Part 4

Blackberries are ripe in September, an' we may consider th' year's ripe, for when this month gets turned, things 'll begin o' gooin' th' back way. Its vany wonderful when we look reight at it. This world's a wonderful spot, an' ther's a deal o' wonderful things in it. Ther's some things at it's varry wonderful to see, an' ther's some things' at it's wonderful net to see. Aw thowt it wor varry wonderful, a week or two sin', when aw pass'd Stanninley Station, 'at ther worn't a chap wi' a dog under his arm; it's th' furst time aw iver pass'd an' didn't see one. But aw niver think it's wonderful for ther to be a fooil in a company; an' aw dooant think its wonderful when aw find 'at th' biggest fooil has allus th' mooast to say.

Nah, its a varry nice time o'th' year is this for fowk to have a bit of a pic-nic;--aw dooant know owt 'at's a better excuse for a chap to tighten his belly-band nor a pic-nic, becoss iverybody taks twice as mich stuff to ait as they know they'll want, for fear fowk might think they wor shabby. If yo get a invite to a doo o' that mak', be sure yo goa, if you've owt of a twist. But talkin' abaat invites maks me study a bit. When yo get an invitation, allus think it ovver befoor yo tak' it Ax yorsen one or two questions abaat it. If yo think it's becoss yo can play th' peanner, or becoss yo can sing--tell 'em yorterms. If yo think it's becoss some owd uncle is likely to dee an' leeav yo a lot o' brass, an' they've a dowter or two 'at isn't wed-- tell 'em yor engaged (to a lady). If yo think it's becoss they fancy yor a shinin' leet--tell 'em yo're gooan aat. I yo think it's becoss they want to borrow some brass, an' yor daatful whether yo'll iver get it back agean--tell 'em yo've soa monny calls made on yo, wall yo're feeard yo connot call o' them at present. But if yo think it's just becoss they want yo, an' they'll be glad to see yo,' put on yor hat an' off in a minit.

Aw once knew a chap 'at had getten a invite to a doo, an' he wor gooin' to tak his wife wi' him; an' he wor tellin' some mates what a shimmer shoo wor gooin' to cut. "Mun," he says, "sho'll just luk like one o' them figures i'th' waxworks! Aw've bowt her a goold cheen as thick as my thum; it's cost ornmost a paand. An' tawk abaat a dress! why, yo' niver saw sich a dress it's a real Mary Antique! Th' chap 'at sell'd it me, said it had been made for th' Princess o' Wales, but it wor soa mich brass wol th' Prince couldn't affoord to pay for't, so he let me have it cheap; an' it's just like buckram--it'll stand ov an end." "Why," said one o'th' chaps, "the Princess willn't be suited if shoo hears tell 'at thy wife's gettin' it." "Noa," he said, "aw dooant think shoo wod, but awst noan tell her; an' if shoo gets to know, she mun try an' put up wi' a bit ov a trial nah an' then. Ther's allus troubles for th' rich as weel as th' poor." Well! all this gooas to prove what aw said at th' startin'--it's a wonderful world, an' ther's a deeal o' wonderful things in it;--an', to quote from the poet (Milton aw think), aw may say--

It's a varry' gooid world that we live in To lend, or to spend, or to give in;-- But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, It's th' varry worst world 'at iver wor known.

Hi, an' its th' best 'at iver wor known yet; an haiver mich fowk may say agean it, awve allus nooatised at' ther's varry few seem inclined to part wi' it.

A Hawporth.

Whear is thi' Daddy doy? Whear is thi' mam? What are ta cryin for, poor little lamb? Dry up thi peepies, pet, wipe thi wet face; Tears o' thy little cheeks seem aat 'o place. What do they call thi, lad? Tell me thi name; Have they been ooinion thi? Why, its a shame. Here, tak this hawpny, an' buy thi some spice, Rocksticks or humbugs or summat 'at's nice. Then run of hooam agean, fast as tha can; Thear,--thart all reight agean; run like a man.

He wiped up his tears wi his little white brat, An' he tried to say summat, aw couldn't tell what; But his little face breeten'd wi' pleasure all throo:-- A'a!--its cappin, sometimes, what a hawpny can do.

Buttermilk &c.

May is the month for Buttermilk! A doctor once tell'd me it wor worth a guinea a pint; he sed it licked cod liver oil, castor oil; or paraffin oil. Castor oil, he said, war varry gooid for ther bowels, cod liver oil for ther liver, an' paraffin oil for ther leets (whear they'd noa gas), but buttermilk wor better nor all three put together, an' he ad vised me to tak it. "Why," aw sed; "what's th' use o'. me takkin it when aw dooant ail owt?" "Ther's noa tellin' ha sooin yo may," he said, "an' an it's a varry simple remedy, yo'd better tak it whether yo do or net." "Reight enuff," aw sed, "simple things sometimes do th' best. Aw once knew a woman 'at had been confined to her bed for twelve year, an' her husband cured her in a minit, after all th' doctors at th' infirmary had gien her up." Th' doctor pricked his ears when aw sed soa, an' wanted to know all abaat it, soa aw at it an' tell'd him. "Sally an' her husband lived at th' Arred Well, but he oft used to goa as far as th' Coit Hill ova neet to have a pint an' enjoy an haar or two i' company, an' when he gate haoam he used to catch it, an' finely too, aw con assure yo, for altho shood ligg'd i' bed soa long, shoo had'nt lost th' use ov her tongue, an' her felly said 'at shoo hadn't lost th' use ov her teeth nawther, for shoo could ait as weel as iver shoo could. One neet as he wor gooin hooam, he bethowt him he'd try a bit ov a dodge on, for although he felt varry sooary for his wife, yet he could'nt help thinkin' it wor partly consait at shoo'd suffer'd throo; soa when he gate in, shoo began a blowin' into him i' fine style. 'Th' owd time, lad! It shows what tha cares for me! Aw hav'nt had a wick soul to spaik to sin tha went aat, but it's all one to thee! Tha'll come hooam some time an' find me ligg'd deead, an' then tha can spree abaat throo morm to neet.' 'Nay, lass, aw dooant think aw should spree abaat any moor nor aw do nah. But who does ta think aw met to neet?' he said. 'Ah know nowt abaat it, nor care nawther.' 'Why, but as aw war comin' up bith' Brayvet Gate, aw met Betty Earnshaw, an' soa aw went gaiterds wi her a bit, an' that's reason aw'm soa lat.' 'Oh! tha mud weel be lat! Shoo war an' owd sweetheart o' thine, wor Betty.' 'Eea, shoo war axin me ha tha wor gettin' on, shoo seems vany sooary for thi.' 'Sooary be hanged! aw want nooan ov her sooarys! If shoo could nobbut get me aat o' th' gate, shoo'd be all reight. Did shoo ax when tha thowt tha'd be at liberty?' 'Nay shoo did'nt, but shoo did say at shoo thowt tha lasted long, but shoo pitied thee an' me.' 'Pitied thee, did shoo! An' what did shoo pity thi for, aw should like to know? Shoo happen thowt shoo could do better for thee nor what aw've done, but if shoo wor as badly as me shood know summat. 'Eea, but shoo isn't, for aw nivver saw her luk better i' mi life, an' shoo talks abaat commin' i'th' morn in' to clean up for thi a bit; aw sed tha'd be fain to see her, an' tha sees if owt should happen thee, shadd be getten into th' way a bit, an' begin to feel moor used to th' haase.' 'Niver! wol my heart's warm, Tom. Aw'll niver have sich a huzzy i'th' haase, wheal' aw am! aw'm nooan done wi yet! aw'll live a bit longer to plague yo wi', an' as for cleanin', aw'll crawl abaat o' mi hands an' knees afoor shoo shall do owt for me! Yo think aw'm poorly an' soa aw'm to be trodden on, but aw'll let yo see awm worth a dozen deead uns yet; nasty owd ponse as shoo is!" An' as sure as yor thear, Doctor, shoo gate up th' next morn in' an' kinneld th' fair, an' when Tom coom hoam to his braikfast all wor ready, an' shoo wor set daan at th' table wi a clean cap on, an' lukkin as smart as smart could be. When th' chap saw this, he said, "Lass, aw think aw'd better send Betty backward," "Eea, aw think tha had," shoo sed, "an' th'a can send her word throo me 'at aw may live to donee on her gravestooan yet." Tom bafs in his sleeve a bit sometimes, an' if iver one ov her owd fits seems likely ta come on, he's nowt to do but say a word or two abaat Betty, an' shoo's reight in a minnit. That licks buttermilk, Doctor.

It's a comfort.

It's a comfort a chap can do withaat what he connot get. It feels hard to have to do wi' less nor what a body has at present, but if it has to be it will be, an' it's cappin' ha' fowk manage to pool throo haiver bad th' job is. It's naa use for a chap to keep longin' for sum mat better, unless he's willin' to buckle to, an' work for it; an' a chap wi' an independent mind ne'er freeats becoss he hasn't all he wants; he sets hissen to get it, an' if he's detarmined he oft succeeds, an' if net he doesn't sit daan an' mump, but up an' at it agean. Havin' a lot o' brass doesn't mak a chap happy, but spend in' it may do, an' if a chap's wise he'll try to spend it in a way 'at'll bring happiness for a long time to come. Ther's some fowk feeared 'at they con niver spend brass safely; they're allus freeten'd of loisin' it; but they've noa need, for if they spent it i' dooin' gooid, they'll allus be sure o' gooid interest, for they'll be pleased every time they think on it. Nah, ther's some things i' this world 'at yo connot looise. It's a varry easy thing to loise a cork aat ov a bottle, but it's impossible to loise th' hoil aat ov a bottle neck. Yo may braik th' bottle all to pieces, but th' hoil is somewhear; it nobbut wants another bit o' glass twistin' raand it, an' yo'll find it's as gooid as iver it wor, an' it's just soa wi' a gooid action; yo may loise th' seet on it, but it's somewhear abaat; it nobbut wants circumstances twistin' raand it, an' yo'll find it's thear--it's niver lost. If fowk 'ud get into this way o' thinkin', ther'd be a deal moor gooid done nor ther is. Haiver mich brass a chap has, if he's moor wants nor he con satisfy, he's poor enuff; an' aw think if fowk 'ud spend a bit less time i' tryin' to get rich, an' a bit moor i' tryin' to lessen ther wants, they'd be moor comfortable bi th' hauf. But yo' may carry things too far even i' savin'. Aw once knew a chap 'at wor a regular skinflint; he'd gie nowt--noa, net as mich as a crumb to a burd; an' if iver any wor seen abaat his haase they used to be sat daan to be young ens 'at hadn't le'nt wit. Well, he once went to buy a seck o' coils, an' to be able to get 'em cheaper he fetched 'em throo th' pit; it wor th' depth o' winter, but as he had to hug 'em two mile it made th' sweeat roll off him.. When he gate hooam he put 'em daan an' shook his heead. "By gow," he sed, "awm ommost done, but aw'll mak' yo' pay for this, for aw willn't burn another coil this winter." An' he stuck, to his word, an' wheniver he wor starved, he used to get th' seck o' coils ov his back an' walk raand th' haase till he gat warm agean--an' he says they're likely to fit him his bit o' rime aat. "Well," yo'n say, "that chap wor a fooil," an' aw think soa misen, an' varry likely if he'd seen us do some things he'd think we wor fooils. We dooant allus see things i'th' same leet--for instance, a pompus chap wor once tawkin' to me abaat his father. "My father," he said, "was a carver and gilder, an' he once carved a calf so naturally that you would fancy you could hear it bleat." "Well, aw didn't know thi father," aw sed, "but aw know thi mother once cauved one, for aw've heeard it bleat." Yo' should just ha' seen him when aw sed soa!--didn't he pull th' blinds daan, crickey!

Progress.

This is the age of progress; and it is not slo progress nawther. The worst on it is, we're all forced to go on whether we like it or net, for if we stand still a minit, ther's somedy traidin' ov us heels, an' unless we move on they'll walk ovver us, an' then when we see them ommost at top o'th' hill, we shall find us sen grubbin' i'th' muck at th' bottom. A chap mun have his wits abaat him at this day or else he'll sooin' be left behund. Ther's some absent minded fowk think they get on varry weel i'th' owd way an' they're quite content, but its nobbut becoss they're too absent minded to see ha mich better they mud ha done if they'd wakken'd up a bit sooiner. Aw once knew a varry absent minded chap; he wur allus dooin' some sooart o' wrang heeaded tricks. Aw' remember once we'd booath to sleep i' one bed, an aw gate in fust, an' when aw luk'd to see if he wor commin', aw'm blow'd! if he hadn't put his cloas into bed an hung hissen ovver th' cheer back. Awm sure aw connot tell where all this marchin' is likely to lead us to at last, but aw hooap we shall be all reight, for aw do think ther's plenty o' room to mend even yet, but the deuce on it is,' ther's soa monny different notions abaat what is reight wol aw'm flamigaster'd amang it. Some say drink is the besetting sin; another says 'bacca is man's ruination. One says we're all goin' to the devil becoss we goa to church, an' another says we'st niver goa to heaven if we goa to th' chapel, but aw dooant let ony o' them things bother me. 'At ther is a deeal o' sin i'th' world aw dooant deny, an', aw think ther is one 'at just bears th' same relation to other sins as a split ring bears to a bunch o' keys; it's one 'at all t'other things on: an' that's _selfishness_, an we've all sadly too mich o' that. We follow that "number one" doctrine sadly too mich,--iverybody seems bent o' gettin, but ther's varry few think o' givin'--(unless its advice, ther's any on 'em ready enuff to give that; but if advice wor stuff 'at they could buy potatoes wi', ther' wodn't be as mich o' that knockin' abaat for nowt as ther' is).

We're all varry apt to know the messur o' ivrybody's heead but us own; we can tell when a cap fits them directly, but we con niver tell when ther's one 'at just fits us. Miss Parsnip said last Sunday, when shoo'd been to th' chapel, "at shoo wondered ha Mrs. Cauliflaar could fashion to hold her heead up, for shoo niver heeard a praicher hit onybody harder in all her life," An' Mrs. Cauliflaar tell'd me "'at if shoo wor Miss Parsnip shoo'd niver put her heead i' that chapel ageean, for iverybody knew 'at he meant her' when he wor tawkin' abaat backbitin'." An'soa it is; we luk at other fowk's faults through th' thin end o' th' spy glass, but when we want to look at us own, we turn it raand.

"O, wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us, It wad fra many a blunder free us An' foolish notion. What airs in dress an' g'ait wad lea' us An' ev'n devotion."

Selfishness may do varry weel for this world, but we should remember it isn't th gooid one does to hissen 'at he gets rewarded for after-- it's th' gooid he does to others, an' although we may be able to mak' a spreead here, wi' fine clooas, fine haases, an' sich like; unless we put selfishness o' one side an' practise charity it'll be noa use then.

"For up above there's one 'at sees Through th' heart o' every man; An' he'll just find thee as tha dees, Soa dee as well as t' con."

Try Again.

Look around and see the great men Who have risen from the poor Some are judges, some are statesmen, Ther's a chance for you I'm sure. Don't give in because you're weary, Pleasure oft is bought by pain; If unlucky, still be cheery, Up and at it! _try again_.

Jealousy.

It wad be a poor shop, wad this world, if it worn't for love! But even love has its drawbacks. If it worn't for love ther'd be noa jaylussy--Shakspere calls jaylussy a green-eyed monster, an' it may be for owt aw know, an' aw dooan't think 'at them 'at entertain it have mich white i' theirs. If ther's owt aw think fooilish, it is for a husband an' wife to be jaylus o' one another; for it spoils all ther spooart, an' maks a lot for other fowk; an' aw'm allus a bit suspicious abaat 'em, for aw've fun it to be th' case 'at them 'at do reight thersens are allus th' last to believe owt wrang abaat others.

Aw once knew a chap 'at wor jaylus, an' his wife had a sore time wi' him. If shoo spake to her next-door neighbor, it wor ommost as mich as her life war worth, an' shoo wor forced to give ovver gooin' to th' chapel, becos if shoo luk'd at th' parson he used to nudge her wi' a hymn book. Th' neighbours pitied her, an' set him daan for a fooil; but he gate cured at last, an' aw'll tell ha.' Once he had to set off, an' as shoo worn't varry weel he couldn't tak her wi' him, but he gave her a lot o' directions afoor he went, an' tell'd her 'at he might be back ony minit. Well, if iver ther war a miserable chap it wor Jim, wol he wor away; but he coom back as sooin as he could, an' what should he see but a leet up stairs. His face went as white as chalk, an' he wor just creepin' to th' winder to harken, when a chap 'at knew him happened to pass. He knew how jaylus Jim war, soa he thowt he'd have a lark. "Halla, Jim!" he said, "coom here; aw've summat to tell thee. Tha munnot goa in yor haase just nah, for tha ar'nt wanted."

"What ammot aw wanted for, awst like to know?" said Jim.

"Well, keep cooil, an' aw'll tell thi. Tha knows tha's been away a day or two, an' aw think it's my duty to let thi know 'at last neet ther wor a young chap coom to yor haase to luk at thi mistress; an' shoo's niver been aat o; door sin', nor him nawther; an' my belief is they're in that room together just this minit."

"Aat o' my rooad!" sed Jim, "let me goa in If aw dooant pitch him aat a' that winder, neck an' crop, my name isn't Jim." Up stairs he flew. "Nah then, whear is he? whear is he?" he haw'led, an' seized hold o' th' pooaker.

"Aa, Jim," shoo sed, "Tha wodn't hurt th' child surelee?" an' shoo held up a bonny little lad abaat two days old, 'at stared at him as gaumless as gaumless could be, an' 'at had his father's nooas an' chin to nowt.

"By gingo, aw'm done this time!" said Jim, as he tuk it in his arms an' kust it. "Aa, what a fooil aw've been! tha'll forgie me, lass, weant ta?"

"Sure aw will, Jim," shoo sed. An' after that they lived happily together, as all dacent fowk should.

Winter.

Winter's comin'! Top coits an' nickerbockers begin to be sowt up. A chap enjoys his bed a bit better, an' doesn't like gettin' up in a mornin' quite as weel. Tawkin' abaat enjoyin' bed makes me think ova young chap aat o' Midgley at' gate wed an' browt his wife to Halifax to buy a bed, an' nowt wod suit her but a shut-up en, like her father an' mother had allus had: an' they wor't long befoor they fun a second-hand en, 'at they gate cheap, an' as they knew a chap 'at coam wi' a milk cart throo near whear they lived, they gate him to tak it hooam for 'em, an' it worn't long befoor th' beddin' an' all wor nicely arranged, an' they war snoozelin' under th' blankets. They hadn't been asleep long befoor he wakken'd wi a varry uncomfortabie feelin', but as his wife wor hard asleep he didn't like to disturb her. He roll'd o' one side an' then o'th' tother, an' rub'd his legs an' scratched his back, but he couldn't settle do what he wod. In a bit summat made him jump straight up ov an end, an' if he hadn't been dacently browt up, it's very likely he mud ha' sed some faal words, Wi' him jumpin' up soa sudden, th' wife wakken'd, an' jumpt up as weel, but as th' bed heead war abaat six inch lower nor that shoo'd bin used to, shoo hit her neet cap agean th' top an' fell back wi a reglar sass. "Whativer is ther to do, Sammy," shoo sed, as sooin as shoo could spaik, "strike a leet' wi ta!" Sammy gate a leet, an' blushed an ovver his face, for it wor th' fust time onybody had seen him dressed that way sin he wor a little lad. "Aw dooant know what ther is to do," he sed, "but aw cannot bide i' that bed, an' that's a fact." "What!" shoo says, "are ta ruein' o' thi bargain bi nah? but tha's no need to freat, for aw con spare thee at ony time." "Nay, Jenny," he sed, it's nooan thee 'at maks me uneasy, but aw fancy ther's summat wick i' that bed besides thee an' me.' "Is ther," shoo said, an' shoo flew off one side; "why whativer is it, thinks ta?" Sammy turned daan th' clooas, an' it just luk'd as if sombdy had been aitin' spice cake an' letten all th' currans drop aat. Tawk abaat fleas! They worn't fleas! they wor twice as big, an' they wor marchin' away like a rigiment o' sodgers. He stared wi' all th' een in his heead, an' shoo started a cryin'. "A'a, to think 'at aw should iver come to this, to be walked over wi' a lot o' pouse like that! What mun we do?" "Do! we mun catch 'em, aw expect," he sed, an' he began wi pickin' 'em off one bi one, an' droppin' 'em into some water 'at wor cloise by. "Well, mi mother tell'd me," he sed, "'at when fowk gate wed they began o' ther troubles; an' it's true an' all, but aw didn't expect owt like this, for if aw'd known, aw'd ha' seen th' weddin' far enough; aw did think 'at a chap wad be able to get a neet's rest anyway." "Tha can goa back to thi mother," shoo sed, "an' stop wi' her for owt aw care, an' aw wish tha'd niver left her, for aw'st get mi deeath o' cold wi' paddlin' abaat wi' nowt on; but does ta think tha's catched 'em all?" "Aw think soa, an' if tha's a mind we'll get to bed agean." "Nay, tha can goa to thi mother as tha freats soa," shoo sed. "Tak noa noatice o' what aw sed," sed Sammy, "tha knows aw wor put abaat a bit, an' it war all for th' sake o' thee." "Tha'll tell me owt," shoo sed, "put th' leet aat, an' let's see if we con get a bit o' gradely sleep." They gate into bed once more, an' shoo wor off to sleep in a minit, but Sammy wor rubbin' an' scrattin' hissen. "Wen, aw've heeard tell abaat things bein' ball proof and bomb proof, but aw niver knew 'at anybody wor bug proof befoor." Wi' him knockin' abaat soa mich shoo wakken'd agean. "Nay, Sammy," shoo sed, "aw'm reight fair stawld, it's all consait, aw'm sure it is." "Consait be hanged!" he bawled aat, "just feel at that blister an' then tell me if it's all consait." Nowt could keep awther on 'em 'i bed after that, an' they paraded abaat all th' neet like two gooasts, wait in' for th' cock crow. Mornin' did come at last, an' Sammy worn't long befoor' he had th' bed aatside. "What are ta baan to do wi' it nah?" ax'd his wife. "Aw'm baan to leave it wheal' it is wol neet," he sed, "an' if they havn't forgetten which road they coom, aw think ther's as monny as'll be able to tak it back to Halifax." Next neet they made a bed o'th' floor, an' slept like tops, an' next mornin' when they gate up, th' bed wor off. Whether th' cumpny 'at wor in it had taen it or net, Sammy couldn't tell, but he niver went to seek it. Fowk 'at buy second-hand beds, _tak warnin._"

Persevere.

If you fail don't be downhearted, Better times come by-and-by; Soon you'll find all fears departed, If you'll only boldly _try_. He who would climb up a mountain, Must not sit him down and cry; At the top you'll find the fountain, And you'll reach it if you'll _try_.

Though your comrades call it folly, Persevere, you'll win the day; Never let Dick, Tom, or Polly, Stop you on your onward way, There is always joy in striving, Though you fix your goal so high; Nearer every day arriving, You may reach it if you _try_.

Booith-Taan Election.

_This place 'is nearly a mile from the good old town of Halifax._

Aa! ther wor a flare-up at Booith-Taan Hall that neet! It had been gein aat 'at they'd to be a meetin' held to elect a new Lord-Mayor, for New-Taan, Booith-Taan, an' th' Haley Hill, on which particular occashun, ale ud be supplied at Tuppence a pint upstairs. Ther wor a rare muster an' a gooid deeal o' argyfyin' tuk place abaat who shud be th' chearman. But one on 'em--a sly old fox--had kept standin' o' th' floor sidlin' abaat woll ivery other chear wor full, an' then after takkin a pinch o' snuff, he said, "Gentlemen, aw see noa reason aw shuddent tak this place mysen, as iverybody else has getten set daan." Two or three 'at wor his friends said "Hear, hear," an' two or three 'at worn't said "Sensashun!"