01^ Q S o a. ^•LIBRARYQ^ %0JITVDJO^ 0# %MM^ *% ^lOSMlfl^ ^OFCAUFOfi^ m^ ^aiAiNniv^ *%««#> ^•UBRARYQc, ^ ^ofcaiifo^ ^ 8U^§ Si ^Aavaan^ Lf/> ^lOSANGElfju ^/HHAINnmv ^fOJIlVDiO^ % ^OFCAIIFO^ a\10SANCEI% ^:10SANCEI% THE Jfolk-Opeech of Cumberland AND SOME DISTRICTS ADJACENT; BEING SHORT STORIES AND RHYMES IN THE DIALECTS OF THE WEST BORDER COUNTIES. BY ALEXANDER CRAIG GIBSON, F.S.A. What hempen Homespuns have wo swaggering here. A Midsummer Night's Dreaiii. Speech, manners, nioralx, nil without disguise. The Bxcvt LONDON: I UN RUSSELL S M I T 1 1 ; CARLISLE: GEO. CO W A R D. MDCCCLXIX. 3::j4 TR C 9 Or 3 TO WILLIAM DICKINSON, OF NORTH MOSSES AND THORNCROFT, F. L. S., Author of "A Glossary of Cumberland Words and Phrases," "Lamplugh Club," "A Prize Essay on the Agriculture of West Cumberland," -'The Botany of Cumberland," &c., &c., &c., THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, IN CORDIAL RECOGNITION OF THE PRE-EMINENT INDUSTRY AND SKILL DISPLAYED IN HIS ELUCIDATIONS OF THE HOMELY SPEECH OF OUR NATIVE COUNTY, AND IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE UNFAILING SYMPATHY AND THE KINDLY HELP WITH WHICH HE HAS BRIGHTENED A FRIENDSHIP OF MANY YEARS. PREFACE. One or two of the Cumberland stories included in this volume, as well as some of the pieces in rhyme, have already been circulated very largely in newspapers, pamphlets, and collections. Their reappearance, along with many hitherto unpublished additions, in this aggregated form, is due mainly to the popularity attained by them separately. Whether they may be as popular in this more pretentious guise as in their humbler, and perhaps, more appropriate form, remains to be tried. I claim superiority over most of the earlier workers in the same philological ground in respect of the greater purity of my dialect. The Cumberland speech as written herein is pure Cumbrian, as the speech of the Scottish pieces, introduced for variety's sake, is pure Scotch. Miss Blamire, Stagg, Anderson, Rayson, and others, have all written their dialect pieces, more or less, in the Scoto-Cumbrian which prevails along the southern side of the west Border. In other respects my inferiority to those deservedly popular writers is sufficiently evident. But, as expositions of the folk- speech of those parts of the County where, and where only, the unadulterated old Norse-rooted Cumbrian vernacular is spoken, I claim for these Tales and Rhymes the distinction of surpassing all similar productions, excepting only the dialect writings of my friend Mr. Dickinson, and perhaps the Borrowdak Letter of Isaac Ritson, and the Qwordie and Will of Charles Graham. I should not omit to state, however, that Mr. John Christian of London, and a writer who assumed the nom deplume of Jack Todd, have evinced in their contributions to the local press, a mastery over the dialect of Whitehaven and its vicinity which makes us wish that their pens had been more prolific. For the illustrations I have attempted of the speech of High Furness and its Westmorland border, I ask no such distinction. The dialect there, as in the adjacent parts of Cumberland, is vitiated by an inter- mixture of that of the County Palatine, of which Furness forms a portion : and as it is spoken, so. if VI. written at all, should it be written. These appear here for the reason already assigned for the introduction of the Rhymes given in the dialect of Dumfriesshire. The work rests its claims to favourable consideration entirely on its value as a faithfully rendered contribu- tion to the dialect literature of the country. No higher estimate is sought for it. The production of its various contents has been an occasional amusement indulged in during some of the intervals of leisure and repose afforded by pursuits of a more important, more en- grossing, and it is hoped, a more useful character, with which, had it in any wise interfered, it had not been proceeded with. Its composition has been a relaxation, not a task ; a divertisement, not an occupation ; and had its success when published been deemed incom- patible with these conditions, it had not appeared. Bebington, December \%ih, 1868. CONTENTS PAGE Joe and the Geologist (Cumberland) . I T Reets on't (Ibid.) . 7 Bobby Banks's Bodderment (Ibid.) • 17 Wise Wiff (Ibid.) . 27 Lai Dinah Grayson (Ibid.) • 37 Jwohnny, Git oot ! (Ibid.) . 40 The Runaway Wedding (Ibid.) • 43 Billy Watson' Lonning (Ibid.) . 46 Lone and Weary (Ibid.) . 50 T Clean Ned o' Kes'ick (Ibid.) . 53 Ben Wells (Ibid.) • 57 Sannter Bella (Ibid.) . 60 Branthet Neuk Boggle (Ibid.) • 63 Mary Ray and Me (Ibid.) . 73 Vlll. The Bannasyde Cairns (High Furness.) ■ 76 Betty Yewdale (Ibid.) . 82 The Skulls of Calgarth (Westmorland. ) . 89 Map'ment (High Furness.) IOI Oxenfell Dobby (Ibid.) . 104 Meenie Bell (Dumfriesshire. ) "3 A Lockerbye Lyck (Old Scotch.) . . 116 The Farmers' Wives o' Annandale (Dumfriesshire. ) 128 A Reminiscence of Corrie (Ibid.) • 131 Reminiscences of Lockerbie (Ibid.) . *43 Yan o' t' Elect (Cumberland.) . • 151 Keatie Curbison's Cat (Ibid.) . 157 Joseph Thompson's Thumb (Ibid. ) . 160 Cursty Benn (Ibid.) . 168 Tom Railton's White Spats (Ibid.) . 172 A Sneck Possett (Ibid.) . 180 Remarks on the Cumberland Dialect . 183 Glossary . . ... 189 JOE AND THE GEOLOGIST. JA het foorneun, when we war oa' gaily thrang at heam, an oald gentleman mak' of a fellow com' in tul ooar foald an' said, whyte nateral, 'at he wan tit somebody to ga wid him on't fells. We oa' stopt an' teuk a gud leuk at him afoor anybody spak ; at last fadder said, middlin' sharp-like — (he ola's speaks that way when we're owte sa thrang, does fadder) — "We've summat else to deu here nor to ga rakin ower t'fells iv a fine day like this, wid neabody kens whoa." T'gentleman was a queerish like oald chap, wid a sharp leuk oot, grey hair and a smo' feace — drist i' black, wid a white neckcloth like a parson, an' a par of specks on t'top of a gay lang nwose at wasn't set vaira fair atween t' e'en on him, sooa 'at when he leuk't l 2 Joe and the Geologist. ebbem at yan through his specks he rayder turn't his feace to t'ya side. He leuk't that way at fadder, gev a lal chearful bit of a laugh an' said, iv his oan mak' o' toke, 'at he dudn't want to hinder wark, but he wad give anybody 'at ken't t'fells weel, a matter o' five shillin' to ga wid him, an' carry two lal bags. '"Howay wid tha, Joe," sez fadder to me, "it's a croon mair nor iver thou was wiirth at heam ! " I mead nea words aboot it, but gat me-sel' a gud lump of a stick, an' away we set, t'oald lang nwos't man an' me, ebbem up t' deal. As we war' climmin' t'fell breist, he geh me two empty bags to carry, mead o' ledder. Thinks I to me-sel', " Fs giin to eddle me five shillin' middlin' cannily." I niver thowte he wad finnd owte on t' fells to full his lal bags wid, but I was mistean ! He turn't oot to be a far lisher oald chap nor a body wad ha' thowte, to leuk at his gray hair and his white hankecher an' his specks. He went lowpin owre wet spots an' gurt steans, an' scrafflin across craggs an' screes, tul yan wad ha' sworn he was summat a kin tul a Herd wick tip. Efter a while he begon leukin' hard at oa't steans an' craggs we com' at, an' than he teuk till breckan Jot and the Geologist. 3 lumps off them wid a queer lal hammer he hed wid him, an' stuffin t bits intil t' bags 'at he geh me to carry. He fairly cap't me noo. I dudn't ken what to mak o' sec a customer as t'is ! At last I cudn't help axin him what mead him cum sea far up on t'fell to lait bits o' steans when he may'd finnd sea many doon i't deals 1 He laugh't a gay bit, an' than went on knappin' away wid his lal hammer, an' said he was a jolly jist. Thinks I to me-sel, thou's a jolly jackass, but it maks nea matter to me if thou no'but pays me t' five shillin' thou promish't ma. Varra weel, he keep't on at this feckless wark tul gaily leat at on i't efter-neun, an' be that time o' day he'd pang't beath o't ledder pwokes as full as they wad hod wid bits o' stean. I've nit sea offen hed a harder darrak efter t' sheep, owther at clippin time or soavin time, as I hed followin' that oald grey heidit chap an' carryin' his ledder bags. But hooiver, we gat back tul oor house afoor neeght. Mudder gev t' oald jolly jist, as he co't his-sel', some breid an' milk, an' efter he'd tean that an' toak't a lal bit wid fadder aboot sheep farming an' sec like, he pait ma me five shillin' like a man. an' than tel't ma he wad gi' ma udder five shillin' if I wad 4 yoe and the Geologist. bring his pwokes full o' steans doon to Skeal-hill be nine o'clock i't mwornin'. He set off to woak to Skeal-hill just as it was growin' dark ; an' neist mwornin', as seun as I'd gitten me poddish, I teuk t' seam rwoad wid his ledder bags ower me shoolder, thinkin' tul me-sel' 'at yan may'd mak a lal fortune oot o' thur jolly jists if a lock mair on them wad no'but come oor way. It was anudder het mwornin', an' I hedn't woak't far till I begon to think that I was as gurt a feul as t'oald jolly jist to carry brocken steans o't' way to Skeal-hill, when I may'd fmnd plenty iv any rwoad side, clwose to t' spot I was tackin' them tul. Sooa I shack't them oot o' t' pwokes, an' then stept on a gay bit leeter widout them. When I com nar to Skeal-hill, I fund oald Aberram Atchisson sittin on a steul breckan steans to mend rwoads wid, an' I ax't him if I med full my ledder pwokes frae his heap. Aberram was varra kaim't' an' tell't ma to tak them 'at wasn't brocken if I wantit steans, sooa I tell't him hoo it was an' oa : aboot it. T' oald maizlin was like to toytle of his steul wid Joe and the Geologist. 5 laughin', an' said me mudder sud tak gud care on ma, for I was ower sharp a chap to leeve varra lang i' this warld ; but I'd better full my pwokes as I liked, an mak' on wid them. T" jolly jist hed just gitten his breakfast when I gat to Skeal-hill, an' they teuk ma intil t' parlour tul him. He gurned oa't feace ower when I went in wid his bags, an' tell't me to set them doon in a neuk, an' than ax't ma if I wad hev some breakfast. I said I'd gitten me poddish, but I dudn't mind ; sooa he tell't them to bring in some mair coffee, an' eggs, an' ham, an' twoastit breid an' stuff, an' I gat sec a breakfast as I never seed i' my time, while t' oald gentleman was gittin' his-sel' ruddy to gang off in a carriage 'at was waitin' at t' dooar for him. - When he com doon stairs he geh me t'udder five shillin' an' pait for my breakfast an' what he'd gitten his-sel. Than he tell't ma to put t' ledder bags wid t' steans in them on beside t' driver's feet, an' in he gat, an' laugh't an' noddit, an' away he went. I niver owder seed nor heard mair of t' oald jolly jist, but I've offen thowte ther mun be parlish few 6 Joe and the Geologist. steans i' his country, when he was sooa pleas't at gittin' two lal ledder bags full for ten shillin', an' sec a breakfast as that an'. It wad be a faymish job if fadder could sell o' t' steans iv oor fell at five shillin' a pwokeful — wadn't it % T REETS ONT; BEING Another Supplement to "Joe and the Geologist"* BY JOE HIS-SEL'. HAT Tommy Towman's a meast serious leear — an', like o' leears, he's a desper't feul. By jing ! if I hed a dog hoaf as daft I wad hang't, that wad I ! He gits doon aboot Cockerm'uth an' Wurki'ton, noo's an' than's ; an' sum gentlemen theear, they tak' him inta t' Globe or t' Green Draggin, an' just for nowte at o' else but acoase they think he kens me, they feed him wid drink an' they hod him i' toaktill he can hardly tell whedder end on him's up- bank ; an' than they dro' him on to tell them o' mak's *"A supplement to Joe and the Geologist, by another hand," appeared some time ago, in the Whitehaven Herald, and was afterwards published as a pamphlet. Joe, considering himself misrepresented in that production, able as it was. wishes to put himself right. Hence his re-appearance before his many partial and indulgent friends. 8 T' Reets out. o' teals — o' mak's but true an's — aboot me; an' t' pooar lal gowk hesn't gumption aneuf to see 'at they're no'but makin' ghem on him. But, loavin' surs ! if he'd hed t' sense of a gurse ga'n gezlin he wad niver ha' browte oot sec a lafter o' lees as he's gitten yan o' them Wurki'ton gentlemen (yan 'at ken's weel hoo to write doon oor heamly toke) to put inta prent ; an' what mak's yan madder nor o' t' rest, — to put them i' prent just as if I'd tel't them me-sel'. I's nut t' chap to try to cum ower an oald jolly jist wid whinin' oot "Fadder's deid!" when ivery body kens 'at fadder's whicker nor meast on us. My sarty ! he's nin o' t' deein' mak' isn't fadder. Wes' hev to wurry fadder when his time cums, for he'll niver dee of his-sel' sa lang as ther's any wark to hoond yan on tull. An' I needn't tell any body 'at knows me, 'at I was niver t' chap to tak' in owder a jolly jist or any udder feul ; an' if I was, I's nut a likely fellow to be freeten't for what I'd done. But ther's m'appen sum 'at doesn't ; an' mebbee ther's a lock 'at doesn't know what a leear Tommy Towman is, an' sooa, bee t' way o' settin' me-sel' reet wid beath maks, I'll tell ye what dud ga fonet 'atween me an' t' jolly jist t' seckint time he com tul Skeal-hill. T' Reds out. 9 I said afooar 'at I'd niver seen mair o' t' oald jolly jist, an' when I said that, I hedn't ; but ya donky neet last summer fadder hed been doon Lorton way, an' 't was gaily leat when he gat heam. As he was sittin' iv his oan side o' t' fire, tryin' to lowse t' buttons of his spats, he says to me, " Joe," says he, " I co't at Skeal- hill i' my rwoad heam." Mudder was sittin' knittin' varra fast at hur side o' t' harth ; she hedn't oppen't her mooth sen fadder co' heam, — nay, she hedn't sa much as leuk't at him efter t' ya hard glowre 'at she gev him at t' furst ; but when he said he'd been at Skeal-hill, she gev a grunt, an' said, as if she spak till neabody but hur-sel', " Ey ! a blinnd body med see that." " I was speakin till Joe," says fadden " Joe," says he, "I was at Skeal-hill" — anudder grunt — "an' they tel't me 'at thy oald frind t' jolly jist's back agean — I think thu'd better slip doon an' see if he wants to buy any mair brocken steans ; oald Aberram has a fine heap or two liggin aside Kirgat. An', noo, 'at I've gitten them spats off, I's away to my bed." Mudder tok a partin' shot at him as he stacker't off. She said, " It wad be as weel for sum on us if ye wad bide theear, if ye' mean to carry on i' t' way ye 're shappin' !" Noo, this was hardly fair o' mudder, for io T' Reels out. it's no'but yance iv a way 'at fadder cu's heam leat an' stackery ; but I wasn't sworry to see him git a lal snape, he's sae ruddy wid his snapes his-sel'. I ken't weel aneuf he was no'but mackin' ghem o' me aboot gittin' mair brass oot o't' oald jolly jist, but I thowte to me-sel', thinks I, I've deun many a dafter thing nor tak' him at his wurd, whedder he meen't it or nut, an' sooa thowte, sooa deun ; for neist mwornin' I woak't me-sel' off tull Skeal-hill. When I gat theear, an' as't if t' jolly jist was sturrin', they yan snurtit an' anudder gurn't, till I gat rayder maddish ; but at last yan o' them skipjacks o' fellows 'at ye see weearin' a lal jacket like a lass's bedgoon, sed he wad see. He com back laughin', an' said, "Cum this way, Joe." Well, I follow't him till he stopp't at a room dooar, an' he gev a lal knock, an' than oppen't it, an' says, "Joe, sur," says he. I wasn't ga'n to stand that, ye know, an' says I, "Joe, sur," says I, "he'll ken it's Joe, sur," says I, "as seiin as he sees t' feace o' me ;" says I, "an' if thoo doesn't git oot o' that wid thy ' Joe, sur,'" says I, "I'll fetch the' a clink under t' lug 'at '11 mak' the' laugh at t' wrang side o' that ugly mug o' thine, thoo giirnin yap, thoo !" Wid that he skipt oot o't' way gaily sharp, an' I stept 7" Reels on t. i i whietly into t' room. Theear he was, sittin at a teable writin — t' grey hair, t' specks, t' lang nwose, t' white hankecher, an' t' black cleas, o' just as if he'd niver owder doff' t his-sel' or donn't his-sel' sen he went away. But afooar I cud put oot my hand or say a civil wurd tull him, he glentit up at me throo his specks, iv his oan oald sideways fashion — but varra feurce-like — an' gruntit oot sum'at aboot wunderin' hoo I dar't to shew my feace theear. Well ! this pot t' cap on t' top of o'. I'd chow't ower what fadder said, an' hoo he'd said it i' my rwoad doon, till I fund me- sel' gittin rayder mad aboot that. T" way 'at they snurtit an' laugh't when I com to Skeal-hill mead me madder ; an' t' bedgoon cwoatit fellow wid his " Joe, sur," mead me madder nor iver; but t' oakl jolly jist, 'at I thowte wad be sa fain to see me agean, if t' hed no'but been for t' seak of oor sprogue on t' fells togidder — wunderin' 'at I dar't show my feace theear, fairly dreav me ninth? mad, an' I dad mak a brust. "Show my feace !" says I, "an' what siid I show than 1 ?" says I. " If it cums to showin' feaces, I've a better feace to show noi iver belang't to yan o' your breed," says I, "if t' rest on them's owte like t' sample they've sent us ; but if ye mun know, I's cum't of a 1 2 T s Reels orit. stock 'at niver wad be freetn't to show a feace till a king, let alean an oald newdles wid a crelikt nwose, 'at co's his-sel' a jolly jist : an' I defy t' feace o' clay," says I, " to say 'at any on us iver dud owte we need sham on whoariver we show't oor feaces. Dar' to show my feace, ehV' says I, "my song ! but this is a bonnie welcome to give a fellow 'at's cum't sa far to see ye i' seckan a mwornin !" I said a gay deal mair o't' seam mak', an' o't' while I was sayin' on't — or, I sud say, o't' while I was shootin' on't, for I dudn't spar' t' noise — t' oald divel laid his-sel' back iv his girt chair, an' keept twiddlin' his thooms an' glimin' up at me', wid a hoaf smurk iv his feace, as if he'd gitten sum'at funny afooar him. Efter a while I stopt, for I'd ron me-sel' varra nar oot o' winnd, an' I begon rayder to think sham o' shootin' an' bellerin' sooa at an oald man, an' him as whisht as a troot throo it o' ; an' when I'd poo't in, he just said as whietly as iver, 'at I was a natteral cur'osity. I dudn't ken weel what this meen't, but I thowte it was soace, an' it hed like to set me off agean, but I beatt it doon as weel as I cud, an' I said, " Hev ye gitten owte agean raef says I. " If ye hev, speak it oot like a man, an' divn't sit theear twiddlin yer silly oald thooms an' coa'in fwoke oot o' « T' Reets out. i 3 ther neams i' that nvoad ! " Than it o' com oot plain aneuf. O' this illnater was just acoase I hedn't brong him t' steans 'at he'd gedder't on t' fells that bet day, an' he said 'at changin' on them was ayder a varra durty trick or a varra clumsy jwoke. " Trick ! " says I. " Jwoke ! dud ye say 1 It was rayder past a jwoke to expect me to carry a lead o' brocken steans o't' way here, when ther' was plenty at t' spot. I's nut sec a feul as ye've tean me for." He tok off his specks, an' he glower' t at me adoot them ; an' than he pot them on agean, an' glower't at me wid them ; an' than he laugh't an' ax't me' if I thowte ther' cud be nea difference i' steans. "Whey," says I, "ye'll hardly hev t' feace to tell me 'at ya bag o' steans isn't as gud as anudder bag o' steans — an' suer/jY.' to man, ye'll niver be sa consaitit as to say ye can break steans better nor oald Aberram 'at breaks them for his breid, an' breaks them o' day lang, an' ivery day?" Wid that he laugh't agean an' tel't me' to sit doon, an' than ax't me what I thowte mead him tak so mickle triable laitin' bits o' stean on t' fells if he cud git what he wantit at t' rwoad side. " Well ! " says I, " if I mun tell ye t' truth, I thowte ye war rayder nick't i' t' heid ; but it '•<] nea matter what I thowte sa lang .is ye pait me 14 T" Reels orit. sa weel for gan wid ye." As I said this, it com into my heid 'at it's better to flaitch a feul nor to feight wid him ; an' efter o', 'at ther' may'd be sum'at i't' oald man likin steans of his oan breakin' better nor udder fwoke's. I remember't t' fiddle 'at Dan Fisher mead, an' thowte was t' best fiddle 'at iver squeak't, for o' it mead ivery body else badly to hear't ; an' wad bray oald Ben Wales at his dancing scheul boal acoase Ben wadn't play t' heam mead fiddle asteed of his oan. We o' think meast o' what we've hed a hand in oorsel's — it's no'but natteral ; an' sooa as o' this ron throo my heid, I fund me-sel' gitten rayder sworry for t' oald man, an' I says, " What wad ye gi' me to git y€ o' yer oan bits o' stean back agean V He cockt up his lugs at this, an' ax't me if his speciments, as he co't them, was seaf. " Ey," says I, " they're seaf aneuf; neabody hereaboot 'ill think a lal lock o' steans worth meddlin' on, sa lang as they divn't lig i' the'r rwoad." Wid that he jumpt up an' said I mud hev sum'at to drink. Thinks I to me-sel', " Cum ! we're gittin' back to oor oan menseful way agean at t' lang last, but I willn't stur a peg till I ken what I's to hev for gittin him his rubbish back, I wad niver hear t' last on't if I went heam em'ty handit." He mead it o' reet T Reets out. 1 5 hooiver, as I was tackin' my drink ; an' he went up t' stair an' brong doon t' ledder bags I kent sa weel, an' geh me them to carry just as if nowte hed happen't, an' off we startit varra like as we dud afooar. T Skeal-hill fwoke o' gedder't aboot dooar to leuk efter us, as if we'd been a show. We, nowder on us, mindit for that, hooiver, but stump't away togidder as thick as inkle weavers till we gat till t' feut of oor girt meedow, whoar t' steans was liggin, aside o' t' steel, just as I'd teem't them oot o't' bags, only rayder grown ower wid guise. As I pick't them up, yan by yan, and handit them to t' oald jolly jist, it dud my heart gud to see hoo pleas't he leukt, as he wipet them on his cwoat cuff, an' wettit them, an' glower't at them throo his specks as if they wer' sum'at gud to eat, an' he was varra hungry — an' pack't them away into f bags till they wer' beath chock full agean. Well! t' bargin was, 'at I sud carry them to Skeal- hill. Sooa back we pot — t' jolly jist watchin' his bags o't' way as if t' steans was guineas, an' I was a thief. When we gat theear, he mead me' tak' them reet into t' parlour ; an' t' furst thing he diid was to co' for sum reed wax an' a leet, an' clap a greet splatch of a seal on t' top of ayder bag ; an' than he leukt at me, an' 16 T' Reets 011L gev a lal grunt of a laugh, an' a smartish wag of his heid, as much as to say, " Dee it agean, if thoo can, Joe ! " But efter that he says, " Here, Joe," says he, "here five shillin' for restworin' my speciments, an' here anudder five shillin' for showin' me a speciment of human natur' 'at I didn't believe in till to-day." Wid that, we shak't hands an' we partit ; an' I went heam as pleas't as a dog wi' two tails, jinglin' my miinny an' finndin' sum way as if I was hoaf a jolly jist me-sel' — an' whoa kens but I was? For when I gat theear, I says to fadder, " Fadder," says I, "leiik ye here ! If o' yer jibes turn't to sec as this, I divn't mind if ye jibe on till yeve jibed yer-sel' intul a tip's whom;" says I, "but I reckon ye niver jibed to sec an' end for yer-sel' as ye've jibed for me this time!" BOBBY BANKS' BODDERMENT. (A Sup of Coald KeM het up agean.) HE was ola's a top marketer was ooar Betty, she niver miss't gittin' t' best price ga'n beath for butter an' eggs; an' she ken't hoo to bring t' ho'pennies heam ! Nut like t' meast o' fellows' wives 'at thinks there's nea hurt i' warin' t' odd brass iv a pictur' beuk or gud stuff for t' barnes or m'appen sum'at whyte as needless for ther'sels, — Betty ola's brong t' ho'pennies heam. Cockerm'uth's ooar reg'lar market — it's a gay bit t' bainer — but at t' time o' year when Kes'ick's full o' quality ther's better prices to be gitten theear; an' sooa o' through t' harvest time, an' leater on, she ola's went to Kes'ick. Last back-end, hooiver, Betty was 18 Bobby Banks Bodderment. fashed sadly wid t' rheumatics iv her back, an' ya week she cud hardly git aboot at o', let alean ga to t' market. For a while she wadn't mak' up her mind whedder to send me iv her spot, or ooar eldest dowter, Faith ; but as Faith was hardly fowerteen — stiddy aneuf of her yeage, but rayder yung, — Betty thowte she'd better keep Faith at heam an' let me tak' t' marketin' to Kes'ick. Of t' Setterda' mwornin', when it com', she hed us o' up an' sturrin, seuner nor sum on us liket ; an' when I'd gitten sum'at to eat, iv a hugger mugger mak' of a way, says Betty till me, says she — " Here's six an' twenty pund o' butter," says she. " If thoo was gud for owte thoo wad git a shilling a pund for't, ivery slake. Here's five dozen of eggs," says she, "/wadn't give a skell o' them mair nor ten for sixpence," says she, "but thoo mun git what thoo can," says she, "efter thu's fund oot what udder fwoke's axin. When thu's mead thy market," says Betty, "thu'll ga to t' draper's an' git me a yard o' check for a brat, a knot o' tape for strings tul't, an' a hank o' threed to sowe't wid — if I's gud for nowte else, I can sowe yit," says she, wid Bobby Banks Boddermeiit. 1 9 a gurn ; " than thoo mun git hoaf a pund o' tea an' a quarter of a stean o' sugger — they ken my price at Crosstet's — an' hoaf a stean o' soat, an' a pund o' seap, an' hoaf a pund o' starch, an' a penn'orth o' stean-blue, an' git me a bottle o' that stuff to rub my back wid ; an' than thoo ma' git two oonces o' 'bacca for thysel'. If thoo leuks hoaf as sharp as thoo sud leuk thu'll be through wid beath thy marketin' an' thy shoppin' by twelve o'clock ; an' thoo ma' ga an' git a bit o' dinner, like udder fwoke, at Mistress Boo's, an' a pint o' yall. Efter that t' seuner thoo starts for heam an' t' better. Noo thu'll mind an' forgit nowte ? Ther' t' check, an' t' tape, an' t' threed, that's three things— t' tea, an' t' sugger, an' t' soat, an' t' seap, an' t' starch, an' t' stean-blue, an' t' rubbin' stuff, an' t' 'bacca— I's up-ho'd the' nut to forgit that !— elebben. Ten things for me, an' yan for thysel' ! I think I've mead o' plain aneuf ; an' noo, if thoo misses owte I'll say thoo's a bigger clot-heid nor I've tean the' for— an' that 'ill be savin' nea lal ! " Many a fellow wad tak t' 'frunts if his wife spak till him \ that way- but bliss ye T leev't lang aneuf 20 Bobby Banks Bodderment. wid Betty to know 'at it's no' but a way she hes o' shewin' her likin'. When she wants to be t' kindest an' best to yan, yan's ola's suer to git t' warst wurd iv her belly. Well, I set off i' giid fettle for Kes'ick, gat theear i' gradely time, an' pot up at Mistress Boo's. I hed a sharpish market, an' seun gat shot o' my butter an' eggs at better prices nor Betty toak't on. I bowte o' t' things at she wantit, an' t' 'bacca for mysel', an' gat a gud dinner at Mistress Boo's, an' a pint o' yall an' a crack. He wad be a cliverish fellow 'at went ta Kes'ick an' gat oot on't adoot rain ; an' suer aneiif, by t' time 'at I'd finished my pint an' my crack, it was cummin' doon as it knows hoo to cum doon at Kes'ick. But when it rains theear, they hev to deii as they deli under Skiddaw, let it fd ! an' wet or dry, I hed to git heam tull Betty. When I was aboot startin', I begon to think ther' was sum'at mair to tak wid me. I coontit t' things ower i' my basket hoaf a dozen times. Theear they o' warr — ten for Betty, yan for me ! Than what the Bobby Banks Bodderment. 2 r dang-ment was't I was forgittin '? I was suer it was sum'at, but for t' heart on me I cudn't think what it med be. Efter considerin' for a lang time, an' gittin' anudder pint to help me to consider, I set off i' t' rain wid my basket an' t' things in't, anonder my top-sark to keep o' dry. Bee t' time I gat to Portinskeal, I'd begon to tire ! T' wedder was slattery, t' rwoads was slashy, t' basket was heavy, an' t top sark mead me het; but t' thowtes o' hevin' forgitten sum'at tew't me f -\varst of o'. I rustit theear a bit — gat anudder pint, an' coontit my things ower and ower, " Ten for Betty ! — yan for my-sel." I cud mak nowder mair nor less on them. Cockswiinters ! — what hed I forgitten % Or what was't 'at mead me suer I'd forgitten sum'at when I'd o' t' things wid me ? I teuk t' rwoad agean mair nor hoaf crazy. I stop't under a tree aside Springbank, an' Dr. com' ridin' up through t' rain, on his black galloway. "Why, Robert," says he, "ye look as if ye'd lost something." " Nay, doctor," says I, " here t' check an' t' tape an' t' threed— I' lost nowte— that's three. 22 Bobby Banks Bodderment. Here t' soat, an' t' seap, an' t' starch, an' t' stean-blue — that's sebben — I' lost nowte, but I' forgitten sum'at. Here t' tea, an' t' sugger, an' t' rubbin' bottle — that's ten; an' here t' 'bacca — that's elebben. — Ten for Betty, an' yan for me ! Ten for Betty, an' yan for me ! ! Doctor, doctor," says I, "fwoke say ye ken oa things — what hev I forgitten?" " I'll tell ye what ye haven't forgotten," says he, "ye haven't forgotten the ale at Keswick. Get home, Robert, get home," says he, "and go to bed and sleep it off." I believe he thovvte I was drvink ; but I wasn't — I was no'but maizelt wid tryin' to fmnd oot what I'd forgitten. As I com nar to t' Swan wid two Necks I fell in wid greet Gweordie Howe, and says I, " Gweordie, my lad," says I, "I's straddelt," says I, "I's fairly maiz't," says I. " I left sum'at ahint me at Kes'ick, an' I've thowte aboot it till my heid's ga'n like a job-jurnal," says I, "an' what it is / cannot tell." "Can t'e nut?" says Gweordie. "Can t'e nut 1 ? Whey, than, ciim in an' see if a pint o' yall '11 help the'." Well, I steud pints, an' Gweordie steud pints, an' I steud pints agean. Anudder time I wad ha' been thinkin' Bobby Banks' B odder merit. 23 aboot what Betty wad say till o' this pintin', but I was gittin' despert aboot what I'd forgitten at Kes'ick, an' I cud think o' novvte else. T yall was gud aneiif, but it dudn't kest a morsel o' leet on what was bodderin' on ma sa sair, an' I teuk t' rwoad agean finndin' as if I was farder off't nor iver. T' rain keep't cummin' doon — t' rwoad gat softer an' softer — t' basket gat heavier an' heavier — t' top sark hetter an' hetter, an' my heid queerer an' queerer. If I stopt anonder ya tree i' t' wud, I stopt anonder twenty, an' coontit ower t' things i' t' basket till they begon to shap' theirsels intil o' mak's o' barnish sangs i' my heid, and I fund mysel' creunin' away at sec bits of rhymes as thurr — Ten things an' yan, Bobby, Ten things an' yan ; Here five an' five for Betty Banks, An' yan for Betty's man. " Lord preserve oor wits — sec as they urr," says I. " I mun be ga'n wrang i' my heid when I've tean till mackin' sangs!" But t' queerest break was 'at I duddn't mak' them — they mead thersel's — an' they 24 Bobby Banks B odder ment. mead me sing them an' o', whedder I wad or nut — ■ an' off I went agean till a different teim — Says Betty — says she ; says Betty till me — " If owte thou contrives to forgit, *' I'll reckon the' daizter an' dafter," says she, " Nor iver I've reckon't the' yit." I's daizter an' dafter nor iver, she'll say, An' marry, she willn't say wrang ! But scold as she will, ey, an' giirn as she may, I'll sing her a bonnie lal sang, lal sang, I'll sing her a bonnie lal sang. " Well ! It hes cum't till whoa wad hae thowte it," says I, " if I cannot stop mysel'" frae mackin' sangs an' singin' them of a wet day i' Widdup Wud ; I'll coont t' things ower agean," says I, "an' see if that'll stop ma." Ye ma' believe ma or nut, as ye like, but iv anudder tick-tack there was I coontin' t' things ower iv a sang : — Here t' check an' t' tape an' t' threed, oald lad ! Here t' soat an' t' sugger an' t' tea — Seap, starch, stean-blue, an' t' bottle to rub, An' t' 'bacca by 'tsel' on't for me, Bobby Banks Bodderment. 25 Here t' 'bacca by 'tsel' on't for me, me, me, Here t' 'bacca by 'tsel' on't for me. I'll niver git beam while Hobby's my neam. But maffle an 1 sing till I dee, dee, dee, But maffle an' sing till I dee ! " Weel, weel, !: says I, " If I is oot o' my senses — I is oot o' my senses, an' that's oa' aboot it, — but Loavins what'll Betty think, Betty think, Betty think, Loavins what'll Betty think if Bobby bide away ? She'll sweer he's warm' t' brass i' drink, t' brass i' drink, t' brass i' drink, She'll sweer he's warm' t' brass i' drink this varra market-day. She's thrimlin' for her butter-brass, her butter-brass, her butter- brass, She's thrimlin' for her butter brass, but willn't thrimle lang. For Bobby lad thu's hur to feace, thu's hur to feace, thu's hur to feace, For Bobby lad, thu's hur to feace ; she'll m'appen change thy sang. Sang or nea sang, t' thowtes o' hevin' " hur to feace," an' that gaily seun, rayder brong me to my oan oald sel' agean. I set off yance mair, an' this time, 1 dudn't stop while I gat fairly into t' foald. Faith seed 26 Bobby Banks Bodderment. me cummin', an' met me oot side o' t' hoose dooar, an' says Faith, "'Whoar t' meear an' t' car, fadder?" I dropp't my basket, an' I geap't at her ! Lai Jacop com runnin oot, an' says Jacop, " Fadder, whoar t' meear an' t' car?" I swattit mysel' doon on t' stean binch, an' I glower't at them — furst at yan an' than at t' tudder on them. Betty com limpin' by t' God-speed, an' says Betty, "What hes t'e mead o' t' car an' t' meear, thoo maizlin ?" I gat my speech agean when Betty spak', an', hoaf crazet an' hoaf cryin', I shootit oot, '"Od's wuns an' deeth, that's what I' forgitten!" That was what / said. What Betty said I think I willn't tell ye. WISE W I F F . T was a fine job for Wilfrid Wankelthet 'at his fadder was bworn afooar him. If he'd cum't into t' warld pooar, he wad ha' bidden pooar, an' gean pooarer an' pooarer still, till he'd finish't on t' parish. He was yan o' t' hafe-rock't mack, was Wiffy, varra lal in him but what was putten in wid a speun, an' that hed run a gay deal mair to body nor brains. For o' that he wasn't a bad fellow, an' he wasn't badly thowte on. Many a body said 'at Wise Wifif, if he hedn't much in him, t' lal he hed in him wasn't of a bad pattren ; an' es for his manishment, if he'd no'but stuck till his fadder' advice, he needn't ha' gitten sa varra far wrang. 28 Wise Wiff. T" way he gat his fadder' advice was this. When t' oald man fund 'at he was ga'n whoar he cudn't carry his land an' his morgidges, an' his munney, an' his moiderment alang wid him — whoar they wadn't dee him mickle gud if he cud— he sent for Jobby Jinkison, o' Jurtinsyke, a smo' farmer of his 'at hed deun a gud deal o' bisness for him at fairs, an' markets, an' seales, an' sec like, efter he'd growne ower frail to git fray heam his-sel ; an', says he, "Jobby, I's leavin't o'," he says, " I've mead a fair scraffle, Jobby," says he, "an' I've gedder't a gay bit togidder, but I can't tack it wid me, Jobby, an' I's wantin to speak till the' aboot that pooar lad o' mine, 'at it o' lies to cum till. Neabody kens better nor thee what he's shwort on — neabody kens so weel hoo I've triet to git a bit o' edication druven intul him, an' hoo lal we've mead on't. Ya scheulmaister said he was shwort o' apprehension ; anudder, 'at he wantit ability ; an' a thurd, 'at he hed nea capacity. If thiir hed been things 'at munny wad ha' bowte, he sud hed them o', but they warn't. What God's left oot we cannot o' put in, thoo knows, an' we raun submit — we mun submit, Jobby," says he, " an' Wise Wiff. • 29 mack t' best o' things as they urr. But I cud submit better— I cud dee easier if thoo wad promish to leuk efter things for him when I's gean. I divn't want him to be idle o' togidder, an' sooa I wad wish him to keep t' Booin-leys iv his oan hand— it'll give him sum'at to think aboot, an' mack fwoke leuk up till himmair nor if he was deuin nowte at o' ; an' I fancy 'at if thoo wad agree to deu o' his buyin an' sellin for him, an' seav him fray bein tean in an' laugh't at, I cud be happier noo. Wit'th V Jobby wasn't a man o' many wurds, but he said "I will, maister ! I'll dee o' for him t' seam as if ye wer heear to worder it yersel' an' see it deiin. Wid t' farms o' weel set — wid t' Booin-leys liggin i' girse, an' wid me to leuk efter his barg'ins, I wad like to see t' fellow 'at wad laugh at ooar Wiff." " I believe the', Jobby— I believe the', my lad," says t' deein man, "I leuk't for nea less at thy hand. Fetch him in here, an' I'll tell him afooar the' what I wis him to deu when I's gean. Wiffy, my lad,", says he, as his son com in, leiiken, as he thowte, mair sackless nor iver. " Wiffy, my pooar lad, thy oald ladder's ga'n to leave thee. Whey, whey, gud lad! it's reet o o Wise Wiff. aneuf thoo sud be sworry to lwoase sec a ladder, but divn't gowl i' that way,' for Wiff hed brassen oot wid a meast terrable rooar. " I say I hev to leave thee, an' that afooar lang. Hod thy noise, thoo bellerin coaf, an' hear what I've to say," says t' fadder, as he got oot o' patience at Wiff's gowlin, an' went back tull his oald hard way o' speakin til him. " Stop thy beelin, I say, an' lissen to me. I've hed Jobby here browte ower, ebben o' purpose, to mack him promish 'at he'll leuk efter thee when I's away. Hod t' noise on the', wil'te ! I's leavin the' weel providit for, an' o' t' land mun be let but t' Booin-leys ; thoo mun keep them i' thy oan hand — thurty yacre o' gud grund. Ey," says he, hoaf till hissel, "f best land 'at iver laid oot o' dooars. Whativer way ye gang fray't ye warsen ! Thoo'll hod them i' thy oan hand, for t' seak o' hevin sum'at to deu. Thoo'll hev to leuk efter t' fences, an' t' yatts, an' t' water-coorses. Keep them i' order; an' keep t' plew oot o' t' land ; it 'ill give t' meast liggin t' green side tip. Jobby 'ill deu thy tradin' for the'. Dunnot thee mell wid buyin or sellin. Leave o' that to Jobby. an' pay him whativer he charges for his Wise Wiff. 31 truble. He'll deu what's reet, will Jobby. An' noo I's aboot deun. Gi' me yer hands, beath on ye', an' say ye'll deu what I tell ye. Wilfrid ! thoo'll be advised by Jobby. Jobby ! thoo'll be true frind to my pooar lad, as if I was theear to see. Promish !" This was a langish noration for a body wid t' breath leavin him, an' when it was done he laid back on his pilliver, an' leuk't at them varra wistful-like, till they promish't, an' it was a bit afooar they cud, for by this time they war beath on them yewlin, t' yan ower t' udder, whedder to yewl t' hardest. When t' oald man was bury't oot o' geat, Wilfrid an' Jobby wiirk't away togidder varra cannily. Job bowte stock for t' Booin-leys, an' selt them as they fatten't off, an' enter't o' iv a big beuk 'at Wiff niver so much as leuk't atween t' backs on. He'd his fadder's last wiirds for Jobby deein what was reet, an' they war aneuf. Nowte com to put owder on them oot of his way, till Wiff gat a wife — or mebbe I wad be narder t' truth if I said, a wife gat Wiff — for when ivery body seed 'at he went on i' sec a stiddy soort of a way — gittin 32 Wise Wiff. heavy incomins i' rent, an' interest, an' shares, an' neabody kent what ; an' makin varra leet ootgangins, it was plain aneiif 'at he wad seiin be yan o' t' yablest men i' thur parts, an' t' lasses begon to cock ther caps at him of o' sides — 'specially them 'at thowte a man isn't wurth hevin if he hesn't gitten a bit o' t' feace o' t' yurth ; an' efter a while yan o' that mack fassen't Wiffy. She mead him a fairish wife, as wives gang, an' if she'd no'but been wise aneiif ta tack him as he was, an' let things ga on as they hed deim, o' wad been weel ; but she cudn't bide t" thowtes of oanin', owder till hersel or udder fwoke, 'at she'd weddit a Tommy Moakison for t' seak of his brass ; an' sooa she keept eggin him on to dee his oan turns, an' let fwoke see 'at he wasn't sec a natteral as he was co't. It was this whim-wham o' t' wife's 'at gat him t' nick-neam of Wise Wiff, an' it com tul him i' this geat. Amang t' stock ga'n on t' Booin-leys ya year there happen't to be hoaf a scwore of as bonnie Galloway Scots as iver hed yar o' t' ootside on them. Jobby hed bowte them T t' spring o" t' year at a guddish price, acoase he seed Wise Wiff. 33 ther was munny to be gitten oot on them efter a sum- mer's run iv a gud pastur'. Just as they war ruddy for a customer, an' Wiffwas thinkin o' ga'n doon to Jobby to toke aboot sellin on them, t' wife says " Ther's a butcher cummin fray Cockerm'uth to-day aboot buyin them Scots." "Whey than," says Wilfrid, "I'sjust step doon to Jobby, an' tell him to cum up an' meet t' butcher." " Thoo'll dee nowte o' t' mack," says t' mistress, " Thoo'll set to wark, as a gentleman sud dee, an' let Jobby Jinkison, an' ivery body else, see 'at thoo wants neabody to cum atween thee an' thy oan bisness." "Well, but," says Wiff, I promish't fadder on his deith-bed 'at Jobby sild dee o' t' buyin' an' sellin." " Niver thee mind that," says she, " fadder willn't cum back to claim thee promish, an' if he dud, I wad tell him 'at if a promish isn't reet it's wrang to keep it. Thoo'll dee as I tell thee." " Well, but," says pooar Wiffy agean, "fadder mead me varra nar sweear tuft." "Shaff o' thee fadder!" says she, " What sense is ther i' flingin a deid fadder iv a leevin wife's feace i' this ugly fashin. Does t'e know what t' scriptur' says aboot it ? — 'at a man mun leave his 3 34 Wise Wiff. fadder and mudder, an' stick till his wife ! I say agean, sell thee oan guds thee oan sel', an' mack t' best thoo can on them." " But hoo's I to ken what price to ex," says he. " Whey," says she, " cannot thoo leuk into t' beuk 'at Jobby writes o' doon in, an' finnd t' price he pait for them? That 'ill be a guide for the'. But I wad rayder loase a pund or two, if I was thee, nor be mead a barne on any lang-er." Like many a cliverer fellow, pooar Wiff fund ther was nowte for't but lettin his wife hev her way; an' when t' butcher com, he went reet ower wid him to t' fields whoar t' bullocks was ga'n, an' sel't them tull him oot o' hand. Iv his rwoad heam he went roond by Jurtinsyke to tell Jobby of his mwornin's wark. Jobby leuk't rayder strucken iv a heap when he hard it ; but efter con- siderin a lal bit, he said, " Weel, maister," (he oalas spack respectful-like to pooar Wilfrid, dud Jobby his- sel, an' he wadn't let any body else dee udder ways when he was theear.) "Weel, maister," says Jobby, " I willn't oalas be here to mannish for ye, an' ye may as weel begin noo as efter I's gean to try yer fist at Wise Wiff. 35 tradin. But what gat ye for t' Scots V " I dud bravely, lad," says Wiff, " I dud bravely. I gat nine pund ten a heid for them." "Nine pund ten!" Jobby shootit, "Whey, that's what I geh for them, mair nor five munth sen!" "I ken that," says Wiff, "I teiik a peep into t' girt beuk, an' fund theear what thu'd gi'en for them." " An ye just gat what they cost i' t' spring V says Jobby. " I think if ye' carry on a trade like that owte sa lang, yell be mackin' t' oald maister's munny bags leuk gaily wankle." " Manny bags," says Wiff, "What's t' use o' toakin aboot munny bags? T munny bags is seaf aneuf sa lang as I git as much for beasts as I gP for them. I think I've mead a varra fair trade, whativer thoo may think." " Aih dear ! aih dear !" says Job, "it wad mack t' oald maister git up oot o' his grave, if he cud hear this. Whoar's t' rent o' t' land to cum fray wid yer fair trade." " T rent o' t' land, thoo oald neudles," says Wiff, "t' rent o' what land 1 T land's my oan ! " Sooa Mistress Wanklethet fund 'at her fadder-in-lo', kent his sun better nor she dud her man ; an' o' 'at com of her middlin was to git her husband a nickneam 36 Wise Wiff. an' mack him a by-wurd; for iver sen, when any body theear aboots macks a queerish bargin, somebody else is suer to say "T land's my oan, says Wise Wiff 1" LAL DINAH GRAYSON. |AL Dinah Grayson's fresh, fewsome, an' free, I Wid a lilt iv her step an' a glent iv her e'e ; She glowers ebbem at me whativer I say An' meastly male's answer wid " M'appen I may !" "M'appen I may," she says, "m'appen I may; Thou thinks I believe the', an' m'appen I may !" Gay offen, when Dinah I mannish to meet O' Mundays, i't' market i' Cockerm'uth street, I whisper " Thou's nicer nor owte here to day," An' she cocks up her chin an' says, "M'appen I may! M'appen I may, my lad, m'appen I may ; There's nowte here to crack on, an' m'appen I may!" 38 Lal Dinah Grayson. She's smart oot o' dooars — she's tidy i't' hoose ; Snod as a mowdy-warp— sleek as a moose. F blue goon, i' black goon, i' green goon or grey, I tell her she's reeght, an' git "M'appen I may !" " M'appen I may," she'll say, " m'appen I may, Thou kens lal aboot it, but m'appen I may !" There's nut mickle on her, — we ken 'at gud stuff Laps up i' lal bundles, an' she's lal aneuf ; There's nowte aboot Dinah were better away But her comical* ower-wurd " M'appen I may." "M'appen I may," it's still, "m'appen I may." Whativer yan wants yan gits "m'appen I may !" An' it shaps to be smittal ; whoariver I gang, I can't tell a stwory — I can't sing a sang — I can't hod a crack, nay ! — I can't read nor pray Widout bringin' in her dang't "M'appen I may." " M'appen I may," it cums, "m'appen I may ;" Asteed of Amen, I say "m'appen I may." Comical, used thus, means Pert, in central Cumberland. Lai Dinali Grayson. 39 But she met me ya neeght aside Pards'aw Lea yatt — I tock her seaf heam, but I keep't her oot leat, An' offen I said i' my oan canny way, "Will t'e like me a lal bit?"— "Whey,— M'appen I may ! M'appen I may, Harry — m'appen I may ; Thou's rayder a hoaf-thick, but m'appen I may ! " I prist her to wed me — I said I was pooar, But eddlin aneuf to keep hung-er frayt' dooar. She leuk't i' my fetlce, an' than, hoaf turn't away, She hung doon her heid an' said " M'appen I may ! M'appen I may" — (low doon) — "m'appen I may, I think thou means fairly, an' m'appen I may." We're hingin' i't' bell reaps* — to t' parson I've toak't, An' I gev him a hint as he maffelt an' jwoak't, To mind when she sud say " love, honour, obey," 'At she doesn't slip through wid her "M'appen I may." M'appen I may, may be — m'appen I may, But we moont put up than wid a "m'appen I may." * During the period required for the publication of banns, a couple are said, figuratively, to be "hinging in t' bell ropes." 40 JWOHNNY, GIT OOT ! " Git oot vvid the', Jvvohnny, thou's no'but a fash ; Thou'll come till thou raises a desperat clash j* Thou's here ivery day just to put yan aboot, An' thou moiders yan terrably — Jvvohnny, git oot ! What says t'e? I's bonnie? Whey ! That's nowte'at'snew. Thou's wantin' a sweetheart? — Thou's hed a gay few ! An' thou's cheatit them, yan efter t' t'udder, nea doubt ; But I's nut to be cheatit sea — Jwohnny, git oot ! There's plenty o' lads i' beath Lamplugh an' Dean As yabble as thee, an' as weel to be seen ; An' I med tak' my pick amang o' there aboot — Does t'e think I'd ha'e thee, than 1 Hut, Jwohnny, srit oot ! * Clash — Scandal. Jwohnny y git oot ! 4 1 What ? Nut yan amang them at likes mi sa weel ? Whey, min — there's Dick Walker an' Jonathan Peel Foorsettin' me" ola's i't' lonnins aboot, Beath wantin' to sweetheart me — Jwohnny, git oot ! What 1— Thou will hev a kiss %— Ah, but tak't if thou dar! I tell the', I'll squeel, if thou tries to cu' nar. Tak' care o' my collar — Thou byspel, I'll shoot. Nay, thou sha'n't hev anudder — Noo Jwhonny, git oot ! Git oot wid the', Jwohnny — Thou's tew't me reet sair ; Thou's brocken my comb, an' thou's toozelt my hair. I willn't be kiss't, trftm unmannerly loot ! Was t'ere iver sec impidence ! Jwohnny, git oot ! Git oot wid the', Jwohnny — I tell the', be deim. Does t'e think I'll tak' up wid Ann Dixon's oald sheiin 1 ? Thou ma' ga till Ann Dixon, an' pu' hur aboot, But thou s'alln't pu' me, sea — Jwohnny. git oot ! 42 Jwohnny, git oot ! Well ! That's sent him off, an' I's sworry it hes ; He med ken a lass niver means hoaf 'at she says. He's a reet canny fellow, howiver I floot, An' it's growin o' wark to say Jwohnny, git oot !" 43 THE RUNAWAY WEDDING. My fadder said "Nay" — an' my mudder said "Niver!" When Willie furst telt them we wantit to wed ; We mud part — they said, beath — part at yance an' for iver, An' they deavet me to deeth aboot foats 'at he hed. A sailor was Will, forret, free-tonguet, an' funny, An' gi'en till o' manner o' teulment was he ; Rayder lowce i' religion, an' careless o' money, But dear was my wild, thowtless Willie to me. His life seemed mead up of arrivin's an' sailin's — Rough hardship at sea, an' fair daftness at heam. I cry't ow'r his danger — I pray't ow'r his failin's, An' offen forgev what I cudn't but bleam. An' many a frind, an' relation, an' neighbour Brong hints an' queer teals aboot Will to poor me ; But neighbours an' frinds gat the'r pains for the'r labour, For t'mair they misco't him t'mair thowte on was lie 44 The Runaway Wedding. An't' upshot of o' the'r fine hints an' advices Was 'at, ya neet, weel liapp't i' Will's greet sailor cwoat, We dreav, afoor dayleet, to Foster Penrice's, An' slip't ow'r till Annan i't' Skinburneese bwoat An' theer we wer' weddit, i' their way o' weddin' ; — I dudn't hafe like't, but they said it wad dee ; An' I dar-say it may'd — for a lass 'at was bred in Their ways — but it wasn't like weddin'" to me. An' when Will brong me back, varra sham-feacet an' freetent, Ower t' sin an' disgrace on't my mudder went wild. — Sair, sair dud my heart sink, but bravely it leeten't When Will prist me close up beside him, an' smil'd. My fadder said lal, no'but whishtit my mudder, An' pettit an' blest me wid tears iv his e'e ; Till beath on us ru't what hed gi'en him sec bodder, An' sham't of our darrak steud Willie an' me. ft The Runaway Wedding. 45 Eigh — for loave, he was kind ! an' he wad hev us weddit, As t' rest of his barns hed been— menseful an' reet — He leuk't at oor Scotch weddin'-writin' an' read it, But went up to t' Priest's aboot t' license that neet. An' he keep't me at heam, though we hed a hoose riddy. He said he mud hev me, while Will follow't t' sea. An' Will ! weddin' mead him douce, careful, an' stiddy, An' he's hoddenly been a gud husband to me. He seun hed a ship of his oan, an' mead money, An' seav't it, what he reckoned harder by far ; An', ola's weel-natur't, free-heartit an' funny, He mead his-sel frinds wid whativer com' nar. An' es for my mudder, 'at thowte me so silly, An' lang nowte but bad i' poor Willie wad see, I's thenkful she leevet to say — " Bless thee son Willie, " Many cumforts we've hed but meast ciimfort i'thee." 46 BILLY WATSON' LONNING. O for Billy Watson' lonnin' of a lownd summer neeght ! When t' stars come few an' flaytely, efter weerin' oot day-leeght — When t' black-kite blossom shews itsel' i' hafe-seen gliffs o' grey, An' t' honey-suckle's scentit mair nor iver it is i' t' day. An' nut a shadow, shap' or soond, or seeght, or sign 'at tells 'At owte 'at's wick comes santerin' theer but you, yer oan two sel's. Ther' cannot be anudder spot so private an' so sweet, As Billy Watson' lonnin' of a lownd summer neeght ! T Hempgarth Broo's a cheersome pleace when t' whins bloom full o' flooar — Green Hecklebank turns greener when it's watter't wid a shooar — Billy Watson Lonning. 47 There's bonnie neuks about Beckside, Stocks-hill, an' Greystone Green — High Woker Broo gi'es'sec a view as isn't offen seen — It's glorious doon ont' Sandy-beds when t' sun's just gan to set — An' t' Clay-Dubs isn't far aslew when t' wedder isn't wet; But nin was mead o' purpose theer a bonnie lass to meet Like Billy Watson' lonnin' of alownd summer neeght. Yan likes to trail ow'r t' Sealand-fields an' watch for t' comin' tide, Or slare whoar t' Green lies t' Ropery an' t' Shore of ayder side — T Weddriggs road's a Ird-used road, an' reeght for coortin toke — An' Lowca' lonnin's reeght for them 'at like a langsome woke — Yan's reeght aneuf up t' Lime-road, or t' Waggon-way, or f Ghyll, An' reeght for ram'lin's Cunning-wood or Scattermascot hill. 48 Billy Watson Lonning. Ther's many spots 'at's reeght aneuf, but nin o' ways so reeght As Billy Watson lonnin' of a lownd summer neeght. Sec thovvtes as thur com' thick lang sen to yan, a lonterin' lad, Wid varra lal to brag on but a sperrit niver sad, When he went strowlin' far an' free aboot his sea-side heam, An' stamp't a mark upon his heart of ivery frind-like neam ; — A mark 'at seems as time drees on to deepen mair an' mair — A mark 'at ola's breeghtens meast i' t' gloom o' comin' care ; But nowte upon his heart has left a mark 'at hods so- breeght As Billy Watson' lonnin' of a lownd summer neeght ! Oor young days may'd be wastet days, but dar their mem'ry's dear ! And what wad yan not part wid noo agean to hev them here? Billy Watson Lonning. 49 Whativer trubles fash't us than, though naycler leet nor few, They niver fash't us hafe so lang as less an's fash us noo; If want o' thowte brong bodderment, it pass't for want o' luck, An' what cared we for Fortun's bats, hooiver feurce she struck 1 It mud be t' time o' life 'at mead oor happiness complete F Billy Watson' lonnin' of a lownd summer neeght ! 5o LONE AND WEARY. Deid winter's nut sa dark to me As t' lang leet days o' t' spring ; — I hate to see a swallow flee, Or hear a throssle sing ; I grean at t' fresh green leaves on t' trees ; I turn frae t' flooers o' May, For t' croft was white wid dog-daisies When Jwohn was tean away. We coortit lang, dud Jwohn an' me — We waitit lang an' sair — He thowte oor weddin' mudn't be While beath war poor an' bare ; An' sep'rat', I gat past my prime, Jwohn barrow-back't an' grey ; — Reet sair I grudg't that wastit time, When Jwohn was tean away. Lone and Weary. 5 1 Jwohn pinch't an' spar't, an' tew't an' streav. Till t' heart wid-in him brak' — Still aimin' brass aneuf to seav, Some lal bit farm to tak' : An' when he'd gitten t' farm an' me, Twas plain he mudn't stay ; — He dwined through t' winter dark an' dree — I' t' spring was tean away. We may'd hed many a happy year, If thowte to t' winds we'd flung, An' join't oor strength life's lead to beear, When beath war lish an' yung : But widder't was oor fiooer o' life Afoor oor weddin' day ; An' I'd nut been ya year a wife When Jwohn was tean away. Sooa t' spring o' life na summer browte, To my poor man or me ; An' t' spring o' t' year noo brings me nowte But t' mind o' misery. 5 2 Lone and Weary. I can't see what anudder sees I' t' fields an' t' flooers o' May, For t' croft was white wid dog-daisies When Jwohn was tean away. T' CLEAN NED O' KES'ICK. This phrase is proverbial in central Cumberland, and is generally used in a negative sense ; thus, of a person whose character for upright conduct will not bear the full light of day, it is said, " He's nut t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick." Lang an' leat we ma' lait throo fray Fiend's-fell* to Fles'ick,t Afooar we'll finnd mail ner ya fellow or two Yan can fairly an' freely co' t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick ; Oald Cum'erlan' t'sel' on't hods no'but a few ! An' hoo mun us tell when we div happen on them 1 Whey, that, just off-hand, isn't easy to say ! But sum of o' yages hev marks plain upon them Showin' they're nin o' t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick — nut they! * Fiend's-fell, an old name for Cross-fell, on the eastern verge of the county. t The beautiful secluded bay which d« ides the two Heads of St. Bees, the most westerly points of Cumberland, is called Fleswick. 54 T' clean Ned d Kesick. We ma' leet on a barne wid t' leuk of ill-natur' An' spite glowerin' oot of a widderful feace ; A lean, discontentit, slee, gyversome creetur', : At kens hoo to mak' its-sel' t' maister o' t' pleace — 'At yowls when it wants owte, an' glumps when it gits it, Till o' but it's mudder wad droon't iv a kit ; 'An' t' mair 'at she dantles, an' pampers, an' pets it, T less like to growe t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick growes it Or mayhap, a la.1 lad 'at tells teals of his brudders, An' cocks his-sel' up, an' example to t' rest — 'At seavs his oan laikins an' laiks wid anudder's, An' geaps for owte gud like a gorb iv a nest ; 'At boggles at lowpy-back, rack-ups, or shinny, An' keeps his-sel' ootside o' t' ruck at foot-bo' ; — They ma' praise him 'at hes him — I'd lay my last guinea He s' niver be t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick for o'. Or a rovin' yung chap 'at ga's hard efter t' lasses, An' stuffs them wid o' maks o' flaitchment an' lees ; Ol'a's smiirkin' an' smilin' an' fair to the'r feaces, But skiftin' his mattie as fancy ma' please — T' clean Ned d Kesick. 55 Tackin' up at t' lang last, efter feulin a duzzen, Wid siimbody's dowter he thinks weel to dee ; — A taggelt like that sud be hatit like puzzen — He'll niver be t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick, nut he ! Or a man 'at likes brass, an' cheats o' maks o' ways for't, An' clowks at advantage whoariver he can ; An' taks drink gaily free when anudder chap pays for't, But wi'n't stand his share iv a shot like a man : 'At ol'a's for sum durty profit ligs watchin' ; At keeps o' he cares for anonder ya hat ; An' pays what he owes fwok wid phraisin' or fratchin' — He munnet be t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick — moon't that ! Or a swaddlin' oald sneak, wid a snowk an' a snivel, 'At kests up his e'en when he hears a ruff jwoke ; Co'in' sangs an' queer stwories o' 'ticements o' t' divel — An' snirrups his nwose up at t' praise o' poor fwok : 'At grunts agean wrusslin's, fairs, hoond-trails an' reaces, An' sec-like divarsions, as sinful an' vain, Winkin' hard at t' seam time at war sins i' hee pleaces — He niver was t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick — that's plain. 56 T' clean Ned d Kesick. Nay ! for be what it may be — his yeage, steat or station, A man hollow heartit, unfrindly, unfair, Makin' mair nor reet use of a lofe or occasion, — Grippin' hard by his oan, an' still grankin' for mair; 'At can toak like a bishop, an' hod back his meanin', But can't wid his neighbours or kinsfwoke agree ; Keepin' bleamin' an' backbiting grudgin' an' pleenin' — He cannot be t' clean Ned o' Kes'ick — can't he. 57 BEN WELLS. Kersmas is hardly Kersmas noo ! — Nowte's left like what it used to be — T" yall's nut what they used to brew — An' t' fun's nut what we used to see — T" lasses irn't hoaf sa smart, For o' the'r fallal hats an' veils, An' music niver sturs yan's heart Like "T Hunt's Up" played by oald Ben Wales. "T Hunt's Up" of a Kersmas mworn, When stars war breet an' frost was keen, Wad roose us like a hunter's whom, Whativer hakes ower neet we'd seen. An' dar ! 'twas nice to snug i' bed, An' lissen oot that brave oald lilt, An' hear, at ivery stave they played, Gud wishes shootin' t' chorus till "t. 58 Ben Wells. Ben Wales's fiddle, many a neet, Gev weel oiled springs to t' heaviest heels, For few cud whyet hod the'r feet When Ben strack up his heartenin' reels. Wid elbow room an' rozel't weel, Swinge ! how he'd mak' fwoke keav an' prance ; An' nowte cud match t' sly fiddle-squeal 'At signall'd kiss i' t' cushion dance. Noo poor Ben Wales is deid an' gean — His marrow willn't seun be seen ; But rare top dancers many a yan, He's left to keep his memory green. Nea mair at ball or oald-fwoke's-neet We'll see his gud reet elbow jog ; An' when they laid Ben oot o' seet, T' oald cushion dance went oot o' vogue. Fwoke's ways turn different, t' langer t' mair, An' what, lang sen, was reet 's grown wrang ; We're, meast on us, owre fine to care For heamly dance, teiin, teal, or sang. Ben Wells. 59 An' nowte 's mead varra lastin' here, T' best bow-hand growes oald an' fails, An' t' lishest legs git num' an' queer ; Few last sa weel as oald Ben Wales ! NOTE. The late Benjamin Wells was, for about half a century, the best known and most popular of all the dancing-masters who have plied their vocation amongst the country people of West Cum- berland ; and, as a teacher of the old-fashioned style of dancing, in which vigour, activity, and precision are, rather than grace- fulness, the main desiderata, he has never been surpassed. As a violin player his performance was remarkably correct, distinct, and strongly marked as to time — in fact, the best possible fiddling to dance to. The last time I met with him was about twenty years ago, in the bar-parlour of an inn in the southern part of the Lake district, which was somewhat out of his ordin- ary beat, and where the strains of his fiddle, produced at my request, caused such excitement that a general and very up- roarious dance (of males only) set in, and was kept up with such energy that, the space being confined, the furniture was seriously damaged, and Ben was at last ejected by the landlady as the readiest, indeed the only method of putting a stop to the riot. He was light, muscular, and springy, and. in his earlier years, wonderfully swift of foot, so much so that the late Dr. Johnstone, of Cockermouth, told me that he once (at Scale Hill) saw him, without any assistance, run down and capture a wild rabbit — a proof of activity rarely paralleled. Poor old Ben ! It will be long ere his erect, compact little figure, his bright, cheery expression, his sprightly address, and his quick firm step are altogether forgotten in the western dales and seaward parishes of Cumberland. Requiescat ! 6o SANNTER, BELLA! Sannter, Bella !— Bliss the', sannter, Th'u'll be seun aneuf at heam ; Gan frae t' church at sec a cannter, Fwoke '11 sweer th'u's thinkin' sham'- Sham' 'at I sud woak aside the' ! Does t'e, Bella, sham' o' me 1 Whey than, bide the', dar it, bide the' !- Few's sa leet o' t' feut as thee. Si's t'e, Bella, nay but, si's t'e, Hoo th'u's makin' t' ne'bours laugh ; Th'u's a taistrel fair 'at is t'e, But I like thee weel Hiit, shaff !- Whoa can tell his stwory runnin 1 — Whoa can coort an' win a reace 1— If th'u's flay't I's foase, or funnin', Stop, an' leuk me fair i' t' feace ! Saunter, Bella ! 61 Leuk, an' see if I wad cheat the' — Leuk, I tell the', glimes wont dee ' Whativer wrang't the', I wad reet the', Whoa-iver fails the', trust i' me. Wait ! Nay, tak' mair time, I pray the' — Shuttin' frae yan like a dart — Nowte for nowte I's axin' frae the' — Nowte for nowte, but heart for heart. Sannter, than ! Nay, Bella, sannter ! I'll nut say ya wurd 'at's wrang, But th'u's a wannter ! — I's a wannter '. An' nowder sud be wannters lang. Thoo kens what sec a heam I've gitten — Ken's o' 's reet, an' straight, an' square — Ken's o' wad fit the' like a mitten ; What the hangment wad t'e mair % Sannter! sannter!! sannter, Bella!!! Gi' me time to tell my teal ; Tis n't kind to mak' a fellow T' laughin-stock of hoaf o' t' deal 62 Saunter, Bella ! Does t'e think o' 's nut fairation 1 Hes t'e any foat to finnd 1 Nay ! Whey than, ther's nea 'casion — Huh — By jing, I's oot o' wind ! 'Beat thy speed ! Dar sonn, I'll ho'd the' ! Ho'd the' till I've said my say — Till my heart's ya wish I've shew'd the', Gittin' back for 't ey or nay. Wil't'e than, say, wil't'e wed me 1 « Ah ! Thou wadn't still say — no ! Faith ! a bonnie dance th'u's led me, But that lal squeeze mak's up for o' ! — T' squeeze frae thy smo' fing-ers, Bella ! Trimlin' here i' my rough hand ; It's queer a touch sa leet can tell a Teal sa plain to understand ; It's queerer thoo sud be sa freeten't, — Flay't when nowte at o' 's amiss. Loavin ! How thy feace has breeten't, Reedenin' up at t' furst fair kiss. 63 BRANTHET NEUK BOGGLE. (a teal for a winter neeght.) 'At Marron Beck's a bonnie beck, what mazelin wad deny 1 ? An' what compares wi' Branthet Neuk 'at Marron Beck ga's by 1 Wid hoozes white, an' worchets green, an' Marron runnin' clear, Eigh! Branthet Neuk's a heartsome spot i' t' sunny time o' year ! But loave ! it is a dowly pleace when winter neeghts growe lang ; For t' lwoan ligs dark atween it's banks, — a flaysome rwoad to gang When t' wind nvoars wild in t' trees abeun, an' Marron rwoars below, — An' Branthet Neuk's a hantit spot, as I've some reeght to know. 64 Branthet Nenk Boggle. They say a heidless woman woaks at sartin neeghts o' t' year, An' greans an' yewls at sec a rate as freeghtens fwoke to hear ; I wadn't mind sec teals, but yance I gat a freeght me-sel' I* Branthet Neiik, an' hoo it was, just lissen an' I'll tell. Ya neeght, lang sen, at Cursmass time, wid Cursmass mak' o' wedder, A lock on us at Branthet met, to hev a glass togidder ; We crack't, an' jwok't, an' drank, an' smeuk't, while hoaf o' t' neeght went by, For Isbel Simon' drink was gud, an' we war rayder dry! 'Twas lownd an' leat — past yan o'clock — wid nut a spark o' moon : An' like a clood o' cardit woo', thick snow keep't sinkin' doon, Braiithet Neuk Boggle. 65 When reeght up t' Neuk three Jwohn's an' me went wadin' heam through t' snow — Jwohn Suntan, an' Jwohn Bell o' t' Rayes, an' Jwohn o' Craypless Ho'. We'd gitten hoaf o' t' way up t' lwoan, — nar Edward Beeby' yat, An' theear we stopp't, for marcy me ! a parlish freeght we gat, Lood greans we heard — lang hollow beels, 'at shak't oor varra beans, " For God-seak, lads, mak on," sez yan, " them's t' heidless woman' greans !" " But nay," sez I, " if wantin' t' heid, she raises sec a rout, I'd like to see what way she taks to fetch sec haybays oot ; They say yan stops a woman's noise when yan taks off her heid, But this, by gock ! wad mak yan sweer they're noisy whick or deid." 66 Branthet Neuk Boggle. It's Burns 'at sez Jwohn Barleycworn can mak yan bold as brass ; An' Isbel' drink mead me quite keen this greanin' thing to feace. We shootit Edward Beeby up an' mead 'im git a leeght — He grummel't sair to be disturb't at sec a time o' neeght, But brong yan oot ; — an', led bee t' lugs, we follow't efter t' soond, While clwose f swine-hull dooar we com, an' stopt, an' gedder't roond. "By gockers, lads !" Jwohn Suntan said, "It's no'but Edward 1 swine !" " Nay, nay," sez Edward, " mine's i' soat — it's nea pig o' mine !" "Well, I'll ga in, an' see," sez I. O' t' rest steud leukin on As in I creept wid t' leeght, an' fund greit lang Joe Nicholson B rant he t Netik Boggle. 67 Hoaf cover't up wid mucky strea, — soond asleep, — and snworin', As if o' t' bulls o : Dean war theear, an' ivery bull was nvoarin'. We trail't him oot, an' prop't him up agean t' oald swine-hull wo' — An' dazet wid coald he glower't aboot, an' dadder't like to fo'— We help't 'im in, an' hap't 'im weel, on t' squab aback o' t' dooar, He said his wife had barr't 'im oot, as oft she'd deun afooar. Sez Jwohn o' t' Rayes, " If iv'ry neeght he maks sa gurt a din, It's rayder queer a wife like his sud iver let 'im in ; It's varra weel we hard 'im though, he med ha' dee't o' coald ! Come, let's git yam !'* — an' laughin' loud, we lonter't oot o' t' foald. 68 Brantket Neuk B apple.