Its net oft at aw have mich to do wi' parties. Th' fact is aw'm wed,
an' young fowk dooant want me, becoss they say aw've made my markets,
an' wed fowk dooant oft ax me becoss aw suppose aw dooant oft ax them.
But this month last year aw did get a invite to a doo, an' aw went.
Aw'st net forget in a hurry what a fidget my owd woman gate into.
Shoo brushed me daan aboon a duzzen times, an' turned me raand like a
rooastin jack to see ha aw luk'd, woll aw wor as mazy as a wheel
heead, an' th' childer luk'd up i' my face two or three times afoor
they could believe it wor me. Aw heeard awr Abram telling Betty 'at
"he believed his fayther wor gooin to get kursen'd or summat." "Ho
eeah! why what are they baan to call him?" shoo says. "Nay, aw dooant
know, but my mother's been callin' him 'gaumless,' happen that's it."
Gaumless enuff aw thowt, an' after rubbin' my hat raand wi' a weet
sponge (woll th' wife declared it wor as hansum as a Japan tea caddy),
aw set off. Aw seized howd o'th' nob when aw gate to th' door, an' aw
gave a gooid pawse, same as aw do at hooam, A fine young gentleman
oppen'd it, an' after starin' at me for two or three minits, he said,
"Walk in, sur." Aw doff'd my hat an' did soa; an' he! what a smell!
"By gow, lad," aw said, "its enuff to mak my maath watter is this,
ther's nowt awm fonder on nor onions, an' aw con smell ther's some
cookin'--they'll be frying some liver, aw dar say. Are ta th'
maister's lad?" aw axed. "Noa, sur," he said; "a'wm th' waiter."
"Why tha needn't wait o' me," aw said, "aw'll luk after mysel."
"Come this way, sur." he said, "aw'll introduce yo'. What name shall
aw say, sur?" "Does ta think aw am not known?" aw says; "nah aw'll
tell thi what it is: if tha keeps diddlin after me like tha has done
sin' aw come in, as if tha thowt aw wanted to stail summat, awst just
twist thi neck raand." Th' maister heeard me tawkin, an' coom to
shake hands wi' me, smilin' all ovver his face delightedly. He hook'd
his arm i' mine, an' walked me into a grand raam full o' ladies an'
waiters (aw made 'em aat to be waiters coss they wor dressed like him
'at stood at th' door.) "This is my old friend, the Almenack maker,"
he said, an' they all gate up an' sat daan agean. When aw luk'd raand
aw thowt, "Aw'm in for it this time," for aw could mak it aat to be
nowt but a meetin' to kursen a lot o' childer', an' varry likely they
wanted me to stand godfayther for 'em. Aw saw noa babbies ony-where,
but then aw'd heeard fowk tell abaat th' quality havin' weet nurses
for ther bairns, an' aw made it aat 'at thease must be um, on accaant
o'th' way they wor dressed, for they wor all i' white, an' ther's nowt
easier weshed, an' aw thowt to mysen, "Aw'll tell my owd woman to have
her gaon made i' th' same pattern when shoo's ony more to suckle, for
it must save a deal o' trouble, an' be for ivver better nor havin' a
lot o' hooks an' eyes botherin' abaat th' child's face." But thear aw
sat, an' as noabody said owt to me, aw said nowt to noabody. In a bit
ivery body began pairin' off, an' th' maister says, "Come, my friend,
you must take a lady to dinner," an' a reight grand young woman coom
an' tuk howd o' mi arm, an' we follow'd aat i' prussesshun, like they
do at a burrin. When we gate into th' next raam aw fan aat mi mistak
abaat all th' chaps being waiters, for they sat daan to th' table same
as th' maister an' me, soa aw thowt varry likely they wor locals, or
summat i'th' missionary line. Aw niver saw as mich stuff to ait i'
all my life, except in a cook shop. "Shall I pass you a little soup,"
said th' maister? "Noa, thank yo," aw said, "aw weshed me afoor aw
coom." "Not soap, my good friend, I mean soup," he said. "Oh! broth,
is it? Aw did'nt know what yo ment. Eeah, aw'll tak a soop o' broth,
if yo please, an' a bit o' suet dumplin,' if yo have a bit." When aw
said soa, a lot began a cough in', the same as if they'd a boan i'
ther throit, an' th' maister oppened sich a shop 'at aw thowt th' top
ov his heead had come off, but aw reckoned to tak noa noatice an' aw
worked away wi my gapin' stick woll th' maister axed me ha aw liked my
ox tail soup. "Dun yo call this ox tail soup," aw said, an' aw beld
up a caah tooith ommust big enuff to mak a knife heft. Aw thowt it
war a gooid joak, but noabody else seem'd to see it, an' th' mistress
ordered th' waiter to tak it away instantum.
When we'd all etten woll we' wor om most brussen they browt a lot o'
black bottles wi' silver necks in, an' we'd all a glass o' some sooart
o' pop. By th' heart an' it wor pop too. "Dun yo mak this yoursen,
mistress?" aw axed. "By gingo, this licks awr traitle drink into fits,
yo mun give me th' resait, if yo have it." "This is shampane, sur,"
shoo said. "Aw dooant care whether it's sham or not, it's as gooid as
owt o'th' sooart aw've tasted, aw'll thank you for another drop,"
"Help yourself, my friend," said th' maister, an aw did, aboon a bit,
but ha long aw wor at it or ha monny bottles aw emptied aw niver
knew, for some ha aw fell asleep, an' when aw wakken'd aw wor at
hooam, an' my owd wornan wor callin aat, "Are ta baan'ta get up,
yond's th' last whew."
Smiles, Tears, Getting on.
Smiles are things aw like to see, an'. they're noa less acceptable
becoss sometimes ther's a tear or two. A chap at's a heart ov a
reight sooart under his waistcoit cannot allus be smilin'. Awve met a
deal o' sooarts o' fowk i' my bit o' time, an' th' best aw iver met
had a tear i' ther ee nah an' then. If ther's owt aw hate to see, its
a chap at's allus smilin'; an' if iver yo meet sich a one set him daan
to be awther a haufthick or a hypocrite--yo'll be sure to be reight.
It'll be time enuff to be allus grinnin' when all th' warkhaases an'
th' prisons are to let--when lawyers have to turn farmers, an'
bumbaileys have to emigrate--when yo connot find a soldier's or a
policeman's suit ov clooas, except in a museum--when ther's noa
chllder fun frozen to th' deeath o' London Brig--an' when poor fowk
get more beef an' less bullyin'. If iver sich a time comes woll aw
live, aw'll laff wi' th' best on em, but till then a claad sometimes
will settle on mi here,--an awm glad 'at it is soa.
Aw niver see a chap 'at's tryin to get on but what he reminds me ov
once gooin to a Baptist chapel to see a lot o' fowk kursened.
Everybody wor feightin' for th' front pews, an' them 'at gate 'em had
to haddle e'm an' net be perticular abaat ther shirt collar--an' when
a chap starts aat for a front place i' this life he has to rough it,
an' if he succeeds aw wonder sometimes if he's ony better off nor them
'at gate th' front seeats i'th' chapel, for all 'at wor behund 'em
seem'd to be tryin' to shove 'em ovver into th' bottom, an' nah an'
then aw noaticed odd uns 'at could bide noa longer, an' gave up th'
spot they'd fowt soa hard to get, an' sombdy behund, 'at had hardly
tewd a bit dropt into th' seat. And sich is life: it isn't allus th'
workers 'at succeed, net it marry! its th' skeeamers! it's them 'at
keeps ther een oppen. But aw con allus thoil 'em owt they get, if,
when they're climbin' up th' stee, they niver put ther heel on another
chap's neck, by traidin' on his fingers, to mak him lawse his hold.
It's a wrang nooation 'at some fowk have getten, to "get brass
honestly if yo can, an' if yo cannot, try to keep a easy conscience,
an' do baat it." Some chaps 'll niver get on; they're allus gooin' to
mend, but they niver start. Sich like should tak a pattern throo th'
Almenack makkers--they've lost eighteen haars this last three years,
an' if they didn't mind they'd loise six mooar this time, but they tak
care net to do soa,--they shove a day extra into February to mak it
up, and they call it "leap year," and it ud be a rare gooid job if
fowk wod tak a few laups this year;--laup aat o'th' alehouse on to th'
hearthstun at home--laup aat o' bed i' time for th' church ov a Sunday
momin'--laup aat o' th' clutches o' th' strap shop--laup aat o' th'
gate o' bad company--laup up to yo're wark wi' a smile, an' laup back
hooam wi' it, an' yo'll find th' wife's heart ul laup wi joy to see yo
comin' back cheerful, an' th' childer ul laup on to yo'r knee, an'
yo'll be capt ha easy it'll be to laup over ony bits o' trouble 'at
yo' meet wi'. But alus laup forrard if it's possible; for if yo try
to laup backards yo'll run th' risk o' braikin yo'r neck, an' noabody
pities them 'at laups aat o' th' fryin' pan into th' fire, an' it's a
easy matter to miss it.--Aa dear o' me! aw think it is!--and yo'd
think soa if yo'd seen what aw saw once. A mate o' mine courted a
lass, an' he'd monny a miss afore he gat throo wi it. He used to go
an' tawk to her throo a brokken window 'at ther wor i' th' weshhaase,
an' one neet shoo'd promised to meet him thear, an' he wanted to kuss
her as usual, but he started back. "Nay, Lucy," he said, "aw'm sure
thar't nooan reight. Has ta been growin' a mustash?" Mew! mew! it
went; an' he fan aat he'd kuss'd th' owd Tom cat. When th' neighbours
gate to know, they kursened him "Kusscat," an' they call him soa yet.
But that worn't all; for when he went to get wed he wor soa flustered
woll he stood i' th' wrang place, an' when th' time coom for him to
put th' ring on, he put it on th' woman next to him--he thowt it
didn't mean, for he cud get it swap'd after, but when it wor ovver
they all began to find aat ther'd been a mistak. "Why, Kusscat," said
one, "what's ta been doin'? Tha' s getten wed to thi mother." Th'
parson look'd glum, but he said, "It's noa use botherin' nah, its too
lat, you should ha' spokken afoor--an' aw think he's fittest to be wi'
his mother." But he roar'd like a bull, an' begged th' parson to do
it ovver, an' do it reight; but Lucy said, "He'd noa cashion, for
shoo'd live an' dee an owd maid for iver afoor shoo'd have ony chap
second hand." But her heart worn't as hard as shoo thowt, soa, shoo
gave in, an' th' next time they managed better.
Mysterious Disapperance.
A short time ago Mr. Fitzivitz, of Rank end, was seen to be swimming
at a great rate and making a most extensive spread in the river plate.
Several friends cautioned him not to go so far out of his depth, but
he was utterly heedless of advice, he dived still deeper, and was
observed to sink over head and ears in debt, leaving a large circle of
friends to bewail his loss. His body has since been recovered, but
all that could have comforted his anxious friends had fled, alas for
ever.
Sam it up.
Ther's a deal o' things scattered raand, at if fowk ud tak th' trouble
to pick up might do 'em a paar o' gooid, an' my advice is, if yo meet
wi' owt i' yor way 'at's likely to mak life better or happier, sam it
up, but first mak sure yo've a reight to it. Nah, aw once knew a chap
at fan a topcoit, an' he came to me, an' says--"A'a lad! awve fun one
o' th' grandest topcoits to-day at iver tha clapt thi' een on." "Why,
where did ta find it?" aw says. "Reight o' th' top o' Skurcoit moor."
"Well, tha'rt a lucky chap," aw says, "what has ta done wi' it?" "Aw
niver touched it; 'aw left it just whear it wor." "Well, tha art a
faoil; tha should ha' brout it hooam." "E'ea! an' aw should ha' done,
but does ta see ther wor a chap in it." Aw tell'd him he'd made a
fooil on me, an' aw consider'd mysen dropt on, but noa moor nor he wor
wi' havin' to leave th' coit. "Neer heed," he said "fowk can allus do
baat what they can't get," an' aw thowt ther wor a bit o' wisdom i'
what he said. But what caps me th' mooast is at fowk tug an' tew for
a thing as if ther life depended on it, an' as sooin as they find they
cannot get it, they turn raand an' say they care nowt abaat it. We've
all heeard tell abaat th' "fox an' grapes," an' ther's a deal o' that
sooart o' thing. This world's full o' disappointments, an' we've all
a share. Th' Bradford Exchange wor oppened this month, 1867, an' aw
luk on it, that wor a sad disappointment to some. "Exchange is noa
robbery," they say, but if some fowk knew what it had cost, they might
think it had been a dear swap. Ther are fowk at call it "a grand
success"--but then awve heeard some call th' Halifax Taan Hall "a
grand success," but they haven't made me believe it. It may do a deal
o' gooid, aw'll not deny that; it may taich fowk to let things alooan
at they dooan't understand--let's hooap soa. Ovver th' door-hoil
they've put "Act Wisely," an' it's time they did. Its summat like
telling a chap to be honest, at the same time yo'r picking his pocket.
But we've noa business to grummel, its awr duty to "submit to th'
powers that be" (if they're little ens); but a chap cannot help
langin' for th' time when brains an' net brass shall fit a man for a
Taan Caancillor. But fowk mun get consolation aat o' summat, soa they
try to fancy th' Taan Hall luks handsome. Its like th' chap 'at saw
his horse fall into th' beck;--he tugg'd an' pool'd, and shaated an'
bawl'd, but th' horse went flooatin' on, plungin' its legs abaat,
makkin' th' watter fly i' all direckshuns but it wur noa use, for it
wur draanded at th' last. When he went hooam he tell'd th' wife abaat
it
"What does ta say?" shoo says; "is it draanded?"
"E'es, it's draanded, lass; but it ud ha' done thi e'en gooid to ha'
seen it, aw wor capt,--mun it wur a topper to swim, an' that's a
comfort; tha knows we could niver ha' known that if it had niver been
tried."
Lets hooap 'at when they've another to build they'll do better. Its
niver too late to mend, an' we're niver too owd to learn; but its hard
wark to taich some. Aw remember once a chap tellin' me hah they made
sooap, an' he said "three-thirds o' sooap wor tollow, an' tother
summat else." Aw tried to show him 'at it couldn't be soa, for if
three-thirds wor tollow it must be all tollow; but he said, aw
"needn't start o' taichin' him; when he'd been a sooap boiler twenty
year he owt to know." Aw saw it wor noa use me talkin', for as
Wordsworth says (or else he doesn't)
"Twor throwing words away, for still,
The soap-boiler wod have his will,
And said, "Three-thirds wor tollow.'
But who is ther 'at niver does wrang? net th' odd en! Them 'at live
i' glass haases shouldn't throw stooans; soa we'll drop it. We're all
fooils at times.