CUMMERLAND TALK." J ( r CUMMERLAND TALK;" BEmo SHORT TALES AND RHYMES IN THE DIALECT OF THAT COUNTY. BY JOHN RICHARDSON, OF SAINT JOHN'S. SECOND SERIES. LONDON: BE M ROSE & SONS CARLISLE: G. & T. COWARD. MDCCCLXXVI. PREFACE In publishing this Second Series of Dialect Pieces, the author begs respectfully to inform his readers that the present volume, like the former one, consists of sketches in prose and verse, illustrative of the dialect, as well as of some of the habits and modes of thought which still prevail in all the rural parts of Cumberland. The stories and rhymes introduced are, with one or two exceptions, strictly Cumbrian in character and idiom, the author having taken pains to ascertain that the real incidents related actually happened in that county ; while in the few pieces which are purely imaginary, he has been careful to preserve the same characteristics. 873;2(]() VI. It may perhaps be objected by some critics that the dialect as here written is exaggerated, or, in other words, made broader and more bucohc than it is anywhere spoken at this time of day. That, how- ever, is not so ; but, on the contrary, in the more purely pastoral and agricultural parts of the county the vernacular used is very much ruder than any- thing to be found in this volume. In fact, any one who attempts to write in the dialect will find that if he intends to make his composition in any degree understandable, he will be under the necessity of modifying to some extent the folk-speech which he has heard. One of the greatest impediments in the way of writing the dialect exactly as it is spoken, is the tendency which many of those who speak it have to disregard all the rules of grammar. A single specimen, taken at random, may serve to illustrate this habit. A country man, speaking of his wife and himself going to market, will say, " Hur an' me's gaan." Here we have two pronouns Vll. in the objective case in place of two nominatives, and a singular verb instead of a plural one — three palpable errors in a sentence of five words. Con- sidering, however, such anomalies as nothing more than corruptions and abuses, the omission of which would not in any way afifect the expressiveness of what Dr. Gibson lovingly styled '.'.our grand old dialect," the writer of these pieces has thought himself justified in discarding many of at least the more glaring of such solecisms. There being no arbitrary rule for spelling dialect words, as might be expected, almost every one who tries it has a method of his own ; and some writers seem to think that if they can only manage to spell every word, dialect and non-dialect, in some out- landish way, that is all that is required. Failing to see the utility of making what is difficult enough at any time, to outsiders, more unreadable still by such a system, the author has in this volume adopted the opposite plan of spelling all ordinary English words vm. in the usual way, while in spelling dialect words he has followed to a large extent, though not altogether, the phonetic system, as used by the late Dr. Gibson and Mr. Dickinson. With these few remarks, he offers to the public this second volume of trifles, hoping that it may meet with as cordial a reception as greeted the first, and trusting also that it may afford entertainment and amusement during an idle hour to at least all Cumbrians into whose hands it may chance to fall. J. R. Saint John's. CONTEXTS Pago Coming Home Sober . . . . .1 The Fell King . . . . 12 "For sham o' the', Mary !'" ses I . . -19 John Crozier's Tally Ho ! . . . . 22 Thowts by Thirlmere . . . . .24 The Cockney in Mosedale .... 30 Laal Isaac . . . . . -39 Hoc Gwordie gat a Dinner ... 42 Cheap Advice . . . . . .46 Nancy's Cure ..... 50 A Crack abool Auld Times . . . .54 Tom and Jerry ..... 61 Sneck Posset . . . . . .64 At the Grave of Robert Burns ... 69 Auld Gwordie Thompson . . -72 Lantie's Prayer . . . . . Si Auld Gwordie au" liis Coo . . . .92 Robin's Love ..... 98 X. Page She's weddit an' weel ..... lOO Angling ...... 103 Johnny an' his fat Buck .... 109 He hedden't a word to say . . . . H2 Irrepressible O. P. . . . . • ^'5 Nathan's Coortin' , . • . . . u8 Billy Spedding . . . . .120 Auld WiU Rutson' Machine . . . 126 The Snow ...... 129 Nan's Secret . . . • . . 132 The Final Parting . . . . • '35 Keat Craal ...... 138 Soavin' Time ...... 141 What matter? ..... 145 Oor Betty . . . . . -147 Grummelin' Farmers .... 149 The Hobthrush . . . . . .153 Ill-gien Gossips . . . . • *59 T' fleet o' Time . . . . .161 Sec wark aboot a man . . . . 163 Dick Watson . . . . . .165 Spring's Mistak ..... 172 Auld Cursmas . . . . ' .176 Political Economy . . . . . 181 " C U M M E R L A N D M A K O ' TALK." SECOND SERIES. COMING HOME SOBER. [AYS laal Gwordie Tarlton, t' tailyor, to me tudder neet— as he was sittin' cross-legg't on oor teable at beam, wid his lapbwoard an' geliss, his needles an' threed, an' aw t' rest iv his nick- nackeries scatter't aboot him — says he to me : When I was a young buck iv a chap, a gay deal different to what I is noo, I oft went to sewe for a week togidder at Lord WilHam Gordon's, at t' Watterend — it was a grand shop that i' Lord WiUiam's time — an' as he keep't a gay lock o' sarvents an' fwok aboot him, we hed some rare fun at times. 11. 1 2 Coming Home Sober. It happen't yance ower 'at I was theer when auld Mary Cwoats o' Rostwhate, was gante hod hur merry neet; an' t' footman, an' t' butler, an' me mead it up, (if we could nobbut git leave fra my Iword,) we wad gang; an' t' butler promis't to ax him t' furst chance he hed. Noo, as good luck wad hev't, it wassent varra lang till t' bell rang aboot summat or anudder; an' seeah, what, t' butler mead free to ax his Iwordship. "Well," sed he, "I'll consider about it, and let you know before night." Some time on i' t' eftemeun he com oot o't' drawin' room into t' kitchen, an' telt us we mud gang to t' merry neet if we liket; an', handin' a laal parcel to t' butler, says he, "You must give this, with my respects, to old Mary Coats, and tell her it is some- thing to pay your reckoning with. I hope," says he, "you'll enjoy yourselves; and you must all be sure to come ho?ne sober" \Vhat! we aw mekd oor best boos, an' thank't Coming Home Sober. 3 him varra mickle for his kindness, an' sed we wad tak good care to come back agean aw reet an' square. He rayder smil't at that, an' than left us to mak oor oan arrangements amang oorsels as best we could. Just aboot dusk we set off to t' merry neet, an' gat to Rostwhate famishly. T' butler handit t' laal parcel to auld Mary; an' when she oppen't it oot it was nowder mair nor less than an auld spead yas guinea, lapt up in a bit o' brown paper. T' auld body was quite stunn'd when she saw't glitterin' befwore her, an' sed, "Lord, bless me weel! Dud ivver enny body see ! Ye'll nivver can drink t' worth o' aw this! It 'ill pay yoiu- shots twice ower, bame !" Bit we telt her she was to hev't an' neahbody else, as it was sent for her specially by Iword William hissel'. "Wy, wy, good lads!" sed she, "Ye mun just drink what ye will, an' as mickle on't as ye can, that's aw." 4 Coming Home Sober. Wid that she went an' browt ivvery yan on us a glass o' rum to be gaan on wi', an' gay stiifeners they war, ye may depend on't. Efter we'd sitten a laal bit an' drucken cor glasses off, we went up into t' dancin' room; an' I's nut far wrang when I say, we mead a bit iv a sensation theer. I was a bit iv a buck mysel' i' them days; bit t' butler an' t' footman war a parlish deal finer nor owt I was, wid their white powder't wigs, their reed plush waistcwoats, white neckleths, short-knee't buckskin brutches, an' white stockin's. An' when it gat whisper't aboot 'at we'd browt a heal guinea wid us to spend, we war leuk't on an' thowt summat wonderful i' sec a pleace as Borrowdale. Loavins me ! hoo we danc't, an' drank, an' sang, an' squeez't t' lasses, an' enjoy't oorsels to oor heart's content ! An' what wi't' drink auld Mary an' udder fwok wad ha' geen us, we could aw ha' gitten drunk twice ower ! We sartenly dud git middlin' fresh; bit as Iword William hed telt us to keep Comino- Home Sober. i> swober, we thowt 'at if we could we mud. We agree't amang oorsels to stop an' see t' end o' t' hake, an' than he mappen wad ha' gone to bed when we gat heam, an' wadden't see if we chanc't to be rayder blash't like. Well, t' dance brak up at last; an' just as we war gaan to start, auld Mary shootit oot: "Stop, lads, ye mim ivvery yan hev anudder glass afwore ye gang! Ye hewent gitten /lo/e t' worth o' your guinea yet!" An' wi' that she set off an' browt us a girt yarken glass o' whiskey a piece, eneuf to knock a fellow doon if he'd gitten nowt afwore. I was alius a varra bad sayer nay, when I hed t' loff iv owt to drink, an' I think my mates war aboot mickle sec like; seeah, we swipe't them up, bade "Good neet" to auld Mary, an' off we set doon t' rwoad. Dar bon ! bit them last glasses dud top us off to some teun. Befwore we gat to Grange t' rwoad was pinch't to be wide eneuf for us. We mannisht 6 Coming Home Sober. some way to keep up on end a kind o' decently as lang as t' rwoad was owts decent. Bit when it grew rougher, doon below Branley, we fand oorsels liggin' fairly maizelt, ivvery noo an' agean; an' t' best on't was, we cuddent yan laugh at anudder, for furst t' butler went doon, an' than t' footman follow' t suit, an' than I was doon mysel' ! Oft eneuf two on us war liggin' in t' gutter togidder; an', as bad luck wad hev't, when we war gaan through t' moss, varra nar at beam, t' butler lost tea leg intul an auld peet-pot! An' when he poot it oot agean, ods wunters! it was as black as tudder was white! We yan.sed till anudder, ivvery noo an' than, "I whop my Iword 'ill be gean to bed when we git beam!" Bit we war fairly dumfoonder't, as we gat gaily nar t' hoose, to see a leet i' t' drawin'-room window. We knew than his Iwordship was up, an' wad be lissenin' for us. Seeah, we tried to sneak in, yan efter anudder, as Coming Home Sober. 7 deftly as we could, bit it was aw neah use. We'd hardly gitten weel into t' kitchen till t' bell rang, an' t' footman was wantit. He was fworc't to gang; nowt else wad deli; an' for aw he stiddy't hissel' as weel as he could, he stacker' t an' mead some gye steps, 'at his Iwordship saw, bit niwer seem't to nwotish. "Well, footman," sed he, "you've got back, then? What such a merry-night have you had?" "A capital merry -night, my lord," sed t' footman. "We've enjoyed ourselves very much indeed." "Yes," says his Iwordship, "I think you've been enjoying yourselves; and you've come home sober, I see?" "Oh yes, my lord, qui — quite sober." "Yes," says Iword William agean. "I see you have ! You can go now; and send the butler here." Fain eneuf to git away, I's warrent ye, oot com t' footman, an' in went t' butler. He was warse iv owt nor t' footman; an' just as he was gaan in at t' 8 Coming Home Sober. drawin' room dooar, his shoe neb catch't t' edge o' t' carpet, an' doon he went heid furst on to t' mid- fleur! He gedder't hissel' up as fast as he could; an' as selin as he'd gitten a kind o' stiddy't, withoot iwer seemin' to nwotish t' accident at aw, my Iword sed, "Well, butler, you've got back? What such a merry -night have you had?" "Oh!" says he, "a famous merry-night, my lord. We've enjoyed ourselves amazingly." "Yes," says his Iwordship, "I have no doubt of it; and you've come home sober?" "Oh! yes, quite sober, my lord." "But what is the matter with your legs, butler? Is it usual to go to merry-nights with a black stock- ing and a white one?" sed his Iwordship. " No, my lord," says t' butler, "it's not that. As we were crossing the meadows, a gust of wind blew my hat off, and in following it I slipped into a ditch." "Oh!" sed he, "that is what it is, is it? Well, you may go now; and send the tailor here. I want to see the tailor." Coming Home Sober. 9 Cocks^v^^nters ! when he com oot an' telt me that, I fairly trimmel't agean, fra held to feut, I was seeah flate. I thowt to mysel' I wad keep hoald o' t' dooar, an' it wad rayder stiddy me; bit that waddent fit. My hvord kent a trick worth two o' that. "Come on into the room, tailor," sed he. "I want to see you." I saw a laal bit iv a teable stannin' on t' mid-fieur, wi' some writin' things on 't, an' I thowt if I could nobbut mannish to reach that I wad git hoald on't; bit, hang'tl it hed neah mair stiddyness in't nor I hed mysel'. I neah seliner pot my hand on't nor ower it went, an' t' papers an' t' things flew aw t' room ower. He leuk't at me a minute, an' than sed, "Well, tailor, you've got back; and sober, too, I see?" "Oh, yes!" says I, "quite sober, my lord." "But what have you thrown my table over for?" says he. lo Coming Home Sober. "Beggin' your pardon, ray lord," says I, "it was an accident." "Yes," sed he, "there seems to have been a chapter of queer accidents to night. It was an accident when the butler got into the bog! It was an accident when he caught the carpet with his foot ! It was an accident when you upset my table ! And, I suppose, it was an accident whtn you all got drunk together! Go away, tailor!" says he, "go away ! I don't want you any longer. You have all three disgraced yourselves in a most shameful manner ! " I was fain eneiif to gang away, I can tell ye; bit when I gat back to t' delir it was shut. Lord William hed aw his deurs mead 'at they wad shut o' the'rsels; an' I cuddent ha' gitten't oppen if I mud ha' hed aw t' Watterend for't. I greapp't an' fummel't theer I dar say for ten minutes, an' t' auld kneave niwer as much as let wi't he saw me. At t' last he lelik't up, an' sed, says he, " What 1 Comijig Home Sober. 1 1 there yet, tailor! ^\^lat's the matter you've not gone?" "Well, my lord," says I, "beggin' your pardon, I can't finnd t' sneck." "No," says he, "mine are all doors, and no snecks." An' just wi' that I gev a bit stacker agean t' deur, an' oppen it flew, an' I went lang streight into t' lobby! "There! there! tailor," says he, "there's a«^///^r accident, I suppose!" I stop't to hear neah mair; an' we aw three slunk off to-bed as fast as we could, leukin' gay hang't leuks, I dar say; expectin' 'at ivvery man-jack on us wad git t' seek next mwornin'. Bit, lucky eneuf for us aw, we nivver hard anudder word aboot it. 12 THE FELL KING. ^ Breet summer days war aw gone by, An' autumn leaves sa' broon, Hed fawn fra t' trees, an' here an' theer, War whurlin' up an' doon ; An' t' trees steud whidderin' neak't an' bare, Shakken wi' coald an' wind, While t' burds war wonderin' hoo it was Neah shelter they could finnd. Helvellyn, toorin' t' fells abeun, Saw winter creepin' on, An' grummelin' sed, "Hoo coald it's grown; My winter cap I'll don." The Fell King. 1 3 Clean wesh't an' bleach't, as white as drip, He poo't it ower his broo; An' than to t' fells aw roond he sed, "Put on ye'r neetcaps noo." Auld Skiddaw, lap't i' heddery duds, Laal nwotish seem't to talc : An' seun wi' lood an' thunnerin' voice, Agean Helvellyn spak: "I say, put on that winter cap, Broon hill ower-groun wi' ling; Rebellious upstart! put it on; Obey thy lawful king!" Auld Skiddaw lang hed hanker't sair Itsel to be t' fell king; An' Saddleback hed egg't it on, Thinkin' 't wad honour bring; 14 The Fell King. An' bits o' profit it mud be, — Fwok see eneuf o' that; When kings an' girt fwok thriven ur Their flunkies oft git fat. Seah, Skiddaw stack it' hedder up, An' pertly sed, "Is yon Rough heap o' crags an' shilly beds, To tell us what to don? I'll freely oan it's wise eneiif To hap itsel wi' snow; If I was neak't an' bare like it I'd hide mysel an' aw. "I's nut asham't my heid to show, Withoot a neetcap on; An' claim mair reet to be t' fell king Nor a bare hill like yon. The Fell Kmg. 1 5 Fra t' farthest neuks o' t' warld fwok come Fani't Skiddaw bit to see; WTioar ten climm up Helvellyn breest, Ten twenties climm up me!" With threetnin' storm, Helvellyn laps Dark cloods aroond it' held; An' noo a voice fra t' clood com oot, "A bonny king, indeed! A hill thrown up by mowdiwarps, An' cuwer't ower wi' ling, Withoot a crag, withoot a tarn. Wad mak a nice fell king ! "Laal brag it is for enny man To climm up Skiddaw side; Auld wives an' bames on jackasses, To t' tippy top may ride : 1 6 The Fell King. When theer, it's nut sa' much they see, Bit level country roond; They're better pleas't when gangin' up, Nor when they're comin' doon. "Bit let them chmm Helvellyn side, If climm't they nobbut can; They munnet be auld wives or barnes; It taks a Strang hale man, To stand on t' dizzy edge, an' leuk Doon t' screes, whoar Gough was lost; An' he's neah snafflin' 'at can say, Ower Striden edge I cross't. "Than what a glorious scene it is 'At 's spread befwore his eyes, O' lakes an' tarns an' woody deals, An' fells ower fells 'at rise. TJie Fell King. 1 7 A dozen lakes, an' twenty tarns, Ur spread befwore his een; An' Skiddaw, like a low black hill, Far doon to t' north is seen!" What mair palaver theer hed been, It's hard for yan to tell; For gnimmelin' soonds, an' snarlin' words, Noo spread fra fell to fell; An' some their caps o' white don't on, While udders went withoot; An' some proclaim't Helvellyn king, While some wad Skiddaw shoot. Bit noo roond Scawfell Man theer hung. As midneet black, a clood ; An' oot fra't brast a thunner clap, 'At rwoar't beath lang an' lood: II, % 1 8 The Fell King. Than hail an' snow com whurlin' doon, An' hap't beath crags an' ling; While t' fells aw roond, as whisht as mice, Oarit Scawfell as their king! 19 "FOR SHAM O' THE', MARY!" SES I. This clattin' an' tattlin' 's aboot nowt; I niwer give ear to sec stuff; When Mary comes whisperin' an' preachin', I oft send her off in a huff. She comes wi' her mischief an' clish-clash, To git me to Hssen she'll try; Bit I'll give neah ear to her tattle; "For sham o' the', Mary!" ses I. She sed 'at lang Sally was stannin'. Till midneet wi' laal Gwordie Bell; 'At Scott hed been drinkin' a fortneth. An' Jinkison hoondin' on t' fell. 20 ''For sham d the , Mary!'' 'At Broon sed he'd send him a summons, As seur as t' stars gUtter't i' t' sky; Bit I give neah ear to her tattle, "For sham o' the', Mary!" ses I. She telt a lang teal t' tudder mwomin', Aboot Sammy Thompson an' t' wife; She sed they war scoaldin' an' fratchen, An' leadin' a dog an' cat life. 'At Sammy hed gitten on t' batter, An' gien t' wife a thmnpin', forby; Bit I lissen nin to her tattle; "For sham o' the', Mary!" ses I. It maks yan as mad as a piper. To lissen to this, that, an' t' tudder; An' that 'at will git in at tea lug, I send gayly sharp oot at tudder I ''For sham d the, Mary!" 2 i An' when Mary comes wi' her preachment, I's vext enelif sometimes to cry; Bit I hssen nin to her tattle; "For sham o' the', Mary!" ses 1. 22 JOHN CROZIER'S TALLY HO! The hunt is up, the hunt is up ; Auld Tolly's on the drag ; Hark to him, beauties, git away, He's gone for Skiddaw crag. Rise fra ye'r beds, ye sleepy-heads. If ye wad plesser know; Ye'r hearts 't will cheer, if ye bit hear, John Crozier's Tally ho ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! he's stown away ; Through t' Forest wild he's gean : Sweet music tells 'mang t' heather bells. What track sly reynard's tean. Rise fra ye'r beds, &c. John Croziers Tally ho ! 23 To Carrick fell, to Carrick fell, His covert theer 'ill fail ; Unlucky day, he cannot stay, Blencathra's heights to scale. Rise fra ye'r beds, &c. Ower Louscale fell, by Skiddaw Man, An' doon by Millbeck ghyll; To t' Dod he's gone, his rekce is run, Hark! Tally Ho! a kill! Rise fra ye'r beds, ye sleepy-heads. If ye wad plesser knowj Ye'r hearts 't will cheer, if ye bit hear, John Crozier's Tally ho ! 24 THOWTS BY THIRLMERE. A bonny summer day it was, As mortal ivver wish't for; When Thirlmer's shore I steiid upon, An' prickly bass I fish't for. Wi' mennums furst, an' next wi' worms. And than wi' grubs I baitit; My cork, wi' anxious eye I watch 't, An' for a nibble waitit. Till tire't, my rod in t' grund I stack, An' sat me doon to watch it; Thinkin' if owt sud mak it bend, E,eet up I'd boonce an' catch it. Thowts by Thirhnere. 25 Bit lang afwore t' laal cork hed dive't, Or iwer fish hed bitten ; Bass bitin', cork, an' fishin' rod, By me war aw forgitten. A skylark, heigh abeun my heid. Was soarin' up an' singin'; While clwose behint was Reaven crag, Wood croon't an' ower-hingin'. Aw roon' aboot war rocks an' woods, O' nater's awn creation; Wi' human habitations nin, Nor patch o' cultivation. A leukin' glass on t' boddom laid, That shore wi' this connectit; Whoar fells, an' woods, an' shilly beds, War upside doon reflectit. 26 Thowts by Thirlmere. A lang neck't heron, still as deith, To strike a fish was waitin'; An' up to t' knees, in t' watter, stelid Three crummies ruminatin'. Musin', thinks I, i' this sweet pleace, So whyet an' delightful ; Neah jarrin' soond 'ill ivver come, Or owt 'at's cross an' spiteful. When just wi' that a kestrel hawk, Like flash o' leetnin' gleamin'; A dart at t' Jenny-lang-neck mekd, An' sent it off lood screamin' ! In' t' watter clear, a shoal o' bass, Clwose on by t' shore com sailin'; Amang them rush't a hungry pike, Aw t' swarm like deid leaves scalin' ! Thowts by Thirlmere. 27 Next t' coos began to switch their tails, Wi' clegs an' midges hamper't; An' when t' horse-bees com buzzin' roond, Like mad up t' woods they scamper't ! Thinks I, laal peace can be in t' warld, Fra tea end on 't to t' tudder; As lang as brutes, an' fwok ur aw, Yan paiken at anudder. Fra spite an' envy nin 'ill scekpe, Whativver their condition; Hooivver humble they may be Or free fra aw ambition. Some whyet, honest, bashful soul, To git a leevin' strivin'; 'Mang croods an' thrangs 'ill venter nin, VVhoar yan ower udder's rivin'. 28 Thozuts by Thirlmere. An' when it's meast within his grasp, Wi' toilin', waitin', watchin'; Some human kestral doon '11 swoop, T' prize fra his clutches snatchin' ! A family blest wi' competence, Wi' prospect weel contentit; Nor dream 'at owt 'ill come atween, To hinder or prevent it. When deith, Uke hungry pike '11 come, As unconsarn't they wander; T' main prop an' stay just whisk away, An' t' rest ower t' warld squander! Theer few i' life bit summat hev, To bodder an' perplex them ; An' if fra bigger plagues exempt, They lesser hev to vex them. Thowts by Thirlmere. 29 Theer human midges, clegs, an' fleas, To kittle, plague, an' bite fwok; Their teeth ur nobbet short; what than? They deu their best to spite fwok ! At last my fishin' rod I spy't, An' aw my dreams war endit; Clean oot o' seet my cork was gone, Hofe double t' top was bendit. While I'd been tryin' this an' that, To mak oot, an' consider, An' eel my heuk an' bait hed tean, An' swallow't aw togidder! THE COCKNEY IN MOSEDALE. I A mwornin' seun on i' spring, I think it was t' fwore end o' March mebby — hooiver, it was befwore we'd gien ower fodderin' t' sheep, 'at I set off wi' my hay-sheet on my back up into Mwosedale, whoar I'd carry't menny a hundred stekn o' hay befwore. It was a gay fine mwornin' for t' time o' year; an' Wily went trottin' away on aboot fifty yards befwore me, for he kent t' rwoad as weel as I dud mysel. I clam away up wi' my lyad, till I gat whyte away up t' hollow, varra nar at t' hee end o' Mwosedale beck, an' clean oot o' seet iv aw t' hooses an' iwery thing else bit fells; an' than I began howin' an' The Cockney in Mosedale. 31 shootin' at t' sheep to come to their hay; when aw at yance summat jump't up fra back iv a girt stekn aboot a hundred yards off, an' steud stock still, Fra whoar I was, it leuk't likest a flay-crow iv owt 'at I could compare' t teu, bit I thowt to mysel', what the hangment! neah body wad be sa silly as put a flaycrow up theer ! T' crows mud be some pleace, an' they cuddent be varra wxel whoar they wad deu less hurt ner they cud up i' Mwosedale. Hooiver, I thowt I wad gang an' see what it was. An' sooa I went towarts it, when Wily spy't it an' aw, an' gev a girt bow-wow, as it alius does when it sees owt fresh. What m' t' dog barkin', an' me gaan towart it wi' my hay-sheet on my back, it set off across t' hollow, an' ran like a new clip't sheep; bit it duddent git varra far till it went soss intul a peetpot, up tull t' middle, an' stack theer as fast as a fiddlepin ! I threw doon my hay-sheet than an' went to see what it was; an' when I gat to beside it, I saw 'at it was a 32 The Cockney in Mosedale. fellow o' some mak, bit he was sartenly sec an object as I'd niwer seen befwore! T' feace on him, aw bit a laal bit aboot t' nwose an' eyes, was grown ower wi' reed hair, an' his chin was t' likest a moss beesom iv owt 'at I could compare't teu, an' he was trimmelin' theer in that peetpot, an' sayin', "Oh dear! dunnet kill me! dunnet kill me ! " "What does t'e think I mun kill the' for, thoo maislin, thoo," says I. "I think thoo wad be o' laal use if thoo was kilt, withoot I gat the' stuff't an' carry' t the' aboot in a show. What! whoar does t'e come fra? an' what is t'e deun here?" I could mak laal iv his talk; nobbut he sed summat aboot Lunnon an' Pellmell. "Aye aye!" says I, "thoo hes pell mell't it tuUa bonny pass. Thoo's nm pell mell intul a peetpot!" Wily stop't aboot twenty yards off, an' as he was like me an' hed niwer seen sec a thing befwore, he was girnen neah laal, an' t' fellow keep't sayin', "Oh keep 't off me ! Will 't bite me?" The Cockney i7t Mosedale. 33 "No!" says I, "it 'ill bite nin. It 'iU nut mell o' the', thoo neudlin, thoo." An' than he spy't some sheep cummin' blairen ower t' hill, an' was flaiter nor ivA^er, an' sed, "Oh dear me! what's yon 'at's cummin'?" "Nowt bit t' sheep," says I. "They're wantin' their hay; they'll nut mell o' the', nowder." "An' what ur aw them girt hee pleaces roond aboot, an' whoar hev I gitten teu?" says he. "Oh dear me!" "Wy, aw them hee pleaces ur fells," says I; "an' thoo's gitten intul a peetpot, that's whoar thoo's gitten, teu." What, I thowt it was o' neah use axin' him enny mair questions, for he knew nowt; bit I mud be fworc't to tak him some way whoar he wad be leuk't efter. An' than I thowt agean 'at if I set him ageat he wad mebby tummel doon some crag an' breck t' neck on him, an' I mud be bleam't; an' seah, I wad just let him bide whoar he was till I gat 11. 3 34 The Cockney in Mosedale. my sheep fodder't. I knew he was fast eneuf in' t' peetpot, an' seah I sed to mysel, "Thoo'll just stay whoar thoo is, my lad, till I git t' hay-sheet empty't, an' than we'll see what's t' best to be deun." I kind o' consider't it ower i' my awn mind while I was fodderin' t' sheep, an' it com into my heid 'at I could easily carry him doon on my back, if I hed him ty't decently up i' t' hay-sheet; an' that wad be t' seafest way for me to deu. Seah, as seiin as I'd deun, I went away back an' spread t' hay-sheet on t' grund, an' than I teuk him by t' cwoat neck an' poot him oot. I held him a laal bit to let t' durty watter a kind o' sipe off; an' than I clapp't him into t' hay-sheet, an' hed him ty't up in a jiffy. T' thing scrafifie't an' fidg't a bit, an' chatter't neah laal; bit I care'tnowt aboot that. I let him hev his heid oot, or else I thowt he wad mappen smudder. When I'd gitten him fettle't up, I swang him onto my back an' set off doon't fell. Wily wad ha' divartit owt to see hoo he furst ran The Cockney in Mosedale. 35 on a bit afwore, an' than com back to beside me, an' jump't aboot an' bark't ivvery step. I dar say- he thowt we hed gitten a fine prize, an' he cuddent ha' been pleaster if we'd catch't a fox, or a foomart, or owt o' that mak. I thowt it wad be t' best way to tak him doon to Trootbeck Station, as it was just possible they mud know summat aboot him theer; an' if they duddent I could leave him till somebody com to lait him or summat, as he wad varra likely beleng to somebody someway or anudder. What, I fagg't away doon till I gat aboot hofe a mile fra t' station, when I met auld Joe Mitchison, an' as seiln as Joe saw me he mead a full stop, an' sed. ""V\Tiat, the divvel, hes t'e gitten i' t' hay-sheet?" "Well," says I, "I've gitten some mak iv a fellow I fand up i' Mwosedale. He says 'at he comes fra a pleace caw't Pellmell; bit hoo he's gitten up yonder's a capper. I dunnet know whed- der I could ha' catch't him or nut if he heddent run intul a peetpot, an' mire't sel' on him up!" 36 The Cockney in Mosedale. "Fellow!" says auld Joe, "fellow! thoo dussent caw that hairy feac't creeter a fellow, does t'e? What it's some mak iv a monkey, I'll uphod 't." "Nay," says I, "what he lies cleas on, an' gay fine uns, teu, they hev been; bit they're a gay pickel noo wi' peetmoss watter," "Aye aye!" says auld Joe, "it's a monkey, I's warrent it; they deu don them up i' that way. It's gitten oot o' some caravan likely." "Nay, bit than, it talk't to me," says I; "an' I nivver hard tell at monkeys could talk." "Neah, nor I nowder," ses Joe. "What dud it say?" "Wy, nowt varra sensible," says I; "he shootit 'dunnet kill me! dunnet kill me!' an' when I axt him whoar he com fra, he sed, 'Pell mell' an' 'Lunnon.' He was varra nar freetent to deith o' t' dog, an' t' sheep; an' for t' fells he duddent know what they war." " Wy, it caps me," says Joe, "What is t'e gaan to deu wi' t' creeter when thoo's gitten't?" The Cockney in Mosedale. ■^J "I dunnet know," says I, "I think I'd best tak him doon to t' station ; they may know summat aboot laim theer; an', what, I cuddent leave him up yonder stickin' in a peetpot." "Wy, it caps me," says Joe agean. "I'll ga wi' the'." An' seah, what, we set olif to t' Station, an' as seun as we gat him intul t' waitin' room, an' t' dooar shut, I lows't my hay-sheet an' let him oot. What, he duddent seem sa' wild at aw when he'd gitten to 'mang fwok ; an' seah, I left him theer, an' thowt 'at I'd gitten varra nicely shot on him. I enquire't at t' station a day or two efter, an' they telt me he was a chap 'at hed nivver been ootside o' Lunnon befwore, 'at he'd cum't doon iv a neet train, an' whedder he'd been asleep or what he cuddent tell. Bit, neah doot, he'd gitten oot when t' train stop't at Trootbeck, an' wander't i' t' dark aw t' way to whoar I fand him, an' than laid doon i' back o' that stean. 38 The Cockney in Mosedale. It was neah wonder 'at he was lost when day-leet com, an' he could see nowt bit fells aw roond, an' me gaan wi' my hay-sheet on my back; an' God knows what wad ha' come't on him if I heddent catch't him in that peetpot. 39 LAAL ISAAC. [Isaac Todhimter, who during a great number of years hunted the Blencathra hounds for Mr. John Crozier, of the Riddings, was well known in most of the vales in the Lake district as "Laal Isaac."] When cvvorn wi' thack an' reapp was hap't, An' stubbles aw war bare, Laal Isaac, in his cwoat o' green, For twenty year an' mair, As constant as October broon, An' winter com their roonds, Was at his post, wi' whip an' horn, An' tarriers an' hoonds. "Howp ! come away ! my bonny pets!" 'Cross fell an' deal wad ring; An' a clear blast fra Isaac's horn, Wad hoonds an' hunters bring. 40 Laal Isaac. For miles aroond, 'cross moor an' field, They'd come at brek o' day; To that familiar vveel ken't voice, That cheery, "Come away!" Theer scearce a crag i' Skiddaw range, Fra t' Dod to Carrick fell, Bit whoar some huntin' feat hed been, 'At Isaac ower could tell. Through Borrowdale an' Wyburn heids, He iwery bun-ent kent ; An' iwery smoot in t' deals aroond, Which ivver way he went. Bit noo he's gone, an' nivver mair, His cheerful voice we'll hear; Reet sair Laal Isaac 'ill be miss't, By hunters far an' near. Laal Isaac. 41 His drag an' chase ur finish't, noo, His Tally ho's! ur past; His huntin's endit; an' poor Ike Is run to earth at last ! 42 HOO GWORDIE GAT A DINNER. Gwordie was a funny fellow; His delight was pints o' yal; Always spendin' aw his aidlins, Oft eneuf withoot a meal; Schemes an' tricks he'd withoot number, Aw contriv't a pint to git : Some fwok cawt them barefeac't swinlin' ; Some fwok laugh't an' cawt them wit. Yance he'd been a week on t' batter ; Drinkin', shoolin', aidlin' nowt; Ivvery trick he hed he'd try't it; Monday mwornin' black leuks browt. How Gw or die gat a Dinner. 43 Nowder brass nor credit hed he, Nor a bite iv owt to eat; Wark he hed eneuf to gang teu; Wage for t' day he'd git at t' neet. Fastin', off he went to drainin', Nar auld Betty Vickers' farm; Sunshine mead him throw his cwoat off. When -wi' hackin' he grew warm. " Brekfastless I com i' t' mwornin'; Dinnerless I'll hev to gang : " Thowts like thur went back an' forrat, Gwordie' schemin' brains amang. Reuten, reuten, Betty's grunters, Snuffin' com whoar t' cwoat was left : *'Wons!" says Gwordie, "I'll hev dinner; Lang I've study't, — noo I hev't ! " 44 How Gzvordie gat a Dinner. Oot o' t' drain, wi' spead upliftit, Squeelin' heam t' two pigs he dreav ; Weel he knew 'at Betty Vickers, Oot wad come her pigs to seav. Gwordie sweerin', t' grunters squeelin', Kick't up some gay bonnie shines ; Betty shootit, " Lord ! ha' marcy ! Ur ye gante kill them swines?" "Kill them! d — m them! aye, I'll kill them! Ivvery bite o' dinner gean!" "Dinner ye sail hev," says Betty ; "Pray ye let t' poor swines alean ! "Come away, an' git some dinner; Come away, an' let them leeve!" Gwordie leuk't as mad as need be; Bit was laughin' in his sleeve. How Gwordie gat a Dmner. 45 Nut sa menny could ha' scheme't it; Dinner sec a way to git : Some fwok caw't it mean an' kneavish; Some fwok laugh't an' caw't it wit. 46 CHEAP ADVICE. It's passin' strange, an' yet its trew, 'At in this warld theer varra few, Era t' heighest up to t' lowest doon, Era t' wisest man to t' daftest cloon, Bit thinks he's quaUfy't, Wi' solemn feace an' leiiks sa wise, To snub, an' lecture, an' advise. An' udder fwok to guide. Cheap Advice. 47 It 'meast wad mak a parson sweer, A ning-nang snafflen thing to hear, 'At 's been a waistrel aw his Ufe, Beath starvin' t' barnes and threshin' t' wife, Hev impidence to tell, Some decent youngster t' best way hoo. To keep his feut streight in his shoe, As if he'd deun't hissel. It maks yan mad some snob to hear, Wi' his five thoosand pund a year, 'At gallops, gammels, drinks an' bets. Till he's ower heid an' ears i' debt, Advise wi' coonsel sage. Some boor wi' hofe a croon a day, To keep aw streight an' pay his way, An' seave up for auld age. 48 Cheap A dvice. It maks yan laugh to see some deam, 'At likes "My lady" to her neam, 'At cuddent mak a meal o' meat, Fit for a christian to eat, If he was starvin' quite, Pretend to lam some thrifty wife, 'At 's been contrivin' aw her life, Hoo best to keuk a bite. Some lady fine 'ill scoald an' preach. Poor fwok economy to teach, An' tell them hoo to leeve an' dress, To seav far mair an' spend far less; An' than streight off she'll gang, To buy a dress an' think it cheap, At what a family wad keep, Through t' winter coald an' lang. Cheap Advice. 49 Tf sec advice was good for owt, Fwok waddent git it aw for nowt, For that 'at useful is or nice, Ye'll hev to pay a market price, O' that be seur eneuf; What iwery body gives away, Unass't an' nut expectin' pay, Is nobbut silly stuff! 11. 50 NANCY'S CURE. Wild Lantie was a canker't carl, A canker't carl was he; Mad Nancy was a rattlin' jade, A rattlin' jade was she. Wild Lantie was a jealous tike, A jealous tike was he; Bit nut a peg dud Nancy care, Neah ! nut a peg care't she ! Nancy s Cure. 5 1 \Mien ugly things wild Lantie sed, An' ugly things sed he; Far uglier things could Nancy say, An' uglier things sed she. WTien Lantie sulky was an' soor, An' soor eneiif was he; Far soorer still could Nancy leiik, An' soorer still leuk't she. To t' public hoose wild Lantie went, To t' public hoose went he; To lait him heam mad Nancy went, To lait him heam went she. "What's browt thee here?" wild Lantie sed, "\Miat's browt thee here?" sed he. "My a^TO good shanks," mad Nancy sed, "My aAMi good shanks," sed she. 52 Nancy s Cure. "Than back agean thoo'd better gang,- Reet back age^n," sed he. "I's gaan reet back," mad Nancy sed, "Bit thoo'U gang furst," sed she. Wild Lantie knew 'at gang he mud, Seah, reet away went he; Mad Nancy follow'd at his heels. Hard at his heels went she. To bed in t' pet wild Lantie went, To bed in t' pet went he ; Ses Nancy, "Stop till thoo's asleep, — Till thoo's asleep," sed she. An' when wild Lantie snworen was. An' snworen seun was he; Mad Nancy sew't him up in t' sheets. Him up in t' sheets sew't she ! Nancy s Cure. "Oh, Lord! ha' marcy!" Lantie nvoar't, "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" rwoar't he. Mad Nancy bray't wi' t' beesom stick, Wi' t' beesom stick bray't she ! "Thoo'll gang to t' public hoose agean, Thoo'U gang agean ! " sed she. Wild Lantie grean't, "Nay, nivver mair!" An' nivver mair went he ! 54 A CRACK ABOOT AULD TIMES. Come Joe an' hev a friendly crack, Draw up thy chair to t' chimley neuk; Here t' 'bacco piggin, full thy pipe, An' while we crack we'll hev a smeuk. Let's talk o' times i' auld lang syne, When country fwok could card an' spin; To weer a cwoat o' hodden grey, I' them auld times was thowt neah sin. I've hard me ganny, (rust her soul ! ) Tell hoo fwok don'd i' her young days; An' hoo they leev't, an' what they eat, An' aw their queer auld fashin't ways, A Crack aboot A 2ild Times. 5 5 To hear her tell aboot auld tunes, . For 'oors I patiently wad sit; An' pleas't to hev a lissener, she For 'oors an' 'oors wad talk an' knit. She telt hoo t' men, their woo wad card, I' winter time when t' neets war lang; Hoo ivvery neet a pund they dud, Hoo while they wrowt they crack't or sang. Hoo t' lasses, wi' their spinnin' wheels, Aw t' cardin's into garn wad mak; An' hoo t' auld fwok their hanks o' gam. To t' market iwery week wad tak. Hoo some their gam at heam wad weave, An' than their webs wad tak to sell; An' when some plague was bad i' t' toons, Hoo fwok wad meet on Armboth fell. 56 A Crack aboot Azdd Times. To buy an' sell, nar a girt stean; Web-stean it 's caw't still to this day; Auld shipperds sometimes point it oot, To toorists when they gang that way. An' next she'd talk o' what they eat, Laal tea or coffee than they hed; Bit beef, an' legs o' mutton dry't, Wi' butter, cheese, an' hawer bread. Good heam brew't yal, three times a day; "Nowt in 't bit hop an' mawt," ses she; " 'T was wholsomer an' better far Nor coffee an' thin swashy tea!" For plates, wood trenchers aw fwok hed, Horn speuns to sup their poddish wi', Oot o' wood piggins 'at war mead, Just like t' cofe geggins 'at we see. A Crack aboot Atild Tzjues. 57 They'd pewder plates an' dishes, teu; Bit they war less for use ner showj As breet as silver they war mead, An' set on t' drusser in a row. She sed, for eldin, peats they hed, Bro^\1; meastly doon fra t' hee fell tops; An' when they sat by t' grateless fire, They hed to watch for t' hallen drops. A rannel boak t' wide chimley cross't; An' fira 't a chain some three yards lang; 'At held a crelik at t' smiddy mead, Whoar t' kettle belly't kealpot hang. An' next she'd tell aboot their wark; Neah cars or carridges hed they; Ses she, "We carry't t' muck i' hots; We sleddit t' peats an' truss't oor hay. 58 A Crack aboot Auld Times. Pack horses dud for carriers than; Lang strings, fra toon to toon, wad gang, A bell to t' fwormost nag was ty'd, To keep aw t' rest fra wanderin' wrang. "T' men fwok hed cwoats o' hodden grey. An' buck-skin brutches ty'd at t' knees; Wi' silver buckles to their shoon; It's nut oft noo sec legs yan sees, As t' men hed than; an' oft their hair Was pooder't white as enny snow : Red waistcwoats, they'd for Sunday weer, An' some hed ruffle't sarks an' aw. " Aw t' women fwok hed bedgoons lang, Wi' tails 'at to their knees hung doon; An' linsey woolsey petticwoats, An' clean greas'i clogs i' steed o' shoon. A Crack aboot Aidd Times. 59 Blue approns they'd for war-day weer, Tum'd sides when durty wark was deun; A check't un clean, an' bedgoon blue, To don o' t' Sunday eftemeun." Ses she, " At Cursmas time we went, Fra hoose to hoose sweet pies to meak; We use' to yan anudder help, Oor Cursmas pies an' things to beak. An' theer war feasts at ivvery hoose, Beath rich an' poor war ax't to gang; Whoar some at three card lant wad laak. An' some at whisk, while udders sang." An' than she'd sigh an' say, "Oh dear! What chops an' changes yan hes seen; This warld's nut like t' seam warld at aw, It was when I was i' me teens 1" 6o A Crack aboot Auld Times. Bit what thoo's gaan; aye, varra weel; We've hed a good auld fashin't crack; Thoo'll mappen caw an' tell us t' news, An' sm^uk thy pipe as thoo comes back. 6i TOM AN' JERRY. Says Ben to t' wife, "Auld wife," says he, "We'll hev a Tom an' Jerry; An' thoo can wait, an' I can drum, By jing! but we'll be merry! We'll hev a cask o' yal for t' start, An' than when we want mair, We'll pay wi' t' brass we've selt it for. An' summat hev to spare." What, t' cask was browt, an' it was broach't; Says Ben, "Auld wife, I say, We'll nivver trust a single pint, Seah, them 'at drink mun pay. 62 Tom an yerry. I've just three penny pieces here; I think a pint I'll hev." Seah, than a pint t' auld woman browt, An' he her t' threepence gev. Says she, "If fwok sud ax if 't 's good, I'll nut know what to say ; I'd better hev a pint an' aw." Says Ben, "Bit thoo mun pay." Seah, she'd a pint, an' he'd a pint. An' ivvery time they paid; An' back an' forret t' threepence went. Till beath on t' flags war laid ! An' when they'd sleep' t it off, they up An' at it still they went; Till t' cask was empty, seur eneuf, An' nobbut threepence spent, Tom an yerry. 63 Says Ben, "Auld wife, we've mead a mess. An' what 'ill t' brewer think?" Says she, "He'll git his cask agekn, Just wantin' t' sup o' drink ! " 64 SNECK POSSET. [The old fashioned mode of courting in the northern counties, which is still common in many places, is for the young man to go to the house where his sweetheart lives, late at night, after all the other members of the family have retired to rest, when gently tapping at the window, the waiting damsel as soon as she has ascertained, by sundry whisperings, that he is the expected swain, admits him. If from any cause she refuses to let him into the house, he is said to have got a "Sneck Posset."] Hoo lang it's sen, I willent say ; For if I that sud tell, Some busy fwok mud reckon up, Hoo auld I is mysel'. Sneck Posset. 65 Neah matter 't is hoo lang it 's sen, I than was young an' daft; Nin flate o' wark, an' niwer tire't; At fash an' care I laugh't. A strappin', good Hke chap I was, For aw I say't mysel; An' when to t' merry neets I went, I still could gang wi' t' belle. Bit yance theer was, I'll tell ye where, A sneck posset I gat; Reet sarret, teu, ye'U think I was; Ye'll likely aw say that. Ya Thursday neet, 't was winter time, An' t' grund was hap't wi' snow; T' wind Strang fra t' north, ower Hutton-moor, Wi' whisslin' blast dud blow. IL 5 66 Sneck Posset. 'T was t' merry neet at Moorend Hoose; For many a lang, lang year, Auld Isaac' fwok hed keep't it up, An' lots o' fwok war theer. They com fra Threlket, an' fra t' SceMs, An' doon fra t' Paster side; Fra Sooter fell an' Grizel Mill, They com fra far an' wide. Some drank, some danc't, some laik't at cards, An' aw went merrily on; Yan hardly knew 'at yan was theer, Till two or three 'oors war gone. I danc't oft wi' a canny lass, I needent tell her neam; We grew quite thick, an' beath agreet At I sud set her heam. Sneck Posset. 67 I thowt I'd see her seaf to t' dooar, An' than reet back I'd nin; To t' merry neet at Moorend hoose, An' see some mair o' t' fun. A single kiss at t' dooar I steal; An' than says I, "My pet, I'll come agean anudder neet, My feet nr possen wet." Thinks I, as back agean I ran, That wassent badly deun; T' wet feet war just a bit excuse. For leavin' her sa seun. A lot o" jolly dogs war left, Gay rivin' yarks we hed; An' t' cock hed crown it' second roond, Befwore I went to bed. 68 Sneck Posset. A fortneth efter, off I set, My bonny lass to see; An' nivver yance a doot I hed, Bit welcome I wad be. I gently tap't at t' window pane, An' when she saw me theer; Says she, "Thoo mead me start, thoo dud! What is t'e wantin' here?" Says I, "I telt the' I wad come; An' noo thoo sees I hev." "Oh! aye, I see who 'tis!" says she; An' a laal snirt she gev. "Thoo's manish't varra weel," says she, "To come aw t' way to neet: I's flate thoo'll git thy deith o' cauld; Gang heam an' dry thy feet!" 69 AT THE GRAVE OF ROBERT BURNS. Brave Robin ! merry, tender, rantin', Independent, reverent, wanton. Peace to thy dust ! Queer checquer't life was thine when leevin', Plewin', rhymin', singin', grievin', Here thoo's at rust. While hoddin' t' plew, as noo I see thee, Kind Providence wad dootless gi' thee Thy happiest days. As weel I know, when t' plew stilts hoddin', Thoo sang, while up an' doon t' furs ploddin', Thy sweetest lays. 70 At the Grave of Robert Bttrns. Wi' bonnie daisies roond thee springin' ; Wi' t' skylark up abeun thee singin', At peace thysel : What mead thee leave a life sa' bleamless ? Was it for fear o' deein' neamless ? Who can tell ? 'Twas worth a sacrifice, hooivver, To gain a neam to last forivver, Still breet to shine. But hed t'e still stuck to thy tillin', That neam, I'll bet a silver shillin', Wad still been thine. Thy native wit an' inbvvorn genius, Hed left a neam, to bide as green as A field i' May. Fwok still wad been thy sweet sangs singin', When this pleace was i' ruins hingin', Or pass'd away. At the Grave oj Robert Burns. 71 But thirty-eight ! when life's deUghtful, T' grim tyrant com relentless, spiteful, An' snap't life's threed. Just when t' lamp sud been t' breetest burnin', A knell was heard left Scotland mournin', Her poet deid ! Hed thoo been spar'd to life's October, When thowts an' passions aw growe sober ; An' we can see "Oorsels as udder fwok hev seen us," What treasures mair thoo mud hev geen us : 'Twas nut to be ! AULD GWORDIE THOMPSON. [The author begs to state that in writing this and the piece which immediately follows it, his intention was not by any means to attempt to throw ridicule upon religion, but merely to shew off, from a ludicrous point of view, the absurd notions which some people have regarding sacred things.] HEER leev't up on t' edge o' Huttonmoor, for menny a year, an auld chap they caw't Gwordie Thompson, 'at was quite a character in his day. He alius wear short-knee't, ribb't brutches, an' a Skiddaw grey cwoat, varra nar as rough as an unclip't sheep; an' auld Gwordie his-sel was ameast as rough as his cwoat. T' auld chap use' to say 'at t' two things he liket best, iv owt i' this warld, war a pint o' yal an' a pipe Auld Gwordie Thompson, 73 o' 'bacca; an' t' two things at he hket warst war priests an' doctors. He oft brag't an' telt fwok he'd nivver nobbut been twice in t' inside iv a church sen he was bworn : 'at t' furst time his mudder carry't him theer to git kursen't, an' t' tudder time t' wife trail't him off to git weddit. Till a lock o' weeks afwore Gwordie dee't he was nivver off hilth a day in his life ; an' as he'd nivver wantit a doctor his-sel, he varra likely thowt they war o' neah use. He reckon'd he duddent wonder at fwok bein' badly when they'd doctors cummin' an' givin' them enelif o' nasty physic to puzzen a swine, let alean a christian. When he gat to t' public hoose, an' intul his reaveUin' way, he oft sed, if aw t' doctors an' priests war oot o' t' country, it wad be a gay deal better for t' fwok 'at war left. Bit ye'll see theer come a time he wantit beath. When he'd gitten up towards sebbenty year au Id, nater began to tak t' tetch wid him, an' wadden't be mead ghem on enny langer. If he gat drunk he 74 Atdd Gwordie TJiompson. was badly t' next day ; an' if he chanc't to git wet, an' dudden't change his cleas, he wassen't reet for a week or main At last he gat a warse coald nor common, 'at fairly laid him up ; an' efter a lang while, an' a gay deal o' persuadin', he consentit to hev a doctor. When t' doctor com an' examin't him ower, an' enquir't hoo he was hodden, he seun saw 'at t' auld man was aboot deun, an' hedden't varra lang to leeve \ an' as he thowt it was o' laal use fashin' him wi' takken physic, he order't them to give him a laal sup o' rum het, twice a day, to nourish and cheer him up a bit, as lang as he could tak it. When they telt t' auld chap what he was to hev, he was t' girtest at ivver owt was, an' sed, "Ods wons ! if I'd thowt he wad ha' order't me sec physic as that, ye mud ha' fetch't him lang sen." As it was than on i' February, he reckon 't if he'd anudder month ower, t' wedder wad git warmer, an' Anld Gwordie TJiompson. 75 wi' his two glasses o' rum a day, he wad seun be as reet as a fiddle agean. As t' spring went on, hooivver, auld Gwordie, isteed o' growin' strang-er, gat waker an' waker, till afwore March was oot he cudden't manage to tak hofe a glass i' t' day ; an' than he was fworc't to give 't up aw togidder. He fairly lost heart than ; an' if enny iv his neighbours try't to. cheer him up a bit, wi' tellin' him 'at he wad growe better after a while, he sed, " Nay, nay, theer neah way bit yan for me. Ye may depend on 't, if auld Gwordie 's past takken a glass o' rum, he's gaily far on in his journey, an' hessent lang to be here." When it gat on to t' middle o' April, he'd gitten sa' wake 'at he cudden't git oot o' bed, an' he sed to t' dowter ya day, " I finnd 'at my time willen't be lang noo. I've mead my will an' settle't aw my consarns, bit theer' ya thing at rayder bodders me at times ; I think I 76 Aiild Gwordie Tho^npson. Slid hev somebody to pray wi' me. What does thoo think? Does t'e think thoo can git enny body to come?" "Aye!" ses she, 'Til send for t' priest. He'll come, I'll warrant him, if he be ax't." " Wy, send for him than," ses Gwordie, "as seun as thoo can. Theer 'ill mebby nut be ower mickle time to scowp on." When t' priest hed cum't an' gone agekn, t' dowter went in to see t' auld man, an' sed tuU him : "What, ye'll be satisfy't noo, likely, when he's been here, an' pray't wi' ye?" "Satisfy't!" ses Gwordie, "aye, I 's satisfy't eneiif wi' him. I'll nut want him agean, thoo may depend on 't." "What hes he sed to ye, fadder, to vex ye seah?" ses Betty. " Sed 1 " ses Gwordie, "he sed plenty, an' a gay deal mair nor he durst ha' sed if I'd been as I was Auld Gwordie Thompson. "jj yance. He telt me he'd kent me for menny a year to be an auld harden' t sinner 'at nivver went to t' kurk, bit oft to t' public hoose ; 'at I gat drunk an' swear an' dud a deal mair things I wad hev to repent on befwore I deet, or else I wad gang tull a pleace 'at needn't be mention't. I dunnet think 'at that's enny mak o' prayin ! Does t'e think thoo can send for that methody chap, 'at leeves up t' broo yonder? They say 'at he pretends a bit o' prayin'." " I dar say I can," ses Betty ; an' she went an' sent t' sarvent lad off to tell him to come. When he'd cum't an' gone agean, Betty went in to t' room, an' sed, "Noo, fadder, hoo ur ye noo? What, ye'll be better satisfy 't this time, I whop. Hes he deun enny better for ye ? " "Nay!" ses t' auld fellow, "he was varra laal better nor t' priest. He mebby wassen't just as plain wi' me ; bit he jibe't an' went on wi' a wry 78 Auld Gwordie Thompson. feace, an' was varra lang windit. I knew weel eneuf what he was hintin' at. I'll nut hev him cummin' agean, I'll gi' the' my word o' that." "Wy !" ses Betty, "I dunnet know what's to be deun, I's seiir." A few days efter that, when auld Gwordie was gitten to be sa' wake he could hardly raise his-sel up i' bed, two iv his auld neighbours, Tom Benson an' Jossy Jopson, com in to see him. They sat an' crack't on a while, an' when they gat up to gang, Jossy went oot furst, while Tom stay't behint to say a few mair words to t' auld chap, as they'd lang been friends. "What," sed he, "ye'U varra likely hev settle't ye'r affairs, an' mead aw reet?" "Aye, aye!" ses Gwordie, "I gitten aw that deiin, an' theer nobbut ya thing 'at bodders me enny." " What's that ? " sed Tom. " Wy," sed auld Gwordie, "I thowt theer sud ha' Auid Gwordie TJiompson. 79 been some prayin' afwore I deet. I've hed beath t' priest an' that methody fellow, an' nowder o' them dud me a bit o' good. What does t'e think ? Can thoo pray enny, Tom?" " Nay, be di\'vert!" ses Tom, "I can pray nin. Bit as ye say, I think theer sud be some prayin', teu. "We'll see what Jossy ses, if he can deii owt that way. Here, Jossy, come back," shootit Tom. " Can t'e pray enny ? If thoo can, thoo mun pray wi' auld Gwordie." " Wy !" ses Jossy, "I's neah girt fist at it, bit as it's a kease o' necessity I'll deu t' best I can." An' wi' that he com to t' bedside an' kneel' t doon an' began : " Lord hev marcy on auld Gwordie Thompson, an' help him to git better. Let him leeve menny an' menny a year yet. Send him good crops on t' moor, an' fine wedder to git them. Keep his wheys fra takkin' t' redwatter, an' — an' " \Mien he'd gitten that far, auld Gwordie rais't 8o Atild Gwordie TJiompson. his-sel up i' bed, an' shootit wi' aw t' bit strength he hed left, "Howay wi' the', Jossy! Howay wi' the'! Hod on ! Thoo fews t' best iv oot I've hard yet Ods wons ! theer some sense i' sec prayin' as that. Carry on, min ! — carry on ! " Bit t' exertion o' raisin' his-sel up, an' shootin', an' ya thing or anudder, snap't t' laal bit slender threed 'at was left ; an' t' poor auld man sank back iv his bed, an' nivver spak mair : an' that was t' end o' auld Gwordie Thompson. 8i LANTIE'S PRAYER. Tom, Gwordie, an' Lantie war quarrymen three, As lish, listy dealsmen as iwer ye'd see ; As straight, ivvery yan, as a poplar tree, An' t' least o' them five feet elebben inch hee : Aw healthy an' Strang, As June days ur lang ; Stoot, stalwart, an' reet, Wi' hands fit for feet, Their feet lang an' broad, an' weel splay't. Rare guardsmen for t' queen, Sec chaps wad hev been, If nobbut they'd yance Gien t' soldiers a chance. They waddent in t' deal lang hev been. II. 6 82 Lanties Prayer. It chanc't on ya fine summer day, 'At Tom an' Gwordie teiik their way, To t' toon, where they still gat their pay, — What theer they wantit, I can't say : They'd mainly stop. An' tak a drop ; An' sometimes they Wad sup away, Till they war gaily fu' : At times they'd rear, An' rip an' sweer ; An' say they'd feight Owt o' their weight ; They kick't up menny a row. Hooivver, it happen't on that summer day, A pint just apiece they'd, an' than turn't away; It's dootful, bit t' reason was mappen 'at they War hard up, an' riddy for t' fortneth pay ; Lanties Prayer. 83 Whedder that was, or wassent, t' kease, They trailen went up t' market pleace; An' when they saw a weel kent feace, They gev a frindly nod. Bit when am east to t' cross they gat, They saw a crood aw geapen at A man, 'at steud withoot his hat, An' sed he com fra God ; To tell what sin, They aw war in ; An' he was sent To bid repent, Aw t' drucken, roysterin', sweerin' crew ; An' than he sed, 'At t' lives they led, They needent try. For to deny, For aw their wicked ways he knew. 84 Laxities Prayer. He preach't an' palaver't a full 'oor or raair, A full 'oor that crood steud to lissen an' stare ; Some whisper't an' sed it was hardly fair, To shew aw their sneakin' tricks, neaked an' bare ; While udders a penneth o' snaps duddent care, Who knew what they dud, or hoo, when, or where. Tom an' Gwordie steud like t' rest. An' thowt 'twas varra queer, Hoo t' preacher chap hed known sa' weel, 'At they wad beath be theer. For paddy hints anew he'd gien, An' ivvery time they leuk't, they'd seen Him glowerin' at them wi' beath een, Ower t' heids iv aw 'at steud atween. Withoot a doot, He'd fund it oot, By heuk or creuk, Or auld black beiik, — 'At when they com to t' pays. Lanties Prayer. 85 Hoo oft it was, They spent their brass, An' drank an' fowt, An' aidle't nowt, For mebbe twea 'r three days. Ses Gwordie to Tom, as they went heam that neet, " This fuddUn' an' royin' wheniwer we meet, An' spendin' oor quarry-pay, cannot be reet ; For t' futer I mean to hev nowt to deu wi' 't \ " An' wi' Gvvordie's opinion Tom quite agreet. " An' Gwordie," ses Tom, " fra this varra day, I mean to gang on in a different way \ I's gante begin to keep swober an' pray, I dunnet care what enny body may say ; " An' Gwordie agreet, for he duddent say nay. Tom, Gwordie, an' Lantie that summer neet sat, Their pipes to smeuk, after their suppers they gat ; 86 LatUies Prayer. When up Lantie spak, an' sharply sed, " What Maks ye sa' dull an' sa' sulky an' flat ? " Ses Tom, " We're convertit, theer neah doot o' that!" Ses Lantie, "Is I gante eat my auld hat ?" An' than wi' lang an' solemn feaces, They telt him aw their desperate keases ; An' hoo their sins, As sharp as whins, Or auld dry thorns, Or uncut corns, War stangin' through their flesh an' beans. Bit Lantie laugh't. An' jaw't an' chaff't, An' sed, he thowt, 'Twad end in nowt, Bit empty talk an' hollow greans. Lang feaces Tom an' Gwordie hed That neet, when off" they went to bed ; Lanties Prayer. 87 An' whisperin', tean to t' tudder sed, They waddent off agean be led ; They'd just gang on an' persevere, An' tak their pay, an' heamwards steer, Withoot a drop their hearts to cheer, Neah matter who mud laugh an' jeer. They thowt withoot A grain o' doot, 'At Lantie was A stupid ass ; An' neet an' day. They beath wad pray, 'At sometime he His fawts mud see. An', like theirsels, convertit be. Some twelve months efter, on a day, (rime's fleein' still, an' willent stay,) Oor heroes gat a parlish flay ; H.00 dud it happen I This was t' way : 88 Lanties Prayer.. They wrowt in a level 'at ran under t' fell, A canny few fathoms, hoo far I can't tell. Well, ya efterneun they war sittin' an' smeukin', An' at yan anudder through t' dim leet war leukin'; When aw on a sudden, A prop (nut a good un,) Through t' middle on 't brak, Wi' a thunderin' crack, An' doon wi' a smash, An' a terrible crash, Ten yards o' reuf fell ; An' awful to tell, Quite block't up their passage fra under that fell. Tom gev a scar't like, lowish shoot ; While Gwordie glop't an' glower't aboot ; An' Lantie swear his pipe was oot. An' aw his 'bacca deun. Bit when he spy't aroond aw t' pleace. He saw it was a desperate kease : He let doon a bit langer feace. An' rayder chang't his teun. Lanties Prayer. 89 Ye know Tom an' Gwordie war beath weel convertit; While Lantie, poor fellow, was sadly pervertit ! For while they war mournin' for him as a sinner, He was thinkin' o' laal else bit t' want of his dinner. He grummelin' sed, A.W t' grub they hed, Was just a bite o' cheese an' bread ; They'd browt for t' bait, An' noo their fate, Wad be for dinner lang to wait. " Ye see, lads," ses Gwordie, " we cannot git oot. Away i' this bye-pleace, neah body aboot. To hear us, hooivver we yoller an' shoot : I think we may Kneel doon an' pray, What d'ye say ? I's seur I see neah udder way. I think if we, (I mean us three,) To that wad 'gree, We mebbe mud deliver't be." 90 Lanties Prayer. Noo, Lantie was glurapy, an' waddeut submit, As if in his oan mind some plan on he'd hit, 'At he o' that ratten-trap oot on could git ; Bit what he was thinkin' he nivver let vvi't. What ! Gvvordie an' Tommy gat terribly flurry't, An' Lantie to kneel doon they pester't an' worry't ; Bit Lantie sed gruffly, he waddent be hurry't, If he wantit to say owt, he durst say he could ; An' mappen git on wi't as weel as they dud. An' if he was fworc't to pray, well than he mud, He'd pray if he thowt it wad deu enny good. At last he kneel't doon in a nelik, An' three lang draughts o' air he teuk ; An' next he twin't an' screw" t his feace, To git it into t' proper pleace. An' than, ses he, " Oh Lord ! help me, My way to see, Yance raair to git my liberty. Lanties Prayer. 9 i I'd scv/orn like them two chaps to be, Creavin' for ivvery thing they see : They pray for this, they beg for t' tudder, Furst ya thing an' than anudder ; Bit I declare, an' faith it's true, I nivver pray't for owt till noo ; An' if ye'U let me oot o' here, I'll nivver pray agean, I sweer ! " 92 AULD GWORDIE AN' HIS COO. Auld Gwordie was a tailyer, An' Nelly was his wife ; Aw t' neighbours sed, they nobbut led A dog an' cat-like life. Auld Gwordie use' to brutches mak, For fwok beath far an' near ; Bit Nelly still contriv't an' schem't, 'At t' brutches she mud weer ! They hed a coo 'at went on t' rwoads, An' pastur't on t' dyke back ; She'd just a white snip on her feace, Aw t' rest o' t' coo was black. Atild Givordie an his Coo. 93 Her age was nay, I cannot tell ; Theer was neah way to know ; Some t' wrinkles coont on t' horns, bit than She hed neah horns at aw. Ses Gwordie, "Cowey's up i' years, I think we'd better try To sell her off at t' furst May fair, An' than a younger buy. I think I'll tak her up to t' fair." " Thodll tak her up !" ses Nell ; "What's t' use o' sendin' thee to t' fair? I think I'll gang mysel." What, tean wad gang, an' t' tudder wad, An' menny a fratch they hed ; They fratch't aboot it aw t' day lang. An' oft they fratch't i' bed. 94 An Id Gwordie an his Coo. Till t' fair-day com, an' Gwordie sed, "77/ t' brutches weer for yance !" "Wy, weer them — an' be hang't !" ses Nell, "Be off an' tak thy chance !" Clean wesh't, an' shav't, an' in his best, To t' fair off Gwordie set ; Wi' cowey marchin' on afwore, An' Nell at heam i' t' pet. Ses Gwordie tuU his-sel', ses he. As he went on to t' fair : " I'll sell her dear, an' buy yan "cheap, An' than I needent care." Bit Gwordie hed forgitten quite, Or else he nivver knew, 'At when a bargin's to be mead, Theer always mun be two. A^ild Gwordie an his Coo. 95 Ab' when he gat to t' fair that day, As luck wad hev't to be, A wag frae Gursmer, ripe for fun. Poor Gwordie chanc't to see. Ses he to yan just like his-sel', "A jolly brek we'll hev." An' off he went, an' bovvt t' auld coo ; Just six pund ten he gev. He paid his brass, an' dreav her off To some back yard i' t' toon ; Ses he to t' mate, "We'll sell her back, I'll bet the' hofe a croon. " We'll black her feace, an' crop her tail, An' tak her back to t' fair ; To Gwordie thoo mun sell her back, An' ax eight pund or mair." 96 Auld Gwordie an his Coo. 'Twas deun ameast as seun as sed, For seiir as we're alive, Auld Gwordie bowt his oan coo back, An' paid doon eight pund five. Off heam he set, an' thowt aw t' way, Hoo he wad brag auld Nell ; An' tell her hoo he'd deun as weel As she could deun her-sel'. Bit when he landit up to t' dooar, T' furst words auld Nelly spak. Were, "What, ye hevvent selt her, than? Hoo is't ye browt her back ?" "Browtwhat?" ses Gwordie. "Wy, t' auld coo! A feul may see it's t' seam." "By gock !" ses Gwordie, "it caps owt; I thowt she kent t' way heam." Atild Gwordie an his Coo. 97 Ses Nell, "I knew hoo it wad be ; It's weel eneuf at thoo Gat back thysel', an' duddent bring A jackass for a coo !" IL 98 ROBIN'S LOVE. They needent come, wi' flatterin' tongue, An' wheedliii' suggar't words to me ; My plightit faith I' geen to yan, An' he his promise pledg't to me. To tempt my pride they needent come, Wi' promis't gold an' dresses fine ; Wi' Robin's love I's weel content, He sed he'd be content wi' mine. Robins Love. 99 What's aw their gold an' gear to me, If I mun false to Robin prove % What signify their dresses fine, If I mun part wi' Robin's love % A cottage low, wi' reuf o' straw, Wad me content, wi' Robin theer ; Bit oh ! a palace e'er sa' fine, An' wantin' him wad be ower dear ! I cannot brek my plightit faith ; I cannot fra my Robin turn ; What good wad riches deu, if I'd Heart brokken aw my life to mourn % Than tempt me nut, for worthless wealth Can nivver me fra Robin part : Aw t' gold i' t' Indies cannot buy T' love iv a faithful woman's heart ! lOO SHE'S WEDDIT AN' WEEL. " She's weddit an' weel ! " ses Betty to Jane ; " Submittit at last ; bit t' maislin wad fain Hev tean laal Bob Wilson for love." " Bit, Betty," ses Jane, " theer sometimes, I guess, When t' money's far mair, 'at t' cumforts ur less ; It's t' eatin' 'at t' puddin' 'ill prove." Ses Betty to Jane, " Oor Fanny's aw reet ! I's seur she's been lucky, an' fawn on her feet ; Weel fedder't her nest is for life." " Bit, Betty," ses Jane, " If love was away. She nivver dud warse nor she dud, o' that day 'At they mead her an' unlovin' wife." Shes weddit aft weel. loi " Love willent full t' meal-kist," ses Betty to Jane, "Nor finnd fwok a shelter fra t' coald wind an' rain Nor mak t' pot o' Sunday to boil." "Bit, Bett}^," ses Jane, "Love's a wonderful thing, It gars sorrow laugh, an' grim poverty sing, An' maks leeter t' hardest o' toil." Ses Betty to Jane, " I've hard auld fn'ok say. When poverty com, love wad still flee away. An' niwer agean wad come theer." "Oh ! Betty," ses Jane, "Love desar\Tn' o' t' ne^m. Through plenty an' poortith iwer is t' seam ; Misforten maks t' object mair dear." • "Land an' money hes Gwordie!" ses Betty to Jane, " Oor Fanny's deun weel sek a husband to gain ; She'll niwer know sorrow or care." "Oh ! Betty," ses Jane, "Theer fwok 'at I know, Wi' money eneuf, bit neah cumfort at aw, — For mickle thoo knows wad hev mair." I02 Shes weddit afH weel. Ses Betty to Jane, " He 's this, an' he 's that; A hoose whoar she need nobbut hing up her hat." Ses Jane, " It's aw true, I dar say ; It comes to t' seam thing, whativver thoo ses, I'll know what he is, an' nut what he hes, When I give a dowter away." I03 ANGLING. When toilin' on life's dusty track, Tir't nature will protest, An' sternly bids you pause awhile, Your muddle't brains to rest. Neah better way can ye your steps, For recreation turn. Than fishin' rod in' hand, to roam, By river, lake, or bum. Away fra business carkin' cares, Fra t' endless hum o' men ; Away to some sweet ripplin' lake, Or some wild rocky glen ; I04 Angling. \Vhoar nature, pleas't to see your feace, Wi' liberal hand an' kind, Will to your body gie back health, An' vigour to your mind. Delightful 'tis to wander on, By some clear eddyin' stream ; To fish awhile, an' rust awhile, To meditate an' dream. Whoar t' craggy fells, o' ayder side, To t' cloods their heids uprear ; An' nut a soond bit t' watterfaws, Or t' sang o' burds, ye hear. Care nowt for Johnson's surly growl, Nor Byron's puzzent sneer ; Bit honest Isaac Walton tak, For aw he's quaint an' queer. Angling. 105 An' when wi' floggin' t' stream, you're tire't, Sit doon on some crag nelik, An' see hoo nater corresponds, Wi' that auld fashin't beuk. Ga thread some gorge, whoar two fells meet, An' t' boilin' fleud is seen Come lo^\'pin' doon, faw after faw, Ower hingin' crags atween. Your bait drop in, just here an' theer, I' some bit whyet neiik ; An', mebbe, when a troot ye land, Ye'U see 't drop off your heuk ! Doon, doon t' broo side it jumpin' gangs. In t' watter wi' a splash ; Ye meast may hear t' fish say, " Ye gat Your labour for your fash." io6 Angling. " Come, niwer mind," I hear ye say, " Fret nin for that 'at's gone ; It 's t' chances, whedder won or lost, 'At leads yan on an' on." Or in some low an' holmy deal, Whoar t' pool nms deep an' slow ; Wi' stiddy aim an' watchful eye. Your salmon flees to throw. ■\Vhat better spwort could mortal hev. What mair excitement wish — When boilin' up, a blash ! a pull ! Ye've hoald o' t' king o' fish ! Away it gangs, noo up, noo doon, Noo sulkin' willent stur ; Than off agean like t' wind, it gars Your line frae t' wheel to whurr ! Angling. 107 Noo, nearer up to t' bank it comes ; You calculate it's size ; An' hoo exultant, when at last, You gaff an' land your prize ! Some for adventer moontains climm, Where ivverlastin' snow Unmeltit is, when t' bumin' sun Is scorchin' t' plains below. Some for excitement follow t' hoonds, An' ride neck-breck or nowt ; Nor when t' view halloo soonds, do they To danger give a thowt. Some like to range, wi' dog an' gim, Ower stubble field an' moor ; ^\^lile some at cricket, bools, or quoits, '111 spend a leisure 'oor. io8 Angling. Bit gie me fishin' rod an' creel, An' varra seun, I'll be Away whoar nowt bit fell an' field, An' wood an' stream I'll see. 109 JOHNNY AN' HIS FAT BUCK. At Lyulph's tooer, auld Johnny leev't ; Park keeper lang was he ; An honester or heartier chap, Yan needent wish to see. When Norfolk' duke, to t' tooer com doon, A week or two to spend ; Reet prood was Johnny, on his wants An' wishes to attend. no yohnny an his Fat Buck. Sometimes to Peerath toon he went, Provisions for to buy ; Sometimes to UUswatter for fish, His teable to supply. Ya time, (as t' stwory gangs,) t' auld duke, A feast was gaan to hev ; An' orders for a good fat buck, 'Mang t' rest o' things, he gev. His fire-lock auld, wi' buck-shot charg'd, Auld John set off breest hee, Up t' park ; an' as he went, he hum't, " This day a stag mun dee." An' seur eneuf, a buck was shot, An' hoistit off to t' tooer : T' auld duke, when he knew it was theer, Come oot an' leuk't it ower. yohnny aii his Fat Buck. 1 1 1 Says he, ''You've got a fine one, John." Says Johnny, " Aye, bit, dar ! Ye'r grace, that y an I aim't at, luas A finer buck, by far ! " 112 HE HEDDENT A WORD TO SAY. Shy Willie lov't young Maggy Blain ; An' oft he sigh't an' thowt, If he could nobbut win her love, To wish for he'd hev nowt. An' oft wi' pensive, lingerin' steps. He'd wander on that way ; Bit when fair Maggy Blain he met, He heddent a word to say. Hoo lang he suffer'd, an' hoo sair, Nin knew bit his oan sel' ; He thowt, when Maggie next he met, His secret he wad tell. He heddent a word to say. 1 1 3 Lang speeches he mekd up i' bed, An' thowt them ower by day ; Bit still when he'd a chance to speak, He heddent a word to say. An' when a chance was lost, he'd say, "A cloonish gowk was I ! When next sweet Maggy Blain I meet. To tell my tekl I'll try : I'll tell her hoo I've love't her lang, An' ax for aye or nay : " Bit when they met, 'twas always t' seam. He heddent a word to say ! When Maggy saw his sheepish leuks, She gently led him on ; Till sheepish leiiks an' bashfulness, War awtogidder gone. II. 1 1 4 He heddent a word to say. An' when as lovin' man an' wife, Lang years hed slip't away ; They oft wad jwoke an' talk o' when He heddent a word to say ! 115 IRREPRESSIBLE O. P. AN HUMBLE IMITATION OF A POEM IN THE " BIGLOW PAPERS." "Whoarivver yan happens to gang or to be, Yan alius incoonters that silly O.P. : It 's mebby aw reet, bit it seems varra queer, 'At happen what will, he sud alius be theer : Oh, dear me ! I nivver dud see Sec a bore i' my life, as that horrid O.P. ! 1 1 6 Irrepressible O.P. If a party o' weddiners gangs past, ye'll see, Wi' a rose in his button wholl, smilin' O.P. ; If it's a funeral ye chance to be at, O.P. 'ill be theer, wi' a crape on his hat; Oh, dear me ! I nivver dud see Sec a bore in my life, as that horrid O.P. ! If ye gang tull a teetotal meetin', ye're seur To meet wi' O.P., takken tickets at t' dooar; An' if tull a clippin' ye happen to gang, Ye'll hear fra O.P. recitation or sang. Oh, dear me ! I nivver dud see Sec a bore i' my life, as that horrid O. P. ! If ye oppen an album, wy, t' furst feace ye see. Is t' hairy phisog o' that silly O.P. ! An' barrin' subscription lists, t' list wad be queer, Wi' a lang row o' neams, if O.P. wassent theer. Oh, dear me ! I nivver dud see Sec a bore i' my life as that silly O.P. ! Irrepressible O.P. 117 If a meetin' theer be, whatiwer aboot, O.P. 'ill still mannish to poke in his snoot; An' if it's a meetin', religion to talk. He'll be don't in his sober religious cloke. Oh, dear me ! I niwer dud see Sec a bore in my life as that horrid O.P. ! He's blue or he's yellow, he's black or he's white, To suit times an' chances to git sup or bite ; O' jibin' an' snirtin' unconscious he'll sit ; If fwok laugh at his daftness, he thinks 'at it's wit ! Oh, dear me ! I niwer dud see Sec a bore in my Ufe, as that horrid O.P. ! ii8 NATHAN'S COORTIN'. Greit Nathan went cvvortin' to Maggie at t' Yews, An' cuddent believe she wad iwer refuse ; Bit Maggie was saucy, and threw up her heid, An' sed, "Will I hev thee? Aye, likely, indeed ! " Says Nathan, "Thoo'U nivver deii better, I think ;" An' leiik't varra wise, as he gev her a wink ; Says Maggie, "Wy, mebbe I mayn't, what than? I care laal for that ; bit I will if I can." Says Nathan, "I've two nags, an' sebben good kye; A nice stock o' sheep, an' some money, forby." Says Maggie, "I whop it'll nut be my luck. To wed wi' a middin' for t' seak o' t' lock muck." Nathatis Coortin . 119 Says he, "Wiat ! thoo's saucy; I think thoo's to bleam ; Thoo'll leuk through thy fingers an' miss a good heam." Says Maggie, " Just Hssen, I'll nut tell a lee ; Theer laal fawt i' t' heam, if 't wassent for thee ! " Says he, "If thoo means it, I think I'll be off; Thoo'd better be takken' noo when thoo hes t' loff !" "Ay, likely," says Maggie ; "what, mebbe I hed. Bit fwok sud be cwortit befwore they sud wed." Says Nathan, "If cwortin' thoo wants, thoo sal hev't; Thoo just spak i' time, for I'd varra nar left : " Says she, " Thoo may try a bit langer, an' than, I mebbe may like the'— 1 will if I can 1" BILLY SPEDDING. MONG the group of boys who were my playmates and contemporaries at school, (a group long since widely scattered by the relent- less hand of time,) there was one familiarly known by the name of Billy Speddy. In the far off memory pictures which the mind will occasionally conjure up, one does not see Billy sitting on the front form, or standing near the head of his class in the school-room, or as the captain and leader of the games in the play -ground; but he is conspicuously noticeable all the same. One may see him, always in the background, either Billy Spedding. 121 standing on one leg on a bench, or in a far comer, peeping over the edge of his book, instead of at the pages ; or in some out of the way nook of the play- ground, bullying and taking the marbles from some little boy about half his owti size, Billy, however, though a regular scapegrace at school, and as full of mean and contemptible tricks as he well could, grew up to be, as far as I have heard, a respectable member of the community. Many years after he had left school, I met with him at the Penrith railway station, where he was then employed as a porter, and having to wait a considerable time for a train, I had a long chat with him about school-boy days and other kindred subjects. Among other things, Billy told me the following story, which I made a mental note of at the time ; and though he was not celebrated for veracity, in his boyish days, the tale is so thoroughly character- 122 Billy Speddmg. istic of him as I knew him, that I have very Uttle doubt but it was mainly true. Said Billy, "It's varra queer, I've thowt some- times, 'at some fwok when they git a thing into their heids, if it be ivver sa' far wrang, hoo they'll stick teu't, an' twist an' twine ivvery thing else to fit it, an' imagine things, till they quite think 'at udder fwok sud believe't as weel. " Aboot t' time we're talkin' on, when I went to t' scheiil, I use' to caw ivvery day, mwornin' an' neet, 'at auld Joe Gill's, to ax what o'clock it was. Thoo kent auld Joe an' auld Mally weel enelxf? Thoo knows, auld Mally was a parlish body for hens; she keep't aboot hofe a scwore iv as fine ghem hens as ivver yan saw, an' a ghem cock ; bit t' cock wassent hur oan. It beleng't to yan auld Mawson. What thoo kent him weel eneuf, teii? Thoo knows he foUow't cock-feightin', an' it was yan 'at he'd carry't to auld Mally's to walk. " Well, ya neet 1 was gaan heam fra t' scheul, an' Billy Spedding. 123 aw t' hens an' t' cock war in a rield doon below t' rwoad. What! I was Uke t' meast o' lads, full eneuf o' mischief, likely, an' I thowt I wad hev a shot into 'mang them wi' a stean, nivver thinkin' 'at I wad hit enny o' them, or mair likely nivver thinkin' owt aboot it, whedder I wad or nut. Be that as it wad, I threw yan, an' as bad luck wad hev't, it hat t' cock reet ower t' heid, an' knock't it ower. " By goy ! it just gev a flap or two wi' t' wings on 't, an' nivver stur't mair. Thoo may be seur I duddent caw to see what o'clock it was that neet ; bit I think auld Joe an' Mally war nowder o' them at heam, for as I was gaan by to t' scheiil t' next mwornin', they'd nobbut just fund it. Auld Joe was just cummin' oot o' t' door wi' t' deid cock under his arm • an' ses he, as seun as he saw me. "'That laal nasty tarrier at t tudder hoose hes worry't auld Mawson' line ghem cock. 1 dunnet know whiit I'll be to deu. I's just gaan to see.' 124 Billy Speddi7ig. " Thoo may be seur I was nin sworry to hear 'at t' poor tarrier hed gitten t' bleani; an' as auld Mawson leev't nut far fra t' scheul, an' was a gay rough cheely, I march't off wi' auld Joe, an' thowt I wad hear what he sed. When we gat nut far fra t' pleace, we met t' auld chap, an' as seiin as auld Joe saw him, he sed, '"Theer a varra bad job happen' t. I dunnet know what mun be deun. Yon laal nasty dog o' t' tudder fwok's hes worry't t' cock.' "Mawson, thoo knows, was an ower t' Raise chap, an' he talk't ower t' Raise mak o' talk, an' ses he, " 'Od zounds ! bit I'll vvirry't if I git hald on 't ! Ya thing or anudder 's gaante destroy o' t' things 'at I hev ! Theear' some unlucky diwels o' lads 'at gang wi' summet fra me ivvery week end. First they went wi' a duck, than they went wi' a goose : they'll be gaan wi' t' cow an' t' cuddy next. They wad ha' gean wi' them lang sen, bit they cudden't Billy Spedding. 125 consekll them. Ye may tak t' cock yam agekn, an' boil t' pot wi' 't: it's aw 'at ye'll git for t' walk on't' " An', seah, auld Joe set off back wi' his cock under his arm, an' I went on to t' scheul. " When I went he^m at neet, I thowt to mysel', as they niwer suspectit 'at I'd hed owt to deu wi' killin' t' cock, I mud venter to caw an' ax what o'clock it was. Auld INIally was sittin' knittin' as she mainly what was ; an' t' hens war pickin' aboot aw t' fleur ower, bit theer was neah cock to be seen. Efter she'd telt me it was hofe efter fower o'clock, I venter't to say, " '\\Tiat do ye think it hed been t' tarrier 'at kilt t'cock?' " 'Theer' nut a bit o' doot on't,' ses she, 'a laal nasty urchin. It hed bitten 't aw ower. I poot it this eftemeun, an' it heddnt a free bit on't. It was aw bites ower.' " I dursent tell t' auld thing, or else I knew 'at t' dog hed niwer been nar't : for it was just kilt wi' a stean ower t' heid on 't, as I telt ye befwore." 126 AULD WILL RUTSON' MACHINE. [William Ritson of Wasdale Head, who died not long since, was well known to most of the tourists who went over Sty Head Pass, for nearly half a century. His house being a sort of call or resting place which pedestrians almost without exception availed themselves of ; and being a most original and note-worthy character, he managed to scrape an acquaint- ance with most of them. Young fellows sometimes attempted to draw fun out of him, but old Will always managed to put them down most effectually. The following lines are founded on an incident of the kind, and are literally true.] Auld Will was famous at a crack ; An' thowt 'at nin could tell, A better teal or bigger lee, Nor he could deu his-sel'. Auld Wtill Riilson Machine. 127 Ya day, a stuck-up chap com in, 'At thowt auld Will to jeer ; He sed he'd been to Manchester, An' telt what he'd seen theer. Aboot their butchin' swine, he talk't, Three hundred in a day ; An' yan could druss them off, as fast. As two could tak away. Says Will, "It's wonderful, neah doot, Sec butchin' feats thoo's seen ; Bit in that granary loft, oot theer, We hev a queer machine : "Thoo sees t' auld sewe, on t' midden theer? I'll bet a pund, an' win, If thoo'll just tak her to t' machine. An' pop her nicely in, 28 Auld Wull RiUson Machine. "An' give 't three turns aboot, she'll come Oot bacon, nicely dry't ! Anudder turn, an' t' hams 'ill be Weel boil't, an' t' flicks weel fry't ! "Weel mead aw t' sossiges 'ill be. Just by a turn o' t' crank ! An' f brussels, min', 'ill come oot, teu, Good brushes riddy shank't ! " T' chap glowered at Will, an' than he sed, " Oh ! what a horrid lee ! " Says Will, " Does thoo think I'd be bang't, Wi' sec a thing as thee?'' 129 THE SNOW. It com doon as whisht an' as deftly as death, O' soond nut a murmur, o' air nut a breath ; Flake reacin' wi' flake. Oh ! 'twas bonny to see Hoo it cuwer't up moontain, an' valley, an' tree. Doon, doon it com floatin', sa' white an' sa clear, Ivvery twig, iwery leaf, hed its burden to bear ; Ivvery dyke, iwery hoose, ivvery rough cobble wo', Hed its blossom, its reiif, or its copin' o' snow. Doon, doon it com' floatin' sa' swiftly an' leet, Seun t' landscape was white as a tribble bleach' t sheet ; An' t' grund 'at was leatly sa' starv't like an' bare, Was lapt in a mantle, a feut thick or mair. II. 9 130 The Snow. Their coald stores exhaustit, t' leet cloods floatit by, An' pure white as t' earth was, as deep bkie was t' sky; Far sooth Sol appeared, majestic an' breet, His rays wake an' slantin', an' guiltless o' heat, Threw ower that white picter a splendour an' sheen, 'At twice in a life -time can rarely be seen. Ivvery crag, ivvery dyke, ivvery snow-leaden tree. Was an object worth gaan a lang journey to see; Neah art, tho' by t' cleverest artist, could show A picter sa' grand as that landscape o' snow. T' grim demon o' winter, wi' envy hofe craz'd, To see sec a scene i' December — uprais't A fierce wind fra t' north, 'at whissel't an' rwoar't, An' dreav t' snow i' blinndin' cloods dancin' afwore 't. Fra t' fells into t' valleys, doon whurlin' it went, It fand ivvery crack, ivvery crevice, an' rent ; The Snow. 131 Through t' mortarless wo's ; in auld hooses, it's sed, Fwok waken't to finnd theirsels snown up i' bed. While creeUn' by t' fences for shelter, t' poor sheep, In t' snowdrifts war hap't up, aye, iwer sa' deep ; For days an' days efter, t' auld shipperds wad post Off wi' t' cwollies, to hunt up odd sheep 'at war lost; An' some niwer fund war till spring, when leate on They frozen tiim't oot efter t' last snow was gone ! 132 NAN'S SECRET. " It's a secret," says Nan, an' she whisper't quite low; " I waddent for t' warld enny body sud know ; Tom Gill, low be't spokken, wad fain coddle me ; Bit say nowt ; I waddent tell mortal bit thee. " He com t' tudder neet, an' at my window tap't : To know Avho it was for a while I was cap't ; Seah, I peekel't an' watch't, till his feace I could see; Bit say nowt ; I waddent tell mortal bit thee. Nans Secret. 133 "Ses I, 'Tom, what wants t'e?' ses he, 'Let me in!' Thinks I, that's a rayder bkmt way to begjn : It's trew as I's here, I'll nut tell a lee, Bit say nowt ; I waddent tell mortal bit thee. " Ses I, 'Thoo's a capper to come i' that way; An' say — let me in : is that aw thoo's to say?' Ses he, 'I'll say mair when thoo sits o' my knee : ' Bit say nowt ; I waddent tell mortal bit thee. " Lord ! when he gat in, he hed plenty to say ; He thowt he wad wed me, I just wish he may. He duddent just promise't, bit sed he wad see ; Bit say nowt; I waddent tell mortal bit thee." I sed to mysel', as I went on my way. It's a secret, an' nivver a word I mun say ; To tell owt, a sham an' disgreace it wad be, When she sed, 'at she waddent tell mortal bit me ! 134 Na?is Secret. Bit seun I fand oot, when oor lasses I saw, 'At she'd tel't them t' seam teal as a secret an' aw ; An' than, what, I fand it was nobbut a lee, When she sed, 'at she waddent tell mortal bit me ! 135 THE FINAL PARTING. Nay ! git the' gean, thoo durty slut ; A fair disgreace thoo is ! I saw the' \\i' thur varra een, Cock up thy neb to his ! An', noo, thoo comes wi' smiUn' feace, Just as if nowt hed been ; An' fain wad flaatch me up agean, As if I heddent seen. Nay ! niwer mair I'll trust the' noo, Lang time I've hard eneuf ; Bit agean aw 'at fwok could say, My trustin' love was preuf : 136 The Final Parting. Bit what I saw, I can believe ; Sa', nivver, nivver mair, Will thoo deceive me wi' a smile, Or wi' thy speeches fair. It's laal use noo to think o' t' past, Or talk what mud ha' been ; What happy years we hed i' store. If nowt hed come't atween. Thoo's hed thy choice o' him or me ; To beath a smile thoo gev ; Bit aw thy schemin' noo mun end. For beath thoo cannot hev. Nay ! dunnet say anudder word — For nut a word I'll hear ! Theer was a time when aw thoo sed, Was music in my ear ! The Final Parting. 1 37 Bit, noo, that music 's oot o' teiin ; That voice hes lost its charm ; I saw the' smirk i' Jemmy's feace, An' hod by Jemmy's arm ! 1.^.8 KEAT CRAAL. I kent an' auld woman, Keat Craal was her neam ; An* auld-fashin't body, beath wrinkle't an' leam : She sed, she was canny an' active when young ; Bit, Lord, she was alter'd ! aw'd fail'd bit her tongue. Her mem'ry was good : she'd tell whoar an' when, Owt strange hed tean pleace, for three-scwore year an' ten ; Ses she, 'T this warld I've seen some queer scrowes; An' langer yan bides in't an' queerer it growes. Keat Craal. 139 " When I was a young lass aboot sebenteen, Nowt smarter was Peerath an' Carel atween ; ^Vhoa^iwer I went — to dance, market, or fair, I alius bed sweethearts, far mair nor my share. "I flirtit wi' this, an' I flirtit wi' t' tudder, Till sometimes aboot me, they'd feight yan anudder; An' oft for a brek when tean tudder they'd bang, I'd slipe \vi' anudder, an' wid him wad gang ! "Oh ! man, aboot harvest sec jwokes we oft hed, When whinbobs an' hoUins we pot into bed ; An' than we wad lissen hoo t' shearers wad shoot, When they pop't into bed, bit far sharper pop't oot ! "Beside bein' canny, reet weel I could sing, An' aw t' lads i" t' toonship 1 hed in a string ; Just when I was twenty, it's trew, I declare — My choice 1 could hed iv a dozen or mair. 140 Keat Craal. "They talk't hoo they lov't me, an' aw sec as that; Bit nowt bit a laugh an' sneck-possets they gat : Till yan an' anudder began to tail ofif, An' at five-an'-twenty, I'd nin sa much loff. "At thirty, I fand through my fingers I'd leuk't, An' was riddy to jump at t' furst finger 'at creuk't : Oor Tommy was daftish, an' feckless, teii ; Bit when he wad hev me — Lord ! what could I deu?" HI SOAVIN' TIME. 'Twas someway on i' soavin' time, An' frosty, I remember ; Fwok soav't far leater than nor noo, Sometimes quite through November ; 'At Gwordie Cwoats, an' Scott, an' me, Oor suppers Avhen we'd gitten, A walk wad tak, to streight oor legs, 'At cravvick't war wi' sitten'. Fra Girsmere quite up t' Raise we clam. An' warm't oorsels wi' walkin' ; An' menny a laugh we gat at Scott, For he dud t' main o' t' talkin'. 142 Soavin Time. A walk he sed wad deu us good ; Says I, "We'll gang to t' top, than :" When just wi' that a voice we hard, 'At sed, "Wilt'e come op, than?" For full a minute, mebby mair, We steud stock still an' lissent ; Says I, "It's farder up on t' rwoad ;" Says Scott, "Nay, nay, it issent !" An' pointin' wi' his hand, says he, " T' soond com fra ower theer ; Nut far fra t' intack boddem, min, Or else my lug's a leear." " Come op ! " we hard agean or lang ; An' Scott was nut mistakken : 'Cross t' field we went, an' theer we fand, What 'twas 'at t' row was makken, Soavhi Time. 143 A man an' horse war theer ; an' t' feul A hog-wholl" through hed croppen ; An' t' bridle rme he poo't an' poo't, An' theer he was, "Come op-pen' !" " Ho ! ho ! " says Scott, "What hev we here? What chance hes browt ye hidder ? " Says t' man, "I cuddent tell ye that, I 's maizelt awtogidder ; I've wander't roond an' roond that field. Bit finnd a way oot, cuddent ; I think I nivver com thro' here " — Says Scott, " I's seur t' nag duddent !" We browt them beath away to t' yat, An' when oot theer he'd gitten, An' fand his-sel yance mair on t' rwoad, Astride o' t' galloway sitten : * * A "hog-wholl" is a hole about two feet high by eighteen inches wide, through the bottom of a stone fence, for the sheep to pass from one field to another. 144 Soavin Time. He thank't us ower an' ower age^n ; An' than to 'scekpe Scott's banter, He gev his nag a sharpish switch, An' set off in a canter. H5 WHAT MATTER? Hut, min ! what matter ? she's nobbut a woman ; Brek nin o' thy heart aboot that. Theer' good fish i' t' sea, min, as ivver com oot on't; When thoo's elder, thoo'll finnd oot what's what \\Tien next thoo leets on her be quite independent; Keep whusseHn' Rory o' More ; To shew 'at thoo's meny, an' cares laal aboot her — Thoo'll seiin put her intul a stoor. Some women gang alius by t' reiils o' contrary; If thoo whinges an" begs, thoo may whinge ; Bit if thoo puts on a fine "What care I," swagger, They'll turn roond an' follow an' cringe. II, iO 146 What matter ? If t' warst come to t' warst, an' thoo happens to Iwose her ; T' warst 'ill mappen be t' best i' t' lang end. If she dussent want the', thoo's better withoot her; O' that thoo may seafly depend. Seah keep up thy spirits, an' sing rompti-addity ! Ya laugh's worth a hundred greans. She's nobbut a Avoman, min, care nowt aboot her ; Theer' plenty mair left when she's gean ! 147 OOR BETTY. Oor Betty's alius wawin', wawin', Theer' summet ivver gangin' ^vTang ; Nowt in this warld, o' that I's sarten, Wad keep her fra her wawin' lang ! Oor Betty's alius scrattin', scrattin', Enevif she thinks she'll nivver git ; Fra seun i' t' mwom to leat i' t' ibnin', Scearce a minute will she sit. Oor Betty's alius scrubbin', scrubbin', Aye scoorin', rubbin', dustin' still ; T' wark she does, i' nowt bit cleanin', Tek hofe o' t' younger mak wad kill. 1 48 Oor Betty. Oor Betty's yan amang a thoosand ; An' efter aw 's been sed an' deun, Theer' nobbut oddens better leukin', When deck't up i' t' eftemeun. Oor Betty's yabble, an' she's wiUin', To help a neighbour in a strait ; An' iwer riddy when she's wantit, — Ifs an' a7is she duzzent wait. Oor Betty's yan o' t' best in England, Let t' tudder come fra whoar she will ; For whedder wawin', scrattin', scrubbin', Her heart 'ill be i' t' reet pleace still. 149 GRUMMELIN' FARMERS. Fwok talk aboot grammelin' farmers, An' thrum ower an auld cuckoo shoot ; Bit few ivver think or consider, Hoo much they've to grummel aboot. Theer rents heigh eneuf to begin wi', For t' landhvords ur raisin' them still ; An' what is ther' for 't, bit to gi' them 't ; If ye dunnet, somebody will. Theer cesses an' taxes iv aw maks ; T' collecters ur nivver away ; Ye'r hand's nivver oot o' ye'r pocket ; Theer nowt for 't bit — grummel an' pay. 150 Grummelin Farmers. Fwok talk aboot t' balance at t' bankers ; Oh ! man, but they're sadly wrang ; Ye mak bits o' brass, theer neah doot on't, Bit whativver ye mead it wad gang. Theer bills fra coo-doctors an' blacksmiths, They're wantin' their money o' t' day ; An' sarvents, industrious or lazy, Ye hev them their wages to pay. An', than, ye hev losses an' crosses ; Ye'r sheep dee 1' t' seekness or t' sowt : If milk coo or nag chance to torfet, Anudder 'ill hev to be bowt. Theer flees to demolish ye'r turnips ; Theer grubs aw ye'r havver to eat ; An' crops 'at ye thowt sud be heavy, '111 come off bit stragglet an' leet. Gnimmeli7i Farmers. 1 5 i What varmint theer fashes a farmer, Theer nowt bit a farmer 'at knows ; Theer wissels, an' foomarts, an' foxes, An' rabbits, an' pheasants, an' crows. An, than, theer cross wedder to feight wi' ; It's coald when it sud ha' been het ; An' i' spring oft when gurse sud be giowm", it's dry when it sud ha' been wet. Wet wedder 'ill oft come i' hay-time, When t' men for a month are just hir't ; Ye may wish for fine wedder, an' wish fort, An' oft hev to wish till ye'r tir't. It's nobbut a few things I've mention't, 'At bodder poor farmers at times ; Udder plagues I could neam withoot number, They'd hod oot far langer nor t' rhymes. 152 Grummeun Farmers. Bit plenty I've telt, I've a nwotion, Befwore aw my rhymes ur run oot ; To show fvvok 'at farmers 'at grummel, Hev plenty to grummel aboot. THE HOBTHRUSH. them auld times, lang lang sen, — when ivvery lonely pleace amang t' fells hed it' oan boggle or ghost, when auld women an' black cats war nivver seafe o' bein' droon't or burn't for witches, an' when here an' theer i' some oot o' t' way pleaces ho'uthrushes dud aw maks o' queer pranks an' unposiible feats, — theer leev't up aside Watendleth tarn an' auld crusty tyke iv a farmer they caw't Jos Harry. He was yan o' them can- tankarous, cankert, cmsty auld fellows yan sometimes leets on noo a days, for they're nut quite o' deid yet. Yan 'at neah body could talk teii five minutes 154 ^>^^ Hobtkrush. without hevven an argiment aboot summet or anudder. If ye'd sed tuU him, " It's a fine day ; " he wad mebby ha' sed, " Who sed it wassent ? " If ye'd axt him hoo he was, t' answer as Hke as nut wad ha' been, " Does 't male enny odds to the' ! " Hooivver, it was sec an oot o' t' way pleace whoar he leev't at, theer wassent menny fwok he could git a fratch wi', an' for that reason he nivver miss't an opportunity when he hed a chance. At that time just ower t' fell fra t' Watendleth, in a wood abeun t' Rostwhate, fwok sed theer leev't a hobthrush. I could nivver larn what shap it was, or what colour or what size, or owt aboot it ; bit yan use' to hear o' some parlish feats it hed deiin i' Borrowdale an' udder deals as weel. Sometimes in a mwornin' when fwok gat up they fand a field o' gurse mown, or a field o' hay they left oot t' neet afwore aw hoose't, or mappen aw their lock o' havver thresh't an' deetit. It was a teptious kind iv a thing teii, for if fwok gat t' wrang The Hobthrush. 155 way on 't, it wassent to tell t' mischeeves it wad ha' deun them. Sometimes when fwok hed hoose't hay aw t' day, an' thowt they'd mead a good darrick, they wad ha' fund it aw oot in t' lield agean t' next mwornin' I Or, mebby, when they gat up in a mwornin' aw their kye wad ha' been milk't, an' aw maks o' tricks o' that kind it gat t' bleame on. Neah doot it wad be varra convenient for enny ill- dispwos't body, 'at wantit to deu a spiteful action, to hev t' hobthrush to lig t' bleame on. Auld Jos waddent oan 'at he believ't owt aboot enny hobthrushes, an' wad ha' tiire't an' laugh't at fwok when they war tellin' ower what it dud ; bit he beUev't it aw t' seam. It was nobbut for t' seake o' contradiction he sed he duddent. He hed a sarvant lass they caw't Mary Wilkinson, 'at was t' best match for him iv enny body ivver he leet on ; for whativver he sed tuU her she alius gev him as good as he sent. She was a girt strappen, lish hussy, an' was tiate o' nowt. She wad ha' carry' t 156 The Hobthrush. a girt heavy sheet-full o' hay up t' fell breest, or clip't a sheep oot o' t' whicks, or soav't yan as weel as enny man in owder Watendleth or Borrowdale. It happen' t ya hay-time 'at t' wedder was varra shoory, as it oft is amang t' fells, an' Jos hed a gay lock o' gurse doon, an' that meade him crosser nor iwer, if that was possible. Ya week it rain't ivvery day till Setterday, an' that day was darkish till ameast neun, an' than it clear't oot, an' was a regular whurler. Fvvok gat aw into t' hoose 'at iwer they'd brokken, an' a lock o' them wish't they'd venter' t mair. Auld Jos gat a good slipe in as weel as t' rest, bit he hed ya field i' girt cock, they caw't Farclwose, 'at they duddent brek ; an' when t' day gat oot sa' fine, it was ower leat to scail't, an' seah it wad ha' been as weel to say nowt aboot it. Bit that wassent Jos's way. He went on grummehn' aw t' efterneun. Aboot ivvery ten minutes it was, " I wish t' Far- clwose hed been brokken." T' lass dud nowt bit The Hohthrush. 157 laugh at him, an' tell't him she thowt they war deuin' ivver sa finely ; they war gitten a good slipe in, an' he'd better mak hissel content. Hooivver, he grummel't on as lang as iwer he was up, an' went grummelin' to bed. T' last thing Mary hard when he turn't t' stairs landin' was, " I wish we'd nobbut brokken t' Farclwose ! " As seun as they'd aw gone to bed bit t' lass, an' aw was whyet, what dud she deu bit slip oot, an' away to t' Farclwose, an' faw to wark an' skail oot iwery haycock in t' field. She than com heam agean, slip't whyetly in an' to bed withoot ennybody seein' her. T' next mwornin' it was rainin' pell mell. 'WTien auld Jos com doon his fiirst words war, "I wish, to the lord, we'd brokken that Farclwose yesterday." Mary laugh't in her sleeve, bit sed nowt. It pot on till aboot mid fwomeun, when Jos com in leukin' varra scar't like, an' sed, 158 The Hobthrush. " What ! t' hobthnish's been in oor Farclwose yesterneet" " T' hobthrush ! " ses Mary. " I thowt, maister, ye duddent believe i' hobthrushes ? " "Wy! I know nowt aboot it," ses he, "I know 'at t' hay's aw spread cot, an' it 'ill be as wet as if it hed been trail't through t' beck." "Aye!" ses Mary, "that's like enelif. It some- times happens when fwok grummel when they've neah kashon to grummel, they git rayder mair nor they bargin't for." 159 ILL-GIEN GOSSIPS. Plague on that slanderin' tongue, 'at still Is whisperin' o' its neighbours' ill ; An' blast that ill teiin't ear, 'At deif to aw 'at's good an' pure, '111 oppen like a swine-hull deur, A filthy teal to hear ! Blear't be that jandic't, squintin' eye, 'At bad intention still can spy, A neighbour's ways amang : It's like a Jack-wi'-t'-lantem leet, 'At hings ower durty spots at neet, Daft travellers leadin' wrang ! i6o Ill-gien Gossips. Ill luck to t' brazzent, shamless feace, 'At smirks an' smiles when some disgrekce Hings ower a hapless soul : That feace 'at laughs at udder's ill, Bit when yan weel succeeds, 'ill still Wi' envious malice scowl ! Ill faw that wretch 'at cannot feel, Exaltin' thrill for udder's weel, Nor pang for udder's woe. Lap't up in his bit worthless sal', Neah cheerful stwory he can tell, Neah kindly feelin' know. May he, despis't by young an' auld, Be whidderin' left i' t' storm an' coald. Like wretch 'neath popish ban. A kindly word he nivver sed ; A kindly thowt he nivver hed ; For his poor fellow-man. i6r T FLEET O' TIME. Days, weeks, an' months gang glidin' by. Like cloods across a summer sky ; They come, an' meast afwore we know, They're gone agean like April snow. Fair Spring, wi' laughin' feace, we see, I' green don up field, bush, an' tree ; Bit scearce we've time, " Hoo sweet !" to say, Till Summer's here, an' Spring's away. Prood Summer marchin' by 's noo seen, Cled in a robe o' darker green ; Bit aw t' fine trimmin's hardly on. Till Autumn comes, an' Summer's gone. IL 11 1 62 T Fleet 6 Time. Fields, woods, an' trees we than behold, r purple, orange, green an' gold ; Bit Winter seun wi' vengeful spite, Maks t' trees aw bare, an' t' tields aw white. Thus season follows season roond. Like speeks o' wheels, noo up noo doon ; An' we, midge like, awhile hod on, Bit seun drop off, oor bit time gone. Sen we war barnes, withoot a care. Like plants i' Spring, young, fresh, an' fair ; To leiik back seems like yesterday, An' noo we're growin' auld an' grey. A few mair turns o' t' wheel, an' than, Oor hoalds 'ill slacken, yan by yan ; An' we'll be left by t' side o' t' way, For time 'ill nowder stop nor stay. i63 SEC WARK ABOOT A MAN. O Ipavin' days ! sec wark theer is, An' aw just ower a man ; Theer hofe a dozen, which for which, To git him if they can. Theer Betty cocks her cap an' smirks, An' thinks his wife to be ; Lord, bless me weel ! hoo daft fwok ur ; He'll wed nin, nay, nut he ! Theei Sally, teu, an auld daft thing ; Yan thowt mair sense she hed. She's forty, noo, if she's a day; An' wi' a lad wad wed. 1 64 S^c wark aboot a man. An' than theer Aggie — ha ! ha ! ha ! She cocks her wedder e'e ; An' ses, "Just wait a bit, an' than, Thoo'U mebby summet see." Theer twea-three mair I willent nekm, An' they're aw just as bad ; What is t'er at him, bless me weel ! To mak fwok aw gang mad ! I met him t' tudder neet mysel', He sed nowt much amiss ; He talk't some nonsense aboot love, An' fain wad hed a kiss. What mair he sed, an' what I sed, Yan issent ty't to tell ; I think, if I my cards play reet, I'll mappen win mysel i65 DICK WATSON. Yance on a time a man theer leev't, 'At oft wi' jealous thowts was griev't, Dick Watson was his nekm. His wife was Betty, and for t' life They leev't o' bickerin' an' strife, They tean wad t' tiidder bleam. A roysterin' butcher went that way, 'At oft to Betty things wad say, 'At rile't auld Watson sair. Reet savage war his leliks, an' soor, « While Betty steud an' gaff't at t' dooer, An' nivver seem't to care. 1 66 Dick Watson. 'Twas on ya coald November neet, They coorin' sat by t' fire o' peet, While t' reek ower t' hearth dud pufF. When Betty fain a crack wad hev, While newt for answer Watson gev, Bit an' ill-nater't gruff. At last up steud Dick, brant an' streight, An' leukin' fra his biggest height, Sed, " If thoo wants a crack, Put on thy hat an' cloak, an' gang Whoar thoo's been hingin' efter lang, — Ga off to Abram Jack." "Reason!" ses Betty, "reason, man! Just reason, Watson, if thoo can — An' think hoo kind he's been I For years oor swines he's kilt for nowt ; An' aw oor coaves an' fat sheep bowt, An' t' best o' prices gien." Dick Watson. 167 "What can yan reason, dus t'e think?" Ses Dick; "Yan cannot git a glass o' drink, Bit iwok mun laugh an' hint. Beside, I've seen an' hard mysel', Eneuf 'at I wad scworn to tell, — Theer is neah reason in't. "I'll tell the' what I's gaan to deii; Tak nwotish, for I mean it, teu ; Seah, thoo may let him know. If ivver he comes here agean, I'll shut him deid as cobble stean, As I wad shut a crow ! " Just then ootside a soond — thump ! thump ! Mead Watson start, an' Betty jump, While beath their mooths geap't wide. Thump ! thump ! agean. Ses Dick, " He's th'jer : Talk o' the divvel, he'll appear : I'll shut him ! Stand aside !" 1 68 Dick Watson. Fra t' chimley boak his gun he teuk, An' bleudy murder in his leuk, Oot into t' neet he stryad. An' than to owder see or hear, If Abram Jack was sneaken theer, He Uke a statue steud. Through t' murky darkness seiin he saw, A heid peep ower t' low garden wo'. An' than pop oot o' seet. Ses Watson, " If thoo be a man, Tell what thoo's wantin', if thoo can. At this deid time o' neet ! " Agean t' heid peep't, bit nivver spak ; Agean Dick Watson silence brak ; Ses he, " Speak, or I'll shut ! I'll send through't hofe an oonce o' leid. If up agean thy turnip heid, Abeun that wo' thoo' 11 put ! " Dick Watson. 169 Than slowly up com t' heid agean — A flash, a crack, an awful grean, Through t' neet's still darkness ran ! In Watson rush't through t' oppen dooer, An' white as sheet stelid up on t' flure, Ses he, " I've shot a man ! " 'Twas Abram's voice, a deep base grean ! Oh ! hed I letten him alean ! Whativver mun be deiin ? Oh ! Betty, thoo mun stick to me, An', like a cleg, I'll stick to thee ; An' we by t' leet o' t' meim, " Will tak him oor oan fields across, An' hap him up i' Rontry moss, Doon in a peetpot deep : Whoar mappen nivver he'll be fund. Till thee an' me be under t' grund, If we oor secret keep ! " 170 Dick Watson. Says Betty, " Nay, thoo cannot 'sceap ; Aboot thy neck thoo'll git a reap ; Thoo'll hing on t' gallows tree ! Thoo's tean thy can ill-temper't way ; Thoo for thy feulishness mun pay; Thoo'll hang ! an' that thoo'll see 1 " " Oh ! Betty, Betty, come away ! Sec dreedful things thoo munnet say ! To hide him let us gang ! Forgie me this time, if thoo will. An' what thoo bids me, I'll deu still, Let it be reet or wrang ! " " Wy, wy," ses Betty, " if I mun, Put oot o' seat that nasty gun. An' git thysel' a spead : We'll tak him off to t' moss at yance, An' than to 'sceap thoo'll hev a chance,— A bonny job thoo's mead ! Dick Watson. 171 " Bit, furst let's see if he be deid ; If nut, a spead thoo willent need ; A doctor we mun hev." Beath went togidder, till they gat To t' pleace whoar t' heid was peepin' at, An' ower a scar't leuk gev ! When Betty t' bleedin' carcase saw, 'At lifeless laid ootside o't wo' — Says she, "Ods wons ! Od rot ! Thoo silly, newdlin', jealous ass, Thoo's nut hofe wise, nor nivver was — Oor oan poor coo thods shot ! " Thoo silly felil ! it's like thy sense ! T' auld coo was stannin' under t' fence, An' rubbin' wi' her heid : An' when it com to t' top o' t' wo', Thoo thowt 'twas Abram Jack thoo saw, An's gean an' shot her deid ! " 172 SPRING'S MISTAK. Grim Winter soond was sleepin' Clwose up by Scawfell-man ; When Spring oot slyly peepin', Her wark o' love began. She cuwer'd t' fields wi' greenness, Invitit t' burds to sing ; An' they, pleas't an' delightit. Mead woods an' groves aw ring. Breet crocuses an' snowdrops, On garden beds war seen ; An' daisies white war scatter't, Ower t' fields so fresh an' green. spring's mistak. 173 Some trees push't oot their blossoms, An' primroses upsprang ; Bit t' auld esh pollard shak't its heid, An' sed 'at Spring was wrang. Beath burds an' flures fell laughin', To hear t' auld knarl'd thing ; Mair buds prepar't for burstin', Mair biu-ds began to sing. Bit t' pollard, neak't an' leafless, Still grummelin' seem't to say, — Young things 'at will be silly, Mun for their daftness pay. Just tell them owt 'at suits them, They're riddy to believe't ; If t' treuth wad nobbut grieve them, They'd rayder be deceiv't. 174 Spring s mistak. Tell them 'at Winter's sleepin', They'll laugh at what ye say ; Bit aw their silly jeerin' '111 nut mak March be May. Wi' that sec sweels o' laughin', Brast oot o' ivvery side ; An' spread ower hills an' valleys, 'Cross t' country far an' wide. Burds, trees, an' flures aw join't in't, Fra t' biggest, aye, to t' least ; Till t' echo fra Helvellyn, Rang far up Scawfell breest. At last grim Winter snworin', Up in a snow-druft theer, Sprang up an' thunner't madly, "What's aw this din I hear? spring 's mistak. 1 7 5 Shut up your buds an' blossoms, Your seasons lam to know ; Keen frost, gang stop their silly pranks ; Blow fiercely east wind, blow !" Seiin t' burds war sad an' silent. An' t' flures their heids low hung Bit t' pollard growl't oot gruffly, "I telt you Spring was wTang. When t' best o' frinds advise ye, Ye'll hev your awn daft way ; As if a sunny mwornin' Wad mak March into May ! " 176 AULD CURSMAS. Spring, summer, an' autumn war here an' ur gone, An' winter, coald winter, agean hes com on ; Poor robin's at t' window to watch for his crumbs, An' mittens ur laatit for fingers an' thumbs. Noo cheerful auld Cursmas is on us yance mair, Wi' his lang snowy beard an' his thin silver hair ; An' a smile on his feace, as merry as when Oor 'greit, greit granfadders war nobbut young men. He ses, (as he botches his shooders,) ses he, " Ye'r yule logs git riddy, I's cummin', ye see ; Ye'r misseltoe bunches on t' mid-ceilin's hing ; Ye'r laurels an' hollies wi' red berries bring. A uld Cursmas. 1 7 7 I's cummin', Ts cummin', auld wives beak ye'r pies; Some big uns, some laal uns, some ivvery size ; Ye'r frinds 'ill be cummin' expectin' to meet, A reet hearty welcome their cummin' to greet ; Ye fwok 'at hev plenty, bring oot ye'r good cheer ; An' doff off ye'r churlishness noo when I's here. Put a smile on ye'r feaces, an' banish yer cares ; Forgit aw ye'r seavin', ye'r banks, an' ye'r shares ! Just think hoo ye've prosper't sen I was here last ; An' shew yoursels grateful for aw blessin's past ; Ye've hed luck i' handfuls, an' joy i' full weight, While some hev hed laal bit a toil an' a feiarht. O Just oppen ye'r hearts an' ye'r hands for a while — Ye hev't in ye'r power to mak poverty smile ; An' t' greitest o' blessin's I bring i' my train, Is t' sympathy shewn to poor misery an' pain. Help that misery to lessen, an' than nivver fear, Ye'll hev what I wish ye — a Happy New Year ! n. 12 POLITICAL ECONOMY. POLITICAL ECONOMY. OM. What thinks t'e Dick aboot aw thur strikes, an' turnoots, an' lockoots, an' things 'at t' papers ur full on ivvery week ? What's this warld gante git teu efter a bit, I wonder ; theer use to be nowt o' t' mak when thee an' me war young. Dick. Neah, neah ! fifty or sixty years hev meade a girt change i' t' way o' carryin' on, an' I think t' meast part o' things ur chang't for t' better. Theer' some fwok 'ill maunder on an' talk aboot good auld times, an' hoo fwok use to deu lang sen; bit I think theer' nut yan in a thoosand 'at ur alive noo, 'at wad care to leeve as they leev't, an don as they don't, or deu a deal o' things as they dud three scwore year sen. 1 8 2 Political Economy. Tom. Mebby nut : bit hoo aboot thur trades' unions, an' strikes, an' sec like — ur they aw for good ? Ur they aw improvements, thinks t'e ? Dick. Theer' issent a bit o' doot bit trades unions hev deun a deal o' good to wark-fwok, i' t' way o' gitten them better wages, shorter 'oors, an' sec like ; an' strikes, for aw they cause a deal o' distress, an' deu ill eneuf t' time they last, ur like war an' some udder bad things, necessary evils, mebby. Thoo sees, when t' men think 'at they sud hev mair wage, an' t' maisters doon't want to gi' them't, an' beath sides think they're reet, an' bekth git stupid, it ends wi' a strike, an' beath parties mebby throw twice as mickle oot o' their pockets as owt they war disputin' aboot. Tom. Thoo talks aboot necessary evils, an' theer seems to be laal doot bit they're varra girt evils; bit for my part I cannot see 'at they're necessary at aw. Theer nivver use to be owt o' t' kind lang sen. Wark-fwok dud withoot them than. What's t' reason they cannot deu \\ithoot them noo? Political Economy. 1 8 3 Dick. They dud withoot them, we know ; an' they dud withoot a lot o' mair things 'at they hev noo. Thoo knows 'at they use to be treatit like dogs, while they leev't like pigs. It use to be 'at if a fellow waddent work as lang 'oors, an' for as laal a wage as a maister thowt fit, he mud gang whoar he like't : an' if, as it oft happen't, he duddent know what way to gang to mend his-sel, he hed to grub away fra leet to dark for a canny laal. Thoo knows them lines by Bobby Bums : — See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil : And see his lordly fellow worm The poor petition spurn. Unmindful, though a weeping wife. And helpless offspring mourn. That's t' way 'at labourin' fwok war situatit i' Bums' time, aboot fower scwore year sen. A deal o' that's alter't noo, an' t' rest 'ill be alter't i' time, I've laal fear, when worken fwok hev gitten to thinkin' for theirsels, an' understandin' things better. Tom. WTiat wad t'e gang farder yet ? It seems 1 84 Political Economy. to me 'at things hev ge^n ower far noo, for wages ur gitten to sec a pitch, an' t' 'oors 'at they work for them sa' short, 'at if they alter much mair i' t' sekm direction, t' men 'ill git to be maisters, an' t' maisters 'ill hev to be t' men. Dick. Thoo needent be a bit flate o' that. Money's t' girt reuler i' this warld, an' them 'at hev it 'ill alius be t' maisters, as lang as t' warld stands. When theer a strike, an' t' maisters give in, it's nut because they're fworc't teu't, it's because they see 'at they're mair oot o' pocket ivvery week wi' aw their mills an' machinery stannin' idle, nor they wad be if they paid t' men t' advance o' wages 'at they wantit. Tom. Bit I see 'at theer some o' thur newspaper fellows 'at think fwok sud aw be equal, 'at theer sud be neah upper, an' middle, an' lower classes, 'at yans as good as anudder, an' 'at aw fwok through t' country sud be iv a height. What does thoo think aboot that? Dick. I'll tell the' what I think. I think theer' a laal bit o' treuth in't, an' a girt deal o' balderdash. Political Economy. 1 8 5 Fwok ur aw mead i' t' seam way, o' t' se^m mak o' stuff, an' for aw they hevvent aw t' seam gifts an' ability to larn gien, if they war aw browt up i' t' seam way, an' aw had t' seam chances, theer' some 'at wad be gayly nar t' top o' tree 'at ur nut far fra t' boddom noo. I hevvent a grain o' doot bit theer' as good men i' ivvery respect to be pick't oot iv a gedd'rin' o' five or six hundred workin' men as theer is oot o' t' seam number in a Queen's drawin' room, where nowt bit t' nobs ur alloo't to gang. What than ! that doesn't bring us a bit nearer bein' equal. Neah body 'at hed as mickle sense as my dog wad ivver talk sec rubbish as that. Tom. ^^'hat, if t' heigher an' t' lower classes ur aw mead o' t' seam way, o' t' seam mak o' stuff, an' hev t' seam talents gien to them, I cannot see enny reason 'at tean sud be sa mickle abeun t' tudder. Can thoo? Dick. Aye, reasons plenty to satisfy me 'at it issent possible 'at aw fwok ivver can be equal in enny country. I' t' furst pleace, as I sed befwore, t' rich fwok 'ill alius be ower t' poor fwok, as lang 1 86 Political Economy. as t' warld lasts, because money 'ill alius buy power, an' respect, an' ameast ivvery thing else 'at sets ya body abeun anudder. F t' second pierce, theer 'ill alius be rich an' poor fwok, as lang as theer' seavers an' spenders, misers an' waistrels, generous fwok an' shabby fwok, cunnin' fwok an' simple fwok, honest fwok an' rogues, wise fwok an' feuls. I'll admit 'at a good, wise, an' clever man, let him be ivver sa' poor, is better in ivvery way nor a rich man 'at's nut particularly owder clever or good ; bit t' rich fellow will be a lang way abeun t' poor fellow for aw that. If a man be ivver sa' clever, he mun use his cleverness to git money befwore he mun expect to hev much owder power or influence amang fwok. An' than t' best reason iv aw 'at fwok cannot be equal is, 'at they nivver try ; bit i'steed o' that, aw t' fwok i' t' warld ur reamen t' best they can to git yan abeun anudder. It's i' t' varra nater o' things, an' it's t' nater o' t' beast 'at maks t' hair growe. We needent gang up to lords an' dukes, an' doon to tramps an' beggars, to see hoo fwok set theirsels up yan abeiin anudder. Cannot we see eneuf on 't Politica I Economy. 1 8 7 i' iwery parish an' neighbourhood? Furst, theer' t' set wi' their three or fower hundred a year a piece, 'at can leeve a kind o' independent, an' hev "squire" set on t' back o' their letters. If they or their wives or dowters ivver mix amang t' farmers or trades- fvvok, they tak good care to mak them understand hoo far they've condescendit, an' sec an' honour they've deun them. Next theer' t' farmers, an' tradesmen, an' their wives an' dowters, wad a deal o' them throw up their nwoses, an' put on a leuk as if they'd been suppin' vinegar, if they war to gang tull a party, an' fand two or three sarvants or laberin' fwok invitit to tak tea wi' them. An' if yan gangs lower still to 'mang a lot o' sarvants, theer 'ill be upper sarvants, an' middle sarvants, an' under sarvants, an' they'll be* yan Iworden't ower anudder t' best they can. I hewent a bit o' doot i' my awn mind, bit if theer war just three fwok left in a country, theer wad be t' maister, t' heid sarvent, an' t' slush. Tom. What's t' meanin' o' aw this noise aboot liberty, equality, an' fraternity, 'at they mak i' 1 88 Political Economy. France ? I see 'at theer' some i' this country bodderen' aboot it an' aw. If it be as thoo ses, 'at fwok cannot aw be equal, what's t' use o' talkin' sa' much aboot it. Dick. Thoo cuddent tak a better example nor France to preuve 'at fwok cannot aw be equal in enny country, for they've talk't aboot it noo lor abeiin a hundred year, an' mair they talk an' farder they seem to git away fra 't. Tom. By jing! they've delin mair ner talk sometimes. I was readin' t' tudder day aboot t' French revolution 'at began i' sebbenteen hundred an' eighty-nine ; an' a bonny time it was amang them for menny a year efter. What ! they beheidit t' king, an' t' queen, an' hundreds o' girt fwok beside, an' teuk what they hed, an' dud as they like't wi' 't. Yan mud ha' thowt 'at when they hed o' things to bits, 'at they mud ha' mead aw fwok equal than if if ivver it could ha' been deun. Dick. Enny felil may poo things doon, thoo knows, bit it taks a chap 'at hes some skill to put them up agean. Enny girt lumpheid could poo oor Political Economy. 189 clock to bits ; bit if he dud it in t' crazy way 'at they poo't things to bits i' France, it wad tak a clever fellow to put it togidder agean; for varra likely t' better hofe o' t' wheels wad be smash' t. Beside that, by t' accoonts 'at I've read aboot t' revolution o' eighty-nine — an' menny a revolution they've hed i' France sen that — they nivver try't to mak things equal, bit war alius feighten whilk o' them mud hev t' meast say, an' tryin' yan to crow ower anudder; an' if thoo taks nwotish, it alius happen't 'at them fellows 'at mead meast noise aboot liberty an' equality, an' shootit t' loodest, "Doon wi' t' tyrants!" war alius t' biggest tyrants theirsels as seun as ivver they gat t' upper hand. They may talk aboot equality as much as they like, an' turn't what side up they like, an' what side afwore, an' it 'ill alius amoont to t' seam thing, an' they'll just be as far off't as they war when Sampson was a laal lad. Tom. Theer' anudder thing I see i' t' papers : theer' some o' them speechifyen fellows think 'at t' land's gitten into far ower few hands, an' 'at it sud 1 90 Political Economy. be dividit oot afresh amang mair fwok, an' into less bits. What thinks t'e aboot that ? Dick. Aye, that's anudder silly nwotion, i' my opinion. I cannot see 'at land's enny different fra owt else 'at can be bowt an' selt. Yan may see advertisements o' land to sell iwery week, an' enny body can buy't 'at hes money to pay for 't wi' ; an' when a man hes bowt it an' pay't for 't, I can't see bit it's as much his awn, to deu what he likes wi', as t' hat I hev on my heid, or t' shoon I hev on my feet ur mine to weer, or give away, or deu what I like wi'. Tom. Bit they say 'at thur girt fwok tak far ower mickle o' t' land for their awn plesser an' amusement, makkin't into deer-parks, an' plesser- grunds, an' sec like. I hardly think 'at that can be reet, when aw t' land i' t' country 'ill nut growe as much as 'ill feed t' fwok 'at ur in't. Dick. It may seem nut at t' furst leuk ; an' efter aw I think theer' nut sa menny fwok 'at wad vwote for aw t' plesser grunds, an' aw t' fine auld trees aboot t' gentlemen's hooses, bein' reiitit up, Political Economy. 1 9 1 an' t' grand plantit wi' cabbige an' taties. We hear a deal aboot liberty, an' freedom, an' sec like, an' we wad grummel neah laal if theer was a law mead forbidden' us to plant in oor gardens a bit flure, or owt bit what yan could eat ; an' yet that wad be just as reasonable as to forbid t' gentry to mak plesser grands. Tom. What aboot thur girt deer-parks 'at they tell aboot than ? I think it mun be a girt weast to keep sec demains o' fine land, wi' nowt i' them bit them things 'at ur likely good for laal bit to leuk at. Dick. I fancy a deal o' t' fine demains o' land 'ill be laal bit craggy moors, an' grund 'at wad niwer pay for cultivaten if yan hed it for nowt, mebby ; for I think 'at t' meast part o' t' landlwords know t' vally o' land ower weel to let it lig idle if they thowt they could git enny rent for 't. At enny rate, I think at a man whedder he be a nobleman or a poor fellside statesman, if he hes land 'at's fairly an' honestly his awn, hes a parfet reet to put it to enny, or whativver use he hes a mind. I think 'at if a guvverment begins to meddle wi' sec things 192 Political Economy. as them, they'll hev to deu away wi' aw useless things whativver. It wad be just as reasonable to forbid thee or me to keep a pet dog or a pet burd, as to forbid a gentleman to keep deer, for aw t' difference theer is i' t' two things is 'at t' gentleman can affword to keep deer, an' we can affword to keep nowt bigger ner a dog or a burd. They'll nin o' them leeve withoot meat ; an' if theer be enny difference t' deer ur o' mair use, for they're eatable, an' a dog issent. T' trelith o' t' matter is, Tom, a deal o' thur fellows 'at mak speeches an' write in t' newspapers, ur wonderfully clever at stringen words togidder, an' makken them leuk sa plausable an' fine 'at it's neah wonder if they deceive a deal o' fwok 'at willent bodder to think for thersels. If thoo'U tak yan o' their fine clues an' hev patience to reavell't oot for theesel, thoo'll oft finnd at t' garn 'at aw t' fine wurds ur strung on 's nowt bit shoddy ; an' when it's brokken at two or three pleaces, they're nowder summet ner nowt. G. AND T. COWARD, PRINTERS, CARLISLE. Price 5s. Small Crown 8vo. Extra Cloth binding. ECHOES OF OLD CUMBERLAND. Poems and Translations. By MISS POWLEY. A collection of poem.s written in a simple, unpretending style, the chief merit of which lies in their interesting representation of local scenes and old habits and customs now passing away. — Saturday Revieiv. The pieces which we like best in Miss Powley's collection are those M'ritten in the North Country dialect. They are simple and pathetic, and not without a vein of humour. The stor^' of the C'umberlaud sheep-dog, who could not understand the south country farmer, is excellent. He ought to be made an honorary member of the English Dialect Society. — West- minster Review. Breathes in almost every line a passionate love for the wild beautiful country which furnishes the author with most of her themes— a lingering, regretful fondness for the old ways and customs that are now almost all dying out, which are truly pathetic. — Scotiinan. The picture of "The Brokken Statesman," thoroughly original in its honest rough tone, is pierced with a pathos that those who know Cumbrian characteristics will be able thoroughly to appreciate. — Lirerpool Albion. Not adaptations of traditional songs and ballads, but in the best sense of the word they are original. — Manchester Examiner. Price 6s. Small Crown 8vo. In extra Cloth binding. LAYS AND LEGENDS OF THE ENGLISH LAKE COUNTRY. With copious Notes. By John Paoen White, F.R.C.S. The book ought to be classic in the Lake Country. — The AtlienoEum. These lays and legends are modern versions — and generally graceful versions — of stories that have loug been current in our Lake Country. With Murray's Handbooh for excurs^ions, tine weather, and this volume at night in the excursiouist's inn, a pleasant and profitable month may be passed in that charming district. — Notes and Queries. The marks of talent are evident on every page. — Pall 2fall Gazette. The book is one that a tourist should be glad to find in a Lake Country inn. — The Academy. CARLISLE: G. it T. COWARD. LONDON: PRMROSE J