarse it's weel known 'at

mediums arn't responsible for owt. After a few moor remarks, an' relatin a

few moor incidents, he sed "it wor abaat time to begin the serious business

'at had called us together, an' he sed he hooap'd 'at if ony had came to

scoff, they'd remain to pay, for they wor sadly i' need o' funds, an' he

hooap'd 'at iverybody wod respond liberally, for sperits sich as they dealt

in could not be getten o' trust, although they had to be takken that way."

Then he knock'd th' table three times wi' his knuckles, an' two o'th'

fiddle-faced chaps 'at wor set one o' each side on him, began to wriggle

abaat as if they'd getten th' murly grubs. "Stop! stop!" he sed, "one at

once, if yo pleease! Brother Sawny had better give his sperit backward for

a few minutes, wol we've done wi' Brother Titus's." Soa Sawny gave ovver

shakkin hissen, exceptin his heead, an' jumpin onto his feet, he sed, "If

awve allus to give way to Titus, awm blow'd if awl come to edify yor lot

ony longer." "Husht, husht!" says th' cheerman, "the sperit has takken

possession o' Titus already. Will ony o'th' unbelievers ax it a few

questions?" Soa aw thowt aw mud as weel be forrad as onybody else, soa aw

stood up an' ax'd it furst--

"What did they use to call thi?"

"Mary Jane Wittering."

"Ha long is it since tha deed?"

(Noa answer; soa th' cheerman sed it wor a varry frivolous an' improper

question, an' aw mud ax summat else.)

"Wor ta iver wed?"

"Nobbut three times."

"Wor ta allus true to 'em when tha had 'em?"

(No answer; th' cheerman shook his neive at me.)

"Are they livin or deead?"

"One's deead, one's livin, an' one's a medium."

"Has ta met anybody tha knows up i' yor pairts?"

"Monny a scoor."

"Are they happy or miserable?"

"Some one way an' some another."

"Has ta seen onybody at's come latly?"

"Nubdy but a chap they call 'Profit."

"What did they call him 'Profit' for?"

"Aw doant know, unless it's becoss he did soa weel aght o' collectin th'

rates afoor he coom here."

"Is he happy?"

"Nut exactly, he's undergooin his punishment, poor chap."

"What is it?"

"He's shut up i'th dark for as monny year as he's charged fowk for feet o'

gas 'at they've niver burned; an' bi what awve heeard some o'th older end

o'th sperits say, it seems varry likely 'at eternity will ha getten farish

in, befoor he sees leet agean."

"Is he tormented wi' owt?"

"Nowt but his conscience."

"Ha's that?"

"He hadn't one when he coom, soa he's had to tak one at's been left bi

somdy else, an' it pricks him sadly."

"Then it seems his brass willn't save him?"

"Noa, for yo know, 'Wi whatsoever metre yo measure, to yo it'll be measured

agean."

"Is ther owt to ait an' drink i' yor quarter?"

"Noa, they've shut all th' shops up, an' it's time they shut thine up, for

aw'm stall'd o' tawkin to thi?"

Aw wor baan to ax him summat else, but he began to wriggle agean, an' th'

cheerman sed th' sperit wor takkin its departure, an' in a minute he

oppened his een, an luk'd raand as sackless as if he had nobbut just

wakken'd. "Nah, my dear friend," sed th' cheerman, turnin an' spaikin to

me, "aw hooap yo're satisfied. Does ta believe i' what this sperit has

communicated?"

"Well," aw says, "to tell the th' truth, aw can't say 'at aw awther believe

in it or net, for aw've noa proof, but if aw sed owt aw should be inclined

to say 'net'--but still it saands varry likely what one might expect, an'

that's all aw can say abaat it at present."

"Be sure tha comes to awr meetin next Sundy," he sed, "an' aw can see 'at

tha'll sooin be one on us." An' for that reason aw niver went agean, for

aw couldn't help thinkin 'at if aw wanted to be a medium for sperits, 'at

awd rayther get a owd licensed haase an' start reight.

Wol this had been gooin on, awd heeard a chap an' his wife, 'at sat cloise

to me, talkin a gooid deal, an' aw varry sooin fan aght 'at shoo wor tryin

to mak him believe as mich i' sperits as shoo did, an' ivery time th'

medium answered one o' my questions shoo nudged him, an' sed "Does ta hear

that? Its ivery word as true as gospel? Does ta believe it nah?" After

shoo'd axed him two or three times, he sed, "Well, its varry wonderful, an'

aw do begin to think 'at there's summat in it." "A'a!" shoo sed, "aw knew

tha'd believe if aw could get thi to come." It wor Sawney's turn next to

be entranced, as they call it, an' as sooin as th' sperit had takken

possession on him (which seemed to be a varry hard task, an' aw dooant know

wether it went in at his maath or whear), this woman 'at set aside o' me

jumped up an' axed if shoo mud be allowed to put a few questions.

Th' cheerman sed shoo mud an' welcome, soa shoo began--

"Ha old am aw?"--"Fifty-two."

"Am aw married or single?"--"Married."

"Ha monny childer have aw?"--"Four."

"Nah," shoo says, turning to her husband, "isn't it true?"

"Yos, its true enuff," he sed, "aw believe there's summat in it, but aw

should like to ax a question or two misen."

"Why, jump up, then, an' luk sharp an' start," shoo sed.

So he started--

"Ha old am aw?"--"Fifty-three."

"Nah then! didn't aw tell thi! does ta believe it nah?" shoo sed.

"Am aw married or single?"--"Married."

"True agean, tha sees," sed his wife.

"Ha monny childer have aw?"--"Two."

"Two! Then if my wife's four whose, is tother two?"

As sooin as shoo heeard that, an' befoor th' medium had time to spaik, shoo

seized hold ov her umbrella, an'lauped off her seat towards whear th'

medium wor set, an' aw fancy if th' umbrella nop had made acquaintance wi'

his heead i'th' way shoo'd intended, 'at it wodn't ha taen long to

untrance that chap. But th' cheerman saw her comin, an' managed to stop

it, but it wor noa easy job to quieten her. "A'a, tha lyin gooid-for-

nowt!" shoo sed, "has ta come here slanderin daycent wimmin? Aw defy

awther onybody i' this world or onybody i'th' tother to say owt agean my

karractur! Yor a lot o' himposters, ivery one on yo, that's what yo are!

Come on, Jim," shoo sed to her husband, as shoo seized hold ov his arm,

"let us goa, its nooan a fit place for gradely fowk."

"Dooant be i' sich a hurry," he sed, "aw begin to think ther's summat

in it."

"Summat in it! Has ta noa moor sense nor to believe in a lot o' lyin

vagabones like thease? Let's get hooam, they're nooan fit spots for

daycent fowk, an' aw hooap awst niver catch thi i' one agean! Come on!"

"Why, tha browt me, didn't ta? an' tha seemd to believe in it."

"Eea, aw believed' em soa long as aw knew what they tell'd me wor true, but

as sooin as they start lyin, aw can't believe 'em then; but aw wish awd

hold o' that chap's toppin, an' awd shake th' truth aght on him, or else

awd rive his heead off--nasty low-lived sneak as he is! But come on

hooam, an if tha waits wol aw bring thi agean, tha'll wait wol tha'rt a

thaasand year old, an moor ner that."

They went aght, an in a bit quietness wor restored.

After a few moor remarks, th' cheerman sed 'at it wor too far on i'th' day

for ony moor sperits to be sent for, for th' mediums had another meeting to

attend that neet, soa he read aght another hymn, an' we tried to sing it to

th' tune ov "Sweet spirit, hear mi prayer," but we couldn't, for Cinnamon

wor too mich for us all--he wor a deal better brayer nor prayer, an' after

one or two moor tries, th' cheerman sed "'at unless that gentleman (lukkin

at Cinnamon) wod awther swallow a scaarin--stooan an' a pund o' sweet sooap

to clear his voice, or else keep his maath shut, we should have to leave

singin aght o'th' question altogether." But Cinnamon worn't to be put

daan; an' he tell'd th' cheerman 'at if he didn't know what singin wor he

did, an' when he wor in Horstraly (A voice--"What does ta know abaat

Horstraly, tupheead, tha niver went noa farther ner Burtonheead i' all thi

life"). This ryled Cim, an' he up wi' a stooil an' whew'd it slap at th'

cheerman. Aw saw ther wor likely to be a row, for whativer other sperit

wor thear, aw could see plain enuff 'at th' sperit o' mischief wor i' some

on 'em, soa aw crept up beside th' door an' pop'd aght, an' left 'em

to settle it as they could.

Aw met Cinnamon th' next mornin, an' aw saw 'at he'd a gurt plaister ov

his nooas, an' aw couldn't help thinkin what a blessin it wod ha been to

some fowk if it had been stuck ovver his maath asteead.

Ther's a Mule I' th' Garden.

(This expression is one that I have often heard used in Yorkshire to

some unpleasantness being afoot.)

A Christmas Story.

Hark thi lass, what a wind! it's a long time sin we had sich a storm.

Folk ought to be thankful 'at's getten a warm hearthstooan to put ther

feet on, sich weather as this:--unless it alters it'll be a dree

Kursmiss-day. If ony poor body has to cross this moor to neet, they'll

be lost, as sure as sure con be.

It's a fearful neet reight enuff, lad, an' it maks me creep cloiser to

th' range,--but it's th' sooart o' weather we mun expect at this time o'

th' year. It's a rare gooid job tha gate them peats in, for we stand i'

need ov a bit o' fire nah. Does ta mean to sit up all th' neet same as

usual?

Eea, aw think ther's nowt like keep in up th' owd customs, an' we've

niver missed watchin Kursmiss in sin we wor wed, an' that'll be nearly

forty year sin; weant it? Shift that canel, sithee' ha it sweals!

Does'nt to think tha'd better ligg summat to th' dooar bottom? Hark thi

what a wind! Aw niver heeard th' likes; it maks th' winders fair gender

agean. Soa, soa; lend me owd o' that pooaker, aw shall niver be able to

taich thee ha to mend a fire aw do think. Tha should never bray it in

at th' top;--use it kindly mun, tha'll find it'll thrive better; it's

th' same wi' a fire as it is wi' a child--if you're allus brayin' at it

you'll mak it a sad un at th' last, an' niver get nowt but black luks.

But its net mich use talkin' to thee aw con see, for tha'rt ommost

asleep; aw believe if th' thack ud to be blown off tha couldn't keep thi

e'en oppen after ten o'clock; but use is second natur ommost, an' aw

feel rayther sleepy mysen, aw allus do when ther's a wind."

* * * * * * *

In two or three minutes they wor booath hard asleep, but they had't to

sleep long, for ther coom a knock at th' door laad enuff to wakken deeaf

Debra (an shoo couldn't hear thunner). Th' owd man started up an flew

to oppen th' door, an' in stawped a walkin' snow-drift.

"Aw wish yo a merry Kursmiss," he said.

"Thank thi lad; come a bit nearer th' leet. If tha's browt noa better

luk nor tha's browt weather, tha'd better ha stopped at hooam. Who art

ta?"

"Well, its a bonny come off," said th' chap, "when my own uncle connot

own me."

"Its nooan Ezra, is it?" said th' owd woman.

"That's my name, aw believe, aunt," he said.

"Waw, do come an' sit thi daan. Set that kettle on lad, and mak him a

drop o' summat warm; he'll do wi' it."

It worn't long afoor th' new comer wor sat i'th' front o'th' fire,

smookin' a long pipe an' weetin' his whistle ivery nah an then wi' a

drop o' whiskey an' watter.

"Nah lad," said th' owd man, "what news has ta browt? Tha's generally

summut new."

"Aw've nowt mich uts likely to be fresh, aw dooant think," said Ezra.

"Yo'd hear tell abaght that do o' Slinger's aw reckon?"

"Niver a word, lad; what's th' chuffin heead been doin?"

"Well, aw'd better start at th' beginnin' o' my tale, an' as it's

rayther a longish en, you mun draw up to th' fire and mak up yor mind to

harken a bit."

"Yo happen niver knew Molly Momooin? Shoo lived at Coldedge, an' used

to keep one o' them sooart o' spots known i' thease pairts as a whist

shop; yo'll know what that is? Shoo worn't a bad-like woman,

considerin' her age (for shoo wor aboon fifty, an' had been a widdy for

a dozen year), an iver sin her felly deed, shoo'd sell'd small drink

o'th sly (they dooant think its wrang up i' them pairts), an ther wor at

said it wor nooan of a bad sooart, tho shoo used to booast at ther wor

niver a chap gate druffen i' her haas, tho ther'd been one or two

brussen. Like monny a widdy beside, at's getten a bit o' brass

together, shoo wor pestered wi' chaps at wanted to hing ther hats up, an

put ther feet o' th' hearthstooan, an' call thersen th' maister o' what

they'd niver helped to haddle. But shoo wornt a waik-minded en, wornt

Molly:--an shoo tell'd em all at th' chap at gate her ud have to have a

willin' hand as well as a warm heart, for shoo'd enuff to do to keep

hersen, withaat workin' her fingers to th' booan for a lump o' lumber

ith' nook.

Soa one after another they all left off botherin' her except one, an

that wor Jim o' long Joan's, throo Wadsworth, an he seemed detarmined to

get her to change her mind if he could. As sooin as iver shoo oppened

th' shuts in a mornin', he used to laumer in an' call for a quart (that

cost him three-awpence, an used to fit him varry weel woll nooin).

Well, things nother seemed to get farther nor nearer, for a long time,

but one day summat happened at made a change ith' matter. It wor just

abaght th' time at th' new police wor put on, an Slinger wor made into

one. Nah Slinger thowt he ought to be made into a sargent, an he said

"he wor determined to extinguish hissen i' sich a way woll they couldn't

be off promotionin' him, an if they didn't he'd nobscond." Soa th'

furst thing he did wor to goa an ligg information agen owd Molly sellin'

ale baght license. Th' excise chaps sooin had him an two or three moor

off to cop th' owd lass ith' act, for they said, "unless they could see

it thersen they could mak nowt aght." It wor a varry nice day, an' off

they set o' ther eearand.

Nah it just soa happened at Jim o' long Joans (they used to call him

Jimmy-long for short), wor lukin' aght oth' winder, an' saw em comin';

ther wor noabody ith' haas drinkin' but hissen, soa emptyin' his quart

daan th' sink, he tell'd Molly to be aware, for ther wor mischief

brewin'; an then he bob'd under th' seat. In abaght a minit three on em

coom in,--not i' ther blue clooas an silver buttons, but i' ther reglar

warty duds.

"Nah, owd lass," said one, "let's have hauf-a-gallon o' stiff-shackle,

an luk sharp."

"What do yo want, maister? I think yo've come to th' rang haase; do yo

tak this to be a jerry-hoil; or ha?" said Molly. (They'd ta'en care to

leave Slinger aghtside, cos they knew he'd be owned.)

"Nay, nah come," they said, "its all reight mun, here's th' brass,

sithee, fotch a soop up, for we're all three as dry as a assmidden."

"Why, if yo are reight dry," shoo says (an bith' mass they wor, for

they'd been walkin' a bit o' ther best), "ther's lots o' watter ith' pot

under th' table, but be as careful as yo con, for it bides a deal o'

fotchin'--but aw wodn't advise yo to fill yor bellies o' cold watter

when yo're sweatin', its nooan a gooid thing mun. Have yo come fur? Yo

luk as if yo'd been runnin' aght oth' gate o' summut, but aw hope yo've

been i' noa sooart o' mischief: hasumever, sit yo daan an cooil a bit."

They set em daan, for they wor fessened what to do, an at last one on

em whispered, "aw believe Slinger's been havin' us on, seekin' th'

fiddle, but if he has, we'll repoort him an get him discharged like a

shot."

"Why," said another, "ha is it he isn't here? Where's he gooan?"

"He's hid hissen ith' pigcoit just aghtside. Aw expect he'll be ommost

stoled o' waitin' bi this, but let him wait, he desarves it for bringin'

folk o' sich eearands as theease, We'st nobbut get laft at when we get

back, soa what think yo if we goa an say nowt abaght it? He'll nooan

stop long aw'll warrant."

"Well, nowt but reight," they said; soa biddin' th' owd woman gooid day,

they set off back. When they went aght, Jimmy crope throo under th'

langsettle, an' lukin' at Molly, he said, "Nah, have aw done thi a gooid

turn this time owd craytur?"

"Tha has, Jim, an aw'm varry mich obleeged to thi, lad," shoo says, "an

tha shall have another quart at my expense."

"Net yet, thank thi, Molly. Aw havn't done wi this--ther's a bit ov a

spree to be had aght on it yet mun, aw heeard ivery word at they said,

an what does ta think! They've left Slinger ith' pigcoit waitin', an aw

meean to keep him theear for a bit." Soa sayin,' he quietly crept aght,

an went raand to th' back o' th' pigcoit.

"Slinger! are ta thear?"

"All reight, lad; have yo fun ought?"

"Nut yet, but we're just gooin to do; tha munnat stir, whativer tha

does. Its a rare do is this. It'll be th' makin' on us, mun."

"Does ta think we shall get made into sargents?" axed Slinger.

"I lad, an corporals too, aw'll be bun; but bowd thi whisht, whatever

tha does--we'll come for thi as sooin as we want thi; does ta think tha

could sup a drop o' summat if tha had it?"

"Aw wish aw'd chonce, that's all.'"

"Well, bide thi time, an aw'll send thi some."

Jim then walked away, an leavin' Slinger screwed up like a dishclaat, he

went into th' haase, and call'd for a quart.

"Well, what's come o' Slinger?" said Molly.

"Oh, he's all reight--he's gooin through his degrees to get made into a

sargent or a corporal or some other sort ov a ral, but aw'll bet he'll

wish it wor his funeral afoor aw've done wi' him."

Jimmy sat comfortably suppin' his stiffshackle an smokin' a bit o'

bacca, an tried by all th' means in his power to wheedle th' owd woman

into his way o' thinkin'.

"Tha mud do wor nor ha' me mun" he said, "aw'm nut ovver handsome aw

know, but ther's nowt abaght me to flay onybody."

"Ther'll nubby be freetened o' thee lad, tha need'nt think," shoo says,

"for tha reminds me ov a walkin' cloaas peg--if tha'd been split a bit

heigher up tha'd ha' done for a pair o' cart shafts."

"Well tha knows beauty's i'th eye o'th beholder," says Jim.

"They'd be able to put all thy beauty i' ther e'e an see noa war for

it," shoo says.

"Well, aw'm willin' to work an keep thi a lady as far as th' brass 'll

gaa."

"What mack ov a lady aw should like to know? Th' same as aw am nah aw

reckon, up to th' elbows i' soap suds. But once for all aw want thi to

understand at aw'm nooan i'th weddin' vein at present."

"Well tha'rt a hard-hearted woman, that's what tha art--an nooan as

gooid ith' bottom as tha mud be, or else tha'd niver live here chaitin'

th' excise for a livin', astead o' being th' wife ov a daycent chap. Aw

ommost wish aw'd letten them chaps catch thi; it ud nobbut ha sarved thi

reight."

"Sarved me reight, wod it? Well tha con goa an fotch Slinger aght o'

th' pigcoit (for aw reckon he's thear yet), but ha mich better ar ta, at

sits thear suppin' it? But whether aw'm as gooid as aw should be or

net, aw'm sure tha'rt a gooid-for-nowt, an th' sooiner tha taks thi hook

aght o' this haase an' th' better, for aw've studden thy nonsense woll

aw'm fair staled. Are ta baan? For if tha doesn't tha'll get this

poaker abaght thi heead."

"Nay! Nay! tha doesn't mean it?" said Jim, jumpin' aght o'th gate, "tha

wodn't hurt me surelee?"

"Hurt thi! drabbit thi up, tha's spun me to th' length--ger aght o' that

door."

Jimmy kept backin' aght step by step, an' Molly wor flourishin' th'

poaker, but nother on em saw at th' peggy-tub wor fair i'th gate woll

Jim backed slap into it. Splash went th' watter o' ivery side, an'

Molly skriked, "A'a dear! sarved thi reight, as if tha could'nt see a

whole tub! What are ta splashin' like that for?"

But poor Jimmy couldn't spaik, for he wor wedged as fast as a thief in a

miln, an' nowt but his legs an' his arms could be seen. Molly catched

howd on his legs an' tried to pool him aght, but th' heigher shoo lifted

his feet an' th' lower sank his heead, soa ther wor noa way to do but to

roll it over an' teem him aght.

"This beats all," says Molly, as shoo helped him up, "couldn't ta see

it?"

"Does ta think aw've a e'e i' th' back o' my heead?" he said, "it's all

long o' thee, an' dang it that watters whoot."

"It's like to be whoot," shoo says, "did ta iver know folk wesh i' cold

watter, tha lumphead?"

"Well, what shall aw have to do? Aw'm as weet as a sop, to say nowt ov a

blister or two.

"Tha mun goa thi ways to bed an' throw thi clooas daan th' stairs an,

aw'll see if aw connot dry 'em off for thi."

Soa up stairs he went an' flang his weet things daan, sayin' at th' same

time, "If tha finds any buttons off tha can suit thisen whether tha puts

'em on or net."

"Aw've summat else to do nor sew for thee, tha's made we wark enuff,"

shoo said.

It did'nt tak long for Molly to dry th' cloas an' shoo raylee felt

sooary for him after all, soa shoo set too an' stitched him a button or

two on, an' as shoo said, "mensened him up a bit for he wor somebody's

poor lad."

He wor sooin drest nice an' comfortable agean an' then he thowt it wor

time to goa an' see what had come o' Slinger.

As sooin as he coom near th' coit he could hear him snoaring away ommost

as laad as a trombone. "Well tha'rt a bonny en" he said "to be paid

aght o'th rates for keeping a sharp luk aght. Aw did think to bring thi

summat to sup but its a pity to disturb thi. Aw'll try another dodge an

see ha' that'll act."

Away he went an' in a minit or two coom back wi a huggin o' strea, an'

quietly oppenin th' door he shoved it in,--he then walked off mutterin

"tha'll be capp'd when tha wackens owd lad."

As th' day began to grow shorter a few owd faces began to peep in to see

ha Molly wor gettin on an' to taste ov her drink. When ther'd getten

abaght a hauf a duzzen on em Jim slipped aght an' sammed up all he

could find i'th' shape o' buckets an' had em filled wi watter an' not o'

th' cleanest sooart,--then he lit a wisp o' strea just aghtside o'th'

pighoil door an' waited wall th' smook had begun to curl nicely up:--

then he darted into th' haase an' bawled aght "Heigh lads! do come,--

somdy's set th' pighoil o' fire."

Aght they flew an' sure enuff thear it wor reekin away' like a brick

kiln.

"Sleck th' inside first," says Jim, an' in a twinklin one pailful after

another wor splashed in. Slinger sooin wacken'd but he wor fast what to

mak on it,--he thowt he must be dreamin ov a storm at sea or summat.

"Howd on! Howd on!" he yell'd aght "what have yo agate?"

"Do luk sharp lads," says Jim, "ther's somdy inside they'll be burnt to

th' deeath. Bring some watter some on yo."

"Ther is noan," they says, "its all done."

"Why mucky watter 'll sleck as weel as clean, give us howd of a pailful

o' swill. We munnot have th' poor body burnt to th' deeath."

Just as Slinger was rushin aght o'th' door he gate a reglar dooas 'at

ommost floor'd him.

"Nah lads, lets stop a bit, says Jim, aw think th' dangers ommost

ovver,--lets see who this chap is. It's happen somdy at wanted to burn

owd Molly aght o' haase an' harbor."

Slinger brast aght o'th' door like a roarin lion,--but he wor sooin

collard, an' he wor soa bedisend with soft cake an' puttaty pillins at

his own mother could'nt ha owned him.

"Dooant yo know who aw am," he sputtered aght, "Awm Slinger, yo know

me."

"Bith mass it is Slinger," said Jim,--"its noabdy else," whativer has ta

been dooin to get into a mess like this? Tha may thank thy stars tha

worn't burnt to th' deeath."

"Well aw dooant know 'at it means mich whether a chap's burnt or draand,

but awther on 'em befoor being smoord,--did iver ony body see sich a

seet as aw am?"

"Why tha luks like a sheep heead wi brain sauce tem'd over it, said

one."

"He needn't carry a scent bottle wi' him, they'll be able to smell him

withaat," said another.

"Ha shall aw have to get clean," says Slinger. "Aw can't goa hooam this

pictur?"

"Tha'll have to get sombdy to scrape thi daan, unless tha thinks tha's

getten enuff o'th' scrape tha'rt in already;--but aw think tha'd better

goa hooam to th' wife an' tell her tha's comed."

"He's noa need to do that, if shoo's ought of a nooas sho'll find it

aght.

"Well if this is what comes o' being a bobby aw'll drop it, but for

gooidness sake lads, niver split for aw'st niver hear th' last o' this

do."

At last they persuaded Slinger to goa hooam. What he said to th' wife

or what shoo said to him folk niver knew, but certain it is 'at shoo

went an' left him an' lived wi her mother for aboon a wick at after.

When he turned aght next mornin to goa see th' superintendent, he luked

like a gate-post 'at's studden in a rookery for six months. He'd to

wait a bit afoor he could see him, but when he did he said "Maister!"

aw've comed to get turned off for awm sick o' this job--no moor

cunstublin for me, aw've had enuff."

"Why my good man," he said, "what's up? Have yo dropt in for summat yo

dooant like?"

"Aw have,--an' summat's been dropt onto me at aw dooant like, an aw've

made up my mind to throw up th' drumsticks an' tak to honest hard wark

for a livin."

"Well young man, yo seem dissatisfied, but yo should remember 'at we're

like soldiers in a war, we're feightin agean things 'at isn't reight,

its nut allus straight forrard, it seems yors has'nt been this time, but

its one o'th chances o' war' at yo mun expect."

"It may be a chance o' war, but it'll be a chance o' better afoor yo

catch me at it agean, so gooid mornin."

When he'd getten into th' street he langed to goa up to owd Molly's

agean, but thowts o'th' neet afoor kept him back, and varry weel it wor

soa, for Jim o' Long wor dooin his best to flay th' owd woman woll

shoo'd be glad to have him and shut up th' wisht shop,--an' be shot he

managed, for shoo promised shoo'd wed him in a month, an' shoo wor as

gooid as her word.

Jimmy settled daan to his cobblin (for he reckoned to do a bit at that

when he did ought), an' he worked away varry weel for a bit, an' Molly

took a pride i'th' garden aghtside an' th' haase inside, an' they were

varry comfortable. But ther wor just an odd booan somewhear abaght Jim

'at did'nt like wark, an' aw think it must 'ha' been a wopper, for it

used to stop all t'other ivery nah and then for two or three days

together. He liked to goa an' sit i'th' beershop opposite, an' have a

pint or two, an' Molly knew it wor her bit o' brass at wor gooin, for

shoo said "he hardly haddled as mich sometimes as he cost i' wax."

One day he'd been rayther longer nor usual, an' shoo wor just ready for

him.

"Aw thowt tha used to tell me at it wornt th' ale tha wanted, it wor me;

but na it is'nt me ta wants, it's the ale."

"Why, woll a chap lives he con alter his mind, connot he?" said Jim.

"Oh! soa tha's altered thi mind, has ta? Tha's noa need to tell me that,

aw can see it, an' aw've altered mine too, an' aw've a gooid mind to

pail my heead agean th' jawm when aw think on it."

"Why, lass, it's a pity to spoil a gooid mind, but aw'st advise thi to

tak thi cap off for fear o' crushin it."

"An' if aw did crush it, whose brass wor it at bought it, aw should like

to know? Tha's taen moor brass across th' rooad this wick nor what ud ha

bought booath a cap an a bonnet, an' tha'rt staring across nah as if tha

langed to be gooin agean. What are ta starin at?"

"Nay nowt, but aw think ther's a mule i'th' garden," said Jim.

"He'd hardly getten th' words aght ov his maath, when Molly seizes th'

besom, an' flies aght, saying, "It's just what yo mun expect when folk

come hooam hauf druffen, an' leeav th' gate oppen."

"Whativer has th' owd craytur up," says Jim. "Shoo surely doesn't think

aw mean ther wor a mule i'th' garden? Aw nobbut meant ther wor a bit ov

a row i'th' hoil; but aw'll niver be trusted if shoo is'nt lukkin under

th' rhubub leaves, as if shoo thowt a mule could get thear, but shoo'll

be war mad at ther isn't one nor what shoo wod ha been if shoo'd fun

hauf a duzzen."

Molly coom back in a awful temper. "Soa tha thowt tha couldn't do enuff

to aggravate me but tha mun mak a fooil on me?"

"Why, wornt ther one?"

"Noa, ther worn't, an' tha knew that."

"Ther wor summat 'at luk'd as faal as one, daatless, when tha wor

thear."

"Come, tha's noa room to talk. Aw think aw'm as handsom as thee, ony

end up. Folk may weel wonder what aw could see i' thee, and aw niver

should ha had thee if aw had'nt been varry cloise seeted."

"Tha'rt booath cloise seeted and cloise fisted, aw think, and if tha wor

cloiser maathed sometimes ther'd be less din."

"Thear tha goaas agean. Aw've spakken, have aw. Aw'll tell thi what

it is, tha can't bide to be tell'd o' thi faults, but aw'm nooan gooin

to be muzzled to suit thee."

"Why, lass, it isn't oft tha oppens thi maath for nowt, tha generally

lets summat aght."

"Well, an' when tha oppens thine, tha generally lets summat in, soa

we're abaght straight."

"Aw wish we wor, lass, for aw'm stoled o' this bother, an' if ther isn't

a mule i'th' garden nah, ther's summat else, for if that isn't Slinger,

aw wor niver soa capt i' my life. Why, he looks as fat as a pig. Oppen

th' door, an' ax him in, for it's th' first time aw've seen him sin he'd

his heead in a pooltice."

"Gooid day, Slinger; ha ta gettin on?"

"Oh, meeterly just. Aw thowt a callin when aw went past afoor, but ther

wor sich a din, aw thowt ther mud be a mule i' th'"--

"What does ta say," says Molly. "Has ta come here to taunt me? "Aw've

been tell'd abaght that mule afoor this afternooin."

"Molly," said Jim, "tha caps me. Doesn't ta know what folk mean when

they say there's a mule i' th' garden? They mean there's a bit of a

dust i' th' hoil, that's all mun."

"Oh! is that it!" says Molly. "Aw see nah. Yo know aw'm to be excused

if aw dooant understand iverything, for aw'm not mich of a scholard;

ther worn't schooils like there is nah when aw wor a lass; but aw'd a

brother once 'at wor as cliver as onybody--he used to be able to rule

th' planets; but he wor draaned at last, an' aw declare aw've niver been

able to bide th' seet o' watter sin'. Aw believe that wor what made me

start o' brewin."

"Why yo happen have a sup left, said Slinger?"

"Ea lad, ther's some i' that pewter sithee--tak howd an sup."

"Thank thi' "he said, an' here's wishing at ther may niver be a 'mule i'

th' garden' but what 'll be as easy getten shut on as this has been this

afternooin."

"Gooid lad Slinger! Tha talks like a book. Aw believe if tha'd had a

better bringin up tha'd ha' made a philosipher says Molly."

"Tha had a fancy once to be a police ossifer hadn't ta said Jim? But aw

think tha's getten that nooation purged aght on thi nah?"

"Well, aw gate it swill'd aght on me ony way. But aw think some times'

at it towt me a bit o' sense, an' whoiver he is 'at wants to raise

hissen up, by poolin somdy else daan, aw hope he'll get sarved ith' same

way; for when a chap shuts his een to ivery body's interests but his own

he desarves to be dropt on--but if we'd all to strive to lend one

another a hand, things ud go on a deal smoother, an' as nooan on us is

perfect, we ought to try by kindness an' gooid natur an by practisin a

bit o' patience to mak one another's rooad as pleasant as we con, an if

we stuck to that we should find fewer mules i' th' garden."

* * * * * * *

"O! an' soa that's th' tale abaght Slinger, is it Ezra?"

"That's it uncle, its done nah."

"Its abaght time it wor, an' th' next time tha comes here an' brings a

tale wi' thi mak it hauf as long an' it'll be twice as welcome."

A Neet at "Widup's Rest."

We've mooast on us, at one 'time or another, accidentally dropt amang

company withaat havin ony idea o' spendin mich time wi' em, an' yet

we've kept stoppin an' stoppin, feelin as happy as con be, an' niver

thinkin for a minit what a blowin-up we should get when we landed hooam.

An' aw've mony a time thowt 'at a body enjoys a bit ov a doo o' that

sooart a deal better nor a grand set affair, becoss when a body expects

nowt it's hardly likely he'll be disappointed. Well, it wor one day last

winter 'at aw'd walked monny a weary mile, an' it wor commin dark, when

aw called at "Widdup's Rest," to see if aw could get owt to comfort me

old inside, for aw wor feelin varry wamley. As sooin as th' lonlady saw

me shoo ax'd me to step forrads into another raam, which aw did, an' fan

a few chaps set raand a fire fit to rooast a bull, an' lukkin varry

jolly. As sooin as they saw me they made raam for me at th' hob end,

an' began talkin to me as friendly as if they'd known me all ther life.

Aw sooin began to feel varry mich at hooam wi' em, an' as th' lonlady

browt in some basins o' hot stew 'at shoo wodn't be paid for, (an old

trick to get fowk to spend twice as mich another rooad) an' as another

chap wod pay for all we had to sup an' smook, aw thowt aw mud ha gone

farther an' fared worse. It worn't long befoor some moor coom droppin

in (ha that happens aw dooant know, but aw darsay you'll ha nooaticed it

monny a time yorsen, 'at if ther's owt stirrin 'at's cheap ther's allus

a certain class o' fowk 'at drop in accidentally).

After a bit, we mustered a varry nice pairty ov abaat a dozen, an' as

iverybody wor tawkin at once we managed to mak a fairish din. But at

last one o'th' chaps proposed 'at we should have a cheerman, an' see if

we couldn't conduct business in a moor sensible manner. Ivery body sed,

"hear, hear!" an' ov cooarse th' chap 'at wor standin sam wor voated in,

which seemed to give him mich satisfaction, an aw couldn't help thinking

'at he worn't th' furst chap 'at had getten put i' sich a position for

his brass an' net his brains.

After "order" had been called two or three times bi every body i'th'

place, th' cheerman stood up an' sed, "Gentlemen, aw feel varry praad to

okkipy this cheer, an' aw'll do mi best to discharge the duties that

disolves upon me at this important crikus, an' aw think if ony body

wants to order owt they'd better do it at once, soas we shalln't have

ony interruptions." We all shaated, "hear, hear!" agean, an' th'

lonlady wor i'th' raam befoor we'd time to ring th' bell. When we'd all

getten supplied th' cheerman stood up agean, an' knockin th' table wi' a

empty ale bottle, sed, "silence!"

We ivery one shaated "silence!" an' luk'd daggers at one another for

makkin sich a din, an' then he went on to say, "Gentlemen, as aw'm a

stranger amang yo, ov coorse aw dooant know mich abaat yo, but aw should

be varry mich pleeased if one on yo wod oblige bi singing a song."

"Nah ther's a chonce for thee, Cocky," sed one.

"Tha knows aw connot sing," sed Cocky, "aw think Ike ud do better nor

me."

"Nay, aw can sing nooan," sed Ike, "aw niver sang owt i' mi life but'

Rock-a-boo-babby,' an' it's soa long sin aw've forgetten that, but

ther's old Mosslump thear, happen he'll give us one, we all know he can

sing." "Dooant thee pitch onto me," sed Mosslump, "it'll be time enuf

for thee to start o' orderin when we mak thi into th' cheerman, what

can't yo start wi' Standhen for, we know he can sing?"

"O, Standhen!" they sed, "we'd forgetten Standhen! He can give us a owd

Tory touch we know."

Up jumpt th' cheerman, an befoor Standhen had time to spaik he called

aght, "Mr. Standhen! We're all waitin for thy song, an as cheerman o'

this assembly aw expect thee to do what tha con to entertain this

compny, or otherwise aw shall vacate this cheer."

As all th' glasses wor beginnin to get low, they felt this to be an

appeal to ther inmost sowl, soa they all began, perswadin Standhen, an'

after a deeal to do he promised to try. "Aw know awst braik daan befoor

aw start," he sed. "Nay, tha'll have to start furst," sed one, "but

we'll excuse thi if tha does; if tha tries it'll show willin." After

coughin once an' suppin twice, he shut his e'en an' oppened his maath,

an' this is what coom aght:--

Thou grand old Church of England!

Though others raise their voice,

And try to stain thy spotless name,

Thou still shall be my choice;

Just as thou art, I love thee thus,

And freely I confess,

I'd have thee not one jot the more,

Nor yet one tittle less.

Those who would rob thee of thy rights,

And urge with specious tongue,

That theft by Act of Parliament

Can surely not be wrong.

I'd have them leave thy sheltering wing,

And nevermore to dare

To stand within thy courts of praise,

Or taint thy house of prayer.

Oh! dear old Church of England,

That points the way to Heaven!

Amid a sad, sad world of sin

The truly, only leaven.

We leave thee to our Father's care,

Who knows thy needs the best,

Convinced that He, by aid of thee,

Will leaven all the rest.

When he'd finished they all knocked ther glasses on th' table bi way ov

applaudin, which th' lonlady hearin, at once coom in an' ax'd if they

wor "callin?" an' as all wor empty, shoo luk'd varry hard at th'

cheerman, an' he nodded "as befoor," soa shoo gethered up th' empties,

an' called for Liza "to bring in them glasses," which wor at once done,

an' showd a gooid deal o' foreseet on her part i' havin 'em ready.

When all had getten sarved wi' hot watter, an' given ovver crushin

sugar, th' cheerman announced 'at it wor Mr. Standhen's call, soa up

jumped Standhen, an' said "he couldn't do better nor call owd Mosslump

for a song." Some moor applause followed this, but they didn't knock

th' tables wi' ther glasses this time, becoss they wor too full.

Mosslump stood up, wiped his maath wi' th' corners ov his necktie,

turned up his e'en as if he wor gooin to depart this life i' peace, an'

in a voice, time, an' manner peculiarly his own he sung--

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife,

An' Johnny is a druffen sot;

He spends th' best portion ov his life

I'th beershop wi' a pipe an' pot.

At schooil together John an' me

Set side by side like trusty chums,

An' niver did we disagree

Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs.

At John shoo smiled,

An' aw wor riled;

Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me

Her bonny e'en

Aw've seldom seen

Sin' that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want,

For Johnny ofttimes gets o'th spree;

He spends his wages in a rant,

An' leeaves his wife to pine or dee.

An' monny a time aw've ligged i' bed,

An' cursed my fate for bein poor,

An' monny a bitter tear aw've shed,

When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore.

For shoo's mi life

Is Johnny's wife,

An' tho' to love her isn't reet,

What con aw do,

When all th' neet throo

Aw'm dreeamin ov her e'en soa breet.

Aw'll goa away an' leeave this spot,

For fear 'at we should iver meet,

For if we did, as sure as shot

Awst throw me daan anent her feet.

Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil,

To love a woman when shoo's wed,

But sin' aw saw her furst at schooil,

It's been a wretched life aw've led.

But th' time has come

To leeave mi hooam,

An' th' sea between us sooin shall roar,

Yet still mi heart

Will niver part

Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.

Long befoor he'd done th' chaps had begun tawkin, some abaat politics an

some abaat Knursticks, an' when he sat daan th' cheerman wor th' only

quiet chap i' th' lot, an' he wor ommost asleep; but Mosslump comforted

hissen wi' whisperin to me 'at classical mewsic wor varry little thowt

on, an' after a sigh, a sup, a shake ov his head, an' another leet for

his pipe, he sat daan evidently detarmined not to be suited wi' owt i'

th' singin way that neet. After th' cheerman had wakken'd up, two or

three called for "Cocky," an' this time he gate up withaat ony excuses,

an' although he did rock backards an' forrads like a clock pendlum th'

wrang end up, yet aw must say he entered life an' soul into what he had

to do, an' in a voice 'at seemed three times too big for the size ov his

carcass he sang--

Lord John and John Lord were both born on a day,

But their fortunes were different quite;

Lord John was decked out in most gorgeous array,

As soon as he first saw the light.

But poor Johnny Lord, it's true on my word,

He'd no clothes to step into at all;

He'd no flannel to wrap, he'd no nightgown or cap,

But was rolled in his poor mother's shawl.

Now, it seems very strange, yet it's true what I say

And I hope you're not doubting my word;

And I'll tell what took place in a general way,

With Lord John and with poor Johnny Lord

The nurse took Lord John, and the doctors stood round,

And examined the child and his clothes;

Whilst a fussy physician, with looks most profound,

Wiped his aristocratical nose.

"It is, I declare, most uncommonly fair,

And its voice, oh! how sweet when it cries;

It really would seem like the child of a dream,

Or an angel just dropt from the skies."

Now, it seems very strange, &c.

Now, poor Johnny Lord and his mother were laid,

Both fainting and cold on the straw;

No doctors would come there unless they were paid,

Or compelled to be there by the law.

No comforting word heard poor Mistress Lord,

As o'er her babe bending she sat,

And each one who saw it cried with one accord,

"What a little detestable brat."

Now, it seems very strange, &c.

The two babes became men as the years rolled away.

And Lord John sported carriage and pair,

Whilst poor Johnny Lord working hard for poor pay,

Was content with what fell to his share.

Lord John went to races, to balls and to routs,

And squandered his wealth with the gay,

Till at last came the reaper, and sought them both out,

And took Lord John and John Lord away.

Now, it seems very strange, &c.

Very soon a grand monument stood o'er Lord John,

To show where the great man was laid,

But over John Lord was no mark and no stone,

It was left as when left by the spade.

But the time yet shall come when John Lord and Lord John

Shall meet in the realms far away,

When the riches and titles of earth are all gone,

Then which will be greatest, friends, say?

Then, though it seems strange, yet it's true what you've heard,

And a lesson throughout it is cast,

Which should comfort the poor working men like John Lord,

For we all shall be equal at last.

As sooin as he'd finished quaverin on th' last noat but one, ther wor

sich a knockin o' glasses an' thump in o' fists, wol th' lonlady coom in

agean, an' th' cheerman felt it his duty to order "as befoor," which

order th' lonlady worn't long i' executin. "Gooid lad! Cocky!" sed Ike,

"if aw'd a voice like thee aw'd travel! Tawk abaat Sims Reeves! He

niver sang a song like that sin he wor creddled! Nah Maister Cheerman,

keep up th' harmony, we're mendin on it aw'm sure. 'Gow, aw'll have

another pipe o' bacca o' th' heead on it' nay, raylee, aw niver did hear

sich a song," savin which he sat daan an' hid his astonishment behund a

claad o' reek.

"Well," sed th' cheerman, "as Ike seems soa anxious, aw think he'd

better try an' let's see what he con do." "Hear, hear!" on all sides,

an' two or three pulled him up whether he wod or net, an' after a gooid

deal o' sidelin abaat, he axed if he mud have his cap on, for he could

niver sing withaat cap. "That's to keep th' mewsic throo flyin aght

o'th' top ov his heead," sed one. "Order!" sed th' cheerman, "if Ike

wants his cap on let him have it, may be he'll loise th' air withaat

it."

Ike luk'd very solid for a minit, an' then he struck a lively tune in a

voice abaat as musical as a saw sharpener.

Let us have a jolly spree,

An' wi' joy an' harmonie,

Let the merry moments flee,

For mi love's come back.

O, the days did slowly pass,

When aw'd lost mi little lass,

But nah we'll have a glass,

For mi love's come back.

O, shoo left me in a hig,

An' shoo didn't care a fig,

But nah aw'll donce a jig,

For mi love's come back.

An' aw know though far away,

'At her heart neer went astray,

An' awst iver bless the day,

For mi love's come back.

When shoo ax'd me yesterneet

What made mi heart so leet,

Aw says, "why can't ta see it's

'Coss mi love's come back."

Then aw gave her just a kiss,

An' shoo tuk it noan amiss

An' aw'm feear'd aw'st brust wi' bliss,

For mi love's come back.

Nah aw'm gooin to buy a ring,

An' a creddle an' a swing,

Ther's noa tellin what may spring,

For mi' love's come back.

O, aw niver thowt befoor

'At sich joy could be i' stoor,

But nah aw'l grieve noa moor,

For mi love's come back.

As mud ha been expected, they applauded Ike famously, but th' cheerman

wor hard asleep agean, an' it tuk a gooid shakkin to wakken him, an'

then he didn't seem to be altogether thear, an' as sooin as they left

him aloan he dropt on agean.

"Aw think th' cheerman's ommost sewed up," sed Ike. "Net he! he's noan

sewed up," sed Mosslump, "it's that song o' thine 'at's sent him to

sleep! who the shames does ta think could keep wakken for sich a song as

that? aw knew tha'd do it as sooin as aw heeard thi begin." "Come,

aw'll sing thee for a quairt any day," sed Ike, "tha fancies coss tha'd

once a uncle 'at could sing a bit, 'at ther's some mewsic born i' thee;

but if aw'd a public haase aw wodn't let thee sing in it for a paand,

for aw'll bet tha'd turn all th' ale saar." "Tha am't worth tawkin to,

Ike, an' as for thee havin a voice, Why! tha arn't fit to hawk cockles

an' mussels." "Well, an if aw did hawk 'em aw'd tak gooid care aw didn't

sell thee ony unless aw gate th' brass befoorhand, soa tha can crack

that nut." "Does ta mean to say 'at aw dooant pay mi way? aw've moor

brass commin in ivery day nor tha can addle in a wick." Aw saw it luk'd

likely for a row brewin, soa aw sed, "nah chaps, we've had a verry nice

evening soa far, an' aw shouldn't like ony unpleasantness, for yo see

th' cheerman's had a drop too much, an' aw think we owt to try to get

him hooam if ony body knows wheear he lives." "Eea!" sed one chap 'at

had been varry quite all th' neet, "aw dooant think he'll pay for owt

ony moor, soa we mud as weel get shut on him." "Ther's Frank standin'

at th' corner," sed another "aw dar say he'll tak him." "Who's Frank,

aw asked." "O, it's a donkey 'at they call Frank," sed Ike, "th' chap

'at bowt him had him kursened Frank i' honor o' Frank Crossley bein made

a member o' parliment." "Varry weel," aw sed, "then let's get him onto

it." One or two came to give a lift, an' wi' a bit o' trouble we gate

him aghtside. Th' donkey wor thear, but as ther wor a gurt milk can o'

each side on it, aw couldn't see exactly ha to put this chap on. "O,"

sed Ike, "he'll ride nicely between' em," soa we hoisted him up, an'

gave th' chap 'at belang'd donkey a shilling to see him safe hooam. Off

they went at a jog trot, an' aw fancy if he'd niver known owt abaat th'

can can befoor, 'at he'd have a varry lively noation o' what it meant

befoor he'd gooan two mile daan th' hill. When we'd getten him away,

some o'th chaps went back into th' haase, but aw thowt my wisest plan

wor to steer straight for hooam, which aw did, an' although aw believe

my old woman had prepared a dish o' tongue for mi supper, as aw went

straight to bed an' fell asleep, aw'm net exactly sure whether aw gate

it or net. When aw wakken'd next mornin, aw began thinking abaat th'

neet befoor, an' aw coom to th' conclusion, 'at "Widdop's Rest" might be

all varry weel once in a way, but if a chap had weary booans, he'd be

able to rest a deal better in a comfortable bed at hooam.

Tinklin' Tom.

Some time ago I was accidentally thrown into the im company of a number

of workmen, who were just wondering how to pass the remainder of the

dinner hour agreeably; and, as they were all indulging in the favourite

after dinner pipe, with one exception, it was proposed that this one,

whom they called Amos, should tell them one of his stories. Amos,

nothing loth, and, evidently accustomed to occupy the position of a

story teller, without any apology commenced:--

"Nah, aw dooan't think for a minit, 'at yo all knew this tinklin' Tommy,

'at aw'm gooin to tell yo abaght. Nowt o'th' soort! Its net to be

expected! But aw dar say yo've all known a tinklin chap o' some

sooart--one o' them 'ats allus boddin an' doin jobs they niver sarved

ther time to--a sooart o' jack-o'-all-trades, one 'at con turn his hand

to owt ommost. Nah, aw like a chap o' that sooart, if he doesn't carry

things too far: but when he begins to say 'at he con build a haase as

weel as a mason, an' mak a kist o' drawers as weel as a joiner, or

praich a sarmon as weel as th' parson--or playa bazzoon, or spetch a

pair o' clogs better nor ony man breathin--then, aw say, tak care an'

ha' nowt to do wi' him. It isn't i'th' natur ov ony body to be able to

do ivery thing, an' yo 'll oft find 'at them 'at con do all bi ther

tawk, con varry seldom do owt reight.

This Tinklin Tom, 'at aw knew, lived at Northaaram, an' he'd managed to

mak fowk believe 'at he wor a varry cliver chap, an' whoiver wanted owt

doin they wor sure to send for Tom; an' varry oft he did better nor

like, to say 'at he had to do it aght ov his own heead; an' if iver he

made a mess o' owt, it wor sure to be th' fault o' th' stuff, or else

them 'at held th' leet: it wor niver Tommy's.

It happened one time 'at Tom had a bit o' spare time ov his hands, soa

he went up to th' aleus to get a pint o' drink, singing as he went, "Ye

lads an' lasses so blithe an' gay, come to the 'Woodlands,' come away."

"Hallo, Tom," said th' landlord, "tha'rt just th' chicken aw wor wantin!

Tha mun gi' us a lift, wi' ta?"

"A lift! What does ta mean? What is it tha wants liftin? Aw dar say aw

con do mi share, for aw've seen th' time when ther worn't a chap i'

Awrram 'at could lift as mich as me."

Why, Tom! aw'm capt tha hasn't heeard! Doesn't ta knaw 'at we're goin to

have a grand tea-drinkin up stairs to neet, an' a grand ball ta finish

off wi'?"

"Noa, ther's niver noabdy tells me owt," says Tom.

"Well, aw thowt tha knew all abaght it--its to be a furst rate doo;

tickets to be a shillin a piece, an' them 'at taks two con have' em for

one an' ninepence; an' we're gooin to have a peanner, for tha knaws noa

beershop's thowt respectable nah, unless ther's a peanner i' th' chamer

an' an ale pump i'th' bar, soa as aw dooan't want to be behund other

fowk, aw've borrowed one ov a musichener 'at keeps a shop, an' a grand

un it is as iver tha clapt thi een on."

"What is it made on?" says Tom.

"Aw dooan't knaw reightly, but aw think its awther mogny or wallmuck--aw

forget whether; but there it is. Luk! Sithee!" he sed, runnin to th'

winder, "come help us to get it in."

They booath ran aght to help th' lads at bad browt it, to get it off th'

spring cart, an' they varry sooin had it inside. As sooin as Tom an' th'

landlord wor left to thersen, they began to try to get it upstairs; but

they'd a job; they gat it up a step or two, an' thear it stuck.

"Nah, then!" sed Tom, for he wor at th' top side, "nab then, lift! howd

on! lift! lift! howd on! lift! What th' shames are ta dooin?"

"Aw'm liftin," sed th' landlord, "what should aw be dooin, thinks ta?"

"Well, try agean," says Tom, "nah then, lift! lift! Oh-h-h! Howd on!

what the hangmit are ta doin?"

"What's up?" says th' landlord.

"Can't ta see, lumpheead! tha's ommost brokken mi fingers ageean that

step!"

"Tha should keep thi fingers aght o'th' gate, an' then they willn't get

brokken."

"If tha doesn't mind what tha'rt saying, aw 'll pitch booath thee an' it

to th' botham; an' it will ha' to goa thear yet, for it'll niver come up

this way. They must be fooils 'at mak stuff ta big ta get up th' steps.

Aw once made a mangel 'at aw could tak up steps hauf this width."

"Well, its net gooin up, that's plain enuff, Tom, soa what mun we do

nah?"

"We mun get it back, an' try to pull it in 'at th' charner winder, but

we shall want a stee."

"Oh, we can sooin get that," says th' landlord, "just thee stop an' see

'at noabdy touches it, an' aw'll goa borrow one."

Off he went, an' wor sooin back wi' th' stee; an' they reared it up

agean th' charner winder an' teed a roap raand th' middle o'th' peanner,

an' wol th' landlord went up th' stairs to pool, Tom stopt daan to put

it on an' shove, an' it began to goa up varry nicely, an' Tom followed

to steady it. When it had getten abaght hauf way, th' stee began to bend

a gooid bit. "Steady fair," says th' landlord, "tha munnot come ony

farther, Tom: if tha does, it'll smash! Aw think awst be able to manage

nah." Soa Tom went back, an' th' landlord kept poolin it up a bit at a

time. As it kept gooin up an' up, it kept gettin a bit moor to one side.

"Ha is it nah, Tom?"

"Oh, its all serene--th' centre o' gravitum's all reight up to nah,"

says Tom.

Up it went--little an' little--an' ivery time it stirr'd it gat a bit

moor off th' edge, an' just as he'd getten it to th' winder bottom,

ovver it went an' daan it fell wi' a crash an' a buzz, like a volley o'

donce music shot aght ov a cannon, an' aght coom all th' neighbors to

see what wor up.

An' it did luk a seet, reight enuff. Th' top had flown off, an' one leg

stuck aght one way an tother stuck aght another. It wodn't ha' luk'd

hauf as ill if it had been an owd deal box o' some sooart; but a grand

mogny peanner--it luk'd just awful. Its like a druffen chap 'ats dressed

i' black cloath--he allus luks war nor one 'ats dress'd i' fushten.

"Well, what's to be done nah?" says th' landlord, when he'd getten daan

ta Tom agean, "tha reckons to knaw a bit o' summat abaght music, doesn't

ta? What mun wi' do wi' this lot?"

"Well," says Tom, "aw've put a hanel or two on to a box organ an'

polished a flute or two i' mi time, soa aw owt to knaw summat, but aw've

niver had owt to do wi' peanners; but aw dar say if we had it inside, aw

could do a bit o' summat wi' it."

"We can easy manage that," said th' landlord, "for we can tak it up i'

numbers!"

In a short time they had it carried up an' put together, but what

bothered Tom wor, all th' strings wor in a lump, for th' wood 'at they

wor screw'd to had brokken lawse an' tumelled into th' bottom.

"Nah, if we could nobbut get this wood wi' all thease pegs in, an' all

thease wires fesend to it, lifted up into th' reight spot, aw think

ther'd be a chonce o' gettin some mewsic aght on it--soa seize hold an'

lift," said Tom. An' they did lift I for they lifted th' peanner clean

off th' floor.

"A'a dear! this'll never do," says Tom, "aw niver saw ony body frame wor

i' mi life; we mun ha' somdy to sit on it to hold it daan. Connot th'

mistress spare time, thinks ta? Shoo's a tidy weight.

"Sally, come here!" shaated aght th' landlord, an' shoo wor up in a

minit. "Nah, we want thee to sit daan o' this article wol we lift."

"What, sit me daan o'th' kays, does ta mean? Tha doesn't think at aw con

play, does ta lad?"

"Sit thee daan! says th' landlord, varry cross; tha's noa need to be

feeard o' been blown up--its nooan a wind instrument."

Shoo set daan, tho' shoo didn't seem mich to like it, an after a gooid

deal o' tuggin an' poolin, th' chaps managed to get it up within abaght

an inch o' whear it had been befoor.

"Thear!" said Tom, "that begins to luk moor like summat." "Eea, it

does," says th' landlord, "aw shouldn't be daan abaght makin a peanner

after this; but if aw did mak one, aw'd mak one 'at wodn't braik wi'

fallin an odd stoory. Aw dooant think him aw borrowed it on 'll be able

to find owt aght."

"Well, aw dooant knaw," says Tom, "aw'm th' fastest what to do wi'

thease thingams 'at waggles abaght soa; tha sees they owt to hit thease

wires, but they're all too long someha."

"Why, doesn't ta think 'at tha could shorten 'em a bit? It luks to me

as if it 'll do if them gets shortened, Sally! get up! Are ta baan to

sit thear all th' day? Go an' borrow yond butcher's saig, an' then Tom

can cut thease foldedols."

Sally went an' left' em booath starin at th' music box, as shoo called

it, an' when shoo'd gooan th' landlord walked raand it two or three

times, an' then stoppin i' front o' Tom, he said, "Well, Tom, aw allus

thowt 'at tha wor fond o' tinklin at all sooarts o' jobs, but aw didn't

gie thee credit for being able to do owt like this."

"Why, yo' see, maister, its born i' some fowk,' replied Tom. "Nah when

aw wor a lad aw once made a tin whistle aght ov a brass canel-stick, an'

they could ha' played on it too, but it tuk sich a deal o' wind, but

ther wor a chap 'at used to come to awr haase 'at blew it mony a time."

"Tha doesn't say soa! A'a, what a thing it is to be born wi' sich a

heead as thine; aw wonder tha doesn't crack thi brain wi' studdyin soa

mich abaght things. Aw've thowt mony a time when aw've heeard fowk tawk

abaght thee 'at its a thaasand pities thi mother hadn't twins."

"Why," said Tom, "aw think sometimes 'at if aw'd been edicated aw should

happen a capt somdy; but that's Sally's fooit, aw think."

Sally browt th' saig, an' after a gooid deal o' squarin abaght, Tom said

"Aw think th' best plan 'll be to cut th' lot off to start wi', an' then

we can mak 'em what length we want 'em."

"Suit thi sen, tha owt to knaw," said th' landlord, an' Tom began to

saig away. He'd getten th' hauf on 'em cut, when up comes th' chap at

they'd borrowed it on. "I understand you've had an accident," he said,

"but I hope its not much worse?"

"Well, it has getten a bit ov a shake," says Tom, "but aw think we'll be

able to mak it all square agean in a bit."

"Why, my dear fellow, what are you doing? You are destroying the whole

affair--you are cutting the action!"

"Action! What action? What does ta mean?" says Tom.

"Why, you are cutting the working part all to pieces!"

"Warkin pairt! Aw'm dooin nowt o' th' sooart--its th' playing pairt 'at

aw'm cuttin; but if aw ammot dooin reight, tak th' saig an' lets see ha

tha'll do it."

"No, indeed--I shall have nothing to do with it--the whole thing is

ruined; and the landlord will have to pay me for it, so I wish you a

very good day."

Tom an' th' landlord watched him aght o'th' seet, an' for a minit or two

nawther on 'em spake, but 'at th' last th' landlord says, "What's to be

done, Tom? what's to be done?"

Tom seemed as dumb as th' peanner an' dived his hands into his britches

pockets varry near up to th' elbows.

"If aw wor yo maister," he said, "aw wodn't bother ony moor wi' this to

day, for ther's a deal o' tinklin wark to be done at it afoor its fit

for mich; aw'd shove it into a corner an' say nowt abaght it for fear it

might stop th' tickets for sellin, an' when fowk have getten ther tea

an' want to donce, ther's sure some music to turn up throo somewhear."

Th' landlord seemed convinced ther wor some truth i' what he said, soa

they lifted it carefully into a corner an' left it.

Ther wor a rare sale o' tickets that day, an' when tea time coom they

wor as mony as three sittins daan, but th' pots were noa sooiner sided

nor they began to ax abaght th' mewsic. Tom had set varry still wol he

saw all ready--then standing up wi' his cap i' his hand, he coff'd an'

began, "Ladies an' gents--its a vary unfortunate affair, is this; but yo

see troubles are niver to seek: th' landlord said he'd have a peanner to

neet, an' he's getten one, but its aght o' tune; but rayther nor yo

should be disappointed aw'll whistle a tune for yo misen, an' aw think

ther's two or three moor at '11 be able to help me a bit."

Withaat moor adoo he struck up a tune: th' lasses giggled an th' lads

luk'd soft; but in a bit one or two gate up, an' began turnin raand, an'

it worn't long afoor they wor all whirlin away like a lot o' scopperils,

an' as happy as happy could be. Tom sooin fun two or three moor to help

him at whistling, an' afoor it wor ovver they all agreed 'at they'd

niver enjoyed thersen hauf as weel at ony ball they'd iver been at

afoor, as they had that neet; but th' best o' friends mun pairt, an' th'

time coom when they mud goa hooam, soa just bith' way ov a wind up, Tom

stood ov a bench an' then made a varry nice soort ov a speech, an' ended

bi sayin "ha sorry he felt for th' landlord: for he'd have a deal o'

brass to pay to mak up for th' accident 'at's happened, an' as they'd

all enjoy'd thersen soa weel, he thowt they wodn't object to mak a

collection ov a trifle to help him, an' he should have mich pleasure i'

gooin raand wi' th' hat."

After this speech they all began fumlin i' ther pockets an' declaring

they'd do what they could for him; an' when th' hat went raand they

worn't one but what gave summat an' as ther wor twenty-three on 'em, it

coom to eleven-pence-hawpny. Tom handed it ovver to th' landlord, who

thanked' em in a varry neat an affectin way, an' begged on 'em to have a

shillin oth' o' warm ale at his expense, which they had. After that they

separated, thankful to think' at they'd been able to do a trifle towards

helpin a chap aght ov his troubles.

Th' landlord had to pay for th' peanner at last, an' as they couldn't

mak it play, Tinklin Tom an' a plumber turned it into a ale pump, an' it

stands i'th' bar to this day, an' they say its th' handsomest machine

o'th' sooart i' Northaaram. Th' landlord's studied music a bit sin'

then, an' as sooin as he hears th' kay nooat ov a chap's voice, he can

tell whether to draw him flat ale or sharp ale, as natural as con be.

An' they're gooin to kursen th' haase a "music ale haase;" an soa mony

fowk goa to see it, 'at th' landlord says he "fell i' luck for th' furst

time in his life when th' peanner fell aght o'th' winder."

"Ha! ha! ha! Well, that's a stunner, Amos! Tha's done that a gooid en,

but yond's th' whew, soa we mun goa an' do another bit for th' maister.

Ha! ha! ha!"

Th' New Schooil Booard.

In a village not very far from where I am now sitting, and in the

principal street, (for it was the only one,) was situated an

old-fashioned hostelry where nightly all the Solomons of the district

used to congregate. The room they occupied was a large kitchen, the

floor of which was scoured and sanded; and all the furniture, which was

immovable, was brushed as white as it was possible to be. Here they held

their political discussions, and showed how Gladstone had missed it, and

clearly demonstrated that had their advice been acted upon, the world

would very soon have become so regenerated that soldiers, sailors,

parliaments, and policemen, would be things altogether useless, and we

should soon be in such a position that pleasure would be the only

business of life. On the night of which I write, the conversation turned

upon the question of School Boards. Old Michael, who was a great

authority on the question of education, owing to his daughter being a

pupil teacher, was at once appealed to for his opinion.

"Well," he said, "awve net gooan soa deeply into this matter as some

things, but aw should think 'at they'res gooin to be a mistak all th'

way through. If aw understand it reight, iverybody's to be eddicated to

sich a pitch, wol they'll be able to tak a sitiwation awther as a clark

at a bank or a clark at a chapel, an' yo know as weel as aw do 'at

ther's some fowk yo connot eddicate. My dowter has tell'd me monny a

time, 'at ther's a deeal o' fowk 'at's born withaat heeads. Yo may think

it saands strange but aw believe it's true--they've nobbut getten lumps,

an' they're like blind boils, yo may pooltice 'em as long as yo like,

an' yo can niver draw 'em to a heead, an' that bein th' case aw think

'at Forster's made a mess on it. Nah if he'd ha takken my advice, he'd

ha letten it alooan until sich times as fowk had getten sense enuff to

understand things."

"But Michael," said Dick Dardust, "aw must say at aw dooant agree

exactly wi' all tha says, an' aw connot help thinkin 'at thy dowter may

happen be mistakken abaat fowks' heeads."

"Nah, if tha'rt gooin to set thisen up as superior to my dowter, ov

coorse aw've done at once. If somdy 'at's spent soa monny year i'

improvin ther intellectul an' morbid sensibleness is to be questioned bi

a ninkumpoop like thee, it's time to drop it."

"Aw dooant want to set misen up at all, Michael, all aw have to say is

'at th' best on us may be mistakken, an' aw've heeard a chap say, an' yo

may tak his word for it, for he comes throo London, 'at this Schooil

Booard an' this technical eddication is baan to revolutionize this

country."

"God forbid! 'at we should iver have ony revolution i' this country as

long as aw live," said Simon o' th' Lee, who had been listening, 'for

ther's been blooid enuff shed latly.'

"Nay," said Michael, "tha doesn't understand what he meeans, he doesn't

meean wars, he meeans 'at things will ha to be turned raand. Nah my

dowter tells me 'at th' world's in a revolution allus, that is, it keeps

turnin raand ov its own axle tree throo morn to neet an' niver stops."

"A'a Michael,' said Simon, 'aw think thy dowter is tryin to cram thi a

bit; nah did ta iver catch th' world th' wrang side up, for aw niver

did, an' aw've lived a year or two?"

"Well, awm net able to argify it, all aw know is 'at awm tell'd soa. But

to come back to th' old point, abaat this Schooil Booard, and technical

eddication? nah what do yo call technical eddication? Come, aat wi' it

some o' yo 'at reckon to be soa weel up."

"Wel," said Dick, "technical eddication is, aw suppooas, summat 'at fowk

leearns to do 'em some gooid, an' if aw understand it reight, it's

summat 'at fowk leearns withaat ony books or owt o' that sooart."

"Nay," said Simon, "tha'rt wrang this time,--if aw understand it,

technical eddication meeans leearnin th' names o' things sich as stars

an' plants an' joints o' mait, an' iverything o' that sooart; isn't that

it, Michael?"

"Aw dooant think it is, aw think Dick's nearer th' mark nor thee, for aw

believe it's as he says, yo leearn it withaat ony books; in fact it's

that sooart o' eddication at fowk have 'at niver went to th' schooil,

it's a sooart o' common sense view o' things,--a sooart o' beein able to

invent a way to do owt yo want ommost. Nah, aw'll gie yo a sample o'

what aw call technical eddication. My gronfayther wor booath deeaf an'

dumb an' laim, aw can just recollect him, tho he deed when aw wor a lad;

he wor born deeaf an' dumb but he wornt born laim, that happened after

he gate to be a man. Well, he niver went to th' schooil, but yet he wor

one o' th' mooast genius chaps 'at iver yo met i' yor life; he'd a way

ov his own o' dooin iverything. Aw've heeard mi fayther tell 'at when he

wor a lad, ther wor a family o' five on 'em, an' they all worked at th'

factory, an' as lads will, they sometimes stopt aat soa lat ov a neet

'at they fan it varry hard wark to get up next mornin; an' they had to

be up at five o'clock 'coss they'd a long way to walk. Nah, mi

gronfayther could nawther get up nor call aat, but ha do yo think he

managed to get' 'em aat o' bed? He used to allus keep abaat a barro

looad o' brokken bricks at his bedside, an' th' lads used to know as

sooin as they felt 'em flyin abaat ther heeads 'at it wor time to be

stirrin: one used to be enuff in a general way, but th' second wor sure

to do it, even if he wor a hard sleeper, an' if th' third didn't wakken

him, yo could book him for a tombstooan ony minit. Nah that's what aw

call technical eddication."

"Well, if throwin bricks at a chaps heead is technical eddication, aw

dooant see 'at we want a Schooil Booard to taich us that," said Jabez,

"for ther's lots 'at can manage that job withaat. Nah awl tell yo what

technical eddication is as yo all seem fast amang it."

"Well, if tha can lawse us, we desarve putting in a pooak an' shakkin

up," said Michael, low down, but just loud enough to be heard.

"Aw heeard thi what tha sed Michael, but technical eddication is that

sooart 'at taiches 'em a trade, an aw think its a varry sensible thing,

'an aw for one am i' favor ov a Schooil Board, 'an if we dooant get one

up, ther's sure to be some o' them local board chaps at will, an' aw

consider this to be a varry gooid time to consider th' subject, 'an

depend on it, them 'at start it will have th' best chonce o' being

vooated in members; an' as nooan on us but Michael has ony public

office, aw beg to propooas 'at we form ussen into a quorum an mak

application for a Schooil Booard, an' aw beg also to propooas 'at

Michael is th' cheerman."

This last proposition was a varry good hit, for he knew that if Michael

had the chance to be chairman, that he would not care a farthing what

the object might be,--and there are a many like Michael in that

particular.

Michael hum'd and ha'd a few times, but at last he overcame his scruples

and said, "he didn't know but what it wor for th' best, and if it wornt,

if it had to be done they might as weel have th' honor o' doin it as

onybody else."

They held a meeting, but it would be useless for me to attempt to make

you understand their arguments, for I did not, and I am pretty well

convinced that they were similarly situated; but at last it was

unanimously resolved that they should have a School Board, and Simon

called for pen, ink, and paper to draw up a petition, and he began in a

very promising manner, and proceeded very well until he came to the word

technical, then he scratched his head.

"What's to do nah?" said Michael.

"Ha do yo spell technical?" said Simon, "is there a K in it?"

"Ho eea! ther must be a K in it," said Dick, "let's see, teck, neck,

peck, reck, check, deck, leck;--hi! ther must be a K in it, ther's a K

i' all words o' that sooart."

"Well, but aw believe ther isn't a K in it for all that," said Simon,

"but whear's ther an old newspaper, we can happen find it mentioned

thear."

So he got an old paper, and whilst he was running down the columns, the

rest of the members were arranging when they could have th' furst feed

at th' heead o' th' Booard.

"Nah," he said, "awve fun it."

"An' ther's a K in it ov coarse," sed Michael.

"As it happens tha'rt wrang for once," said Simon, "for ther isn't."

"Then ther owt to be, that's all, but aw dooant put ony faith i'

newspapers, for when aw wor wed, they put in my name Michael withaat a

K."

"Well, that wor reight enough, ther isnt a K i' Michael."

"Oh, isnt ther?--varry gooid,--aw know 'at my dowter spells it wi' a K

an' shoo's a pupil taicher, soa shoo owt to know," said Michael.

"Thy dowter be blowed! tha wants to ram thy dowter daan ivery body's

throit."

"Do aw?--Awd be looath to ram her daan thy throit anyway, tho it wodnt

be sich a varry hard job, for thi maath's ommost big enuff."

"If its ony bigger accordingly nor thy nooas awl be smoored; but tha con

tak th' Schooil Board an thi dowter too for what aw care, an' mich gooid

may shoo do thi, for awl niver be under a cheerman at spells Michael wi'

a K.

"Nah chaps," said Dick Dardust, "dont yo fratch."

"Simon does reight to fratch," said another, "Michael has noa business

allus to be draggin in his dowter if shoo is a schooil mistress. My

wife's sister-i'-law had a hont 'at wor a schooil mistress, an' aw

dooant keep reapin it up."

As each of them had had their pints replenished a number of times during

the discussion, the old saying that "when drink's in wit is out," began

to be illustrated; and there was such an uproar in the place that the

landlord was compelled to send for some policemen to assist him in

turning them out, and when they had gone he muttered to himself, as he

picked up the broken pints, "Schooil Booards! its time they'd summat.

What do they want wi' Schooil Booards? Aw niver went to th' schooil an'

luk at me! why aw could sup a 18 gallon to mi own cheek an net mak soa

mich bother."

Whilst all this had been going on, a few of the quiet and unassuming

people of the village had met at the school room for the purpose of

considering the same subject. The clergyman was in the chair, and as

might be expected, the business was carried on in a very different

manner, and they decided to hold a public meeting, and give all an

opportunity to express their opinions. Judge the dismay of the pot house

Solomons, when they saw the village placarded with announcements on

which the words "School Board," were in very large letters. They at once

set about raising some opposition, for they felt themselves aggrieved.

Michael and Simon o'th' Lee happened to meet as they were going to work.

"Nah Simon, tha sees what a mess thy stupid wark's getten us into. If

tha hadn't sed ther wornt a K i' technical it ud niver ha' come to

this."

"If tha hadn't sed 'at ther wor a K i' Michael it would niver ha

happened, an' ther isnt a K i' technical."

"Well, happen net, but ther is a K i' Michael, becoss my dowter says--"

"Thy dowter's a fooil! shoo taks after her faither!" said Simon, as he

walked away.

"Ha ha, ha! Well shoo hasnt lived to thy age withaat leearnin to know at

ther's a K i' Michael," he shouted after him.

But the public meeting was held, and there was some very strong

opposition, and Michael made a very long speech against School Boards,

for he said that "his dowter wor a pupil taicher, an' shoo sed 'at

Schooil Booards wor nobbut necessary i' them places whear they required

'em, an' he should propooas 'at this meetin wor ov opinion 'at this

question should stand ovver until his dowter wor old enuff to have a

schooil ov her own, an' if shoo couldn't eddicate fowk up to th' mark,

it wod be time enuff to have a Schooil Booard then."

"Gooid lad, Michael!" said one.

"Michael wi' a K!" said another.

"Goa home to thi dowter, an' tell her to give thi brains a soap lather!"

shouted a voice that was verry like unto Simon's.

There was a good deal of uproar for a time, but the meeting at length

decided by a vote of ten to one in favour of a school board, so the

opposition did no good after all, and Michael's daughter will have to

take her chance.

Tha Caps me Nah!

"Has ta heeard th' news?"

"Niver a word! What's up?"

"Old Duke's getten wed."

"Nay, tha caps me nah! An' who's th' gurt maddlin getten wed to? Awst ha

thowt he'd gettin to old to do that."

"He's wed Mary o' Nathan's o'th' Sludge Hoil."

"Well, tha does cap me nah! Why, he's old enuff to be her gronfayther

ommost. A'a dear, A'a dear! Whativer wor shoo thinkin on? But I reckon

shoo mud have a felly o' some sooart; but awd ha waited a bit longer if

awd been her befoor awd ha' taen up wi' old Duke; besides he's a peg

leg."

"Well shoo may'nt like him ony war for that, an' tha sees it'll save her

a bit o' trouble, for shoo'll nobbut have one booit to black. But shoo's

a trimmer, an' if he doesn't live to rue his bargain, awst be chaited.

Shoo play'd him one o'th' nicest tricks, th' day after they gate wed 'at

awve heeard tell on for a long time."

"Ha wor that?"

"Well, tha sees he gate rayther fresh o'th' weddin day, an' he wor varry

dry when he wakken'd next mornin, soa he sed he'd get up an' goa as far

as 'Th' Quiet Corner,' for a leck on; but shoo tell'd him he'd ha to do

nowt o'th' sooart, for it wor ill enough to have a druffen chap at neet

withaat havin one 'at started as sooin as he gate up. But he sed he

should goa, an' shoo said he should'nt, an' they started o' threapin,

but what does shoo do when he worn't lukkin, but shoves his peg leg up

th' flue, an' he sowt it all ovver but couldn't find it?"

"That wor a cunnin trick onyway, but what sed Duke?"

"He had to stop at hooam ov cooarse, for shoo wod'nt tell him whear it

wor until he promised net to goa near th' alehouse that day, an it had

getten towards neet when he promised and as shoo'd kept a gooid fire all

th' time it had getten a fairish warmin, and' old Duke noa sooiner gate

it on an' wor walkin abaat a bit, nor it mashed like a pot, an' he fell

his whoallength on to th' floor with his heead i'th' coilskep."