Part 3

Th' chaps wander'd th' country far an' near, Until they stall'd thersen; But nawther Billy nor his pig Coom hooam agean sin then; But oft fowk say, i'th' deead o'th' neet, Near Shibden's ruined mill, The gooast o' Billy an' his pig May be seen runnin still.

Moral.

Yo fowk 'ats tempted to goa buy Be careful what yo do; Dooant be persuaded coss "its _cheap_," For if yo do yo'll rue; Dooant think its lowerin to yor sen To ax a friend's advice, Else like poor Billy's pig, 't may be Bowt dear at ony price.

Rejected.

Gooid bye, lass, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss is hard to bide! For it wod ha' been a shame, Had tha ivver been the bride Of a workin chap like me; One 'ats nowt but love to gie.

Hard hoot'd neives like thease o' mine. Surely ne'er wor made to press Hands so lily-white as thine; Nor should arms like thease caress One so slender, fair, an' pure, 'Twor unlikely, lass, aw'm sure.

But thease tears aw cannot stay, Drops o' sorrow fallin fast, Hopes once held aw've put away As a dream, an think its past; But mi poor heart loves thi still, An' wol life is mine it will.

When aw'm seated, lone and sad, Wi mi scanty, hard won meal, One thowt still shall mak me glad, Thankful that alone aw feel What it is to tew an'strive Just to keep a soul alive.

Th' whin-bush rears o'th' moor its form, An' wild winds rush madly raand, But it whistles to the storm, In the barren home it's faand; Natur fits it to be poor, An 'twor vain to strive for moor.

If it for a lily sighed, An' a lily chonced to grow, When it found the fair one died, Powerless to brave the blow Of the first rude gust o' wind, Which had left its wreck behind.

Then 'twod own 'twor better fate Niver to ha' held the prize; Whins an' lilies connot mate, Sich is not ther destinies; Then 'twor wrang for one like me, One soa poor, to sigh for thee.

Then gooid bye, aw dunnot blame, Tho' mi loss it's hard to bide, For it wod ha' been a shame Had tha iver been mi bride; Content aw'll wear mi lonely lot, Tho' mi poor heart forgets thee not.

Duffin Johnie.

(A Rifleman's Adventure.)

Th' mooin shone breet wi silver leet, An' th' wind wor softly sighin, Th' burds did sleep, an' th' snails did creep, An' th' buzzards wor a flying; Th' daisies donned ther neet caps on, An' th buttercups wor weary, When Jenny went to meet her John, Her Rifleman, her dearie.

Her Johnny seemed as brave a lad As iver held a rifle, An' if ther wor owt in him bad, 'Twor nobbut just a trifle He wore a suit o' sooity grey, To show 'at he wor willin To feight for th' Queen and country When perfect in his drillin.

His heead wor raand, his back wor straight, His legs wor long an' steady, His fist wor fully two pund weight, His heart wor true an' ready; His upper lip wor graced at th' top Wi mustache strong and bristlin, It railly wor a spicy crop; Yo'd think to catch him whistlin.

His buzzum burned wi' thowt's o' war, He long'd for battles clatter. He grieved to think noa foeman dar To cross a sup o' watter; He owned one spot,--an' nobbut one, Within his heart wor tender, An' as his darlin had it fun, He'd be her bold defender.

At neet he donn'd his uniform, War trials to endure, An' helped his comrades brave, to storm A heap ov horse manure! They said it wor a citidel, Fill'd wi' some hostile power, They boldly made a breach, and well They triumph'd in an hour.

They did'nt wade to th' knees i' blooid, (That spoils one's breeches sadly), But th' pond o' sypins did as gooid, An' scented 'em as badly; Ther wor noa slain to hug away, Noa heeads, noa arms wor wantin, They lived to feight another day, An' spend ther neets i' rantin.

Brave Johnny's rooad wor up a loin Where all wor dark an' shaded, Part grass, part stooans, part sludge an' slime But quickly on he waded; An' nah an' then he cast his e'e An luk'd behund his shoulder. He worn't timid, noa net he! He crack'd, "he knew few bolder."

But once he jumped, an' said "Oh dear!" Becoss a beetle past him, But still he wor unknown to fear, He'd tell yo if yo asked him; He couldn't help for whispering once, This loin's a varry long un, A chap wod have but little chonce Wi thieves, if here amang em.

An' all at once he heeard a voice Cry out, "Stand and deliver! Your money or your life, mak choice, Before your brains I shiver;" He luk'd all raand, but failed to see A sign of livin craytur, Then tremlin dropt upon his knee, Fear stamp'd on ivery faytur.

"Gooid chap," he said, "mi rifle tak, Mi belts, mi ammunition, Aw've nowt but th' clooas at's o' mi back Oh pity mi condition; Aw wish aw'd had a lot o' brass, Aw'd gie thi ivery fardin; Aw'm nobbut goin to meet a lass, At Tate's berry garden."

"Aw wish shoo wor, aw daoant care where, Its her fault aw've to suffer;" Just then a whisper in his ear Said, "Johnny, thar't a duffer," He luk'd, an' thear claise to him stuck Wor Jenny, burst wi' lafter; "A'a, John," shoo says, "Aw've tried thi pluck, Aw'st think o' this at after."

"An when tha tells what thinga tha'll do, An' booasts o' manly courage, Aw'st tell thi then, as nah aw do, Go hooam an' get thi porrige." "Why Jenny wor it thee," he said "Aw fancied aw could spy thi, Aw nobbut reckoned to be flaid, Aw did it but to trie thi."

"Just soa," shoo says, "but certain 'tis Aw hear thi heart a beatin, An' tak this claat to wipe thi phiz Gooid gracious, ha tha'rt sweeatin; Thar't brave noa daat, an' tha can crow Like booastin cock-a-doodle, But nooan sich men for me, aw vow, When wed, aw'll wed a 'noodle.'

Lost Love.

Shoo wor a bonny, bonny lass Her een as black as sloas, Her hair a flying' thunner claad, Her cheeks a blowing rooas; Her smile coom like a sunny gleam Her cherry lips to curl; Her voice wor like a murm'ring stream At flowed through banks o' pearl.

Aw long'd to claim her for mi own, But nah mi love is crost; An aw mun wander on alooan, An' mourn for her aw've lost.

Aw couldn't ax her to be mine, Wi' poverty at th' door: Aw niver thowt breet een could shine Wi' love for one so poor; But nah ther's summat i' mi breast, Tells me aw miss'd mi way: An' lost that lass I loved th' best Throo fear shoo'd say me nay.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c,

Aw saunter'd raand her cot at morn, An' oft i'th' dark o'th' neet; Aw've knelt mi daan i'th loin to find Prints ov her tiny feet: An' under th' window, like a thief, Aw've crept to hear her spaik, An' then aw've hurried home agean For fear mi heart ud braik.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c,

Another bolder nor misen, Has robb'd me o' mi dear, An' nah aw ne'er may share her joy An' ne'er may dry her tear; But though aw'm heartsick, lone, an' sad, An' though hope's star is set, To know she's lov'd as aw'd ha' lov'd Wod mak me happy yet.

Aw long'd to claim her for, &c,

Th' Traitle Sop.

Once in a little country taan A grocer kept a shop, And sell'd amang his other things, Prime traitle drink and pop,

Teah, coffee, currans, spenish juice, Soft soap an' paader blue, Presarves an' pickles, cinnamon, Allspice an' pepper too;

An' hoasts o' other sooarts o' stuff To sell to sich as came, As figs, an' raisens, salt an' spice, Too numerous to name.

One summer's day a waggon stood Just opposite his door, An' th' childer all gaped raand as if They'd ne'er seen one afoor;

An' in it wor a traitle cask, It wor a wopper too, To get it aat they all wor fast Which iver way to do;

But wol they stood an parley'd thear, Th' horse gave a sudden chuck, An' aat it flew, an' bursting threw All th' traitle into th' muck.

Then th' childer laff'd an' clapp'd their hands, To them it seem'd rare fun, But th' grocer ommost lost his wits When he saw th' traitle run;

He stamp'd an' raved, an' then declared He wodn't pay a meg, An'th' carter vow'd until he did He wodn't stir a peg.

He said he'd done his business reight, He'd brought it up to th' door, An thear it wor, an' noa fair chap Wad want him to do moor.

But wol they stamped, an' raved, an' swore, An' vented aat ther spleen, Th' childer wor thrang enough, you're sure, All plaisterd up to th' een,

A neighbor chap saw th' state o' things, An' pitied ther distress, An' begg'd em not to be soa sour Abaat soa sweet a mess;

"An' tha'd be sour," th'owd grocer said, If th' job wor thine, owd lad, An' somdy wanted thee to pay For what tha'd niver had.

"Th' fault isn't mine," said th' cart driver "My duty's done I hope? I've brought him traitle, thear it is, An' he mun sam it up."

Soa th' neighbor left em to thersen, He'd nowt noa moor to say, But went to guard what ther wor left, And send th' young brood away:

This didn't suit th' young lads a bit, They didn't mean to stop, They felt detarmin'd 'at they'd get Another traitle sop.

They tried all ways, but th' chap stood firm, They couldn't get a lick, An' some o' th' boldest gate a taste O'th neighbor's walkin sticks

At last one said, I know a plan If we can scheam to do it, We'll knock one daan bang into th' dolt, An' let him roll reight throo it;

Agreed, agreed! they all replied, An here comes little Jack, He's foorced to pass cloise up this side, We'll do it in a crack.

Poor Jack war rather short, an' coom Just like a suckin duck, He little dream'd at th' sweets o' life Wod iver be his luck;

But daan they shoved him, an' he roll'd Heead first bang into th' mess, An' aat he coom a woeful sight, As yo may easy guess.

They marched him off i' famous glee All stickified an' clammy, Then licked him clean an' sent him hooam To get lick'd by his mammy.

Then th' cartdriver an th' grocer coom Boath in a dreadful flutter, To save some, but they coom too lat, It all wor lost ith gutter:

It towt a lesson to 'em boath Before that job wor ended, To try (at stead o' falling aat) If ought went wrang to mend it.

For wol fowk rave abaat ther loss, Some sharper's sure to pop, An' aat o' ther misfortunes They'll contrive to get a sop.--

To Let.

Aw live in a snug little cot, An' tho' poor, yet aw keep aat o' debt, Cloise by, in a big garden plot, Stands a mansion, 'at long wor to let.

Twelve month sin' or somewhear abaat, A fine lukin' chap donned i' black, Coom an' luk'd at it inside an' aat An' decided this mansion to tak.

Ther wor whiteweshers coom in a drove An' masons, an' joiners, an' sweeps, An' a blacksmith to fit up a cove, An' bricks, stooans an' mortar i' heaps.

Ther wor painters, an' glazzeners too, To mend up each bit ov a braik, An' a lot 'at had nowt else to do, But to help some o'th 'tothers to laik.

Ther wor fires i' ivery range, They niver let th' harston get cooiled, Throo th' celler to th' thack they'd a change, An' iverything all in a mooild.

Th' same chap 'at is th' owner o'th' Hall, Is th' owner o'th' cot whear aw dwell, But if aw ax for th' leeast thing at all; He tells me to do it mysel.

This hall lets for fifty a year, Wol five paand is all 'at aw pay; When th' day come mi rent's allus thear, An' that's a gooid thing in its way,

At th' last all th' repairers had done, An' th' hall wor as cleean as a pin, Aw wor pleased when th' last lot wor gooan, For aw'd getten reight sick o' ther din.

Then th' furniture started to come, Waggon looads on it, all spankin new, Rich crimson an' gold covered some, Wol some shone i' scarlet an' blue.

Ov sofas aw think hauf a scoor, An' picturs enuff for a show? They fill'd ivery corner awm sure, Throo th' garret to th' kitchen below.

One day when a cab drove to th' gate, Th' new tenant stept aat, an' his wife, An' tawk abaat fashion an state! Yo ne'er saw sich a spreead i' yor life.

Ther war sarvents to curtsey 'em in, An' aw could'nt help sayin', "bi'th mass;" As th' door shut when they'd booath getten in, "A'a its grand to ha' plenty o' brass."

Ther wor butchers, an' bakers, an' snobs, An' grocers, an' milkmen, an' snips, All seekin' for orders an' jobs, An' sweetenin th' sarvents wi' tips.

Aw sed to th' milk-chap tother day, "Ha long does ta trust sich fowk, Ike? Each wick aw'm expected to pay," "Fine fowk," he says, "pay when they like."

Things went on like this, day bi day, For somewhear cloise on for a year, Wol aw ne'er thowt o' lukkin' that way; Altho' aw wor livin soa near.

But one neet when awd finished mi wark, An' wor tooastin mi shins anent th' fire, A chap rushes in aat 'o'th' dark Throo heead to fooit plaistered wi' mire.

Says he, "does ta know whear they've gooan?" Says aw, "Lad, pray, who does ta meean?" "Them 'at th' hall," he replied, wi a grooan, "They've bolted an' diddled us cleean."

Aw tell'd him 'aw'd ne'er heeard a word, He cursed as he put on his hat, An' he sed, "well, they've flown like a burd, An' paid nubdy owt, an' that's what."

He left, an' aw crept off to bed, Next day awd a visit throo Ike, But aw shut up his maath when aw sed, "Fine fowk tha knows pay when they like."

Ther's papers ith' winders, "to let," An' aw know varry weel ha 't 'll be; They'll do th' same for th' next tenant awl bet, Tho they neer' do a hawpoth for me.

But aw let 'em do just as they pleease, Awm content tho' mi station is low, An' awm thankful sich hard times as thease If aw manage to pay what aw owe.

This precept, friends, niver forget, For a wiser one has not been sed, Be detamined to rise aat o' debt Tho' yo go withaat supper to bed,--'

Fault Finders.

If ther's ony sooart o' fowk aw hate, it's them at's allus lukkin' aght for faults;--hang it up! they get soa used to it, wol they willn't see ony beauties if they are thear. They remind me ov a chap 'at aw knew at wed a woman 'at had a wart at th' end ov her nooas, but it war nobbut a little en, an' shoo wor a varry bonny lass for all that; but when they'd been wed a bit, an' th' newness had getten warn off, he began to fancy at this wart grew bigger ivery day, an' he stared at it, an' studied abaght it, wol when he luk'd at his wife he could see nowt else, an' he kept dinging her up wi' it wol shoo felt varry mich troubled. But one day, as they wor gettin' ther dinner, he said, "Nay, lass, aw niver did see sich a thing as that wart o' thy nooas is growing into; if it gooas on tha'll be like a rhynockoroo or a newnicorn or summat!"

"Well," shoo says, "when tha wed me tha wed th' wart an' all, an' if tha doesn't like it tha con lump it."

"Aw've noa need to lump it," he says, "for it's lumpin' itsen or aw'll gie nowt for it."

Soa they went on, throo little to moor, till they'd a regular fratch, an' as sooin as' he'd getten his dinner, he off to his wark, an' shoo to her mother's. When Jim coom back an' fan th' fire aght, an' noa wife, he felt rayther strange, but he wor detarmined to let her see 'at he could do baat her, soa he gate a bit o' summat to ait an' went to bed. This went on for two-o'-three days, an' he wor as miserable as iver he could be, but o'th' Setterdy he happened to meet her i'th' shambles, an' they booath stopped an' grinned, for they'd nowt agean one another i'th' bothem.

"Nah, lass," he said, "aw think it's abaat time for thee to come hooam."

"Nay, aw'll come nooan," shoo says, "till aw've getten shut o' this wart."

"Oh, ne'er heed that, lass; it doesn't luk hauf as big as it did, an' if tha wor all wart, aw'd rayther have thi nor be as aw am."

"Soa shoo went back wi' him, an' throo that time to this he's allus luk'd for her beauties asteead ov her faults, an they get on swimmingly. One day shoo axed him if he thowt th' wart wor ony bigger?" "A'a lass," he sed, "thi een are soa breet, aw didn't know tha had one!"

What aw want yo to do is to be charitable, an' if yo find ony faults, think--yo happen may have one or two yorsen. Ther's net monny on us 'at's killed wi sense, but he hasn't th' leeast at's enuff to know he's a fooil.

This world wad be a better spot, Wi' joys moor thickly strown, If fowk cared less for others' faults An tried to mend ther own.

There's plenty o' room for us all to mend, an' them 'at set abaat it sooinest are likely to be perfect furst; at ony rate, if we try it'll show willin'.

Disapointment.

"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall net be disappointed."

Aw once knew a chap they called old Sammy; he used ta gaa wi a donkey, an th' mooast remarkable things abaat him wor his clogs an' his rags. Sammy had niver been wed, tho' he war fifty years old, but it wor allus believed he'd managed ta save a bit a' brass. One day he war gain up Hepenstull Bunk, Jenny o' Jooans a' th' Long Lover wor goin up befoor him, an' whether it wor at her clogs were made a' his favrite pattern, or her ancles had summat abaat 'em different to what he'd iver seen befoor, aw cannot tell, but it seems a feelin coom ovver him all at once, sich as he'd niver had befoor, an' when he'd managed ta overtak her, he sed, "It's loaning for heeat aw think, Jenny." "Eea, aw think its likely for bein wut," shoo sed. "Awve just been thinkin," sed Sammy, "at if I wornt na a single old chap, aw shouldn't have to trail up an' daan in a lot a' rags like thease, for awm sure this jacket has hardly strength to hing o' mi rig, an' mi britches are soa full o' hoils wol awm feeared sometimes when awm puttin em on, at awst tummel throo an braik my neck." "Well, reight enuff, a woife's varry useful at times," shoo sed, "but as tha hasn't one if tha'll learn mi thi jacket, aw'll see if it cannot be mended far thi a bit." "Aw allus thowt tha war a gooid sooart, Jenny, an' awl tak thi at thi word," he sed: so he pool'd off his coit an gave it her an' it were arranged 'at he should call for it next neet. You may bet yor life he didn't forget, an when he saw it mended up, an' brushed wol it luk'd ommost as gooid as new, he luk'd first at it an then at her, an at last he sed, "Aw think we should be able to get on varry weel together, what says ta?" Aw dooant know what shoo sed, but it wornt long befoor they wor wed, for Sammy thowt shoo'd be worth her mait if it wor nobbut for mendin up his old duds. They hadn't been wed long, when he axed her to mend his britches.-- "A'a," shoo sed, "Aw cannot mend em, aw niver could sew i' mi life!" "Why that is a tale," he sed, "tha mended mi jacket all reight!" "Nay, indeed aw nawther!--Aw mended nooon on it! Aw sent it to th' tailor an paid for it doin." "Then awm dropt on," sed Sammy, "for aw expected tha'd be able to do all sich like wark." "Tha should niver expect owt an' then tha willnt get dropt on," shoo sed.--"That, wor a bit o' varry gooid advice.

Work Away.

BONNY lads, and bonny lasses! Work away! work away! Think how swift each moment passes, Time does never stay. Then let's up and to our labours, They who _will_, must sure succeed, He does best who best endeavours,-- _Try again_ shall be our creed.

New Machinery &c.

It shows varry little sense for fowk to object to a new machine till they've tried it, or to fancy it'll be th' means o' smashin th' trade. Luk at th' paaer looms; when they I wor started all th' hand-loom weyvers struck wark, becoss they said it ud do 'em all up, an' ther'd be noa wark at all for weyvers in a bit; but it hasn't turn'd aat soa, for ther's moor weyvers i'th' country to-day, nor iver ther wor; and they addle moor brass, an' awm sure they've easier wark. For if this country doesn't get new machines, other countries will, an' when we're left behund hand an' connot meet 'em i'th' market, we'st be a deeal war off nor ony new invention can mak us. All at's been done soa far has helped to mak us better off. They connot mak a machine to think, they're forced to stop thear; an' aw dooant daat if we'd to live long enuff, ther'd be a time when chaps ud ha nowt to do but think-but it's to be hoaped 'at they'd have summat else to think abaat nor rattenin', or shooitin', or ruinin' fowk. Aw've tawk'd to some abaat it, an' they say they're foorced to do sum way to keep wages up, but if aw can tell em ha to mak brass goa farther, they'll be content to give up th' Union. But aw think it goas far enuff--what they want is to keep it nearer hooam, to let less on it goa to th' ale haase, to spend less o' dog feightin', pigeon flyin', an' rat worryin'; an' if they'd niver spend owt withaat think in' whether it wor for ther gooid or net, they'd find a deal moor brass i'th' drawer corner at th' month end, an' varry likely a nice little bit to fall back on i'th' Savings bank at th' year end. An a chap stands hauf an inch heigher when he's a bankbook in his pocket; an' butchers and grocers varry sooin begin to nod at him, an' ax if they can do owt for him. But if he goas on th'strap, an' happens to be a month behund, he's foorced to stand o' one side till iverybody else gets sarved, an' then if he doesn't like what's left they tell him to goa leave it. It isn't what a chap addles, it's what a chap saves 'at makes him rich.

Sellin' drink has made mony a chap rich, an suppin it has made thaasands poor. But still aw must honestly say 'at aw cannot agree wi' teetotalism altogether. If noa men gate drunken, ther'd be noa need for anybody to sign th' pledge;--an' aw dooant think they goa th' reight way to get fowk to be sober. They publish papers, but what use is made on em? Yo hardly iver see a midden emptied but what yo'll find two or three pieces o'th' "British Workman," or th' "Temperance Advocate" flyin' abaat; an' they hold meetings an' spend a sight o' brass o' printin' an' praichin', an' still they doant mak one teetotaller 'at ov a thaasand. Aw should advise em to try this way. Let em offer a £500 prize for him 'at can invent a drink as gooid takin' as ale--an' one, 'at willn't mak fowk drunk. Chaps mun sup summat when they're away throo hooam, an it is'nt iverybody's stumach 'at's strong enuff to tak watter, unless it's let daan wi summat; an' ther is noa teetotal drink invented yet 'at's any better nor Spenish- juice-watter. They're all like pap. Coffee an' tea are all weel enuff, but if yo want that yo munnot goa to a Temperance Hotel for it. Aw'ye tried it monny a scoor times, but aw niver gate owt fit to sup, an' if it hadn't been for th' drop o' rum aw gate 'em to put into it, aw couldn't ha swallowed it. Tea an' coffee are things 'at dooant mend wi' warmin up, an' yo connot allus wait woll fowk mak it, an' soa if yo want to sup yo mun awther goa an' beg a drop o' watter, or pay fourpence for a glass o' belly vengeance, or yo mun get a glass o' drink--but yo've noa need to get a dozzen. Teetotallers say it contains poison, an' noa daat it does--but it's of a varry slow mak, an' if yo niver goa to excess yo may live to be a varry owd man, an' dee befoor it begins to operate, Ther wor once a chap killed hissel wi' aitin traitle parkin, but that's noa reason we shouldn't have a bit o' brandy-snap at our fair. Aw allus think a teetotal lecturer is like a bottle o' pop. Ther's a bit ov a crack to 'start wi', an' a gooid deal o' fooamin, an' frothin', an' fizzin', but when it's all ovver, an' settled daan, what's left is varry poor stuff. Still aw think one teetotaller is worth moor nor a ship-load o' drunkards.

September Month.