"Nay, tha does cap me nah! Ther'd be a bonny rumpus awl bet. Did ta

hear?"

"Aw heeard nowt noa farther, nobbut some ov his chums gate to know, an

soa they made a subscription, an' bowt him another, an' they had it

painted red, white and blue, an' sent it lapt up i' silk paper. Old Duke

wor ommost malancholy when he saw it, but Mary nobbut laft, an started

on an' blackleeaded it, an' in a varry little time he wor set i'th'

'Quiet Corner,' wi as handsome a peg leg as tha'd wish to see. They

chaff him a gooid bit abaat weddin Mary, but he taks it all i' gooid

part, an' they've sent all sooarts o' presents to him. One day last week

they sent him a creddle, an' Mary wor soa mad wol shoo gate th' blocker

an' wor baan to chop it into chips, and wol shoo wor stormin on, a

little lad coom to th' door an' sed, 'please aw've browt a pair o'

specteckels for old Duke to rock th' creddle in.' An' shoo catched him a

drive at side o'th' heead, wol his een fair blazed, an th' specteckels

flew into th' middle o'th' rooad."

"Well, but it wor hardly reight on her to claat th' lad, coss he knew

nowt abaat it."

"Why tha sees shoo didn't just think abaat it, but shoo made it all

reight at after an gave him a butter cake, an' old Duke sam'd up th'

specs, an' after saigin th' heead off, he turned th' creddle into a

manger for his donkey."

"Well, tha caps me! But has ta heeard abaat that barrel o' ale runnin

away throo old Nipsomes tother wick?"

"Noa, ha wor that? Aw hardly thowt he'd ony ale 'at had strength to run

away."

"O but he has, for th' last gill awe gate fit three on us, an' we left

some then. But it wor sellable stuff, awve had war:--net mich. But awl

tell thi abaat this barrel. Th' brewery cart wor liverin some, an' tha

knows their ale-cellar door is just at th' top o'th' old hill, an th'

cartdriver let a barrel slip, an' away it roll'd daan th' hill slap

agean th' gas lamp, an' it braik th' pooast i' two, an off it went till

it coom to th' wall at th' bottom, when th' barrel end brast aat an' all

th' ale wor wasted. Soa tha sees ther must ha been some strength in it

if it could braik a iron lamp pooast; an' it wor nobbut common ale."

"Well th' loss wodn't be soa varry mich after all, they'll get ovver it.

But has ta heeard they're gooin to turn Bill Summerscales' tripe shop

into a limited liability company?"

"Nay, it's niver true, is it?"

"Its true enuff, for aw've been tell'd all abaat it bi a chap 'ats had

it throo Bill hissen, but its a saycret tha knows, soa tha munnot tell

onybody; but what does ta think on it?"

"Well aw hardly know what to think, but it seems to me 'at ther'll be

noa limit to th' limited's in a bit. But what's th' shares to be, has ta

heeard?"

"Ho e'ea! Ther's to be two hundred shares at a shillin a piece; nineteen

twentieths he's baan to keep for hissen, an' his relations are to have

th' furst chonce o'th' other, so as it'll be as mich a family affair as

possible. Does ta see, that's done soa as if ivery thing doesn't work as

it should, or ther should be ony fallin off i'th' quality o'th' tripe,

they'll keep it quiet for ther own sakes."

"Well, aw cannot see what iver he's turnin it into a company consarn

for?"

"Does ta see, he's rayther fast for that stuff fowk buys pigs wi, an'

he's niver been able to pay for yon shuts painting yet, an' tha sees if

theas shares are all taen up, it'll put him into a bit o' ready brass;

an' th' dividend is to be declared once a year, an' th' shareholders can

have ther choice whether they tak it aat i' tripe or trotters; an if th'

first years' profit doesn't run to as mich as'll be a meal a piece,

it'll be carried to a presarve fund, though what presarved tripe 'll be

like aw cant tell."

"Well, tha caps me nah! Does ta think o' takkin up a share or two?"

"Aw hardly know yet. If aw tummel ovver as mich on mi way hooam as'll

pay th' deposit, aw happen shall, but net else."

"Well, they'll net be mich i' my line. Who does ta think aw met to-day?

Try to guess."

"Net aw marry! Awm noa hand at guessin."

"It wor Jim Wilkins, don'd up like a gentleman. It licks me whear he

gets his brass; if ther isn't a smash up thear some day awst be capt.

But he ows me nowt."

"Aw suppose his wife's a varry highty tighty sooart ov a body. Shoo's

been browt up at th' boardin schooil."

"Why then, shoo'll be a poor dowdy in a haase. It's a queer thing, but

eddication seems to mar as mony as it maks. Aw dooant know what Foster's

bill may do."

"Is he baan to get wed?"

"Who?"

"Bill Foster."

"Aw ne'er sed owt abaat Bill Foster, aw mean Foster, M. P. for

Bradforth. He's browt in a bill to eddicate fowks childer."

"Ho has he, aw niver heeard on it."

"Why tha'rt awfully behund hand."

"Aw may be i' mi politics, but net i' me payments, an' that's what monny

a thaasand connot say. Aw wonder sometimes ha it wod ha been if

iverybody 'at owed owt had been foorced to put it o'th' census paper.

But what does ta think abaat old Strap puttin daan all his five childer

musicianers?"

"Nay aw dooant know, but he wor allus a foxy sooart ov a chap an' he'd

have some reason for it. But ha does ta mak it aat 'at they are all

musicians?"

"Why, ther's two bellringers, two drummers, an' one drum hugger, an they

all play off nooats, an' a varry long way off 'em sometimes. Did ta hear

tell abaat them two lads o' his havin that do i'th' church steeple?"

"Noa, indeed aw! Let's have it."

"Well tha knows it happened to be practice neet an' as Ike wor gooin to

th' church he bowt a sheep's pluck an' tuk it wi him, intendin to tak it

hooam an have it cooked for ther supper. He happened to be th' furst 'at

gate into th' bell chamer, soa he hung th' sheep pluck up agean th'

wall, an' then went daan agean, leavin a little lamp burnin i'th'

steeple. He'd hardly getten off th' step when his brother coom, an'

findin th' door oppen he went up; but befoor he gate thear, a gust o'

wind blew aat th' leet an' all wor as dark as pitch. He thowt it wor

varry strange for he knew Ike had come before him, soa he bawled aat

'Ike!' but nobody spaik. 'Aw know tha'rt up here,' he sed, 'soa let's ha

nooan o' thi tricks. Spaik, wi' ta?" but nowt spaik. Sid felt rayther

freetened, but he began to grope all raand th' walls, bein sure his

brother wor thear i'th' dark. All at once his hand coom agean a piece o'

liver, an' it felt soa cold, an' soa mich like a face, 'at he started

back, an' as sooin as he could find th' step, he ran daan as fast as he

could, an' when he gate to th' bottom he luk'd at his hand an' it wor

all blooidy. 'Awr Ike's cut his throit,' he sed, 'Whativer mun aw do?'

An he wor just gooin to yell aat 'Police!' when who should come up but

his brother. Th' seet on him tuk a gurt looard off Sid's mind, but yet

he wor varry freetened. 'What's th' matter, Sid,' sed his brother, 'tha

luks ill; Isn't th' pluck all reight?' 'Th' pluck's gooan,' sed Sid,

shakkin his heead an' puttin his hand on his heart. 'Gooan!--Aw'll niver

goa into that bell-chamer ageean as long as aw live! Aw've allus sed, if

a chap 'll rob another ov his livin, he'll rob him ov his life if he's a

chonce.'"

"'Well aw wor just thinkin a gooin for th' police,' sed Sid, 'but we

dooant know who it is.' Its one o'th' ringers as sure as we're here.'

'Hi, its one o'th' ringers noa daat, but aw hooap he hasn't a wife an' a

lot o' childer.' 'Well,' sed Ike, 'if he has, an taks it hooam for 'em

to ait, aw hooap it'll chooak th' lot on 'em.' Just as he sed this, all

th' rest o'th' ringers coom up, an' were capt to find Ike an' Sid soa

excited, soa pairt cluthered raand one an' pairt raand tother, an' Sid

tell'd one lot 'at a chap had cut his throit i'th' bell chamer, an' Ike

tell'd tother 'at somdy'd stown his sheep's pluck. 'Well we mun goa an

see,' sed some on 'em, an they gate some leets an away they went up. Ike

wor th' first an' Sid th' last. When they gate into th' chamer, Ike saw

th' pluck hung up just whear he'd left it, an' he turned raand an' saw

Sid peepin off th' corner o'th' door. 'This is one o' thy tricks, Sid,'

sed Ike, but th' words wor hardly aat ov his maath befoor Sid wor on his

knees declaring, 'at he'd niver harmed onybody i' all his life. 'Tha's

noa need to goa onto thi knees abaat it onyway,' sed Ike, 'haiver, hear

it is, soa all's reight, tha con hug it up hooam for me; an' he gave it

him. Sid wor soa taen, wol he put up his hands to mak sure 'at he worn't

asleep; an' th' chaps 'at he'd been tellin his tale to, began to smell a

rat, an' at last it wor all explained, an' niver mind if ther worn't

some laffin an' chaffin. Poor Sid gets plagued abaat it yet, for ommost

ivery body's getten to know, an' if onnybody, livin abaat that church,

wants a sheep's heead an' a pluck, they order th' butcher to send 'em a

New-Taan Boggard."

"Well tha caps me nah!"

"Gooid neet.--Awr Mally 'll think aw'm niver comin."

"Gooid neet.--But is it true?"

"True!--It's just as true as all sich like."

"A'a, well,--tha caps me nah!"

Nay Fer Sewer!

Nay fer sewer!" sed Betty Longtongue, as Sally Jibjab had finished

tellin her 'at one o' th' neighbor's husband's had getten turned off.

"Well, awm capt he didn't get seck'd long sin, for they tell me he wor

niver liked amang th' work fowk, an' awm sure aw've seen him go in to

his wark monny a time a full clock haar after awr lot's had to be thear.

But aw thawt he'd find his level at last, an' awm net oft mistakken, far

aw can see a hoil in a stee as weel as th' maaast."

"Why but it has'nt been owt abaat his wark 'at he's been seck'd for, but

him an' two or three moor have been playin a trick o' Jane Sucksmith's

husband, an' its getten to th' maister's ears, an' soa they seck'd him

thear an' then."

"Nay fer sewer! whatever will ta say! Why what has he been dooin? Same

mak o' pousement aw'll be bun for't."

"Well, aw can nobbut tell th' tale as it wor tell'd to me tha knows; but

her 'at tell'd me, had it tell'd bi somdy 'at had heeard it throo one

'at owt to know, soa its true enuff. It seems old Sucksmith had been

drinkin tother day, an' he must ha getten moor nor he could carry, an'

tha knows as weel as me 'at he can sup moor nor what ud mak some fowk

druffen, an' walk as steady as if he'd swallow'd a church, steeple an'

all; an' he ligg'd him daan o' some sheets o' wool 'at wor bi th' rooad

side, an' as Musty wor goain past he saw him, an' soa he thowt he'd have

a marlock, an' he went an' fun up some ov his chums an' they gate sooit

an' daub'd his face wol he luk'd war nor old Scrat hissen."

"Nay fer sewer! Why they mud easily do that aw believe, for he's nooan a

gooid favvor'd chap at th' best hand."

"Noa he isn't, but they worn't content wi' that but Musty went an' gate

some sooart o' paader 'at they use to dye red worset an' sich like stuff

wi', an he tuk off his cap an' sprinkled it all amang his toppin, an

then they left him, an' in a bit he wakken'd up, for all th' childer ith

district wor gethered raand him, starin at him. Just then Musty, 'at had

been waiting abaat, reckoned to come past in a great hurry, an' as sooin

as he saw Sucksmith, he set up a gurt shaat o' laffin, an says,

"Whativer has ta been doain, aw niver saw sich a freet i' mi life."

Sucksmith wor reight gaumless for a while, but he says, "What is ther to

laff at? Did ta niver see me befoor thinks ta?" "Well aw niver saw thi

luk like that affoar onnyway. Whoiver is it 'at's been playin thee this

trick?"

"What trick does ta meean?" he sed.

"Why doesn't ta know at thi face is all daubed wi sooit?"

Sucksmith put up his hand to feel, an' when he saw his fingers all

grimed, he sed, "Aw wish aw knew who'd done this, Musty; awd be straight

wi' him, an sooin too. To think 'at a chap connot fall asleep in a

Kristine country withaat havin his face painted war nor a paysayger, but

awst find it aght someday."

"Well, aw think its th' best plan to goa wi' me to th' "Blue Dunnock,"

sed Musty, an' gie thisen a gooid wesh."

Soa they went an' all Musty's mates wor set waitin in another raam.

Th' landlady wor varry gooid i' findin him some sooap an' watter, o'th'

sinkstooan, an' he started to give hissen a reight gooid swill, an as

sooin as th' watter gate to this stuff 'at they'd put ov his heead, it

began to roll daan th' color o' blooid, an' as sooin as he oppen'd his

e'en he saw it, an' he thowt at first it must be his nooas 'at wor

bleedin, an' as th' landlady worn't abaat, he blew his nooase oth towel

to see, but it worn't, then he put up his hand to his heead an' thear it

wor sure enuff. He ommost fell sick when he saw it, an' he called for

Musty as laad as he could, to see what wor to do. "Whativer's th' matter

wi me thinks ta, Musty? Just Iuk, awm bleedin like a pig."

"A'a, dear, A'a dear! Why tha must ha brokken a blooid vessel."

"Aw think awve brokken two or three," sed Sucksmith "but what mun aw

do?"

"Sewse thi heead wi cold watter; ther's nowt stops bleedin like cold

watter. Why, if tha gooas on tha'll bleed to th' deeath."

"Aw begin to feel faint already," sed Sucksmith, as he started o'

throwin moor watter on his heead; but th' moor he put on an' th' moor

blooid seemed to come, an' he sed, "Oh, dear! aw believe awm done for

this time, Musty; doesn't ta think tha'd better send for a doctor?"

When he lifted up his heead, Musty wor foorced to turn away for a minit

to get a straight face, for Sucksmith's wor dyed th' color ov a raw beef

steak, an' his heead luk'd like one o' them red door mats 'at tha's

seen. But Musty advised him to goa on wi' th' watter, an' he did, an' in

a while it begun to have less colour in it, an' Sucksmith's mind began

to feel a bit easier.

"Aw think its ommost gien ovver nah," he sed, but luk at mi hands! why

they're like a piece o' scarlet cloath."

"Eea, an thi face is th' same; tha luks to me as if tha'd getten th'

scarlet-fayvor, an' awm sure ther's summat nooan reight wi' thi; but

wipe thisen an' come into tother hoil, ther's some o' thi mates thear,

an' we'll see what they say."

Sucksmith did as he wor tell'd, an' went into tother raam with Musty,

but ther wor sich a crack o' laffin as sooin as he showed his heead, wol

they mud ha fell'd him wi' a bean. "Nah lads," sed Musty, "yo shouldn't

laff at a chap's misfortunes, an' awm sure ther's Summat matter wi awr

friend Sucksmith, aw tell him it must be th' scarlet fayvor.'

"Well aw niver saw sich a heead i' mi life," sed another, "but its nooan

th' scarlet fayvor; my belief is its th' cattle plague, an if it is,

an' th' police gets to know they'll have him shot, bi th' heart will

they, for they've orders to destroy ivery livin thing 'at shows ony

signs o' havin it. But whear has ta been to get it thinks ta?"

"Nay, awve been nowhere 'at aw know on," sed Sucksmith, "aw felt all

reight a bit sin, an' aw ligg'd daan o' some sheets o' wool an' fell

asleep, an' aw niver knew aw ail'd owt wol aw coom in here to wesh me."

"Why then it will be th' cattle plague, its nowt else, ther's a deal o'

sheep had it lately; an' varry likely that's some o' ther wool 'at tha's

been sleepin on. But ha does ta feel?"

"Oh, aw feel varry mich alike all ovver,--awm feeared its up we me

ommost, an' this has come for a warnin, for aw havn't behaved misen

reight latly. But if awm spared to get ovver this awl alter."

"Why tha luks as if tha'd awther getten a warnin or a warmin, bith color

o' thi face," sed one, "but aw think tha'd do wi' a glass o' summat to

cooil thi daan a bit,--a red Indian's a fooil to thi."

"It must be summat serious," sed another, "are ta th' same color all

ovver?"

"Aw dooant know awm sure, an'. aw havn't strength to luk," he sed.

But one o'th' chaps roll'd up his briches slop to see; "Nay, thi leg is

all reight." "Well," sed Musty, "tha knows it may be soa, for we've

heeard tell o' th' fooit and maath desease, an' this may be th' heead

an' hand complaint. But what do yo think it'll be th' best for him to

do?"

"I shuild advise him to goa hooam at once, but if ony body should see

him they'll varry likely tak him for a literary chap becoss he's so

deeply red." "Well, whether they tak him for a little-hairy chap or

net, he'll pass for a red hairy chap an' noa mistak," sed Hiram.

But Sucksmith fancied he felt soa waik wol he didn't think he'd be able

to walk hooam, soa after all biddin him "gooid bye," for fear they mud

niver see him agean an one chap axin him to be sure an' tell his first

wife if he met her up aboon, 'at he'd getten wed to her sister, they

sent him hooam in a cab.

"Nay fer sewer! Whativer wi ta say? An' whativer did their Margit say

when shoo saw him? He must ha luk'd a pictur."

"Nay, aw dooant know what shoo sed, but ther wor a rare racket ith' hoil

awl a-warrant thi. But th' gurt softheead stuck in it, 'at he wor

poorly, an' as shoo saw he wornt sober shoo humoured him wi lettin him

goa to bed. Next mornin he'd come to his senses a bit, soa shoo let him

have sich a bit o' tongue as he hadn't had latly, for tha knows shoo's a

glaid when shoo starts, for if awd to say quarter as mich to my felly as

shoo says to him sometimes, he'd niver darken th' door agean. He began

to see what a fooil they'd been makkin on him, an' he gate up intendin

to goa to his wark, but when he saw hissen ith' seamin glass, he

couldn't fashion, an' soa he began o' weshin hissen first i' cold watter

an' then i' hot; but it wor what they call a fast color, an' he couldn't

get it to stir do what he wod.

"What mun aw do, Margit?" he sed, when he'd swill'd his heead wi' hot

watter wol it wor hauf boiled; "th' moor aw wesh it an' th' breeter it

seems to get. If iver aw get all reight agean ther's somdy'll want a new

suit o' clooas, but it'll be a wooden en."

"Hold thi noise, lumpheead," shoo sed, "an' get thi braikfast an awl see

if aw connot do summat for thi. Aw expect it'll have to be scaar'd off."

Soa after th' braikfast shoo made him ligg daan o' th' hearthstooan, an'

shoo gate some wire scale an' started o' scrubbin one side ov his head,

as if shoo'd been polishin th' fender; but he couldn't stand that, an'

he laup'd up, an' donced up an' daan th' hoil, sayin all sooarts o'

awkward things.

"What the dickens are ta thinkin on," he sed, "does ta fancy awm made o'

cast-iron?"

"Aw dooan't know what tha'rt made on, but aw know tha artn't made o'th'

reight sooart o' stuff for a fayther ov a family to be made on; but if

tha connot get it off thisen, an' tha weant let me, tha'll be forced to

stop as tha art, that's all." An' away shoo flew aat o' th' haase and

left him.

"Nay fer sewer! An' whativer did he do?"

Well, he set daan and studied a bit, then he sent for a doctor, net

becoss he felt poorly, but becoss he wanted to know what to do to get it

off. Soa th' doctor coom, an' they say he couldn't spaik for iver soa

long, for laffin at him; an' he tell'd him he'd be monny a week befoor

he gate reight, an' it wod have to wear off by degrees; but his hair, he

sed, wod niver be reight, soa he mud as weel have it shaved off sooin as

lat. Soa he sent for Timmy, th' barber, an' had it done, an' when his

wife coom back, thear he wor set, lukkin for all th' world like a lot o'

old clooas wi' a ball o' red seealin wax stuck at th' top; an' thear he

is i'th' haase nah, whear he'll ha to stop wol his hair grows agean.

"Nay fer sewer! An does he niver goa aat?"

"Niver,--he did goa to th' door one day when Hiram's little lass went to

borrow th' looaf tins, but shoo wor soa freetened, wol shoo ran hooam,

an' her mother says shoo believes shoo's gooin to have soor een; mun,

he's flaysome to luk at, an' th' child has niver been like hersen sin,

an' shoo connot sleep ov a neet for dreamin abaat it."

"Nay fer sewer! An what says Musty?"

"Awve niver heeard what he's sed sin he lost his shop, but Sucksmith

says he's noan gooin to let it rest, for he'll send 'em some law if it

costs him a paand--An' Musty says he doesn't care ha sooin for he wod be

sure ov a bit o' summat to ait if he wor sent daan th' rails--but aw

think it'll get made up agean. But awve left yond child ith' creddle bi

hersen, soa aw mun be off." Away shoo went an' Sally watched her aat

o'th seet, an' then sank into a cheer, roll'd up her arms in her appron,

stared into th' fire, an' sed, "Nay fer sewer! Well ov all!--Nay fer

sewer!"

Th' Battle o' Tawkin.

"Tha'rt a liar if iver ther wor one! An' that's a hard thing to say, but

aw wodn't hang a cat o' thi word! It's as sure yor Alick 'at's brokken

awr winder, as awm standin here, an' tha knows it too!"

"Aw say it isn't awr Alick, for he's niver been aat 'oth' haase this

blessed day! Tha's awther brokken it thisen or' else one o' thi own's

done it,--an' they are a lot 'oth' warst little imps 'at iver lived; an'

if aw mud ha' mi mind on 'em, awd thresh' em to within an inch o' ther

lives! But yo can expect nowt noa better when yo know what a bringin up

they've had."

"They've had a different bringin up to what ony o' thine's likely to

have, but whativer comes o' ther bringin up, yo'll have to pay for that

winder, for it isn't th' first he's brokken, an' if yo dooant, next time

I catch him, awl have it aat ov his booans.'

"Let me catch thee ligging a finger o' one o' mine, an' awl mak this

fold too little for thee, an' sharply too; ha can ta fashion! A gurt

strappin woman like thee, to mell ov a child? Tha owt to be 'shamed o'

thi face! But tha has noa shame an' niver had."

"Well if tha's ony its nobbut latly come to thi! Awve too much shame to

come hooam druffen of a neet after th' neighbors has getten to bed."

"Whoas come hooam druffen? Does ta mean to say 'at aw wor iver druffen?

Aw'll mak thee prove thi words if ther's a law 'ith land 'at can do it!

Aw'll let thee see 'at my keracter is as gooid as onybody's, an' a deal

better nor sich as thine."

"Aw niver sed who it wor 'at coom hooam druffen, but aw dar say tha can

guess."

"If its onnybody its thisen! gurt brussen thing 'at tha art! Who is it

'at sends ther poor husband to his wark wi' a sup o' teah an' dry cake,

an' then cooks a beefsteak to ther own breakfast? Can ta tell me that?"

"If aw connot, tha can, an' that isn't all;--can ta tell me who it is

'at invites th' neighbors to rum and teah 'ith' after nooin, when they

know th' husband's gooin to work ovver? Can ta tell me that?"

"Well, if ther's been onny rum an' teah stirrin, tha's allus takken

gooid care to have thi share on it, but they've allus been wimmen 'ats'

come to awr haase when th' maister's been aat, that's one blessin."

"Does ta meean to say 'at ther's onny fellies been to awr haase when th'

husband's been off? Tha'd better mind what tha says or else that cap o'

thine ul suffer!"

"Aw dooant say onny fellies has been;--tha should know th' best, but awm

nawther blind nor gaumless. But aw'll tell th' what tha art;--Tha'rt a

nasty, ill contrived gooid-for-nowt, an' all th' neighbors say soa, an'

they wish to gooidness tha'd flit, an' all at belangs to thi, for ther's

niver onny peace whear tha ar't."

"Noa, an' ther niver will be onny peace wol tha pays for yond winder!

Does ta think fowk's nowt else to do wi' ther brass, but to put in

winders for yor Alick to mash?"

"Aw tell thi he hasn't mash'd it, for he's niver cross'd th' doorstun

sin he gate up. Th' fact is he's niver getten up yet, for he isn't at

hooam, for he's aboon twenty miles off, at his gronmothers."

"Dooant tell me that! Ther's awr Vaynus comin, he knows who mash'd it.

Vaynus! Who wor it 'at mash'd yond winder? Nah tell a lie at thi

peril,--did ta see it brokken?"

"Eea, aw saw Topsy jump up at th' birdcage, an' it missed it click an'

tumbled throo th' winder."

"A'a I drabbit that cat! Aw'll as sure screw its neck raand as awm

livin!"

"Nah tha sees, aw tell'd thi it worn't awr Aleck!"

"Noa, it couldn't ha been! Are ta sure tha saw yond cat do it, Vaynus?"

"Eea awm sure aw saw it."

"Why then it wornt yor Alick! An aw hardly thowt it wor, for he's abaat

as quiet a lad an' as daycent a one as ther is abaat here. Aw oft tell

awrs to tak a lesson throo him."

"Ther's noa better lad iver breathed nor awr Alick;--aw dooant say'at

he's better nor onnybody's else, but he's as gooid. An' awm sure tha's a

lot ov as fine childer as onnybody need set e'en on, an' if they are a

bit wild, what can yo expect when ther's soa monny on 'em. But aw mun

get these clooas dried wol ther's a bit o' druft. Wi' ta leean me that

clooas prop o' thine agean?"

"Vaynus! What are ta dooin? Goa fetch that prop this minit, an' see 'at

tha allus brings it when tha sees her weshin, withaat lettin her allus

have to ax for it."

"Well, awm soa glad it worn't awr Alick 'at mashed that winder."

"Soa am aw, awd rayther it had been one o' mi own bi th' hauf. What time

does ta think tha'll ha done weshin?"

"Abaat four o'clock if awm lucky."

"Well, wi ta step across an' have a cup o' teah wi us?"

"Eea, aw dooant mind if aw do."

"Owd Tommy."

(A Yorkshire Sketch.)

Of all the seasons of the year,--that portion when winter treads upon

the skirts of the retiring autumn, always seems to me to be most deeply

fraught with sorrowful associations. A few short weeks before, one has

beheld the year in stately pride, loaded with blessings, and adorned in

nature's most luxurious garb, waters in silvery streams have lightly

leaped and bounded in the shadow of the waving ferns,--and little

flowers have nodded on the brink and peered into the crystal depths, as

though in love with their reflected loveliness;--the little hills have

decked their verdant breasts with floral gems, and the frowning crags

have seemed to smile, and from their time-worn crevices have thrust some

wandering weed, whose emerald tints have lent a soothing softness to the

hard outline of their rugged fronts. The feathered songsters on untiring

wing, have flitted in the sunny sky, pouring forth melodious sounds in

thankfulness and joy, as though their little hearts were filled too full

of happiness and overflowed in drops of harmony.

Light fleecy cloud's like floating heaps of down have sailed along the

azure sky, casting their changing shadows on the earth, whilst sighing

winds have whispered soothing songs amongst the rustling leaves, and

ripened fruits have hung in tempting show their sun-burnt fronts,

courting the thirsty lip, to tell us in their silent eloquence that the

year has gained its prime.

Even when the ice-king reigns, and howlling storms drive with remorseless

fury o'er the plains, or wreck their vengeance on the sturdy

woods,--roaring amongst the pliant branches, and entwining around the

knarled trunks, uprooting some as though in sport to show its giant

strength. And the cascade which formerly leaped forth from sylvan nooks

where the wild flowers half hid its source, and bathed themselves in the

ascending mist,--now roaring down in sullied swollen force, bearing

along the wrecks of summer beauties,--tumbling and hissing through its

frost bordered bed,--growling in foaming rage around the rocks which

here and there protrude their sullen face to check its mad career;--even

this has much of majesty and beauty, and claims our admiration. But when

some glories of the autumn yet remain, and e'er stern winter has usurped

the sway,--one wide-wide field of death and desolation is all that's

left for man to ponder over;--fading flowers, trembling and shrinking in

the raw cold blast;--half naked trees, that day by day present a more

weird aspect--fields still green, but stripped of every gem;--whilst

still some russet warbler may be heard chirping in sorrow and distress,

and heavy looking clouds anxious to screen the cheering ray, which now

and then bursts forth with sickly smile, that seems like ill-timed mirth

amongst the dead.

On such a time as this, and in the early Sabbath morning, might be seen

a stalwart farmer strolling o'er the hills which command a view of the

little but interesting village of Luddenden.

I do not think that the dreary look of decaying beauties had much effect

upon him,--the pale blue smoke that issued from his mouth, in measured

time, seemed to afford him every consolation. He evidently saw some one

approaching in whom he was interested. Having satisfied himself that he

was not mistaken, he began talking aloud:--

"Oi! that's him sure enough; nah whativer can owd Tommy want laumering

over thease hills at this time o'th' morning? He's a queer chap, takkin

him all i' all; an' still if ought should happen him aw doant know where

they'd find his marrow; he's been th' same owd Tommy iver sin aw wor a

lad, an' aw'm noa chicken nah--he said--stroking a few grey hairs,

which, like a tuft of frosted grass, adorned his ruddy cheeks. Aw sud

think he's saved a bit o' brass bi this time, for he wor allus a nipper;

but he wor allus honest, an' it isn't ivery man yo meet i'th world 'at's

honest; but aw doant think Tommy ud wrang ony body aght o'th' vally o'

that;"--saying which, he snapped his finger and thumb together to denote

its worthlessness.

A few minutes more and Tommy might be plainly seen slowly ascending the

somewhat rugged road toward the spot where stood the farmer leaning

against the wall awaiting him. I could not better occupy the time that

intervenes than endeavour to picture the approaching traveller. His age

I would not dare to guess, he might be 60, or he might be 90. He was a

short thick-set man, and rather bent, but evidently more from habit than

from weight of years. He wore a long blue coat which plainly spoke of

years gone by, and bore in many places unmistakable evidence that Tommy

was no friend to tailors; beneath this an old crimson plush waistcoat,

that had long since done its duty, some drab knee-breeches, and a pair

of dark grey stockings which hid their lower extremities in a pair of

shoes about large enough to make two leather cradles; on his head a hat

that scorned to shine, and in his hand he carried an oaken staff; his

small grey eyes glistened with a spark of latent wit, whilst on his face

was stamped in unequivocal characters some quaint originality.

"Gooid morning, Tommy," said the farmer.

"Gooid morning Dick," replied Tommy, "it's a nice day ower th' head but

fearful heavy under th' fooit."

"You're reight," said Dick, "but where are yo trapesing to this

morning?"

"Waw, aw'm gooin as far as Dick's o' Tom's at th' Durham, to get my tooa

nails cut," said Tommy.

"Well, yo'll happen bait a bit and ha a wiff o' bacca wi' me, for its a

long time sin aw saw yo afoor," said Dick.

"Waw, aw dooant mind if aw have a rick or two, but aw munnot stop long,

for it luks rayther owercussen up i'th' element; but ha's that lad o'

thine getting on sin he wed quiet Hannah lass? Aw've wondered sometimes

if he wod'nt rue his bargain,--is shoo as fat as sho wor?"

"Eea, shoo keeps i' varry gooid order, shoo puts her mait into a better

skin nor th' mooast; they didn't hit it soa well at th' furst, for shoo

wor varry waspish, an' tha knows awr Joa's as queer as Dick's hatband,

when he's put aght a bit. One morning, abaght a wick after they wor wed,

Joa woran't varry weel, an' had to ligg i' bed a bit,--shoo gate up to

muck th' beeas,--(for shoo can do a job like that, tha knows, when

shoo's a mind.)"

"Eea! eea!" said Tommy, "noabody better,--shoo's a pair o' gooid

end,--shoo's nooan afeared o' dipping her finger i' water, nut shoo."

"Well, aw tell thi, shoo gate up, an' in a while shoo call'd aght 'at

his porridge wor ready when he liked to come daan, an' then shoo went

aght. Soa in a bit, he gate up, an' th' pan wor stood o' th' rib

flopping away rarely. Well, he gate a plate, an' thowt he'd tern' em

aght to cooil, when asteead o' porrige, aght come th' dish claat slap on

to his fooit;--talk abaght single step doncing!--tha should just ha seen

him; he ommost lauped clean ower th' breead flaik;--an' thear shoo stood

grinning at him throo th' winder, an' he wor soa mad--he wuthered th'

pan fair at her head;--he miss'd his aim an' knock'd th' canary cage to

smithereens, th' cat gate th' burd, an' th' pan fell into th' churn.

Nah, what wod ta think ov a thing like that?"

"Waw, its just loike one ov her tricks;-tha knows shoo wor allus a

trimmer o' one, Dick."

"Shoo wor, Tommy, an shoo allus will be to her deeing day. It put awr

Joa into a awful passhian, but shoo didn't care a pin, shoo said shoo'd

lived too long near a wood' to be fear'd ov a hullet,--but they're as

reight as Dick and Liddy nah. Aw'll tell thi ha that happens. Tha knows,

awr Joa allus thowt a deeal ov his mother, an he wanted th' wife to do

i'th' same way; an one morning shoo' wor neighding th' dooaf, when Joa

says, 'Mally', that isn't th' way to neighd, my mother allus 'used to do

soa;'--an' he wor baan to show' haa; Shoo made noa mooar to do, but

lauped into th' middle o'th' bowl wi' her clogs on, an' started o'

traiding it wi' her feet, an' shoo says, 'does thi mother do soa?' After

that, he let her have it mooastly to her own way, an' they seem to get

on varry weel amang it nah--an' if he keeps steady they're putting it

together nicely. An' what have yo fresh, Tommy?"

"Nay, nowt 'at means ought aw think, Dick--but aw'd like to been

pooisened t'other wick, but as luck let, aw wor noa war."

"Pooisened! Tommy, nay, surelee nut."

"Yos, but aw had--tha sees aw live at th' Ee'Gurnard, an' aw'd just been

into th' mistal wi' young maister William, an' he'd been holding th'

canel for me whol aw siled th' milk, an' he wor full ov his marlocks an'

bluzzed th' canel up mi nooas an' put it aght,--he's a shocker."

"Waw, Tommy, yo wodn't be pooisened wi' a canel, aw'll niver believe?"

"Noa, but as aw wor telling thi, aw'd been i'th' mistal, an' aw went

into th' kitchen for a bit o' summat to ait. Aw saw some fat o'th' ooven

top in a pot, soa aw gate some breead an' ait it up. Aw thowt it wor

fearful gooid an' savored summat aw'd niver had afoor; but just when

aw'd finished it, one o'th' young mistresses come daan an' axed me what

aw'd done wi' what wor i'th' pot? Soa aw tell'd her aw'd etten it. Etten

it!!' shoo skriked. 'Etten it!! Why,' shoo says, 'yo'll be pooisened,

Tommy, its pumatum!' Well, aw says, 'pumatum or net, aw've etten

it,'--an' away shoo ran an' browt th' maister an' th' mistress, an' all

t'other fowk i'th' haase, an' rarely they laffed tha minds; but maister

made me a glass o' rum to settle it, an' aw felt noa mooar on it."

"Well," said Dick, "tha mayn't feel it nah, but aw shouldn't be capped

if thi inside wor to grow full o' ringlets."

"Niver heed that, they'll keep mi belly warm," said Tommy, "but th'

bacca's done, soa aw mun be making mi way shorter. Gooid day, Dick."

"Gooid day, Tommy. Aw hope tha'll have a fine day for thi walk."

"Eea, eea, aw hope aw shall, but if it rains aw sholl'n't melt."

"Nooah, but its rayther coolish."

"It'll be warmer as it gets ooater, Dick. Gooid day."

And thus the two friends parted; each smiling at the quaint humor of the

other;--the one to climb seven miles of rough and heavy road to get his

toe nails cut, and the other to pay an early visit to his son, and rest

his limbs, which by six days of willing toil had earned a Sabbath's

rest. He walked slowly, musing as he went, and every now and again

making audible the current of his thoughts.

"Its monny a long year sin aw saw owd Tommy before, an' it may be monny

a long year before aw see his face agean; aw think owd Time must use him

wi' a gentler hand nor he uses me. Aw remember th' first time aw saw

him, he wor coming past th' churn milk Joan, wi' a lump o' parkin in his

hand as big as awr ooven top; an' that wor th' day 'at Jenny an' me wor

wed. It seems like a dream to me nah. Poor Jenny!--if there's a better

place, tha'rt nooan soa far off thear!" And then he paused to wipe the

heavy drops from off his cheeks. "Aw thowt aw'd getten ower this sooart

o' thing, nah he sed, but aw believe aw niver shall. Its just five year

come Easter sin aw laid her low, an awve niver been able to aford a

grave stooan for her yet, but aw can find that bit o' rising graand

withaat a mark, an prize it nooan the less. But its noa gooid freating

abaght things we cannot help. Aw'll have another reek or two an' goa an'

see awr Joa." So filling his little black clay pipe with the fragrant

weed (which for convenience he carried loose in his waistcoat pocket),

he puffed his cloud of incense in the air and hastened on to gain his

journey's end. A walk of a few minutes brought him to the door of a low

whitewashed farm-house, around which the cans were reared, ready to be

filled with the morning's milk. He ventured in, (first carefully

removing all the mire from his shoes, lest he should soil the nicely

sanded floor,) and drawing up the old arm chair which shone like

polished ebony,--he looked around the strange apartment. "Its a queer

fancy (he said at last) at Mally should be soa fond o' pots,--what

ther's mooar here nor what ud start a shop; it saves th' expense of

slapdashing onyway." And he was right, for, from floor, to ceiling, and

along the old oak beams, appeared one medley of crockery--pots of all

sizes--cups and plates of all shapes and patterns were hung or reared

against the wall until it was impossible to find another place where one

might be displayed; and on the mantle shelf, a long array of china

images of fortune-telling gipsies, guarded at each end by what was

supposed to represent a dog--they might resemble dogs, but surely such a

breed exists not now, for if there was a point about them to recommend,

it was what Mally often said, "They ait nowt." In a short time both Joe

and Mally made their apperance--health bloom on their cheeks, and with

a hearty welcome prepared the morning's meal. A clean white cloth spread

on as clean a table, the requisite pots, the fresh churned butter, and

the wheaten bread was all that was displayed to tempt them to the meal;

but it was all that was required, for appetite gave relish to the plain

repast, and many a wealthy man in stately rooms, with every luxury

around, might well have envied them their simple fare, sweetened by

labor, and so well enjoyed--whilst savory meats, of which they never

knew, in vain invited him whose satiated tastes loathed every dish. But

the old farmer did not seem at ease, and when the meal was over--after a

short conversation, he bade them both good day, and turned his steps

towards his lonely home. Perhaps it was the son who called up in the old

man's mind some thoughts of former days--or perhaps the train of thought

he had indulged in previously might have laid a load of gloom upon him;

but, be it as it may, he seemed inclined to spend the day under his own

roof tree.

The winter came and spread its spotless snows o'er hills and dales; the

wild winds wailed; the woodman's axe echoed amidst the woods; the song

birds fled; the dauntless redbreast twittered on the window sills; the

cawing rooks wended their weary way in solemn flight. The spring again,

like a young bashful maid, came smiling upon old Winter's track; the

field's looked gay again; and trees seemed vieing which could first be

drest in verdant green. The Summer followed on, the sun shone o'er the

fields of ripening grass; the mowers scythe was dipped in fragrant dews,

and Flora bounteously bestowed her favorite flowers. Autumn succeeded,

and once more the' eye was gladdened with the bearded grain, waving in

golden splendour in the breeze;--again the luscious fruits are tempting

one to pluck; and soon again the year,--weary with its labors, prepares

to sleep, and desolation reigns.

'Tis Sunday morning, and the sun looks down through murky mists;--the

ground is slightly hardened with the nipping frost; here and there some

hardy flower endeavours to look gay:--the tolling bell rings out its

morning call, and straggling groups wend their way to worship in the

village church. But on the hill, which rises high above, was stood a man

in deep and earnest thought. One could scarcely have believed that the

pale, aged looking man, who dressed in sombre black was standing and

looking over the quiet scene, was the stalwart farmer, who just one year

before was holding converse with old Tommy;--but he begins to speak.

"Its just twelve months to day," he said, "sin aw wor talking to him o'

this varry spot, an nah he's gooan, an awm left to attend his funeral:

ther's nowt to feel sorry for 'at aw know on, but when an owd face is

noa mooar, 'at one's been used to see--it tells a tale 'at's easy

understood;--it leaves a gap i'th' world 'at's never shut--it bids us to

prepare an reckon up awr life to see if all's as we could like it to

be,--an' use what time's left to square accounts,--soa's when we're

called to 'liver up, we may be ready. Jenny wor ready, an soa wor Tommy.

It isn't ivery man yo meet i'th world 'at's honest."

It Mud ha' been War.

If iver onybody had th' luck to get off th' wrang side o'th' bed ivery

mornin, an' to allus be gettin into scrapes all th' day long, it 'wor

Jack throo' th' Jumpels. It seemed as if some evil genius wor allus

abaat makkin spooart on him. If he gate mezzured for a suit o' clooas,

th' tailor wor sure to tak th' length ov his coit sleeves for his

britches slops, or else mak 'em after another mezzur altogether; awther

soa mich too big wol he luk'd like a wanderin bedtick seekin th' flocks,

or else soa mich too little wol he used to send his arm's an' legs soa

far throo, till yo'd fancy he'd niver be able to get 'em back. But wi'

all his bad luck, an' i' spite o' all th' scrapes he gate into, he wor a

varry gooid-hearted chap, an' iverybody 'at knew him gave him a gooid

word. He went to see a hont o' his one day, an' he'd donned his best

duds, an' he couldn't help thinkin as he wor gooin whether be should be

able to keep aght ov a mess or net, an' as he knew his hont wor a varry

particlar body, he detarmined to do his varry best. When he gate to th'

door he saw' at shoo'd nobbut just scarr'd th' steps, an' he luk'd at

his feet an' thowt it wod be a pity to put sich mucky booits on to sich

nice wark, soa he went raand to th' back yard; but when he gate thear

th' door wor fesand, soa he thowt th' best plan wod be to climb over th'

wall, for as it wor th' middle o'th' day, an' all th' fowk i'th' tother

haases could see what wor gooin' on, he knew shoo'd niver forgive him

for callin her aght if shoo didn't happen to be weshed an' tidied; soa

up he climbed, an' as it wor twice as deep o'th' tother side he worn't

disappointed to see a big tub just standin nicely ready to step on to;

soa ovver he jumpt, an' as might be expected, th' top gave way, an' he

varry sooin fan hissen up to th' middle i' pig-mait. But he nawther

stamped nor sware nor made a din like mooast fowk wod ha' done--for he'd

getten soa use to messes o' one sooart an' another wol he'd begun to tak

'em as a matter o' cooarse.

"Well, here's another bit o' my luk," he sed; "this is another mullock

aw've getten into, soa aw mun get aght on it someway; it's noa use

freeatin' abaat what cannot be helped, an' ther's one consolation, it

mud ha' been war." Just as he wor scramlin' aght, his hont coom to see

what wor to do, but shoo didn't fly into a pashon as yo might fancy.

"Hallo, Jack!" shoo says, "aw thowt it must be thee; tha's dropt in for

it another time, has ta?"

"Eea, aw reckon aw have, but if aw havn't spoilt th' swill aw dooant

care."

"Oh, aw'll forgie thi that, lad; tha's'made a nice pictur o' thisen,

reight enuff; aw could just like thi fottagraff takkin nah, but come thi

ways in."

"Nay, hont aw'll nooan come in i' this state; aw'll call agean some

other day, for awst mak nowt but muck."

"Niver heed th' muck; come thi ways in, for tha lukes like a hauf-draand

ratten; tha'll catch thi deeath o' cold if tha hasn't summat warm. Come

in an doff them clooas, an' aw'll see if aw connot find some o' thi

uncles 'at'll fit thi wol thine's fit to put on agean. Aw niver did see

sich a mess i' all my life. Th' idea ov a chap fallin' up to' th' middle

in a swill-tub!"

"Why, its net varry nice, reight enuff, but it mud ha' been war, hont."

"Aw wonder ha," shoo sed.

"Why, if aw'd gooan ovver th' heead."

"Well, that wodn't ha' made, things ony better, truly; but th' next time

'at tha'rt comin' ovver that way just let me know, an' aw'll have that

tub aght o'th' gate. Goa thi ways into th' chamer an' change them

stinkin' things, an' then come an' sit thi daan an' let's tawk to thi a

bit, an' see if aw can get ony sense aght on thi, for aw'm sure nubdy

can put ony in."

"All serene," sed Jack, an he went an' changed his clooas, an' when he'd

getten donned afresh he coom daan stairs an' sat daan i'th' arm-cheer

beside th' fire. "Yea-a-aw! yea-a-aw!" went summat, an' up he sprang as

if th' cheer-bottom wor redwoot. "A'a, tha gurt gaumless fooil!" sed his

hont, "couldn't ta see a cat an' three kittens? Aw do believe tha's

killed 'em ivery one! Poor little things!" Nay, nay, aw niver did see

sich a thing i' all my life! tha's killed 'em all three, an' it's a

wonder tha hasn't killed th' old cat an' all. Dear-a-me, aw did intend

draandin 'em to-morn, an' to think 'at they should be squeezed to deeath

this way, Aw shalln't get ovver it for monny a day."

"Well, aw'm varry sooary, hont; but aw niver saw' em, iw'm sure. Whoiver

expected to find a cat an' three kittens in a arm-cheer? But let's be

thankful, for it mud ha' been war."

"Nay, net it! it couldn't ha' been war nor it is: tha's killed em, an'

tha couldn't do ony moor if tha'd to try." "Well, but aw mud ha' killed

th' old cat as weel, yo know."

"What does ta say? Killed awr Tibby? Tha'd better keep thi heels this

rooad as long as iver tha lives nor think o' sich a thing, for aw browt

her up wi a spooin throo being blind, an' aw wodn't swap her for all th'

cats i'th' world. An' if it had been anybody else nor thee 'at had done

this, they'd ha' heeard a bit o' my tongue, aw con tell thi; but,

haiver, it is as it is, soa sit thi daan. Tha's noa need to luk soa

jaylus, mun, ther's nowt under thi nah but a wish in; tha luks as white

as a gooast; aw expect tha's getten thi deeath o' cold, but aw'll get

thi a sup o' whiskey, an' see if that'll warm thi a bit."

Shoo went to th' cubbard an' browt aght a bottle, an' put it onto th'

table, teld him to help hissen. "Tha's noa need to be flaid on it," shoo

sed, "it's some o'th' reight sooart; it's what thi uncle allus taks when

he ails owt, an' aw believe if th' time iver comes when a sup o' that

willn't cure him, it'll be a case o' curran cake an slow walkin: for aw

believe its saved his life manny a scoor times already, an' it's a deeal

cheeaper nor doctor's physic."

Jack tem'd some into a glass an gate a gooid swig; an' if yo could ha'

seen his face yo'd niver ha' done ony moor gooid. If it had been

stricknine he couldn't ha' pooled a faaler mug. "What's th' matter,"

shoo says, "is it to strong?"

"Aw dooant know whether it's to strong or net," he said, "but it's aght

ov a different tap to what aw'm used to; just yo taste, an' lets see ha

yo like it."

"It's thi maath 'at's aght o' order, mun; it's a drop o' old Slicer's

best, an' aw'm sure ther's noa better to be getten abaat this quarter.

Aw dooant reckon to tak owt to sup misen," shoo sed, "but aw'll just

taste wi' thi."

"Eea, do, sup it up, aw'm sure tha'rt welcome, for aw've had enuff."

Shoo gate a drop into her maath, but it coom aght agean sharper nor it

went in; aw thowt her heart ud come up. "A'a dear! a'a dear!" shoo says,

"it's Harryget watter! it's Harryget watter! aw've made a t'mistak!'

aw've made a mistak! but it's just thi luck."

"Eea, aw expected yo'd say soa; it's allus put daan to my luck, whether

it's my mistak or somdy else's; but it mud ha' been war."

"Thear, tha'rt at it agean; aw believe if it h'ad been pooisen tha'd

say soa; but, here, sithee, try this bottle; aw fancy tha'll find

this'll run daan better nor th' last." Soa he made hissen a drop, an'

after tawkin' a bit abaat ha things wor gooin on in a reglar way, he

axed if his uncle wor varry weel.

"Yos, he's varry weel, aw think; at ony rate, he wor all, reight when he

left here at braikfast time. Aw'm just gettin his dinner ready, an' tha

con tak it him if tha's a mind; tha'll find him up i'th' brickfield

yonder, doom summat at th' old well."

Jack sed he'd be glad to goa, for he wanted to see him befoor he went

back, soa as sooin as all wor ready he set off an' went towards th'

well, but befoor he gate up to it he 'heeard his uncle shaatin an'

bawlin an' gooin on as it he wor mad. "What's to do, uncle?" he sed as

sooin as he gate up to him, "whativer's to do?"

"Do! it's enuff to drive me cracked, aw do declare! Here have aw had a

lot o' chaps leadin watter to this old well for monny an' monnya day, so

as we can pump it as we want it into that long field, an' aw'm blowed if

summat hasn't getten to th' valve or summat, an' ther willn't a drop

come."

"Why what will yo have to do nah!" sed Jack.

"Do I what can aw do? Ther's nowt for it nah but for somdy to goa daan

an' set it reight, an' aw'm far to old for sich a job'."

"If that's all," sed Jack, "aw think aw con scrammel daan that pipe; ha

deep is is it?"

"It's nobbut abaat fifty feet, an' ther's a gooid flange to rest on at

ivery two yards, but aw hardly dar let thi try, for tha maks si'ch a

mess o' iverything."

"Dooant yo freeat abaat that; aw'll goa daan, just see."

"Well, mind what tha'rt dooin', for ther's a gooid deeal o' watter in

nah." Jack began to slide daan, one length at a time, an in a bit he

called aght "all reight."

"C'an ta raik th' valve," sed his uncle.

"Eea, but aw cannot stir it unless yo send me a hammer daan."

"Well, stop thear wol aw fotch one, an' aw'll lower it daan wi' a bit o'

band." An' away he ran to th' bottom o'th' next held for a hammer. He'd

getten abaaf hauf way daan, when up comes another looad o' watter, drawn

bi two horses, an' two men wi' em.

"This'll be my last looad to-day, Jeffry," sed one to his mate.

"An' aw'm glad on it," sed Jeffry; "aw wonder if th' gaffer's getten th'

valve altered yet; he wor sayin' summat abaat it when aw coom wi' th'

last barrel."

"Aw can't say, aw'm sure; but another barrelful can't mak soa mich

difference, whether he has or net, soa here goas." As sooin as he sed

that, he knocked a gurt bung aght o'th' back o'th' barrel, an a stream

as thick as mi leg began paarin daan th' well. It wor a gooid job for

Jack 'at he happened to be claspin his arms raand th' pipe, for if he

hadn't he'd ha' been swum ovver th' heead, an' noa mistak; an' as it

wor, he could hardly get a bit o' breeath, for th' watter seemed to

spreead aght like a sheet, an drive all th' air aght. He did try to

shaat once or twice, but it wor noa use, for th' watter made sich a din

wol nubdy could hear him.

It didn't tak th' uncle aboon three or four minits to fotch th' hammer,

an' as he war comin with it he saw this wattercart bein emptied into th'

well, an' his heart gave ovver beeatin for abaat a minit; then he set up

sich a shaat, an' ran at sich a speed, wol th' chaps wondered what could

be to do. "Hold on!" he sed, "for goodness sake, hold on! Didn't yo know

'at my neffy wor i'th' well?" "Noa bi th' heart did we!" an' th' barrel

wor bunged up in a crack, an' th' uncle bawled daan th' well as laad as

he could, "Jack, if tha'rt draanded spaik! He's deead sure enuff," he

said; "one on yo goa daan an' see if yo con bring up his body." Just

then coom a saand o' summat knockin th' pipe at th' bottom, an' th'

uncle called aght, "Jack, whear are ta?"

"Aw should think yo've a gooid nooation whear aw am," sed Jack, "aw've

managed th' job, soa nah aw'm comin up; luk aght an' give me a lift." As

sooin as his heead wor within th' raich ov his uncle's fist, he collared

hold ov his toppin, an niver let goa agean wol he stood o' safe graand.

"By gow, Jack, tha's given me a shock; awst be some time afoor aw get

ovver this; tha owt to manage better nor soa; it's like as if ivery

thing tha touches tha maks a mess on it."

"That's reight, uncle, lig it o' me! But aw wonder whether yo or me gate

th' mooast ov a shock. Aw should fancy it wor me."

"Well, reight enuff, lad, it wor'nt a nice place to be in, an' that suit

o' clooas 'll niver be fit to be seen agean."

"Noa, aw dooant think they will," sed Jack; "but it mud ha' been war,

for they arn't mine."

"Why, whoa's are they? aw thowt as tha coom up 'at tha luk'd varry

respectable."

"Aw dooant know whoa's ther reightful owner, uncle, but mi hont has lent

'em me to put on wol mine gate dried, for, yo know, aw've been i'th'

swill-tub once today."

"Why, then, that's my best Sundy suit 'at tha's gooan an spoiled! aw

wonder 'at thi hont had noa moor sense nor to leean 'em to thee."

"Aw wonder aw'd noa moor sense nor to goa daan that well to spoil 'em,

for it's nooan a nice hoil to be in, an' when aw've a shaar-bath, aw'd

rayther have it withaat onybody's clooas."

"Well, let's lig away, an' get hooam as fast as we can, for thi hont'll

mak a noise aw'll bet, soa we mud as weel get it ovver as sooin as

possible."

They went hooam an' tuk th' uncle's dinner back wi 'em, an' as sooin as

shoo saw Jack shoo rested her neives on her huggens, an lukkin at him

throo heead to fooit sed, "What's ta been doin nah; can't ta stur

withaat gettin into a scrape?"

"Well it seems net, for if aw dooant get into a mess misen, ther's somdy

gets me into one."

"Tha'll keep me dryin cloas for thee, aw can see that; but goa upstairs

an' put on thi own duds, an' awl see if aw can fettle them up at tha has

on."

"Awm sooary to give yo soa mich trouble, but then it mud ha been war, if

awd gooan daan an' niver come up."

"Tha'd ha been noa loss, lad, tha needn't think; but luk as sharp as tha

con, for aw've begun to get th' teah ready."

"Awl net be long," he sed, an' wol he wor changin his clooas th' uncle

tell'd her all 'at had happen'd, on shoo laff'd wol her face wor as red

as a turkey cock.

When Jack coom daan th' table wor set an' all ready for th' teah, an'

th' uncle an' hont had takken ther places at th' table.

"Come sit thi daan," sed his hont; "but before tha

does, just hand me th' tea pot off th' rib; an' mind, for th'

hanel's hot."

"Awl mind," he sed; an' as he began to think he'd had mishaps enuff for

one day, he thowt he'd steer clear ov ony moor, an' soa as he'd been

wan'd th' hanel wor hot, he tuk hold o'th' spaat, an' he'd hardly getten

a yard away throo th' fire wi' it, when a streeam o' boilin teah began

to run daan th' inside ov his jacket sleeve; but he held on like a man,

an' he wor detarmined he'd land it on to th' table, soa he ran wi' it

an' bang'd it into th' middle o'th' tea things, smashin cups an' saucers

an' upsettin th' sugar basin an' th; creeam jug, an' makkin sich a mash

as yo niver saw.

Up jumpt booath hont and uncle. "Just luk at my yollo satin dress," sed

his hont; "it'll niver be fit to be seen agean!"

"If tha doesn't tak thysen aght o' this haase," sed his uncle, "awl

pawse thi aght, for tha's made moor bother sin tha coom in nor enuff."

But poor Jack wor sufferin badly, which his hont (woman like) noa

sooiner saw nor shoo forgave him all th' damage he'd done, an' went to

sympathise with him. His arm wor varry badly scalded, an' soa shoo put

some traitle an' flaar on it, an' lapp'd it up, an' then he sed he thowt

it wor time he trudged hooam. "Aw wish tha'd trudged long sin," sed his

uncle, "an' if tha doesn't come here agean wol aw send for thi, tha

willn't come yet a bit."

Jack gate his hat an' wor just gooin aght, when they discovered 'at it

wor rainin varry fast. "Awl leean thi a umberella," said his hont, "but

aw dooant think awst iver see it agean, but as tha's been wet throo

twice to-day aw think tha's had baat enuff."

He took th' umberella an' went to th' door, an' they follow'd him to bid

him gooid day.

He shoved th' umbrella under his arm, an' held aght his hand, "Gooid bye

hont, wol aw see yo agean." "Confaand thy stupid heead!" shaated aght

th' uncle.

"What's up nah?" sed Jack.

"Can't ta see? Tha's shoved th' end o' that umberella stick reight into

mi e'e."

"Why, awm varry sooary," sed Jack, "but it mud ha' been war!"

"Ha could it ha' been war, softheead?"

"Why if awd shoved it into' em booath," sed Jack as he hooked it, for he

thowt he'd better be goin.

Whether he landed hooam withaat ony moor mishaps or net aw cannot say;

but varry likely net. But aw think, we've follow'd him far enuff for

once, an' yo can form yor own opinion ov what sooart ov a chap he wor,

but altho we're inclined to laugh at sich a chap, yet they've happen as

mich wisdom as some 'at think they've moor; an' a chap's moor to be

envied nor pitied 'at can console hissen wi' thinkin 'at haiver bad

things are, 'at they mud hai been war.

Ha a Dead Donkey Towt a Lesson.

Respectfully dedicated to my ill-used long-eared friend,

Neddy Bray

Some fowk choose one thing, some another,

To grace ther prose or rhyme;

Some sneerin say 'at tha'lot my brother,

Maks me choose thee for mine;

Well, let 'em sneer owd Neddy lad,

Or laff at my selection,

Who fail to see ther type i' thee

Are void o' mich perception.--

Ther's things more stupid nor an ass,

An things more badly treated,

Tho' we ait beef, an' tha aits grass,

May be we're just related.

Throo toil an' trouble on tha jogs,

An' then like ony sinner,

Tha dees, an' finds a meal for th' dogs;--

We furnish th' worms ther dinner.

Deemas an' 'Becka used to keep th "Cock an' Bottle," i' awr street.

They'd lived thear iver sin th' haase wor built, an' won iverybody's

gooid word, at worn't particlar abaght a sup o' drink. One day they sent

aght invitashuns to all ther neighbors an' friends to come to a tea

drinkin. Niver mind if ther wornt a rumpus i' that district! Th' chaps

winked when they met one another, an' said "Aw reckon tha'll be at yond

doo?" "Aw mean to be nowt else," they'd reply; an' away they'd trudge i'

joyful anticipation of a reight spree!

But th' women! Hi! that's it! It's th' women 'ats th' life an' soul ov a

jollificashun yet. They wor buzzin aght o' one door into another just

like a lot o' bees, to see what soa an soa wor gooin in. "What sooart ov

a bonnet art ta baan in Zantippa?" said Susan Stooanthrow; (or rayther

aw should, say, Miss Stooanthrow, for shoo reckoned hersen th' lady o'th

ginnel).

"Well, aw've nut made up mi mind yet," shoo says; "but aw have thowt aw

should goa, aw hardly know ha'; but what does ta think o' gooin in?"

"Well, aw suppooas it's ta be a varry spicy affair, soa aw have thowt aw

should goa i' full dress. Yo' see, being a single woman, an' rayther a

stylish shape, aw think it 'ud just suit me. What do yo' think?"

"Just the varry ticket, lass! Tha' couldn't do better! For, as aw've

mony a time said to Betty Wagstang, ther's noabody con mak up a moor

lady-liker appearance nor what tha con, when tha's a mind! But talkin'

abaght Betty, has ta seen that new cap o' hers?"

"Do yo' mean that shoo bowt up th' street t'other wick?"

"Th' same! Did ta iver see onybody luk sich a flaycrow i' all thi life?

Her heead reminds me ov a gurt pickled cabbage. Shoo doesn't keep up her

colour wi' nowt, tha may depend on't. Awther shoo can mak brass goa

farther nor other fowk, or else summat else; but they tell me 'at thers

nut mony shopkeepers abaght here but what has her name daan ofter nor

they like. But that's noa business o' mine."

"Aw shouldn't be at all apprised at that, for aw've heeard fowk say 'at

her family wor allus fond o' summat to sup afoor shoo wor born, an' they

niver had a gooid word at th' shops. Is she gooin' ta be at this swarry?

"At this what does ta say, Susy?"

"Aw said swarry, some fowk call it sooary. It means a pairty like yo'

know; it's th' French for a sooart ov a dooment, that's all."

"Oh, well, awm sooary to say 'at booath her an' her felly gate a invite,

but tha knows we've noa need ta mix up wi' sich like unless we've a

mind. Aw'm capt whativer made Becka ax her, for ther's hardly a woman

i'th ginnel but what had leever goa a' mile another rooad nor meet her;

but aw declare shoo's comin' sailin' daan like a fifty-gun ship! Talk

abaght owd Nick, an' he'll show his horns."

"Well, Zantippa I aw do declare shoo is! Soa we mun stand it aght, but

aw shall be varry reverse i' my talk, yo'll see."

"Gooid morning, lasses!" said Betty, burstin' in. "Aw thowt awd just

come daan to see what yo' thowt o' doing abaght this doo at th' Cock."

"Are ta baan Susy?"

"Yes, aw expect soa, for aw received a 'billy duck' the t'other day, a

askin' ov me to be present, if nothing didn't interspect my 'rangements

no otherwise."

"Why, Susy! hang it up! sin' tha began o' dressmakin' an' wearin' thi

hair like th' Empress Uginny, wi' all them twists an' twines, aw con

hardly tell what tha means. Are ta studdyin' for a skooilmistress?"

"Nut exactualy, but yo' see aw' begun to talk a bit moor propperer; for

when aw've to do wi' th' quality fowk, gooid talk an' a gooid redress is

one o'th requirations 'at yo' connot disperse wi'; but aw mun goa mi

departure, for aw've soa mich to execute afoor neet, woll awm fair

consternationed when aw think on it,--for aw've noabody to help me nah,

for my 'prentice has to stop at hooam wi' her fayther."

"Ho, eea! Why, what's th' matter wi' him, is he badly?"

"He is; for he hurt his leg a month or two sin', an' he's had to goa to

th' infirmary to get it anticipated."

"Why, whativer's that, Susy?"

"To get it cut off, yo' know. But aw munnot stop, soa, gooid day."

An away Susy flew daan th' ginnel, famously suited wi' th' way shoo'd

capt 'em wi' her scholarship.

"Well, if iver aw saw sich a flybysky as yond Susy i' all my life, aw'll

niver be trusted. Guy, hang it! shoo mud be as handsome as wax work,

shoo thinks soa mich ov her' sen! But aw fancy shoo'll ha' to dee an owd

maid, for its nooan her sooarts 'at fellies wants. It's all varry weel

to sit nigglin' away wi' a needle an' threed, stickin' bits o' poasies

into cap screeds, an' stich in' mooinshine, but when a chap wants a

wife, he wants somdy 'at con brew, an' bake, an' scaar th' floor. Why,

aw could whip raand hauf a duzzen sich like to my thinkin'! An' when aw

see her screwin' up her maath an' dutchin, an' settin' her cap at ivery

chap shoo sees, it maks mi blooid fair boil in me; an' awm sure, if ther

is a young chap abaght, shoo's wor nor a worm ov a whoot bakstull. Odd

drott it! it caps me 'at fowk should have noa moor sense nor ax sich

like to a party. But ha are ta off for clooas Zantippa? Con ta leean me

a under coit? Aw've all else ready."

"Nay lass, aw connot; for th' last doo 'at aw wor at aw had to borrow

one o' Susy. Aw've getten one nah, but aw'st want it.'

"Aw wonder if Susy 'ud leean it me," said Betty, "Aw hardly like to ax

her, for tha sees aw didn't give her the job o' makin' yond cap Tha's

seen mi new cap, hasn't ta?"

"Eea! aw saw thi have it on t'other day."

"Well, it's what aw call a nobby un; but awd better net waste ony time,

soa aw'll goa an' see if Susy 'll leean me yond coit. Shoo can nobbut

say noa." An' away went Betty.

'An' it's to be hooapt shoo will say' Noa, 'for if tha gets it, shoo'll

ha' to luk sharp if iver shoo sees th' edge on it agean,' said Zantippa

"Aw'd leean thee nowt unless awd made up mi mind to pairt wi' it. Aw

dooan't mak' mich o' Susy, but shoo's worth a barrow-looad sich like as

thee. Bith heart! tha'd ma' a daycent looad for a barrow thisen! An' if

all's true aw've heeard, it's nut long sin' tha' wor one, an' had a

bobby for a cooachman. But that's nowt ta me He! gow! it's turned o'

twelve o'clock, an' my chap an' th' childer ul be here to ther dinner!

Consarn it! Aw hate to live amang a lot o' gossippin' fowk sich as ther

is abaght here, noabody con get to do owt. Be hanged, if th' fire isn't

aght! an' aw expect it'll tak' me as long ageean to leet it, coss a'wm

in a hurry. There's niver nowt done reight when a body's in a fullock.

Aw wish ther tea drinkins wor far enuff. Aw'd rayther sail across th'

salt seea nor be put i' sich a mooild as this. Yond's th' bell! An'

they'll be here in a minnit! A'a dear! A woman's wark is niver done!"

"Aw think it niver is done, bi'th luk on it!" said Dick, as he stept

into th' haase. "Ha' is it thers noa dinner ready? It's as ill as th'

weshin' day, or else war!"

"Dinner! tha may weel ax abaght th' dinner," said Zantippa, "doesn't ta

see 'at th' place is ful o' reik? Aw dooan't know what tha means to do,

but if we connot have that chimley altered aw know one 'ats baan to

flit."

"Why, aw niver knew it smook'd afoor; but this fire's nobbut just lit."

"What's ta been dooin' baght fire?"

"Fire? does ta want me to be smoord? It's grand for yo' 'at con walk

aght to yo're wark as sooin as yo' get up, an' just come in to yo're

meals an' aght ageean, but yo' niver think o' what's to come o' me 'ats

ta tew amang it throo morn ta neet."

"Why lass, ha' is it 'at it niver smooks ov a Sunday?"

"Ha con I tell? tha mun ax it! Can't one o' yo' childer get th' bellus

an' blow a bit, or are yo' baan to stand thear wi' yo're fingers i'

yo're maath woll aw fair drop? But it'll nut allus be soa, yo'll get me

ligg'd low some day, an' then yo'll have ta shift for yoursen."

After a gooid deal o' botherin' an' grummelin', an' a varry deal o'

wangin' th' cubbord doors, an' clatterin' th' pots abaght, Zantippa

managed to mak' a sup o' coffee an' butter a bit o' bread. Dick didn't

like this, but as he saw his wife wor th' wrang side aght, he thowt, for

th' sake o' peace, he'd say nowt; soa he swallow'd his coffee an' cake

(if nut wi' thankfulness, at least i' quietness), an' then him an' th'

childer budged off.

"Thear!" said Zantippa, as shoo watched 'em aght o'th seet, "Aw've

managed that varry weel. Aw wod'nt ha' let him know for all th' brass

i'th bank 'at aw'd been talkin' woll aw'd letten th' fire goa aght. Aw

do hooap 'at ther'll nut a wick soul come an' bother me agean to-day,

for aw've niver had time to tak' th' cowks up yet, an' aw've all th'

stockins ta mend' at should ha' been done last wick, an' aw know Dick

hasn't a button left on his halliday shirt, it's time somdy stirred

thersen. Aw dooant know ha' fowk manage 'ats allus gaddin' abaght, aw

declare if aw ammut' allus slavin' at it, aw connot keep things

nowt-bit-like straight. Drabbit it! ('at aw should say sich a word)

ther's Betty comin' agean! Aw'd rayther be stranspoorted to Botny Bay

nor be as aw am. Ther's hardly a minnit but what ther's somdy o' th'

doorstun!"

Betty coom in smilin' all over her face. "Nah!" shoo says, "aw've

managed, an' aw've come ta see if tha'll goa wi' us, for Susy's baan up

th' street to buy a staylace, an' aw thowt aw'd just goa an' get th'

stink blown off, for aw've cawered i' this yard woll aw'm feear'd awst

grow maald. Put thi bonnet on, an' goa wi' us, we'st be back i' gooid

time."

"Aw could like to goa, but aw've soa mich to do woll aw hardly dar, for

woll aw wor talkin' to thee an' Susy this fornooin, th' fire went aght,

an' when Dick an' th' childer coom hooam ther wornt a bit o' dinner for

'em."

"Well, awm capt, 'at tha'll bother wi' cookin' 'em dinners. Aw allus let

awrs tak' ther jock wi' em, it saves a deal o' trouble, an' aw say a

woman's wark enuff, shoo haddles owt shoo gets, an' if we dunnot luk

aght for ussen noabody else will for us. But please thisen, if tha

doesn't tha darn't."

"Oh! as to that, aw dar goa, but aw've nowt to goa for, an' lots o' wark

at hooam. Aw think aw'd rayther nut."

"Well, tha'll get noa better on for cawering ith' haase like a moldwarp.

But aw mun goa, for Susy's waitin'." Away went Betty, an' Zantippa

ommost rued 'at shoo hadn't goan too: but it wor nobbut for a minit, for

shoo teed her apron string a bit tighter, tuck'd up her sleeves, pooled

in a long breath, an' as shoo said, "began ta make a sidashun."

Nah, if iver yo' want a chap to study a bit, an' resolve to mend his

ways, let him be quiet; but if iver yo' want a woman to start o'

thinkin' an' resolvin', let her have summat to do. If a woman sits quiet

shoo begins to mump. Aw niver hardly met a woman 'at could sit daan

quietly for five minits withaat sighin' two or three times; they think

an' think, an' sigh, an' shake ther heeads, an' if they're let alooan

they manage to wark thersen inta a bad temper abaght summat, but what

that is, aw've never met one 'at could tell. Zantippa didn't sit daan

an' mump, but up stairs shoo went an' made th' beds, an' a rare shakin'

they gat, for shoo wor just ful o' summat an' shoo mud vent her feelins

someway.

Women have a deal better way o'managin' that sooart o' thing nor what

men have. Ther are times when we're all brimful o' summat, th' steam's

up, an' if we connot find a safety valve we shall brust. Nah, a woman

drives up to th' elbows i'th' weshin' tub, or rives all th' carpets up,

or pools all th' pots aght o'th' cubboard an' puts 'em back agean. Shoo

lets her tongue have full liberty, an' what wi' talkin', an' sweatin',

an' scrub bin', an' brushin', shoo finds hersen reight daan tired, an'

after a bit ov a wesh an' snoddenin' her toppin', shoo sits daan to her

knittin' or sewin', as cooil as a cucumber, an' as ful o' gooid natur as

an egg's ful o' mait, an' her een sparkle wi' pleasure, like dewdrops

sparkle on a rose in a summer's mornin'. But wi' a chap it's different,

nine times aght o' ten he flies to th' ale pot, or else he begins

growlin' at hooam. "Th' tea's hot," or "th' muffin's cold," or "th'

butter's wor nor cart grease." "Th' childer's noisy," or "th' wife's

quiet," an' noa matter what's done for him it's all wrang. Sometimes bi

th' way ov a change, he'll pawse th' table ower, an' braik as mony pots

as it'll tak a gooid part ov a week's wage to replace, an' at last,

after makin' iverybody abaght him miserable, he'll goa to bed lukin' as

black as a mule an' sleep woll mornin', when (unless he's ova bad

sooart) he'll feel reight daan shamed ov hissel, an' set to wark to put

things reight agean. Nah, Zantippa wor just i' one o' these moods; an'

shoo made th' beds, coom daan stairs, an' weshed all th' pots, scaled

th' fire an' took the ass aght, gave th' hearthstun another dooas o'

idleback, scattered a bit ov fresh sand o' th' floor, an' after weshin'

hersen, an' donin' a clean print dress, shoo laid th' table ready for

th' teah, gate th' kettle onto th' rib, an' sat daan wi' her bag ful o'

worset an' a heap o' stockins, an', as shoo luk'd raand shoo felt as

pleased as Punch to see what a difference shoo'd been able ta mak in an

haar or two. "Aw'm nooan sooary 'at aw stopt at hooam," shoo said to

hersen. "Aw know Dick'll be suited when he sees all fettled up, an' if

aw get theas stockins done ta neet the'll be aght o'th gate. Aw wonder

ha it wor 'at he tuk things sooa quietly this nooin; aw dooant think

it's reight when a chap's been work in' iver sin six o'clock ov a

mornin' for him to come hooam an' find noa dinner ready. Reight enuff, a

woman's plenty to do to follow her haase, an' cook, an' mend, but if

ther wor noa wage comin' in, ther'd be less cookin' an' moor mendin',

aw've a noation. Aw've made up mi mind woll aw've been sidin' up 'at

aw'll nut waste mi time as aw have done, talkin' an' gossippin', for

ther's noa gooid comes on it, an' altho' aw want to keep thick wi' mi

neighbors, aw'm determined aw'll chop that sooart o' thing off at once;

for my mother used to tell me, 'If ther were noa listeners, ther'd be

noa taletellers;' an' th' time 'at one spends is war nor wasted, for it

oft leads ta 'fendin' an' provin', for them 'at come an' tell yo summat

abaght somdy else will just as sooin tell somdy else summat abaght yo.

An' luk what scrapes one gets into wi' it. Nah, aw made Dick believe 'at

th' chimley smookd, that wor a lie to say th' least on it, an' he'll be

sure ta noatice 'at it doesn't smook ta-neet, but if he names it aw'll

tell th' truth, for, aw'm sure noa gooid comes o' lying."

When Zantippa had just made this resolve, th' door opened, an' Dick au'

three childer coom in throo th' miln. He saw th' difference in a minnit.

"Wipe them clogs," he said as th' childer wor walkin' in. "Tha's been

fettlin' a bit, lass, aw think. Are ta baan to ax some o'th' neighbors

to ther drinkin'?"

"Noa!" shoo says, "aw'm baan to ax noabody but thee an' th' childer.

Does ta want me to ax somdy?"

"Nay, nooan soa! Aw'd as gooid as promised to goa as far as 'Th' Cock'

ta neet, to talk ovver this bit ov a doo, but aw think aw'll stop at

hooam, what says ta?" Zantippa smiled, nay even blushed, shoo knew what

he ment an' shoo felt pleased. It wor a bit ov a compliment, an' paid

her for all her trouble.

"Please thisen," shoo said, as shoo poured aght a cup o' teah for him,

an' lifted a pile o' tooast aght o' th' oven, "but aw think th'rt as

weel at hooam."

"Well, an' aw think aw'm better," he said, as he luk'd raand, "aw think

th' chimley doesn't smook as ill as it did, does it?"

Shoo hung her heead, an' stooped ta pick a pin off th' floor, but shoo

couldn't find one, an' when shoo luk'd up ther een met. Shoo didn't

spaik, nor moor did he; it worn't needed. It wor a long time sin they'd

sich a comfortable teah, an' when they'd done they sat some time at th'

table i' silence. Ha' long they might have sat aw connot tell, hadn't

th' door oppened, an' Betty come runnin' in wi' a pot to beg a sup o'

hot watter, for shoo said "Her chap had coom hooam, an' shoo'd been

rayther longer nor shoo expected, an' he wor playin' th' varry hangment

for his drinkin'."

Shoo gate her hot water, an' went away. Dick luk'd at his wife, an'

takkin' howd ov her hand, said, "Aw'm glad 'at tha hasn't to goa seekin'

hot water, an' aw hooap tha niver may have."

"Aw hooap nut," shoo said, an' sat daan evidently varry ill set ta see

her stockins. Nah, what a little con make fowk happy or miserable. Dick

wor as content as a king, becoss all th' haas wor tidy. He saw at somdy

had been tryin' to mak' him comfortable; an shoo wor as delighted as if

shoo'd getten a fortin left, becoss what shoo'd done had suited him.

When th' childer had getten all put ta bed, Dick said, "Lass, aw've been

thinkin' 'at aw dooant care soa mich abaght gooin to this teadrinkin'

for aw've a noation 'at we connot goa ta th' tea withaat stoppin' an'

spendin' a lot o' brass at after, an' aw've heeard thee say as thar't

fast for some flannel. Nah, if we stop at hooam an' spend th' brass o'

what it is tha wants, it'll do us moor gooid nor th' ale, what says ta?"

"Just thee please thisen, Dick. Aw had thowt o' gooin, but as tha says

it's sure to cost summat, an' awr Billy wants some new clogs, for yond

tak watter varry ill, an' aw dooant know what we could do better wi' th'

brass, an' aw think we con have as comfortable a teah at hooam."

"Aw'm sure, an' moor soa, an' as tha's decided nut to goa, aw'll tell

thi ov a marlock some o'th' chaps has been playin' but tha munnat split,

for it hasn't to get aght woll after th' pairty. Tha knows Hungary at

works wi' us?"

"Does ta meean him 'at once ait a pailful o' draff?"

"Th' same chap! An' he declared 'at if he gate aside o'th steaks at this

doo, he'd polish th' lot (an' aw believe he can ait owt less nor a

bullock), soa some o'th chaps made it up 'at he should have a dish to

his own cheek; but they'd ta be donkey steaks--for owd Labon ('at hawks

cockles an' mussels) had let his donkey catch cold or summat, at ony

rate it dee'd, an' soa they thowt if they could get some steaks off that

they'd just come in, but they knew 'at owd Labon had rayther part wi'

his heead nor let onybody mell o'th donkey, for he thowt as mich on it

as if it wor a Christian. But they determined to scheme some way to get

it, soa Joe Longfooit offered to go into th' yard where it wor, an' cut

off one hinder leg an' tak it hooam ta cook, if Sam Sniggle 'ud watch

aght to see 'at noabody coom. Labon kept his donkey, tha knows, in a

place at th' top o'th long stepses, an' used ta goa raand th' back rooad

wi' it, soa one dinner time they'd watch'd Labon aght o'th' yard, (where

he'd been standin' rubbin' his een, an' strokin' his owd favourite,) an'

when he'd getten nicely off they ventured to try ther luck. Joe

Longfooit went up wi' a gurt carvin' knife, an' left Sam at th' bottom

to whistle if he saw onnybody comin', an' he stood thear for a while,

but he wanted a bit o' bacca, an' ther wor sich a wind i'th' steps 'at

he couldn't get a leet, soa he went across the rooad into a doorhoil for

shelter. He worn't aboon a minnit or two away, but when he coom back

what should he see but owd Labon within a few steps o'th' top. He hardly

knew what ta do, but he managed as mich wind as made a whistle, an'

stood watchin' for th' next move. Joa heeard the signal, but it wor too

lat, for he couldn't get aght withaat th' owd chap seein' him, an' he'd

getten th' leg cut off ready for huggin' away, soa seizin' hold o'th'

shank, he watched for owd Labon's hat showin' aboon th' wall top, when

he gave it sich a clencher wi' th' thick end o'th' leg, woll he forced

th' brewards reight onto his sholder, then he laup'd ovver th' wall an'

ran hooam wi' his prize as fast as his legs could carry him, leavin'

Laban to find his way into dayleet ageean as weel as he could. Sam met

him at th' haase an' they worn't long i' cutting some grand lukkin'

steaks off, an' puttin' 'em ov a dish i'th cubboard, an' bith' time

they'd done that, th' bell rang an' they'd ta goa back ta ther wark.

When Labon gate his hat, once more onto th' top ov his heead, he went ta

see his owd deead friend, an' when he saw it ligged thear wi' nobbut

three legs, he vow'd vengeance agean them 'at had done it, an' declared

'at if iver he fan it aght, he'd mak 'em pay for it, for it wor nowt noa

less nor robbin' th' deead, an' he'd have' em tried for assasination.

Joa's wife wor aght when they took th' leg hooam, an' after they cut th'

steaks off they'd hid t' other part under th' coils. But they hadn't

been gooan soa varry long when shoo coom in, an' as shoo wor gettin' th'

pots aght o'th cubbord, shoo saw this dish' ful o' steaks. "A'a!" shoo

says, "it's just like yond chap to put thease in here an' say nowt

abaght it, but aw con just relish one o' thease to my drinkin', an' aw

dar say he'll want one, an' awm sure th' childer 'll do wi' a bit. We

hav'nt had as mich fleshmait i' awr haase afoor for many a wick. Fotch

that gridiron, Polly! We'st ha to do it o'th' top o'th' coil, for ther

isn't fat enuff to fry it."

Shoo worn't long afoor shoo had it nicely cooked, an' the tea made, an'

a thowt struck her' at shoo'd ax Sam's wife to her tea, for shoo knew

'at they didn't oft get steak at their haase, so Polly went an' browt

Mistress Sniggle an' all th' childer to ther tea, an' as ther wor eight

on' em, they varry sooin put thersen o'th' aghtside o'th' steak. They

set to wark then to get some clean pots ready for Joa, an' sent one

o'th' childer ta watch th' miln loise, ta tell Sam ta come wi' him. When

they come all wor nicely ready for' em, but ther minds worn't easy, for

ther'd been a policeman axing abaght 'em at ther wark, for Labon had

seen Sam at th' bottom o'th' steps, an' he thowt he knew summat abaght

it, soa they declared they'd niver own to it to a wick soul. As sooin as

they gate in they smell'd what wor up, for Joa knew ther wor noa mait i'

th' haase else, an' his wife had no brass to buy ony. He looked at Sam,

an' thear they stooid i' th' middle o' th' floor as white as two ghosts,

staring at one another, but they darn't spaik, an' booath waited to see

what t'other did.

"Come on to your drinkin'," said th' women.

"A'a! tha'rt a grand un, Joa," said his wife, "to put them steaks i' th'

cubbord an' niver say a word abaght it, an' tha knows ha fond aw am ov a

bit o' steak, an' it's a bit o' nice mait too, tho' it isn't as tender

as some. We've savvor'd it, aw con tell thi, for considerin' th' price

o' mait nah, a gooid steak's hardly within th' raich o' workin' fowk."

Joa wor dumb struck, he stirred his tea, but he couldn't tak his een off

th' steak. Sam rested his head on his hand an' complained abaght bein'

poorly.

"It's for want o' some gooid support, mun," said his wife, "get some o'

that mait into thi. It's made me feel a different body, awm as frisky as

a young foil, an' luk at th' childer, they're wrastlin' thear like young

bullocks. Mun, it puts a bit o'th' natur o'th' beast into 'em."

But Sam declared he felt poorly, an' couldn't touch mait; but Joa

couldn't spaik at all. As he sat starin' at th' dish, old Laban went

past th' door, wi' a basket o' awther arm shaatin' aght "Cockles alive!

Mussels alive, oh!" As sooin as Joa heard that he seized a fork, an'

stuck it into th' mait wi' sich a force, 'at he smashed th' dish an'

pinned it fast to th' table top. "Woa, up!" he said, "stop thee thear!"

"A'a! gaumless! tha's been having summat to sup this afternooin, aw can

see," said his wife. "Tha mud ha' thowt owd Labon wor callin o'th' steak

to goa wi' him!" But poor Joa couldn't get a word off. Drops o' sweat

stood ov his foreheead as big as pays, an' he couldn't tak his een off

th' mait. "Is ther summat th' matter wi' that steak, makes thi 'at tha

connot touch it?" said his wife; "awm sure it's nicely enuff; what is

ther to do wi' thi?"

"Oh, th' steak's reight enuff," said Joa, raisin' courage to spaik, "th'

steaks all reight, but aw'm nut i'th' knife an' fork line to-neet.

What's that noise i'th' cellar?" he said, starting aght ov his chear,

wi' his hair ommost studden ov an end, an' his een starin', an' his

teeth girnin', like a sheepheead between a pair o' tangs!

"What noise! Does ta mean that rawtin' daan i'th' cellar?"

"Eea!"

"Oh, it's nobbut th' childer 'at's laikin, some on 'em's recknin' to be

donkeys an' t'other's drivin' 'em; they've been at it iver sin they'd

ther drinkin'; it's that mait 'at's suited 'em soa, mun, woll they

dunnot know what to do."

"Aw mun goa hooam," said Sam, "aw can't bide, aw'm varry poorly."

"Why yo booath luk awther poorly or summat," said his wife. "An' aw

think th' sooner yo get to bed an' th' better."

Sam an' his wife and childer went hooam, an' it wornt long afoor Joa wor

burrying his heead under th' blankets, an' tryin' to fall asleep; but he

couldn't, for as sooin as he began to dooaz off, he began dreamin' 'at

he wor tryin 'to swallow a donkey an' wakkened wi' it stickin' in his

throit.

Th' next mornin' when they met ther faces luk'd moor like two dazed

cakes nor owt, for they'd hardly a mite o' color left. "We're reight in

for it this time, Sam," said Joa. "Aw believe this job 'll tell ov

itsel'. Does ta think 'at it makes ony difference wi' fowk aiting donkey

beef?"

"Well, aw dooant know; but aw did once know a chap 'at wor a reglar cauf

heead, an' he hardly iver ait owt but veal, an' tha knows th' bass

singer at awr church gets bacon to ommost ivery meal, an' he grunts as

ill as a pig, bi'th' heart does he;--an', awm sure, my childer's ears

luk'd longer to me this mornin', or else aw thowt soa!"

"Well, an aw'm sure my wife snoor'd i'th neet moor like a donkey rawtin

nor owt else, an' th' fust thing awr Isaac axed me this marnin' wor to

buy him some panniers so as he could be a mule. But what are we to do

wi' yond t'other pairt o'th' leg?"

"Oh, we mun burry that, we'll ha' noa moor truck wi' that, an' aw think

we'd better ax some advice abaght some o' them 'at's etten th' other;

for it wod be a doo if they'd to start o' growin' tails or summat!

ther's noa tellin'."

They were boath soa terrified woll they left their wark, an' they went

to see an owd chap 'at's varry skilful o' heearbs, an' they tell'd him

all abaght it, an' axed him "if he thowt it 'ud mak ony difference to

them 'at had etten it?"

"Well," he said, "considerin' what sooart o' fathers they have aw dooant

think it will mak mich difference to th' childer, it hardly con, an' if

th' wives get rayther unruly, yo mun try an' bridle 'em a bit. But if

yo'll tak my advice for't future, yo'll let that alooan 'at doesn't

belang to yo, for yo'll allus find ought dishonestly getten, will breed

moor trouble to yo nor what th' loss 'll mak to them yo've ta'en it

throo,--soa goa hooam, an' bear i' mind 'at "Honesty is th' best

policy," an' if 'owd Labon's donkey has towt yo that lesson, it hasn't

dee'd for nowt."

They went back to their wark, but someha' or other it's getten wind, an'

aw fancy 'at th' doctor's tell'd, but be that as it may, aw consider

they wor reight sarved, an' aw dooant think they'll show up at this

tea-drinkin'.

"Well, aw niver heard sich a tale i' my life," said Zantippa. "An' aw

should think they'll never see a donkey withaght thinkin' on it, an' if

soa it'll noa daat be for th' best. Noabody owt to be aboon learnin'

when they've a chonce, an' aw think aw've lent a lesson to-day."

"Does ta lass, an' what is it?"

"Why, 'at to mak hooam comfortable owt to be a woman's furst duty, for a

clean hearth an' a cheerful fire do a deal towards makin' a cheerful

heart; for when a haase is upset a chap's temper gets upset, an' it's a

deal better to prevent a few cross words nor to try an' mak things up

agean."

"Tha'rt a gooid lass, Zantippa! God bless thi! Let's goa to bed!"

One, Two, Three.

Nah number one is onybody an' iverybody; for we're all number one to

ussen. Ther's an old sayin, an' it must be true, for ommost iverybody

seems to believe it, 'at we should all remember number one--that is,

it's set daan to be iverybody's duty to do th' best they can for

thersen, an' it's becoss this doctrine is soa well acted up to, 'at maks

me think 'at ther may be a bit ov amusement an' profit i' studying abaat

it at this time--yo can tak th' amusement an' let me have th' profit.

Nah, if you act up to my advice, aw think yo may be happen better nor yo

are, an' if yo dooant aw dooant think yo'l be ony war, an' that's one

comfort. Ther's nowt like startin at th' faandation ov a subject, if yo

want to deal wi' it in a reight way, an' aw intend to goa to th' rooit,

an' as money is th' rooit ov all evil, an' th' number one doctrine is i'

my opinion an evil, aw shall start wi' brass. We mun awther believe

money to be th' rooit ov all evil, or else we daat th' wisdom o' him at

sed it, but at th' same time my experience taiches me at it's a varry

useful thing to have i' yor pocket when yo goa to market, an' it's a

wonderful thing for stiffenin a chap's back booan. Allus remember this,

at th' heigher yo hold yor heead an' lower other fowk 'll bow theirs.

Ther are exceptions to this rule, for ther are 'at think a honest man

has as mich reight to hold up his heead, even if he hasn't a penny in

his pocket, as one 'at's thaasands o' paands. Ov coorse, yo know better

nor that; for a empty heead an' a full purse can pass muster even i'th'

Parliament. Then, whativer yo do, yo mun get hold o' this brass, an'

niver heed, if becoss your gettin moor nor yo want causes some others to

goa short--that's nowt to yo--yor number one an' luk to that. If yo can

nobbut get a fortune, yo'll find friends come withaat seekin. But mind

whativer yo do to get yor brass honestly-that is, get it i' some way 'at

th' law cannot touch yo. Dooant knock a chap daan an' tak it throo him,

but start some sooart ov a society wi' a long name, get some offices in

a garret in a grand street, get some chap wi' a hannel to his name to be

president, an' a lot o' directors 'at nawther yo nor onybody else iver

knew, pay a poor begger fourteen shillin a week to be scratchetary, mak

yorsen into th' treasurer, an' then advertise. Somdy'll be sure to tak

shares, an' as sooin as ther's ony brass to goa on wi,' vooat yor sen a

salary ov two thaasand a year,--mak sure to get it--an' then, if ther's

ony claims at yo connot meet wind up th' business. Fowk'll be sure to

sympathise wi' yo, and yo'll have as mich as 'll keep yo respectable for

a bit, an' then yo can luk aght for another chonce o' turnin a honest

penny. Yor belly'll be full an' your back weel clooathed, your

conscience--well, tak noa noatice o' that,--an' if yo can get a front

seeat in a chapel yo'll stand a gooid chonce o' been made a taan

caancillor or a member o'th schooil booard. This number one doctrine has

another advantage, a chap 'at follows it aght has nubdy's else interests

to bother abaat; he doesn't care who dees soa long as he lives, nor who

sinks soa long as he can swim. But allus tak care net to let other fowk

know 'at yo live up to this system; for although iverybody thinks a

gooid deeal o' ther own number one, nubdy seems fond ov another's. Some

even goa soa far as to call a number one chap selfish. Well, worn't we

born into th' world to be selfish? What have we nails for if we munnot

scrat? What have we teeth for but to bite? What have we een for but to

look after awr own interests? What have we ears for but to listen for

iverything to us own advantage? What have we bodies for but to serve?

This is number one doctrine. Its varry popular, an' does varry weel for

this world; ther's a deal o' hansom gravestooans stand ovver once

successful number ones. What ther number is i'th' next world is moor nor

aw can tell, but aw know they'll have to start afresh, for all they iver

gained they've left behund.

Fowk 'at niver loise seet o' 'number one,' are a hard workin set as a

rule, but even they have to amuse thersen a bit sometimes, an' they find

it a nice change to luk after 'number two.' To a chap o' this sooart,

iverybody's 'number two,' 'at's a bit better awther i' luks, position,

or pocket. Nah if yo want ony fun o' this sooart aw'll tell yo ha to get

it. Furst ov all, find aght sombdy 'at yo fancy yore mates think moor on

nor they think o' yo--watch him ivery time yo get a chonce, an' see if

yo connot pick aght a hoil in his coit. Dooant be disheartened if yo

have to luk a long time before yo can find a fault--be sure ther is one

somewhear, an' if yo can't see it at a distance, hutch cloiser up, mak a

gurt fuss on him, niver say owt contrary to what he says; if he says

summat funny, laff fit to split yor sides, an' if he says owt serious,

luk solemn an' shak yor heead. Watch him carefully, an' it's a thaasand

to one but some day yo'll catch him trippin. If, when yo've fun a hoil,

it's soa little as to be hardly worth noaticing, dooant despair, wol yor

clappin him on his back an' smilin in his face, yo can happen get yor

finger in, an then rive it a bit bigger. Do it gently at furst, just a

little bit at a time, and then when yo've getten a chonce, rip it as far

as yo can. But be sure yo have nowt ony moor to do with him after that.

If yo see him comin, cross on t'other side o' th' rooad, niver let on

'at yo've seen him, but as sooin as he's getten past, shak yor heead

sorrowfully an' sigh; if yo happen to have a clean hankerchy i' yor

pocket, yo may tak it aght and mak believe to wipe off a tear--niver

heed if ther isn't one, fowk'll think better o' yo, an' all the war o'

him. If onybody should come an' ask yo if yo've heeard that sad tale

abaat him, say. 'God forbid at yo should hear owt war nor what yo've

heeard before.' Dooant seem inclined to listen, but when they've done,

say, 'Well, well it's a thaasand pities, but if that wor th' warst it

wodn't matter mich.' He's sure to go away wi' th' noation 'at yo know

summot abaat th' same chap 'at's ten times war nor owt he's heeard, but

yo've too mich gooid natur to tell it. Nah this is all varry gooid fun

for' number one;' an when yo see poor' number two' loise his shop, or

shunned, or luked shyly at wi' them at wor once his admirers, an' yo

know 'at it's allowing to yo, then yo can goa hooam an' shut yorsen up

all bi yorsen, an' laff, an rejoice to yor heart's content. But dooant

be surprised if, when yo chuckle, yo should hear another chuckle cloise

to yor elbow, for haiver yo lock an' bolt th' door, yo connot keep th'

devil aght. He enjoys a bit o' fun o' this sooart as weel as yo, an'

he's nobbut come to show yo ha pleased he is. If yo dooant like his

compny sarve him th' same way --remember yo're 'number one,' an he's

nobbut 'number two' to yo. Pool as long a face, an' luk as sanctimonious

as yo can, an' wheniver yo've a chonce, tell fowk to shun him an' all

his works, tell 'em 'at he's prowlin raand like a lion seekin who to

make a meal on th' next. Yo needn't be mailly-maathed abaat him, becoss

he's net suppooased to have ony friends. He willn't care a button what

yo say, 'coss he knows yo cannot injure _his_ character, an' he laffs to

hissen as he sees yo sighin, an lyin, an scheamin, all for 'number one,'

an he puts a mark opposite yor name to show 'at he's noa need to luk

after yo ony moor--yo're all safe--an' then he turns his attention to

some 'number twos.' It's gooid spooart, isn't it? May be yo think it's a

spooart 'at's niver entered onybody's heead but mine, but yor mistakken.

It's a varry common spoart. Mind yo dooant catch yorsen indulging in it

some day.

Number three reminds a body ov a deeal o' things, but nowt as mitch as a

pop shop. Them three gold balls 'at hing aght to show whear th' poor

fowk's bankers live, if they could nobbot spaik, could tell a tale 'at

wod cap some o' them wiseacres 'at reckon to know all poor fowk's

troubles, an' th' way to cure' em. Nah, it's a puzzle to me to accaant

for one o' these things, an' that is, 'at fowk's actions should be

regarded through a different standpoint to owt else i' th' world. A

little tree is a tree, an' it's nobbut a tree ha big it is--a puttate is

nobbut a puttate if it grows as big as a churn-an' a man considers

hissen a man whether he's a Goliah or a Tom Thumb. But actions are

different altogether. Whether they're to be considered gooid or bad

depends entirely o' th' bugth on 'em. A chap 'at can chait somdy aght ov

twenty thaasand paands is considered smart: but a poor begger 'at stails

a looaf is a thief. A chap 'at walks into th' joint stock bank, an'.

leaves th' title deeds ov his property for th' loan ov five or six

hundred paands, is an honerable tradesman, 'an it's considered a

business--like act; but a poor woman' at taks her fiat-iron to th' pop

shop, an' borrows sixpence on it, commits a sin--it's a disgrace. Aw

wonder what th' mooast o' th' banks are but pop shops. What difference

is ther between a pop ticket an' a check book? Varry little nobbut th'

bugth. I' my opinion it's noa moor a disgrace for a chap to pop a paper

coller nor for another to morgage a property. Ther's a gooid deal o'

speculation sometimes i' booath cases. Nah, aw once knew a chap at popt

a haufacraan for two-an-four-pence, an then sell'd th' ticket for a

shillin: soa he didn't loise owt. They're useful places i' ther way,

though aw dooant mean to say at ther's noa evils connected wi' 'em. Nah,

aw once knew a woman 'at popt her husband's Sunday clooas so as shoo

could buy a new dress for hersen, 'an when he fan it aght he gave her a

lickin an' had to goa befoor th' magistrates, an' they fined him ten

shillin or to goa to quad for a month, soa his wife popt her dress to'

pay th' fine. Nah, it isn't ivery evil 'at can reighten itsen like that;

an' varry likely bith time they've getten 'em aght agean they'll have

lernt moor wit.

Ther's summat else 'at number three reminds me on, an' that's th' three

things at we all owt to have--Faith, Hope, an' Charity. As to Faith,

ther's awther a gooid deeal on it i' th' world, or else fowk dooant

spaik truth. Hope we've all enuff on, an' some fowk moor nor what does'

em ony gooid, for they're ofter hopin nor strivin. But when it comes to

Charity, then aw'm a sooart o' fast amang it. It's a nice word, a bonny

word aw think; it luks nice in a church or a bazaar. It's a nice word to

tak for a text, it saands nice onytime unless it's at a meetin o' th'

poor law guardians, then it saands harder an' harsher someway. For mi

own part, aw've niver been able to understand exactly what it meeans. I

have an opinion o' mi own; but then aw know it must be wrong, becoss

it's so different to other fowk's. Aw wor once walkin aght wi' a chap

'at wor chock full o' charity. He wor soa full on it 'at it used to roll

aght ov his maath ivery two or three minutes, and we hadn't gone far

when we met a little lad, wi' hardly a bit o' clooas on him, an' he

luk'd as if he'd been livin o' th' smell ov a cook shop for a wick, an'

he coom beggin a hawpney. Well, to tell th' truth aw wor gooin to pass

him, for aw hadn't a fardin, but my charitable friend did stop, an' he

patted him on his heead, and axed if he he'd a father an' mother, an' if

he went to th' Sunday schooil, an if he knew his Catichism, an' then he

sed, Well, be a good boy, an' sometime when aw've a hawpny aw'l give it

thi,' an' we went away. When we'd gooan a two or three yards he sed,

'Let's have a glass o' ale, for aw'm dry--aw feel sooary for yond lad,

but yo connot allus be givin.

Sammy Bewitched.

Aw shall niver forget Sammy Sawney. He's deead nah an' it's a pity at

owt like him iver should dee, for he wor net only t' first but aw

believe t'last o' 'tsooart. Aw niver remember him as a lad, for he wor a

gooid age when aw wor born, but aw've heeard enuff abaat him to mak me

feel as if aw'd known him at that time, an' judgin' bi what aw knew on

him as an old man aw can believe it ivery word true.

Sammy's mother wor a widdy, an' he wor her only child. Shoo wor worth a

little bit o' brass, an' his fayther had been considered varry weel to

do, for he'd abaat twenty hand-loom weyvers workin for him, an' his

bumbazines wor allus considered t'best i' t'market. When Sammy wor four

year old shoo detarmined to send him to t'schooil an' have him eddicated

for a banker's clerk, for to be handlin brass all t'day long wor to her

t'happiest condition i' life.

It wor easy enough to send Sammy to t'schooil but to get him eddicated

wor another matter, an' whether it wor as t'schooil-maister sed, 'at his

heead wor too thick iver to drive owt into it, or, as his mother said,

'at t'schooilmaister knew nowt an' soa he could taich nowt, aw dooant

pretend to say.

Little Sammy hadn't a varry easy time on it, for he wor shifted abaat

throo one schooil to another, wol he hadn't mich o' a chonce o'

leearnin' even if he had some brains, an' ther' wor at sed he hadn't.

But his mother had faith ther wor summat in him, an' varry likely ther

wor, for nowt iver coom aght, an' what some fowk called

wrangheeadedness, shoo considered to be genius badly directed.

One day he wor at t'beckside, an' shoo went to see what he wor dooin',

an' as shoo saw he'd nobbut one clog, shoo axed him what he'd done wi'

tother, an' he sed he'd made it into a booat, an' it had sailed away

down t'beck, soa shoo tawked nicely, an' tell'd him he shouldn't do soa,

for it wor lost, an' he mud allus remember 'at if he put owt into

t'beck, he'd niver see it ony moor, for t'watter ran daan at sich a

rate; but he sed he'd fun aght a better way o' dooin' it next time, for

he'd put t'furst in wi' t'toa pointin daan t'hill, but when he put

t'next in, he'd point t'toa up t'hill, an' it wouldn't find it quite soa

easy gooin.

"A'a, Sammy lad," sed his mother, as shoo stroked his heead, "tha's a

deal moor i' this nop nor ivver thi fayther had, or me awther, for aw

should niver ha' thowt o' that." Sammy put tother in, takkin care to

point t'toe t'contrary way to what t'watter wor runnin, but as sooin as

he left lawse it turned raand an' foller'd tother, an' wor sooin aght o'

seet.

"Nah, then!" he sed "didn't aw tell yo? If it hadn't turned raand, it

'ud ha' been goin' up t'hill, but t'chap 'at made them clogs didn't mak'

'em reights an' lefts. Yo see they're booath left, an' aw believe that's

the reason aw've allus been lat to t'schooil."

"Niver heed, Sammy, tha shalln't go to t'school ony moor, for aw believe

tha'rt better able to taich t'maisters nor they are to taich thee."

"Awm sewer on it mother; for t'last maister aw had sed awd towt him

patience, an' awm sartin he niver towt me owt."

"Come thi ways, lad, an' awl buy thee some new clogs at another shop,

but dooant put any moor into that beck, unless tha tees a string to 'em,

if tha does awst ha' to give thee a lickin, soa tha knows; for even

knowledge can be bowt too dear."

After gettin his new clogs, shoo tuk him into a spice shop to buy a

penorth o' owt he liked, soa he ax'd t'old woman for a penorth o'

humbugs; but as sooin as he'd getten 'em, he altered his mind an' thowt

he'd have acid drops, soa shoo changed em'; but he'd hardly getten 'em

when he changed his mind, an' said he'd rayther have a rockstick, an'

when he'd gate that, he wor walkin' aght, an' shoo sang aght after him

'at he'd niver paid her for it.

"Why, aw gave yo t'acid drops for it."

"Eea, but tha niver paid for t'acid drops."

"A'a, what a tale I didn't aw give yo t'humbugs?"

"But tha niver paid for t'humbugs."

"Why, aw havn't etten t'humbugs, have aw? Didn't aw give' em yo agean?

Yo dooant want payin' twice, sewerlee?"

"Well aw dooant know hah it is, what tha says saands reight enuff; but

what aw do know is, at tha's getten a rockstick, an' aw havn't getten a

penny."

"You see what it is to be a scholar," sed his mother; "but yo'st loise

nowt bi a child o' mine," soa shoo gave her t'penny an' coom away.

As they wor walkin on, Sammy put t'last bit into his maath an' sed,

"mother, can yo tell me why is old Sally like that rockstick?"

"Nay lad, awm sewer aw cannot."

"Becoss they've booath getten suckt."

"A'a, lad, dooant study soa mich, awm feeard strainin thi brain, but can

ta spell brain?"

"Brane."

"Nay, lad, ther's a I in it."

"Then aw must have three, if aw've two i' mi heead an' one i' mi brain."

"Aw niver thowt o' that, but tha'rt far too clivver for me, an' awst

nivver rest until aw get thi into a bank."

Now it soa happened 'at ther wor a man 'at had done business wi' Sammy's

fayther i' former days, an' after a bit o' persuadin he consented to

tak' him into his office, an' t'lad wor soa praad ov his place, 'at,

strange as it seems, he did begin to leearn a bit o' summate T'chap tuk

a deeal o' pains wi him, an' his mother's heart wor oft made glad wi'

hearin a gooid accaant of his gooins on. When he used to goa to his

dinner wi' a pen stuck behind his ear, an' his finger daubed wi' ink, as

if he'd been cleeanin' aght t'ink bottles, shoo could hardly keep her

arms off his neck, an' monny a time shoo'd sit watchin him as he put

t'puddin aght o' t'seet, wi' tears in her een, an' wish his farther wor

thear to see him. But his face grew whiter an' he didn't seem to have as

mich life in him as he used to have, an' this caused her a deeal ov

uneasiness, an' at last shoo decided to goa an' have a word wi' his

maister. Shoo went to t'office, an' they made a gurt fuss o' t'old woman

an' ax'd her into a private raam to sit daan.

"Aw've come," shoo sed, "to have a word or two abaat ahr Sammy; aw

should like to know hah yo think he gets on?"

"Better than we expected," he said; "he runs errands very well and his

writing is better than it was, but his spelling wants improving, yet we

think we shall be able to make a man of him."

"Well, if that's all aw think he'll get better on it, an' as for spellin

a word wrang nah an' then aw dooant see 'at that maks mich difference

soa long as yo know what it meeans. But what do yo think troubles him

t'mooast?"

"Well at the present time it's with the which's, but you must excuse me

just now for a very important customer has called and I must see him."

Soa he jumpt up an' left her. It didn't tak her long to get hooam, an'

as shoo'd allus been ov a superstitious way o' thinkin, her mind wor

filled wi' anxiety abaat her lad.

"Just to think," shoo sed, as shoo trudged along, "'at he should be

bewitched! A grand lad like him-but it's somdy at's done it just aght o'

spite, an' aw've a varry gooid noation who's done it. It's that nasty

gooid-for-nowt 'at lives at t'back o' awr haase,--shoo's niver been able

to bide t'seet on him sin' he cut her cat tail off, an' shoo knew well

enuff he nobbut did it for fun. But awl see if aw connot braik t'spell."

As shoo had to pass a smithy on her way hooam shoo went in, an' axed if

they'd an old horseshoe to give her, for shoo knew that wor a thing 'at

witches couldn't bide t'seet on.

"Why, Meary, what dun yo want it for. Are yo freetened o' t'boggards?"

"Awst nooan be freetened o' thee if tha wor a boggard," shoo sed, "but

has ta getten one?"

"Well, aw dooant know, but aw've a pair o' donkey shooin here, if tha

thinks they'll fit yor Sammy tha can have' em an' welcome."

"Aw think they'd be a deeal moor likely to fit thee, judgin bi t'length

o' thi ears," shoo sed; "but aw want a horseshoe if tha's getten one,

an' if tha hasn't say soa, an' dooant keep me waitin here."

He hunted abaat till he rooited one aght, an' he gave it her, an' shoo

put it in her pocket an' went off withaat iver stoppin to thank him for

it. When Sammy had getten his supper shoo sent him to bed, an' tell'd

him to leave her his waistcoit, as shoo wanted to do summat at it. As

sooin as shoo wor bi hersen shoo pool'd t'horseshoe aght ov her pocket

an' began to plan hah shoo could fasten it to t'back ov his waistcoit,

for shoo thowt that wod be t'best place for it, an' although it wor a

nasty thing to hug up an daan, yet it wor a deeal better nor havin to

live under t'influence ov a evil eye. It tuk her a bit o' seheamin

befoor shoo gate it stitched on to her fancy, but patience won t'battle,

an' when shoo went to bed she felt easier in her mind.

T'next mornin shoo'd a deal o' trouble to get Sammy to put it on, for he

couldn't tell t'meanin on it, but his mother lukt soa serious abaat it

'at he didn't like to say he wodn't wear it.

He went to his wark, but his jacket didn't fit quite as well as usual,

an' as for keep in his waistcoat i' ony-bit-like shape, he couldn't do

it, for t'weight behind wor soa heavy wol it pool'd t'buttons ommost up

to his chin, an' when he sat on his stooil i' t'front o' t'desk, he felt

as if somdy wor tryin' to upset him backards. When he went to his

dinner, he felt as if he wor huggin a pack, an' he begged hard ov his

mother to let him goa withaat it, but shoo sed shoo darn't trust him

aght ov her seet if he hadn't it on, for it wor to shield him. "It's a

queer place for a shield," he sed, "but awl try it this afternooin, an'

if it doesn't feel easier awst niver put it on agean."

When he coom hooam at neet, he wor booath tired an' cross; an' after his

Supper he gat a slate an' pencil an' sat daan to write, lukkin' varry

glum. His mother watched him varry anxiously for a while, an' then shoo

sed quietly, "Tha doesn't look varry weel to-neet, Sammy, does ta think

tha'rt goin' to have a spell o' sickness?" "Noa, but awm sick o'

spellin', for t'gaffer's allus agate on me becoss aw connot spell

'which.' Aw've spell'd it wich-whitch-witch-an' which-du' awl goa to

hummer if aw can tell which is which even nah. Aw wish ther worn't a

which."

"Which witch does ta mean, Sammy?"

"Aw can't tell which which, aw wish aw could."

"A'a Sammy," shoo sed, an shoo threw her arms raand his neck, "tha's

taen a load offmy mind!"

"Well, you've putten me one on to mi waistcoit."

"Tak it off, lad, for tha doesn't need it! Tha doesn't know hah thankful

aw am, for when aw wor tawkin' to thi maister yesterday he sed tha wor

troubled wi' witches, an' aw sewed t'horseshoe on to scare 'em."

"Which whiches did he mean?"

"Which witches witch?"

"Aw can't tell which is which."

"Nivver heed which it is, Sammy, soa long as it isn't a witch. If it's

nobbut a difference ov a letter or two aw can't see 'at it means owt.

Goa thi ways to bed, an' dooant let me have to call on thee for a clock

haar before tha frames to get up."