Ha monny young folk are langin for th' fourteenth o' February! An ha
mony old pooastmen wish it ud niver come? Sawr owd maids an' crusty
owd bachelors wonder 'at fowk should have noa moor sense nor to waste
ther brass on sich like nonsense. But it's noa use them talkin', for
young fowk have done it befoor time, an' as long as it's i'th' natur
on 'em to love one another an' get wed, soa long will valentine
makers have plenty to do at this time o'th' year. Ther's monny a
daycent sooart of a young chap at thinks he could like to mak up to a
young lass at he's met at th' chapel or some other place, but as
sooin as he gets at th' side on her, he caant screw his courage up to
th' stickin' place, an' he axes her some sooart ov a gaumless
question, sich as "ha's your mother," or summat he cares noa moor
abaat. An' as sooin as he gets to hissell he's fit to pail his heead
agean th' jaumstooan for bien sich a fooil. Well, nah, what can sich
a chap do? Why, send her a valentine ov coorse. Soa he gooas an'
buys her one wi' a grand piece ov poetry like this:--
"The rose is red, the violet's blue,
The pink is sweet, and so are you."
It isn't to be expected 'at shoo can tell whear it's come throo; but
shoo could guess at twice, an guess puddin' once, that's the beauty
on it. Then th' way's oppen'd aat at once, he's gein her to
understand what ten to one shoo understood long afoor he did. Next
time they meet shoo's sure to ax him if he gate ony valentines, an'
then he'll smile an' say, "What for, did yo?" An' shoo'll show him
th' direction, an' ax him if he knows who's writing that is? An'
he'll luk at it as sackless as if he didn't know it wor his own--
ther heeads get cloise together, an' shoo sighs an' he sighs, an'
then, if ther's noabody abaat he'll give hur a smack with his lips
an' lawp back as if he'd burned th' skin off 'em, an' shooo axes him
ha he con fashion to goa on like that, he owt to be ashamed ov his
face? An' all th' time shoo's wonderin' why he niver did it afoor.
Then, if ther's owt abaat him, it isn't long befoor ther's a weddin',
an' then he's begun life. He's settled into his nook i'th' world, an'
he feels he's a man. Troubles come, but then ther's a pleasure i'
bein able to maister 'em. He's summat to wark for besides his own
belly an' back. He's a heart-expandin' responsibility put on him.
His country benefits by him, for a man does moor for his country 'at
leaves ten weel-trained sons an' dowters nor him 'at leaves ten
thaasand paand. Then if sich a little simple thing as a valentine
can help a chap on his rooad in lite, aw say.
Be hanged to th' Grumblers, goa a head Valentine Makkers!!!