Chapter 8

A bright spring morning succeeded the night on which the commotion had taken place in Tip's usually quiet home. He was stirring about the house as was his custom, a bandage over his brow being the only indication of the recent unpleasant event. The wound was not a dangerous one, and the unceasing attention of his daughter had enabled him to rally much sooner than might have been expected. Sally and her mother were also bustling about. Not a word escaped from any of them in reference to what had taken place. Old Tip looked more than usually morose, the mother, more than usually sorrowful, and Sally's brow was contracted and her lips compressed, and her eyes spoke of fixed determination. She dressed herself with more than usual care, and lingered over many little things before she bade her usual good morning; and when she closed the door she gazed a moment at the old familiar structure, wiped the tears from her eyes, that in spite or all she could do, would come to testify that her heart was not so callous as she fain would make it appear; and then she walked rapidly away--but not to her work. No! she sought the home of him who had come like a blight on their domestic peace. She carried with her no feeling of resentment--her heart was full of love and compassion. She had undergone a dreadful struggle. The climax had arrived. She must choose between her parents and her lover. It was a hard, hard task, but it was over. House and parents, all that had been associated with her early and happy years, sacrificed for one whose past life had brought to her so much misery.

She reached the door, rang the bell, and was ushered into the room in which Arthur sat vainly endeavouring to recall the circumstances of the preceding night. He was pleased yet astonished to see her, and they were quickly engaged in an earnest and hurried conversation. In a few minutes Arthur rang the bell, and gave orders for all his boxes to be packed and conveyed to the nearest railway station. He called for his bill which he discharged with alacrity, a hired carriage was at the door, Arthur and Sally entered it and she returned home no more.

The grief of her parents was very great when they knew that she had left them, and they anxiously waited for some tidings of her whereabouts, but no tidings came. For a time remittances of money came regularly, but these suddenly stopped, and their only means of subsistence was gone.

The articles of furniture were disposed of one by one, to supply the cravings of appetite, but they were soon exhausted, and one morning saw them placed in a cart and taken to the workhouse. They had both been gradually sinking since Sally's flight, and it was but a short time after the removal from their home, that the parish hearse removed them to the last home of all flesh in this world. The fact of their ever having existed seemed to be almost forgotten, when a painful tragedy revived it in the minds of those who had known them. When newspapers gave the distressing account of a young woman having leaped from London Bridge into the river, bearing in her arms a little babe. They were taken out quite dead, and on being searched, a piece of paper with the following words written upon it was all that was found.

'Let my dreadful fate be a warning to the young. I was young and beautiful,--I became proud and ambitious,--I ceased to lend an ear to the kind counsel of my parents,--I ceased to look upon sin with abhorence,--I sought pleasure in iniquity,--the torments of hell can be no worse than those I have endured, my seducer lives to make other victims,--my babe dies with me, lest it should ever live to know its parent's shame,--I go to meet my God,--a Murderess and a Suicide. My only hope is in His unbounded mercy, and the intercession of His Son. SALLY GREEN.

Reader, does not this little story teach a moral? I think it does. Be not proud of the personal attractions with which nature has blessed you. Shun evil company,--obey your parents, and fear God always. Sally Green's case is not an isolated one. There are thousands at the present moment, who are pressing on in the same path that terminated so dreadfully for her. Watch and pray, lest it should be your unhappy lot to be described in old Tip's expressive words, as 'One amang th' rest.'

What's yor Hurry?

Ther's nowt done weel 'ud's done in a hurry, unless its catchin a flea, aw've heeard sed, but Joa Trailer wod'nt ha believed 'at that should be done in a hurry, for he hurried for nowt. It wor allus sed 'at he wor born to th' tune o'th' Deead March, an suckled wi' Slowman's Soothin Syrup. His mother declared a better child nivver lived, for he hardly ivver cried, net even for his sops, for if he showed signs o' startin, ther wor allus time enuff to get' em made befoor he'd getten fairly off. He began cuttin his teeth when he wor six months old, an' he'd nobbut getten two when his birthday coom, an' when th' old wimmen used to rub his gums wi ther fingers he used to oppen his een an' stare at 'em as if he wondered what they wor i' sich a hurry for. His mother wor forty-five year old when he wor born, an' shoo anlls sed he wor born sadly too lat, an' if that's th' case ther's noa wonder 'at he's allus behund hand, for ther's nowt can ivver mak him hurry to mak up for lost time.

They sent him to a schooil an' paid tuppince a wick for him, but they mud as weel ha saved ther brass, for if they managed to get him to start i' time, he just contrived to get thear when it wor lowsin. He nivver leearned owt but he sed he meant to do sometime, but ther wor time enuff yet: soa he grew up to be a big ovvergrown ignoramus, an' his mother could'nt tell what to do wi him. Shoo put him 'prentice to a cobbler, but his maister sent him hooam when he'd been thear a month, for he sed he'd been tryin to spetch a pair o' child's clogs ivver sin he went, an' 'at th' rate he wor gettin on wi 'em he'd have' em thrown on his hands, for th' child ud be grown up befoor they wor finished.

"What am aw to do wi' thi," sed his mother, "aw can't afford to keep thi to laik?"

"Wait a bit," he said, "'an give a chap a chonce. Yor i' sich a hurry abaat iverything. Rome worn't built in a day."

"Noa, an' if it had depended o' sich as thee it nivver wod ha been built, awm thinkin!"

One day, as he wor sittin on a stoop at th' loin end, a chap com ridin up to him, an' ax'd him if he'd hold his horse for him a minit or two. "Eea," he said, "tak for time a bit an awl hold it."

It tuk him some time to sydle up an tak hold o'th' reins, an then th' chap left him, tellin him whativver else to stand thear an' net run away wi' it.

"Awst nooan run far," he sed, an' in abaat ten minits he laft all over his face at th' idea o' sich a thing. It wor a varry quiet horse, an' Joa thowt 'at he'd getten th' reight seoart ov a job at last, an' When th' chap coom back he gave him a shillin. If he'd been slow i' other things, he had'nt been vany slow i' leearnin th' vally o' brass, an' as it wor th' furst time he'd ivver had a shillin he wor soa excited 'at he started off hooam at a jog trot, an' th' fowk 'at knew him wor soa capt wol they could'nt tell what to mak on it, but they thowt he must be havin' a race wi' some sooapsuds at wor runnin daan th' gutter; but that wornt it, for he'd getten a noashun at noa trade ud suit him as weel as fishin, for he could tak his own time wi' that, an' he felt sewer he'd be lucky, for if they wor'nt inclined to nibble he'd caar thear wol they'd be glad to bite to get shut on him; an' he'd seen a fishin rod to sell for a shillin, soa he thowt he'd goa hooam an' as sooin as he'd getten his dinner he'd buy it.

When he gate in, his mother said, "Whear's ta been, an' whativer is ther to do 'at maks thi come in puffin an' blowin like that?"

"Aw've been to th' end o'th' loin," he sed, "an' wol aw wor thear a chap coom an' ax'd me to hold his horse for him, an' he's glen me a shillin."

"Well, tha's been sharp for once, an' awm fain to see it, for its a comfort to know at owt can stir thi. Gie me' that shillin, its just come i' time, for aw wor at my wits end what to do for a bit o' dinner, an' that'll just come in to get a bit o' summat."

Joa pottered it aght, an' as shoo took' it shoo sed, "Nah, tha sees what it is to be sharp.--Tha's done rarely this' mornin."

"Eea, aw see what it is to be sharp, an' if ivver yo catch me sharp agean yo may call me sharp, for if aw had'nt run hooam 'fit to braik me neck aw should ha had that shillin.--But it sarves me reight to loise it for bein i' sich a hurry."

He wor as gooid as his word, an' he's nivver been known to hurry sin.

When he gate to be a man he fancied he wor i' love wi' a young woman 'at lived claise to his mother's,--one at wor just as queer a karacter as hissen, wi this difference, shoo could haddle her own livin wi weshin.

He tell'd his mother 'at he meant to ax her to have him somday, an' shoo sed shoo wor feeared he'd think abaat it wol they'd be booath too old; but he did'nt, for he met her one day an' he ax'd her if shoo'd nivver thowt o' sich a thing?

"Nay," shoo sed, "sich a thowt's nivver entered mi heead, an' if it had aw should nivver ha' thawt o' thee,--but awm i' noa hurry to get wed."

"Noa moor am aw," he sed, "but aw thawt awd mention it, an' tha can tak thi own time,--all aw want to know is, if tha'll have me when tha's made up thi mind?"

"Tha'd suit me weel enuff Joa, if tha'd owt to do, but aw can't wesh to keep misen an' have thee sittin o' th' harstun for a ornament, thar't hardly gooid lukkin enuff for that;--if tha'll stir thisen an' get some wark awl tawk to thi."

Soa Joa left her to consider on it, an' he determined to try if he could'nt find summat to do. As he wor creepin on a chap ovvertuk him an says, "What are ta up to nah, Joa?"

"Awm seekin wark!"

"Why, if tha keeps on at that speed awm feeard tha'll nivver find ony, for if it wur anent thi tha could'nt ovvertak it.

"Awm nooan tryin to ovvertak it,--but tha sees if ther's ony comin behund it'll have a chonce o' overtakkin me, an' if aw wor go in faster it might think aw wor tryin to get aght o'th' way on it: an' whativer fowk may say, awm net one o' them 'ats feeard o' wark, for aw nivver put misen aght oth' way to shirk owt yet."

"Noa, nor to seek owt nawther; but aw heeard ov a job this mornin at'll just suit thi."

"What wor it?"

"Old Rodger wants a chap to drive his heears, an' its just the job for thee, for th' horse knows th' way to th' Cemetary, an' tha'll have nowt to do but sit o'th box. Tha'd better see after it."

"Aw think aw will sometime this afternooin," he sed, "aw could just manage that sooart o' wark."

"Tha'd better goa nah if tha meeans to luk after it, or tha may be too lat,--but gooid mornin, aw hav'nt time to stand here ony longer."

"Aw doant know whether to believe him or net," he sed, "for aw think he's nooan reight in his heead, or he'd nivver ha' spokken abaat standin' here when we've been walkin' all th' time. But ther can be noa harm i' gooin to see after it, an' if aw get it, Abergil can have noa excuse for refusin' me."

It tuk him a long time to get to Rodger's tho' it wor'nt aboon hauf a mile, an' when he tell'd what he'd come for, Rodger lukt at him an' sed "Well, tha'll do varry weel as far as thi face an' figger's consarned, for tha luks as solid as a tombstun, but if aw gie thi th' job tha mun promise to drive as a'w tell thi, for aw seckt th' last chap aw had becoss he wod drive ta fast when he wor aght o' mi seet; an' tha knows ther's nowt luks wor nor a gallopin funeral, an' aw want somdyaw can trust."

"Yo, can trust me, an if yo'll gie me th' job aw warrant awl, drive just as slow as yo want. But what's th'wage?"

"Ten shillin a wick, an' tha'll have as mich curran cake an' warm ale as tha can teim into thi, an' thi clooas all fun for nowt."

"Awl tak it, an' yo can let me know when awm to start."

"Tha'l have to start to-day, for old. Nancy has to be buried this afternooin, soa tha can stop an' have a bit o' dinner an' wesh thi face, an' put on thi black clooas an' start off."

"Awm nooan in a hurry to start, but if yo'd rayther I did, why, ov coorse awl do as yo say." Soa he did as he wor ordered, an' in a varry short time Rodger gate him all ready an' th' heears browt aght, an' they booath gate onto th' box, an' Rodger set off to th' haase drivin varry slowly. "Nah," he said, "tha mun watch me ha aw drive, an' tha mun drive th' same way, or slower if owt. Aw know tha'rt nooan fonda' fussin thisen, an' aw dooant want thi to hurry th' horse."

"Awl hurry nowt," he sed. When they gate to th' haase Rodger waited wal he saw all ready and then he left him. Ther wor noa danger o' anybody gettin that horse to goa at maar nor three miles i'th' haar, for it wor booath laim an' blind, an' seem'd varry mich inclined to drop on its knees at ivvery step. It started off at snail pace, but even that wor too mich for Joa.

"Wo, gently!" he sed, an' it stood stock still.

"When are ta gooin to start?" sed one o'th' mourners, "if tha does'nt mind we'st be too lat to get into th' Cemetary."

"Thee mind thi' own business,--aw've getten mi orders."

"Tha'll have to hurry up or else we'st be to lat aw tell thi! We're all stall'd o' waitin!"

"Its nooan thee at we're baan to bury or tha wodn't be i' sich a hurry. Awst tak noa orders nobbut throo Rodger or Nancy, soa tha can shut up."

Th' old horse started off agean, an' at last they gate to th' far end, but it wor ommost dark, an' when they'd taen th' coffin aght o'th' heears he drew up to one side to wait wol th' ceremony wor ovver, an' when th' fowk caom throo th' grave side Joa wor fast asleep, an' th' horse too, soa they left' em whear they wor an' went hooam.

Some chaps i'th' village gate to hear abaat Joa's drivin an' fallin asleep, soa they thowt they'd have a bit ov a marlock on, an abaat a duzzen on' em went to th' Cemetary gates, an tho' it wor dark they faand th' heears an' th' horse just as it had been drawn up, and Joa fast asleep. One on 'em at had an old white hat changed it varry gently for Joa's black 'en, an' then they hid thersen at tother side o'th' wall. One on 'em set up a whistle at wakkened Joa, an' as sooin as he began to rub his een an' wonder whear he wor, they begun singin th' Old Hundred. "Bith' heart!" he said, "they tell'd me at tha'd a varry hard deeath Nancy, an' it seems tha'rt having a varry hard burrin. Aw declare awve been asleep, an' its as dark as a booit. Awm hauf starved stiff wi caarin here, but aw should think they'll nooan be long nah, for they sewerly dooant mean to stop thear singin all th' neet." Th' chaps waited vary still for a while wol he began grumblin agean. "Aw dooant see ony use i'me caarin here ony longer. Ther'll nubdy want to ride inside. Aw may as weel be off hooam." Just then th' chaps sang another verse, an' he thowt he'd better stop a bit longer, soa he put up his coit collar to keep th' wind aght of his neck, an' wor sooin fast asleep agean. As sooin as they fun it aght they varry quitely tuk th' horse aght o'th' shafts an' turned it into a field cloise by, an' lifted th' gate off th' hinges an' propt it up between th' shafts asteead o'th' horse, an' hung th' harness ovver it; then they teed th' appron strings fast soa as he could'nt get off his seeat, an' waited wol he wakkened agean. They hadn't long to wait before he gave a gape or two, an' then he sed, "Awm nooan baan to caar here ony longer! Aw nobbut agreed to come to th' burrin, aw didn't bargain to stop wol they lettered th' gravestooan! Gee up!" An' he started floggin th' horse for owt he knew, but it nivver stirred. "Ger on wi' thi! or else awl bury thee an' all!" an' he slashed away wi' th' whip, but th' heears nivver moved. Next he tried to get daan to see if he could leead it, but he couldn't lause th' appron at wor across his legs, soa he had to creep aght as he could an' climb onto th' top, an' as th' top wor smooth an' polished he slipt off, an' sat daan ith' middle o'th' rooad wi' sich a bang at if he worn't wakkened befoor ther wor noa fear on him bein' asleep after that.

"Tha'rt a bigger fooil nor aw tuk thi for Joa," he said to hissen, as he sam'd hissen up, "aw thowt tha'd sense enuff to tak thi time an' net come off th' top ov a thing like that i' sich a hurry. It ommost knockt th' wind aght o' me, an' if aw dooant knock th' wind aght o' that horse awl see." It wor nobbut leet enuff to see th' glimmer oth' harness, tho' th' mooin wor just risin, an' he laid his whip on wi' a vengence, but as it did'nt offer to stir he went up to it. "What's th' matter wi' thi?" an' he put aght his hand to find it. "Well, awl be shot! Tha worn't mich when we set off, but tha seems to ha gooan to nowt! Aw could caant thi ribs befoor, but aw can feel 'em nah. Ther's nowt left but a skeleton!"

Th' meoin began to show a bit breeter, an' after grooapin abaat for a while he sed, "It strikes me it isn't a horse at all. Ther's somdy been playin me a trick. Awm nooan mich ov a driver at th' best hand, an' awd as mich as aw could manage to drive comin, but awm blest if aw can drive a five barr'd gate goo in back! Awm fast what to do wi' this lot."

"Why, what's th' matter, Joa?" sed one o'th' chaps, comin' up as if he knew nowt abaat it. "What are ta dooin wi' th' heears here at this time o' neet?"

"That's what aw want to know," he sed, an' he tell'd him all he knew abaat it.

"Well, th' horse can't be far off," th' chap sed, "they'd nivver tak th' horse, for it isn't worth stailin. It'll be i' one o' theas fields sewer enuff. We can find it bi mooin leet."

Joa an him went to seek it, an' as he knew just whear to find it they had'nt long to luk. As sooin as ther backs wor turned, tother chaps oppened th' heears an' filled it wi' th' biggest topstooans off th' wall 'at they could lift, an' when it wor fairly looadened they shut it up agean, an' left it as if it had nivver been touched.

Joa an' his friend coom back wi' th' horse, an' had it harnessed up all right, but altho' it tugged an' pooled as hard as it could, it did'nt stir th' heears.

"Its studden soa long wol aw think it must ha' takken rooit," sed Joa.

"O, nay, its nobbut settled a bit wi' th' graand bein soft. It'll goa reight enuff when it gets off. Tak hold o' one o'th' wheels an' let's give it a start."

Th' old horse pooled its hardest, an' wi' th' help they gave at th' wheels they set it movin, an' as sooin as th' chap saw that, he bid Joa geoid neet an' left him, tellin him at if it stuck fast he mud get behund an' thrust a bit. It hadn't gooan monny yards when Joa saw he mud awther thrust or stop thear all th' neet, an' altho' th' rate they wor gooin at wor slow enuff to suit even one a' Joa's disposition, yet th' sweeat rolled off him, for he'd quite as mich to do as th' horse. Once or twice he stopt to consider whether he hadn't better tak th' horse aght an' get into th' shafts hissen.

Abaat two o'clock i'th' mornin they gate back hooam, an' old Rodger wor waitin for him in a ragin temper, an' when he saw his favorite horse, "Old Pickle," blowin an' steamin as if it had just come aght ov a mash tub, an' Joa wi' a white hat on, he wor sewer he'd been on th' spree. He didn't give him a chance to spaik, but set to an' called him ivverything he could lig his tongue to Joa tried to explain matters, but it wor noa use.

"Its th' last time tha'll ivver drive for me! Tha's been ommost twelve haars away!"

"Why, yo sed aw hadn't to hurry,--but if my drivin doesn't suit yo, yo can drive yorsen, an' welcome; for that horse o' yor's wants huggin, net drivin,--yo did reight to call it 'Old Pickle,' for its getten me into a bonny pickle!"

"An what are ta dooin wi' that white hat? An' whears th' hat aw lent thi?"

"This is th' hat yo lent me, for aw've nivver touched it sin aw set off, an' if its changed color aw can't help it--if it weant do for a burrin it'll do for a weddin."

"Dooant tell me nooan o' thi lies! Awm ommast fit to give thi a gooid hidin whear tha stands!"

"Yo'd better think twice abaat that!"

"Aw will'nt think once," he sed, an' made a rush at him but Joa held his fist aght, an' Rodger ran agean it wi' sich a force wol he flew back an' messured his whole length ith' street.

"What's th' meanin o' that," he sed, as he sam'd hissen up,--"Isn't it enuff, thinks ta, to goa on th' spree an' ommost kill a horse, but tha mun come an' start o' illusin me? But awl mak thi smart for this as sewer as my name is what it is!"

"Aw nivver touched yo," sed Joa, "all aw did wor to hold mi' neive aght; an' if yo had'nt run agean it i' sich a hurry it wod'nt ha harmed yo."

"Awl let thi see whether it wod'nt or net! Goa into th' haase an' change them clooas, an' nivver let mi' see thi face agean!"

Joa wor as anxious to change his clooas an' get off hooam as Rodger wor to be shut on him, for his shirt wor wet throo wi' sweeatin, an' his shoulder had th' skin off wi' thrustin, to say nowt abaat th' knocks he'd getten when he tummeld off th' heears. He didn't loise any time, an' when he coom back Rodger had just oppened th' heears an' fun all th' stooans. "What the degger's th' fooil been doin?" he sed, as he held a Ieet to luk inside. "What's ta fill'd th' heears wi' stooans for, lumpheead? Why, ther's a looad big enuff for a elephant."

"They're just as yo put 'em in," sed Joa, "aw nivver touched ony on 'em; an' if yo'll gie me mi wage awl be off hooam."

"Here's two shillin! goa an' buy a rooap to hang thisen, for tha arn't fit to live!"

"When awm deead yo'll happen bury me for nowt, considerin 'at aw've worked for yo?"

"Eea, an' welcome! Th' sooiner an' th' better!"

"Awm varry mich obliged to yo, an' awl send yo word when yore wanted, but dooant be in a hurry.--Ther's nowt like takkin yer time. Gooid neet."

As that wor th' last job Joa ivver hed, Abergil did'nt mak up her mind to have him, but that does'nt trouble him, for he says "Gettin wed is a job a chap can do ony time, an' ther's noa need to be in a hurry."

His mother's ommost fast what to do wi' him, an' hardly a day passes but what shoo axes him "if he ivver meeans to get owt to do?" an' he allus says, "Awm thinkin abaat it. Give a chap a bit o' time! What's yor hurry?"

Ha Owd Stooansnatch's Dowter gate Wed.

He wor a reight hard-hearted sooart ov a chap wor owd Stooansnatch; ther wor hardly a child 'at lived i'th' seet o'th' smook ov his chimley but what ran away when they saw him coming, an' ther mothers, when they wanted to freeten 'em a bit used to say, 'aw'll fotch owd Stooansnatch if tha doesn't alter.'

He wor worth a gooid bit o' brass, 'at he'd scraped together someway, but like moor sich like it didn't mak him a jot happier, an' he lived as miserly as if he hadn't a penny. Even th' sparrows knew what sooart ov a chap he wor, for they'd goa into iverybody's back yard for two or three crumbs but his, an' if one wor iver seen abaat his door, it wor set daan to be a young en 'at wor leearnin wit. Fowk sed 'at he clam'd his wife to deeath, for he wodn't pairt wi' th' smook off his porrige if he could help it. Th' cowdest day i' winter ther wor hardly a bit o' fire i'th' grate, an' sich a thing as a cannel ov a neet wor quite aght o' question. Th' fowk 'at kept th' shop at th' yard end, sed he did buy a pund when his wife wor laid deead i'th' haase, but it wor becoss he darn't stop wi' a deead body at neet i'th' dark. But he'd a dowter, as grand a lass 'as iver a star pept throo a skyleet at; shoo wor a beauty, an' shoo wor as gooid as shoo wor bonny. When aw used to see her, shoo used to remind me ov a lily in a assmidden. Shoo'd noa grand clooas to her back, but what shoo had shoo lined 'em i' sich a nice style wol they allus luk'd weel. Monny a chap wished he'd niver seen her, an' monny a one made up ther mind if shoo wor to be had to get her. Some tried one way an' some another, but owd Stooansnatch wor ready for 'em. Them 'at went honor bright up to th' door an' axed, he ordered abaght ther business, an' them 'at went creepin abaght th' haase after dark, he used to nawp wi' his stick if he could catch' em. But ther wor one, a reglar blade, he used to be allus playin some sooarts o' marlocks, but iverybody liked him except owd Stooansnatch. He'd gooan wi' a donkey hawkin puttates an' turnips an' stuff for a year or two, an' as he'd gooan his raand he'd seen Bessy,--'Bonny Bessy,' as fowk called her--an' th' neighbors nooaticed 'at if shoo wanted owt, 'at he allus picked th' grandest bit he had for her, an' used to give her far moor bumpin weight nor what he gave them.

He'd gooan as far as to give her a wink once or twice, an' shoo'd gooan as far as to give him a smile, but that wor all they'd getten to. But one neet when he'd getten hooam, an' th' donkey wor put i'th' stable, an' all his wark done, he sat daan ov a stooil an' stared into th' fire.

'What's th' matter wi' thi, Joa?' sed his owd mother; 'aw see tha's summat o' thi mind, hasn't ta had a gooid day?'

'Yi! aw've had a gooid enuff day, mother, it isn't that.'

'Why what is it lad? Tha luks a wantin.'

'Yo say reight, an' aw am a wantin, but aw dooan't meean to be long. Aw've made up mi mind to get wed, an' sooin an' all; for awm sure yo arn't fit to be tewin as yor forced to be nah.'

'A'a, Joa, tha'rt tryin to fooil thi owd mother awm feeard! But aw wish aw may live to see that day, for aw think if aw saw thi nicely settled aw could leave this world better content. But who does ta think o' havin? Aw didn't know tha wor cooartin.'

'Well, aw dooant think yo did, for aw havn't begun yet, but awve made up mi mind to start, an that sooin.'

'Waw, ther'll be a bit ov a sign when tha does begin, but if tha luks soa yonderly afoor startin, aw dooant know what tha'll luk like afoor th' weddin day. But let's be knowin who's th' lass.'

'Well, aw know yo'll be capt when aw tell yo; but it's owd Stooansnatch dowter.'

'Th' grandest lass aw iver clapt mi een on, but if that's her tha's made choice on awm feeard tha'll be disappointed. Owd Stooansnatch 'll want a different chap throo bi thee for his son i'-law; waw, mun, when owt happens th' owd man, shoo'll be worth her weight i' gold.'

'Hi! fowk say soa, an' aw've been thinkin 'at that's nooan a bad thing! Aw'll drop hawkin then, mother. If aw get aw'll that brass aw'll have suet dumplins to ivery meal. But putting all that i'th' back graand, if shoo hadn't a rag to her back nor a penny in her pocket, shoo's th' lass for me; an' aw connot rest for thinkin abaat her, an' awm just studdyin abaat gooin to see her to neet.'

'Why, lad, art ta reight i' thi heead, thinks ta? Doesn't ta know what sooart ov a chap her fayther is?'

'Aw should think aw do! Aw've nooan traded wi' him soa long withaat findin him aght.'

'Well, awm nowt agean thi cooartin, but aw think tha mud ha fun sumdy likelier nor Bessy; for tha'll nobbut be wastin thi time, tha may depend on't. They'll have to be sumdy better nor thee 'at gets Bessy.'

'Better nor me! Waw, aw wonder whean yo'll find him! For aw can wrastle ony chap mi own weight, an' aw'll set misen agean th' world for bein a judge ov a gooid maily puttate. Nah, if yo think awm gooin a beggin for her to owd Stooansnatch yo're off yor horse, for awm net. Awm baan to ax her th' furst, an' if shoo says 'Eea,' aw'l sooin work owd Stooansnatch into th' mind.'

'Why, lad, aw dooan't know what's getten into thi heead, but ther niver wor one o' awr family went cracked afoor, an' aw hooap tha'll come raand.'

'Nah, mother, yo dooant know all 'at aw know, but aw'l just let yo into a bit ov a saycret. Nah, aw've nooaticed 'at Bessy allus blushes when shoo comes to buy owt o' me, an' shoo luks onywhear else rayther nor shoo'll luk at me; an' shoo strokes th' owd donkey's nooas an' maks a fuss on him, an' even gies him th' carrot tops, an' he munches' em up an' luks at me as mich as to say--'This is her Joa; spaik up like a man an' tha'll win;' an' latly he's begun to rawt as sooin as iver we've getten into th' end o' th' street, an' aw tak that for a gooid sign, for yo know Jerusalem wod do owt for me. An' nah as aw've finished mi supper aw'll be off.'

'Well, lad, aw wish thi weel, but awm feeard. Aw think if aw wor thee aw should want summat moor nor a donkey rawtin to set me off o' sich a eearand as that. Listen! does ta hear it nah? It's a rawtin agean. Can ta tell me what that means?'

'Nay, by gow, aw dooant know. Aw think it must meean 'luk sharp.''

'Aw think it meeans tha'rt a choolter heead, that's what aw think.'

'Neer heed, mother; yo'll see when aw come back.'

Soa off Joa went, full o' faith. When he gate aghtside, th' mooin wor just risin, an' th' stars wor sparklin up i'th' sky, an' all wor clear an' still. It wor a gooid two miles to Bessy's, an' he'd time to think a bit; an' he kept turnin over in his mind what his mother had sed abaght gooin cracked, an' he began to have some daats as to whether he wor altogether square or net. 'A'a,' he sed, 'aw've missed it this time, for aw mud ha browt her a heearin or some oonions for her supper, but it's just like me, aw allus think o' thease things when it's too lat--aw must ha been born a bit to lat; but what awm to do, or what awm to say when aw get to owd Stooansnatche's aw connot tell. But fortune favors th' brave,' an' aw have been lucky befoor, soa aw'll hooap to be lucky agean.'

Joa wor fast lessenin th' distance between hissen an' th' haase whear owd Stooansnatch lived, an' it worn't long befoor he stood peepin in at th' winder. He couldn't see owt, for all wor as dark as a booit inside. He then began tryin to mak up a speech, or frame some mak ov excuse for comin, but he wor clean lick'd, for moor he tried, an' th' farther off he seemed to get, an he began to think 'at if he went on studdyin mich longer it ud end in him gooin back baght dooin owt, soa he screwed up his pluck an' knocked at th' door. He could hear a mumblin an' scufflin inside, an' somdy strike a match, an' in a bit he heeard somdy unlock two or three locks, an' shooit five or six bolts, an' then th' door oppened abaght two inch, an' a nooas 'at iverybody knew belang'd to owd Stooansnatch bobbed aght.

'What does ta want at this time o'th' neet?' sed th' owd man.

'Nay, nowt particlar; but didn't yo give me hauf-a-craan amang that copper this mornin, think yo? Aw shouldn't like to wrang onybody, an' aw did get hauf-a-craan somewhere.'

Th' door oppened in a minit, an' Joa went in. He knew weel enuff 'at th' hauf craan didn't belang to th' owd sinner, but he didn't care as he'd getten in an' Bessy wor sittin bi th' side o'th' fire lukkin bonnier, he thowt nor iver.

Owd Stooansnatch wor reckonin to caant up his brass, an' in a bit he says,--'Tha'rt reight, Joa, lad, it's mine; awm just hauf-a-craan short, soa tha can give it me.'

Joa hadn't heeard a word o' this speech, for his een wor fixed o' Bessy. an' his maath wor oppen as if he wor gooin to swallow her. Bessy wor blushin, an' seemed varry mich takken up wi' her toa 'at had popt throo th' end ov her slipper.

'Does ta hear me?' he sed sharply, 'aw tell thi it's mine, an' tha mun give it me, an' dooant stand starin thear! Gi me that brass, an' then tak thisen off hooam! aw connot affooard to keep a cannel burnin this rooad for nowt.'

'Why, thear's th' brass,' sed Joa, flinging it on to th' table. 'Aw should think it owt to pay for a cannel or two.'

'It's nowt to thee what it'll pay for! but tha's noa need to sit daan thear for we're gooin to bed, an' soa tha mun goa.'

'Well dooan't bi i' sich a hurry abbat it, awm net goin to stop all th' neet yo needn't think, but aw've another bit o' business to see yo abaat, 'at'll be moor i' yer way nor that hauf-craan's been.'

'Well if that's th' case tha con stop a bit an' aw'll put th' cannel aght, for we can tawk i'th' dark. An' nah tell me what it is.'

'Yo see,' sed Joa, 'aw've been thinkin 'at it ud be a trouble to yo to loise yor dowter, for aw know shoo's a gooid lass.'

'Shoo's a extravagant hussey, that's what shoo is,' sed Stooansnatch, 'for shoo's just gien a booan away 'at's niver been stew'd nobbut once.'

'Why shoo mayn't be just as careful as yo, shoo's young yet; but then aw dooant think if her an' me gate wed withaat iver lettin yo know 'at yo'd be altogether suited.'

'Wed! Wed! Who says shoo's gooin to get wed? Wed! what to a bit ov a puttaty hawker? If tha mentions sich a thing to me aw'll bundle thi aght o'th' door i' quick sticks.'

'Well, aw have mentioned it, an' aw'st mention it agean if aw like; an' as for shovin me aght o'th' door, aw'll forgi yo if yo do that.' An Joa quietly gate up an' locked th' door an' put th' key in his pocket.

When owd Stooansnatch saw that he lauped aght of his cheer, fooamin at th' maath like a mad dog. 'What are ta baan to do? Does ta want to rob me? Aw'll mak thee pay for this!'

'Yo can call it robbin if yo like, but what aw've coom for is yor dowter, an' aw mean to have her unless shoo says noa, an' aw dooant think her heart's hard enuff for that,' sed Joa lukkin at her. But Bessy niver spaik, an' shoo seemed as if shoo could see nowt but th' toa aght o'th' end ov her slipper.

'Tha nasty ragamuffin! Tha impident scamp! Oppen that door! If tha doesn't aw'll fetch th' perleece! Aw'd rayther bury her alive nor tha should have her!'

'Why yo needn't get into sich a fit abaat it fayther (for aw suppooas aw may call yo fayther nah), yo know sich things--'

'Fayther! Fayther! Whose fayther? Awm nooan thy fayther nor likely to be! Aw'd rayther pairt wi' ivery hawpeny aw have nor iver think 'at tha wor owt to me!'

'Well, Bessy's fayther'll be my fayther when we get wed, an' aw dooan't see what ther is to be 'shamed on i' that. But aw think yo'd better put a bit o' coil on th' foir for it's rayther a cooil neet.'

'Awst put noa coil on th' foir, aw con tell thi that. Aw havn't getten my brass wi' burnin coil at this time o'th' neet. Aw hooap tha'll be frozzen to th' deeath if tha doesn't goa.'

'Noa fear abaat me bein frozzen, becoss if yo d'ooant put some on aw will, soa crack that nut, fayther.'

'Aw'll crack thy nut if tha touches ony coils here!' sed Stooansnatch, seizin hold o'th' pooaker, 'aw'll do that for thee an' sharply if tha doesn't hook it.'

'If yo cannot keep yor temper better nor that aw should advise yo to goa to bed an' leave Bessy an' me to talk matters ovver a bit; an' awm net gooin to caar here an' get mi deeath o' cold for th' sake ov a bit ov coil aw can tell yo,' an' Joa tuk th' coil basket an' emptied it onto th' foir. 'Nah then just leearn me that pooaker, or else scale it yorsen fayther, an' then we shall have a bit o' leet.' But Stooansnatch kept fast hold o'th' pooaker, soa Joa scaled it wi' th' tongs.

'Yo happen havn't owt to sup i'th' haase Bessy, have yo?' he sed, spaikin to her for th' first time since he'd takken possession. But still Bessy seem'd altogether takken up wi th' toa 'at wor peepin aght ov her slipper.

'Dooan't be 'shamed lass, dooan't be 'shamed, thi fayther'll be all reight in a bit. Come an' let's gie thi a kuss,' he sed, stoopin ovver her an' puttin his arm raand her waist.

This wor moor nor owd Stooansnatch could stand, soa swingin th' pooaker aboon his heead, he browt it daan wi' a fearful crack onto th' heead o' poor Joa, who at once reel'd ovver an fell insensible to th' graand.

Terrified when he saw what he'd done, Stooansnatch let th' pooaker fall, an' Bessy jump'd up wringin her hands an' cryin 'Oh, fayther! yo've killed him! yo've killed him! Oh, Joa, Joa, spaik to me! What shall we do? Fayther bring a leet sharp!'

But that wor aght o'th' question, for his hand tremeld soa 'at he couldn't leet a cannel, soa Bessy had to leet it, an' then shoo bent ovver th' form ov poor Joa. A little crimson stream wor slowly formin a pool abaat his heead, an' his pale face luk'd soa awful wi' his jet black hair araand his brow, 'at Bessy seemed ommast as terrified as her fayther. But tho' shoo wor scared for a minnit shoo sooin gate ovver it, an' set to bind up his heead an' place it carefully on a cushion. Then shoo bathed his face wi' watter, but still ther wor noa sign o' life.

'Aw didn't mean to hit him soa hard, Bessy, awm sure aw didn't.'

'Yo'll be hung for it as sure as yor standin thear, an' then what's to come o' me, left withaat onybody to care for me?'

Owd Stooansnatch could say nowt for a long time, but at last he sed, 'Bessy, put thi hand in his pocket for th' door kay. Aw think aw'd better fotch a doctor.'

Bessy felt backward at putting her hand i' his pocket, but shoo did soa, an' handed th' kay to her fayther, an' in a varry short time he wor hobblin off for a doctor.

Bessy kept bathing his heead, an' in a while he slowly oppened his een an' luk'd raand. 'Ha does ta feel, Joa?' axed Bessy, in a voice as tender as if shoo'd been talkin to a babby. 'Whativer will thi mother say?'

This sooart o' tawk browt Joa to his senses. 'Well, Bessy,' he sed, 'my mother tell'd me aw wor gooin cracked bat aw think awm brokken nah. Whear's thi fayther?'

'Gooan for a doctor; he thinks tha'rt killed, an' he's terrified aght ov his wits.'

'Well, if my heead worn't pratty thick, aw should ha done sellin puttates. But, Bessy, if aw come raand all reight will ta be mi wife? Tell me that?'

'Hold thi noise; tha munnot talk--sithee ha thi heead's bleedin.'

'Neer heed it! My heart'll bleed too if tha willn't ha me;--nah, lass, what says ta?'

'Tha knows mi fayther'll niver agree to it, soa what's th' use o' talkin.'

'But will ta agree to it if he does? That's what aw want to know?'

'If tha'll nobbut hold thi noise aw'll agree to owt;--tha luks moor like burryin nor weddin.'

'Well, that's settled, an' aw'll tell thi ha aw con get top-side o'th' old man. Dunnot say a word abaat me havin come raand, an' when th' doctor comes aw'll put him up to a thing.'

Just then th' door oppen'd, an' Stooansnatch an' th' doctor coom in. Joa shut his een an' tried to luk as deead as he could. Th' doctor felt his pulse, an' luk'd at his heead, an' sed, 'we must get this man to bed, it seems to me that his skull is fractured.'

'Do yo think he's likely to dee?' axed Stooansnatch.

'Well, it's very doubtful; it's a bad case, but we must make the best of it, so help me to get him to bed.'

They all three tuk hold on him, an' wi' a deeal o' trouble managed to get him into Bessy's room, an' to bed. 'Now then, get some brandy an' some stickin plaister,--Bessy can fetch it.'

'Na, aw'll fotch it; aw con get it cheaper,' sed Stooansnatch. An' off he went, wonderin ha mich he could save aght o'th' hauf craan Joa'd gien him.

As sooin as he'd gooan, Joa oppened his een, an' raisin hissen up on his elbow an' winkin at th' doctor, he sed, 'doctor, con yo keep a saycret?'

Th' doctor wor soa capt wol he ommost fell into th' assnuck, an' withaat waitin for him to spaik, Joa sed, 'yo see aw've had a nasty knock, an aw mean to mak owd Stooansnatch pay for it.'

'Certainly! Quite proper! Sue him for L100 damages. I'll attend as a witness.'

'But that isn't th' way aw want to mak him pay for it. Aw dooan't want his brass, aw want his dowter, an' it's becoss aw axed him for her 'at he crack'd mi heead. Nah, if yo can nobbut mak him believe 'at this is a varry bad case, an' freeten him wi' makkin him believe 'at aw shall niver get better, aw think we can manage it.'

'Capital! capital!' sed th' doctor, rubbin his hands wi' glee (for he wor noa fonder o' Stooansnatch nor th' rest o' fowk) 'th' very thing! You can depend on me. Ah! here he comes.'

Joa shut his een, an th' doctor lained ovver him as if he wor examinin his heead, an' Bessy stood wi' her apron up to her face as if shoo wor cryin, but shoo wor laughin fit to split, for shoo could enjoy a joke at th' owd man's expense as weel as onybody.

Owd Stooansnatch coom in traidin of his tip tooas, holdin a roll o' plaister i' one hand an' sixpenoth o' brandy i'th' tother.

Th' doctor luk'd at him an' pool'd a long face an' sed, 'I'm afraid its of no use, Mr. Stooansnatch; this is a bad case, and had better be taken to the hospital.'

'Will it be cheaper to have him thear nor at home?' sed Stooansnatch.

'That I can't tell, but I shall be compelled to give you into custody. Murder is a sad thing, Mr. Stooansnatch--a terrible thing, sir; and the hanging of an old man is an awful thing to contemplate.'

'Murder? hanging? Aw didn't do it! They'll niver hang me for it, will they? A'a dear, what'll come o' Bessy an' all my bit o' brass? Keep him here, doctor, an' try to cure him; aw dooant care if it costs a paand,' an th' old man trembled wol he had to steady hissen agean th' bed pooast.

Joa had kept quiet as long as he could, an for fear o' spoilin it all wi' laffin, he set up a groan laad enuff to wakken a deead en.

'Poor fellow,' sed th' doctor, givin him a drop o' brandy, 'that's a fearful groan.' He then cut a lot o' hair, an' put on abaat six inch square o' plaister, an' leavin him, went into th' next room wi' owd Stooansnatch, leavin Bessy an' Joa together, an' yo may bet Joa made gooid use of his time, for he'd begun his cooartin i' hard earnest, an' he meant to goa throo wi' it. What they sed to one another aw dooant know, but aw suppoas they talk'd th' same sooart o' fooilery as other fowk, an' believed it. Haiver, ther's one thing sartin, they coom to understand one another varry weel, or if they didn't, they thowt they did.

When th' doctor an' th' owd man wor i'th' next room, an' th' door shut, th' doctor sed, 'Tell me all about this affair,--how it happened, and tell me the truth, for if he dies, the law will require me to state all I know, and perhaps it might be possible to have the sentence commuted to transportation for life instead of hanging.'

'Oh, doctor, do get me aght o' this scrape if yo can. Aw'll tell yo all abaat it, an' yo tell me what to do.'

Soa he tell'd him all just as it happened, an' when he'd finished th' doctor luk'd wise for a minit or two, an' then he sed, varry slowly an' solemnly, 'so you spilt a fellow creature's blood because he wanted to marry your daughter. The case looks very bad--very bad.'

'What mun aw do, doctor? Connot you tell me what to do?'

'I can only see one way, and that is, if we could bring him to consciousness, and get a minister to marry them before he dies, then you see he would be your son-in-law, and his mother would never like to have it said that her daughter-in-law's father had been hanged, and the thing might be hushed up; the only difference would be that your daughter would be a widow.'

'A widow! an' then shoo could claim his donkey, an puttates, an' all his clooas, couldn't shoo?' 'Yes, certainly.'

'Well, they'll be worth summat, for he's some varry gooid clooas, an' they'd just abaat fit me. Aw think that's th' best way to do.'

'Well if it has to be done it must be done quickly. If you will get a marriage license and a minister, I will endeavour to restore him to consciousness, so you had better be off.'

Off went old Stooansnatch, tho' it wor nobbut four o'clock i'th' mornin.

When he'd gooan, th' doctor tell'd all 'at had happened. Bessy begged hard to have it put off for a wick, but Joa tawk'd soa weel, an' th' doctor backed him i' all he sed, wol at last shoo consented.

In abaat two haars, th' old man coom back, an browt th' license an' th' parson wi' him.

'Is he livin yet?' he axed in a whisper.

'Hush! yes, he still survives and is quite conscious,' an' withaat any moor to do he led' em into th' room an' motioned th' parson to waste noa time; an' he walked up to th' bedside an' takkin hold o' one o' each o' ther hands began his nomony, an' wor varry sooin throo wi' it, an' pronounced 'em man an' wife.

It wor a gooid job at Stooansnatch turned his back wol it wor gooin on, for if he hadn't he mud ha smell'd a rat, an' a big en too.

As sooin as it wor ovver th' doctor went to Joa an' axed him ha he felt.

'Aw think awm gettin on gradely thank yo; ha's mi fayther gettin on?' he sed, in a voice as laad as if he wor hawkin his greens.

Th' parson wor soa takken wol he let his book tummel, an owd Stooansnatch jumpt ommost aght ov his booits, an' turned raand to see if it wor possible to be Joa 'at had spokken; an when he saw him sittin up, winking one e'e, an' a grin all ovver his face, he luk'd at him for a minit an then he sed, 'Joa aw allus thowt thee a daycent sooart ov a lad, but aw niver gave thi credit for havin mich wit, but tha's getten th' best on me this time. Tha's played thi cards pratty weel for that lass, an' tha hasn't wasted mich time ovver th' gam, but tha's ommost brokken mi heart.'

'Well, yo've ommost brokken my heead, soa we're straight.'

'Tha thinks tha's done summat clivver, but aw'll fix yo all, for aw willn't leave yo a hawpeny, noa net a hawpeny.'

'Yo can keep all yor brass an' welcome, an' mich gooid may it do yo, aw've getten all yo had at aw hankered after, an soa nah aw'll get up an' tak her wi' me, for shoo's mine nah, an' aw think that old donkey an' me will be able to find her summat to ait, at any rate we'll try.'

Joa jumpt up (for he wor varry little warse for his hurt,) an' tellin Bessy to put on her duds prepared to leeave.

'Well, Mr. Stooansnatch,' sed th' doctor, 'a weddin is better than a hangin after all, isn't it?'

'Hangin be hanged! yo've been just as deep i'th' muck as they've been i'th' mire, an' if awd my way awd hang yo all. But aw say, luk here, aw dooant want to be made a laffin-stock on, an soa if yo'll promise niver to mention this affair, maybe aw shall do summat for' em yet, an' if anybody axes owt abaat it, say it wor done wi' my consent.'

They all promised, an' as they wor leeavin Joa sed, 'gooid mornin fayther, yo mun come up an' see _awr_ Bessy as oft as yo can, we'll mak yo welcome.'

'Joa tha'rt a scaandrel if iver ther wor one, an' thee Bess, see at tha behaves thisen, an let' em see at tha hasn't been brought up wi' extravagant ways; save a penny wheariver tha can, th' time may come when yo'll need it. Here's a bit o' summat to start wi',' he sed, an' gave her an old bacca box an' shut th' door.

They all laffed, an' as they wor goin up th' street Joa oppen'd th' box, an' inside wor a little bit o' paper, an' written on it thease words. 'For Bessy's wedding if she weds with my consent.' They all luk'd curiously to see what wor in it as he slowly oppen'd it, an they could hardly believe ther een when they saw a Bank o' England note for L500.

Well, yo may think ha capt Joa's mother wor when shoo saw him come in wi' Bessy on his arm, for it wor nobbut th' neet befoor 'at he'd goan aght cooartin, an' when he saw her he sed, 'Well, mother, yo sed aw wor gooin cracked, an' sin' aw saw yo aw've been cracked an' getten spliced, an' aw've browt yo a dowter; an' as aw've axed some friends o' mine to come to ther drinkin, yo mun side all them tubs an' buy some rum, an' let us have some rum an' teah, an' owt else yo can get us, for we want a gooid blowout. An' wol yo do that, Bessy an' me 'll goa to bed a bit, for we've been up all th' neet an' awm sure shoo must be sleepy.'

'Nay awm nooan sleepy Joa, thee goa to bed an' aw'll help thi mother.'

'That's reight lass,' sed his mother, 'aw mak nowt o' fowk sleepin i'th' day time, thee help me an' tak noa notice o' him, he isn't reight in his heead, aw cannot tell ha iver he caanselled thee to have him.'

'Nah mother, dooant yo interfere between a man an' his wife; yo forget at aw've had my heead smashed sin aw saw yo, an' aw want a bit o' rest.'

'Thee goa to bed an' get all th' rest tha wants, tha'll sleep better bi thisen 'coss tha'rt moor used to it, an' aw'll see at Bessy doesn't run away.'

'But, mother, yo see'--

'Aw see nowt abaat it, an' unless tha clears aght o' this hoil ther'll nawther be rum an' teah nor nowt else! Bless mi life lad! does ta think at ther wor niver onybody wed afoor thee? tha'rt war nor a child wi' a new laikon.'

Joa saw it wor noa use tawkin, soa he went aght to feed his donkey, an' luk after th' pigs an' poultry, an' mak believe he wor iver soa thrang.

At last drinkin time coom, an' a few friends coom up, an' a jolly time they had. Joa luk'd joyous an' Bessy luk'd bonny, an' just befoor they separated for th' neet an' wor all standin up to drink long life an' prosperity to th' newly married couple, th' door oppen'd an' in coom owd Stooansnatch. 'Well,' he sed, 'awm just i' time,' soa seizing hold ov a glass o' rum he says here's a toast;

'May thease young ens to-day has seen joined, Find all th' pleasure ther hearts are now cravin; An' when spendin my brass may they find, As mich pleasure as aw fun i' savin.'

Ov coorse this tooast wor drunk i' bumpers, an' sooin after they brake up, an' all went to ther hooams.

Joa an' Bessy seem to get on varry weel together; an Joa's mother says 'at all shoo wants to mak her happy is to be a granmother.

Stooansnatch seems to be altered famously sin Bessy gate wed, an' it is sed (but for th' truth on it aw willn't pledge misen), 'at one day he gave a little lad a penny to buy spice wi'. If its true, he isn't past hooap yet.

He spends th' mooast ov his time up at Joa's, but he's niver had a pooaker in his hand sin that neet, an' if yo want to see him mad, just say a word abaat hangin.

Th' New Railrooad.

Yo've heeard tell abaat th new railrooad aw dar say? It's an age o' steeam is this! Smook nuisance and boilers brustin are ivery-day affairs, an' ivery thing an' ivery body seem to be on at full speed. Aw wonder 'at noabdy invents a man wi a drivin pulley at his back soa's they could speed him up as they do a loom to soa mony picks a minit; th' chap 'at get's a patent for that ul mak a fortune.

But after all, they dooant seem in a varry gurt hurry abaat th' new railroad; but we mun remember Rome wor'nt built in a day, nor a neet nawther, an' soa we mun have patience. They've nobbut been agate two or three year, an' although it's hardly likely at' we shall live to see it finished, happen somedy else will, an' that's a comfort. But bi what aw hear, ther's some fowk at Ovenden fancy it'll be finished befoor soa varry long, an' they've started what they call "a railway trainin class," to taich some oth' young chaps to be railway porters, soa's they'll be ready when th' time comes. They meet in a cottage haase twice a wick to practice, an' they say they're gettin on furst rate. Ther's owd Billy 'at wor once a firer-up for a veal pie shop, an' he's th' president, an he's getten th' asthma soa bad wol if he sturs he puffs war nor a broken winded horse, soa they call him puffin Billy. When they're practisin', they stand o'th' side o'th' oven door i' ther turns, an' when Billy whistles one on 'em oppens it an' shaats aght "Change here for Bradford Beck, Halifax, Hull and t'other shops!" then he bangs it too ageean an shaats "All reight!" an another comes an' does th' same. When they began at th' furst they borrowed a Tom cat o' th' old woman, an' used to put it i' th' oven for a passenger, but one o'th' chaps wor soa fussy, 'at he bang'd th' door too befoor it had getten reight aght, an' chopped its tail clean off. Niver mind if th' owd woman didn't mak a crack--shoo declared shoo'd sue' em for condemnation. Billy tell'd her it ud be a Manx cat after that, but shoo sooin tell'd him shoo wanted nooan sich lik manx; soa they have to tak ther lessons nah withaat passenger. Two on 'em 'at's passed ther examination are studdyin nah for ticket collectors, an' they promise to mak varry gooid uns. When they practise that, they call th' haase door th' furst class, th' cubbord th' second class, an' th' oven door th' third class, an' they start at th' haase door furst, "Gentlemen, your tickets please," then they goa to th' cubbord door, "Tickets," an' then to th' oven door, "Nah then, luk sharp wi' them tickets."

But they'd a sad mishap one neet, for it seems th' owd woman had been bakin, and shoo forgate to mention it, soa when th' furst chap gate hold o' th' oven door hannel he burn'd his fingers, an' becos tother students lafft he sed they'd done it o' purpose; an' it led to a reglar fratch, an' he gate into sich a rage 'at he sed he'd swallow one on em, if he did'nt hold his din, an' it wod'nt be th' furst porter he'd swallow'd nawther! Soa th' taicher tell'd him 'at sich like carryin on wor varry unporterish, an' if he brake th' rules that way he'd have to be taken before th' inspector. But nowt could quieten him till he gate his fingers rubb'd wi sooap an' they gave ovver smartin, soa as th' oven door wor hot they had to practice another pairt. One on 'em borrowed a wheelbarrow, as they could'nt get a luggage lurry, an' they had to wheel it up an' daan th' haase floor i' ther turns, callin aght "By leave!" An' them 'at could manage to run ovver one o' th' tother's tooas, an' goa on as if nowt wor, gate one gooid mark, but him at could run buzz agean a chap an' fell him wor th' next on th' list for a guard. It used to be warm wark boath for him at wor wheelin' an' for tothers, but they wor all on 'em bent o' bein' porters, soa they tew'd at it, detarmined to maister all th' ins an' aghts abaat it. Whether all ther trouble will be thrown away or net aw connot tell, but ther's one gooid thing, it keeps' em aght ov a war turn an' saves th' police a deal o' bother.

But th' owd fowk dooant like th' idea; they see noa use i' bringin sich gurt stinkin things into their district, an' they've detarmined to do all they con to stop it; when a body's been able to live 60 or 70 year withaat sich like nonsense, they see noa reason why they shouldn't be let finish their bit o' time aght quietly. Ther wor one young lad went to ax his gronfayther if he mud join th' class, an' th' owd chap went varry near into a fit, he luk'd at him for a minit, an' then he says,

A'a, Johnny! a'a, Johnny! aw'm sooary for thee! But come thi ways to me, an' sit o' mi knee. For it's shockin' to hearken to th' words 'at tha says;-- Ther wor nooan sich like things i' thi gronfayther's days.

When aw wor a lad, lads wor lads, tha knows, then, But nahdays they owt to be 'shamed o' thersen; For they smook, an' they drink, an' get other bad ways; Things wor different once i'thi gronfayther's days.

Aw remember th' furst day aw went coortin' a bit, An' walked aght thi gronny;--awst niver forget; For we blushed wol us faces wor all in a blaze;-- It wor nooa sin to blush i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's nooa lasses nah, John, 'at's fit to be wed; They've false teeth i' ther maath, an' false hair o' ther heead: They're a make-up o' buckram, an' waddin', an' stays, But a lass wor a lass i' thi gronfayther's days.

At that time a tradesman dealt fairly wi th' poor, But nah a fair dealer can't keep oppen th' door; He's a fooil if he fails, he's a scamp if he pays; Ther wor honest men lived i' thi gronfayther's days.

Ther's chimleys an' factrys i' ivery nook nah, But ther's varry few left 'at con fodder a caah; An' ther's telegraff poles all o'th' edge o'th' highways, Whear grew bonny green trees i' thi gronfayther's days.

We're teld to be thankful for blessin's 'ats sent, An' aw hooap 'at tha'll allus be blessed wi content: Tha mun mak th' best tha con o' this world wol tha stays, But aw wish tha'd been born i' thi gronfayther's days.

Mose Hart's Twelvth Mess.

'Holloa! whear ta for, Dick? Tha'rt donned up fearful grand.'

'Nay, aw nobbut wish aw knew whear aw wor, but aw connot tell for th' life on me; but tha can happen put me into th' end, for awm seekin "Th' Fiddle Brig an' Blow Pipe Music Saloon," for aw've getten two tickets for a grand consart 'at's gooin to be gien bi some Morpheus Musical Society, an' aw've rammel'd abaat for a gooid clock haar, an' awm blow'd if aw can find th' shop.'

'Why, if tha's getten two tickets tha mud as weel gie me one, an' aw'll goa hooam an' get donned, an' we'st be company.'

'Bith' heart, lad, aw wish tha wod; aw dooant care bein my share towards a quairt if tha'll goa, but awm feeard we'st be lat; doesn't ta think them clooas tha has on'll do?'

'Nay, tha sees mi britches knee is brussen.'

'Ne'er heed, aw'l leearn thi mi kerchy, an' then as sooin as tha's getten set daan tha can spreead it ovver thi knees, an' nobdy'll iver know owt abaat it.'

'Well, if tha doesn't mind aw dooant, for a chap had better have a hoil in his clooas nor a hoil in his karracter, soa let's try to find this place. Sithee! what does that sign say 'at's hingin' aght o' th' charmer winder?'

'Nay, Seth, tha knows awm noa reader, an' besides aw havn't mi specks, but what does ta mak it into?'

'Well, ther's a Hess, an' a Hay, an' a Hell, an' two Hoes, an' a Hen, what does that spell?'

'Nay, aw connot tell, but it'll nooan be what we want awm sewer o' that, for thear's noa hens abaat thear.'

'Ha hens, lumpheead! It's th' letter N aw sed.'

'Litter hen! why aw nivver heeard o' sich o' thing; aw've heeard o' pigs havin litters but nivver hens, we call 'em cletches.'

'Tha gets less sense, Dick, ivvery day, aw do think. Doesn't ta understand? Ther's a Hess, an' a Hay, an' a Hell, an' two Hoes, an' a Hen, an' that spells saloon, or else aw've forgetten my algibra.'

'Well, well, happen it does; tha's noa need to get soa cross-grained abaat it; if tha goes on like that aw'll gie th' ticket to somdy else, nah mark that.'

'Tha can gie it to who the duce tha's a mind, Dick; awm nawther beholden to thee nor to thi ticket, soa crack that nut!'

'Well, tha's noa need to be soa chuff. Here's th' ticket an' mi kerchy, an' nah tha con follow clois to me an' we'll goa up stairs. Aw con hear some mewsic bi nah, come on.'

Just as they oppened th' door all th' singers wor standin up to begin.

'Dooant stand up for th' sake o' us,' sed Dick, 'get on wi' yer mewsic, we can caar daan onywhear.' Iverybody laff'd when Dick sed soa, an' as they didn't know what they wor laffin at they thowt it wor at Seth's britches.

'Yo've noa need to laff,' sed Seth, 'aw've some better at hooam.'

'Silence! silence!' bawled aght a lot o' fowk; an' when all wor quiet, th' chap at th' far end began shakkin a bit ov a stick 'at he had, an' Seth sed, 'Tha's noa need to shak thi stick at me,' but what he sed beside wor lost, for all th' singers struck up, an' Dick an' Seth set daan o' th' edge ov a big drum 'at ther wor in th' nook. In a bit Seth axed th' chap 'at set next to him what they wor singin.

'It's Mozart's Twelfth Mass,' he sed.

'Why, what dooant they turn him aght for?'

'Turn who aght?' sed th' chap lukkin raand.

'Why, Mose Hart. If he worked at awr shop he'd be secked for one mess, niver tawk abaat twelve.'

'Whisht!' sed th' chap, an' gave Seth a drive wi' his elbow just between his brace buttons, an' Seth went daan wi' a soss onto th' drum end, an' throo it he went wi' a crack as laad as a pistol gooin off.

'Thear, tha's done it,' sed Dick; 'Tha's letten all th' mewsic aght o' that, onyway; they owt to ha made a drum major o' thee.'

'It's noa fawt o' mine,' he sed, as he tried to scramel aght. 'Let me catch hold o' that chap' at knocked th' wind aght o' me, an' if aw dooant drum him it'll be becoss aw connot.'

When he gate to his feet he luk'd raand, but th' chap had mizel'd, but all th' singers wor standin raand laffin fit to split.

'Are yo laffin becoss mi britches knees is brussen or becose th' drum end's brussen, aw'd like to know?'

'What's th' matter wi' thi? tha'rt as mad as if tha'd swoller'd th' drum asteead o'th' drum swollerin thee; tha mud ha getten thi bally brussen,' sed Dick.

'It's very plain to me that there will be no more harmony here this ev'ning,' sed th' little man 'at wor shakkin th' stick, 'and so I shall leave you, an' I hope those who have tickets to dispose of, will in future give them to persons who can appreciate music.'

'Aw'll mak thee sick for two pins,' sed Seth, 'if tha says owt agean me, aw'll sing thee for glasses raand ony day.'

The conductor sed no more but went home.

'Who is yond leckterin fooil?' sed Seth, to a chap 'at stood near.

'That's th' conductor.'

'Corn doctor, is he? Why, what does he want at a singing doo? Connot yo cut yor own corns?'

'Tha doesn't understand, he's th' leeader.'

'Well, if he's th' leeader, what dooant yo follow him for? But nah luk here! aw'll tell yo what aw'll do. Aw've been th' cause o' braikin up yor spree, soa suppoas yo all stop an' have a bit ov a doo wi' me; aw've getten a shillin or two an' we'll send for some ale an' mak a reglar free-an-easy on it.'

'Hear! hear!' sed one.

'Ov course we'll have it here, whear else does ta want it!' Soa they all agreed to sit daan, and Seth sent for two gallon o' ale an' some bacca, an' nooan on 'em seemed to be sooary 'at things had turned aght as they had.

When they'd all had a second tot, an' getten ther pipes let, they made Seth into th' cheerman, an' he sed they'd have to excuse him for net knowin ther names, but when he wanted to call anybody up he'd do his best to mak 'em understand who he meant, an' to begin wi, he should mak bould to ax that chap wi' th' big nooas to sing a song.

Nubdy stirred, soa Seth pointed him aght an' sed, 'Will that chap wi' th' red peg i'th' middle ov his face oblige the company with a song?'

Th' chap couldn't mistak who wor meant this time, so he gate up.

'Mister cheerman,' he sed, 'aw doant know 'at my nooas owes yo or onybody else owt, an' why it should be remarked aw can't tell.'

'Aw should think it owes thee a gooid deal,' sed th' cheerman. 'If tha doesn't want it to be remarked tha shouldn't paint it sich a bright colour; but get on wi' th' singing.'

'Awm noa singer, aw play a offerclyde, but awm thinkin' o' changin, an' leearnin th' fiddle.'

'That's reight, lad, do. Awm sure it'll tak all th' wind tha has to blow that peg o' thine i' cold weather; a fiddle 'll suit thee better, an' tha'll niver be fast for a spot to hing up thi stick. But it's a song we want, an' not a speech, an' if tha doesn't sing tha'll be fined a quairt.'

That settled it; soa, clearin his voice, he began--

Tho' the sober shake the head, And drink water, boys, instead, And the foolish all strong liquors do decry; Yet the foaming glass for me, May we never, never see A friend without a draught when dry.

Then quaff, boys, quaff, and let's be merry; Why should dull care be crowned a king? Let us have another drain, till the night begins to wane, And the bonny, bonny morn peeps in.

Let us drown each selfish soul Deep in the flowing bowl; Let the rosy god of wine take the throne; And he who cannot boast Some good humour in his toast, Let him wander in the world alone. Then quaff, boys, &c.

O, I love a jolly face, And I love a pretty lass, And I love to see the young and old around; Then with frolic and with fun Let both wine and moments run, And the hearty, hearty laugh resound. Then quaff, boys, &c.

When man was placed on earth He was naked at his birth, But God a robe of reason round him threw; First he learned to blow his nose, Then he learned to make his clothes, And then he learned to bake and brew. Then, quaff, boys, &c.

If it's wrong to press the vine-- Thus to make the rosy wine, Then it must be wrong to crush the wheaten grain; But we'll laugh such things to scorn, And although it's coming morn, Just join me in another drain. Then quaff, boys, &c.

'E'e gow, lad! that's a rare song. Aw'll say nowt noa moor abaat thy nooas after that, but tha munnot sing that amang teetotallers. It's thy call nah, let's keep it movin, call for who or what tha likes.'

'Well, if awm to call, aw shall call th' landlord to fill this pitcher, for this pipe o' mine's varry dry.'

'All reight, lad, order it to be filled, aw'll pay for it, an wol they're fotchin it call o' somdy for a song or summat.'

'Well, aw call o'th' cheerman for a song.'

'Nay, lad, tha munnot call o' me, for if awd to start ony mak ov mewsic aw should niver get throo it.'

'Yo went throo th' drum easy enuff,' said one.

'Eea, an' he brag'd he could sing better ner awr conductor,' sed another.

'Nah chaps, aw'll do my best to mak it a pleasant neet, an' as th' ale has just come up aw'll give yo a tooast an' a sentiment booath i' one.'

Hold up yer heads, tho' at poor workin men Simple rich ens may laff an' may scorn; May be they ne'er haddled ther riches thersen, Somdy else lived afoor they wor born, As noble a heart may be fun in a man 'At's a poor fusten coit for his best, An 'at knows he mun work or else he mun clam, As yo'll find i' one mich better drest.

Soa, here's to all th' workers wheariver they be, I'th' land, or i'th' loom, or i'th' saddle; And the dule tak all them 'at wod mak us less free, Or rob us o'th' wages we haddle.

'Them's just my sentiment,' sed one o'th' singers, 'an' aw dooant care who hears me say it, for aw dooant care whether a chap's coit is aght o'th' elbows or his britches knees brussen, noa matter if he's----'

'Thee shut up,' sed Seth, 'it's my call next, an' aw want thee to know, owd fiddle-face, 'at tha can give ovver talking abaat fowks clooas, an' sing as sooin an tha likes.'

'Mr. Cheerman, aw nobbut know one, but as sooin as aw've supt aw'll start, shove th' ale this rooad.'

'Get supt then, it taks more bother to start thee singin nor what it taks to start th' Dyke Engin.'

All kinds of songs I've heard folks sing, Of things in every nation; Of Queen's Road swells, and Clarehall belles, And every new sensation. But I've a song you never heard, Although the music's ancient; It's all about one Doctor Bird, And his fascinating patient. So list to me And I'll tell you all the story of this Doctor B.

One day he sat within his room, By draughts and pills surrounded; Strange pictures hanging on the walls Which timid folks confounded. He heard the bell, and strange to tell, He quickly changed his manner, And in there came his bosom's flame His darling Mary Hannah. So list to me, &c.

'Sweet Mary Hannah!' 'Doctor dear'-- Such was their salutation; 'I've come,' sed she, 'for much I fear, I've got the palpitation.' 'O never mind,' says Doctor B., 'You need not long endure it; Just come a little nearer me, I fancy I can cure it.' But list to me, &c.

He took a loving, long embrace, Cries she, 'Oh, dear, that's shocking!' When the doctor's boy, to mar their joy, Just entered without knocking. And when he saw the state o' things, Then down the stairs he hurried, And ran to tell the Doctor's wife,-- For Doctor B. was married. So list to me, &c.

The Doctor seized his hat and cane, And cried, 'Dear Mary, hook it!' Then down he ran, and found a cab, And in an instant took it-- 'Drive for your life and fetch my wife, And need no second telling!' And in a very little time They reached the Doctor's dwelling. So list to me, &c.

His wife was there, said he, 'My dear Come with me to the city, I'm lonely when you are not near,' Says she, 'Why that's a pity.' He took her to the self same room, And in the self same manner; He kissed and coaxed his lawful wife, As he'd just kissed Mary Hannah. So list to me, &c.

In loving talk some time they spent, Says she, 'now I'll go shopping;' He kissed her and as out she went, The Doctor's boy came hopping; He saw her and he quickly cried, 'O, please excuse me missus, But Doctor's got a girl inside, And he's smothering her with kisses. So list to me, &c.

'You little sneaking cur,' she cried, 'That shows that you've been peeping.' She boxed his ears from side to side And quickly sent him weeping. The Doctor rubbed his hands and smiled, To think how well he'd plan'd it, And Mrs. B.'s quite reconciled, But the boy don't understand it. So you all see What a very cunning fellow was this Doctor B.

Now all you married men so gay, Just listen to my moral; Indulge your wives in every way, And thus avoid a quarrel. Pray do your best to settle down, Nor with the fair ones frisk it; You might not fare like Doctor B., It isn't safe to risk it. For you can see How very near in trouble was this Doctor B.

'Is that th' only song tha knows young man?'

'That's all aw know, Mr. Cheerman.'

'Why, tak my advice an' forget it as sooin as tha can, for aw niver heeard a war, an' see if tha cannot find a better. Nah tha can call for th' next.'

'Well, aw'll call o' owd Miles, an' if he con do ony better aw'll pay for th' next gallon.'

Old Miles stood up, an' crossed his hands i' front an turned up his een as if he wor gooin to relate his experience at a prayer-meetin, an' began:

They may talk of pure love but its fleeting at best; Let them ridicule gold if they will; But money's the thing that has long stood the test, And is longed for and sought after still. Love must kick the balance against a full purse, And you'll find if you live to four score, That whativer your troubles the heaviest curse, Is to drag on your life and be poor.

If you sigh after titles and long for high rank, Let this be your aim night and day, To increase the small balance you have at your bank, And to honors' 't will soon point the way. For you'll find that men bow to the glittering dross, Whate'er its possessor may be; And if obstacles rise they will help you across, If you only can boast L. s. d.

See that poor man in rags, bending under his load, He passes unnoticed along: No one lends him a hand as he goes on his road, He must toil as he can through the throng. But if he was wealthy, how many would fly To assist him and offer the hand; But he's poor, so they leave him to toil or to die, That's the rule in this Christian land.

'Nah, that's summat like a song; aw could lizzen to that all th' neet, an' aw think yo'll all agree 'at owd fiddle face has lost his gallon. Nah, lad, does ta hear? Tak to payin.'

But he didn't hear, for he'd quietly slipped away an' left 'em wi' a empty pitcher. 'Well, he's a mean owd stick, onyway; but aw'll pay for it fillin once moor. An' nah, Miles, it's yor turn to call.'

'Mr. Cheerman, aw'll call o' yor friend for th' next.'

'A'a, lad,' sed Dick, 'tha should pass by me, for aw niver sang a song i' mi life, an' awm to old to start, but if yo've noa objections aw'll give yo a recitation.'

'Gooid lad, Dick, goa on! Tha'rt gam, aw know.'

Ov all th' enjoyments' at sweeten man's life, Ther's nooan can come up to a sweet tempered wife; An' he must be lonesome, an' have little pleasure, 'At doesn't possess sich a woman to treasure. But them 'at expect when they tak hooam a bride, 'At nowt nobbut sunshine wi' them will abide, An' think 'at noa sorrow will iver oppress, They'll find ther mistak aght, yo'll easily guess. For th' mooast fascinatin an' lovable elves, Are all on 'em mortal, just th' same as ussels, An' show tempers 'at sometimes are net ovver pleasant, They find fault whear ther's room, an' sometimes whear ther isn't, An' to get there own way, why they'll kiss, coax, or cavil, They'll smile like an angel, or storm like the devil. But aw've monny times sed, an' aw say it ageean, 'At women are ofter i'th' reight nor are th' men, Just fancy gooin hooam to a bachelor's bed, All shudderin an' shakkin yo lig daan yor heead. There's a summat a wantin, 'at fills yo wi' fear, Yo can turn as yo like, but you find it's not thear, An' yo freeat an' yo fitter, or weep like a willow; An' for want o' owt better, mak love to a pillow. But him 'at's been blessed wi' a wife he can love, Liggs his heead on her breast pure as snow from above, An' ther's nubdy could buy it for silver or gold, An' he wodn't exchange it for Abrahams of old. An' he falls hard asleep, wi' her arm raand his neck, An' gets up lik a lark, an' then works like a brick.

'Nah, friends, aw wish to say a few words befoor aw goa. Awm varry sorry 'at aw brack that drum, but yo see it wor an accident, an' aw've done my best to mak it up, an' as Dick's recitation maks me think awd better be gettin hooam, or aw shall happen find it varry warm when aw get thear. Aw'll nobbut call o' one moor befoor sayin gooid neet, an' that's Mose Hart. If he's hear aw should like him to try agean; ther's nowt like perseverance, an' if a chap fails twelve times th' thirteenth may pay for all.'

'Mr. Cheerman, Mozart wor deead long befoor yo wor born or thowt on.'

'Then that chap 'at dug his elbow into my guts tell'd me a lie, for he sed he'd just made a mess for th' twelfth time when aw come in.'

Ther wor a crack o' laffin when he sed that, for th' chaps saw his mistak, an' soa one on 'em went quietly up to him an' explained it. 'O, then,' he sed, 'if he's deead we may as weel goa hooam, an' all aw've getten to say is 'at ony time yo chonce to come by awr haase, just luk in an' aw'll mak yo welcome, an' my owd lass'll mak yo a mess o' some sooart 'at'll do yo some gooid. Yo'll find it easy, for aw live th' next door to th' Pig an' Whistle, an' soa aw wish yo all a varry gooid neet--Come on Dick.'

Th' Hoil-i'th'-Hill Statty.