UBR f^-*.
IRVINE,
CUMMERLAND TALK."
PR,
v^ummerland 1 alk;"
SHORT TALES AND RHYMES IN THE
DIALECT OF THAT COUNTY:
TOGETHER WITH
A FEW MISCELLANEOUS PIECES IN VERSE.
BY JOHN RICHARDSON,
OF SAINT JOHN'S.
LONDON: JOHN RUSSELL SMITH.
CARLISLE: GEO. COWARD.
MDCCCLXXI.
CUMMERLAND TALK.
Efter meiisen an" thinken for ivver sa lang,
I thowt I wad mak a few Cummerland sangs ;
An' I sed to mesel, befwore writen a line,
My sangs s'all be true if t' words urrent sa fine.
It issent by t' dress iv a thing yan can judge,
For t' finest o' language is sometimes aw fudge ;
An' Cummerland talk, 'at's as rough as git oot,
Hes sense, aye, an' treuth 'at some fine talk's withoot.
Yan oft sees a chap wi' a good-leuken feace,
Quite bonny eneuf to put in a glass kease ;
Bit if ye just quiz him aboot this an' that,
Ye'll finnd him as thin, barn, as t' lug iv a cat.
An' than theer some lasses sa 'ticen indeed,
'At t' young chaps aboot them ga wrang i' their heids ;
Bit fine as they ur, when they're fleein aboot,
They're worth varra laal bit to leuk at, I doot.
VI.
The'r fine refinet language I know laal aboot,
The'r sooth country accent wi' t' "H's" left oot ;
Fwok tell me 'at meanin' on't 's baddish to know,
'At "white" oft means "black," an' "aye" sometimes means
"no."
Bit Cummerland dialect issent that way,
Fwok say what they mean, an' they mean what they say
It's rayder auld-fashin't, an' broadish, an' aw,
Bit plain as a pike-staff, an' easy to know.
Noo, sometimes when t' treuth's nut sa sweet an' sa good
Fwok willent know t' meanin' when mebby they mud ;
They'll say it's daft bodder, it's this, an' it's that,
Bit treuth 'ill be treuth, barn, na matter for that.
CONTENTS.
FAUK
INTRODUCTION . . . i
A Cummerland Dream . . . . .11
Robin Redbreast . . . . 15
"It's nobbut me" . . . . '7
T' barrm' oot . . . . . .20
" Git ower me 'at can" . . . . .26
What use to be lang sen . . . . 29
Jobby Dixon . . . . . 32
Willie Cooband an' his Lawsuit . -34
Fwok all'as know the'r awn know best . . . 38
Auld Pincher ... 40
Sly Sally ... . . 42
Auld Fwok an' auld Times . . . -45
- ' Somebody sed seah " . . . . 5 '
Bonnie Spring Time . . 53
What laal Jenny' say was when she sed it . -55
Oorjoe . . . . . . .58
Jemmy Stubbs' Grunstane . . . .60
T' auld Farmer's midneet Soliloquy . . -65
Ixml ! <<ck a laugh I gat las* week . . 68
Vlll.
PAGE
He sed 'twas for his wife an' barns . . . 71
Auld Scheull Frinds . . . . '75
Auld Willie Boonass' Fwok an' t' Hare . . -79
Drucken Bill's Welcome Heamm ' . . 85
Auld Jwohnny' Hoose . . . . .88
Auld Jemmy's Advice . . . . . 92
This love's a curious thing . . . -95
Dalehead Park Boggle . . . . .98
Auld Abram's Advice to his Son . . .106
T' Bonnie Deall . . . . . 1 10
What Bob an' Charlie thowt about t' War . .114
What I'd wish for . . . . .120
Tommy Dobson's Toor to t' Lakes . . .124
T' Plesser o' Seavin' . . . . .148
A laal bit o' Money's a Wonderful Thing . -150
Lang Years sen ...... 152
What Tom Briggs sed aboot Pride . . . 155
T' Country for me . . . . .158
Oor Wants ...... 160
The Mother's Appeal . . . . .164
Tommy an' Joe : A Dialogue . . . .167
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
The Medical Students . . . . .179
Lines written at "Druid Stones," near Keswick. . 182
Blencathra . .186
The Changes of Life . . . . .191
Childhood and Age . . . 198
INTRODUCTION.
IN submitting these sketches to the public, the
author begs to inform his readers that they will not
find among them any descriptions of rude and
riotous scenes, similar to those so graphically
described by Anderson, Stagg, and some others of
the Cumberland bards. Such gatherings as "T*
Worton Weddin'," "T' Bridewain," and many
more described by them, have long been things of
the past; and the half-century which has passed
away since they wrote, has brought a great and
beneficial change in the manners and customs of
the Cumberland rural population.
Indeed, the author himself can remember the
time when any local gathering, such as a fair
or merry-night, had taken place, the first question
asked the next morning by one person of another
who had attended it, would have been, "What,
was t'er owts o' feightin' yesterneet ; or aw was
middlin' whiet 1" and in nine cases out of ten, the
other would have some "feightin"' to give account
of. In Anderson's time, bull-baiting, badger-
baiting, and cock-fighting would be in full swing ;
and one may imagine the scenes that would often
be associated with such brutalizing amusements,
and can easily believe that his descriptions are not
much, if at all, exaggerated.
There are persons yet living who can remember
a large stone in the pavement, near the centre of
the market place in the town of Keswick, to which
was attached a strong iron ring, called the " bull-
ring." To this ring the poor bull was fastened,
with a rope or chain attached to its nose, and
baited by dogs till completely exhausted, when it
was taken away and killed ; and it frequently
happened that during the exhibition there would be
several fights among the spectators respecting the
merits and prowess of the different dogs engaged
in the contest. I have been told that the ring
remained in the market place for many years after
bull-baiting was discontinued, and that to " shak t'
bull-ring" was reckoned an act of uncommon
daring, for it was the same as throwing down the
glove, and amounted to a challenge to any one in
the town at the time. To put a stop to these
frequent quarrels and uproars, the late Mr. Dixon,
(who was then agent for the Commissioners of
Greenwich Hospital,) had it taken away ; and as a
proof of the improved taste of the present day, an
elegant fountain has lately been erected on its site.
During the last sixty or seventy years there has
been a complete transformation among the rural
population of Cumberland, in their diet, dress,
and manners. Instead of the oatmeal porridge,
oatmeal bread, salt beef, and home-brewed ale,
which were then almost their sole living; wheat
bread, tea, coffee, sugar, and other articles, which
were then thought great luxuries, may be now
found in the poorest cottage. Instead of the coarse
Skiddaw-grey coats, and the linsey-woolsey gowns
and petticoats, which were then universally worn
by old and young; the finest broadcloths, merinos,
alpacas* and even silks, are common in every
dwelling. Instead of the roystering merry-nights,
weddings, bridewains, and other gatherings, des-
cribed by Anderson and Stagg, the annual gatherings
at the inns about Christmas are designated "balls,"
and are generally as well conducted, and as free
from anything blameable or objectionable, as the
balls and assemblies among the higher classes.
The weddings, though sometimes gay enough, are
almost invariably well conducted, and free from
drunkenness and roystering, while the bridewains
have long been obsolete.
At the sheep-shearings, or "clippings," as they
are called, which are attended almost exclusively
by country people, although the proceedings are
characterized by the utmost hospitality, cheerfulness,
and good-fellowship, they are now conducted with
the strictest propriety. The author can remember
being at "clippings" where the proceedings were of
the most brutal and indecent description ; when
persons were compelled to drink, even against their
wills, till they became totally helpless ; and when
the songs sung were of the most obscene and
disgusting kind. Indeed, in those days, a song was
no song at all at a "clipping," if it had not, as they
used to call it, "a strip o' blue in 't." But at the
present day, although song-singing is a favorite part
of the entertainment at all "clippings," there is very
rarely anything sung that the most modest female
need blush to hear.
It will be evident to the reader from the foregoing
remarks, that any one attempting to write in the
Cumberland dialect at the present time, will have
to draw his incidents from far less exciting scenes
than those described by Anderson and Stagg. But
notwithstanding the changes which have taken place
in Cumberland, as respects the manners, customs,
and ways of living of its inhabitants, its dialect has
undergone little or no change. In writing the speci-
mens in the present volume, it has been the author's
endeavour to give the dialect as nearly as possible
as it is spoken ; but it will be found by any one who
will take the trouble to compare the two together,
6
that the dialect pieces written by Relph of Seberg-
ham, one hundred and forty years since, contain
almost the very same words and phrases as are in
use at present. Indeed, if we are to have a dialect
at all, we could not have one that would be more
expressive, or better adapted for the interchange of
ideas and feelings among country people. Any one
will admit this who has heard rustics talking together
in a free and unconstrained manner ; but the fact is,
that very few well educated persons ever do hear
them converse so, because a great many of them
try to polish their talk a bit when the clergyman, or
the doctor, or any person of that description goes
among them, and the result is a mixture that is
neither dialect nor ordinary English. There are,
however, some exceptions to this. There are some
sturdy old dalesmen who would not modify a syllable
if they were talking to the queen ; and there are
many amusing anecdotes illustrating this character-
istic. One will suffice.
A Cumbrian gentleman, lately deceased, had an
old tenant named Matthew, whom he valued
highly for his sterling honesty and straight-forward
character, and had one day ridden over to assist
him in planning some drainage, or other improve-
ments on his farm. Having completed their survey,
and arrived at the farmstead just as the family were
going in to dinner, Matthew said to him, " What,
ye may's weel come in an' hev a bit o' dinner .
afwore ye gang. Ye're varra welcome to sec as we
hev." The old gentleman, partly from his great
urbanity, and partly no doubt for the joke of the
thing, accepted his invitation, and entered the
kitchen, where was a large table which reached
almost the whole length of the room, and at which
were seated all his family, sons, daughters, servants,
and labourers, to the number of nearly twenty.
Near to each end of the table was placed a large
hot-pot, which is a dish consisting of beef or mutton,
cut into pieces, and put into a large dish along with
potatoes, onions, pepper, salt, etc., and then baked
in the oven, and is called in Cumberland a " taty-
pot." Old Matthew placed a chair for his landlord
next to his own at the head of the table, and, after
8
loading his own plate, shoved the "taty-pot" towards
him, and said, "Noo, ye mun help yer-sel, an' howk
in. Theer 'ill be meat eneuf at t' boddom ; but it's
rayder het." Now, that was what we may call
unadulterated Cumberland ; and who will say that
it was not far more expressive than any of the half-
and-half which we so often hear ?
With these few remarks, I send my promiscuous
pieces to the publisher, trusting that they may afford
some amusement to those who take an interest in
the time-honoured dialect of "auld Cummerland."
J. R.
SAINT JOHN'S.
CUMMERLAND MAK
O' TALK.
A CUMMERLAND DREAM.
Jl'D a dream t' tudder neet 'at bodder't me sair,
I thowt I'd just been at a Martinmas fair ;
An' bein' varra tir't, an' nut varra thrang,
Next mwornin' I slummer't an' laid rayder lang.
I thowt i' me dream, when at last I gat up,
An' Sally wi' coffee was fullen me cup ;
'At yan o' thur pharisee fellows com in,
An' sed 'at I'd deun a meast terrible sin.
I knew nowt I'd deun, an' I axt when an' where:
Ses he, "What, ye been at this Martinmas fair ;
An' I may's weel tell ye, 'at fwok 'at ga theer,
'111 ga tull a war pleace, when they ga fra here.
1 2 A Cummer land Dream.
"It's awful to think o' sek horrible wark
Theer is wi' thur fairs an' this coddlin' i' t' dark ;
An' here, doon i' Cummerland, issent it sad 1
Theer hofe o' fwok basterts, an' t ; rest nar as bad.
"If't wassent for me an' aboot udder ten,
Like Sodom it wad ha' been burn't up lang sen ;
An' that 'ill be t' end on't, wi'oot ye repent ! "-
I thowt when he'd sed that he gat up an' went.
I thowt i' my dream, 'twas a terrible thing,
Sek a judgment sud ower auld Cummerland hing ;
An' as I knew nowt 'at wad deu enny good,
I'd better git oot on't as fast as I cud.
Seeah, I pack't up me duds, an' set off at yance,
An' thowt I wad tak off to Lunnen or France ;
I thowt 'twas laal matter what way I sud gang,
If I gat oot o' t' coonty I cuddent be wrang.
A Cummer land Dream. \ 3
I thowt I trudg't on till I leet iv a man,
An' I venter't to ax 'im what way he was gaan :
"To Lunnen," ses he, as he stop't an' leuk't roond:
"I hear 'at ye're Cummerland; whoar ur ye boond 1 ?"
"To Lunnen," ses I, "if I nobbut kent t' way,
I've trudg't on afeut for this menny a day ; "
An' than, I just telt 'im what sent me fra heamm :
Ses he, "Oh! ye're silly an' sadly to bleame.
"What, Cummerland fwok, let them gang whoar
they will,
Ur all'as respectit an' weel thowt on still ,
An' to say they're wicked, it's aw just a farce,
Ye'll finnd them i' Lunnen a hundred times warse.
"Just leuk into t' papers, theer nivver a day
Bit barns ur fund murder't, an r put oot o' t' way ;
An' than theer men leeven wi' udder fvvok's wives,
An' plenty 'at dew nowt bit thieve aw their lives.
1 4 A Cummer land Dream.
"Theer thoosands o' wimmen 'at walken on t' street,
'111 sell their sels off to t' best bidders at neet ;
An' t' best o' them thoosands is warse, I'll be bund,
Nor t' warst theer can be iv aw Cummerland fund."
I was that sair suppris't when I hard what he sed,
'At I gev a girt rowl an' tummel't off t' bed ;
That waken't me up, an' me ankle was leamm,
Bit reet fain I was when I turn't up at heamm.
ROBIN REDBREAST.
When winter winds blow strang and keen,
An' neets are lang an' cauld,
An' flocks o' burds, wi' famine team't,
Come flutteren into t' fauld ;
I hev a casement, just ya pane,
'At Robin kens reet weel,
An' pops in menny a time i' t' day,
A crumb or two to steal
At furst he's shy an' easy flay't,
Bit seiinn he bolder gits,
An' picks aboot quite unconsarn't,
Or here an' theer he flits.
An' when he gits his belly full,
An' 's tir't o' playin' pranks,
He'll sit quite still, on t' auld chair back,
An' sing his simple thanks.
1 6 Robin Redbreast.
Bit when breet spring comes back ageann,
An' fields ur growen green,
He bids good day, an' flees away,
An' than na mair he's seen ;
Till winter comes ageann \vi' frost,
An' driften snow, an' rain,
An' than he venters back ageann,
To leuk for t' oppen pane.
Noo, burds an' fwok ur mickle t' seamm,
If they be i' hard need ;
An' yan hes owt to give, they'll come,
An' be girt frinds indeed.
Bit when theer nowt they want to hev,
It's nut sa lang they'll stay,
Bit just as Robin does i ! t' spring,
They'll seun aw flee away.
"IT'S NOBBUT ME."
Ya winter neet, I mind it weel,
Oor lads 'ed been at t' fell,
An', bein' tir't, went seun to bed,
An' I sat be mesel.
I hard a jike on t' window pane,
An' deftly went to see ;
Bit when I ax't, "Who's jiken theer?"
Says t' chap, "It's nobbut me!"
"Who's me?" says I, "What want ye here?
Oor fwok ur aw i' bed ;"
"I dunnet want your fwok at aw,
It's thee I want," he sed.
" What cant'e want wi' me," says I ;
"An' who, the deuce, can't be ?
Just tell me who it is, an' than "
Says he, "It's nobbut me."
1 8 "-Ifs nofait me"
11 1 want a sweetheart, an' I thowt
Thoo mebby wad an' aw ;
I'd been a bit down t' deal to-neet,
An' thowt 'at I wad caw ;
What, cant'e like me, dus t'e think 1
I think I wad like thee "
" I dunnet know who 't is," says I,
Says he, "It's nobbut me."
We pestit on a canny while,
I thowt his voice I kent ;
An' than I steall quite whisht away,
An' oot at t' dooer I went.
I creapp, an' gat 'im be t' cwoat laps,
'Twas dark, he cuddent see ;
He startit roond, an' said, "Who's that?"
Says I, "It's nobbut me."
An' menny a time he com ageann,
An' menny a time I went,
An' sed, "Who's that 'at's jiken theer?"
When gaily weel I kent :
"It's nobbut me." 19
An' mainly what t' seamm answer com,
Fra back o' t' laylick tree ;
He sed, "I think thoo knows who't is :
Thoo knows it's nobbut me."
It's twenty year an' mair sen than,
An' ups an' doons we've hed ;
An' six fine barns hev blest us beath,
Sen Jim an' me war wed.
An' menny a time I've known 'im steal,
When I'd yan on me knee,
To mak me start, an' than wad laugh
Ha ! ha ! " It's nobbut me."
20
T BARRIN' GOT.
WHEN I went to t' scheull oh ! man, but theer
hes been a deal o' ups an' doons sen that I's
abeim sebbenty noo, an' seeah it 'ill be mair ner fifty
year sen than. Bit i' them days fwoke use to gang
far langer to t' scheull ner they deli noo. They
hev to start wark noo-a-days ameast be they're
peat-hee ; while fifty year sen they dud nowte bit
gang till they war girt lumps o' fellows, gayly nar as
big as I is noo.
Well, as I was gaan to tell ye, I went to St. Jwohn's
scheull, when Freest Wilson was t' maister. He was
racken't a varra good maister, teu. Sartenly, he was
parlish sharp on us at times ; an' some o' t' laal uns
war nar aboot freetent to deith on 'im. Bit theer
was on tull a scwore o' us girt fellows varra nar up
tull men, an' we yan egg'd anudder on into aw maks
T' barriri oot. 21
o' mischieves, till he was fworc't owder to be gayly
sharp on us, or else we wad ha" gitten t' maister on
'im awtogidder.
By jing ! hedn't we rare barrin's oot i' them days !
Theer nowte et rnak noo, for fwok hes gilten sa
mickle pride, an' sa menny new-fanglet ways, 'at
them auld customs ur aw deun away wi'. It use to
be than, when t' time com for brekkin' up for t' .
Cursmas er Midsummer hellidays, 'at when t' maister
went heamm tull his dinner, we use to bar up aw t'
dooers an' windows, an' waddent let 'im in agean.
An' than we wreatt on a bit o' paper, 'at we
wantit seeah menny week helliday, an' neah tasks,
an' pot it through t' kaywholl. If we could nobbut
manish to keep 'im oot, we gat oor helliday, an'
neah tasks owder ; bit if he contriv't enny way to
git in, we use to hev to slenk of to oor seats gayly
sharply, hingen oor lugs. An' than we gat ivvery
yan on us a gay lang task to git off i' t' hellidays,
an' a lock o' t' warst on us, mebby, a good hiden
to be gaan on wi'.
Wy, theer was ya midsummer, I can think on 't
22 T' barriri oof.
as weel as if it bed nobbut been yesterday, 'at we
war varra detarmin't, an' we contriv't aw to hev oor
dinners wi' us that day, an' as seun as iwer t'
maister hed gean tull his dinner, we began to
prepare. We hed three or fower girt tubs riddy,
an' we browt them into t' scheull, an' than we
fetch't watter oot o' t' scheull dem till they war as
full as they cud hod ; an' we warrent varra partickler
aboot gitten't varra clean nowder. An' than we hed
swirts meade o' kesks to swirt watter at 'im, if he
try't to git in at t' windows.
We next bart t' dooer, an' nail't t' window case
ments, an' meade aw as secure as we cud, an' than
we waitit till he com. As seun as he com an' fand
'at he cuddent git in, he shootit varra illnatur't like,
'at we mud oppen't dooer ; bit asteed o' that we pot
oor bit o' paper through t' kaywholl demanden a
month helliday, an' neah tasks. When he saw that
he was madder ner ivver, an' he sed 'at he wad
owder be in or know 'at he cuddent git.
Efter that we hard neah mair on 'im for a canny
bit, an' we began to think 'at he'd gone awtogidder
T' barriri oot. 23
bit we war ower auld to oppen t' dooer, teu. We
keep't watchen, an' peepen oot for a while, an' efter
a bit whea dud we see bit greet Joe Thompson, at
Sykes', an' their sarvent man, Isaac Todd, an' t'
maister, aw cummen togidder, an' they hed geavlecks
an' hammers ower their sh coders, tobrekt' dooer in
wi'. We war gayly flate than. This Joe Thompson
was a girt fellow, a gay bit abeun two yerds lang,
an' he was as strang as a cuddy, bit as num as a
coo ; an' a job o' that mak just suitit 'im. He wad
ha' gone hofe a duzzen mile for a bit fun, enny time.
Poor Joe ! he was neah bad fellow, wassent Joe,
bit he's deid an' gean abeun twenty year sen.
Bit, awivver, we consultit togidder, an' we thowt
'at as we'd begun, theer was neah way bit feightin't
oot ; an' seeah as seun as ivver enny o' them com
nar t' window we aw let flee wi' oor swirts, an' hofe
droon't them wi' durty watter. We dreave them
back i' that way a gay lock o' times, bit they all'as
come on agean, an' at last they brack t' casement
in wid a greet hammer. For aw that they cuddent
git in when they'd deun. We ram't furms an' things
24 T bar r in oot.
into t' wholl, an' dash't watter at them, till we fairly
dreave them back agean.
Efter that aw was whiet for a while, an' we began
to think 'at we'd banish't them awtogidder ; bit we
fand it oot efter 'at they war nobbut waitin' till
Isaac Todd hed gone to late some tin-cans. It
wassent lang till they began to throw watter through
t' window, ya canful efter anudder, that fast, 'at we
war gaan to be fairly droon't oot. We duddent
know what to deli than for a laal bit, bit oor mettle
was fairly up, an' we detarmin't to mak what t'
soldiers caw a sortie. Seeah, we aw rush't oot
pell-mell, an' sed we wad put them aw three in t'
scheull dem. Two or three o' t' biggest gat hoald
o' Isaac Todd, an' dud throw 'im in heid fwormost,
an' telt 'im to git oot agean t' best way he could.
Theer was aboot a scwore on us buckel't greet
Joe, bit he mannish't to git hoald o' t' dial post, an'
he was that strang 'at we cuddent aw stur 'im. We
mud as weel ha' try'd to trail Skiddaw, as Joe an' t'
dial post, an' seeah we left 'im, an' aw teuk efter t'
Freest, like a pack o' hoonds i' full cry ; bit he was
Z* barriri oot. 25
a young lish fellow than, an' cud keep up a rattlin'
pace for menny a lang mile. He teuk reet away on
to t' Lowrigg, an' we seunn lost 'im ; an' I dar say
if t' treuth was known we war pleas't eneuff 'at we
duddent catch 'im.
Bit, awiwer, we'd won t' day, an' ye may be seur
'at we meadd neeah laal noise aboot it, when theer
was atween thirty an' forty on us aw talken togidder,
an' tellen what greet feats we'd deun.
It was mid-efterneun than, bit we set to wark an'
sidit t' scheull up as weel as we could. An' than we
meadd a collection amang oorsels, an' hed spworts,
sek as russelin', an' lowpin', an' feut-reacm' ; an' t'
maister an' Joe Thompson com back an' join't us,
an' aw was as reet as could be.
We saw neah mair o' Isaac Todd. We thowt
'at he'd mebby geann heamm an' to bed till his
cleass gat dry.
"GIT OWER ME 'AT CAN."
jjHEN I was a bit hofe groun lad,
To Threlket fair I went ;
Sek lots o' fwok an' sheep I saw,
Bit varra few I kent.
An' some theer war meadd noise eneuff,
Bit meast I nwotish't yan,
'At still keep't shooten, as he talk't,
" Git ower me at can."
I ax't me fadder who he was,
Says he, "A statesman's son ;
His fadder was a seavven man,
Bit noo he's deid an' gone :
" Git ower me 'at can. " 27
An' that's his eldest son an' heir,
'At's gitten aw his land ;
He thinks he's summet when he says,
' Git ower me 'at can.' "
That chap agean I niwer saw
For ten lang years or mair ;
An' aw 'ed slip't me memory quite,
I'd hard at Threlket fair :
When yance a helliday I hed,
An' doon to Kessick ran,
An' theer I hard a voice 'at said.
"Git ower me 'at can."
Thinks I, that mun be t' statesman's son,
An' ax't a chap, 'at sed,
"Aye, that was t' statesman's son an' heir,
'At land an' money hed ;
Bit t' money's mainly gone, I think,
An' noo he's selt his land ; "
Just than he stacker'! in, an' sed,
" Git ower me 'at can."
28 " Git ower me 'at can"
Some hofe a duzzen year slip't ower,
An' t' heir ageann I sees :
His cwoat was oot at t' elbows, an'
His brutches oot at t' knees ;
His shoon war wholl't, beath nebs an' heels ;
Bit still his ower-teunn ran,
As lood as when I saw 'im furst,
" Git ower me 'at can."
Thinks I, it's queer, an' ax't a man
If t' reason he could tell :
"Aye, weel eneuffl can," says he,
"He's gitten ower his-sel ;
He's swallow'd aw his fadder left,
Beath hooses, brass, an' land,
An' twenty scwore o' sheep beside ;-
Git ower that 'at can!"
WHAT USE TO BE LANG SEN.
I's grou'en feckless, auld, an' leamm,
Me legs an' arms ur far fra t' seamm,
As what they use to be :
Me back oft warks, an's seldom reet ;
I've scearse a teuth to chow me meat,
An' I can hardly see.
Bit yance I cud ha' plew't or sown,
Or shworn me rigg, or thick gurse mown,
Wi' enny man alive :
An' yance, when in t' Crowpark we ran,
(An 1 theer war some 'at cud run than,)
I com in t' furst o' five.
30 What use to be lang sen.
At russelin', if I say't mesel,
Theer wassent menny cud me fell,
An' theer war gooduns than :
I've russel't oft wi' Gwordie Urn,
An' still cud fell 'im in me turn,
An' he was neah bad man.
An' who wi' me cud follow t' hoonds ?
I've travel't Skiddaw roond an' roond ;
An' theer war hunters than :
Bit I was gayly oft wi' t' furst,
An' went whoar nobbut odduns durst,
An' nin noo leeven can.
An' than at fair or merry-neet,
Nin like me cud ha' us't their feet ;
An' theer war dancers than :
What, noo they fidge an' run aboot,
Theer nowder jig, three reel, nor nowt,
An' steps they hevvent yan.
What use to be lang sen. 3 1
When I was young, lads us't to larn
To dance, an' run, an' russel, barn,
'Twas few 'at larn't to read :
Fwok thowt their barns war sharp an' reet,
If they cud use their hands an' feet ;
'Twas laal they car't for t' heid.
Fwok use' to drink good heamm brew't yal,
It steud on t' teable iwery meall,
An' ye mud swig ye're fill :
Bit noo theer nowt bit swashy tea,
Na wonder fwok sud warsent be,
Fair snafflins they'll be still.
This warld an' me are beath alike,
We're beath on t' shady side o' t' dyke,
An* tumlen fast doon t' broo :
Theer nowt 'at ivver yan can see,
'At's hofe like what it use' to be ;
Aw things ur feckless noo !
JOBBY DIXON.
Auld Jobby Dixon lik't his beer ;
An' oft he santer't on
O' market days, an' smeuk't an' sup't,
Till t' meast o' fwok war gone :
Bit jolly neets mak sworry mworns,
Van's sometimes hard it sed ;
An' yance I cawt, nut varra seimn,
An' Jobby was abed.
At last he turn't oot, bit hang't like,
He gekp't an' rub't his heid :
Says I, "Wy, Jobby, what's to deu?"
Says he, "I's var' nar deid."
" I seavv't thee poddish," Betty sed,
" Thoo'd better snap them up : "
Says Jobby, "They may ga to t' pig,
I cuddent touch a sup."
Jobby Dixon. 33
Ses she, "I mass't a cup o' tea,
Theer t' pot on t' yubben top ; "
Ses Jobby, "Thoo may drink't theesel,
I cuddent tak a drop."
"I'd better mak a posset, than,
O' milk an' good wheat bread ; "
"I cuddent swallow bite or sup
Iv owt thoo hes," he sed.
Auld Betty steud a bit, an' than
She gev a wink at me :
An' than she sed, "I dunnet know,
I doot thoo's gan to dee ;
What, cant'e tak a glass o' rum ?
Thoo'll mannish that, I's warn : "
" \Vy, fetch me yan," auld Jobby sed,
I mitn hev summet, barn."
34
WILLIE COOBAND AN' HIS LAWSUIT.
DUD ye ivver hear tell iv auld Willie Cooband ?
He use to leeve up at t' hee end o' Patterdal aboot
sixty year sen, I've hard them say ; an' use to git a
leevin' be makkin' coobands, an' hoops, an' gurds
for tubs an' furkins, an' sec like. That was t'
way 'at he gat t' neamm o' Willie Cooband.
"What, he was likely a smith," ye say. Nay, nay,
nowt o' t' mak. Aw t' coobands, an' hoops, an'
gurds, an' things o' that mak, war meadd o' woodV
them days ; an" a deal o' mair things 'at ur meadd
o' iron, noo. Bit, awiwer, I was gaan to tell ye 'at
Willie use to mak thur bands, an' hoops, an' things,
an' carry them to Peerath to sell iwery Tuesday,
wi' an auld leamm meer 'at he hed. Noo, it happen't
ya -week 'at t' auld meer was learner ner common,
an' Willie thowt 'at she wad nivver git to Peerath
Willie Cooband an his Lawsuit. 35
an' back, an' seeah he borrow't anudder auld meer
iv a nebbor body 'at they caw't Tom Wilson.
I' them days t' rwoad fra Patterdal to Peerath
wassent as it is noo, like a turnpike, wi' carridges
an' things gaan back an' forret on't iwery day, bit
a rough shakky rwoad as cud be ; an' iv a deal o'
pleaces theer was nobbut just room for a car to
gang. Theer was ya spot i' partickler, whoar t 1
rwoad went through a pleace 'at they caw't Sty-
barrow cragg, 'at was varra dangerous. Theer was
nobbut just t' brenth of a car hack't oot o' t' cragg
feace ; an' if o\vt went ower t' edge it wad gang
reet doon into Ullswater, an' waddent be worth
laten oot agean.
Wy, this time I's tellen ye aboot, auld Willie set
off wi' his hoops an' his bands, an' when he gat to
Stybarrow cragg summet went wrang wi' t' auld
meer 'at he'd borrow't; an' she began yellin', an'
kickin', an' backin', an' threw hersel an' t' car doon
t' cragg into t' watter, an' was droon't
What, Tom Wilson threeten't 'at he wad mak
Willie pay for t' auld meer; bit Willie thowt 'at
36 Willie Cooband an his Lawsidt.
Tom Wilson was liker to pay him for his car, an'
his bands, an' hoops, an' things 'at hed gone to t'
boddom o' t' watter, if theer was to be enny payin'
aboot it. It pot on i' that way a laal bit, an' than
somebody telt Willie 'at Tom Wilson was ganto put
'im into t' law to mak 'im pay for t' auld meer ; bit
Willie thowt he wad hev t' furst word, an' off he set
to Peerath as hard as he could gang. When he gat
to Peerath he inquir't o' somebody whoar t' Justice
o' peace leev't ; an', when they telt 'im, he bang't
reet up to t' dooer, an' knock't, an', as it happen't
t' Mistress com' to t' dooer.
" Dus Mr. Justice leeve here 1 " ses Willie.
What, t' lady saw in a minute what kind iv a
customer he was, an' rayder smil't, an' sed, " Yes,
he does."
" Is he at heamm?" ses Willie.
" No," sed t' lady.
" Wy," ses Willie, " ur ye Mrs. Justice, than ?"
"Well," she sed, "I suppose I am."
" Wy, than," ses Willie, " suppwose ye war Tom
Wilson' auld meer, an' I was to borrow ye to carry
Willie Cooband an his Lawsuit. 37
me bands, an' me hoops, an' me gurds to Peerath,
to sell ; an' when ye gat to Stybarrow cragg ye
began o' yellin', an* kickin', an' backin', as enny
auld wicked bitch iv a meer mud deu, an' was to
throw yer-sel doon t' cragg an' breck yer neck, was
I to pay for ye ? Was I, be d d ! " An' away
Willie set off heamm ageann wi' oot anudder word.
An' that was t' end o' Willie Cooband Lawsuit.
FWOK ALL' AS KNOW THER AWN
KNOW BEST.
WOK all'as know ther awn know best ;
For aw theer some 'ill preach,
As if aw t' rest o' fwok war feuls,
An' they war bworn to teach.
A man may deu what leuks bit daft :
Bit hoo ur we to tell,
What motives or what reasons for 't,
That man may hev his-sel ?
Fwok all'as know ther awn know best,
Hooivver some may bleamm ;
If them 'at bleamms war in their shoon,
They'd mebby deh just t' seamm.
Fwok know ther awn know best. 39
We howk wholls in anudder's cwoat,
An' than shoot oot auld rags ;
Bit oft he'll hev t' meast wholls i' his,
'At loodest talks an' brags.
Fwok all'as know ther awn know best ;
Bit theer 'ill wise uns be,
'At think they ivvery thing can know,
An' through a millstone see.
Bit oft I've nwotish't i' me time,
'At them 'at talk't sa fast,
An' thowt they hed aw t' sense theirsels,
Hev turn't oot feuls at last
AULD PINCHER.
Me poor auld Pincher's deid at last,
He's been a good un teii ;
I'll niwer git anudder dog
To deu as he wad deu.
For twelve lang years Q' clood an' shine,
He's been a treuthful frind ;
A better nor I iwer else
'Mang dogs or fwok cud finnd.
If I'd a crust he wag't his tail,
An' thankful teuk his share ;
An' if I'd nowt he wag't his tail,
An' niwer seem't to care.
A uld Pincher. 4 1
If I drest i' me Sunday cleas,
He frisk't, an' still wad gang ;
If I pot on me jerkin rag't,
He niwer thowt it wrang.
If I me plad or cwoat laid doon,
He'd watch 't for a lang day ;
An' ill betide that sneaken kneave
'At try't to tak 't away.
When I was merry Pincher bark't,
An' frisk't aboot wi' glee :
When I was dull he hung 'is tail,
An' leuk't as dull as me.
Bit what, he's gean it's nonsense noo,
To tell what Pincher was ;
It's wake to freet for a poor dog,
An' seeah we'll let it pass.
SLY SALLY.
Young Simon an' his partner Jane,
War thick as thick could be ;
An' oft they cwortit bits on t' sly,
An' thowt 'at nin wad see :
Bit Sally wi' her glancen een,
Wad watch them like a hawk ;
She thowt she saw love in their leuks,
An' hard it in their talk.
They 'greed to hev a whiet walk,
Ya Sunday efterneim ;
An' nin wad know what way they'd been,
Or judge what they'd been deun :
Bit Sally wi' her oppen ears,
Hed hard that bargin meadd ;
An' when they just war ganto start,
She slip't oot furst an' headd.
Sly Sally. 43
They santer't on reet lovenly,
When oot o' sect they gat ;
They walk't awhile, an' steud awhile,
An' than awhile they sat :
Bit Sally wi' her leetsome step,
Still clwose at hand wad keep ;
An' when they sat an' bill't an' coo't,
She through t' thorn dyke wad peep.
An' when they santer't heam agean,
They went in yan by yan ;
As if they'd nut lean tudder seen,
Sen oot o' t' hoose they'd gean :
Bit Sally kent a bainer way,
An' heam afwore them gat ;
An' when they com in fra their walk,
Quite unconsarn't she sat
They seun war talken merrily,
O' what they'd hard an' seen ;
As if they'd beath gone different ways,
An' nut togidder been :
44 Sty Sally.
Bit Sally sed, " Ha ! ha ! ye're sly,
Bit cannot ower me git ;
Ye went to leuk at t' 'Druid steanns,'
Bit niwer saw them yet."
They blush't an' at teann tudder leiikt,
Reet sheepishly, na doot ;
An' wonder't what sly Sally knew,
An' hoo she'd fund it oot :
Bit Sally sed, "A laal wee burd
Com flutteren oot o' t' wood
Just noo, an' telt me whoar ye'd been,
An' aw ye sed an' dud."
45
AULD FWOK AN' AULD TIMES.
WE sometimes meet with an old stager, though
the race is fast dying out, who will tell us that
there is nothing in the world now that is anything
like as good as things were when he was young ;
and after all it is a pardonable prejudice, for we are
all apt to look back to the days of our youth with
an affection and an enthusiasm which attach them-
selves to no other period of our lives. Not long
since the writer heard an old man who was fast
approaching fourscore, give his opinion of things,
past and present, as nearly as he can remember in
the following words :
I dunnet know what this warld's gaan to git tevi
efter a bit, I's seurr, for they gitten mowin' machines,
an' reapin' machines, an' threshin' machines, an'
sheep-dippin' things, an' I dunnet know what
46 Auld Fwok an auld Times.
beside. Enny body 'at leeves a few years langer
'ill see 'at theer 'ill nowder be mowers, nor shearers,
nor soavers, nor owt else 'at's good for owt. Thur
machine things come oot yan efter anudder 'at yan
gits amakily teann to them be degrees, or else I've
oft thowt 'at if yan o' them auld fellows 'at deet
aboot three scwore year sen could come back noo
he wad gang clean crazy.
I wonder what Tim Crostet o' Wanthet wad think
if he was to pop up some day, an' could see enny
bit snafflen thing drivin' away an' whusselen an'
mowin' sebben' or eight yacker in a day. Tim was
yan o' t' best mowers 'at ivver was i' this country.
He use to mow wi' a sye 'at hed two yerds o' edge,
an' he could fell fower square yerds ivvery stroke.
He use to tak fower yerds o' breed an' a yerd forret
iwery bat. Bit, what, theer neah sek fellows as
Tim noo-a-days ! He was abeun sixteen steann
weight, aw beann an' sinny, an' as lish as a buck.
He could ha' hitch't ower a five bar't yat wi' just
liggen ya hand on t' top on 't, an' theer nut sa
menny sixteen steann chaps 'at could deu that.
Auld Fwok an auld Times. 47
Bit i' them days theer war men 'at war worth
cawin' men. Theer was Tom Nicholson o' Threlket,
'at gat t' russelin' at Carel three year runnen, an'
it teiik a man 'at was a man to git it i' them days.
Theer was mebby laal else bit a belt to russel for,
an' they aw try't their best to git it. Theer was nin
o' this blackleggin', an' barginnin', an' liggin' doon
to yan anudder, as theer is noo. I've oft thowt 'at
if three or fower sek fellows as Tom Nicholson, an'
Will Rutson o' Codbeck, an' Gwordie Stamper o'
Millbeck, war to step intul a ring some day they
wad mak a bonnie scail o 1 thur scrafflen things 'at
git silver cups, an' ten pund prizes, noo-a-days.
Bit, loavins me ! it's nut ya thing it's iwery-
thing. "When I was young, yan mud ha' gitten a
bit o' Skiddaw grey cle&th for a cwoat ; or a bit o'
good heamm meadd linn for a sark 'at wad ha'
worn fower or five year, an' niwer ha' hed a wholl
in't ; bit noo, yan 'ill be varra lucky if yan gits
owder a cwoat or a sark to keep heall for three or
fower week.
If yan happens to gang intul a hoose noo-a-days,
48 Auld Fwok an auld Times.
yan hardly dar set yan's feet doon for fear o' durtyen
on 't. Aw fwok mun hev their fenders an' their
bits o' carpet spread afwore t' fire, an' their fine
grates brush't an' polish't, an' their cheeny cats an'
dogs on t' chimley pieces ; till t' hooses noo-a-days
ur liker babby hooses nor owte else. When I was
young fwok hed nowder grates nor chimley pieces.
They use to hev girt oppen chimleys whoar they
could hing hofe a duzzen flicks o' bacon, an' as
menny hams to dry an' smeuk ; an' than their fire-
pleaces war on t' grund wi'oot owder grates or owt
else. ,What wad ha' been t' use o' sek grates as
they hev noo, when they use to put on a girt lump
o' wood as mickle as yan o' them could lift ; an'
than mebby two or three armful o' peats, (they hed
nin o' thur nasty seuty cwoals i' them days,) bit
they hed fires 'at war worth cawin' fires.
I've hard them say 'at sometimes at Lenceunn,
aboot Cursmas, they wad ha' yok't a nag tull a
heall tree an* snig't it into t' hoose, an' than rowl't
it on to t' fire ; an' theer wad ha' been yan or two
o' t' barns sittin' astride iv ayder end while it was
burnin' at middle.
Auld Fwok an auld Times. 49
Fwok burn't nowt than bit wood an' peats, an' a
fine peat time was iv as mickle accoont as a fine
haytime or harvest. They use to git t' main part
o' them off t' tops o' t' hee fells ; an' it was a gay
job to git them heamm efter they war grovven an'
wrout dry. They use to mainly-what tak a nag up
to trail them to t' edge, an' than they had to sled
them doon t' breest be hand ; an' it was middlin'
hard wark bringin' a sleclful o' peats doon, an*
beerin' t' empty sled up ageann iwery time. Bit,
what, they car't nowt aboot a bit o' wark i' them
days. Fwok wad aw be kilt reet oot if they hed
sek things to deu noo.
They mun aw hev new-fashin't ways o' mannishin'
their land an' aw. They're howkin', an' drainin',
an' prowin' in 't forivver; an' mebby they deu
mak't grow rayder mair sometimes; bit than if
they put twice as mickle in 't as iwer they git oot
ageann, what good does 't deu ? I dar say they
think theirsels varra clever wi' their fine farmin'.
Noo, for my part, I dunnet see 'at it shews sa varra
mickle gumpshin to lig oot eighteen pence an' git
aboot a shillin' or fifteen pence in ageann.
5
50 Auld Fwok an auld Times.
When I was young neah body ivver thowt o' sek
a thing as cuttin' a bit o' drain, or takkin' a cobble
steann oot o' t' grund, or owt o' that mak. They
use to just mend t' gaps up as they tummel't, an'
teuk what God sent, an' war thankful for 't; an' I
dar say they dud as weel as a deal o' t' fine farmers
deu noo, an' mebby better.
Yan nivver sees a good lang horn't coo noo-a-
days, sek as aw fwok use to hev lang sen. They're
aw thur girt lang-leg't slape-hair't beggars. An'
what ur they good for 1 They can nowder bide
heat nor coald.
Shaff on't ! it's neah use talken it's neah use
talken at aw, barn. Fwok ur aw gitten to be sa wise
'at yan dussent know who's t' wisest or who knows
t' meast. For aw that, it caps me if a lock o' them
wiseacres dussent finnd oot what's what afooar
they're much aulder : tak my word for 't.
"SOMEBODY SED SEAH."
SOMEBODY sed seah." Who could it be?
What somebody sed mainly turns oot a lee;
I'd rayder gang supperless reet off to bed,
Nor lissen to "they say" an' "somebody sed."
For enny bit scandal 'at's fleean aboot,
'At somebody sed it theer varra laal doot ;
Bit when yan wad fain know what's wrang an' what's
reet,
Somebody 'at sed it still sneaks oot o' sect.
Auld Betty o' Trootbeck hes gitten quite fat,
An' "somebody sed" theer war reasons for that ;
"They say" 'at she likes summet strang-er nor tea,
That summet means rum ; bit it's mappen a lee.
52 " Somebody sed seah. ' '
When laal Betty-Sally was pleenen last year,
"They sed " her complent wad turn oot summet queer ;
An' "somebody sed" 'at she'd been amang t' men ;
Bit that was aw bodder she's mendit lang sen.
"They sed" 'at laal Watson was back wi' his rent,
An' "somebody sed" 'at a nwotish was sent;
Bit that's been aw nonsense; he's rammen away,
An' gev eighteen pund for a coo tudder day.
Van's oft hard fwok wish 'at "neahbody" was hang't;
An' what for deunn mischieves he cannot be bang't;
Bit if he sud ivver on t' gallows tree hing,
"Somebody" an* "They say" mun be i' t' seamm
string.
53
BONNIE SPRING TIME.
It cheers yan up when winter's ower,
An' fields ur springen green ;
It maks yan seun forgit aw t' coald,
An' frost an' snow theer been :
Noo trees ur brusten into leaf,
An' pomes on t' withe trees hing ;
An' bees roos't fra their winter sleep,
Amang them work an' sing.
Theer t' blackburd whisselen on t' thorn-bush,
An' t' throssel on t' esh sings ;
An' butterflees turn oot ageann,
An' spreed their gaudy wings.
An' than theer t' lambs i' t' paster field,
Sa full o' spwort an' fun ;
They'll aw draw up to some bit hill,
An' than they'll recces run.
54 Bonnie Spring Time.
In t' woods theer bonnie primroses,
An' daffies in t' field neuk ;
An' daisies wi' their breet gold een,
Up fra t' fresh pasters leuk.
Theer crocuses on t' garden bed,
An' snowdrops i' full blow ;
An' menny mair just peepen oot,
Beside some shelteren wo.
Whativver way yan turns yan's eyes,
Theer summet still to please ;
Some chirpen burd, some bonnie flooer,
Or brusten bud yan sees.
An', best iv aw, beath rich an' poor,
Beath beggars, Iwords, an' kings,
Ur free alike to leuk at aw
'At bonnie spring time brings.
55
WHAT LAAL JENNY' SAY WAS WHEN
SHE SED IT.
Thoo needent come smirken an' leuken sa pleas't :
Bit noo, as thoo hes cum't, I'll git me mind eas't ;
I cuddent ha' sleep't mickle, up or abed,
Till I'd seen the', an' telt the', an' hed me say sed.
I've hard aw aboot the' ; aye, weel thoo may glower;
Thoo'll nut wind me up as thoo's oft delm befwore :
Oh ! what hev I hard ? What, I suddent believ't,
Bit quite lang eneuf, I've been blinn'd an' deceiv't
I' that fair feace o' thine, nowt bit truth I cud see ;
Bit noo theer nowt in't, bit deceit an' a lee :
An' them whiskers sa fine, 'at me fancy yance teuk,
They're nobbut to hide thee ill sinister leuk.
56 Laal Jennys say.
Thoo needn't deny't, for thoo's guilty, na doot ;
Thoo needn't mak't strange, an' ax what it's aboot :
For thoo knows weeleneuf, what ataistrel thoo's been;
Theer issent a warse here an' Carel atween.
Thoo gangs slenken off, furst to yan, than anudder;
It matters nut much, whether t' dowter or t' mudder :
It's furst 'at comes handy, 'at's reet still for thee ;
Bit thoo needn't come smirken an' kneppen at me.
It's aw stuff an' nonsense ! Aye, mebby it may ;
Bit I'll tak the' contrary to what thoo may say :
Thoo'smeadd it thee brag, 'at thoo welcome cud gang,
To enny i' t' deall, bit thoo'll finnd theesel wrang.
Thoo thinks 'at thoo's cunnin', an' langi'bein' catch 't;
Bit when thoo gits weddit, I whop thoo'll be match't
Wi' an ill scoalden wife, 'at 'ill gi' the' thee pay,
An' cwoam the' thee toppin oot ten times a day.
Laal Jennys say. 57
Thoo'd better be gaan, for I've noo sed me say ;
Thoo's nut welcome here, sa thoo'd best bide away:
An' next when thoo brags o' thee sweethearts sa
menny,
An' neams them aw ower, thoo may leave oot laal
Jenny.
OOR JOE.
Ye say ye dunnet ken oor Joe 1
Wy, that caps t' cutlugs, teu :
I thowt aw t' wardle kent oor Joe,
I's seur t' main o' them deu.
He's all' as selt oor sheep an' beese,
Sen Jemmy went sa queer ;
An' when we'd ivver owt to deu,
Oor Joe was all'as theer.
An' when we've iwer owt ga's wrang,
Or owt we dunnet know,
We niwer need be at a loss,
We all'as fetch oor Joe.
He's meadd trustee, an' assignee,
For fwok beath far an' near ;
An' sealls wad nut be sealls at aw,
Wi' oot oor Joe was theer.
Oor Joe. 59
At weddin's, clippin's, an' sec like,
He's furst an' fwormost still ;
Na matter who may be left oot,
Opr Joe's invitit still.
Aw t' wummen fwok for miles an' miles,
Hev cock't their caps at Joe ;
Bit, what, he'll nut be catch't wi' caff,
An' that I'd hev them know.
They say oor Queen 'ill wed na mair ;
Bit, faith, I dunnet know,
She'd mappen change her mind agean,
If she sud see oor Joe.
Bit, what, ye'll git to ken oor Joe ;
For owt 'at I can tell
Is nobbut like a fleabite, barn,
To what ye'll see yersell.
6o
JEMMY STUBBS' GRUNSTANE.
A GAY lock o' years sen theer leev't doon at t'
boddom o' Skiddaw an auld roysteren farmer 'at
they caw't Jemmy Stubbs. He bed six sons, aw
girt londeren chaps, nut yan o' them under six feut ;
an' they war aw regular rapscallions for drinkin', an'
feightin', an' mischief iv aw kinds. Theer was nivver
a week end bit somebody's yats war thrown oot o'
creuks, or their dooers tied, or their nags rudden
off three or fower mile, or summet o' t' mak, an'
thur Stubbs lads all'as gat t' bleamm on't; an' I
dar say they warrent oft bleam't wrang.
This auld Jemmy was sek a fellow for sweerin' as
wassent i' o' t' country side. He cuddent ha' oppen't
his mooth to say owt bit theer hed to be two or
three girt oaths amang't; an' as it mainly-what
happens 'at "as t' auld cock crows t' young un
Jemmy Stubbs Grunstane. 61
larns," thur lads bed grown up to be as bad or
warse for sweerin' nor their fadder. I've hard them
say, 'at yance when they'd some o' them fawn oot,
an' war rippen an' sweeren varra nar ivvery word,
'at auld Jemmy went up to them, an' sed, "
lads, mix yer talk ; ye'deu nowt bit sweer."
Noo, this teall aboot t' grunstane 'at I was gaan to
tell ye, happen't i' this way. Theer war two o' t'
younger end o' thur lads 'at war twins, caw't Isaac
an' Jacob, an' they war all'as racken't t' warst for
mischief iv aw t' lot ; bit this grunstane job happen't
when they war nobbut lads, an' Isaac telt me his-sel
menny a year efter.
Sed he to me : Theer was ya Setterday me fadder
hed geann to Kessick, he all'as dud o' t' Setterdays,
an' it suitit us lads weel eneuf, for we gat a gay bit
mair iv oor awn way when he was off, nor we dud
when he was at heamm. He use to give us menny
a good hidin' when he was at heamm ; bit I think
indeed it dud mair hurt than good, for it meadd us
warse i'steed o' better.
Bit, awiwer, a while efter he was gean that
62 Jemmy Stubbs Grunstane.
Setterday, oor Jacob com to me an' sed, " Will t'e
turn us t' grunstane a bit, Isaac 1 ? I want to grund
me knife." What, Jacob an' me war terrible girt
cronies still. We hardly ivver fell oot as t' tudder
lads use to deu ; an' I was riddy eneuf to gang an'
turn him t' grunstane. Noo, when we gat to grundin'
we nwotish't 'at t' grunstane wabblet back an' forret,
an' hed neah stiddiness in 't. Efter he'd delm
grundin' his knife we began to examin 't ower, an'
we fand 'at it hed gitten quite lowse i' t' asseltree,
an' we sed to teann tudder 'at if we hed t' axe an'
some wood wedges, we could easy mend it. Seah,
what Jacob went an' gat t' axe an' t' saw, an' I
laitit up some bits o' wood, an' we meadd some
wedges an' dreave them in, an' gat it fassen't gaily
weel, as we thowt ; bit theer was ya pleace 'at we
thowt wad be o' t' better for just anudder wedge.
Well, we meadd yan, an' I was driven't in middlin'
tight, when, 'ods wons ! t' grunstane splat ebben i'
two ! We duddent know what to deu than. Oor
Jacob an' me hed been i' menny a hobble, bit that
was t' warst job 'at ivver we'd hed, an' we thowt me
fadder wad hofe kill us when he fand it oot.
Jemmy Stubbs Grunstane. 63
What, we war stannen an' leuken I dar say as
silly as a hopeth o' treacle in a two gallon jug, when
oor Bob happen't to come that way. Bob was a
gay bit elder nor us, an' when he saw what was up,
he brast oot wi' a girt horse laugh, an' sed, " My
song ! bit ye'll drop in for 't to-mworn, me lads."
Noo, that was just what we war thinken oorsels ;
an' when he saw hoo flate we war, he sed, " What
will ye gi' me an' I'll tak t' bleamm on't? If ye'll
nobbut gi' me a shillin', ye may say 'at I dud it."
We war fain eneuf o' that ; an', wi' a deal to deu,
an' borrowin' thrippence o' oor Willie, we gat t'
shillin' rais't. We gev't to Bob, an' than he telt us
'at we mud say 'at he dud it; seeah we thowt 'at we
war aw reet ageann.
T' neist mwornin', me fadder hed gitten up, an'
was peeklen aboot to see what mischieves hed been
deun o' t' Setterday, an' chancen' to gang on to t'
worchet yat, spy't t' grunstane liggen i' two bits.
I've hard fwok say 'at it's a bad thing to hev a bad
neamm, an' I think Jacob an' me mud hev hed a
bad neamm, for as seun as ivver he saw't, he com
64 Jemmy Stubbs Grunstane.
reet away to us, an' sed, "Who's brokken t' grun-
stane'?" What, we beath shootit oot as bold as
could be, "Oor Bob dud."
He turn't away an' went reet to Bob, an' sed,
"Thoo girt lumpheid, thoo, what hes t'e been
deunn to brek t' grunstane i' yon way?" "I duddent
brek't," ses Bob. " Who brak't, than 1 " ses t' auld
chap. " Isaac an' Jacob," ses Bob. We thowt 'at
we war in for't than, an' we war, teu. We gat
twice as mickle as if we'd oan't wi' 't at furst, beside
lessen oor shillin'.
We try't to git oor money back fra Bob, bit he
dud nowte bit laugh an' mak ghem on us. He sed
'at it was a fair bargin eneuf. He nobbut gev us
leave to say 'at he brak't: an' we dud say seeah
an' a deal better we war on't.
T AULD FARMER'S MIDNEET
SOLILOQUY.
S'T thee 'at's cum heamm sa leatt, Zarah ?
I been i' bed three 'oors or mair ;
I thowt thoo was langer nor common,
An" lissen't an' twin't mesel sair.
What ! hes t'er been owts iv a deu, than ?
War owts o' them Gursmer fwok theer 1
When I use to gang menny year sen,
Fwok than use to com far an' near.
I think thoo hes somebody wi' the' ;
I hard summet talken, I's seur :
If 't sud be that ill Charlie Tirner,
Send 'im oot gaily sharp, an' bar t' dooer.
6
66 T auld Farmer's Soliloquy,
What ses t'e? O ! if it's Tom Sokelt,
Thoo'll give 'im some pie an' some yal ;
Thoo'll finnd t' kay i' my brutches pocket,
An' tell 'im to mak a good meall.
His fadder's a gay yabble steatsman ;
An' hes brass at Wakefield's an' aw ;
An' theer nobbut Tom an' anudder,
Thoo'll nivver deu better, I know.
If thoo can git Tom Sokelt, Zarah,
I'll gi' the' five hundred or mair :
Bit if thoo taks that tudder waistrel,
Thoo's nut hev a plack, I declare.
I've mair nor fower thoosand at Wakefield's
I dreem't yesterneet 'at t' bank brack ;
If t' dream sud co' trew, I'll be beggar't ;
I may just tak a pwok o' me back.
T' auld Farmer 's Soliloquy. 67
I keep talken on, bit I hear nowt ;
What, mappen oor Zarah's asleep :
I've a hundred or two i' t' kist corner,
An' than I've a good stock o' sheep.
Theer three clips o' woo up i' t' woo-loft ;
Them Kendal chaps bad me elebben ;
I thowt I sud hev twelve an' sixpence,
An' noo, dang't, it's come't doon to sebben.
Sec prices ur fair beggaration ;
I'll niwer tak sebben, I's seur ;
But whoar mun we put it neist clippin',
For t' woo-loft's mew't full up to t' dooer.
I's turn't rayder sleepy, bit mappen
I'll dream that ill dream ower agean :
Bit, what, hang them Wakefield's, they'll brek nin,
If I nobbut let them aleann.
68
LORD ! SEK A LAUGH I GAT LAST WEEK.
Lord ! sek a laugh I gat last week,
At that bit lad iv oors ;
He's sek a thing as nivver yet
I saw gang oot o' doors.
I hed a lock o' sheep to clip,
An' he wad gang an' catch ;
Thinks I, laal diwel as thoo is,
Thoo'll mebby git thee match.
Ye wad ha' been devartit, barn,
(He's nobbut six year auld,)
To see 'im buckle an auld yowe,
An' hing on aw roond t' fauld.
Lord! sek a laugh I gat last week. 69
He tugg't an' held, an' whing't an' held ;
I laugh' t till I was wake ;
Cush, barn ! I thowt he wad be leamm't,
An' sent 'im off to laik.
He went to t' scheull ya efterneunn,
An' it's true as I's here,
He larn't far mair nor some 'ill deli,
'At gang for hofe a year.
He's flate o' nowte ; he'll tak a stick,
An' gang to fetch t' kye in ;
For aw we hev t' bull in t' seame field,
He dussent care a pin.
He went to fetch t' auld meer ya day,
It was a reet good brek ;
When wi' his helter he gat theer,
He cudden't reach t' yat sneck.
7o Lord! sek a laugh I gat last week.
Says I, "Thoo's a nice gentleman,
To gang to fetch t' auld meer ;
Thoo thinks to catch an' helter hur,
An' cannot git throo theer."
I'll lay, for twenty mile aroond,
Ye'll nut finnd sek anudder :
Bit what, ye'll wonder nin ye ken
His fadder an' his mudder !
HE SED 'TWAS FOR HIS WIFE AN' BARNS.
If 't wassent for his wife an' barns,
Auld Griper use to say,
He waddent care to seave a pund,
Or leeve anudder day :
'Twas aw for them he screap't an' seav'd,
He all'as use to tell ;
He care't nowt for his money-bags ;
He care't nowt for his-sel.
He keep't them toilen day by day,
Fra t' dawn till dusk at neet ;
An' if yan teuk a helliday,
He thowt it wassent reeL
He sed it aw was for theirsels,
'Twas nut for him they wrout j
For them it was he seav't up aw ;
For him, he wantit nowt
7 2 He sed 'twas for his wife an barns.
Bit yan by yan his barns wearr off,
An' sank doon into t' greave ;
An' still auld Griper harder grew,
An' still his brass wad seave.
He sed 'twas for his wife he seav't ;
He cuddent bear to think,
'At she sud come to poverty,
When he to t' greave dud sink.
Bit seiin wi' grief an' constant toil,
She boo'djher weary heid ;
An' Griper than was left aleann,
For t' wife an' barns war deid.
An' than it was 'at t' treuth com oot,
For when they aw war gone,
He harder still an' stingier grew,
An' still keep't seavven on.
Some sed he seavv't it for his-sel ;
Bit that could hardly be,
For nut a cumfort dud he buy,
'At ivver yan could see.
He sed 'twas for his wife an barns. 73
Some sed he seavv't for seaven se&ke ;
An' that was likely trew ;
For mair he gat, an' mair he seavv't,
An' poorer still he grew.
An' when auld age com creepen on,
An' he was deaf an' leamm,
He still keep't seaven up his brass,
An' hurden up just t' seamm.
He hed relations nut far off,
An' t' poor auld silly ass,
Knew weel eneuf they wish't him deid,
'At they mud git his brass.
An" than, when aulder still he was,
An' daft an' dwoten groun,
He'd gedder't aw his money up,
An' in an auld pwok sow'n.
An' than he steall away i' t' dark,
An' bury't it in t' gnmd ;
Bit whoar aboots neah-body knew,
For it was nivver fund.
74 He sed 'twas for his wife an barns.
An' when they ax't him whoar it was,
He glower't, an' cuddent tell :
He heddent keep't a penny piece,
To buy a leaff his-sel.
An' that was t' endin' o' his life ;
He leev't to screape an' seave,
An' deit wi'oot a plack at last,
An' hed a pauper's greavv.
75
AULD SCHEULL FRINDS.
Come, Gwordie, sit the' doon,
Let's hev a frindly crack ;
It's menny year sen thoo left heamm,
Fs fain to see the' back.
Na doot thoo's seen a deal
O' different fwok an' ways ;
It's laal yan sees or knows, 'at bides
Aboot heamm aw yan's days.
Sen us two went to t' scheull,
Leuks just like t' tudder day ;
For aw, I lay, it's forty year
Sen thoo furst went away.
76 Auld Scheul F rinds.
Bit when I saw the' noo,
It browt things back as breet
As if they'd happen't yesterday,
An' I'd just sleep't aw neet
Oor lessins an' oor tasks,
Oor fishin' an' oor fun,
Come back ageann when I saw thee,
As if they'd bit just gone.
Still when yan thinks it ower,
What ups an' doons theer been ;
Aw things ur different noo fra than,
Wi' forty year atween.
Thy hair, like mine's, grown thin,
An' what theer is, is gray ;
It was jet black, an' curly, teu,
When furst thoo went away.
Auld Scheul Frinds. 77
Thoo's travel't up an' doon,
Na doot thoo's seen a deal ;
An' thoo'll ha' hed thee sunny days,
An' cloody days as weel.
What, I've hed that at heamm,
Breet times an' dark an' aw ;
Bit as I nivver gat much height,
I heddnt far to faw.
I've all'as try't me best,
To mak mesel content,
Wi' what I gat for deun me best ;
An' teuk still what God sent.
If enny frind drops in,
"We're fain, as I can tell ;
Bit if a frind gangs swaggeren by,
We let him suit his-sel.
78 Auld Scheul Frinds.
If an auld mate like thee
Hods oot his hand to shak,
Na matter if he's rich or poor,
I bid him welcome back.
Bit if he puffs an' struts,
An' marches proodly by,
I niwer let it brek me heart,
Neah, hang it, what care I !
We aw hev failins, barn,
An' we've oor fawts, beside ;
Bit that's a fawt I niwer hed,
That nasty stinken pride.
Bit thoo's been lang away,
Thoo'll hev a deal to tell ;
An' I's sa fain to see the' back,
I's talken't aw mesel.
79
AULD WILLIE BOONASS FWOK AN'
T HARE.
THEER was ya spring, nut varra lang efter I furst
went to farmin', I's warrant ye it 'ill be ameast
forty year sen, noo, 'at I was wanten a coaven
coo, an' somebody telt me 'at auld Willie Boonass
bed yan to sell 'at wad be like eneuf suiten me. I'd
hard a deal o' funny stwories telt aboot auld Willie
an' his wife Betty, bit I'd niwer seen them. I thowt
to mesel 'at it wad be an earent for me gaan to see
this coo, an' if she suitit me I mud mebby buy her.
They leev't ower Ireby way, nut sa varra far fra
whoar auld John Peel, "wi' his cwoat seeah gray,"
use to leeve, an' keep his famous pack o' hoonds.
It wad mebby be aboot nine mile to gang; bit,
awivver, ya day efter I'd gitten me dinner, I teiik
t' meer an' readd ower to see this coo.
8o Willie Boonass Fwok an t' Hare.
When I gat theer I saw nowt astur, an' seah I
ty't t' meer to t' foald yat, an' went on to t' hoose
dooer 'at was stannen wide oppen. I letik't in, an'
t' furst thing I saw was a girt auld sewe liggen
snworen on t' mid fleurr ; an', I's warrent ye, theer
wad be eight or nine ducks dabblen away in laal
dubs o' durty waiter up an' doon on t' flags ; an'
than theer was mebby hofe a duzzen hens, some
on t' teable, an' some ya pleace, an' some anudder.
What, I gev a laal bit iv a shoo, an' theer was sek
a hay-bay as ye niwer hard i' yer life ! Some flew
ower me shooders, some through atween me legs,
an' some reet i' me feace.
Auld Betty hed been some way nut far, an' when
she hard t' uprwoar, she com waddlen away 'cross
t' foald wi' t' burk besom in her hands. As seun as
she saw what was up, she fell to yarkin t' auld sewe
wi' t' besom, an' sed, " Hang ye ! ye're niwer oot
o' t' hoose." I wonder't what meadd her say ye,
when theer was nobbut yan ; bit prusently, when t'
auld sewe began to squeel, theer was hofe a duzzen
pigs com scamperen doon t' stairs, an' oot at t'
Willie BoonasJ Fwok an t Hare. 81
dooer, whilk to be t' furst. Efter t' row gat settlet
a laal bit, an' I gat me earent telt, Betty axt me to
gang in an' sit doon an' she wad mak me some
tea, as Willie wad be cummen selmn, an' than we
cud talk aboot t' coo.
What, she hang t' kettle on, an' gat t' bellis, an'
blew t' fire up, an' fuss't aboot gitten t' tea ruddy ;
an' talk't aw t' time, as fast as her tongue could
gang, furst aboot ya thing, an' than anudder, while
I sat an' leuk't aboot me, an' spak a word noo an'
than, when I could git yan in edge way. It was a
gay rough untidy swoart iv a hoose, when yan gat a
fair leiik at it. Amang udder queer things, theer
was an auld hen sitten on her nest amang a lock o'
brackens in t' neuk, within two yerds o' t' firepleace.
When auld Betty .hed gitten t' fire blown up, an'
t' kettle began o' singin', she went an' gev 't a kick
offt' nest, an' sed, "Git oot wi' the', an' let me hev
thee egg," What, t' auld hen went cocklen oot at
t' dooer, an' Betty bucklet hoald o' t' egg, an' boil't
it for me to me tea. It wassent lang till Willie
com, an' when we'd deun oor tea we went an' leuk't
82 Willie Boonass Fwok an Hare.
at t' coo, an' a rare good coo she was. Theer warse
selt noo for eighteen or nineteen pund ; an" I bowt
her for sebben-pund-ten. That's t' difference o'
times, ye see.
Bit when I startit I was gaan to tell ye aboot
auld Betty an' t' hare. T' man 'at they farm't their
bit land on, leev't iv a good hoose aboot two mile
off, an' hed a gay bit o' property aboot theer. He
was like a deal o' landlwords, keen o' shuttin' ; an'
like't to see a gay lock o' hares an' rabbits on t'
grund. Wy, he'd been oot \vi' t' gun ya day, an'
happen't to be gaan through auld Willie foald as he
went heamm, an' leet o' Betty, an' axt her if they
hed owts o' hares aboot their land.
"Aye," says Betty, "theer is a lock, I think.
Oor Laddie puts yan off sometimes, bit it's all'as
t' narrest at furst Willie all'as shoots, 'Hy the',
git away on, Laddie.' I tell him if he wad nobbut
shoot, 'Hy the', git away by,' as he does when he
sends 't for t' sheep, it wad mebby fwoorsett yan
an' bring't back; an' than yan mud git a stew."
T' landlword rayder laugh't, an' sed 'at if she wad
Willie Boonass Fwok an t' Hare. 83
like a stew, he wad give her a hare ; an' as he'd
shot yan just afwore, an' hed it in his bag, he teuk 't
oot an' gev her 't. What, she was t' girtest 'at ivver
owt was ; an' when Willie come in, she sed tull
him, "I telt oor landlword 'at thee an' Laddie wad
nivver git us a hare, an' seah he's geen us yan, an'
we'll hev 't stew't for Sunday dinner."
Well, Willie was varra pleas't an' aw, an' thowt
'at it wad be t' best way to hev 't o' Sunday. Seah,
theer was nowt mair sed aboot it till Setterday
neet.
When Willie com in o' Setterday neet, he sed,
"Wy, Betty, hes t'e gitten thee hare druss't riddy
for to-mworn?"
"Aye," says Betty, "I gitten 't deun, bit I hev
hed a terrible job ower 't. It's teann me aw this
efterneun ; an' I'd a gay deal on 't to swinge off at
last. I wad rayder poo a duzzen geese nor ya
hare."
"What, dud t'e poo 't?" says Willie.
"Aye, what mud I deu wi' 't?" says Betty, "I
cuddent stew't wi' t' doon on, cud I ?"
84 Willie Boonass Fwok an i' Hare.
"Neah," says Willie, "bit thoo sud ha' screap't
it, barn."
"Lord bless me weel!" says Betty, "issent it a
wonder I nivver thowt o' that mesel ? Bit if ivver
oor landhvord gi's us anudder, /'// screap't, thoo
may depend orft ! "
DRUCKEN BILL'S WELCOME HEAMM.
HOAR hes t'e been, thoo maislen feull,
At t' public hoose ageann ?
Thoo promis't me a fortneth sen,
To let that drink aleann :
An', noo, thoo's drunk as muck ageann,
An' shamful to be seen ;
I wish thoo saw thee snuffy nwose,
An' silly, bleudshot een.
Thee cheeks, at ayder end o' t' mooth,
Wi' 'bacco slawer's dy't ;
Like treacle it's been runnen doon
Thee chin o' ayder side.
86 Drucken Bill's Welcome Heamm.
Thoo's rowl't aboot i' t' muck an' mire,
An' spoil't thee cleass for mense ;
An' oot o' aw thee reavellen' talk,
Theer nut two words o' sense.
Thoo works for brass just like a horse,
An' than spends 't like an ass ;
Thoo'll bring thee-sel, afwore thoo's detmn,
Intul a bonnie pass.
Thoo's guzzlet doon thee greedy throat,
What t' barns an' me sud hed ;
Od rot the' ! hod thee silly noise,
An' tak thee-sel to bed.
Thoo wants thee supper ? Thoo may want
Theer nowt i' t' hoose to eat :
Thoo's spent aw ower thee nasty drink
We sud ha' hed for meat.
Thoo'll gang to t' public hoose ageann !
I'd like to see thee try't ;
Thoo'll off to bed, an' sharply, teu,
Or be to t' teable tie't.
Drucken Bill's Welcome Heamm. 87
Tom, run away an' bring me t' cword
We use to belter t' pig ;
I'll tie him up to t' teable frame,
An' on t' bare flure he's lig.
Oh ! what, thoo's gaan to bed, I see ;
I think it's t' wisest way ;
Bit seur eneuff thoo'll vex me, till
I'll brek thee heid some day.
88
AULD JWOHNNY' HOOSE.
About two miles above Stonethwaite in Borrowdale, near
the track that leads over the Stake between Borrowdale and
Langdale, is an old ruin which was formerly a dwelling house,
inhabited by an old man and his wife, and called "Jwohnny 5
hoose," from the circumstance that the old man's name was
Jwohnny. The tradition embodied in the following verses
has long been a current story in Borrowdale.
Theer was, some sixty-five year sen,
I've hard some auld fvvok tell,
A cottage hoose steud whyte away,
Up t' side o' Langstreth fell.
They use to caw't "auld Jwohnny' hoose,"
An' twea auld fwok leev't theer ;
Their lives war lonely, ye may think,
For they'd na nebbors near.
Auld Jwohnny' Hoose. 89
They use to poo this beesom moss,
'At grew on t' top o' t' fell ;
An' tak their beesoms yance a week,
To Kessick toon to sell.
O' Setterdays they still war seen,
Togidder trudgen doon,
To sell their beesoms, an' bring back
Their few odd things fra t' toon.
Ya Friday neet, some Langdale chaps
Hed cum't ower t' fell leatt on ;
An' when they gat to Jwohnny' hoose,
T' auld fwok to bed war gone.
They thowt they just wad hev a jwok,
An' mew't aw t' hoose aboot
Wi' brackens, fra auld Jwohnny' stack,
Till t' leet was aw dem't oot
9O Auld Jwohnny 1 Hoose.
An' than they went to Kessick toon,
An' royster't aw t' next day ;
An' neet was drawin' oh afwore
They heamward teuk their way.
An' when they gat to Jwohnny' hoose,
They teuk aw t' brackens back
To whoar they fand them t' neet afwore,
On t' top o' Jwohnny' stack.
At last when Jwohnny waken't up,
He to t' auld de&mm dud say :
" We mun be sturren, dayleet's cum't,
An' this is t' market day."
Sa up they gat, an' seunn they war
Gaan trudgen wi' their leadd ;
Bit when they gat nar to t' Rostwhate,
They stop't, an' geapen steadd.
Auld Jwohnny Hoose. 91
They met fwok i' their Sunday cleass,
Nut as they gang to wark,
An' axt yan whoar they aw war gaan :
Says Dick, "We're gaan to t' kurk."
"What, gaan to t' kurk o' Setterday?"
" It's Sunday, min," says Dick :
Says Jwohnny, "We've laid ower a day,
As seurr as we're aw whick.
"An' we may e'en ga back ageann,
I know na udder way ;
We've laid i' bed, theer nowt sa seurr,
Ower two neets ait a day I "
AULD JEMMY'S ADVICE.
I'll tell the' what, Gwordie, what I've just been
thinken,
Aboot fwok an' things 'at yan sees noo an' than :
If a chap talks o' honesty, niwer thee trust him ;
It's nut oft he'll turn oot a reet honest man.
A man may be honest, when honesty pays best,
An' nowt comes across him to lead him astray ;
An' turn oot a rascal if enny misforten,
Or enny temptation, sud come in his way.
If thoo hears a chap brag iv his curridge an' boldness,
He'll turn oot a cooard as seur as a gun ;
He'll bluster an' bully, when nowts nar to hurt him,
Bit if theer be danger, he'll seunn cut an' run.
Auld Jemmy s Advice. 93
An' if a lad thinks 'at he's groun varra clever,
An's gitten to be nar t' best scholar i' t' scheull,
I's varra weel seur 'at he'll nut grow much better ;
He may think 'at he's sharp, bit he'll turn oot a
feull.
An', than, theer some fwok 'at show off their religion,
An' hing as lang feaces as fiddles ; bit, than,
They're riddy eneuff to talk ill o' their neighbours,
An' 'ill nut stick at takkin them in if they can.
They'll lecter poor fwok aboot bein' rag't an' durty,
An' gi' them a tract when they're wantin' a meall;
Bit if they war meadd for a while to change pleaces,
I guess they wad be in a different teall.
If a man be reel honest, thoo'll nut hear him speak
on't;
If a man be bold-heartit, he'll nut mak't a sang ;
If a man be religious, he'll show't be his actions,
An' nut be his preuvin' aw udder fwok wrang.
94 Auld Jemmy s Advice.
Noo, Gwordie, tak nwotish an' mind what I tell the' ;
Be smooth leuks an' fine speeches dunnet be led,
Or else when thoo finnds them aw false an' deceiving
Thoo'll wish 'at thoo'd mindit what auld Jemmy
sed.
95
THIS LOVE'S A CURIOUS THING.
Ya bonny summer neet it was,
When days war lang, leatt on i' June,
'At efter I'd me darrick deun,
I bed an earen'd into t' toon.
'Twas gitten dusk when I com back,
For t' sun hed sunk doon into t' sea ;
An' burds the'r merry sangs teun't up,
Ameast fra ivvery bush an' tree.
When just a bit fra t' toon I gat,
I met a young an' gradely pair ;
I saw 'at they war gentry fwok,
For beath leuk't smush, weel dress't, an' fair.
96 This loves a curious thing.
She held his arm, he held her hand,
She leuk't up smirken in his feace :
Thinks I, a witch yan needn't be,
To know 'at that's a cwortin' ke&se.
I thowt hoo happy they mud be,
Withoot a single want or care ;
An' nowt to deu bit bill an' coo,
An' wander when they wad, an' where.
When meusen on, nut quite content
'At things sud seah unequal be
'At some sud nowt but plesser know,
An' udders nowt but hardship see :
Anudder pair com trailen on,
Bit they war tramps as rag't as sheep ;
They'd nowder shoon nor stockin's on,
An' t' chap leuk't like a chimley sweep.
This loves a curious thing. 97
He hed his arm aroond her waist,
An' she leuk't smirken in his feace :
Thinks I, be aw the powers abeun,
That's just anudder cwortin' kease.
They seem't as happy as two burds,
'At flit frae tree to tree i' spring ;
For scearse ten yerds I'd gitten by,
When beath began to lilt an' sing.
Thinks I, this love's a curious thing :
Them two gaan wi' the'r barfet feet,
Seem just as happy as yon two ;
Their kiss, na doot, 'ill be as sweet.
DALEHEAD PARK BOGGLE.
DALEHEAD PARK is a low hill, over which the road
from Keswick to Ambleside passes, and is about six
miles from the former place. It is partly woodland
and partly rough pasture, and slopes down to the
margin of the beautiful lake Thirlmere. From its
higher part, where the road crosses, there is a
charming view of the lake, with the fine scenery on
its western shore ; consisting of precipitous moun-
tains partly clothed with wood, and rocks grey with
age, of the most fantastic forms, like some huge
fabled monsters peeping out among the trees, and in
several places overhanging the lake. But the road
over Dalehead Park, though an exceedingly pleasant
walk or drive on a fine summer day, is dismal and
lonely enough on a dark winter night; and is
Dalehead Park Boggle. 99
precisely such a place as a superstitious or timid
person, if compelled to travel over on a dark night,
would do so at a pretty brisk pace, without daring
to look behind, lest some ghost or hobgoblin should
be following. It is upwards of two miles from the
King's Head inn, the last house in the vale of
Legburthwaite, to Waterhead, the first in the more
southerly vale of Wythburn :* and, in addition to its
loneliness, it has time out of mind had the reputation
of being haunted.
Having frequently heard of Dalehead Park Boggle,
and being rather curious to know some particulars
respecting it, I not long since enquired of an old
dalesman who I knew had traversed it frequently
for fifty or sixty years if he had ever seen anything
supernatural there.
I give his answer in his own words.
" Aye, I've seen t' Park Boggle different times,
an' Armboth Boggle an' aw; bit, what, I mindit
nowt aboot them. Theer nowt to be flate on ; for
* Pronounced Wy-burn.
ioo Dale/iead Park Boggle.
they nivver raellt o' neah body 'at ivver I hard tell
on. I yance spak to t' Park Boggle, bit it ga' me
neah answer ; an' I'll tell ye hoo it happen't.
"We'd hed t' hogs off winteren doon below
Hawkshead. I'd been fetchen them back, an' as
it's a gay lang geate, an' I've a canny lock o'
aquentance ower that way, 'at keep't me santeren
on a langish time, it was rayder darkish afwore
I gat ower t' Park. As I'd just gitten ower t' top,
an' was beginnen to come doon o' this side, t' hogs
aw stop't i' t' mid rwoad, an' wadden't gang a step
farder. What ! I shootit t' dog up to help me on
wi' them; bit it wad nowder bark nor nowt, an'
keep't creepen in agean me legs, like as if it was
hofe freeten't to deith. I began to leiik than if I
could see what it was 'at was freetenen beath t' dog
an' t' hogs ; seah, an' seur eneuf, I saw reet afwore
them what leuk't like a girt lime an' mowd heap, 'at
reach't clean across t' rwoad. It went up heigher
nor t' wo' o' teaa side o' t' rwoad, an' slowp't doon
tull aboot hofe a yard hee o' t'udder. Noo, I was
seur at neabody wad put a midden across t' rwoad
Dalehead Park Boggle. 101
i' that way, an' I thowt 'at it mud be t' Park Boggle.
I steud a laal bit consideren what to deu, an' than
I shootit an' ax't what was t' reason 'at t' hogs was
to gang neah farder ; when just wi' that yan o' them
gev a girt lowp ower t' low end o' t' heap, an' than
t' udder aw went helter-skelter efter 't doon t' rwoad.
When that was ower, I went on tul't, an' thowt I
wad set me feut on't to see what it was ; bit when
I sud ha' step't on't theer was nowt, nor I could see
novvt. It was gean awtogidder.
" Theer was anudder time, teu, 'at I saw t' Park
Boggle, in anudder form ; bit I wassen't seah nar't
that time, as I was when I'd been fetchen t' hogs.
I'd been wo-en a gap 'at hed fawn ower o' t'udder
side o' t' Park ; an' as t' days war nobbut short, I
wrout on till it was gitten to be duskish. I
happen' d to nwotish 'at some sheep hed gitten intul
an' intack 'at we hed away up t' fell side ; seeah I
thowt I wad gang up an' put them oot, an' niebby
stop a thorn into t' gap whoar they'd gitten in, if I
nobbut could finnd t' spot. Wi' that I clam up, an'
bodder't on wi' putten t' sheep oot, an' stoppen t'
IO2 Dalehe&d Park Boggle.
gap up, an' ya thing or anudder, till it was pitch
dark. When I gat to cummin doon agean, I saw
sec a fire on t' top o' t' Park, as I niwer saw befwore
i' o' my life. It lowe't up sec a heet, an' sparks
fell i' shooers o' aw sides on : t ! What ! I thowt it
was varra queer 'at enny body sud kinnel sec a fire
as that up theer, seeah I thowt I wad gang an' see
what it meant Bit when I gat to t' plea.ce, theer
was nowder a fire nor enny spot whoar theer hed
been yan ! Theer was nowder a black pleace, nor
a bit o' gurse swing't, nor owt 'at I could see, for aw
it wassent a quarter iv an 'oor efter I'd seen t' girt
fire blazing away furiously. Noo, ye may mak
what ye will on't ; ye may believe me or nut, just
as ye like ; bit niwer neabody 'ill persuade me 'at
it was owt bit t' Park Boggle 'at I saw beath
times."
Having noticed that haunted places had almost
invariably been the scene of some murder, or
suicide, or other tragical occurrence, I enquired if
there was any account of any thing of the kind
Dalehead Park Boggle. 103
having happened in Dalehead Park, when he related
to me the following tradition, which I give as before
in his own homely but expressive words.
" I've hard some auld fwok say 'at theer was an
ill hang-gallows iv a tailyer leev't at Foneside, 'at
they cawt Robin Sim, who went up an' doon to
sowe whoariwer enny body wad hev him. At t'
seamm time theer was a middle age't man leev't at
Deallheid, 'at they caw't Bob Simpson, an' he
use't to gang aboot worken labouren wark, sec as
threshin', an' dyken, an' owt o' that mak. Whoar-
iwer he was worken he mainly-what stop't till t'
week end, or till he'd deun his job ; bit t' tailyer
use' to all'as gang heam iwery neet. Noo, it seeah
happen't 'at they war beath worken at Wyburn at t'
seamm time, bit nut beath at t' seamm hoose ; an*
Bob Simpson, hewen finish't his wark ya Thursday
neet, set off to ga heam efter it was dark, wi' two
or three weeks' wages in his pocket. Well, as it
happen't, poor Bob nivver gat heam at o', an' he
was nivver miss't for two or three days ; becos
io4 Dalehead Park Boggle.
their fwok thowt 'at he was at Wyburn, an' Wyburn
fwok thowt 'at he was at heam. At t' last he was
miss't sure eneuf, an' t' hue an' cry was rais't o' t'
country ower. As Robin Sim hed come't frae
Wyburn t' seamm neet, they inquire 't o' him ; bit
Robin waddent oan 'at ivver he'd seen him. What,
theer war fwok oot laten i' aw directions ; an' efter
a while he was fund in t' watter, as neakt as he was
bworn ; an' theer was a laal wholl in his heid, just
sec a yan as mud be meadd wi' a bodkin, or a pair
o' scidders, or owt o' that mak.
" This Robin Sim hed a lad 'at use' to gang wid
him sometimes. Well, it com oot efter 'at he wassent
wid him at Wyburn on t' Thursday ; bit he hed to
gang o' t' Friday. Noo, at that time theer was a
feut rwoad went doon t' Park partly by t' watter
side, an' that Friday mwornin Robin meadd t' lad
gang wid him through by that feut rwoad. Nut sa
varra far frae t' watter side they fand a bundle o'
cleas, an' headd them till they com back at neet,
an' than carry't them heam wi' them. It was
strang-ly suspectit 'at they war this poor Bob
Dalehead Park Boggle. 105
Simpson' cleas, an' 'at Robin hed murder't him an'
strip't him t' neet afwore.
"What, theer wassent policemen to leuk efter sec
things than as theer is noo ; bit fwok war mickle t'
seamm for talkin, an' they gat to talkin aboot this
Robin Sim, an' giwen him bits o' hints on't at t'
public hoose. He was all'as terrible mad aboot it,
an' wad hae fowten wi' enny body 'at neamt it. Bit
fwok dud dent mind his bein' mad, an' keep't talken
on, till Robin gat to be sa flate 'at they wad be
cummen to tak him, 'at he dursent sleep in his oan
hoose. at neets. He use' to gang an' lig in a hollow
cragg, away up t' fell abeun whoar he leev't, an they
caw that pleace " Sim's cave," yet. What, he dud
on i' that way for a bit, an' than he teuk off oot o'
t' country, an' was nivver mair hard tell on."
AULD ABRAM'S ADVICE TO HIS SON.
HOO'S gaan away fra heamm, me lad,
Thoo'll hev to feight thee way ;
I want to gi' the' some advice,
Sa lissen what I say.
Theer two things I wad ha' the' deii,
Whoarivver thoo may gang ;
An' than whativver else may come,
Thoo'll nivver be far wrang.
Git hoald o' brass, be heuk or creuk,
It's that 'at maks a man ;
An' spend na mair nor thoo can help,
But still seaw aw thoo can.
Auld Abrams Advice to his Son. 107
Thoo's larn't to seavv thee hawpennies,
Sen ivver thoo could walk ;
An' that's t' main thing for barns to larn,
Whativver feMs may talk.
They talk o' honest neamms, bit what
That's nowder here nor theer ;
If thoo hes brass thoo'll hev a neamm,
Thoo nivver need to fear.
Theer some fwok mak a parlish fuss
Wi' sendin' barns to t' scheull ;
Bit if thoo hessent brass as weel,
Thoo'd better be a feull.
I've kent some chaps wi' sense eneuff,
Bit they war nobbut poor ;
An' slender welcome they could git,
At enny body's dooer.
io8 Auld Abrams Advice to his Son.
An' some I've kent, girt blodderen' feulls,
'At scearce knew reet fra wrang ;
Bit if they'd brass they welcome war,
Whoar they'd a mind to gang.
I've kent some chaps 'at struggle't hard,
To keep an honest neamm ;
Bit they war poor, an' aw they gat
Was laal but kicks an' bleamm.
An' some I've kent 'at's gedder't brass,
They dudden't care much hoo ;
Bit as they hev't, their roguish tricks
Ur aw forgitten noo.
I've kent some chaps 'at wadden't lee
Anudder to deceive ;
Bit they war poor, an' t' treuth fra them
Fwok hardly wad believe.
Auld Abranis Advice to his Son. 109
An' some I've kent, 'at hardly mix't
They're rekvellen' talk \vi' treuth ;
Bit they hed brass, an' aw was still
Thowt gospel fra their mooth.
Sa thee git brass, be heiik or creuk,
It's that 'at maks a man ;
It matters laal, barn, hoo thoo gits't,
Bit git it if thoo can.
I 10
T' BONNIE DEALL.
Come, climm wi' me up t' moontain side,
An' see a charmen scene ;
Aw t' hills, an' craggs, an' hingen' woods,
Wi' bonnie d calls atween.
Come, see hoo naater carpets fine,
On aw t' fell side does spreed ;
We crush some bonnie tiny flower,
At ivvery step we treed.
Just leuk hoo whiet is that deall,
Wi' moontains guardit roond ;
An' bit for t' watter splashen doon,
Yan cannot hear a soond.
T' Bonnie Dealt. i 1 1
Low doon i' t' deall theer t' ancient kurk,
Grown ower wi' ivy green ;
A sacred pleace for ages geann,
To deallsmen it hes been.
A barn browt to its rustic font,
When groun up, comes to kneel
Doon on its altar steps, and wed
That lass he loves sa weel.
An' than when years hev glidit by,
Ageann he's browt an' laid,
To sleep his lang, lang sleep o' deith,
Whoar t' kurk his greaw does shade.
Yon hoosesjshadit wi' green trees,
Ilk in its shelter'! neuk,
Breet picters o' sweet peaceful heamms,
Blest wi' contentment leuk
ii2 T' Bonnie DealL
An' t' smeuk 'at up fra t' chimleys curls,
Climms lazily an' slow,
As if it fain wad langer stay,
In t' pleasant deall below.
An' t' waiter, teu, 'at slowly twines,
Wi' menny a bend an' turn,
Noo slowly gliden' in a pool,
Noo blashen in a burn.
An' see yon kye how nice they leuk,
Just dottit here an' theer :
They leuk like bits o' snow yan's seen,
Left le&t at t' spring o' t' year.
It seems sa strange, an' yet it's trew,
'At in that whiet deall,
Theer menny a lee gangs whisper't roond,
An' menny a sland'rous teall.
T" Bonnie Dealt. \ \
Bit, what ! it's seah aw t' warld ower,
Yan cannot help bit know ;
Whoarivver man is, theer 'ill be
His selfishness an' aw.
WHAT BOB AN' CHARLIE THOWT
ABOOT T WAR.
BOB.
Thoo's gitten t' paper is t'er owt
'At's fresh fra t' war to-day 1
I hard they'd hed anudder feight,
An' t' French hed run away.
CHARLIE.
They've hed anudder feight for seur,
A dreadful feight it's been ;
A murderen job, fra what I read,
As ivver yet was seen.
An' t' French as good a threshin' gat,
As ivver they've hed yet ;
Bit run away they dudden't deu,
Because they cudden't git.
Thowts aboot War. 1 1 5
BOB.
If they war lick't, an' cudden't run,
They likely mud give in ;
Bit as I leuk, theer laal i' t' odds,
Whilk Iwoses an' whilk wins.
Beath sides hev thoosands kilt an' leamm't,
An' varra much I doot,
'At owder side could tell yan what
Aw t' feightin's been aboot
CHARLIE.
That's trew eneuff. I'll tell the', Bob,
If two girt country cloons,
Like thee an' me, sud git on t' spree,
An' knock teann tudder doon ;
We'd be caw't drukken blackguards, an'
Afwore oor betters browt ;
Bit mair they kill, an' mair they leamm,
An' better men they're thowt
1 1 6 What Bob an Charlie
BOB.
I hwop oor guvverment girt men
'111 mind what they're aboot,
An' nut be meddlen' theirsels wi' 't,
Bit keep their nwoses oot.
I think, to keep us oot o' t' mess,
T' meast part o' them 'ill try ;
For aw thur feighten chaps wad fain
Their fingers hev in t' pie.
CHARLIE.
I think 'at t' guvverment's aw reet ;
T' meast danger theer 'ill be
Is frae thur traden taistrels,
'At send their ships to t' sea
Wi' guns an' pooderj an' sek like,
'At ower to France they tak ;
They'd trade wi' t' auld un seunn as nut,
If money they could mak.
Thowt aboot War. \ 1 7
BOB.
I'll tell the', Charlie, what I'd deli,
If I mud hev me way :
For ivvery gun they sent to t' war,
Twice t' value they sud pay ;
An' than I'd ship them off theirsels,
An' set them doon i' France,
Just whoar they're feighten t' warst iv aw,
An' let them tak their chance.
CHARLIE.
Bit hofe o' t' news I hevvent telt ;
Theer mair i' t' paper, far
M'Mahon an' fifty thoosand men
Ur prisoners o' war.
An' Buonaparte's a prisoner, teu ;
An" who wad think it trew ?
Aw t' French 'at thowt he was a god,
Caw him a cooard noo.
1 1 8 What Bob an' Charlie
BOB.
Aye, that's just t' way them Frenchmen turn ;
It is divarten, teu,
To read sec mighty deeds they talk
They're some time gaan to deu :
While t' German chaps keep marchen' on,
An' aw befwore them drive,
T' French chaps keep shooten' as they run
" Ye'll nut git back alive ! "
CHARLIE.
I saw two lads in t' garden theer,
Nut mair nor teable height,
Aboot their marbles they'd fawn oot,
An' nowt wad deu bit feight.
Teaa lad an' it was t' bigger, teii,
Hed bully't lang an' sair,
When t' laal un threw his jacket off,
An' sed he'd tak na mair :
Tliowt aboot t' War. 1 19
He buckel't in, an" dreave him back,
Farder, an' farder still ;
While t' girt un shootit, " If thoo does,
I'll gi' the' 't, aye, I will."
Bit t' laal un doon't him on his back,
An' telt him to ax pardin ;
Says t' tudder lad, " I niwer will,
Till thoo gangs oot o' t' garden."
I thowt hoo like that was to t' French :
They say they'll niwer 'gree,
Till t' Germans aw gang oot o' France,
An' that they'll let them see.
BOB.
If Buonaparte an' t' Prussian king,
Like t' two laal lads i' t' garden,
Hed bray't teann tudder's heids a bit,
It matter't nut a fardin ;
Bit when theer tens o' thoosands kilt,
An' thoosands cripples meadd,
I think if they've aw t' bleamm to bear,
They'll hev a gay good leadd.
I2O
WHAT I'D WISH FOR.
If Providence, wi' bounteous hand,
Wad aw me wishes kindly grant,
An' just wi' wishen' I could hev
Eneuf to furnish ivvery want :
I wadden't wish for empty power,
Theer laal o' happiness i' that ;
For girt fwok wad be bigger still,
An' oft feight for they know nowt what.
I wadden't wish for heaps o' wealth,
For mickle mainly creavvs for mair ;
An' when fwok to hurd begin,
It's laal for owt 'at's good they care.
What I'd wish for. r 2 1
Bit furst I'd wish for peace o' mind,
Wi' conscience free frae owt 'at's wrang ;
An' than, whativver comes amiss,
I cuddent be unhappy lang.
An' next, I'd hev a cottage snug,
In some weel-woodit shelter't neuk ;
A rustic pworch I'd hev at t' dooer,
To give me heamm a heamly leuk.
A bit o' gardin grund aroond,
I'd hev for yerbs, an' frutes, an' flooers ;
Where I could sow me seeds i' spring,
An' watch them sproot wi' April shooers.
Inside me cottage, I wad hev
Some shelves o' beuks, lang neets to cheer,
John Bunyan, Shakespeare, Crabbe, an' Burns,
Wordsworth, an' Goldsmith, sud be theer.
122 What Fd wish for.
Eliza Cook, Sir Walter Scott,
An' menny mair 'at I could neame ;
A hoose withoot a row o' beuks,
I nivver think leuks like a heamm.
A newspaper, just twice a week,
I'd like to hev, to tell me aw
O' markets, politicks, an' wars,
An' news 'at I wad care to know.
Nut far away, a beck I'd hev,
'At twistit t' hills an' neuks aboot ;
Where I wi' fishin' rod could gang
An' flog, an' watch for t' risen troot.
An' than I'd wish 'at I mud hev
Just brass eneuf to pay me way ;
An' a laal trifle noo an' than,
To yan i' need to give away.
What I'd wish for. 1 2 3
I'd hev a wife to love an' trust,
To whom I aw me thowts could tell ;
An' I could like 'at she sud hev
T seamm wants an' wishes as me-sel.
An' if I'd barns, I'd hev them be
Industrious, sober, free fra pride ;
Upreet an' oppen-heartit still,
Affectionate an' kind beside.
If I a frind or two mud hev
'At I could trust through clood an' shine ;
Frind s 'at I knew as trew wad preuve
I' darkest times, as when 'twas fine.
I think theer nowt I'd want beside
Bit oh ! we're hard to satisfy ;
Oor real wants ur nobbut few,
If we to limit them wad try.
12 4
TOMMY DOBSON'S TOOK TO T LAKES.
IT'S cum't to be a parlish custom noo-a-days to
gang off wi' thur excursions to Liverpool, an' Man-
chester, an' Lunnen, an' t' Isle o' Man, an' o' up
an' doon ; bit I nivver see enny o' thur fwok 'at's
been off 'at can tell enny mack iv a teall when they
come back agean. An' hoo sud they? They're
shut up in a clwose carridge aw t' way they hev to
gang, an' than when they're let oot at t' far end in
a strange pleace, theer mebby neah body to tell
them aboot owt. They may trail aboot till they're
tire't to deith, an' than git into t' carridge an' come
heamm ageann, just as wise as they war when they
went. They can say 'at they've been at Lunnen or
Liverpool, an' that's aw.
I happeii't to hev a few days helliday nut lang
Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes. 1 25
sen me-sel, an' I thowt to me-sel, I'll bodder nin
wi' the'r railway excursions ; I'll tak my excursion
o' me shanks, an' than I'll mebby see summet. I'd
leev't doon i' t' low side o' Cummerland aw me life,
an' hed niwer been nar a fell, an' seeah I just
meadd up me mind to hev a rammel amang t' fells
for a week or seeah.
I set off o' Michaelmas day, efter we'd deun oor
harvest, an' aim't reet away for Skiddaw. I could
see Skiddaw fra whoar I leev't, an' I thowt 'at it
leuk't sec a laal bit to gang 'at I wad be theer in a
jiffy ; bit, my song ! I was weel tean in. I lay I
walk't atween fifteen an' twenty mile afwore I
gat to Cawdbeck, an' they telt me 'at it was a good
hofe day's-wark gaan on to Skiddaw fra theer.
When I larn't that, I began to consider 'at it wad be
neet when I gat to t' top, an' as I duddent want to
lig on t' fell aw neet, I'd better stop at Cawdbeck,
an' than gang ower t' top o' Skiddaw an' doon to
Kessick t' neest mwornin'. An' seeah I spak for a
bed at t' public hoose whoar I'd caw't at, an' than
I went oot to see what I could aboot Cawdbeck.
126 Tommy Dob sons Toor to f Lakes.
Cawdbeck avvtogidder, I suppwose, is a gay girt
parish, bit whoar I was is just a canny size't villidge.
Theer a gay lock o' hooses, an' they're built in aw
shaps an' directions as they ur i' t' mekst part o'
villidges. Theer a girt auld-fashin't kurk, an' a
berryin' pleace beside it wi' a gay lock o' heidsteans
in't; an' theer was yan 'at I was uncommonly pleas't
wi', 'at's been setten up for auld John Peel, t' girt
hunter him 'at t' sang was meadd aboot, beginnin'
wi'
" D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gray ?
D'ye ken John Peel at the break of the day ?
D'ye ken John Peel when he's far, far away,
With his hounds and his horn in the morning?"
I think I saw three or fower public hooses, an' a
bobbin mill, whoar theer a lock o' fwok employ't ;
an' theer some mines nut far off, an' t' miners mainly
leeve in t' villidge; an' than theer yan or two
bettermer hooses, an' a lock o' farm-hooses ; seeah
'at awtogidder it's a canny size't villidge. Theer a
varra queer pleace nut far fra t' bobbin mill, kent
be t' neam o' t' Howk, whoar t' watter runs foamin'
Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes. 1 27
an' rattlin' ower t' rocks, an' aw t' time maks a din
in a chap's lugs varra nar like thunner. A laal bit
aboon this theer anudder spot a natteral cur"osity
in its way caw't Fairy Kettle. It's mead up of a
lot o' girt wholls in t' limestone rock, nicely polish't
i' t' inside ameast as smooth as marble. I think t'
wholls hev been vvesh't oot wi' t' waiter, bit yan can
hardly tell for sarten hoo they've been deun.
Efter gitten a good neet's sleep, I was up i' good
time t' neest mwornin', an' set off up t' fell. Theer
a gay bit o' inclwost grund efter yan leeves t'
villidge, afwore yan gits fairly onto t' fell. I clamm
away till I gat ower t' fell wo, as they caw't, an' a
gay bit up abeun that, an' than I turn't roond an'
sat doon on a stean to leiik aboot me, an' a parlish
fine sect it was. I could see aw t' low side o'
Cummerland, fra on beyont VVorkinton to t' tudder
side o 1 Carel, an' it's a fine country, teu ; aw t' way
through theer be Wigton, an' t' Holme, an' away on
as far as Marypwort. I could see menny a thoosand
fields, iv aw shaps an' sizes, 'at ivver enny body
could contrive ; an' I just thowt to mesel 'at theer
1 28 Tommy Dob sons Toor to /' Lakes.
waddent be a laal neuk in aw 'at I could see, whoar
I could gang an' greave a sod oot, bit theer wad be
somebody to claim't an' finnd fawt wi' me.
Efter I'd gitten a rust, I set off agean an' clamm
away till I gat to t' tippy top o' Skiddaw, an' I hed
a finer view nor ivver. Leuken partly to t' west, I
could see whyte away on to t' sea, for I dunnet know
hoo far. Leuken north, I could see cross a gay bit
into Scotland ; an' east, I could see away to some
fells a lang way at t' tudder side o' Peerath. Bit
when I turn't to t' sooth it was t' grandest sect iv
aw, for theer was nowt but ya fell aback iv anudder,
as far as yan could see. Theer war twea or three
bits o' dealls, sec as Borrowdale, an' St. John's, an'
some lakes, an' varra bonnie they leuk't ; bit farder
off yan could see nowt bit ya fell peepen ower
anudder for menny a mile. Theer was a lot o'
quality on t' top o' Skiddaw, 'at hed cum't up fra
Kessick. They hed a guide wi' them, an' some
Galloways to ride on, an' baskets, an' bottles, an' I
dunnet know what, like as if they war gaan to bide
theer for a fortneth. When I leuk't at them, an'
Tommy Dobsoris Toor to /' Lakes. 1 29
than leuk't roond me, I thowt to mesel, 'at God
Almighty heddent dealt things oot seeah varra
unequally efter aw. I dud dent know bit t' Prince
o' Wales, or t' Archbishop o' Canterbury, mud be
amang them fwok. Bit I knew for aw I was theer
wi' nowt bit a walkin stick i' me hand, an' a
crust o' bread i' my pocket, browt fra t' public
hoose at Cawdbeck, 'at He'd geen me as good eyes,
an' spread oot o' that fine scenery I could leuk at
an' admire, just as much as they could.
When I'd leuk't aboot me till I was tire't, I set
off doon towarts Kessick ; an' when I gat a gay bit
lower, whoar I cuddent see sa far off for fells, I began
to admire t' bonnie pleace t' toon stood in. It's in
a girt hollow 'at may seem to be twenty mile roond,
an' fells aw aboot it, owt bit just at t' low end. T'
sooth end on't, gaan up towart Borrowdale, is tean
up wi' t' lake, an' a fine lake it is. When I leuk't
at it fra Skiddaw breest, I thowt I nivver saw owt
sa bonnie i' me life. It was glitteren i' t' sun just
like silver, an' than t' woods an' craggs aw roond
aboot it, an' nice green islands up an' doon on't,
10
1 30 Tommy Dobsoris Toor to Lakes.
meadd a fine picter to leuk at. Kessick stands
partly at t' low end o' t' lake ; an' than below t'
toon theer a plat o' fine land aw t' way doon to t'
low end, wi' hooses, an' villidges aw up an' doon ;
an' t' beck twin en away throo t' middle, till it gits
into Bassenthwaite waiter.
I santer't away, leuken at ya thing an' anudder,
till it was leeate on i' t' efterneun when T gat to
Kessick. It's a nice laal toon, mebby aboot t' size
o' Wigton, an' hes some varra good shops in't. T'
main street, 'at's use't for t' market pierce, wad be
a varra good street if it wassent for a girt ugly
building caw't Meut-haw, 'at stands reet i' t' middle
on't, an' varra nar blocks 't up awtogidder.
Theer a gay lock o' public hooses i' Kessick, as
theer is in aw toons, an' I suppwose theer '11 be
somebody to drink at them aw. When I'd wander't
aboot till I was tir't, I went tull a decent leuken
public hoose an' gat some supper. Efter I'd deun
I thowt I wad hev a glass o' summet afwore I went
to bed ; an' I axt t' mistress if they hed enny good
yal. Sed she, "Aye, I dar say it's good eneuff; it's
Tommy Dobsoris Toor to Lakes. \ 3 1
Bobby's." I dudden't know what she meen't be
Bobby's. I thowt it was mappen some new-fashint
neame they'd gitten for some o' their bitter yal or
summet, an' seeah I telt her 'at I dudden't want owt
o'that male. I just wantit a glass o'good Cummerland
yal, if I could git it. " Wy," she says, " it is good
Cummerland yal; it's 'double X' fra Bobby Faulder'
brewery ; neah body drinks owt else bit Bobby' yal
at Kessick, if they know't." "Varra weel," says I,
" fetch me a glass on't ; " an' when it com I thowt
it sa good 'at I wad hev anudder, an' than I went
to bed. When I gat up t' next mwornin I axt hoo
far it was to Borrowdale. They telt me it was nine
mile to t' hee end on't; bit theer was a cwoatch
went ivvery day up through Borrowdale to Butter-
mer, an' back be Newlands, 'at wad tak me
aw t' way roond for five shillin'. I thowt it was
cheap eneuf that, bit I wad rayder walk, an' than I
could tak me awn time ah' see owt 'at I wantit to
see.
Varra weel, I starlit off up t' Borrowdale rwoad,
an' when I gat hofe a mile or seeah, I thowt if aw
132 Tommy Dobsons Toor to Lakes.
t' Borrowdale rwoads war as durty as that they wad
hev plenty o' mire i' Borrowdale, if they'd nowt
else. Bit efter I gat a bit farder, t' rwoad went on
be t' watter side, an' was a varst cleaner. T' furst
hoose I com teu was a gentleman's pleace they
caw t' Barrow Hoose, an' I thowt it was t' bonniest
spot to leeve at I'd seen aboot Kessick. It frunts
reet doon t' lake; an' aw roond aboot it theer nice
shrubberies, an' at t' back side t' grund rises up just
like a fell, bit it's aw groun ower wi' wood, an' girt
craggs peepen oot, wi' ivy climmen up them.
Theer was a lad telt me 'at they hed a parlish
fine watterfaw up theer, an' I could see't wi' gaan
an' axin at t' Lodge : seeah I went an' knock't at
t' dooer, an' axt if I could see't. A young lass
pot her hat on, an' went to show me t' way; an' I
think it was as weel worth gaan to see as owt I
saw aw t' time I was away fra heame. It's a girtish
beck wi' a gay sup o' watter in't, 'at comes throo
amang a deal o' girt steans an' craggs, varra nar
ebben doon, rworen, an' churnen, an' blashen,
ower ya girt stean, an' by anudder, an' under
Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes. 1 33
anudder, till it's aw as white, 'at yan mud think
it was menny a hundred gallon o' churn't milk
cummen doon. Efter I'd leuk't at it a bit, I com
away, an' I gev t' young lass sixpence for gaan
wi' me, an' she sed I mud sign me neame in a
beiik she let me see. I thowt to mesel she likely
nobbut wantit to know what they caw't me; bit
awivver I went an' scribblet "Tommy, fra t' Abbey
Holme," an' than I set off agean.
I next went by t' Lowdoer Hotel an' t' Borrowdale
Hotel, varra nar clwose togidder, an' I cuddent bit
wonder what they wantit wi' sa menny hotels i' sec
a pleace as Borrowdale ; bit what I dar say theer a
deal o' thur quality fwok astur i' summer time. T'
next pleace I saw was a bit villidge ower o' tudder
side o' t' beck; bit I was t' meast tean up wi' t' beck
iv owt aboot theer. Doon in oor part o' t' country,
t' grund's aw sa level yan can hardly tell what
way t' waiter's gaan in t' beck, an' it all'as leuks
meudy i' t' boddom, teu; bit Borrowdale beck comes
runnen away doon ower t' clean steans an' gravel, as
clear as glass; sometimes for a few yerds quite
1 34 Tommy Dobsoris Toor to t Lakes.
slowly, an' than it sets off agean like as if it was in
a parlish girt hurry. When I gat a bit farder on,
I com at a girt quarry whoar they git sleate, an'
buildin' stean, an' yat stoops, an' sec like, oot iv
a greenish cullert cragg. They telt me it was t'
" Whye-feut Quarry," an' t' way it gat that neame
was this. Yance ower, lang sen, a chap steall a
whye fra somebody i' Borrowdale an' theer's t'
feut-marks o' him an' t' whye, an' auld Harry, ('at
was helpen him to drive't,) to be seen till this day
on a slape cragg theer-aboots. I teuk t' hee rwoad
by t' quarry, an' wassent lang till I gat to " Booder
stean." It's a girt rough stekn, varra nar like t' shap
iv oor leath, if it was stannen wi' t' riggin doon
bank, an' I think aboot as big, teu. It's a terrible
wild country aboot Booder stean. Theer nowt to
see bit fells, an' craggs, an' girt steans iv aw sides,
till yan gits a bit farder on; an' than yan may
see a lock o' laal fields, an' a few hooses farder
up t' deall. What, I keep't gaan, an' varra seun
I com tull a villidge 'at they caw t' Rostwhate. I
wassent Ung i' cummen tull anudder villidge, 'at a
Tommy Dobsoris Toor to Lakes. 1 35
chap telt me was t' Seatore, an' if I wantit to gang
to Buttermer, I mud turn to me reet hand up t' fell.
I dud seeah, an' clamm away a gay bit up, an' than
I sat doon to hev a rust. I thowt to mesel when I
was sitten theer, 'at I'd hard a deal o' queer tealls
aboot Borrowdale an' Borrowdale fwok ; sec as ther
tryen to wo t' cuckoo in, 'at they mud hev spring
aw t' year roond, an' aw sec stuff as that ; bit noo
when I'd seen them, I dudden't see 'at they war
much different fra enny udder country fwok.
Efter I'd rustit a bit I set off agean, an' efter a
lang climm I gat to t' top ; an' when I leuk't in at
t' tudder side, I thowt it was a wilder like pleace
ner it was aboot Booder stean. Up at t' left hand
theer was a girt cragg 'at leuk't to ga up as hee as
t' cloods; an' whyte away up t' feace on't, theer war
some sleate qaarries, whoar yan mud ha' thowt 'at
nowt but a fleein' thing could ha' gitten teu ; an'
theer was a man cummen doon wi' a sledful o'
sleate, whoar it was that brant 'at yan mud ha' thowt
a cat cudden't ha' keep't it's legs.
Whoar I hed to gang doon was a hollow atween
1 36 Tommy Dobsoris Toor to Lakes.
two fells, an' theer was just room for t' rwoad an' a
laal mad beck, 'at went splashen doon be t' side
on 't. When I gat a mile or two doon it gat to be
rayder wider, an' than I saw a hoose or two. Than
I com tull a lake, an' wassent lang till I gat to
Buttermer villidge, whoar theer a few farm hooses,
an' two or three cottiges, an' a laal chepel, an' two
public hooses. I went to t' public hoose 'at hed t'
sign o' t' Fish, an' axt t' landleady if I could git a
bit o' dinner. While it was gitten riddy, she telt me
'at that was t' hoose at t' Buttermer beauty leev't at ;
an' aw aboot a scamp iv a fellow 'at they caw't
Hatfield cummen, an' pertenden to be some girt
Iword, an' wedden this Mary o' Buttermer, an' 'at
it wassent lang till he was hang't for fworgery.
When I'd gitten me dinner I fand I was time
eneuf for t' cwoatch back to Kessick. As I was
gitten rayder tir't I thowt I cudden't deii better ner
gang wi't. It's nut sa brant ower be Newlens as it
is be Borrowdale, for aw it's brant eneuf; bit what
t' driver was use't teu't, an' we warrent lang i' gaan
to Kessick. Theer was a chap on t' cwoatch, a
Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes. 137
rare talker, an' he telt me t' neams iv a deal o'
pleaces 'at we saw. He shew't me a rwoad ower t'
fell lower doon ner that we com ower, 'at they caw
Whinlatter; an' he sed as two Borrowdale chaps were
yance gaan ower on i' t' spring o' t' year, t' cuckoo
began to shoot in a wood on t' rwoad side, an' they
thowt it was somebody shooten at them. Says tean
to t' tudder, "Dust'e hear that, Jwohn? Wy, hang
it ! we're kent whoarivver we gang ! "
When I gat back to Kessick I went to t' seame
hoose I stop't at t' neet afwore. I was sair tean
up wi' an auld-fashint picter 'at was fassent up on
t' wo' in t' room I was in. It was t' picter o' two
chaps ; tean o' them an' auld miserable leuken fellow
as ivver yan saw, reaken up sovereigns wi' a hay-
reak. He'd gitten a canny heap o' them ; an" theer
was written doon below him
The sordid miser takes a world of pains,
And often frets himself for others' gains ;
But what is't for? to leave a thoughtless boy,
To reap what he himself wants wit for to enjoy.
T' tudder chap was a young rakish leuken fellow,
1 38 Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes.
wi' his hat cock't o' teaa side. He was throwen t'
sovereigns aboot iv aw sides wi' a pitchfork, an' theer
was doon below him
I am clothed in gold lace and feathers,
With a heart as light as a cork ;
What my old father raketh together,
I throw it away with a fork.
They telt me 'at it was pentit by a chap caw't
Salathiel Court, 'at leev't i' that neighbourhood
menny year sen.
When I gat up t' next mwornin, I telt them I
wantit to gang to Gursmer, bit I wad like to see
t' " Druid steans." They said I mud gang on t'
Peerath rwoad a bit, an' than turn to me reet through
St. John's. It was rayder a donky wet mwornin
when I left Kessick, an' when I'd gitten aboot a
mile oot o' t' toon, I leet iv an' auld man sitten on
a stean, tryen to bwore a wholl in 't wi' a jumper
an' a laal hammer. He was tappen away wi' his
hammer on t' end o' t' jumper, an' I stop't beside him
an' axt him if it was hard. Sed he, "Aye, middlin'.
Dud ye ivver hear tell o' auld Jemmy Andrew ? "
Tommy Dobsons Toor to t' Lakes. 1 39
"An' who was auld Jemmy Andrew?" says I.
"\Vy," says he, "he was a terrible chap for rhymin'.
He yance was varra weel off, bit what wi' drinken,
an' cock-feighten', an' ya mak o' idleness or anudder,
he spent what he hed, an' gat to be varra
poor. I remember menny year sen noo, I was
gaan up that field just abeun theer, an' Jemmy
was sitten an' bworen a cobble, just as I is noo, an'
when I gat tull him I sed, ' Wy, Jemmy, it's rayder
coald this mwornin.' Jemmy leuk't up an" sed
' On this coald stein poor Jemmy sits,
Reflecten on his drucken fits. ' "
Efter I'd left t' auld chap, I clamm away up t'
rwoad till I gat to t' top o' t' hill, an' than I saw t'
Druid steans in a field clwose by. I gat ower t'
steel an' went to see what they war like. I fand 'at
it was a circle mebby twenty or thirty yerds across,
wi' girt rough steans, some o' them three or fower
ton weight, set up a bit off yan anudder aw roond.
I thowt to mesel 'at they mud ha' studden theer
menny a hundred year ; I could just fancy I saw
140 Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes.
them auld hofe neak't savages, girnen, an' liften, an'
setten them up, an' some auld grey-beardit Druid
stannen ower them wi' a yak-bob in his hand, tellen
them hoo to put them.
When I'd seen what I could I gat ower on to t'
rwoad agean, an' went on a bit farder, an' than turn't
up St. John's vale. I went on a bit, an' than through
some fields, an' up by a beck ; an' just efter I gat
to t' beck I saw fower fellows fishen aw i' ya dub,
two iv ayder side. I axt yan o' them what they war
fishen for, an' he sed, " Salmon." I axt him than
if theer was some i' that dub, as they war aw fishen
in't. He sed, "Aye, isn't the'r !" "What," says I,
" hes some o' ye seen some ? " He sed, " No, nut
to-day ; bit theer was yan gitten oot o' theer last
week." I went on than. I thowt that was warse
ner owt I hard i' Borrowdale aw them fower fellows
to be floggen theer for t' fish 'at was gitten a week
afwore ! I went on up t' deall, clwose by a girt
cragg 'at they telt me was Cassel rock, an' was
seun into t' Ammelsed rwoad. I caw't at a public
hoose an' inquir't which was t' best way on to Hel-
Tommy Dobsoris Toor to /' Lakes. \ 4 1
vellyn. They telt me I cuddent deu better ner start
climmen fra theer ; bit they thowt it wad be varra
misty at t' top. I sed I wad run t' chance on't, as
I thowt it wad mebby clear up. Seeah, I set off
reet away up t' fell. I fann it a gay bit branter an'
rougher ner Skiddaw, bit I teuk plenty o' time. I
oft stop't an' leuk't aboot me till I gat away up, an'
could see partly ower o' t' tudder side, whoar I was
lucky eneuf to leet iv a guide 'at belang't to Gursmer.
We hed to cross ower a narrow ledge to t' reet hand,
an' just as we war gaan up theer we met a man 'at
sed he'd been lost on t' top for an' 'oor or two, an'
'at t' mist was that thick he could cut it wi' his knife.
Just as we gat to t' top, awivver, it clear't away, an'
a terrible fine view we hed. T' guide telt me t'
neams iv a deal o' spots I cudden't ha' fund oot
mesel. Barn ! yan mud see ya fell peepen ower
anudder for miles an' miles. We could see eight
or nine lakes, an' I dunnet know hoo menny tarns ;
an' we could see t' sea an' ships sailen on't, doon
aboot Moorcom'. It's varra bare an' ste&ny on t'
top ; theer varra nar nowt growes theer ; bit I saw
142 Tommy Dobsoris Toor to t' Lakes.
some o' thur laal Herdwick sheep picken away
amang t' craggs, whoar yan mud think 'at ther
wassent gurse kind to git They're as wild as
thunner : if a body happens to git nar yan o' them
on a sudden, it gis a laal bit whissel, an's away
ower a hill neuk, ameast afwore yan can say "What's
that?"
Efter we'd leuk't aboot us a bit, we set off towarts
Gursmer, an' hed a gay lang travel on t' top afwore
we gat to gaan doon t' breest into t' valley. It's a
varra bonnie deall is Gursmer, wi' a nice laal lake
i' tea end ; an' it's a terrible pleace for gentlemen's
hooses. They're sticken iv aw corners. I think t'
gentry ur like rooks ; a gay lock o' them like to build
nut far off yan an udder. T' guide telt me Dick
Hudson's was t' likeliest pleace for me to stop at, an'
he shew't me whoar aboots it was, an' then I gev him
hofe a croon for aw t' fash he'd hed wi' me. Efter I'd
partit wid him; I met two drucken fellows cummen
on t' rwoad, 'at hed fawn oot ; an' I hard tean say
to t' tudder, "Thou'd better mind what thou's deun,
or else I'll flounder the', thou girt thickheadd thou."
Tommy Dob sons Toor to Lakes. 1 43
What, I stopt aw neet at Dick's, as t' guide caw't
him, an' t' next mwornin they axt me if I'd been
to t' Kurkgarth to see Wordsworth's greavv, bit I
telt them I duddent know 'at he was bury't theer
Wy bit, they sed, he was, an' iwery body went to
see it ; an' seeah I fand be t' heidsteans 'at Words-
worth, an' Hartley Coleridge, an' some o' Words-
worth's family war bury't theer. It was aw paddle't
aboot till it was just like a turnpike rwoad. I thowt
it was a fair sham, an' I mak neah doot bit theer
menny a duzzen gangs an' helps to treed t' gurse
off 'at niwer i' their lives read a bit o' owt 'at owder
Wordsworth or Coleridge wreatt.
Efter I'd studden a bit I went on t' rwoad towart
Ammelsed, on by t' Prince o' Wales Hotel just at
t' low end o' Gursmer waiter, an' through Rydal,
whoar Wordsworth leev't, an' I was seunn at
Ammelsed. Yan wad hardly know whedder to
caw't a toon or a villidge : it's ower laal for teann,
an' ower big for t' tudder. Theer a canny lock o'
shops an' public hooses in't, an' a gay lock o'
gentlemen's hooses roond aboot t' ootsides on't. I
144 Tommy Dobsoris Toor to Lakes.
leuk't aboot a bit, an" than I went on t' rwoad to
Windermer, an' a varra nice walk it is iv aboot
fower mile. I saw t' Low-wood, an' Booness, an' a
deal mair varra nice pleaces as I went on. Winder-
mer's quite a new pleace : it's aw been built sen
t' railway was meadd, an' theer a deal o' varra
good buildins, an' sum girt uns an' aw. An' than
it's clwose at t' edge o' t' lake, whoar theer two laal
steamers, an' scwores o' bwoats to see, sailen aboot.
Es I'd nivver hed a sail on enny o' t' lakes, I thowt
I wad try to git yan on Windermer ; an' seeah I
went an' axt a man if he knew iv enny body 'at wad
let me hev a sail, an' he sed, aye, he wad. What,
I gat intul his bwoat, an' we sail't away two or three
mile on to t' lake, an' I nivver enjoy't owt sa much
i' me life I think. It was a fine day ; t' watter was
as smooth as glass, an' t' fells, an' t' fields, an' t'
woods aw roond, dud leukk sa bonnie,! When we'd
sail't aboot a bit we com off ageann, an' I paid him
what he charg't, an' than starlit back to Ammelsed.
T' next mwornin I startit off to gang ower Kurkstan
fell to Patterdale. I'd a gay lang climm afwore I
Tommy Dobsoris Toor to ? Lakes. 1 45
gat to t' top, an' when I dud git theer I fand a
public hoose 'at hed t' sign o' t' "Traveller's Rest;"
seeah, I thowt I wad hev a rust at it, an' t' landleady
telt me 'at that was t' "Hee'st hoose in o' England."
I duddent contradict her, bit I'd read some way 'at
t' hee'st hoose in England was on Alston moor.
When I'd gitten a rust I set off agean doon t'
tudder side towart Patterdale, an' I think it's
branter o' that side ner it is o' t' Ammelsed side ;
bit I wassent lang i' gitten doon into Patterdale.
It's whyte a wild fell deall till yan gits a canny bit
doon, an' than it gits to be ameast like Gursmer.
Just at t' hee end o' Ullswater theer a canny lock
o' good hooses, an' two or three hotels. They caw
aw t' public hooses hotels up amang t' fells. I
suppwose it's for t' seake o' gitten thur toorists to
ga to them ; an' I dar say theer some o' them 'ill
stop at a middlin' leuken hoose when it's caw't a
hotel, 'at waddent hev't sed 'at they stopt at a
public hoose. I fand I could gang doon t' waiter
i' t' steamer fra Patterdale to Poola Brigg, an' than
I waddent be far fra Peerath.
11
146 Tommy Dobsoris Toor to t' Lakes.
I thowt, as I wassent gan to walk, I mud as weel
gang oot an' leuk aboot me, if theer was owt to see.
What, I went up a rwoad a bit 'at seem't to ga reet
to t' fell. When I'd gitten on a bit I fand it went
to t' Greenside Mine. They telt me 'at they git
leed an' silver oot on't, an' theer three or fower
hundred fwok worken at it. Efter I'd santer't aboot
a bit, I went doon to t' watter side whoar t' steamer
starts fra. I was just i' time, as they war gitten up
t' steam an' makken riddy to start. I teuk me
passige, an' we war off doon t' watter directly. It's
a gay lang lake is Ullswatter nut sa lang as Wind-
ermer bit I think 'at it's as bonnie a sheet o'
watter as enny I saw i' me travels. Aw doon t'
back side, that was at yan's reet hand as yan com
doon, it's a wild felly country as can be; bit t'
tudder side efter yan gits doon a bit, seems mair
cultivatit ; an' theer some varra nice hooses here
an' theer. We war seun doon at Poola Brigg, a
nice villidge just at t' low end o' t' lake. Theer
war two or three busses waiten at t' Ian din to tak
enny passengers 'at wan tit to gang to Peerath. I
Tommy Dobsoris Toor to t' Lakes. 147
gat into yan o' them an' went streight away to t'
Railway Station ; an' teuk t' train to Carel. When
I gat theer I happent to be i' time for anudder 'at
was just gan'to start to Marypwort; seeah I gat a
ticket for as far as I wantit to gang. I gat heame
i' good time, fand them aw i' girt buckle, an' varra
pleas't to see me seafe back agean.
Efter I'd gitten me supper, an' was fairly into my
oan bed, I gat to meusin' an' thinken ower what
I'd seen while I was away. I'd hard a deal aboot
t' fell-heid fwok bein' daft, an' cloonish, an' sec as
that ; bit noo when I'd seen them, I duddent see
'at they war enny way different fra udder fwok.
Enny o' them 'at ivver I saw war just as civil, an'
as sharp ; an' seem't to know as mickle as cuntry
fwok deu doon here. Bit what, theer'ill be odds o'
them, neah doot. Theer'ill be feuls up theer, as
theer ur doon here, an' mebby neah mair o' them
nowder.
T' PLESSER O 1 SEAVIN'.
HAT'S t' use iv aw this screapin', screapin',
Seaven, seaven, aw yan's days ?
T' bit plesser 'at yan hes i' takkin,
Turns to pain when owt yan pays.
What's t' use o' pinchin', pinchin', al'as,
Till yan's feace grows ping't and thin ;
An' nut a laal bit smile can git oot,
Through yan's dry an' wrinkel't skin 1
What's t' use o' aw this toilin', toilin',
Al'as at it, seun an' leate ;
To leave awt' brass for udders' spendin',
When yan's deid an' oot o' geatt.
T* P lesser o Seaviri. 149
I sometimes think I'll alter, alter,
Just to sek a time I'll seaw ;
Bit habit still gits stranger, stranger,
As yan nearer gits to t' greaw.
When yan's seav't amekst a lifetime,
Aw yan's better thowts ur geann ;
Nowt 'ill deu bit gittin', gittin',
T' heart grows hard as enny steann.
They may spend it ; let them spend it,
I'll hod hoald on't till I dee ;
An' may the'r plesser be as much as
Seavin', seavin's been to me.
'50
A LAAL BIT O' MONEY'S A WONDERFUL
THING.
A laal bit o" money's a wonderful thing ;
Lord bless us ! what changes it maks !
Like some famous mixter for cleanen auld cleas,
Oot o' fwok seun aw t' durtspots it taks.
A chap may be cloonish, an' lazy, an' daft,
Knock't aboot like a Setterday whelp ;
Bit let him a legacy git, an' than watch,
Hoo he'll gang up three steps at a skelp.
His cloonishness seun aw gits hap't oot o' sect ;
His laziness fwok seun forgit ;
His stains an' his durtspots ur aw clean wip't oot ;
His daft speeches turn into wit.
A laal bit o Money, 1 5 1
A lass may be thick-leg't, plain leuken, an soor ;
Bad-temper't, a gossip, an' clat ;
Bit if she hesr money, she'll seun hev a chap,
Aye, if she be warse ner aw that.
Her thick legs an' plain leuks 'ill niwer be seen,
Tf money she hods in her hand ;
That turns aw her black spots to ornaments breet,
Like t' touch of a cunjurer's wand.
A chap 'at hes money hes frinds withoot stint,
Like as wasps a sweet pot swarm aboot ;
Bit when t' money's deun hoo they'll vanish away,
Like t' wasps when aw t' honey's gone oot
An' what efter aw is sec shinen stuff worth,
Withoot ye've a spirit to use't ?
Some hurd, hurd it up till they cannot sleep for't,
An' some nobbut hev't to abuse't.
152
LANG YEARS SEN.
Tho' lang, lang years have pass't away,
An' trubles nut a few
Hev turn't my hair to silver gray,
An' wrinkle't thy fair broo :
Still happy memories hing aroond
That weel remember't spot,
Whoar furst we voo't to join oor hands,
An' share teann tudder's lot.
When leuken through them lang dim years,
That niver faden scene
Leuks on life's wilderness, just like
A paster, fresh an' green.
I' aw oor ups an' doons o' life,
Na shade o' dark regret
Hes iwer thrown its shadow ower
That bonny green pleace yet.
Lang Years sen. 153
Aw t' toils an' trouble than unseen,
'At follow't on that voo,
If dark an' threetnen when they com,
Seem bit like shadows noo :
'At nobbut add anudder charm
To that still pleasen' view,
'At rises up like waken dreams,
Wi' plessers iwer new.
That day abeun aw udder days,
When thoo becom me wife,
Hes been a star to guide me through
Aw t' lang cretik't rwoads o' life :
An' oft when I could see afwore
Nowt bit a dark rough track,
I still cud gedder heart ageann,
Wi' just yance leuken back.
An' noo, when we're gaan hand i' hand,
Boon t' tudder side o' life,
It's nut sa much I want beside,
While I've me faithful wife.
154 Lang Years sen.
We cannot tell what's on befwore ;
Bit, than, when we leuk back,
That bonny breet ple&ce rises still
On life's lang winden track.
'55
WHAT TOM BRIGGS SED ABOOT PRIDE.
Tom Briggs an' I war scheulmates yance ;
Bit Tom's been lang away,
An's just cum't doon to see his frinds,
I met him t' tudder day.
He's just t' auld chap for aw the world,
As when he went fra heam ;
A deal wi' stinken pride git spoil't,
Bit Tom bides al'as t' seamm.
Ses I to Tom, " Reet fain I is
This minds yan o' lang sen ;
Theer some sa stuck up when they come,
'At auld frinds they dooent ken.
Hoo is't 'at thoo keeps free fra pride ?
Theer some 'at boonce an' strut ;
It maks me mad as a poo't swine,
When they sec capers cut."
156 Tom Briggs.
Ses Tom, " It's mebby want o' sense,
Or, mappen, want o' thowt ;
Bit dunnet think 'at stinken pride
Is aw fra Lunnen browt :
I've trawel't England through an' through,
Fra teaa end on't to t' tudder ;
An' pride I fand at ivvery pleace,
I' ya shap or anudder.
Fra Iwords an' dukes, to tramps on t' rwoad,
I niver saw yan yet,
'At care't to bide in t' lower room
When he could heigher git :
An' if thoo'll leuk aboot the' here,
Thoo needent leuk sa lang,
To see some fra their brudders turn,
Wi' finer fwok to gang.
Thoo munnet think 'at pride's confin't
To him 'at struts an' brags ;
Theer pride 'at's whisht as enny moose,
An' pride 'at's don't i' rags.
Tom Briggs. 157
Theer some, neah doot, quite prood to think
They're humbler far nor t' rest ;
An' whoar theer hoaf a duzzen rogues,
Yan's prood to think he's t' best.
It's want o' thowt 'at maks us prood ;
If we could nobbut see
Oorsels as udders see us, barn,
Sec things wad nivver be.
Bit while we're watchen udder fwok,
An' hunten for a fawt,
We hev yan riddy catch't at heam,
If we could nobbut know't.
158
T' COUNTRY FOR ME.
They may talk o' the'r wonderful cities,
An' brag o' the'r toons as they will ;
Bit moontans, an' valleys, an 1 rivers,
To me ur mair wonderful still.
They may talk o' the'r railways an' stashons,
An' tell hoo the'r trains swift can glide ;
Bit what's aw the'r speed to yon storm-clood,
'At darts across t' craggy fell side ?
They may talk o' the'r buildin's an' steeples,
An' tell yan they're wondrous to see ;
Bit t' ivy green craggs ur far grander,
Or t' gnarel't auld moss-cuver't tree.
7" Country for me. 159
What is t'er in t' toon to compare wi'
T' green woods when they're brusten i' spring 1
What music o' art can be sweeter
Nor t' burds, when sa blithely they sing ?
They may talk o' the'r picters an' statues,
O' the'r foontans sa fine they may brag ;
Bit what ur they aw to sek foontans,
As spring fra an' dash doon yon crag ?
Just gi 1 me a fishin' rod limber,
An' leisure to wander away,
Where t' waiter winds roond be t' fell boddom,
An' t' craggs wi' auld age ur turn't grey :
An' neah mair plesser I'll wish for,
Nor t' beauties o' nater to see ;
The'r toons, an' the'r railways, an' ingins,
May puff to auld Neddy for me.
i6o
OOR WANTS.
When burds war singen merrily,
An' trees war fresh an' green,
An' daisies peep't fra 'mang t' young gurse,
Wi' bonnie laughen een ;
I sat doon clvvose to t' edge o' t' Beur,
To watch t' breet sparklen stream,
When thowts o' days lang past away,
Com ower me like a dream.
I thowt aboot that happy time,
When i' sweet smilen May,
To poo a bunch o' daisies fresh,
I oft wad steal away :
I thowt thur daisies near me noo,
I' colour, form, an' size,
Just like them daisies, lang, lang sen,'
'At dud i' memory rise.
Oor Wants. 1 6 [
I thowt aboot me scheul-lad days,
When caw't sa seun to rise,
Unwillin' I creapp oot o' bed,
An' rub't me sleepy eyes :
Than wi' me setchel an' me beukk,
Wi' sledderen steps I went
On t' rwoad to t' scheull ; bit nut o' beukks,
Bit laken I was bent.
I thowt aboot them ibnins, teu,
When aw oor tasks war deunn,
Let lowse fra t' scheull sa wild we war,
We meast cud lowp to t' meunn :
We than thowt if t' auld scheull was gone,
We wad hev nowt to fear ;
Sen than, for idleness at scheull,
I've hed to pay reet dear.
I thowt aboot me youthful days,
When scheul-lad days war deun ;
'Twas than I thowt 'at nowt bit joy
Wad be me portion seunn :
' 12
1 62 Oor Wants.
Bit still I fand na happiness,
I wish't to be a man ;
An' than to think o' t' lasses, an'
To cwort them, I began.
I thowt if I a sweetheart hed,
Hoo happy I wad be ;
An' nowt worth leuken at i' t' warld
Bit lasses, I cud see.
Bit when I hed a sweetheart fund,
As dear to me as life,
I thowt I wad be happier still,
If nobbut I'd a wife.
I thowt if I but hed a wife,
I wad want nowt mair than ;
Bit seunn I fand it oot 'at noo
Me wantin' just began.
Me wants afwore hed been bit few,
An' them few war ideal ;
Bit noo they ivvery day grew mair,
An' ivvery day mair real.
Oor Wants. 163
Sen that I've larn't 'at ivvery want
Hes sisters an' hes brudders ;
For when I banish yan away,
Theer seafe to be anudder.
Wi' me it ivver hes been seeah,
An' mebby iwer will ;
For when I git ya want supply't,
I finnd anudder still.
164
THE MOTHER'S APPEAL.
O ! dunnet leave us, Willie, dear,
Bit stay content at heamm ;
What signifies if thoo sud git
A fortune, or a neamm 1
Thoo'd Iwose far mair o' happiness
Nor owt 'at thoo wad gain ;
! Willie, wad t'e nobbut stay,
We wad be glad an' fain.
This raenny a week I've twin't an' fret,
Sen furst thoo sed thoo'd gang ;
It maks yan good for nowt at aw,
'At's nivver varra strang.
Theer menny a neet I gang to bed,
An' niwer sleep a wink ;
1 turn an' cough, an' cough an' turn,
An' than I lig an' think.
The Mothers Appeal. 165
What could t'e deu when far fra heamm,
If thoo sud alien be ;
An' nut a creeter 'at thoo kent,
Nor frind 'at thoo could see 1
O ! Willie, deu consent to bide,
I's seur thoo'll nivver reu ;
Just stay content, for t' seake o' us,
An' Lizzie, teu, sa trew.
What, thoo mud dee, when far away,
Yan knows nowt when nor where ;
Whoar nut a single yan theer is
To drop a tear, nor care.
Oh ! Willie, dear, if gang thoo will,
I'll nivver dow that day ;
I'll twine an' freet fra mworn to neet,
An' seiinn I'll pine away.
An' Lizzie, teu, peer sairy thing,
She's just as bad as me ;
An' fadder, if it's laal he says,
He's mebbie t' warst o' t' three.
i 66 The Mother s Appeal.
Just deft give up them wanderen thowts,
For t' seak o' them an' me ;
Just say them two laal words, " I'll stay,"
An' happy we will be.
i6 7
TOMMY AN' JOE:
A DIALOGUE.
One evening, when wandering along by a wood,
I came to a place where an old pollard stood ;
Its trunk was all matted with ivy still green,
But its centre was hollow, where heart had once been ;
One side was quite open, and serv'd for a door,
So I stepped inside, where I'd ne'er been before ;
Some one had there placed a stone for a seat,
When they'd crept in to shelter, from rain or from
heat:
The place seem'd so snug and inviting to me,
That I sat down to rest in this old hollow tree ;
Just over the hedge, close to where I sat down,
Was the highway that led to the next market town :
I had scarcely sat down when there driving up came
A neighbouring farmer, Joe Grasper by name,
1 68 Tommy and Joe.
Who had been to the market his produce to sell ,
And the bargains he'd made, they had pleased him
well;
You might see by his phisog, oft gloomy and dark,
But now it seem'd cheerful and blythe as the lark.
While to his old dame he did cheerily chat,
As, pleas'd with the change, quite delighted she sat ;
Just then Tommy Trueman came sauntering along,
His hands in his pockets, and humming a song ;
Though his looks were but poor, and his dress coarse
and mean,
In his features blunt honesty plainly was seen :
The two neighbours met when just opposite me,
Where I sat snugly hid in my old hollow tree.
I knew that the news would be fresh from the town,
So my pencil I took, and their dialogue wrote down.
TOMMY.
Wy, Joe, thoo's been to t' market, than ;
What news fra t' toon to-day ?
I sud ha' geann to t' market, teu,
Bit stay'd to help wi' t' hay.
Tommy and Joe. 1 69
It shin't bot breet at mwornin,
An' we brack't aw oot o' cock,
Bit seunn it com on rain ageann,
We duddent git a lock.
JOE.
I thowt at mwornin' it wad rain,
I telt oor fwok it wad ;
It shin't oot far ower breet be hofe,
It dry't a bit like mad.
I telt them nut to brek ower much,
But see hoo t' day turn't oot ;
I' brokken wedder sec as th*is,
It's best when yan's aboot.
TOMMY.
Aye, wy, it mebby is, but still
Yan mun gang, noo an' than ;
An' t' wife an' barns, when yan's away,
'111 deu t' best 'at they can.
1 70 Tommy and Joe.
Bit, what sec markets hes t'er been
For butter, eggs, an' cworn 1
I think 'at breid 'ill nut faw much,
Till t' new crop's gitten shworn.
JOE.
Wy, meast o' things aboot sek like ; '
I hed some taties theer,
I selt them aw terectly, teu,
I thowt nut ower dear.
I selt them aw at fow'teen pence,
An' some fwok grummel't sair ; .
Bit they war heamm taties, thoo knows,
They're worth a gay bit mair.
TOMMY.
They mebby ur, but still they're dear,
For them 'at hes to buy ;
Yan cannot wonder if they deii,
To git them cheaper try.
Tommy and Joe. 171
A steann o' taties issent much,
Crack o' them as thoo will ;
An' if they be heamm taties,
They're nobbut taties still.
JOE.
I wassent cracken o' them, Tom,
Thoo knows I niwer deu ;
An' yet me things ur aw as good
As enny body's, teu.
An' mebby better nor a deal
An' who can bleamm me than,
If oft I deu git rayder mair
Nor udder farmers can ?
TOMMY.
I think it's best to tak what's fair,
An' nut be ower hard ;
A clever chap may be teann in,
When rayder off his guard.
172 Tommy and Joe.
An' if yan be teann in yan's sel,
Yan dussent like't ower weel ;
I think it's t' best to deal yan's sel
As yan wad hev fwok deal.
JOE.
What does t'e mean be takkin in 1
Thoo dussent mean to say
'At ivver I dud owt et mak ?
Nay, niwer i' me days.
For gitten aw yan nicely can,
I think yan's nut to bleamm ;
An' them 'at cannot bargins mak,
They'd better stay at heamm.
TOMMY.
Bit if thoo knows what a thing's worth,
An' axes a bit mair,
An' cracks it off to git that price,
I think it's hardly fair.
Tommy and Joe. 1 73
An' than it mebby hes some fawt ;
O' that thoo'll nut let wi't ;
Noo, that, I think, is just as bad
As leein', ivvery bit.
JOE.
Hoo can yan lee, an' nivver speak ?
Thoo talks just like a feul ;
I nivver larn't sec stuff as that,
Aw t' time I went to t' scheull.
To lee's to say what issent trew,
Me mudder still telt me ;
An' if yan niwer speaks at aw,
Hoo can yan tell a lee ?
TOMMY.
A man may act a lee as weel
As tell yan wi' his mooth ;
It's just as bad as leein', if
He keeps back part o' t' treuth.
1 74 Tommy and Joe.
If just a bit o' t' treuth he tells,
An' fwok think he's telt aw,
Is that nut ivvery bit as bad,
I just wad like to know ?
JOE.
Does thoo think I wad be sa daft
As tell fwok aw I knew?
I dunnet think it's t' wisest plan
To say still just what's trew :
A lee or two i' t' way o' trade
'111 nut deu mickle ill,
An' than, yan dussent tie fwok to
Believ't, withoot they will.
TOMMY.
Thoo all'as aims fwok to believ't,
Or else what good can't deu 1
Thoo's caw't a leear for thee pains,
An' thoo's reet sarret, teu.
Tommy and Joe. \ 75
Bit if thoo tells a lee or two,
An' fwok, thee lees believen',
Gi' mair nor what thee things ur worth,
It's nar as bad as thieven'.
JOE.
I cannot see, a bit o' fawt,
I' gittin' aw yan can ;
Me mudder alPas use to say
'At they mud laugh 'at wan.
I all'as hed an honest neamm,
An' all'as paid me way ;
An' him 'at does that needn't care
What enny man may say.
TOMMY.
It's fine to talk iv honesty,
Bit nut sa good to know ;
If aw war bworn an' try't alike,
Who'd stand, an' who wad faw 1 ?
1 76 Tommy and Joe.
A chap like thee, 'at nivver knew
What 'twas to want five pund,
An' ivver sen thoo wantit owt,
Hed what thoo wantit fund.
It's neah greit preuf o' honesty,
For thee to pay thee way ;
Thoo dussent pay a penny mair
Nor what thoo's fworc't to pay ;
Theer menny a fellow cannot pay,
'At gladly wad pay, teu ;
Bit if he hessent brass eneufif,
What can a fellow deu ?
JOE.
He suddent git things, when he knows
He hessent brass to pay ;
He issent honest if he does,
That's aw 'at yan can say.
I think 'at fwok sud ha' their awn,
It's nobbut just an' reet ;
An' poor fwok gitten into debt,
I cannot bide to see 't.
Tommy and Joe. 177
TOMMY.
I'll awn it's t' warst iv owt 'at conies
To any labouren' man ;
Bit sometimes it may happen, teu,
When he does t' best he can ;
For want o' health or wark 'ill mak
Want in his feace to glower,
When ivvery penny he could mak
Was laal enebf befwore.
It's hard for wife an' barns to starve,
When bread an' money's deun ;
He knows 'at he can credit hev,
An' thinks he'll git wark seftn.
Bit pay-day comes afwore he thinks,
An' mebby part he'll pay ;
Bit when he's gitten into debt,
He's hamper't menny a day :
It's than it tries his honesty,
When dun't an' cannot pay ;
An' threeten't oft, an' blackguardit,
An' bully't ivvery way.
13
1 78 Tommy and Joe.
If he can stick to t' thing 'at's reel,
An' tell t' treuth all'as than,
Van may wi' reason set it doon,
'At he's an honest man.
it's nut for sek as thee to brag,
'At thoo can pay thee way,
An' 'at thoo's honest, an' sek stuff,
As I've just hard the' say.
If thoo was drowen tull a strait,
I waddent think 'at thoo
Wad stick at trifles, when thoo awns
Thoo'll lee for profit noo.
JOE.
Come 'op ! Sally, we mun gang,
We're gaan to talk aw neet ;
We sud ha' been at heamm to milk
At six o'clock, wi' reet.
Bit iwery body 'at yan met
Persuadit yan to stop ;
Bit noo we mun gang, seah, " Good neet : "
Auld meer, I say, come 'op !
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
THE MEDICAL STUDENTS.
JIWO medical students, on science intent,
Onenighttoachurchyard clandestinely went;
To steal a dead body to anatomize,
And quickly had dug up and seized their prize.
But the great difficulty was still in the way,
How the corpse unobserv'd to the town to convey ;
But, both being clever, this plan they contriv'd,
To dress up the body just as if alive :
Which, having performed quite well, as they thought,
To the church gates their covered vehicle brought ;
And hoisted it in, and then whispering "All right,"
They jump'd up and drove at full speed through the
night.
Thus they travelled ten miles, till they came to an inn,
Where the people sold grog, whiskey-toddy, and gin ;
And thinking the worst of their journey was o'er,
They drew up their now jaded horse at the door.
1 80 The Medical Students.
And, leaving their subject all snugly propp'd up,
They enter' d the tavern to smoke and to sup ;
The ostler was order'd the horse to attend,
And, thinking the man in the car was their friend,
He thought he might venture to be just so bold,
As civilly ask him if he were not cold :
But the mysterious personage silence did keep,
So the ostler thought he was drunk or asleep.
But wishing to get at the truth if he could,
He climb'dup,and soonfound out howmatters stood.
Now, being a wag, for a moment he thought,
And then the dead body he quietly brought,
And cover'd it up in the stable unseen,
Then went and sat down where the body had been.
He had not thus long in the car to remain,
Till the young doctors mounted and drove off again;
Refresh'd by the rest, and the whiskey they'd quaff'd,
Their hearts were now light, and they joked and
laugh'd.
At length, just to feel if the corpse was all right,
One stretch'd out his hand, but drew back with
affright :
The Medical Students. 1 8 1
" It is warm ! " he exclaimed, not suspecting the trick;
"So would you," said the wag, "if you'd come from
old Nick !"
Confounded with terror, they jump'd down apace,
And ran 'cross the fields as if running a race ;
And they never came back ; so the ostler, of course,
Had gain'd by his trick, both a car and a horse !
182
LINES WRITTEN AT "DRUID STONES,"
NEAR KESWICK.
Sometimes when the mind wanders back in its
musings,
And looks through time's vista to ages gone by ;
When left in the gloom of uncertain tradition,
From the pages of fancy the blank we supply :
We in fancy can picture the rude ancient Britons,
On their small sea-girt island, unknowing, unknown ;
Undiscover'd by Romans or hardy sea-rovers,
Their world was contained in Britain alone.
How simple their wants we may learn from the
climate,
The fruits of the island insipid and few;
The land with black morasses cover'd, an' forests
Where the birch, and the oak, and the alder tree
grew.
L ines written at " Druid Stones. " 183
There the fierce wolf would prowl, and contend for
the mastery
With man, who, half-naked, and arm'd with his
spear,
Would stealthily steal down among the rank brush-
wood,
To watch for the wild boar, the hare, or the deer.
How rude were their dwellings : the hut, or the
cavern
Would serve them for shelter when tempests howl'd
round ;
Their seats would be stones, with the green moss
for cushions,
Their beds a few branches spread over the ground.
We can fancy the Druids with dark superstition,
And mystery awful enchaining the mind ;
For ages no ray of enlightened knowledge,
Its way to this dark gloomy region could find.
Yet o'er all this dark prospect the fair face of nature
Was smiling as lovely, and blooming as fair
As now, when 'tis Britain the seat of refinement,
With cities and palaces everywhere.
184 Lines written at "Druid Stones"
Even then the grey skylark would soar towards
heaven,
And sing the same song it is singing to-day ;
Not a trill has been lost, not a note has been added,
Since it sang to the Druids its sweet morning lay.
Then, as now, would the swallow migrate in the
autumn,
And return with the cuckoo when winter was o'er;
In summer the plover would dwell in the mountains,
And in winter return with its brood to the shore.
We can see some old priest in this temple of
boulders,
It's floor the green turf, and its roof the blue sky,
Performing some strange act of mystical mummery,
While his rude congregation stands silently by ;
The skylark is carolling sweetly above them,
And soaring up higher till lost to the sight ;
The thrush on the hawthorn so sweetly is singing,
While the hawthorn itself is all blossom'd with
white.
How constant is nature ! for successive ages,
The beautiful process is ever the same ;
Lines written at "Druid Stones." 185
Self-renewing, self-acting, and self-recreating,
It was perfect when first from its Maker it came.
That Almighty being, the Father of nature,
Left nothing to alter, and nothing to mend ;
With wisdom omniscient, He from the beginning
Could see through all time, even unto the end.
i86
BLENCATHRA.*
I stood on the summit of lofty Blencathra,
And gazed with rapture on mountain and vale ;
As far as the eye could reach endless variety
Of hills intermixed with streamlet and dale 1
From the brink where I stood on the south of the
mountain,
The grey rocks fall sheer down and steep as a
wall ;
While far down below in the dark humid caverns
The mountain born waters o'er rocky beds roll.
At the foot of the mountain, the hamlet of Threlkeld
Is nestling beneath it, its shelter to crave ;
With its houses all white, as the snows of December,
* Blencathra, the ancient name for the mountain, now more
generally known by the name of Saddleback.
Blencathra. 187
Which its bold hardy shepherds oft fearlessly
brave.
Beyond is the verdant Saint John's in the valley,
Spread out like a picture of beautiful sheen,
With its clear winding Beur, like a long thread of
silver,
And its meadows and pastures all brightest of
green.
Still more to the south, lies the clear lake of
Thirlmere,
Like a sheet of pure crystal with emerald fram'd
round ;
And beyond, in the distance, the valley of Wythburn,
Where the fabled Dunmail-raise the vision does
bound ;
From the margin of Thirlmere, the mighty Helvellyn
Towers up steep and rugged, till capped with
cloud ;
It frowns high above all the neighbouring mountains,
Like a giant who stands in the midst of a crowd.
To the east, where the prospect more uninterrupted )
Over fields cultivated, the eye stretches far
1 88 Blencathra.
Till it rests on the distant and dark line of Crossfell,
Where helm winds and tempests incessantly war.
To the north, I could see through a gorge in the
mountain
A rich fertile country slope gently away,
To the flat of Burgh-marsh, on the shore of the
Solway,
Where the first Edward died, when his army there
lay.
'Cross the Solway, distinctly I saw the white home-
steads
Of Scotland, the land of the free and the brave ;
Where the dear names of Wallace and Bruce are
held sacred,
Who bled their lov'd country from thraldom to
save.
Turning more to the left, there the prospect is
bounded
By Skiddaw, whose summit seems rocky and
bare ;
Between is a long reach of heath-cover'd mountain,
The home of the plover, the grouse, and the hare.
Blencathra. 1 89
Still more to the west is the sweet vale of Derwent,
The loveliest far of those beautiful scenes ;
With its lake like a mirror reflecting the sunbeams,
And border'd with woods, meads, and pastures all
green.
Beyond is the picturesque valley of Borrowdale,
Hemm'd in by steep mountains, which, starting
from Grange,
Stretch for miles 'cross the country, still mountain
o'er mountain,
The stupendous Scawfell o'ertopping the range.
Having view'd all the scenes in the vast panorama,
Reluctant and slow I began my descent
To the east, and then turn'd to the right down a
hollow ;
Where the damp rocks were shatter' d, and broken,
and rent.
From the fissures and cracks, in the dark colour'd
clay-slate,
The pure waters issue in bubbling springs ;
Which, collecting their forces, then form a small
streamlet,
1 90 Blcncathra.
That falls down the rocks as it murmuring sings ,
Its course is but short till it reaches a bason,
Surrounded by rocks, sloping, rugged, and steep,
Where its waters dam'd up form the small tarn of
Bowscale,
Whose transparent waters are placid and deep.
Tradition asserts that two immortal fishes
Have dwelt in this tarn since that far distant day,
When its waters were first in this bason collected,
And the mists on- the top of Blencathra first lay.
Oh ! 'tis healthful to climb to the mountain's high
summit,
And gaze on the grandeur of objects around,
Or to range through its lonely and curious recesses,
Where nature unalter'd by art is still found.
THE CHANGES OF LIFE.
Two young and guileless happy hearts,
Go on their separate ways ;
As buoyant as the feathery foam,
Which on the ocean plays.
To them all nature wears a smile,
Their thoughts are pure and bright :
By day their load is light as air,
And sound their sleep at night.
While gliding on their lightsome ways,
These two together meet ;
A new sensation springs to life,
A feeling, O ! how sweet
1 92 The Changes of Life.
This feeling though unfelt before,
Is now the polar star ;
The magnet that will draw these hearts
Together from afar.
The dreamy days of courtship now,
Their every thought engage ;
Of all the ups and downs of life,
This is the brightest stage.
The joys of life, without its cares,
The lovers now enjoy ;
Without a thought, without a fear,
Its pleasure to destroy.
But soon this life of dreams is o'er,
And they are man and wife ;
They've sworn to cherish and to love
Each other, through this life.
The Changes of Life. 193
This pledge to comfort and to help,
For better and for worse ;
If kept, is life's most precious boon ;
If broke, its bitterest curse.
But life in earnest now begins,
The past has been a dream ;
While future days, perhaps to them,
As bright and lovely seem.
They enter on their new abode,
No thoughts of sorrow near ;
They dream not of the many cares,
Which soon will gather here.
Alas ! how little do they see
The rough and stony road ;
How little burdens one by one,
Will add unto their load.
14
194 The Changes of Life.
A few short years, the changing wheel,
Again is turned round ;
Where then two, only two, were left,
Is now a family found.
The little blessings, one by one.
Have gather'd round the hearth ;
And now the cheerful home resounds
With childhood's joyous mirth.
Perhaps some friend or parent dear
Is added to the ring,
And though they're ever welcome, yet
Some added care they bring.
Home is the blest abode of peace,
And if conducted right,
The pleasures will out-weigh the cares,
And make the burden light.
The Changes of Life. 195
No happier scene on earth is found,
If through the world we roam,
Than sweet domestic happiness,
In home, sweet, happy home.
But years again have roll'd around,
Again we view the scene ;
But oh ! how altered is the place,
What changes here have been.
The sons and daughters, one by one,
Have left the parent hearth ;
Some laid within the silent tomb,
Some scatter' d o'er the earth.
Two, only two, are at the board ;
Oh ! can it be the same
The same two light and merry hearts,
Which first together came ?
196 The Changes of Life.
The fading autumn of their lives,
How different from the spring ;
What different thoughts, and joys, and hopes,
And feelings it does bring !
They then look'd forward high with hope,
Nor thought that they could mourn ;
They now look back to j<3ys long past,
And never to return.
The quiet evening of their lives,
Is now before them spread ;
Their chastened spirits now are calm,
Their thoughts are upwards led.
They've tasted all the joys of life,
And many of its pains ;
They now look forward to the place
Where joy unmixed reigns, j
The Changes of Life. 197
A few short years, once more we come,
To view the changing scene ;
The place is there, but they are now
As if they had not been.
198
CHILDHOOD AND AGE.
i
When lightsome childhood bounds along,
With loud and merry laugh ;
How different 'tis from age bent down,
And leaning on a staff.
How different are the scatter'd locks,
When silvery white with years ;
From the luxuriant glossy curls,
Which happy childhood wears.
How different too the dimpled cheeks,
And brow so smooth and fair ;
From age's sunken cheeks and brow,
Furrow'd by years and care.
Childhood and Age. 1 99
And yet that feeble tottering frame,
And deeply wrinkled brow ;
Were once as lithesome and as fair,
As this sweet child's are now.
A few short years have made the change,
A change that comes to all ;
The child is raised from the dust,
Age into dust shall fall.
The child grows up with beauteous bloom,
Like a sweet flower in spring ;
And age sinks down, like that same flower,
A dry and shrivelled thing.
GEORGE COWARD, PRINTER, CARLISLE.
SECOND EDITION REVISED.
In Three Series. Price Ss. 6d. each, in Cloth binding.
THE SONGS & BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND
AND THE LAKE COUNTRY; with Biographical
Sketches, Notes, and Glossary. Illustrated with
Portraits of Miss BLAMIRE and ROBERT ANDERSON.
Edited by SIDNEY GILPIN.
FIRST SERIES contains Ancient Ballads Cumberland Border
Ballads Miss Blamire and Mis* Gilpin's Songs Miscellaneous.
SECOND SERIES contains Songs and Ballads by Mark Lons-
dale John Stagg Robert Anderson John Rayson William
Wordsworth Miscellaneous.
THIRD SERIES contains Songs and Ballads by John Wood-
cock Graves John James Lonsdale Alexander Craig Gibson
John Pagen White John Stanyan Bigg James Pritchett
Bigg John Richardson Peter Burn William Dickinson
George Dudson Miscellaneous.
One of the most interesting collections of poetry which hare
been lately published. Westminster Review.
We cannot recollect a better collection.- The Reader.
These Cumberland lyrics till now scattered are on the
whole well worth the pains spent on their collection. The
Athenaeum.
It is seldom a book compiled on the local principle contains
so much good matter as this collection. The Scotsman.
There is much true and tender poetry in the book, and much
rough, natural vigour. Morning Star.
Cumberland has found in Mr. Sidney Gilpin an able and
zealous champion ; and the present collection of her Songs and
Ballads will decidedly extend her poetic fame, and no doubt
surprise many even among the students of this peculiar lore.
Church and State Review.
CARLISLE : 0. AND T. COWARD. LONDON : J. RUSSELL SMITH.
Second Edition. In Cloth binding, Price 3s. 6d.
THE FOLK-SPEECH OF CUMBERLAND
and some Districts Adjacent; being short Stories and
Rhymes in the Dialects of the West Border Counties.
By ALEX. CRAIG GIBSON, F.S.A.
The tales are remarkable for their spirit and humour. The
poetry, too, is marked by the same characteristics. West-
minster Review.
The stories and rhymes have the freshness of nature about
them. Contemporary Review.
Brimful of humour, homely wit and sense, and reflect the
character and life and ways of thought of an honest sturdy
people. Spectator.
The stories, or prose pieces, are wonderfully clever and well
done. Saturday Review.
Small Crown 8vo. In neat Cloth binding, Price 3s.6d.
"CUMMERLAND TALK;" being Short Tales
and Rhymes in the Dialect of that County. By JOHN
RICHARDSON, of Saint John's.
A very good specimen of its class. The ordinary subscriber
to Mudie's would not for a moment dream of ever looking
into it, and yet Mr. Richardson possesses far more ability
than the generality of novelists who are so popular. West-
in 'ni.4fr Review.
Good and pleasant. Saturday Review.
There are both pathos and humour in the various stories
and ballads furnished by Mr. Richardson. We congratulate
Cumberland on having so many able champions and admirer.-;
of her dialect. Athenceum.
CARLISLE: o. ANDT. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
Just Published, Price 3s. 6d. Small Crown Svo. In extra
Cloth binding.
PROGRESS, AND OTHER POEMS; the latter
including Poems on the Social Affections ; and Poems on
Life and Labour. By M. S., Author of "An Essay on
Shakspeare," "Old Castles," &c.
" I chant my rugged English ruggedly."
EBENEZER ELLIOT.
Price 3s. 6d. in Cloth ; or 5s. in Extra Gilt Binding.
POEMS. BY PETER BURN.
A NEW AND COMPLETE EDITION.
If Mr. Burn's genius does not soar very high, she leads us
into many a charming scene in country aud town, and imparts
moral truths and homely lessons. In many points our author
resembles Cowper, notably in his humour and practical aim.
One end of poetry is to give pleasure, and wherever these
poems find their way they will both teach and delight.
Literary World.
CARLISLE : G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON : J. RUSSELL SMITH.
P. Cap 8vo. Price Ss.6d., in neat Cloth bi/,
MISS BLAMIRE'S SONGS AND POEMS;
together with Songs by her friend Miss GILPIN of
Scaleby Castle. With Portrait of Miss Blamire.
She was an anomaly in literature. She had far too modest an
opinion of herself ; an extreme seldom run into, and sometimes,
as in this case, attended like other extremes with disadvan-
tages. We are inclined, however, to think that if we have
lost a great deal by her ultra-modesty, we have gained some-
thing. Without it, it is questionable whether she would have
abandoned herself so entirely to her inclination, and left us
those exquisite lyrics which derive their charms from the
simple, undisguised thoughts which they contain. The char-
acteristic of her poetry is its simplicity. It is the simplicity
of genuine pathos. It enters into all her compositions, and is
perhaps pre-eminent in her Scottish songs.
Carlisle Journal, 1842.
In her songs, whether in pure English, or in the Cumbrian
or Scottish dialect, she is animated, simple, and tender, often
touching a chord which thrills a sympathetic string deep in
the reader's bosom. It may, indeed, be confidently predicted
of several of these lyrics, that they will live with the best
productions of their age, and longer than many that were at
nrst allowed to rank more highly. Chambers' Journal,
F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s., in neat Cloth binding.
ROBERT ANDERSON'S CUMBERLAND
BALLADS.
As a pourtrayer of rustic manners as a relator of homely
incident as a hander down of ancient customs, and of ways
of life fast wearing or worn out as an exponent of the
feelings, tastes, habits, and language of the most interesting
class in a most interesting district, and in some other respects,
we hold Anderson to be unequalled, not in Cumberland only,
but in England. As a description of a long, rapid, and varied
succession of scenes every one a photograph occurring at a
gathering of country people intent upon enjoying themselves
in their own uncouth roystering fashion, given in rattling,
jingling, regularly irregular rhymes, with a chorus that is of
itself a concentration of uproarious fun and revelry, we have
never read or heard anything like Anderson's "Worton
Wedding." Wldteliaven Herald.
CARLISLE : GEO. COWARD. LONDON : J. RUSSELL SMITH.
F. Cap 8vo. Cloth, Price 2s. fd.
SONGS AND BALLADS
BY JOHN JAMES LONSDALE,
Author of "The Ship Boy's Letter," "Robin's Return," &c.
WITH A BRIEF MEMOIR.
From the A THEN MUM.
Mr. Lonsdale's songs have not only great merit, but they
display the very variety of which he himself was sceptical.
His first lay, " Minna," might lay claim even to imagination ;
nevertheless, for completeness and delicacy of execution, we
prefer some of his shorter pieces. Of most of these it may be
said that they are the dramatic expressions of emotional ideas.
In many cases, however, these songs have the robust interest
of story, or that of character and picture. When it is borne
in mind that by far the greater portion of these lays were
written for music, no small praise must be awarded to the
poet, not only for the suitability of his themes to his purpose,
but for the picturesqueness and fancy with which he has
invested them under difficult conditions.
Small Crown 8vo. Cloth, Price 3s. 6d.
A GLOSSARY OF THE WORDS AND PHRASES
OF FURNESS (North Lancashire), with Illustrative
Quotations, principally from the Old Northern Writers.
By J. P. MORRIS, F.A.S.L.
We are thoroughly pleased with the creditable way in which
Mr. Morris has performed his task. We had marked a number
of words, the explanation of which struck us as being good
and to the point, but space unfortunately fails us. We com-
mend the Furness Glossary to all students of our dialects.
Westminster Review.
The collection of words is remarkably good, and Mr. Morris
has most wisely and at considerable pains and trouble illustrated
them with extracts from old writers. The Reliquary Quarterly
Review.
CARLISLE : G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON : J. RUSSELL SMITH.
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FORNESS FOLK, THE'K SAVIN'S AN' DEWIN'S ;
or Sketches of Life and Character in Lonsdale North of
the Sands. BY ROGER PIKETAH.
We have been greatly entertained by these stories, which
reveal to us traits of a humoursome, shrewd, sturdy race, of
whom from their geographical isolation, very little has been
communicated to us by the compilers of guide books or by
local sketchers. Carlisle Patriot.
We can honestly say the tales are not spoiled in serving
up. They come upon the reader with almost the full force of
viva voce recital, and prove conclusively that Roger Piketah
is a thorough master of the "mak o' toak" which he has so
cleverly manipulated. Whitehaven News.
Whoever Roger Piketah may be, he has succeeded in
producing a good reflex of some of our Furness traditions,
idioms, and opinions ; and we venture to predict it will be a
favorite at penny readings and other places. Ulverston
Advertiser.
CARLISLE' : G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON : j. RUSSELL SMITH.
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NIGHT AND THE SOUL. A Dramatic Poem.
By JOHN STANYAN BIGG.
The author of " Night and the Soul " is a genuine poet. He
has original genius prolific fancy the resources, too, of an
ample scholarship an unbounded command of poetic language
and, above all, a deeply human, reverent, and pious spirit
breathing in his soul. On the future career of such an one,
there can rest no shadows of uncertainty. A little pruning, a
little more pains in elaborating, and the selection of an
interesting story for his future poems, are all he requires to
rank, by and by, with our foremost living poets. Gilfillaris
Gallery of Literary Portraits.
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OLD CASTLES : Including Sketches of CARLISLE,
CORBY, and LINSTOCK CASTLES ; with a Poem on
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THREE FURNESS DIALECT TALES. Price
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THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND
With Music by WILLIAM METCALFE.
1. D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL? Words by John Woodcock
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2. LAL DINAH GRAYSON ("M'appen I may"). Words
by Alex. Craig Gibson. Price 4s.
3. REED ROBIN. Words by Robert Anderson. Price 2s. 6d.
4. "WELCOME INTO CUMBERLAND." Words by the
Rev. T. Ellwood. Price 3s.
5. THE WAEFU' HEART. Words by Miss Blamire.
Price 2s. 6d.
WELCOME INTO CUMBERLAND QUADRILLE.
Coloured Frontispiece. Price 4s.
THE JOHN PEEL MARCH. Coloured Frontispiece.
Price 4s.
THE JOHN PEEL MARCH, as a Duet. Price 4s.
The above at Half-Price.
CARLISLE : G. AND T. COWARD.