Part 11

“I trowe we _swappit_ for the worse, Ga’e the boot an’ better horse.” Song—Carle an’ the King come. “Lal Sim’s geane an’ _swapp’d_ the black cowt.” _Anderson._ Nichol the Newsmonger.

Swat, C, sit down, squat.

“Come, Cuddy, _swat_ an’ tak’ a whiff.” _Anderson._ The Cram.

Sweir, S, loath, unwilling.

“Forsooth they cried, anither gill. For _sweir_ we’re aye to gang awa’.” _Mac Phail._ Song.

T.

Taggelt, C, a scamp.

“He mud know they wor o’ arrant _taggelts_ an’ taistrels.” _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard.

Taistrel, C, a good for nothing.

“Yae son proved a _taistrel_ an’ brak up i’ Lunnon.” _Anderson._ The Twee Auld Men.

Taws, S, a strap of thick leather slit into several tails; an implement of punishment in Scottish schools.

“Never use the _taws_ when a gloom ’ill do the turn.” Proverb.

Tawtie, or Tawtit, S, roughly matted (applied to hair or wool).

“Nae _tautit_ tyke, though ne’er sae duddy.” _Burns._ The Twa Dogs.

Teem, C; Toom, S, empty, pour out.

“About her lank and all o’er-_teemed_ loins.” Hamlet. “And there _toom_ thy brock skin bag.” Ballad—The Fray of Suport.

Teul, C and S, a bad one (probably from devil).

“Let women deu what gud they can, Thur wicked _teùls_ ’ill lee.” Jwohnny and Jenny.

Tew, C, harass, fatigue.

“An’ while they skew’t an’ _tew’t_ an’ swet, Wi’ monie a weary sidle.” _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot.

Theek, S, thatch.

“An’ wi’ a lock o’ his yellow hair, We’ll _theek_ our nest when it blows bare.” Ballad—The Twa Corbies.

Thir, S; Thur, C, these.

“An’ sad an’ silent was the nicht That was atween _thir_ twa.” Ballad—Clark Saunders. “_Thur_ taxes! _thur_ taxes! Lord help us, Amen!” _Ewan Clark._ Ballad.

Thole, S, endure.

“He that has gude crops may _thole_ some thistles.”—Proverb.

Thowless, S and C, soft, inapt.

“Fortune aye favours the active an’ bauld, But ruins the wooer that’s _thowless_ an’ cauld.” _Ramsay._ The Widow.

Threep, S and C, to aver, or argue, insistingly.

“An’ fowk wad _threep_ that she did green For what wad gar her skirl An’ skreich some day.” _Ramsay._ Christ’s Kirk on the Green. “Some _threep_ ’at the times ’ill get better.” _Anderson._ Carel Fair.

Throssle, C, the thrush.

“The _throssle_, when cauld winter’s geane, Aye in our worchet welcomes spring.” _Anderson._ The Lass abeun Thirty.

Throughly, C, corpulent.

“_Throughly?_ ey, a gud yard through an’ mair!” Said of Hannah Page, who sold toffy in Whitehaven.

Thyvel, C, a porridge stick.

“She’ll lick a lean _thyvel_ ’at weds you.” Said to a poor Schoolmaster at Workington.

Tine, S, lose; Tint, lost.

“_Tine_ thimble, _tine_ thrift.”—Proverb.

“O have ye _tint_ at tournament Your sword or yet your spear?” Ballad—The Gay Goss Hawk.

Tip, S and C, a ram.

“She was nae get o’ muirlan’ _tips_, Wi’ tawtit ket an’ hairy hips.” _Burns._ Puir Maillie.

Tipe, C, to drink off.

“_Tipe_ it up an’ hev anudder.”—Common fuddling invitation.

Toozle, S and C, to rub up, to ruffle or make untidy.

“I ance was abused i’ the kirk For _toozling_ a lass i’ my daffin.” _Burns._ The Jolly Beggars.

Top-sark, C, an over-shirt, generally made of coarse woollen cloth.

“We cannot bed ye o’, but we can lend ye _top-sarks_.”—Said to a weather-bound party at Cockley Beck in Seathwaite.

Towp, C, capsize.

“The leevin surs! she _towp’t_ her ower Or yen cud say, ’Od bliss her.” _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot.

Toytle, C and S, totter.

“Tak care thou doesn’t _toytle_ intil t’ beck.” Said to a top-heavy neighbour at Branthwaite.

Tryste, S, an appointed meeting, also to appoint a meeting.

“Crack _tryste_, crack credit.”—Proverb.

“I daurna _tryste_ wi’ you, Willie, I daurna _tryste_ ye here, But I’ll meet wi’ you in heaven Willie, i’ the spring-time o’ the year.” _Aytoun._ Annie’s Tryste.

Tyle, C, to distress, as with pain or fatigue.

“I’s _tyled_ to deeth wid this kurn. I’ve been kurning iver sen mwornin’, an’ I seem as far off butter as iver.” A farmer’s wife.

U.

Unco, S; Unket, C, strange, remarkable.

“A hungry care’s an _unco_ care.”—Proverb.

“What, is there owte _unket_ i’ your country side?” _Anderson._ Bruff Reaces.

Up-bank, C, upwards.

“Till watters run _upbank_ an’ trees they grow down-bank, We niver can leuk on his marrow agean.” _Anderson._ Kit Craffet.

W.

Waistrel, C, an unthrift, a useless fellow.

The late Sergeant Wilkins, in reply to the Court, once defined _waistrel_, not very accurately, as “something spoiled in the manufacture, and sold at half price in the Lowther Arcade.”

Wale, S, choose, choice.

“For sake o’ gear Ane _wales_ a wife as he wad buy a mear.” _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. “The king o’ gude fellows an’ _wale_ o’ auld men.” Song—Auld Rob Morris.

Wankle, C, weakly, flaccid.

“As _wankle_ as a wet seck.”—Common saying.

Wanter, C, one wanting a wife or husband.

“He leeves aw his leane, but he’s seerly to bleame, When a _wanter_ like me’s to be hed sa near heame.” _Anderson._ Auld Robbie Miller.

Wanwauchtie, S, unable to drink freely (wan, un, and waucht a hearty draught.)

“He’s unco _wanwauchtie_ that scunners at whey.”—Proverb.

War-day, C, work-day—so distinguished from the day of rest.

“She cheerfu’ wrowte her _warday_ wark, Than sat down at her wheel.” _Rayson._ Ann o’ Hethersgill.

Ware, S and C, spend.

“Jockey and Jenny they went to the fair, Jockey gave Jenny a penny to _ware_.” Children’s Rhyme.

Wat, S, know.

“She’s a wise wife that _wats_ her ain weird.”—Proverb.

Waukrife, S, wakeful, or preventing sleep.

“Fleas and a girnin’ wife are _waukrife_ bedfellows.” Proverb.

Weird, S, fate, destiny.

“After word comes _weird_, fair fa’ they that ca’ me madam.” Proverb.

Welch, C, saltless, insipid.

“What foats may poddish hev? They may be sooar, seùty, sodden, an’ savvorless, soat, _welsh_, brocken, an’ lumpy!” Common Saying.

Whang, C and S, a strip of leather, a piece cut off anything.

“The mergh o’ his shin bane has run down on his spur leather _whang_.” The Fray of Suport.

“Wi’ sweet milk cheese i’ monie a _whang_.” _Burns._ The Holy Fair.

Whick, C, alive, quick.

“Sec fashions I’ll not follow while I’s _whick_, Lang as plain grogram and thur locks please Dick.” _Ewan Clark._ The Faithful Pair.

Whiles, S, sometimes.

“Wha does the utmost that he can May _whiles_ do mair.” _Burns._ Ep. to Dr. Blacklock.

Whins, C; Whuns, S, furze, gorse.

“When t’ _whins_ is oot o’ blossom kissing’s oot o’ fashion.” Proverb.

Whunstane, S, a kind of hard dark stone.

“Wha’s ragin’ flame an’ scorchin’ heat Wad melt the hardest _whun-stane_.” _Burns._ The Holy Fair.

Whuddering, S and C, shuddering or tremulous in sound.

“_Whudder_ awa’ thou bitter, biting blast.” _Mactaggart._ Mary Lee’s Lament.

Widderful, C, looking withered or unthriven.

“That barne leuks as _widderful_ as if it was its oan gran’-fadder.”—Said of an unhealthy child.

Wimple, S, to curl and wheel as running water.

“But I’ll big a bower on yon green bank sae bonnie, That’s laved by the waters o’ Tay _wimplin’_ clear.” Song—Bonnie Dundee.

Win, S, to make way, to get to.

“Ye maunna think to _win_ through the world on a feather bed.”—Proverb.

Winnock, S, diminutive of window.

“At yon farmer’s _winnock_, nichtly, Still he taks his eerie stan’.” _John Johnstone._ Bodkin Ben.

Winsome, S, winning, attractive.

“She is a _winsome_ wee thing, That sweet wee wife o’ mine.” _Burns._ Song.

Wizzent, C, withered, shrunk.

“He keeps a lad’s heart in his _wizzent_ āld skin.” _Stanyan Bigg._ Granfadder Jones.

Won, S, to exist, to dwell.

“Kissing has _wonn’d_ i’ the world Sin ever there were twa.” Old Song.

Worchet, C, orchard.

“Our meadow sud be a girt _worchet_, An’ growe nowte at o’ but big plums.” _Anderson._ King Roger.

Wrowke, C, to disturb roughly, or stir up.

“I ola’s liked John, but I cared sa lāl for Grace ’at I cūd ha’ teàn her an’ _wrowk’t_ t’ fire wid her.” A Cumberland lady, about her children.

Wudde, S, mad.

“I’ve ridden a horse baith wild an’ _wudde_.” Ballad—Kinmont Willie.

Wummel, C, to enter in a sinuous manner, as an auger bores.

“He’ll _wummel_ his-sel’ intil t’ creuktest rabbit whoal i’ Siddick.”—Said of a terrier.

Y.

Ya, Yan, C, one; Ae and Yin in Dumfriesshire.

_Ya_ is used when the noun indicated is named—_yan_, when it is understood; thus—“How many fwoke was theer?” “_Yan!_” “No’but _yan_?” “No’but _ya_ man!” _Ae_ and _yin_ are used in the same way. The use of the first is illustrated in the conversation without consonants which is said to have come off in a shop in Dumfries—Customer, referring to some cloth, asks, “A’ ’oo?” Shopman assents, “Ou aye, a’ ’oo!” Customer again, “A’ _ae_ ’oo?” Shopman, “Ou aye, a’ _ae_ ’oo!” That is, “All wool?” “O yes, all wool!” “All one (or the same) wool?” “O yes, all one wool!”

Yabble, C, wealthy (literally, able).

“A varra _yabble_ man i’ heeh life was wantan ta simma.” _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard.

Yammer, S and C, to articulate quickly and indistinctly from any feeling.

“Fareweel to the bodies that _yammer_ and prowm.” Song—Bide ye yet. “There’s been a lang _yammer_ in t’ papers last week.” _Dickinson._ Scallow Beck Boggle.

Yewl, C, to weep.

“A lāl thing mak’s a barne _yewl_, an’ a lāl thing mak’s it laugh.”—Proverb.

Yoad and Yad, S and C, a mare.

“Frae Tindal-fell twelve pecks she’d bring— She was a _yad_ fit for a king.” _Anderson._ My bonnie black meer’s deed.

Yoke, S and C, to engage with, to set to, to put a horse to a vehicle, etc.

“At length we had a hearty _yokin_ At sang about.” _Burns._ Ep. to Lapraik.

“An’ they _yoak’t_ it ageàn an’ laid at it wi’ t’ whup.”

_Dickinson._ The Ore Carter’s Wife.

Yowl, S and C, to howl.

“A dog winna _yowl_ an’ ye hit him wi’ a bane.”—Proverb.

GEO: COWARD, PRINTER, 75, SCOTCH STREET, CARLISLE.

A LIST OF BOOKS

PUBLISHED BY

_GEO: COWARD, CARLISLE_.

THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND, to which are added Dialect and other Poems; with Biographical Sketches, Notes, and Glossary. Edited by Sidney Gilpin. With Portrait of Miss Blamire. Small Crown 8vo. Price 7s.

(_A New Edition in preparation._)

One of the most interesting collections of poetry which have been lately published is the “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland.” How many people know anything of Miss Blamire? Yet she was the author of that most beautiful and pathetic of ballads beginning, “And ye shall walk in silk attire.” Every one will, therefore, thank the editor for the conscientious way in which he has issued her pieces, and given us some account of her life. It was she, too, who wrote that other beautiful ballad, worthy of Lady Anne Lindsay, “What ails this heart o’ mine?” which, in our opinion, is poetry full of truth and tenderness. Indeed, we should be disposed to look upon it as a critical touchstone, and to say that those who did not like it could not possibly appreciate true poetry.... We can only advise the reader to buy the book, and we feel sure that he, like ourselves, will be thankful to the editor.—_Westminster Review._

We like the Cumberland Songs a good deal better than the Lancashire ones which we reviewed a fortnight back. There is more go and more variety in them; the hill-air makes them fresher, and we do not wonder that Mr. Gilpin feels—now he has got “tem put in prent”—

Aw England cannot bang them.

We certainly cannot recollect a better collection.... While the author of “Joe and the Geologist” lives, we shall rest assured that the Cumberland dialect will be well represented in verse as well as prose, though we suppose he cannot love to describe the roaring scenes at weddings and the like that his predecessors witnessed.... The dialect is rich in reduplicated words—in good forms—in old English words; and the volume altogether is one that should find a place on the shelf of every reader of poetry and student of manners, customs, and language.—_The Reader._

The truly Cumbrian minstrel towards the close of the last century seems to have approached the Scotch in his pictures of rural courtship, and to have been still greater in his descriptions of weddings, as of some other festivities of a more peculiar character. He had a healthy and robust standard of feminine beauty, and his most riotous mirth was more athletic and less purely alcoholic than that which flourished in Burns’s native soil.—_The Spectator._

These Cumberland lyrics—till now scattered—are on the whole well worth the pains spent on their collection. In some cases, as in those of Relph and Miss Blamire, there is evidence of real genius for the ballad or the eclogue; and with respect to other writers, if the poetic feeling be less deep, humour and keen observation are displayed in dealing with the people and customs of a district which, in its lingering primitiveness and time-honored traditions, is richer in materials for fancy and character than regions which lie nearer the metropolis.—_The Athenæum._

It is seldom that a book compiled on the local principle contains so much good matter as this collection of the “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland.” In the pathetic vein, Miss Blamire is a host in herself; and the humorous and “character sketches,” as we may call them, by various hands, are more vigorous and picturesque, and less vulgar or coarse, than is at all common in the works of local poets. To some readers the peculiar dialect may be objectionable; but to any one who can read Burns, it need be no stumbling-block to the enjoyment of the varied contents of this elegant and well-arranged volume.... The biographical and other notes are carefully and well written, judiciously informative, and not too long.—_Scotsman._

Cumberland has a goodly store of ballads, the natural offspring of her hills and lakes, and fells and “forces,” a wealth of ballad literature, in fact, whereof the Southron in general knows, we fear, but little. Miss Susanna Blamire is a name of celebrity up North, the poetess of Cumberland; and Robert Anderson and many others hold almost equal repute there. Mr. Sidney Gilpin, himself owning a name which has belonged to more than one Cumberland celebrity, has collected and edited a volume of the dialect-songs and ballads, and other specimens of the minstrelsy of his county, and offers it to the appreciation of the English public. The “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland” ought to be a welcome volume to all who can relish the home-spun simple language of a genuine muse of the hills. There is much true and tender poetry in the book, and much rough, natural vigour.—_Morning Star._

Cumberland has found in Mr. Sidney Gilpin an able and zealous champion; and the present collection of her Songs and Ballads, though not, perhaps, absolutely exhaustive, will decidedly extend her poetic fame, and no doubt surprise many even among the students of this peculiar lore.—_Church and State Review._

_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d., in neat Cloth binding._

MISS BLAMIRE’S SONGS AND POEMS; together with Songs by her friend MISS GILPIN of Scaleby Castle. With Portrait of Miss Blamire.

She was an anomaly in literature. She had far too modest an opinion of herself; an extreme seldom run into, and sometimes, as in this case, attended like other extremes with disadvantages. We are inclined, however, to think that if we have lost a great deal by her ultra-modesty, we have gained something. Without it, it is questionable whether she would have abandoned herself so entirely to her inclination, and left us those exquisite lyrics which derive their charms from the simple, undisguised thoughts which they contain. The characteristic of her poetry is its simplicity. It is the simplicity of genuine pathos. It enters into all her compositions, and is perhaps pre-eminent in her Scottish songs. _Carlisle Journal, 1842._

In her songs, whether in pure English, or in the Cumbrian or Scottish dialect, she is animated, simple, and tender, often touching a chord which thrills a sympathetic string deep in the reader’s bosom. It may, indeed, be confidently predicted of several of these lyrics, that they will live with the best productions of their age, and longer than many that were at first allowed to rank more highly.—_Chambers’ Journal, 1842._

_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s., in neat Cloth binding._

ROBERT ANDERSON’S CUMBERLAND BALLADS.

As a portrayer of rustic manners—as a relator of homely incident—as a hander down of ancient customs, and of ways of life fast wearing or worn out—as an exponent of the feelings, tastes, habits, and language of the most interesting class in a most interesting district, and in some other respects, we hold Anderson to be unequalled, not in Cumberland only, but in England. As a description of a long, rapid, and varied succession of scenes—every one a photograph—occurring at a gathering of country people intent upon enjoying themselves in their own uncouth roystering fashion, given in rattling, jingling, regularly irregular rhymes, with a chorus that is of itself a concentration of uproarious fun and revelry, we have never read or heard anything like Anderson’s “Worton Wedding.”—_Whitehaven Herald._

_Just Published, F. Cap 8vo. Price 5s._

POEMS BY MRS. WILSON TWENTYMAN, of EVENING HILL. Dedicated, by permission, to H. W. LONGFELLOW.

_From the ILLUSTRATED TIMES, November 7th, 1868._

Her verses are occasionally poetical, and always dictated by some fine genuine feeling, which must come home to an honest reader. She does not write about “Men and Women,” as Mrs. Browning calls two of her most beautiful volumes, but about human nature—i.e., our hopes, fears, loves, aspirations, etc., are never personified and put into the dramatic form. The volume consists of short pieces, and the whole domestic morality of them will be fairly appreciated in houses where Longfellow is looked upon as the one poet.

_From the CARLISLE EXPRESS, January 8th, 1869._

A spirit of piety and domestic affection permeates all Mrs. Twentyman’s pieces, but she has not yet attained the full power of her art which is to inspire as Nature inspires, by reproducing that which charms the mind. In all probability she has not made this her aim, her poems being the simple and unaffected outflow of pure womanly thought and feeling: the apparent aim of the volume being religious rather than literary.... Mrs. Twentyman’s best efforts are those in which her own experience as a wife and mother have helped her most. There she rises into the region of true poetry, drawing from Life and Nature. “Love’s Inspiration,” in which she evidently speaks of her own wedded life, is an example. “Our Ain Bonnie Bessie” is another flowing from the same fount—sweet, maternal love evidently inspiring the heart of the writer.... We give her a hearty “God-speed,” feeling that all local talent should have its just honour and encouragement. The proper encouragement of local literature generally improves it, and there are cases in which it has eventually called forth gifts of no ordinary power and compass. Sympathy and interest are the special needs of the poet who often cannot sing at all unless prompted to faith in his own powers by some sympathetic friend.

_Crown 8vo. Price 2s. in extra Cloth binding; or 1s. in neat Paper Cover._

OLD CASTLES: Including Sketches of CARLISLE, CORBY, and LINSTOCK CASTLES; with a Poem on Carlisle. By M.S., Author of an Essay on Shakspeare, &c.

_From the CARLISLE EXPRESS._

M. S., by her many thoughtful and eloquent contributions to our local literature, has long since become favourably known to a wide circle of readers; and the little volume before us, in which her talents are employed on congenial themes, cannot fail to maintain and extend her reputation. The stirring historical events connected with the ancient Border strongholds she has selected for treatment require something more than the dry details which are all that are presented to us in the ordinary run of guide books to make them properly understood. Adhering strictly to historical truth, she has clothed the dry bones of the past with life; and the various notable actors who have played their part in the old castles, she so well delineates, seem to live and move before us as we read her account of them. Nor do the natural beauties which surround most of our ancient Border keeps lose anything of their rare charm in her hands. Her picture of Corby is, indeed, a prose poem of much beauty. But the gem of the book is the poem on Carlisle—worthily holding the place of honour.... We must now take our leave of this interesting little work. It is one which should be in the hands of every intelligent Cumbrian who cares for the honour of his native county; and the reader who desires to improve these glorious summer days by visiting any of the scenes it so well describes, could find no better companion to take with him.

CARLISLE: GEO. COWARD.