The works of John Trafford Clegg ("Th' Owd Weighver") : stories, sketches, and rhymes, chiefly in the Rochdale dialect

II ,; :,.;••-.-

THE WORKS

OF

JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG

THE WORKS

OF

JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG

["TH1 OWD WEIGHVER."]

STORIES, SKETCHES, AND RHYMES

IN THE

ROCHDALE DIALECT.

" He had the dialect, and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will."

A Lover's Complaint.

11 o d) bale :

PRINTED BY JAMES CLEGG, "THE ALDINE PRESS."

1895.

445-3

PREFACE.

\ A 7ITH few exceptions the pieces contained in
this volume were first published in the
Rochdale Observer, appearing in weekly instalments
spread over the space of three years. It was
necessary in this mode of publication that each
section presented should have a degree of com-
pleteness and independent interest of its own, and
this fact determined the general length and plan of
the compositions.

The dialect is closely reproduced from that
spoken in the Roch basin and on the inner slopes
of the hills which enclose it. Concise and forcible,
this tongue speaks of a race who had little time to
waste in idle chatter, whose deep emotions de-
manded strong forms of utterance ; and it connects
us by an unbroken chain with a period long pre-
ceding the Norman invasion. It lacks delicacy,
laughs at refinements, and does not reach the
highest standards of moral or mental elevation, for
which reason it is ill adapted to express minute
shades of character or feeling ; but snobbery and
humbug wither under its vigorous downright
phrases, and we plainly discern in it the shrewd-
ness, humour, thriftiness, honesty, and truth of the
people who have made it their own.

VI. PREFACE.

This dialect is rapidly dying. In the last twenty
years its very roots have been cut away. Soon mere
scraps and relics of it will remain — fossils on a beach,
broken melodies of old times heard in a dream.
But such of us as were taught to think and speak in
this unaffected and virile tongue cannot wholly for-
get its music while we live. If we use its terms no
longer they are woven into the texture of our hearts,
preserving for us thoughts of youth, and love, and
hope ; of happy years, and maybe years of sorrow
too we would not lightly forget ; of dear ones
dead and dear ones living ; of kinsfolk, friends,
and every tie that binds us to the irrecoverable past.
The dialect may die, but it cannot die for us until
we ourselves are dead. Love it with natural love,
hate it with aesthetic hatred, as we may severally
choose, we shall still alike be unable to escape from
its subtle influences. Our first learning will abide
with us to the last, and on the grave's brink we
shall hear yet sounding the tones that have echoed
through our native valley for a thousand years.

J. T. C.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

PREFACE v.

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR ...... xi.

HEART-STHRENGS, A TALE o' YELLEY CLOUGH . . i

HARVEST HYMN 9

A MOWER'S SONG n

AS FAR AS ASHOTH 24

LABOUR . . 28

TRUISMS . , ; 29

FORTY YEAR 30

Mi DAUGHTER 32

SALLY BRELLA 55

BOWD SLASHER 76

T'OTHER SIDE Rio. I. Levin Worn .... 84
„ ,, II. Shipboard ..... 89

„ „ III. A Warm Shop . . . -95

„ ,, IV. Rio to Mazyteawn . . .100

,, „ V. Tuthri Levs fro Squire's Diary . 105

„ ,, VI. Squire's Diary — continued . .no

,, „ VII. Squire's Diary — continued . .116

„ „ VIII. Throuble for Lijah . . .121

,, „ IX. Englan, Squire, an' Beauty . .126

LIJAH'S FORTIN. I. Unsattl't 181

„ „ II. Tom Speighks up . . . 135

„ ,, III. Rio to Juiz .... 139

„ „ IV. Bucklin to . . . . 143

„ „ V. A New Friend . . . . . 147

„ „ VI. Changes . . . . . 151

„ „ VII. Throubles begin . . . 155

„ ,, VIII. Ruin Follows . . . .161

„ „ IX. Th' Fortin Fund . . .165

viii. CONTENTS.

PAGE

LEETIN BLACKSNEDGE . . . . . -171

BEN RAMSDEN .... ... 178

DEAWN i' TH' SHADE . . . . . . . 216

CHATTHERIN TIMBER . .... 240

To LUCY . . 249

JAMES LEACH . . 254

MAGIC AT NORDEN ........ 306

THE QUARRYMAN ........ 323

BILLY WINKER , . 325

MENDIN DEGGER 334

CLOG TOPS . . 350

SONG 352

A WINTHER JAUNT 357

THE MILLER . . . 368

CALDER VALLEY . . . . . . . . 372

THE SOLDIER . . . . . . . . 387

DEATH AN' T' PHILOSOPHER 390

CLOGDEN SING . v 421

BLACKPOOL NOWTS 435

OWD JOSEPH -. . 476

A SARMON FOR DICK 479

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS ....... 483

ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR . ... To face title.

HEALEY CLOUGH . . . . . . 6

TOWN HALL SQUARE, ROCHDALE . . . • 55

WHITE HOUSE (BLACKSTONE EDGE) . . . .171

STATUE OF JOHN BRIGHT . . . . ..." . 182

ROCHDALE (FROM ST. CHAD'S CHURCHYARD) . . . 300

HEBDEN BRIDGE . 394

THE LODGE, HEBDEN VALLEY ..... 400

HEPTONSTALL « 403

OWD JOSEPH . . . . . . . . . 476

of itje

WHENEVER a man displays superior abilities and rises
above the common level, his admirers invariably mani-
fest an eager desire to know something of his personality
and the story of his life, and this is especially true of him who
achieves success in either art or literature. The desire is a
natural one, and should be gratified within reasonable limits,
though it has been well remarked that "the inner life" of such
a man of genius, "the secrets of his inspiration, the mysterious
process by which his pearls of thought are produced, can never
be made known, and the circumstances of his daily life have
little more interest than those which fall to the common man."
The unfortunate and lamented death of the author of the
collected works contained in this volume, in the prime of life
and at the moment of brightest literary promise, has rendered
necessary this brief sketch of his interesting but singularly calm
and uneventful career. He had but just commenced to tread
the thorny paths of literature, for his literary birth may be
truly said to date scarcely more than three years ago ; and the
possibilities of the future can only be dimly discerned by
careful perusal of the first-fruits of his pen, and of these the
reader must judge for himself. A literary career so brief and
yet so brilliant and promising is probably unique; and this
much may be said without any appearance of undue exaltation
of the merits of the author, or claiming for him more than
may abundantly be proved from his published writings, that he
was a man of true literary genius, of original thought and keen
mental insight and penetration, of rare powers of observation,
and of cultivated tastes and style, and that he needed nothing
more than the ripening and mellowing influences of time and
experience. How far his surroundings may have tended to
awaken and develop the latent talents of the man will perhaps
be gathered from this memoir.

xii. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG was born on the 22nd of January,
in the year 1857, at the village of Milnrow, near Rochdale,
noted for having been the home for so many years, and till
his death, of John Collier, the eccentric genius who, under the
quaint pseudonym of " Tim Bobbin," published the famous
dialogue of "Tummus and Meary," which laid the foundation
of Lancashire dialectical literature. He was born in the very
heart of the village, where his father followed the business of
a grocer. Both his parents came of old Lancashire families.
The Cleggs have been resident in the township of Butterworth,
of which Milnrow is the centre, from time immemorial, their
occupation most probably dating from Saxon times. Within
the township are the hamlets of Clegg (in which is situated
the ancient many-gabled mansion known as Clegg Hall, the
scene of one of the weird romances of Roby's "Traditions of
Lancashire") and Little Clegg. It is in this district, and chiefly
on the uplands and in the cloughs and denes of the western
side of the Penine Range, that the homely but virile folk-speech
of these parts of the County Palatine is most heard. Here,
too, it has the nearest approach to the ancient idiomatic usages
and peculiarities of pronunciation which distinguish it from other
and kindred dialects of Saxon Northumbria as they survive to
this day. The same dialect, becoming day by day less marked
in character, prevails largely in Rochdale and (with some
variations, of pronunciation chiefly) within an area whose radius
extends to about half-a-dozen miles from the centre of the
County Borough. Of its special characteristics nothing need
be said here; they are well and truthfully illustrated in the
volume to which this memoir is prefixed. Our author's view
of it will be found briefly stated, but with keen critical appre-
ciation, in the second paragraph of a preface which he wrote —
rather it should be said, outlined— for this edition of his collected
works.

JOHN TRAFFORD, as he was baptised, was the second son
of his parents, who, a little more than a year after his birth,
removed to Rochdale, about two miles distant. Here the father

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. xiil.

continued in his old business, and brought up a family of five
children, three of them sons, the oldest and youngest of whom
survive. Three other children died early. Milnrow, or the
ancient township in which it stands, has produced more than
one centenarian, and often furnishes instances of remarkable
longevity, and it is worthy of note that Mr. Clegg, senior, and
his partner in life, are still living, and that he is over fourscore
years of age, and still fairly hale and hearty. TRAFFORD'S boy-
hood's days were passed in Rochdale, with, of course, frequent
visits to his native village, for which and its homely, honest,
hardworking, and true-hearted inhabitants he always entertained
the greatest affection. The older resident families are largely
bound together by ties of kindred, and there are those who
claim that some of the blood of " Tim Bobbin " flows in their
veins. Not long since, being asked if he or his family did not
claim some degree of kinship with Collier, "Th' Owd Weighver"
jocularly replied, "Well, yes, Tim Bobbin's cow and my 'gron-
feyther's' cow used to drink out of the same stream!" There
are very few Milnrow people who do not speak the dialect
from the time of their very first efforts to prattle, no matter of
what station in life. Thus TRAFFORD CLEGG learnt it naturally
and from his parents' lips, though in after life he could converse
without the slightest perceptible trace of dialect. This is partly
accounted for by the fact that when of sufficient age he was
sent to Rochdale Grammar School, the foundation of Archbishop
Parker in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. In this school, under
the tuition of Mr. R. R. Grey, who had recently been appointed
headmaster, he not only acquired a good, sound English
education, but considerable mastery of the Latin tongue. In
later life he was a diligent student of the English classics, and
gained a wide acquaintance with current scientific and general
literature. Beginning at a very early age to commit his thoughts
to paper, he acquired an excellent style of composition, and
wrote with perfect ease and fluency. He is seen at his best
in his epistolary and other correspondence, for dialect-writing
affords but scant opportunities for the display of the charms

xiv. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

and graces and artistic perfection of a highly cultured and
polished style.

Our author's literary tendencies evinced themselves at an
early period of life. Poetry was his especial delight, and his
first literary attempts were in the way of versification. These
youthful productions, which members of the family, and intimate
friends to whom he showed them, judged to be excellent in
their way, were far from coming up to his own mental standard;
and with the native modesty and delicacy of feeling which
characterised him throughout life, he declined to allow them
to be published, and they appear to have been destroyed.
Renewing his efforts and becoming more confident of his
powers, he composed a considerable quantity of verse of a varied
character when a young man, and consulted his elder brother,
a master printer, as to the advisability of publishing the poems
in a small volume. He was dissuaded, however, from his design,
as such a venture would almost certainly have resulted in
financial failure. Some of the poems appeared subsequently in
magazines, and others are admirably fitted into the text of his
stories and sketches. We have his own testimony to the early
bent of his genius. Writing some months before his death to
the London correspondent of the Manchester Evening News,
with whom he was on terms of intimate friendship, and whom
he had consulted with regard to a projected new novel, local
and historical, this truly "pregnant and pathetic sentence"
occurred, as the correspondent himself described it : — " I have
been guilty of imaginative writing ever since I could use a pen;
the vice would not be stamped out; it has been every year
more difficult to repress, has now mastered me completely, and
before long will dance an exultant hornpipe over my grave."
The projected novel which he discussed with his friend was the
last which came from his pen, though at the time of his death
he was engaged upon a "sketch" which he left uncompleted.
It is entitled "The Milnes of Whitacre," and is now in course
of serial publication in the Rochdale Observer, in which news-
paper all his productions, except those of his earlier years, have
first appeared.

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XV.

After leaving school, TRAFFORD was apprenticed to his elder
brother, in whose establishment, now known as "The Aldine
Press," he acquired a knowledge of the business in all its
departments. He was studious in his habits, and was also very
fond of music, the science of which he thoroughly mastered,
and he became an able executant on the organ and pianoforte.
If not devoted to music, his spare hours, in summer evenings
especially, were usually spent in rambling with kindred spirits
amid the beautiful and romantic scenes which are still to be
found amongst the hills and dales in the neighbourhood, but
at times his sole companion was some favourite book. In this
respect he much resembled the late Edwin Waugh, with whose
works and those of "Tim Bobbin" and other dialect-writers he
was perfectly familiar. Probably he never dreamed at the time
of aspiring to become "a worthy member of the Lancashire
brotherhood of authors," but he was unconsciously qualifying
himself to rank with the best of them in due time and
season. Before he was out of his apprenticeship, and while
yet in his teens, TRAFFORD, by arrangement, left the printing
office of his brother and went to reside at Glossop, where his
father had purchased a cotton mill. Here he had not only
change of air and scene, but a new experience which he after-
wards turned to such good account. He acquired a knowledge
of all the details of the cotton manufacturing process, and of
the quaint and curious technical terms in use amongst the
workpeople, many of them survivals from very early times and
extremely puzzling to the strange visitor. It was this experience,
with his keen powers of observation, which enabled him in
his local sketches to pourtray the life, character, manners, and
modes of thought of the "mill hand" so sympathetically, and
with a vigour, a truthfulness, and a naturalness unapproached
by any other writer of the same class. While at Glossop, his
old habits clung to him, and when, after the mill had been
running for over two years, his father disposed of it, and he
returned to his brother's printing office, he fell into the old
" vice." He was now over twenty years of age, tall, and rather

xvi. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

slender, but apparently wiry, and certainly exceedingly active.
This restless activity, indeed, characterised him throughout life,
and probably led him, by overwork, to undermine a constitution
apparently predisposed to pulmonary consumption.

After becoming entitled to rank as a journeyman, Mr. JOHN
TRAFFORD CLEGG was appointed foreman in his brother's estab-
lishment, and this responsible position he occupied for many
years. At the age of about twenty-four, he married Miss Flinton,
daughter of a farmer of Staxton, Ganton, near York, who survives
him with their three children. He had obtained the appointment
of organist and choirmaster of St. Mary's Church, Wardleworth,
Rochdale, and was now settled down in a comfortable position
in life. The tenour of his career was henceforward uneventful,
and though occasionally doing some literary work on his own
account, in the way of poems and short stories which found
acceptance in Chamber? Journal, the Manchester Weekly Times,
and other publications, in later years he was mainly engaged
in superintending the production of the works of others, issued
from "The Aldine Press." Amongst these was what may be
considered Mr. Henry Fishwick's chief work, the "History of
the Parish of Rochdale." A considerable portion of this book
he put in type with his own hands, and he was very much
interested in rhe whole work. One of the strongest points of
Mr. Fishwick's history is the copiousness of the genealogical
information relating to local families. It was the perusal of this
information which, on the best authority, suggested to Mr.
TRAFFORD CLEGG the outlines of his local sketches and stories,
which would undoubtedly have appeared in another form had
not his attention been directed by a singular accident to his
native dialect as perhaps the best and most suitable medium
for his purpose. It was a fortunate accident, for it resulted in
giving an intensely local colouring to his work, which smacks of
the soil, and his characters pass before us absolutely true to the
life, expressing their thoughts and feelings in the only language
by which they could be adequately conveyed, and whose nice-
ties and subtleties it were impossible to translate into "standard

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XVU.

English." In one of his longer sketches, entitled, " To'ard
Ash'oth," the author has acknowledged his indebtedness to Mr.
Fishwick in a humourous manner, in language suited to the
character of "Th' Owd Weighver." The garrulous weaver of
cloth, passing by Oakenrod, in Bury Road, Rochdale, on his
way to Ashworth, steps aside to give his companion, "John,"
some details of the ancient family of Garside or Gartside, much
to his surprise, and John thereupon asks :

"How have you come by all these curious things?"

Th' Owd Weighver replies: "Aw didn't find it i'th' loom-box, tha
may be sure. We'n a chap i' th' teawn at's olez scrattin' among owd
lumber — a sort o' hee-class rag and bwon picker, an' aw've getten it
eaut ov a book he's printed. Gie him a crackt owd gravestwon, a
church-book full o' dyeaths an' kessenins, or a bundle o' scrawlt papper
covert wi' dust an' eddycrop [spider] neests, an' he's abeaut reel."

John : " He's an antiquary, evidently."

Th' Owd Weighver: " Summat o' that mak."

About half-a-dozen years ago, TRAFFORD CLEGG left his
brother's printing office to undertake similar duties for the old
Rochdale firm of E. Wrigley and Sons, Limited, letterpress and
lithographic printers, and it was not long afterwards that the
incident occurred which led him to devote nearly the whole of
his spare time to literary work, and at a later period, through
the gradual advance of the insidious disease to which he at
length succumbed, to rely chiefly upon the productions of his
pen for the maintenance of himself and his wife and family of
young children. At a Board School prize distribution, in the
early part of the year 1890, Mr. J. H. Wylie, M.A., one of
H.M. Inspectors of Schools, who was then resident in Rochdale,
expressed regret at the decadence of the ancient folk-speech of
the district, which is largely due, of course, to the levelling-up
influences of our modern educational system, for the school
children of to-day are beginning to despise and deride the
homely speech of their forefathers as something rude and bar-
barous. He desired to see more general interest taken in the
preservation of the dialect as a living form of our old English
tongue, and went so far as to make the somewhat curious
suggestion that a reading-book in the dialect should be provided

XV1U. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

for use in the schools of Rochdale and the district in which
this particular idiom prevails. Inasmuch as the dialect has
never been grammatically analysed and reduced to system by
anyone having a thorough knowledge of it, and its orthography is
in a state of chaotic confusion, to many persons, and Mr.
JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG amongst the number, the proposal
seemed Quixotic and impracticable. Even if the first difficulty
were overcome and such a book provided, very few schoolmasters
or mistresses could be found who have known the dialect from
their infancy, and to most of them it is an unknown tongue ;
and to employ a "native" teacher for the special purpose of
teaching the various classes of school children to speak the
dialect as it should be spoken would appear ridiculous. Our
author keenly criticised the proposal, aptly using the dialect
itself to sharpen the edge of his satire. His letters to the
newspapers attracted great attention and interest, and they were
indeed admirably written. Such was their influence that no
attempt has ever been made to give practical effect to Mr.
Wylie's suggestion.

Prior to the time of the foregoing incident, Mr. TRAFFORD
CLEGG was entirely unknown to his fellow-townspeople as a
man of literary talent and aspirations, but the time and circum-
stances were now combined which were to bring him to public
notice and stimulate the natural bent of his mind. The
proprietor of the newspaper was so impressed by the merit of
his contributions that he invited him to submit "more fruit
from the same pannier," to quote an odd phrase of "Tim
Bobbin's." The invitation brought forth the brilliant sketches
of Lancashire life and character which, with a few others not
previously published in serial form, were collectively issued
under the title of "Reaund bi th' Derby," the scenes in the
leading sketch being chiefly in or near a noted hostelry on the
Blackstone Edge range of hills and moors, known by the name
of " The Derby." The instalments week by week were eagerly
looked for, and the author rapidly made his name as a writer
in the dialect amongst those best fitted to judge of the merits

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. xix.

of such work — the men and women of his native district,
with whose thoughts and feelings he was thoroughly in
sympathy. His other works followed in rapid succession, for
he was a most indefatigable writer. Except when his profes-
sional duties as a musician required his attention, his daily
routine was from the printing office to his desk and from his
desk to the printing office, and the hours of night and sleep
and rest were often entrenched upon. Such was the vigour of
his intellect, notwithstanding his bodily weakness, that the last
evening of his earthly life was spent in an endeavour to finish
an uncompleted sketch, entitled "Th' Flagged Yard."

His work in the dialect met with unqualified praise from
critics, who were unanimous in their opinions of its merit.
Such high-class journals as the London Morning Post, and
Lloyds' News, and several of the leading literary journals, gave
most highly favourable notices of his first publication, "Reaund
bi th' Derby;" and the Saturday Review had the following
appreciative criticism, which is the highest testimony to the
author's abilities : " The author is a Rochdale man, and an
acute observer of the humours of Lancashire weavers. His
descriptions of rambles about the country, possess the best
qualities of sketches. They are full of brightness and life.
His verse, too, shows other gifts of the poet than the mere
accomplishment of rhyming." This high character is maintained
through all the author's productions in the dialect. The scenes
are mostly in the neighbourhood of Rochdale, but occasionally
the author has travelled farther afield. One of his sketches
takes us into the lovely vale of the Calder, and another into
the Lake country, and he was evidently well acquainted with
the topography and history of the districts traversed. Fine
descriptions of natural scenery alternate with life-like portraiture
of people met, and delightful digressions into local history and
legend. One of his sketches, entitled, " T'other side Rio," tells
the story of the up-country experiences in Brazil of two Rochdale
men, true types of their class, who went out to fit up a cotton
mill; and, like all his sketches, contains many touches of tender

XX. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

pathos intermixed with the most genuine and innocent humour,
for the writer is never coarse, however rollicking the fun.

Apart from their literary merits, the dialectic sketches are
of great value as illustrative of the true character of the folk-
speech of this corner of South-east Lancashire. The author
has aimed at rendering the spelling more uniform, and so as
to more accurately convey the correct native pronunciation,
which is a matter of extreme difficulty; and he has greatly
enriched the glossary of the dialect by the employment of words
and terms in common use, which do not occur in the works
of other authors. Mr. Ben. Brierley writes on this point: "Had
Mr. CLEGG lived, he would have been a worthy member of the
Lancashire brotherhood of authors. His work has the true ring
about it ; not that bare, tin-pot stuff so often palmed off for the
better thing, but the genuine metal." Mr. Brierley's personal
acquaintance with " Th' Owd Weighver " began over the grave
of "Tim Bobbin," though he had previously known him by
reputation, as Mr. CLEGG had by that time made a name in
Lancashire literature. The grave of Collier, in the Rochdale
Parish Church old graveyard, had long been in a disgracefully
neglected condition, and unfenced. Miss M. R. Lahee, another
noted Lancashire novelist and writer in the dialect, who has
survived "Th' Owd Weighver" by little more than three months,
drew public attention to this matter at the centenary of Collier's
death, and subsequently, mainly through the exertions of Mr.
Benjamin Garside, of Rochdale, a public subscription was made
to raise a sufficient sum of money to have the lettering of the
memorial stone re-cut, and to fence the grave with an orna-
mental iron railing upon a stone base. At the same time, the
stone, which is laid horizontally on the grave, in accordance
with the ancient custom of these parts, was raised a little.
When the work was completed, there was a public function, in
the nature of a dedication, at which the Ven. Archdeacon
Wilson, Vicar of Rochdale, officiated. Amongst those who were
assembled at the graveside, were Mr. Ben. Brierley, Miss M. R.
Lahee, and Mr. JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG, the only three living

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XXI.

authors in the Lancashire dialect at that time, and whose
numbers are now reduced to one. "Th' Owd Weighver" was
the youngest, completing the roll on which are inscribed the
names of John Collier, Sam. Bamford, Oliver Ormerod, Edwin
Waugh, and Sam. Laycock. To Mr. Brierley, now the sole
survivor of this brotherhood and sisterhood of eight worthy
Lancashire dialect writers, the meeting was a painful one, as he
himself says, for he could see by certain signs that death had
TRAFFORD CLEGG in his grip, and that he had not long to be
amongst us. After the ceremony, during which the Archdeacon
very gracefully expressed his appreciation of the merits of "Th'
Owd Weighver's" handiwork, Mr. CLEGG accompanied the veteran
" Ab o' th' Yate " to the Rochdale Railway Station ; and " then
(Mr. Brierley writes) I noticed more distinctly the signs that
told me consumption had set in. I had lost an only child, a
victim of that fell disease, and knew something of its symptoms.
I thought then it was the last time I should see him. It was."

Unhappily, the remainder of the story of " Th' Owd Weigh-
ver's" life is soon told. He was at length compelled to give
up his ordinary occupation, as his medical adviser urged that
change of climate was imperative, in order to check the rapid
development of the disease and prolong his life, the air of
Rochdale being too humid and cold ; and Bournemouth, on the
south coast, was fixed upon as a suitable place of residence.
His sensitive nature could scarcely endure even the temporary
severance of old ties, and on the other hand, there was general
regret amongst his sympathetic friends and readers at his ap-
proaching departure. He knew that his end could not be far
distant, and he bore himself with the fortitude and resignation
of a Kirke White. He was determined to work on faithfully
to the finish, and cheerfully declared that he could write the
dialect as well amidst the sombre pines of his new abode as
in his native surroundings of breezy moorland and rugged ravine.
On his resignation of the appointment of organist of St. Mary's
Church, he was presented with a purse of gold, and he left
Rochdale with many tokens of friendship and appreciation of

XXli. MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.

his literary talents. His wife and family soon followed him to
Bournemouth, where they took up their residence in Verulam
Place. During his enforced exile he made regular visits to
Rochdale, and in the summer before his death he had a
lengthened stay. In addition to his other work, he had the
literary superintendence of this edition of his collected works,
and carefully read and revised the proof sheets. The short
preface was written by him only a few weeks before his death.
The last finishing touches of his pen had been added to the
work, and he was looking forward with gratification to the issue
of the volume.

The chief of the works of his later days were " David's
Loom," of which Messrs. Longman <fc Co. have published two
editions (the second a smaller and cheaper one, which was
issued just at the time of his death) and "The Milnes of
Whitacre," now in course of serial publication, and, therefore,
at present not subject to criticism. The former was his first
attempt at writing a full-sized novel, and is in standard English.
As a first production, it gave most excellent promise, and the
very favourable criticism it received was highly satisfactory and
stimulative to the author, who was quite conscious of any
defects it might possess from a literary point of view. In some
parts the style is florid, which is a fault on the right side in a
young writer gifted with a powerful imagination, and time and
experience would have corrected the tendency. It is a most
readable story, original in plot and sympathetic in treatment.
In it the author accomplished the task which he had set before
himself, the narration of a romance and tragedy in humble life,
which is a perfectly true picture, and not a high-flown and
unnatural conception or an impossible ideal. In this novel
occur two passages which have a melancholy interest in the
light of the event which they presage with such pathetic resig-
nation. The author writes :

"I have seen robust men shudder at the thought of death, while
for me the grizzly tyrant has no terrors. How comes that ? Is it because
my feeble grasp of life can more easily be loosed ? Assuredly strong
men discover no greater happiness in life than I have done. I would

MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. XX111.

not exchange my infirmity, tolerably quiet conscience, and reflective
habit, for the paltry hopes, gross ideals, earthbound visions, petty
anxieties of many active fellow-creatures within my range of acquaint-
ance. Thirty years of life have been granted to me. I am thankful,
recognising well that I have really lived longer than some who attain
twice my age ; yet I could not desire that weary length of days to be
repeated.

Of late my fragile powers have waned. Carefully as my dear
ones endeavour to conceal their knowledge, I am satisfied that palpable
symptoms of decay are apparent in my frame. The acute perception of
which I have so often boasted cannot entirely delude me. In very few
years at most, possibly within a period to be measured only by months,
this transient body must fulfil its term on earth."

This prophecy was fulfilled on Monday, the i8th of March,
1895, when he had reached the age of thirty-eight years. He
and his wife and family were at Bournemouth at the time, and
the end came rather unexpectedly. He had passed safely through
the exceptionally severe weather of the previous two months of
the new year, but in the earlier part of the winter he had a
rather severe attack of pleurisy and pneumonia, which perhaps
hastened the fatal termination. He passed away calmly and
peacefully, and was perfectly conscious till the supreme moment.
The unexpected news of his death was received in Rochdale
and district with the deepest regret, and amongst the numerous
letters of condolence and sympathy received by the family
was a very kind one from the Venerable Archdeacon Wilson.
The remains were laid to rest in the beautiful Cemetery at
Bournemouth on the 2ist of March, and a masonic badge was
placed on the coffin and lowered with it into the grave. The
badge was sent by the St. Chad's Lodge of Freemasons, Rochdale,
of which he had been a member, and for which it is said that
he wrote and composed hymns which are in regular use. It
is intended to place a private memorial to mark his grave,
which, though far away from the humble village of his birth,
is a fitting resting-place for the mortal remains of such a true
lover of all that is beautiful in nature.

HEART=STHRENQS:

A Tale o' Yelley Clough.

I.

ON th' creawn ov a wooded hill o'erlookin Yelley Glough
there used to ston a little breek cottage. It doesn't
matther when, but yo wain't find it neaw iv yo looken o
day. It were afore th' moor-born springs, clear an' cowd, had bin
ruin't wi' fullin shops an' dyeworks, an' i' thoose days th' brook
sported deawn among th' rocks clen an' pure as picthers i' glass.
Still deep pools rested i' nooks an' hollows o' th' wayther-worn
stones, like quiet folk stonnin back fro' th' whirl an' clatther o'
life, blazin red i' th' sun an' shinin cowd white i' th' moon, takkin
colour fro sky an' cleaud, throwin back every one it own little
copy o' three, bush an' bonk, an' showin clear on it flagged floor
every speck o' sond an' bit o' gravel. But there were no quietness
i' th' main channel, for theere t' wayther jumped, slurred, danced,
cobbed itsel yeadfirst deawn steep heights, grumbled reaund
boudhers 'at wouldn't shift eaut ov it road, slippin smooth for a
sondy yard neaw an' again to breighk at th' end on't in a spray-
dash o' sheawerin silver. Creepin deawn to th' oozy edges coome
a carpet o' livin green, wick wi busy theausands o' winged an'
legged little objects, hardly to be sin beaut a magnifier. Snow-
dhrop an' primrose followed hard upo' th' spring thaw ; thorn-
blossom, bluebell an' dog rose throde close on their heels, mixin
wi th' deep scent ov hud violets ; dandelion sthruck fire wi it red
yure, soon to dhrop i' white ashes fro it bare pow, whol t' breath
o' new-mown hay steeped o th' windin dingle, an' tendher fern
shoots pept fro every cool shelf an' nook, afore long to be
crommed thick wi their sweepin fithers o' sorted green. Hee
aboon, thick groves o' threes laid their branchy yeads together,
sometimes roofin o th' glen wi their quiverin wynt-blown arches,
turnin it into a greight church, ringin wi music fro sich choristhers
as brass could never buy ; sometimes shakin their bare bwons wi
a grim rattle, as th' freezin blast went swirlin through, dhrivin
snow-sheet an' full-swelled brook deawn th' stone-ribbed clough wi
a thundherin seaund ; but whether i' th' time o' green shoots or
harvestin, wizen't winther or lusty summer, that lonesome spot
geet things middlin weel to itsel. Seldom coome feet o' folk

Yelley, Healey. Slurred, slid. Cobbed, threw. Beaut, without.

B

2 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

theere among dewy fleawer-beds or piles o' wither't levs ; fro year
end to year end there were little to disturb brid or rabbit ; every-
thing stood as it 'd bin turn't fro th' shapin touch o' th' Maker
ov us o, an' everything — brids in a theausand songs, threes wi their
fluttherin banners, brook full o' glistenin e'en — filled th' end bi
wisdom planned for it, an' helped to crom that rare nook wi
sweetness an' beauty.

Th' cottage were hutched up undher elm, beech, an' saplin
branches, an' it fronted seauth, so onybody could look fro th'
windows an' watch th' owd sun at his wark fro mornin to neet, an'
see o 'at went on deawn i' Shayclough. Th' place had bin lyin
empty mony a year, when one day two folk coome that road 'at
wanted a heause badly, so they took it sthraight off an' set th'
chimbley reechin again. These folk were bwoth young. They
were mon an' wife, an' as poor as crows ; or wur, happen, for
crows are middlin sure o' summat t'eight. Th' husbant 'd be
thirty year owd at that time, an' his wife tuthri year younger, an'
he'd bin blint fro birth. He could do nowt at o nobbut play a
fiddle, an' he kept hissel so busy at that job 'at he'd no time for
owt else. He could play, too, aboon a bit, an' met ha' made some
brass by it iv he'd had gumption enough ; but he never did make
mich, an' seemed content wi a slice o' loaf an' rags.

Whatever made his wife tak him nobry could tell, iv it weren't
clen eaut o' pity for him — some women are that road, thinkin
nowt o' theirsel an' everything ov other folk — but hoo'd getten
him upo' some tack, an' paid th' weddin expenses beside, an'
theere they were, like two robins in a neest — as helpless an' as
happy.

Th' fiddler were soon weel known o reaund th' neighbourhood,
an' wi playin at heauses an' sthreet corners he managed to scrat
eaut a livin, sich as it were. He'd olez a little tarrier wi him in a
bant, an' he talked to it an' loved it just as iv it 'd bin a Christian ;
but he loved everybody an' everything for that matther, for he
were as sweet-temper't, gentle-hearted a chap as ever were born.

Docthor Cooper, at Brodely, were just thinkin o' shappin for
bed one April neet when he yerd a greight splutther eautside, an'
then a knock at th' dur.

"What now?" thought t' docthor. "There's somebody in a
hurry there, or I'm much mistaken."

He oppen't th' dur an' seed it were th' fiddler an' his dog.
" Now, Simon ! " he said. " You have come down from your
wooded pillar, unlike your great namesake who perched on his
until they grew together. What's the matter ? "

Wur, worse. Tuthri, two or three. Nobbut, only.

Gumption, acuteness.

HEART-STHRENGS. 3

" Eh, docthor ! do come ! " th' fiddler panted eaut, wi what
rovins o' wynt he had left. " Yo mun come ! Mi wife's some ill
to-neet."

T' docthor laughed. " That's it, is it ? I've been expecting
that some time."

" Han yo for sure ! Eh, but hoo's some ill, mon ! Run away
wi yo ; dunnot wait for me."

T' docthor bowled off an' Simon followed him.

"You fetch Mrs. Brierley from the next farm, and then stop
down in the kitchen and fiddle," t' docthor towd him ; an' o neet
long t' tuneful sthrengs were gooin, relievin Simon's throubl't
heart. Abeaut four o' t' clock next mornin Mrs. Brella coome
deawn stairs wi summat lapped in a blanket, an said,

" O's reet neaw, Simon ; tha's a fine daughther here. Tha
cawn't see it, poor fellah ! but give it a buss, an' mind for
breighkin it."

"God bless it!" t' fayther said, puttin his lips to it tendher
cheek. " But heaw's mi wife ?"

" Hoo's reet enough, lad ; dunnot thee bother thysel. It's
nobbut what o women han to go through. There'll be another
meauth to keep neaw, so tha m' be gettin forrad wi thi fiddlin."

" There'll be some road done," Simon said, wipin his e'en,
" an' what '11 keep two '11 keep three. Iv onybody has to clem it
wain't be th' babby."

" Well, well ! Yo'n no need to bother abeaut clemmin whol
yo'n tuthri neighbours left wick. Tha'rt a very dacent chap, tha
knows, iv a bit soft, an' thi wife's bwoth a fawse un an' a good un."

" Hoo is that, bless her ! What aw should do beaut her God
knows. Cawn't aw goo up stairs an' have a word wi her, Mrs.
Brella?"

" Eh ! tha mun ax Cooper that. These docthors han it o
their own road at these mak o' times."

Heawever he'd no 'casion to ax, for t' docthor coome deawn-
stairs in a bit an' ordher't him up. " She's all right now, Simon,"
he says ; " but keep her quiet until she gets stronger."

" Well, aw'm mich obleeged to yo, docthor, aw'm sure ; an'
when aw con pay yo t' Lord knows."

" Wait till I send your bill in," said Cooper, an' Simon crept
upstairs.

" Iv aw catch yo sendin bills here aw'll tak o mi custom off yo,"
Mrs. Brella said. " We'll o goo to th' Whitoth docthors or
somewheere."

" That would be an expensive business for me. Let's see ! is
it half-a-crown or five shillings you have paid me in the last
ten years ? "

Hoo, she (evolved thus : she, sho, shoo, hoo).
Fawse, clever.

4 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" It were three-an'-sixpence, an' a dyel too mich ; for it were
nobbut eaur Billy 'at geet a peigh up his nose. Nowe ! there's
bin little docthorin at eaur heause, to say there's eleven on us.
But we'll make eaursels ill o' purpose afore we'll miss plaguin
yo a bit."

" There'll be no need, Susan. Listen to me, now, and whisper.
That poor woman upstairs is death-stricken. She may live two
years, or perhaps three, but certainly not five. What do you
think of that ? "

" Think on it," whimpered th' warm-hearted neighbour, layin
th' chilt deawn, an' puttin her appron to her e'en. " Eh ! what
a weary job is this ! Whatever win they do ! Whatever win
they do ! "

" Upon my soul," said Cooper, " we doctors see and hear
things that would rend iron or melt brass, and commonplace as
life is here we stumble every day upon tragedies too painful to
think of. It is a sad case."

" Whatever con we do ? Con a London docthor do t' poor
thing ony good ? becose iv so "

" No living man can save her, Susan. It is a mere question
of time."

" Poor things ! It wain't bide thinkin o'er. Docthor ! what-
ever yo done, not a word o' this to oather on 'em ! "

" Quite right, Susan ; we will keep the secret between us.
You will manage without me now, so I'll get to bed."

Upstairs th' blint chap were kneelin at th' bedside, one arm
reaund his wife's neck, an' they were as happy as two childher.

" Isn't hoo a little beauty ! " th' poor wife whisper't. " But
aw'm forgettin tha cawn't see her, an' never will."

" Dunnot fret thisel for that, Rachel. Iv th' chilt couldn't
see me there met ha bin summat to cry o'er. Aw con touch her,
an' yer her, an' love her just as weel beaut e'en as wi ; an' tha con
tell me what hoo's like as hoo groos up, so one pair ov e'en '11 fit
us bwoth."

" Bless her little bonny face ! Aw wish Susan 'd be sharp an'
bring her back. Th' chilt '11 groo up to love us an' be company
for us i' th' heause, an' we s' o be as happy as con be."

" Plez God," said Simon.

II.

T' next three year were th' happiest part o' th' blint chap's life.
He shapped abeaut to make a bit moore brass nor he'd bother't to
get afore, an' were oft away fro worn a whol day at a time, scrattin
a livin eaut o' th' hollow timber ; an' when he geet back at neet

Dyel, deal. Eaur is pronounced " ar." Worn, home.

HEART-STHRENGS. 5

theere were his wife, wi smiles he could never see, but love he
could olez feel — an' th' babby, warm an' slavvery, to scrawm
abeaut him, daub his face wi weet butthercake, an' fill his yure wi
crumbs. He'd summat else to do then nor dhrem o his time
away o'er th' fiddle. Poor Sirnon !

T docthor's warnin were nobbut too thrue. It were very soon
sin 'at Rachel were wastin away, an' hoo weren't long i' findin it
eaut hersel. Everybody knew obbut Simon ; he could see nowt,
an' folk were careful to tell him nowt, an' his wife had takken to
her bed afore he ever dhremt aught ailed her. Th' end were very
near then, an coome on him wi double weight. When they towd
him hoo were dyead he flew up just like a madman.

" Curse yo o ! " he skriked. " Iv aw'd known i' time this could
ne'er have happen't. A bitther curse on yo every one, 'at 'd use a
poor blint chap so ! Aw cawn't live beaut her ; done yo yer, yo
wasthrels ? Yo'n kil't her among yo ! Oh, God, 'at made these
seetless e'en, breighk up their hard hearts 'at could punish me so,
an' make 'em feel theirsel what aw suffer ; an' tak me away soon
fro this world, where aw've naught to live for moore ! "

" Dunnot talk so, mi poor lad," Mrs. Brella said, takkin th'
chilt to him an' settin her on his knee. " Isn't there summat here
to live for ? "

" Ah ! poor chilt, thi best friend's gwone. Heaw oft han we
talked on thee grooin up to be a comfort an' a blessin to us, an'
heaw are o t' bonny picthers we made cobbed deawn an' brokken !
My little lamb ! Oh, for mi sect ! Just one minute, Lord ! Gie
me just one look at her 'at's loved me so weel, an' bin o th' leet
aw ever knew i' this world ! One look at mi dyead wife, afore
hoo's laid away for ever ! But nowe ! th' heavens are dark an'
cowd, an' t' yearth's black o reaund me ; an' aw mun sit helpless
an' be punished whol mi heart cracks i' mi body ! "

" Theere, theere ! " said Mrs. Brella in a brokken voice, puttin
th' chill's arms reaund his neck. " Kiss him, mi beauty, an' love
him, an' be a good chilt to him, for tha'rt o he has i' th' world
neaw. That's reet, lad ! let t' wayther come."

Th' little tarrier coome pawin reaund him, ,an' nuzzlin at his
hond, so th' poor fellah sthroked it an' cried o'er it for a while.
" Aw've nobbut thee to tell mi saycrets too neaw, Pincher, an' tha
con say nowt back ; but tha's moore wit nor some 'at con talk."

They geet him at his fiddle afther a time, an' he made 'em o
cry wi th' mournful music he geet eaut on it, as iv he were playin
on his own heart-sthrengs ; but it sattl't him an' did him good, an'
i' tuthri days he were as quiet as ever. His little lass had turned
four year owd ; hoo were a sharp, bonny little thing, an' rare com-
pany for him. Some o' th' neighbours offered to lodge 'em whol
t' daughther geet owd enough to shap things hersel, but Simon 'd
stir noane.

Yure, hair.

6 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" What, lev this heause wheere my Rachel dee'd ? " he said.
"Yo mun tak me feet first when that happens."

So th' neighbours shapped for him among 'em, for there were
plenty o' good souls abeaut ; an' theere he lived wi his chilt an'
his dog for mony a year, carin for nowt an' nobry. Little Rachel
soon larnt to manage her heause-wark, an' afore hoo were ten year
owd looked quite motherly. Her fayther never geet his owd cheer-
fulness back, but he sattl't quietly deawn to his wark, an' were
never yerd to grumble.

Mony a happy heaur they spent wandherin abeaut th' owd
clough, an' little Rachel 'd talk ov everything hoo could see,
tellin her fayther heaw pale th' ash levs were beside th' dark elms,
heaw fithery t' willow bushes looked, and heaw th' big oaks set
their feet into th' greaund as iv they'd say, " Come on here, an'
have a do ; tha'll shift noane o' me." Then they'd o th' fleawers
to go through, an' Simon soon knew 'em bi feel an' smell, but th'
colour were too mich for him. Rachel had mony a thry to teighch
him what red an' green looked like, but her time were nobbut
wasted. He could soon pike th' brids eaut bi their different notes,
an' geet some bits ov ideas abeaut their size and build ; an'
otogether he geet so fawse i' tuthri year 'at he hardly missed
his e'en at o.

Then for a change they'd sit i' th' clough, watchin an'
hearkenin t' wayther cob itsel deawn wi splash an' rattle, an'
t' fayther 'd tell o' th' fairies 'at used to live i' t' Thrutch, snug i'
their stone-delved heauses undher t' fo'in brook, an' make rings i'
th' meadows every full moon ; or he'd tune up his fiddle an' teem
o maks o' solemn music eaut on't, dhremin away for heaurs, an'
fillin his daughther's yead wi picthers ov armed chaps sweighin i'
battle, o' th' wide ocean turnin reaund th' world like a greight
wayther-wheel, o' th' sun shinin upo far counthries full o' fleawers
an' oranges, o' quiet moonleet winther neetsr an' o' th' restless
hommer o' human life olez bangin away to breighk deawn th' rock-
beds 'at shut it in, but never gettin no nar ; an' so they lived, an'
loved, an' were content iv not otogether happy, whol Rachel shot
up into a woman, an' were nineteen year owd.

III.

Tuthri young chaps i' th' neighbourhood o' Yelley had thried
hard to get thick wi Rachel, but hoo'd ne'er naught to say to 'em.
One young farmer co'd Jim Crabtree were determined to have
her, soon or lat. He'd axed her a time or two to wed him, but
hoo wouldn't ; so Jim geet thick wi th' owd chap, coome to be a
reglar visithor i' t' little cottage, an' bided his time. He'd abeaut

Fo'in, falling. Nar, nearer.

HEALEY CLOUGH.

HEART-STHRENGS. 7

as mich ear for music as a deawn-speaut, an' o tunes seaunded
alike to him ; but he'd wit enough to keep on Simon's soft side,
an' crack his fiddlin up o he could.

" Eh ! that's grand ! " Jim 'd say every time th' owd chap
stopped. " What done yo co it ?"

Then Simon 'd set to an' give him a long nominy abeaut th'
piece, th' time it were written, an' th' life o' t' composer ; just what
Jim wanted, for it left him free to watch Rachel, an' think ov owt
he'd a mind. When th' tale were done he'd say, " Come, fayther,
give us just another scrat o' th' bant;" an' off Simon 'd brast wi
some moore grand stuff. It fair capped Jim to see heaw th' music
geet howd o' bwoth Rachel an' her fayther. Th' owd fellah went
off into a wakken dhrem when his sthrengs chirped, lyin back in
his cheer wi a far-off look in his seetless e'en, as iv he're starin at
a world eautside this ; an' let Rachel be as busy as hoo met wi
her heausewark, hoo'd oft stop an' ston hearkenin — not so mich
at th' fiddle, Jim thought, but moore like as iv hoo expected a
seaund comin through t' slate, or th' window.

" What the hangment ails 'em ! " th' young farmer used to
wondher. " Aw con yer nowt, nobbut th' fiddle-bant twittherin
like a clatch o' tewits. There's summat noane gradely abeaut this."

He ne'er fund it eaut whol he lived, an' olez felt just a tinge o'
good temper't scorn for their babby wark ; but he were careful to
keep that to hissel, an' they o geet on very weel together.

" It's rare an' good on thee, Jimmy/' Simon said one neet, " to
sit here for company to a poor blint chap like me. There's noane
so mony young fellahs 'd bother theirsel."

Rachel flushed up, an' Jim smil't at her an' said : " Aw've
olez bin a good lad — mi mother tells everybody th' same tale — so,
yo see, its naught eaut o' my road."

" Tha'rt a good lad neaw, as heaw't be," th' fiddler said.
" Isn't he, Rachel ? "

" Aw think he is," t' daughther said, smoothin th' owd chap's
silky yure off his foryead. " A very good lad."

"Aw'm ne'er likely to be nowt else whol aw've a characther to
loise wi thee, Rachel. Tha con make me oather good or bad, just
as tha's a mind."

" What ! is it so ? Simon co'd eaut. " An' what says little
Rachel to that ? "

" Little Rachel says nowt ; becose there's an owd fayther 'at
loves her, an' 'at Rachel loves, an' there's no reawm in her mind
for nobody else."

" But, mi bonny fleawer, tha munnot loise thi comfort an'
pleasur i' livin for th' sake o' me," said th' fiddler, pressin her hond
i' bwoth his own. " There'll be some road done."

Nominy, homily. Tewits, plovers.

8 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Con yo spare me so yezzy, then, fayther ? "

" Aw cawn't spare thee at o, mi little lass ; but tha'rt noane
beau n to cob thi life away doddherin afther an owd chap like me.
Iv tha wants Jimmy tak him, an' ha done wi't."

" Neaw Rachel ! " said th' young farmer. " There's a good
worn an' a lovin husband waitin for th' shake o' thi finger ; an' thi
fayther shall be moore comfortable nor ever he's bin afore.
There's reawm i' th' ingle-nook for him an' his riddle too, an' he
con sit theere whol he's played o th' tunes o'er again 'at ever aw've
yerd slur off his fingers. They'll be o fresh again neaw ;" an' Jim
grinned to hissel, knowin weel enough 'at iv he yerd a tune played
a theausand times on a barrel-orgin it'd ne'er stick in his yead.

" Is there no moore lasses 'at'll do for thee, Jimmy ? " axed th'
fiddler. " Lasses are welly o alike, mon, iv tha con nobbut
think so."

" Iv aw'd wanted one o' t'other aw shouldn't ha com'n here,"
says Jim. " Neaw Rachel ? "

" Nowe, it con never happen, James. Aw've towd thee afore."

" What faurt doesta find wi him, lasS ?" her fayther axed.

" Noane at o. Aw like him very weel ; but noane weel enough
to wed him."

" But tha'll keep likin me betther t'longer tha knows me," Jim
said. " Beside, iv there's aught abeaut me 'at suits noane it con
be awther't."

Rachel nobbut wagged her yead an' laughed.

" There's nobry else i' th' road, is there ? " axed Simon.

" Nowe ! " said Rachel ; but Jim seed her flush an' look a bit
bother't, an' he thought to hissel, " What a foo aw've bin !
Somebry's spokken for her."

A tuthri neets afther that he coome slap across th' young
woman walkin wi a fellah deawn th' glen, an' when he seed who
th' chap were he clicked his teeth an' swore. When Rachel geet
worn Jim were theere, waitin for her an' keepin th' owd fellah
company ; an' afther a bit o' meemawin talk th' young farmer axed
her to walk eautside wi him a minute. Hoo threw a shawl o'er
her yead an' went wi him to th' clough edge ; an' they stood for a
bit watchin th' moonleet among th' branches, an' hearkenin th'
tumblin brook far below. Then Crabtree took her bi th' hond an'
said : " Rachel, aw love thee as mich as one mon con love a
woman, an' aw'll do owt obbut dee for thee; aw wain't goo that
length. Aw met thee to-neet wi one o' th' biggest wasthrels i' this
parish —

" Co him behinnd his back, do ! "

" It's nobbut what aw've towd him to his face afore neaw,"
Jim went on, keepin his temper. " Mi lass, iv aw'm noane good

Yezzy, easy. Btaun (bound), going. Welly, well-nigh.

HEART-STHRENGS. 9

enough for thee get another honest mon fro somewheere, but
never let me see thee again wi a sceaundhrel like yon."

" Tha nobbut 'buses him becose aw like him betther nor thee !"

" Tha knows me too weel to believe that, Rachel. Iv aw con
see thee happy it'll be reet for me, an' aw s' noather dhreawn nor
shoot misel. But yon Tom Cherrick '11 ruinate thee as sure as
my name's what it is."

" Aw'm weel able to tak care o' misel," said Rachel. " Aw
should ne'er ha thought tha were so spiteful as tha turns eaut
to be."

Hoo left him at that, an' Jim rubbed his e'en a bit, thought a
middlin lot, an' then went worn to bed.

Cherrick met him tuthri days afiher an' says, " What are all
these lies you have been telling about me ?"

" Lies ! " says Jim, takkin him bi th' scuft o' t' neck. " Wilta
co me a liar ? " He punced him across t' road, an' said " What
hasta getten to say next ? "

But Cherrick had nowt to say. He pyched off quiet enough,
an' left Jim grindin his teeth an' muttherin to hissel, " Hoo's less
wit nor aw reckon't on to tell this foo o aw said."

For th' next six month young Crabtree went very little to th'
fiddler's cottage, an' seed nowt o' Rachel ; but hay-time coome
reaund, an' Simon an' his daughther were axed to th' heausin
supper at th' farm, wheere they o met again. Th' young farmer
could hardly believe his e'en when he seed Rachel. Her cheeks
were white an' sunken, hoo'd big rings reaund her e'en, an' when
hob thried to smile it were enough to make onybody cry to watch
her.

There were a bit o' sport at th' supper. Th' mowers gated
threpin as usal to sattle which were th' best mon, an' whether
Irish or English could do most wark ; but they could nobbut
agree abeaut one thing, an' that were 'at Jim were th' best mower
ever fund in a hayfielt, an' as good a maisther as ever stepped.
Th' Yelley parson were theere, an' he read 'em a hymn he'd
written hissel. It were myent for th' corn-heausin, he said, but
were good enough for haytime too.

HARVEST HYMN.

Almighty Lord, whose open hand

Pours down all blessings that we know,

Whose power strikes deep across the land
Where rustling harvests wave and blow.

To Thee our thanks and gifts we bring,

Assembled in Thy worship here ;
To Thee our heartful songs we sing,

Before Thee kneel in solemn prayer.

Gated threpin, began disputing. Myent, meant.

10 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

The seasons, linked in endless chain,

The fruits of valley, plain and hill,
Tempest and sunshine, drought and rain,

Are governed by Thy sovereign will.

When Winter locks the shuddering earth

In iron tends, and roofs the sea,
We tremble not in fear of dearth,

Knowing 'tis but a sign from Thee.

When Spring leaps forth, and all the ground

With shoots of green is thickly set,
Our hearts with exultation bound

To see Thy love is with us yet.

Gay Summer smiles upon the corn,

That deepens to a golden hue,
Ripe berries hang on every thorn,

The flowers are steeped in early dew.

Then mellow Autumn, ripening all,

The garners fills, the fields lays bare :
Lord, let us here before Thee fall

In thanks for mercies through the year.

Oh ! when Thou reapest, at the last,
This world's wide field of human grain,

And we, the Spring and Summer past,
In Autumn turn to earth again,

Garner our souls in heaven, we pray ;

Or, if we be unworthy now,
Send rain and sun upon our way

That we may ripen as we grow.

" An' that's one o' yor own, is it ? " says Jim. " It's noane a
bad un, noather; a bit classical, happen, for haymakers. Neaw,
Thatcher ! another shive o' beef, lad ? Tha's nobbut had three
plateful yet."

" Well, thank yo kindly. It doesn't come every week."

" Tha'rt reel ; an' it's a good job, too, for we should soon run
eaut o' beeas at this rate. Help thisel to cabbitch an' pottatoes.
Make yorsel a-wom, o on yo. Neaw, mother ! heaw are yo gettin
on at yor end ? "

" We're doin very weel, James, an' lookin afther eaursel.
Ne'er mind us."

" That's reel. As aw were sayin, parson, yor poethry's a bit
too dainty an' weel-donned for these wortchin chaps. They liken
a song wi wartay clooas an' clogs on ; summat o' this mak : —

/>••«-, beasts. Wartay, workday.

HEART-STHRENGS. 1 1

A MOWER'S SONG.

Aw clipped a meause i'th' mowin fielt ;

Rip, breet scye !
It scutther't o' one side, an' squeal't ;

Rip, breet scye !

Aw shived a layrock neest away,
An throde two speckl't eggs i'th' clay —
For th' bonny brid a weary day !

Rip, breet scye !

A rabbit showed his tuft o' white,

Rip, breet scye !
An' shiver't in his jacket tight ;

Rip, breet scye !

An owd black crow coome swirlin reaund
To root an' pike i'th' clen-shaved greaund,
An' sauced us wi a raspin seaund ;

Rip, breet scye !

Tall grase fell low afore eaur feet,

Rip, breet scye !
Wi mony a blossom, sparklin weet ;

Rip, breet scye !

An' o'er that green an' fleawery bed
Ripe sorrel sprinkl't dhrops o' red,
An' clover dhrooped it scented yead.

Rip, breet scye !

We buckled to like lusty folk,

Rip, breet scye !
An' sunset showed us th' endin sthroke ;

Rip, breet scye !

But late i'th' neet we raked away,
An' selvaged part o'th' dark to day ;
Cowd moonleet's good for makin hay.

Rip, breet scye !

Next mornin th' sun coome ragin wot,

Rest, dull scye !
An warm't o th' grase for gettin cut ;

Rest, dull scye !

Then up we dhrove wi wheel an' cowt,
An' soon made th' breawn-baked thrusses bowt ;
"An* neaw we'n twelvemonth stock i'th' fowt.

Rest, dull scye ! "

" Hear, hear ! " Thatcher sang eaut. " Henco'er ! henco'er ! "

" O reet, lads," says Jim, laughin. " What are yo pooin sich a
face at, Simon ? Han yo getten t' toothwartch ? "

" Nowe, Jimmy ! Nowe ! But we'll ha no moore singin, iv
tha's a mind."

" Oh ! that's it, is it ? " Mrs. Crabtree said. " Well, we ne'er
reckon't to be singers i' eaur family, an' aw do believe Jim's th'
warst o' t' lot."

Pooin, pulling.

12 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

IV.

Next neet Jim went up to th' fiddler's cottage, an' fund th' owd
brid sawin away wi his bow ; Rachel sittin very quiet in a corner.

" Tha'rt welcome, Jimmy," Simon said, layin th' owd fiddle
in it box as tendherly as iv it 'd bin a babby. " Tha doesn't give
us mich o' thi time neaw."

"Aw've like had a dyel o' wark latly. Heaw are yo bwoth
gettin on ? "

" Aw'm reel enough misel, lad ; but there's summat wrong wi
Rachel, aw deaubt."

" Fayther ! " th' lass co'd eaut, jumpin up wi a freeten't look.

" Come here, mi pratty blossom," Simon said, sthretchin his
arm toard her ; so hoo went an' took his hond, an' bent o'er his
cheer. " It's God's will 'at aw mun never see mi own chilt, moore
precious to me nor o th' world beside ; but aw'm noane dyeaf iv
aw'm blint. Rachel, heaw is it tha never sings as tha used to do ?"

" It mun be becose aw never think abeaut it."

" Tha used to sing beaut thinkin, same as a brid. Jimmy, just
look at this lass an' tell me what hoo's like."

" What hoo's like ? "

" Ah ! Thry thi hond at porthrait-paintin for once, an' tell me
heaw hoo's lookin."

Rachel looked at th' young farmer eaut ov her weet e'en, an'
put a warnin finger up. Jim nodded, an' gated lyin, like a steaut
Englishman as he were.

" Hoo's nobbut a little lass, Simon — just abeaut big enough to
lay her yead on my shooldher, iv hoo nobbut would do. Hoo's
leet an' thrim as ony fairy ever sin i' this clough ; hoo's plump ah'
reaunt, wi red cheeks, curly breawn toppin, an' laughin blue e'en — "

" They're noane laughin neaw, are they ?" axed Simon, brushin
his delicate fingers across his daughther's face. " It's a rainy mak
o' sunshine, is this ! Rachel, mi lass, what is it ? "

" It's nowt 'at matthers, fayther. Dunnot tak on abeaut it."

" Who's dar'd to hurt thee?" axed Simon. " Done folk think
tha'rt to be put on becose aw'm blint ? "

" Nowe, nowe ! "

" What's wrong, mi heart's fleawer ?" Simon axed again, takkin
her to his breast. " Dunnot keep saycrets fro me, Rachel. Aw've
nowt to live for but to make thee happy, an' iv owt happen't thee
it 'd be my dyeath, as sure as we ston here."

Rachel went into a wild storm o' cryin, but hoo'd say nowt.
Hoo took th' owd chap back to his cheer, an' sit deawn in her
corner again, an' th' farmer started talkin abeaut his crops. He
took th' lass eautside wi him when he went, walked wi her a piece
through t' wood, an' then stopped an' said,

HEART-STHRENGS. 13

"Neaw, Pachel, let's have this eaut. Just think aw'm thi
brother, an tell me what's to do."

" It's nowt, James."

" Don't lie that road to me. What's made thee so white, an'
thin, an' freeten't-lookin sin' aw seed thee tuthri month back ?
It's weel thi fayther cawn't see heaw his fleawer's fadin."

Rachel brasted eaut cryin, an' Jim had to put his arm reaund
her to howd her up. Then hoo said, " It's moore nor a month
sin' Tom coome near me."

" That's naught to cry o'er."

" Aw see him at church every Sunday, but he wain't look
at me."

" Oh ! he gwoes to church reglar, does he ? "

" He swore to wed me this spring ; an iv he doesn't there's
nowt but shame an' ruin afore us. Mi poor fayther ! "

" Aw'll kill him ! " said Jim, wi shut neighves an' blazin e'en.
" May God send deawn o' that curst breed "

Rachel put her hond o'er his meauth an' stopped him, an' he
raged abeaut th' hill top like a wild thing. Then another fit took
him, an' deep sobs broke fro his big heart. " Nay, Rachel !
Deein's a foo to this ! What will thi fayther do when he knows ?
But he never mun know — we mun keep it fro him at o risks.
Nay, Rachel ! "

" Oh, James ! iv aw'd nobbut takken notice o' thee ! "

" It's rayther too lat to talk o' that neaw. Well ! what's
to be done ? "

" Tom mun oather wed me soon or aw'll dhreawn misel."

" He shall wed thee next week. Go worn an' rest quietly; get
thi frock ready, put some bloom on thi cheeks, an' it '11 o
come reet."

" Oh, Jim ! An' afther t' road aw've used thee ! But tha'll
never get him to come."

"Get him !" says Jim, shakin his sthrong arm. "Iv he says
two words to me aw'll twist his neck. A dammed villain ! "

" Hush ! " said Rachel, " tha munnot hurt him, for aw love
him."

" Love him ! " grunted th' farmer. " A bonny thing is this
women's love ! It's naught to brag o'er when aw tell thee aw'm
woth hawve a dozen Tom Cherricks ; but when tha'd th' chance
ov a gradely mon nowt 'd do but cobbin thisel away on a little
heaunt like yon, 'at thinks o' nowt but th' fit ov his jacket an' th'
shape ov his finger nails."

" Aw've used thee very badly, James."

" Well, aw'm nobbut another to th' rook. Goo an' shap thi
weddin-geawn."

Neighves, fists. Gradely, real. Book, ruck.

14 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

V.

" Aw wondher what time these fashionables getten up," Jim
thought to hissel o'er his breakfast next mornin. " Up o neet an'
i' bed o day, aw sh' think — same as eawls. They're abeaut as
fawse too, an' as blint to th' dellit. It'll be no use gooin afore
eleven o' t' clock or so, shuzheaw ; aw'll goo up an' fettle yon
shippon dur a bit."

Between eleven an' twelve he were knockin at a big fine heause
just aboon Shayclough.

" Is Turn Cherrick in ? " he says, when th' sarvant coome.

" Yes, sir ; but he is engaged."

" That matthers nowt," Jim said, sthridin forrad. " Tell him
aw've com'n."

" I daren't disturb him, sir ; he is with his father in the
drawing-room."

" This front reawm, dost myen ? O reet, lass, aw'll disturb
him mysel."

He knocked at th' reawm dur, oppen't it, an' went sthraight in.
Owd Cherrick had bin talkin very leaud, but he stopped when th'
dur oppen't, an' beaunced eaut ov his cheer ; an' th' son sit still
on a three-corner't sofy, lookin very deawn i' t' meauth.

" Mornin ! " Jim said, layin his billycock on th' table, an' starin
hard at 'em bwoth.

" You are intruding, Mr. Crabtree," said th' owd chap.

" Aw coome o' purpose."

" We have some very particular business to transact, and if
you will call at another time I shall be obliged."

" Aw've some business moore particlar nor yors," said th'
farmer. "Aw'm com'n a tellin this lad o' yors to be ready for
gettin wed next week."

Young Cherrick beaunced up at that, an' Jim poo'd a cheer up
an' sit him deawn.

" What tomfoolery's this ! " th' owd chap snarled, stampin
reaund as iv he cared nowt abeaut th' price ov his grand carpet.

" This fine son o' yors has ruin't th' fiddler's daughther up
Yelley Clough, an' he's beaun to get wed to her next week."

" You don't mean Simon Leach's girl ? "

" Th' same ! "

" Can this be true, Tom ? "

But Thomas said nowt. He looked middlin sheepish, an'
walked to th' window.

" Aw don't think he con tell to an odd un," th' farmer said, wi
a dhry look at him ; " there's bin so mony."

" Is this true, Tom ! " his fayther axed again.

Shnzheaw, however.

HEART-STHRENGS. 15

" It's too true," Thomas says, starin very hard into th' garden.

" This connection must cease immediately," th' owd fellah
splutther't. " As I told you just now, you shall marry our neigh-
bour's daughter, and keep the properties together, or I will
disown you."

" Isn't he big enough to live bi hissel ? " axed Jim.

" Don't make foolish remarks, Crabtree. Go and tell these
people at once that nothing can be done for them."

" Iv aw do yon lass '11 dee ; an' what abeaut her blint fayther,
then, done yo think?"

" It's no concern of mine, I tell you, The girl's no better
than she should be, I expect."

" Yo expect naught o' th' sort," Jim said, "becose yo known
her too weel. Say another word again her an' aw'll dust yor
jacket wi this whip-stock, whether yo're owdher nor me or not."

" Well, you're right, and I beg your pardon. She is a decent
girl enough, no doubt ; and I am extremely sorry for what has
happened."

" Let's sattle abeaut this weddin, then. What day next
week '11 suit thee, Turn?"

" But this is preposterous ! " th' owd chap said, fairly gaspin
for wynt at Jim's cool impidence. " You must see the thing is
quite impossible."

" Mi e'en are good yet, but aw cawn't otogelher see that."

" Consider the difference in position."

" Last time yo put up for th' ceauncil yo towd us i' one o' yor
speeches 'at we were o made o' th' same stuff."

" This woman is quite uneducated."

" Teighch her. Hoo's young enough to larn."

" The father is a mere pauper."

" He never begged in his life ; but yo'n brass enough to keep
him, shuzheaw."

" My son must marry Miss Butterworth, our neighbour's
daughter."

" Aw'll co theere on mi road worn an' tell her abeaut this job,
an' see iv hoo'll wed him afther that."

" You will never do that, Crabtree ! You dare not !"

" Yo s' go wi me an' see, iv yo'n a mind. Will Monday suit
thee, Turn ? "

" No ! nor any other day," t' fayther said. " He will never
marry her with my consent."

" He con happen shap beaut that iv he gets a ring an' a
licence."

" Crabtree is perfectly right, father," says young Tom, lookin
as iv he'd made his mind up at last. " I must marry Rachel.
I know you can't believe a word I say, farmer, and think me a
creature beneath contempt, but upon my soul I have had no

1 6 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

peace of mind for weeks over this business. I will do justice to
her, father, by heaven ! "

" Now, could anything be more provoking than this ! " owd
Cherrick grunted, dodgin abeaut in a fury. " Here's ten thousand
pounds lying ready to your hand, and you won't condescend to
pick it up."

" Aw s' begin to think yo're short o' brass in a bit, owd mon !
What han yo comin in a year ? "

" I'll marry Rachel, and nobody else," says Tom.

" Then I've done with you," his father snarled. " You can
clear out of this, and never expect another penny from me."

" Very good, father. We can spare one another very well. I
have little to thank you for, although I daresay in your own selfish
way you have tried to do well for me. I am not a bad fellow at
bottom if you hadn't spoiled me with your infernal vanity and
conceit, and I hope to develop into a respectable man yet."

" Good lad, Turn ! " th' farmer co'd eaut. " Tha'rt a betther
chap nor aw thought thee, as heaw 'tis. When mun we goo for
that licence ? "

" I'm afraid we shall have no money for licences, Crabtree.
The banns shall be published in the usual way."

" Aw'll find thee brass for a licence. What arta beaun to do
for a livin ? "

" God knows ! "

" Happen thi fayther con find thee a job."

" His father will see him in the workhouse first," owd Cherrick
said.

" Nay ! aw con stop that gam, shuzheaw. Aw know ov a shop
'at '11 just suit thee, Turn ; it's a thravellin job i' th' corn thrade,
an' woth aboon a hundherd peaund a year. We'll see abeaut it
to-morn, an' co for th' licence at t' same time. Wheere arta
beaun to sleep to-neet ? "

" At some alehouse or other, I suppose."

" Tha'd betther come an' live wi us at th' farm tuthri days.
Aw'll be gooin neaw, an' expect thee up sometime toard neet.
Wiltacome?"

" I will."

" See tha does ; an' iv this owd reskil ov a fayther thries to
talk thee o'er just think on 'at when aw gate ov a job aw'll carry it
through, an' iv tha slutthers off or plays ony scowbankin thricks
aw'll be afther thee an' expose thee wherever tha happens to be.
Aw con soon make this counthry too warm for thee ; an' iv tha
levs it aw'll follow thee to another, an howd thee up theere to th'
scorn ov o dacent an' clen-minded folk ; an' iv tha levs th' world —
but nowe ! aw'll follow thee no fur — beside, tha'd be takkin t'
wrong turn for me."

Scoii'bankin, dishonest.

HEART-STHRENGS. 17

" I'll come, farmer."

" Well, we s' see," Jim says ; an' as he'd sattl't his business he
took his billycock an' went. Tom turn't up at neet, were made
welcome bi th' Crabtree family, an' soon felt awom wi 'em. Just
as they'rn gooin to bed he said quietly to Jim, " Farmer, you
wanted Rachel yourself, I believe."

" Aw did."

" And still you are doing all you can to get me married to her.
How is that ? "

" It's noane eaut o' love for thee, Tummy ; be sure o' that !
Aw'll tell thee what aw'd do wi thee iv aw'd mi own road."

"What?"

" Snap thee across mi knee like a bit o' wood, an' beet a fire
wi thee."

" Am I safe in this house ? " axed Tom. " You haven't de-
coyed me into this lonely place to murder me, have you ? "

"There's ne'er no tellin," Jim said. "Tha'd best scotch thi
chamber dur an' sleep wi one e'e oppen."

Next day they went to th' teawn, geet t' thravellin job sattl't,
an' bought a weddin licence.

" Away wi thee up th' clough wi that bit o papper, an' give it
yon lass to keep," Jim said. " Tell her aw'll have yo wed o' Mon-
day iv aw've to lurry yo bwoth bi th' neck."

" We shall be there without dragging, thanks to you. I can't
thank you enough for helping to make me an honest man ; but
what motive you have is past my comprehension."

" Aw darsay it is, lad ; an' so mich wur for thee. But tha
didn't make thisel, aw reckon. Goo thi ways an' comfort yon lass."

Th' weddin coome off just as th' farmer had planned it. Jim
seed it through, walked wi th' young couple into th' clough on
their road worn, an' theere he stopped an' said,

" Aw'll lev yo neaw, childher, an' wish yo long an' happy."

" Don't be long before you call to see us, farmer," Tom said.
" It does me good to be in the company of a man like you."

" Well, we s' see. Tha's takken a greight charge on thi
shooldhers to-day ; mind tha shaps to do o tha's promised, an'
make thi wife as comfortable as hoo desarves to be."

" I'll do my best."

" God be wi thee, Rachel," th' farmer said, takkin her little
hond in his. " Wherever aw goo, whatever aw do, aw con ne'er
forget thee."

" Oh, Jim ! aw've used thee ill !"

" Aw'm noane th' first chap 'at's bin made a foo on bi women,
an' aw bear thee no grudge. Run away, childher, an' be happy ;
an' give a thought to me neaw an' again."

Awom, at home.

1 8 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

They left him, climbin up their steep road aboon th' brook, an'
Jim stood lookin afther 'em, restin his big hond on a saplin.

" Tha'rt a bonny dingle," he said to hissel, " an' some weel aw
love thee. Aw s' carry thee away wi me — this saup o' weet fo'in
between th' green bonks, every reaunded an' hollowed stone
undher it, mossy hillock an' ferny knowe, fleawery broo an' shady
plantin — it's o i' mi yead ! Grandher sects aw may happen find,
but nowt like thee. Ever sin' a chilt aw've throdden these stony
roads an' splashed i' th' brook ; mony a breet day aw've wandhered
here, an' neaw aw'm gooin aw s' lev mi heart behinnd. Theere's
Rachel shakin her hanketcher on th' top. God bless thee, lass !
God bless thee !

He dashed his neighve across his e'en, plunged deawn th' road
wi greight sthrides, an' were sin upo' that clod no moore for ten
year.

VI.

A good dyel con happen i' ten year, iv it sets that road. Tak
ony ten year yo'n sin, an' yo'll be capped i' lookin back o'er it to
find heaw mony folk han dhropped eaut o' th' world, heaw mony
han come deawn an' gwone up i' th' scales, heaw places an' ideas
are awther't. Look at yorsel, an' just think what yo were botherin
yor yead abeaut an' sthrivin for ten year back. What yo took
then to be th' best goods o' life — o yo pined an' teawed for — con
jump up neaw for owt yo care ; new things, never dhrem't on at
that time, hang afore yor e'en neaw, to be cried for an' run afther
tuthri year i' their turn, an' then to be followed bi moore, for there
mun be summat to look forrad to iv we mun live. That's heaw it
happens 'at fro th' year-owd babby, skrikin for his fayther's watch,
to th' seventy-year bundle o' rheumatics, gropin on th' grave edge
for another peaund or two to swell th' savins he con never spend,
we're olez on th' grunt, unsatisfied, loisin seet o' what we han i' th'
dark shadow o' what we want. We're a quare lot.

Ten year went past, then — plenty fast enough for th' happy,
slow an' wearisome wi th' miserable — an' owd Cherrick — facthry
owner, gentleman farmer, banker — sit in his big heause aboon
Shayclough, lookin as iv life didn't agree wi him. His studyin
were brokken bi a sarvant comin wi a two-inch-bi-one card on a
twelve-inch thray. On th' card were printed

JAMES CRABTREE,

ESTATE AGENT.

HEART-STHRENGS. 19

" Show him in," says Cherrick, an' in he coome, big as a
heause, sthrong as an elephant, sportin brodecloth, gowd watch-
guard, an' silk hat. Cherrick beaunced up, shook honds wi him,
an' axed him to sit deawn.

" I am delighted to see you, Mr. Crabtree, and particularly to
see you looking so remarkably well."

" Aw'm moore welcome then nor aw were last time aw co'd.
Done yo recollect that ? "

" I do. Ah ! my dear sir, things were very different then.
You would hear of my son's death ? "

" Aw've yerd an heaur sin' for th' first time. Dhreawn't at
Hollinoth aw'm towd."

" Yes. He has been buried two years."

" Done yo know heaw his widow's gettin on ?"

" She and her father still live in the old cottage, I believe. "

" Han yo done owt for 'em ? "

" No."

" Heaw's that ? "

" My own affairs have been quite enough to occupy me, I can
assure you."

" They olez occupied yo a dyel too mich, it's my belief.
Heaw is it yo're advertisin this heause an' lond for sale ? "

" I am completely ruined," Cherrick said, gettin restless in his
cheer undher Jim's steady stare. " When all debts are paid I
shall not have a penny to call my own."

" Well, that's a flogger ! So yo'n bin scrattin afther brass o
yor life, an' yo're beaut at th' finish."

" I am certainly left without now."

" What han yo done wi it o ? " axed Jim. " Aw ne'er yerd on
yo bein a fuddler, an' aw'll swear yo'n ne'er gien it i' charity.
Heaw han yo shapped to get shut on it ?"

" Speculations on the Stock Exchange."

" Ah ! just so. Mich would ha moore. Noane satisfied wi
rakin gowd in wi bwoth honds, fro bank an' facthry, yo mut aim
at seaukin it in wi yor meauth too."

" Yes, I suppose so, if you like to put it that way. You seem
to have fared better in the world than I have been able to do."

" It's nobbut reet aw should do, noather. Aw'm a chap 'at
desarves to get on ; con yo say as mich ? "

" I should like to get on, at any rate, whether I deserve it or
not. Where are you settled now, Mr. Crabtree ? "

" Aw live i' Cheshire. Soon afther aw left worn aw happened
to yer 'at Lord Darley wanted a yead mon for one ov his big
estates theere ; so aw went an' geet th' job."

"You were fortunate to do that without either influence or
patronage."

20 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw'd no bother abeaut it," Jim said. " Aw co'd to see mi
lord, an axed him for th' shop. He's a fawse-lookin customer, wi
a square yead, an' clen-shaved o reaund bi th' neckhole. He
looked hard at me, an' wanted to know what aw could do ; so aw
towd him, an' that were o reel.

1 The chief qualification for this post is honesty,' he says. ' A
really trustworthy and honourable man would be cheap at five
hundred a year. Can you give me any references ? '

1 Yo mun write to th' parson at Yelley,' aw said. c Aw've lived
theere o mi life, an mi fayther an' hawve-a-dozen gronfaythers
afore me. We'n ne'er bothered to scrat th' pedigree deawn ; but
aw darsay th' Crabtree stock's bin on that clod mony a hundherd
year. Write to th' parson, an' ax him what he knows abeaut
Jim ov Adam's.'

He wrote off first thing, an' said iv aw'd co again next mornin
he'd go reaund to some o' th' farms wi me ; so aw went, an' soon
showed him aw knew summat abeaut mi job. Then he took me
to th' estate office, an' poo'd his rent book eaut to thry iv he could
freeten me wi long rows o' figures ; but sums were ne'er no bother
to me, yo known, an' aw rattl't 'em off whol he stared o reaund
his yead.

1 Are you accustomed to surveying ? ' he says next ; an' aw
towd him aw'd ne'er had mich practice, but could do it weel
enough.

He took a plan off th' wole, an' says, ' Will you be good enough
to measure these two enclosures this afternoon. I know the exact
size of both, and can check your calculation to a yard.'

' To be sure,' aw said ; ' aw'll measur owt for yo fro a barn-dur
to a hay-moo. But aw s' ha to borrow a chen an' a lad to howd it.'

' You shall have both,' mi lord says ; an' so when aw'd had mi
dinner off aw set to th' meadows, an' fund he'd piked two abeaut
as awkart as he could shap, for th' hedges were in an' eaut like a
dog-leg. When aw took him th' size on 'em he compar't it wi a
big book, an' towd me aw were wrong.

' One of them is substantially correct,' he says, ' but you are
out of your reckoning in the other.'

' Iv yo'll onswer for th' chen bein reel aw'll ston to th' measurin,'
aw said.

1 You must be wrong.'

Aw axed him who'd measur't th' lond afore, an' he said it were
some eminent architect i' th' village ; so aw said,

' Will he be awom, done yo think ? Let's tak him up, an' goo
o'er it together.'

c That's an excellent idea,' mi lord says. ' We'll go at once.'

" We went, an' i' less nor hawve-an-heaur th' eminent architect
fund it were him 'at v, ere wrong ; so afther that, yo known, th' job
were as good as sattl't, an' when th' owd parson had written a good

HEART-STHRENGS. 21

word for me aw geet shopped sthraight off, an' aw've bin theere
ever sin'. Aw've com'n o'er a-buyin this estate o' yors to-day.
What done yo want for it ?

" Are you coming to live here, then ? "

" Oh nowe ! It's noane for misel, yo undherstond ; it's mi
lord 'at wants it. He's moore lond neaw nor he could walk
reaund in a month ; so aw guess he thinks he met as weel have a
bit moore to th' rook."

"We shall have no difficulty in arranging terms. Mr. Crab-
tree, I'm almost ashamed to ask after what you have seen of me,
but if you could provide me with work of any kind I should be
grateful to you all my life. There is nothing but the workhouse
in prospect."

" Well, we s' want somebry here to keep things sthraight, yo
known. Aw con happen shap that job for yo. It'll do yo good
to start wortchin for yor livin, aw darsay."

" No doubt it will. I am rapidly altering my old view of
things, I can assure you."

" Oh ah ! yo'll larn wit in a while. There's nowt like a good
cleaut on th' yead for wakkenin a chap up."

Afther a bit moore talk Jim left him an' turned toard th' clough.
He looked to be thinkin hard abeaut summat; for he kept grinnin,
waggin his yead an' lookin solemn again every tuthri yards, sthridin
forrad an' noticin nowt abeaut him. He were soon on th' hill top,
stonnin by th' owd cottage he knew so weel an' loved so mich ; an'
sthrong chap as he were he'd to poo up a minute to feight wi th'
creawd o' thoughts ov owd times 'at flew reaund him like a swarm
o' midges. He wiped his e'en in a bit, an' went on ; but he were
knocked o'er again as he geet near th' dur an' yerd th' owd fiddle
chirpin away inside just as iv nowt were.

" God bless th' owd lad ! " Jim thought. " Aw shouldn't
wondher iv he's bin scrattin away at that bant ever sin aw were
here afore, an' aw hope he'll live to rub a dyel o' rosin away yet.
That'll be one o' th' tunes aw used to yer him play, iv aw nobbut
knew. Heaw the hangment done folk make tunes, an' wheere
done they get 'em fro ? There's noane mich sowin wanted for
that mak o' crops. He's at it yet ; it's one o' thoose long uns,
beaut oather end or side."

He knocked at th' dur, an' th' music stopped.

" That's wakken't him ! " Jim said, an' he set th' dur oppen an'
went sthraight in. A white faced young woman in a black frock
geet up off a cheer an' coome toard him ; he spread his arms, hoo
walked reight into 'em beaut ony bother, an' their lips met.

" Rachel, lass ! "

" Jim ! "

" That's Jimmy ! " Simon co'd eaut, jumpin up an' layin his
fiddle carefully on th' table. "Wheere arta, lad ?" an' he coome
forrad wi his hond eaut.

22 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Here aw am, fayther," Jim said, layin howd on him. " Yo're
lookin abeaut th' same, aw think ; a shade greyer, iv owt."

" An' tha doesn't ail mich, bi th' feel an' seaund on thee,"
Simon quaver't, howdin Jim's big neighve wi bwoth honds. " Eh,
my lad ! aw love thee like a son ; an' aw con never praise thee
hard or long enough for o tha's done for me."

" Well, it's no use thryin iv yo cawn't shap it," Jim said, takkin
th' owd chap back to his arm-cheer. " Hello ! " he co'd eaut,
" who's this ? This is a fresh un ! " an' he poo'd a little lass eaut
o' th' nook, where hoo'd bin sittin on a buffet behinnd her gron-
fayther's cheer. " Come here, little woman, an' let's have a look
at thee. Well, theau art a pratty chilt ; wi these bonny blue e'en,
an' ringlets o' shinin gowd, an' cheeks ripe enough for brids to
pike at. What's thi name, mi fairy ? "

" Rachel, sir," th' little lass said, a bit shy on him.

" What, another on 'em ! " Jim said, sittin deawn an' takkin
th' chilt on his knee. " There'll be no stirrin for Rachels e'eneaw.
Wilta come wi me, love, on th' railway, to a counthry o meadows
an' gardens, an' let me be like a fayther to thee ? "

Th' chilt laughed, an' looked at her mother.

" Oh ! we'll tak thi mam too, iv hoo'll come, an' thi gron-
fayther, an' Pincher an' o — heaw arta, owd dog ? Tha looks a
bit cratchinly — an' we'll o live together as happy as gipsies in a
cart. What say'n yo, Simon ? "

" Aw'm agreeable, Jimmy ; but tha should have axed Rachel
first."

" Aw know that," Jim said, " but aw'm ill freeten't o' doin it ;
for iv hoo cobs me away again it'll be domino."

He took Rachel's hond, an' hoo stood beside him as he sit wi
th' chilt on his knee. Simon bent forrad fro th' ingle nook, an'
owd Pincher waddl't to an' again between 'em, waggin his tail.

" My dear lass," Jim said, " it's idle to tell heaw aw love thee :
tha knows. Tha choos't another chap afore me, an' wed him, an'
there's nob'dy but me an' One beside ever knew heaw that clove
into mi heart ; but aw stood back an' ne'er bother't yo, an' shapped
to ston it beaut wringin his neck. Tha'rt loase again neaw, an'
aw've o mi owd love to offer thee, wi th' last ten years' savins put
to it. Iv tha'll have me say so, an' let's ha done wi't."

" Aw s' be like to wed thee neaw, James, iv it's nobbut eaut o'
gratitude," Rachel said, smilin at him through tears.

" Aw'll be noane wed eaut o' gratitude," Jim said ; " an' aw
wain't tak thee for charity, noather. Aw'll tak middlin good care
yo ne'er wanten for nowt ony moore, for aw've a dyel moore brass
nor aw know what to do wi ; but iv tha's no love to gie me aw'll
scrat on a single chap to th' end, an' be as satisfied as aw con."

Cratchinly, infirm with age.

HEART-STHRENGS. 23

' But aw have love waitin for thee, James, sich deep an' thrue
love as aw ne'er felt for him 'at's dyead. Aw've long known what
aw lost in loisin thee, an' aw'm nobbut too thankful to yer thi dear
voice again, look into thi honest e'en, an tell thee heaw preaud aw
am to have th' chance o' bein thi wife."

" Then it's o sattl't," laughed Jim, kissin her an' tossin little
Rachel up. " Aw'll cart yo o off into Cheshire i' tuthri days ;
an' theere we s' find life breet an' yezzy, an' never ail nowt nor
grumble again whol we con crawl."

" Plez God ! " said Simon.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH.

AW'D written to th' poet to come o'er an' spend a week-end
wi us, as aw'd a Sethurday off, an' could have a chance o'
showin him reaund a bit ; but he'd sent no onswer, an'
we'd gien him up. But o' th' Friday neet, just as th' owd woman
finished swillin th' flags, eaur Dick coome in wi th' empty bucket
he'd bin usin to carry wayther for his mother an' said there were
a sthranger comin up t' sthreet, lookin as iv he wanted to find
somebry. Aw were pyerched at th' hobend readin politics, an'
as near as a toucher fo'in asleep o'er their babby wark, but aw
wakken't up a bit at that, thinkin it met just possibly, be t'
Mytholmroyd chap, an' axed Dick what he were like.

" He's a young fellah," th' lad said ; " tall, an very stiff, wi a
big moustache an' a nose like yon flat-iron hondle. He's whistlin,
an' gapin o reaund him, an' swingin his umbrell ; an' he wears a
black jacket, grey breeches, an' a billycock."

" Bi th' mass, it's him ! " aw said, beauncin up. " Does he
gawp abeaut as iv his legs were i' one world an' his brains in
another ? "

" Summat that road," Dicky says. " A bit as iv he'd had a
cleaut on t' yead wi a stick ten year sin', an' were thinkin abeaut
it yet."

" Oh, it's him ! " aw said, makin for th' dur. " That's t' gradely
look o' poets an' Prestwichites — olez seechin an' never findin."
Sure enough, theere he were when aw geet eautside ; an' aw wel-
com't him, poo'd him inside, slapped him into a cheer, an' made
him feel awom i' less nor two minutes.

" Here he is, owd dame," aw said, as mi t'other hawve coome
clankin on her pattens. " We'n getten him at last, an' we'll howd
him fast for a bit neaw."

John smil't an' shook honds wi th' owd woman ; hoo looked
hard at him, sayin nowt, an' then slipped her pattens off an' crept
into t' other reawm wi her appron to her e'en. Aw could see
what were to do, so aw followed her in a minute.

"What is it, lass?"

" Eh, fayther ! Did onybody ever see sich a likeness ? He's
t' very picther o' what eaur Joe would ha bin, iv he'd lived."
Hoo dhropped her yead on mi shooldher, an sobbed.

" Bless thi owd e'en an' thi lovin heart ! " aw said. " They're
no moore alike nor Adam an' Moses; but tha con see thi lad
everywheere, and will do whol tha lives, aw expect. God made

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 25

women so ; an' whol there's one on yo left wick love con never
fade eaut o' th' world."

" Whatever is the matter ? " axed John, poppin his yead
through t' kitchen dur ; an' when aw towd him he took mi wife's
hond an' kissed it, like Raleigh wi Queen Lizabeth, an' went back
to his cheer beaut sayin a word.

We looked at one another when aw went back, but there were
nowt said, an' i' tuthri minutes th' owd dame were knockin abeaut
as cheerful as ever.

" And this is our Dick, is it?" says John, pattin th' lad's curly
yead. " Your other children are not at home, then ? "

" Nowe ; it's one o' their science class neets, an' Tom's larnin
fancy thrades o' welly o maks — chemisthry, an' asthronomy, an'
geology, an' sich like — so he's middlin busy. Polly's somewheere
abeaut. Tha'll be stoppin o'er Sunday wi us ?"

" No, I can't do that. I am an organist, and must be at home
in time for Sunday morning service. That's my reason for coming
to-night ; so that we can put in a full day to-morrow."

" Tha's done reet," aw said, " but it's a pity tha cawn't stop it
eaut. Orginist, arta? Tha'rt like rootin afther o t' fine arts at
once. Couldn't thi blower shap to turn t' thing for an odd day ?
But it's happen one o' th' far-larnt orgins, where th' player sits on
a plank, scrawms up an' deawn a length o' keighs wi his fingers,
an' potes abeaut in a dark hole wi his feet ? "

" Yes ; one of that sort," John said, laughin.

" Well, t' simplest job 'd be to get a hondle to it, aw sh' think ;
but aw darsay tha knows moore abeaut sich things nor me. Aw
con fot most music eaut ov a loom ov owt. Ha'ever, we mun do
t' best we con ; an' iv there's nobbut one day we'll have a good
un — that is, iv th' owd damsel here '11 let us eaut."

" Onybody met believe aw used thee ill bi t' road tha talks an'
co's me," mi wife said.

" Mi fayther co's everybody," Dick says ; " but he's nobbut
laughin at 'em o th' time."

" Ha, ha ! " says John. " That's one to the youngster."

" Thee keep quiet, Dick," aw said. " It's a rum un iv mi own
childher are turnin reaund on me this road. Aw'll tell t' schoo-
maisther o' thee."

Dick were noane mich freeten't. He nobbut wagged his big
yead, shook his fat sides, screwed his blue e'en up an' rowl't abeaut
on his buffet. Then Polly coome in, so aw co'd on her to come
an' ston up for her owd fayther ; but hoo were a bit shy o' th' poet,
an' afther shakin honds an' havin a word or two wi him hoo crept
quietly to her stoo i' th' nook beside my cheer, where th' little
quiet meause sits for heaurs.

" This is eaur little pet, John," aw said, smoothin her breet
yure back. " We liken th' lads weel enough, tha knows ; but this

26 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

little helpless dot taks moore lookin afther nor they done, an' t
moore bother folk han wi their childher t' moore they loven 'em."

" We'n very little bother wi eaurs, bless 'em ! " mi wife said.
" There's plenty wur ; isn't there, Dick ? "

" Aw dun'know, mother," says Dick. " Yo'n a dyel o' saucin
to do sometimes. Yo grumbl't last neet when aw were singin

' Alley, alley, asther,
Come deawn fasther,'

whol it were rainin ; an' aw've bin catchin it again neaw for slattin
wayther eaut o' th' bucket. There's olez summat wrong."

" There will be as long as tha lives, mi lad," aw towd him, for
aw never reckon to miss a chance o' moralisin a bit ; it's a chep
amusement, an' makes yo feel so mich betther nor other folk.
" Tha'll have a dyel wur grumblers nor thi mother at thee e'eneaw
— an' they wain't be hawve as mich consarn't abeaut doin thee
good. But iv tha con larn to carry thi buckets sthraight whol
tha'rt young tha wain't be likely to wort 'em when tha'rt groon up,
an' that'll be one good thing."

Dick took as mich notice o' th' sarmon as he uses doin, an'
that' as near noane at o as yo could very weel get ; him an' Polly
were on t' brode grin at one another afore aw'd done, an' when
their mother thried to look savage at 'em for their bad manners
they laughed wur nor ever, so we o laughed together at th' finish,
an' geet eaut on 't that road. In a bit Tom londed in wi a pile
o' books undher his arm, an' his quiet thoughtful face wakken't up
when he seed t' visithor, an' fund eaut who he were.

" I am greatly pleased to see you here, sir," Tom says, givin
Istram his hond in his sthraightforrad fashion. " We often talk of
you, and I have been anxjous to see you for some time."

Aw watched John as he took stock o' my lad's square yead an'
deep e'en, an' felt fain to see him smile an' look plez't ; for aw'm
deawn o' these poets — they're pychin, watchful fellahs, an' con
reckon a chap up in a snift.

" Come ! you are not all afflicted with the dialect," John said.

" We can all talk English at a pinch, you know," Tom towd
him. " I use the dialect myself as often as not ; but on these
class nights I catch the twang of the schools, and can't get rid of
it all in a minute."

" And what particular science are you engaged upon now ? "

" They takken 'em in a rook," aw said, " one deawn an' t' other
come on ; an' some o' t' lads getten their yeads so macadamised
wi brokken flints o' larnin 'at their wits are buried, an' they con
hardly tell rule o' three fro Latin grammar, nor separate Oliver
Cromwell fro owd Canute. They'n ologies stickin eaut o reaund
'em, like spears in a missionary ; but whether conchology myens

Wort, to fall sidewards.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 2"J

yead-measurin, or philology is th' science o' chetin other folk eaut
o' their brass, very few on 'em knows. Aw were talkin to one on
'em t'other neet — Cherrick's little lad, tha knows, Tom — but aw
could do no good wi him He's as full o' miles as a Sunday schoo
savins bank is ov hawpnies. Th' sun were ninety-one million mile
off, he said. ' Is it for sure ? ' aw says. ' It'd tak a rare length o'
popbant to send a kite theereto. An' heaw fur is it reaund t'
middle o' th' world, Jimmy?' 'Aw just forget, neaw, but it's a
dyel o' theausands,' he says. ' It'd like tak a dyel o' clippin up,
tha thinks ? ' 'It would that ! ' ' An' what's th' difference between
what yo co'n a square mile an' one wi a gradely end to it ? ' aw
axed him. He studied a good bit o'er that, an' then said he
thought a square mile were one yo could olez walk reaund ; so aw
dursen't ax him ony moore puzzles, freeten't ov his brains gooin."

"You must always discount my father's satire, you know, sir,"
Tom said.

" Yes, I know," says John.

" Co me ! " aw said. " An undher mi own slates ! "

Tom went on : " At any rate, father, your remarks don't apply
to me at present, for I am only considering one subject —
astronomy. I should think, Mr. Istram, you must be greatly
interested in that science."

"Yes, I am."

" There is scope for you imaginative gentlemen in the upper
spaces," Tom said. " I am often tempted to apply the light of
fancy to the problems set us. The asteroids, for instance, which
we have been hearing some statements about to-night — what do
you think of them ? "

" Do you mean in the way of accounting for them ? "

" Yes."

" You must ask me an easier one, Tom," th' poet said, laughin
hard ; " the old-fashioned theory was that there had been a col-
lision and a smash, but probably you modern enquirers would
disdain such an explanation as that."

" I don't know," Tom says, thinkin abeaut it. " There is no
better explanation yet, perhaps. It would be rough for the in-
habitants of the colliding planets. I wonder what became of them."

" They're very likely thoose little hairy black chaps 'at Stanley
let on last year," aw said. " Thoose folk mun ha' dhropped fro
somewheere moore nor gradely. Tom's wortchin thee reaund
very cliverly, poet, wi his imaginative talk ; what he wants to
know is iv tha's brought ony rhymes i' thi pocket."

" Yes, I have," John said, an' he never blushed. " You might
be sure I shouldn't venture to visit a critic of your weight without
preparing myself. I have some verses here that slightly touch
upon the planets ; so perhaps Tom may be interested in them."

28 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" That's reel, lad," aw said ; " blaze away, an' we'll ston it as
weel as we con."

Tom said " Thank you," t'other young uns looked solemn, an'
mi wife started noddin wi sleepiness, as hoo olez does when there's
poethry stirrin, iv it's nobbut a hat or swop advertisement ; an' we
o looked as fawse as we could whol th' poet poo'd his pappers
eaut, shapped hissel, an' read his rhymes.

LABOUR.

Immortal labour ! boon and bane of man,

To thee I raise a wistful strain of song ;
Labour, that here with earliest life began,

That shall not fail while earth yet whirls along

Its unsupported path, amid a throng
Of hanging worlds — not without labour made ;

Even their Creator, the all-wise, all-strong,
May well some god-like dues to toil have paid
When on the yielding air those ponderous globes he laid.

Given that Creator's wish to frame a world,

Peopled with living creatures such as we,
Through unknown spaces blind and helpless whirled,

Striving for ever against destiny,

And labour's uses we may clearly see
To guide our feet along the slippery shelves

Of this velocid sphere ; where what shall be
Is lost in rayless night, and no man delves
From the past's gloomy hill sure knowledge of ourselves.

First came the healthful tillage of the field
And fruit-hung garden, care of grazing flocks,

Tending of fowl and herd on hill and weald,

And freedom wide for all. Men clove no blocks
Of stone to shield their bodies from the shocks

Of rain or wind, but under sun and sky

Unshrouded lived upon the tree-clad rocks,

And grassy slopes, or found a lodging by

Slow brooks that ran with ever-murmuring melody.

Then grew the host of handicrafts, as man

Progressed in knowledge ; iron and wood were wrought
To shapes of use and beauty ; rivers ran

No longer spending idle strength for nought,

But into willing servitude were brought ;
The noble horse was maimed and crushed to fit

A drudge's place, and plodding labour taught ;
Huge walls and roofs were piled with measured wit,
And earth was deeply gashed by many a yawning pit.

Poised on the full-heaped sea, the sailor made

His wind-shaped course through days of storm and sun ;
The warriors massed their ranks in grim parade,

Staking red life on duty to be done ;

The wide-browed thinker from the tangle spun
By myriad minds drew threads of shining gold ;

The healer strove with Death, and often won
Spoil from the forays of that bandit old ;
The prophet led his flocks toward the heavenly fold.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 29

We, their inheritors, must follow still

The path God's compasses and plummet set ;
Not only labouring to climb life's hill,

But under heavy burdens doomed to fret ;

Though knavish cowards may escape the sweat
Of toil by weighing down their brother-slaves

With doubled loads, all-careless if the debt
Crush men and women helpless to their graves,
They yet shall surely fill the task stern Justice craves.

Thus, on the whirling wheel of Labour pressed

By the stern lapidary Time, we're carved
And burnished, till the veins of ore that rest

Within us show their tracings, and the scarved,

Earth-sullied crust that wraps us in is swarved
And rent away : bereft of that dull screen,

With inward lustre shining, we, safe-wharved
On the strewn shores of heaven, may yet be seen
Fit gems to sparkle with an everlasting sheen.

" Come ! tha's getten a good height up, this time," aw towd
him when he'd done. "There's moore cleauds nor diit abeaut
that lot. Hast ony moore, lad ? "

" Yes. Here is a tragedy in blank verse, about three thousand
lines in length. Shall I read it ? "

Aw oppen't th' oon dur an' said, " Just cob it in here, sithee,
an' aw'll beet th' fire wi it to-morn. It's noane woth cartin
abeaut. There's nobry time neawadays to wade through plays
that width ; we gwone bi styem-peawer, think on."

" O tempora ! O mores ! " says John, grinnin. " Well here is
a shorter one — a hashed-up collection of wise saws ; old, but
imperishable."

TRUISMS.

List, untried youth, to sober counsel, blending

Old stores of gathered wit ;
Before thy feet, through life's dark pathways wending,

To shine as lamp well lit.

Life is an easy task for him who, knowing

The end for which he strains,
With steady net sweeps Time's wide river, flowing

Full-heaped with hidden gains.

Harder for those who yield to passion's leading,

With throes of discontent ;
In wavering aims, no line of duty heeding,

Their fitful powers are spent.

Hardest of all to those who, idly sitting

By the swift water's flume,
Careless of tide or treasure by them flitting,

Lounge useless to the tomb.

Yet waste not all thy happy youth in toiling,

The world is broad and fair ;
Turn oft aside to watch sweet Nature coiling

Her green, wind-ruffled hair.

30 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Pass from the cark and pain that ever follow

Where many feet have trod ;
Alone, on breeze-swept hill, in brook-worn hollow,

Stand face to face with (Jod.

Crush not the blooms of love, in beauty springing,

Gardened within thy heart ;
Seek out one worthy through the years, light-winging,

With thee to bear her part.

Dream not that earth was fashioned for thy treading ;

Stretch forth a loving hand
To wipe the tears afflicted ones are shedding

Through all this smiling land.

So peace, within thy spirit gently dwelling,

Shall fend all shocks of pain ;
And voices round thy grave will linger, telling

Thou hast not lived in vain.

Yet hope not for dull ease or sluggish pleasure

When labour shall be past ;
Take joy and sorrow in allotted measure,

And strive on to the last.

Loiter not in the world's alluring spaces,

By pleasant fount or lawn,
But struggle up the hill's steep, shadowy places

To meet the breaking dawn.

Tread steadily thy pathway, ne'er resigning

The task till life is done ;
For ere upon thine eyes the light comes shining

The summit must be won.

Aw patted him on th' back an' said, " Tha mends every time
tha gwoes on, lad. Aws' ha to gate co'in thee a poet i' yearnest
in a bit, aw do believe. There's some good advice for thee
theere, Tom, iv tha'll nobbut heed it. Just reighch deawn thoose
bits o' waste papper off th' pot shelf, an aw'll read yo two bits
o' rhymes o' mi own. They'll seaund rough afther o these fine
verses, but aw cawn't help it. Wakken up, lass ; this is some o'
my weighvin."

FORTY YEAR.

It's forty year, mi good owd dame,

Sin' aw geet wed to thee,
But i' my e'en tha looks just t' same

An will whol they con see.

Eaur childher say'n we're turnin grey,

An' very like they're reel ;
But tha'rt t' same bonny lass to-day

Aw loved when young an' breet.

Fro cwortin times to these we'n let

O' mony a happy heaur,
An' happen we s' ha tuthri yet

Afore we han to ceawer.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 31

Eaur throubl't days are eaut o' sect,

Though bitther pain we'n felt ;
Owd smiles an' tears i' memory's leet

To tendher feelins melt.

It's twenty year sin' Billy deed,

When he were four year owd ;
Don't cry owd dame — tha's little need —

He's safe i' th' heavenly fowd.

Aw know tha's hud his little shoon,

An' th' belt he used to wear,
His Noah's ark, an' th' silver spoon

Just bought for him at th' fair.

Aw know tha sees him morn an' neet,

In his owd nook o' th' bed,
Looks in his e'en so laughin breet,

An' smoothes his curly yead.

An' iv tha lives a hundherd year

Aw know tha'll olez fret ;
But ne'er heed, lass ! he'll goo no fur,

We s' catch up to him yet.

We'n reawm for joy i' sorrow's cup,

Surelee, whol we con look
At t' other childher o groon up —

We'n had a bonny rook !

They're rare good lads an' lasses too,

Aw'm preaud to co 'em mine ;
O sthrong an' honsome, fawse an' thrue —

Wheere's sich another nine ?

Tha knows heaw they o wortched an' shapped

When aw were deasvn wi th' chills ;
They kept us o i' meight and wapped

Abeaut like scopperils.

They poo'd their bits o' savins eaut,

An' laid 'em deawn on th' bed,
An' little Joe coome wi a cleaut

O' greensauce on his yead.

Aw'm gettin fast wi t' gronchildher,

Aw cawn't tell which is which ;
For they com'n swarmin in at th' dur

Like midges in a twitch.

An' iv they o gwone on t' same beaut

When we're laid by asleep,
They'n ha' to ratch th' owd island eaut,

Or pile 'em up two deep.

We cawn't expect so long to stop

Fro undher t' coffin lid ;
It's set up neaw, an' beaun to dhrop

Like a breek-thrap on a brid.

Hud, hidden. Scopperils, whirligigs. Greensauce, sorrel.
Twitch, a narrow way.

32 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

We'n played a tidy gam at life ;

Eaur love has lasted through ;
There never were a betther wife,

An' tha's made me good, too.

So when they lay'n us deep i' th' greaund

We'll sattle undher t' sod,
Wi mony a scented fleawer set reaund,

Bi t' childher's feet oft throd.

We'll seech eaur little Billy, then,

An' hond-i'-hond we'll wait
Bi th' shinin river, ready, when

O t' childher com'n to th' gate.

An' one bi one we'll help 'em up

That everlastin broo,
O' th' ever-runnin spring to sup,

An' gate a life 'at s new.

An' t' gronchildher i' turns '11 come,

When fro this world they're riven ;
There'll be tight squeezin here for some,

But reawm for o i' heaven.

" That's supposed to be an owd friend o' mine, at t' other end
o' th' Row, talkin to his wife ; an' aw've another here abeaut him
an' his lass. They'll be as plez't as Punch to find theirsel i' print."

MI DAUGHTHER.

God bless thi pratty face, mi chilt !
It's twenty year sin' first tha smil't
I' th' dellit, an mi heart beguil't

Wi thoose breet e'en ;
An' mony a pleasant heaur we'n whil't

Through frost an' green.

An' con ta find it i' thi heart

Fro thi owd dad an' mam to part ?

Nny, lass ! aw want no tear to start

Deawn that ripe cheek ;
But when tha'rt gwone we s' feel a smart

Aboon a week.

Tha'd like to stop, tha says, an' yet
Tha's promis'd Joe, an thinks he'd fret
Iv he cawn't have thee neaw, to pet

An' co his own ;
Well ! tha'll be like to wed him, Bet,

An' lev th' harstone.

He'll never love thee like thi dad ;
But he's a limber, weel-set lad ;
Aw connot say thi choice is bad,

Or think tha'll rue ;
An' yet aw cawn't help feelin sad

'At tha mun goo.

- AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 33

Aw reckon love bi nathur groos,
An beaut it folk are nobbut foos ;
Iv aw misel owd times met choose

Again to spend,
Aw'd have a tuthri cwortin do's,

An' wed at th' end.

For twenty year we'n watched thee thrive,
An' fund thee mony a butther't shive ;
But though we'n had to scrat an' rive

Bwoth neet an morn,
Thank God ! we'n ne'er bin clemm'd i' th' hive

Sin' tha were born.

Chilt ! aw con see thee toddlin reaund
At five year owd, an' yer th' sharp seaund
O' th' little clogs on t' stony greaund,

As eaut tha'd run
To meet me when aw're womward beaund,

Mi day's wark done.

Tha'll oft ha sin thi mother crill

Wi thoughts o' th' time when tha were ill

Wi th' fayver, an' could ne'er lie still

Bi neet or day,
But looked as iv tha're larnin skill

To fly away.

What a heart -breighkin time that were !
Aw hardly durst goo eaut o' th' dur,
For tha kept gettin wur an wur,

An fadin fast ;
We knew iv tha went ony fur

Tha'd come to th' last.

Thi mother sit wi thee o neet,

An' aw coome deawn i' th' mornin breet ;

Tha looked as white as th' coverin sheet,

Thi limbs felt cowd ;
Aw skriked, an' turn't away fro th' leet,

Aw couldn't howd !

Thi mother on mi shooldher bent,
Aw kissed her quiverin lips, an' sent
A mutther't word to heaven, an' went

To do mi wark,
Sure aw should find when th' day were spent

Tha're lyin stark.

A bitther day that were, an' long !

Mi mates could see the're summat wrong,

An' hushed their whistlin, chat, an' song ;

" What's up ? " they said ;
Aw towd 'em, sobbin wild an' sthrong,

" My lass is dyead."

Grill, curdle (i.e., to grow cold with fear).

34 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

But when aw turn't toard worn at neet,

An' th' kitchen window coome i' sect,

T' blint werenot dhrawn ! — wi hope made leet

Mi heart jumped up,
An' onto th' flags rowlt dhrops o' weet

Fro mi full cup.

Tha lived, but reaund thi kayther stood
Thi cryin mother, th' neighbours good,
An' t' docthor — he'd done o he could

Thi life to save ;
But said, "Aw deaubt this pratty bud

Mun bloom 5' th' grave."

" Docthor, it connot be ! " aw said,

" Aw've com'n worn thinkin hoo were clyead,

But neaw aw see mi prayers han sped,

An' God mun know
'At iv He crops that tiny yead

He'll kill us o ! "

Tha lived, mi lass, an neaw tha'rt here ;
Aw see thi bonny e'en shine clear,
Thi silver voice seaunds i' mi ear,

An' fills mi heart ;
An' neaw fro th' chilt long loved so dear

Aw s' ha to part.

Ah ! tha'll be like to goo ; but come
Sometimes to see th' owd folk awom ;
They reckon Joe's weel off, an' some

Are spoilt wi brass ;
But dunnot thee set up thi comm,

Mi bonny lass !

It's what aw ne'er could undherstond,
'At folk wi heauses, brass, or lond,
Con sit wi lifted e'en an' hond

On t' top o' th' wo,
Forgettin there's a common bond

'At joins us o.

Think on we're o alike i' th' skin,
Whether we're donned i' silk or lin,
Whether i' hut or ho it's bin

Eaur luck to live ;
Brass noather sense nor thruth con win,

Nor comfort give.

Tha'll find 'at happiness '11 shed
It scented blossoms on thi yead,
Iv tha'll just notice what aw've said ;

An' at yo'll be
As reel as robins whol yo're dyead,

Thy chap an' thee.

Kayther, cradle. Comm, comb. Ho, hall.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 35

" Eh, maisther ! do give o'er o' yor recitin an let's get some
supper," mi wife said, but aw seed th' owd beauty rubbin her
e'en. " Come, childher ; be shappin for bed. Surelee yo'n o had
poethry enough for once ! "

" We s' do for a bit neaw, aw think. Bring eaut thi cowd beef
an' t' other oddments. Come, John ; poo up an' let's get eautside
summat, an' then when t' childher's gwone to bed we'll have a
crack an' a smooke ; an' iv it keeps fine to-morn we'll thry to get
as far as Ashoth."

Poets i' general are noane very good getthers up, aw believe.
John didn't foot up to his breakfast whol nine o' t' clock, so aw'd
a good chance o' gettin mi newspappers read an' takkin a walk
reaund. T' weather shapped, an' we started off abeaut ten ex-
pectin to make a good day on it, crossed th' teawn an' geet into
Bury Road, away fro th' bustle an' smooke.

" This is one o' th' owdest bits o' Rachda, John," aw said,
pooin up aboon Cherrick's facthry ; " one o' th' first nooks th' owd
barfoot settlers chopped eaut o' th' forest 'at used to cover o these
hills. We're stonnin upo mony a buried saycret, an' walkin o'er
mony a sthrong chap's bwons. That's Coptrod on th' hilltop,
sithee, an' th' Redbrook runs just undher it. They were bwoth
here, an' co'd bi th' same names, long afore Conquerin Billy licked
us at Hastins. A pratty sect this broo mut be at that time, thick
wi timber, sweepin deawn to th' river 'at ran a bit fur back then
nor it does neaw, matched bi th' castle hill yon across th' hollow ;
o th' starved, soot-smoor't greaund fresh, smilin, weel-fed, an'
donned in a bran-new suit o' green every spring."

" But that last phenomenon occurs yet, doesn't it ? "

" Nay ! it's folk 'at's green neaw ; we con groo nowt but what's
pawm-peckl't. That's another owd heause, sithee — Oakenrod Ho.
It's let off i' cottages neaw, an' th' owd biggin's bin petched up
an awther't whol it's like Puddin Joe's knife — first he geet a new
blade, an' then a fresh haft, but it were th' same knife for o that.
Three hundherd year sin' a Gabriel Gartside lived i' that heause,
an' shapped to make hissel middlin comfortable aw should think.
He were foolish enough to get wed to young Alice Hamer fro th'
Pinfowd ; but there's happen some scuse for him, becose lasses i'
thoose days, wi th' sweet air an' sunshine, 'd have sich breet e'en
an' skins o' satin 'at o th' chaps 'd goo off their yeads wi lookin
at 'em."

" That's common enough yet. There will be bright eyes and
smooth cheeks after our time."

" Ah ! an' cakebrade an' ale too. But thee be quiet, lad, an'
hearken ; aw con hardly get a word in edgeways for thee. Well,
as aw were sayin, they geet wed, an' lived together mony a year bi

Biggin, building.

36 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

th' river edge, an' iv they weren't happy they met ha bin. Alice
'd have her honds full wi a greight heause like that to swill an'
clen, childher to rear, an' sarvants to watch ; an' Gabriel 'd fill his
time up as weel as he could beaut wortchin, helped through bi a
bull-bait or cock-feight neaw an' again, or happen spendin an
heaur an' a shillin at th' ' Blue Bell,' or Amen Corner. Ailse 'd
sauce him weel, too, iv he stopped eaut too lat, an he'd have some
mak ov a lie ready ; they were up to o thoose little dodges i' th'
good owd times. He poted abeaut a good while, an' then he
deed, levin a good bit o brass, four childher, a grey cowt, an'
seven silver spoons."

John laughed. "You reckon up the poor man's effects like
an auctioneer. But how have you come by all this curious
information ? "

" Aw didn't find it i' th' loom box, tha may be sure. We'n a
chap i' th' teawn 'at's olez scrattin among owd lumber — a sort ov
hee-class rag an' bwon picker — an aw've getten it eaut ov a book
he's printed. Give him a cracked owd gravestone, a church book
full o' dyeaths an' kessenins, or a bundle o' scrawl't papper cover't
wi dust an' eddycrop neests, an' he's abeaut reet."

" He is an antiquary, evidently."

" Summat o' that mak. There were another Gartside, co'd
Sam, a hundherd year afther Gabriel sign't his spoons away; a
very greight chap he were, Stewart to one o' th' Byrons, an'
howdin a dyel o' lond. Poor Sam ! He cworted a lass fro York-
shire, an' crossed Blacksnedge aboon once to see her, aw'll be
beaund ; an' he'd find cwortin hard wark, too, wi th' slutchy roads
they kept then, an' no penny post. They geet o sattl't for th'
weddin to come off at York, an' Sam rode o'er th' hill once again
to fot his wife. That were his last journey, mi lad. He deed just
two heaurs afore th' weddin time."

" Good heavens ! "

" Two heaurs ! Wife ready donned, parson waitin, t' minsther
full o' folk watchin for th' fashionables, meight ready cooked,
bellringers just beaun to poo their ropes, an' wap went Sam ! O
th' sad tale's towd i' three lines ov a book ; his name makes
another line in a printed list ; an' that's o we han left o' th' rich
an peawerful Stewart o' th' manor."

" You mentioned the Byrons. I suppose they were lords here
for a long while ? "

" Welly four hundherd year, an' they were knockin abeaut i'
Buttheroth afore that. Some on 'em could feight a bit, but they
geet deawn to poethry at last, an' that soon sattl't 'em."

" Come along, cynic," says John ; an' we knocked forrad
up th' road.

Eddycrop, spider.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 37

T' threes an' hedges, 'at's bin lookin so grand this summer,
were fast loisin their complexions, an' kestin their owd clooas ; th'
meadows looked bare an' breawn ; a mournful tinge lee on every-
thing reaund us ; makin us quiet an' sparin o' talk. We turned
into th' cemetary for tuthri minutes, had a peep at Joe's grave, an'
a look reaund at th' marble shafts an' slabs shinin i' th' mornin
sunleet; an' aw gated maundherin again, as it's mi road to do
when there's time an' reawm, an' somebry younger nor misel to
hearken.

" They're o here, lad. Rude forefaythers o' this owd hamlet,
polished chips off thoose taugh blocks, genthry, parsons, aldher-
men, an' o sorts up to weighvers; o fast asleep, an' past bein
bother't wi oather tailors or clogmakers again. Like as their
stones are, so they were ; some stonnin hee an' breet, decked wi
fine faldherdals ; some hutchin nar th' greaund, lettin theirsel be
throdden on ; some cut square, solid, an' plain ; some carved into
shapes, feaw or pratty, as good or bad taste sattl't it ; some on th'
hill top, an' some deawn i' th' hole ; an' neaw cowd an' senseless
as these stones they're lyin, flat o' their backs, just as they were
left afther t' last reaund wi that champion wrostler, dyeath."

" Let us thrash out the simile, while we are about it," John
said. " Even as these rock-reft and quarried blocks are scattered
here, with no regularity of form or symmetry of line — each planted
without regard to its position as affecting, or in relation to, that of
others — so stood the animate lumps of clay now lying beneath
masonry and mould ; self-wrapt, isolated, converging to no centre,
conforming with no plan, selfish-straining, cruel-hearted "

He broke deawn, oather for words or wynt, or bwoth. " Goo
on ! " aw said ; " tha'll make 'em eaut to be a quare breed o'
stones in a bit, wi thi simils. Aw ne'er yerd o' selfish marble
afore.

" True ; but you will admit that many of the clay-lumps were
selfish enough and to spare. I say to you, weaver, that the poor
cried unto them for bread "

" An' they gav 'em a stone ! "

"Their bodies rest now on this quiet slope. Hunger and
thirst are over, to throuble them no more. Side by side ruler and
victim lie on a level at last, the artificial barriers of civilisation
undermined by graves ; and if justice cannot thrive in this world
it may flourish in the far land where wealth is valueless, food
unnecessary, and life past the losing."

u We s' happen see, some day," aw said ; an' we wandher't
forrad beaut havin disturbed ony dyead folk so far as we could tell.

Just past t' "Dog an' Parthridge" we coome on a young sithers
grindher pyerched on his machine an' threddlin away wur nor a
hondloom weighver. He looked to have a bit o' gam abeaut him
bi th' sly twinkle in his e'en an' th' road his hat were cocked ; he

38 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

were whistlin like a canary an' squeezin sheawers o' fireworks eaut
ov his whuzzin stone. We poo'd up to hearken his tune, an' when
he'd done aw gav him a clap, an' John said "Very good !" He
looked deawn at us fro his winthredge, nodded an' laughed, an'
then laid to again, an' we sit deawn undher th' hedge to watch th'
performance. When he'd sent enoo sparks flyin he turned t'
knife blade onto his polishin stone, an' in a crack th' bit o' steel
were shinin like a lookin-glass ; he howded it up then for us to
look at, an' aw gav him another clap.

" Theere yo are," he says. " Silver-plated o reaund bi a new
patent, an' warranted to cut owt deawn to cocoa-nut yure. Sithers
to gri — ind ! "

He finished up wi sich a yeawl 'at my teeth ricked, an' th' poet
cover't his ears an' co'd eaut, "For God's sake don't do that again !"

" Do what ! That's nobbut shop talk. It's no use hangin a
sign up on my emporium "

" That's a good word, lad," aw put in.

" an' it 'd be brass thrut away advertisin i' t' papper wi a

shop upo wheels, so we're like to do as weel as we con, same as
Jimmy Lumb said when he popped his grondmother's specs to tak
him to Belle Vue."

" You will rather frighten people than attract them by that
blood-curdling noise," John said. " It's like — let's see — oh, be
hanged ! — what's it like, weaver ? I'm fast for a simile."

" Tha's no need to be fast long ; tha con yer th' same din ony
time at a pig-killin. Who were thi singin-maisther, owd brid ? "

" Aw'm noane just otogether what yo met co a thrained
singer," t' grindher said. " Aw'd to pike mine up eaut o' th'
hedge-bottoms, an' ahm afther t' sparrows."

" Aw ne'er yerd sparrows thry that mak ov a din. Tha's
noane bin o'er i' Italy studyin then ? "

" Aw've to study hard enough to keep sthraight at Smobridge,
say naught abeaut Italy ; beside, they durn't wesh their feet oft
enough i' that counthry. Aw'll keep this side o' th' moor a
bit yet."

" An so tha gwoes rootin reaund grindin sithers for a livin ?"

" Ah ! we con grind owt fro a penknife to a porritch-slice.
But that's nobbut i' fine weather, yo known. Aw'm a umbrell
chap when it's weet. That's nobbut a shabby mak o' one yor
mate's getten. Let me cover it for yo, maisther — a fashionable
lookin chap like yo should hav a good umbrell. Dagmar, five
bob ; silk, seven an' a tanner."

" It's good enough for me, thank you," says John, laughin.

" Dunnot be freeten't aw'm beaun to steighl it. Checks gien
wi every ordher, but no divi on 'em," an' he poo'd a hondful o'
brass tokens eaut ov his pocket. " Name an' addhress on this
card, see yo. We're noane o' yor scowbankin wasthrels 'at nobry

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 39

con howd ; we'n a stake i' t' counthry, an' con olez be fund awom
fryin it." He hopped off his pyerch, an' gav us a card wi this on : —

THOMAS SCOWCROFT,

Grinder, Glazer, and Cutlery Manipulator,

425, Dearnley Road,

Smallbridge.

Umbrellas Made, Re-covered, and Repaired,
giving satisfaction to all.

Dealer in Fancy Foreign and English Birds.
N.B. — Fresh Hen Eggs laid every day.

Hair Cut Plain or Ornamental. Leeches Kept.
Concertina-player for Stirs.

Yours truly, T. SCOWCROKT.

" Tha's like jobs enoo agate," aw said. " Tha should get fat
eaut o' this lot. Hasta ne'er thought o' startin a thripe shop ? "

" Nowe," he said, " but aw'm beaun to get wed afore long, iv
aw con spare hawve a day, an' set up a chipped pottato saloon.
That's t' job for makin brass ! "

" Well, I hope you'll succeed," says John, wi that quiet smile
on his face aw like so weel to see. " But what do you mean by
ornamental hair-cutting ? "

" It lies mostly at t' back o' th' neck," Scowcroft said, sittin
deawn on his machine again an' crossin his legs. " We con give
yo oather a sthraight-edge or a hawve moon, an' finish th' ends off
square or scolloped, just as yo fancy ; an' yo con have a loase
hangin crop or be shived off close an' snod, as iv a smoothin-iron
had bin o'er it. Then there's a bit ov a knack i' sidin th' bristly
stubs off, an' makin a clen job o' th' neck-hole, an' o that. Th'
shape o' yor yead o depends on th' road yo're powed. We con
make a bowstheryead as fur reaund th' scawp as ever Bill Shaks-
pere were, or turn ony mathematical fellah into a ninnyhommer.
Th' fawsest on us gaten a-lookin a bit soft when t' yure's off."

" It's a quare thing to me," aw said, " 'at goo wheere aw will,
an' talk to who aw may, aw'm never long beaut gettin Shakspere
cobbed i' mi teeth ; but it is a capper to yer on him fro a sithers-
grindher, 'at dyels i' bantam cocks an' breeds leeches, to say nowt
abeaut fancy powin at twopence a clip. Let th' owd chap rest in
his crack ; tha could ne'er ha fitted his yead onto a barber's block."

11 Aw'd ha' thried hard iv aw'd ever getten th' chance. He
said hissel 'at there's olez somebry to shape eaur ends, rough-yure
'em as we will, an' aw could ha gien a twirl to his ringlets 'at 'd ha
suited him, aw think. Does oather on yo want a little reaunt
table o' mi own makin ? Aw've one to sell chep."

40 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Art a joiner, too, then ? "

"Aw like fill mi time up a bit wi joinerin i' frosty weather,
when aw cawn't wortch i' th' garden. Aw knocked this machine
together mysel, see yo, an' it's noane a bad un. But i' summer
aw'm busy at th' fleawer shows. Aw've taen lots o' prizes for
salary an' brocolate, an' 'at geraniums aw care for nobry."

" How much of all this can be true ?" John whispered to me.
"The admirable Crichton was a simpleton compared with this
youth."

" Oh ! it's thrue enough, aw darsay. Some o' these moor-end
lads con turn their honds to owt. What else con ta do, lad ? "

" Nay ! yo known abeaut o neaw, nobbut a bit o' clock an'
watch fettlin ov a Sethurday, or puttin a brokken window in at
odd times "

Th' poet had stood it as long as he could, an' he brasted off
into a laugh 'at met ha wakken't o th' folk i' t' cemetary, an' rowlt
abeaut on th' hedge-bottom howdin hissel. Scowcroft sit, cool an'
yezzy, lookin at us wi th' same owd twinkle, swingin one leg o'er
t'other as comfortable as could be ; an' filled his time up wi
whistlin whol we geet wynt enough to talk again.

" Well, there's one thing abeaut thee," aw said ; " tha doesn't
cut mich dayleet to waste wi o thoose jobs gooin on. Iv Docthor
Watts had com'n across thee he'd ne'er ha written that greight
epic poem ov his,

' Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.' "

" Mischief's owt but still, mostly," Scowcroft says ; " but
haever, yo'n no need to be freeten't o' rne wastin oather dayleet or
candle-leet. Aw've ne'er hawve time enough."

" Nowe, an' tha ne'er will have whol tha keeps thryin to do o
th' wark o' this side th' hills. But tha'll ha saved a fortin afore
long at t' rattle tha'rt gooin at, an' then tha con tail off a bit, an'
thry whether tha con live beaut wortchin or not."

" Aw've no 'casion to thry that," t' grindher said. " Aw know
neaw. Aw s' olez ha summat gooin on whol aw'm wick ; but
whether we con keep eaut o' th' warkheause or not aw cawn't tell.
We s' see."

" Well, get forrad wi thi wark, an' do th' best tha con. We'll
lev him, John, afore he's clen ruinated. Get that wheel twistin,
lad ; it'll be dark afore long."

" Bi gum ! yo're reel theere," Scowcroft says, nippin onto his
frame again. " Aw've three pair o' sithers here yet to start on, an'
to be at a lark show i' Norden at hawve-past twelve. Aw s' ha to
be shappin."

He buckled to wi a rattle, an' we turned off across th' fields
toard Brodehaugh, laughin an' talkin o'er him a good way.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 4!

We were passin a row o' cottages just aboon Bamford, when
a chap coome eaut o' one on 'em carryin a brid cage, an' hung it
up on a rail at th' dur. Then he stood an' shook his neighve at
it, and rowl't eaut sich a basket o' fleawers i' th' swearin line 'at
we could fair smell 'em.

" Tha seaunds a bit put eaut," aw said. " What's to do wi
thee ? "

We made him eaut to be a cobbler by his appron an' waxy
fingers, an' his style o' walkin wi one knee bent an' t' other stiff.

" Aw could wring it neck," he co'd eaut.

"What is it, a layrock?" aw axed him, peepin through t' wood
ribs o' th' cage at th poor freeten't brid hutchin itsel into t' fur
corner. " It 'd like to wring thy neck too, aw darsay. That's a
rare big cage tha's fund it to live in."

" It's six inch bi eight," he says. " Heaw mich moore done
yo want ? "

" Nay ! it should be enough for a brid 'at's bin used to th' four
winds for woles an' th' sky for a lid. There's hardly reawm for t'
poor thing to turn reaund, to be sure ; but aw see it's wearin it
tail fithers deawn to t' reet length as fast as it con shap. Is that
what tha were swearin abeaut ? "

" Not it ! " he says. " Aw care nowt whether it's a tail on or
not iv it 'd nobbut sing. Aw've gien a lot o' brass for it, ex-
pectin it were a rare whistler, but aw'm done again ! It's wur nor
a stone-smatcher — that con gie three cheeps an' a whistle, an' then
o'er again ; but this is too idle for owt ! "

" I don't think you would sing very well shut up in a box,"
John said ; an' th' cobbler stared at him. " Turn it out, and
then see."

" It should twitther here, iv onywheere," says th' cobbler.
" It's cage reared."

" Suppose you had been born in a dungeon just high enough
for you to stand straight in, so narrow that your extended arms
could reach the walls, and lighted by a closely barred window.
You would see, perhaps, a streak of green country glittering out-
side your prison, watch golden sunlight and shadowy cloud pass
over it, and hear the wind rustle and rush in uncontrolled liberty.
You would peer through at the hand-breadth of sky that repre-
sented your world, and pant and struggle with vain longing. Day
would follow day with monotonous and killing regularity, your
food and water would sicken and satiate without satisfying ; and
so buried alive, cut off from all human society, ravings, curses, or
prayers all unheeded, what would you do — sing, or knock your
head against the wall ? "

" Tha'll ha me cryin afore long, iv tha talks so," th' cobbler
said. " But tha doesn't myen to say a brid con feel o that ? "

42 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Look at it ! " John said. " Do you see that dim eye and
drooping wing ? How do you account for them ? Do you call
that a cheerful bird or one suffering incessant pangs ? "

" Thee keep it shut up, owd mon," aw said. " It'll pine away
to bill an' skin i' tuthri week, an' tha con tak it between thi finger
an' thumb an' use it for a squaker, same as t' childher getten at
fair-times. It'll sing then ! "

" Goo thi ways ! " th' cobbler co'd out, rivin th' cage dur
oppen. " Aw don't believe tha's wit enough to fly, but there's a
chance for thee neaw iv tha's a wild gift."

We o stood back an' watched th' layrock. It hopped to th'
cage dur, popped it yead eaut, an' then hutched back again, gav a
faint chirp, spread it wings, an' made a jump at th' sun. Afore
it 'd flutther't up twenty yard it brasted off into song 'at coome
teemin deawn on us in a silver rain o' seaund, an' we stood
oppen-meauthed watchin it as long as we could see.

" That bangs o ! " th' cobbler said. " It could sing like that,
an' ne'er leet on ! " He rove th' cage deawn an' smashed it into
a score o' bits on th' flags. " Iv ever aw shut another layrock up
may aw be "

" Here ! howd on ! " aw co'd eaut. " There's a chapel noane
so fur off. Iv tha wants ony moore brids get a bantam or two,
an' let these cleaud-skimmers a-be."

" Fifteen shillin gwone i' fithers, an' not enough left to stuff a
bowsther ! " he said. " But there will be a bit o' firewood eaut o'
th' job, shuzheaw."

We left him pikin his chips up, an' took to th' fields again.
Aw pointed eaut o th' grand sects as we went on — Know' Hill,
Clay Lone Reservoir (wayther has to run upbroo to get into that),
Ashoth Colliery an' Chapel, Yeawood, Bluepits, Tandle Hill, an'
o maks ; an' when we coome to th' valley top lookin deawn into
Carr Wood aw said,

" We'll goo wi shut meauth an' oppen e'en neaw, for th'
scenery's beaun to gate."

Then aw took John bi th' neck, lurried him deawn th' broo,
upended him on th' owd bridge at th' bottom, an' axed him what
he could see.

" I see a brook flowing from the north," he said. " It passes
under our feet, and winds away to the south-west, gurgling. The
water runs between grassy banks on one hand, over-arched by
trees, through a ferny glen shut in on one side by a vertical wall
of rock, studded with moss patches and flowering plants like
pictures on a screen. Southward the banks rise into craggy
heights, the trees gather taller and thicker, and the general aspect
is so inviting that I propose we shall immediately turn our steps in
that direction."

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 43

" We'll go deawn that road, iv that's what tha myens. Aw'm
beaun wi sthraight feet mysel, but tha con punny iv it's ony com-
fort to thee. But afore we gwone just let me dhraw thi notice to
tuthri points tha's missed. Thar't cheted i' thinkin that's wayther
i' th' brook : it's chemical exthract. Sniff at it ! Middlin rich ?
But it's nowt here to what we s' smell lower deawn. Aw didn't
yer thee mention that owd ruin't facthry deawn i' th' bottom, nor
these empty lodges, a foot deep wi slutch, noather."

" Very true ; I tried to ignore them as far as possible. The
geological formation of the neighbourhood would be worth ex-
amining if we had time."

" Very like, but that's nowt mich i' my road. Aw con tell a
cob o' coal fro unslecked lime, an' chip a hen-trough eaut ov a
pavin stone ; but that's abeaut t' length o' my geology."

We followed th' brook deawn into Carr Wood, howdin eaur
noses to keep in as mich o' th' sweet scent as we could ; an' i' five
minutes we were lost in a green grove o' beech, willow, birch, ash,
elm, an' oak ; cooled an freshen't wi threads an' sprinklins o' fo'in
weet, an' carpeted wi fern, lev mowld, an' moss. There were a
rare lot o' whistlin an' singin gooin on i' t' three tops, an' it re-
minded me o' bein at th' same spot i' spring, an' seein two cuckoos
hop abeaut, followed bi o th' brids i' t' wood, chattherin an' saucin.
Aw towd th poet abeaut it, an' thried to make him undherstond
heaw grand th' woody slopes an' heights looked at that time, when
t' threes had o getteft their new clooas fro th' wareheause, haw-
thorns stood white wi bloom like sugar't weddin-cakes in a con-
fectioner's window, an' dashes o' bluebells lee abeaut as iv some
earless chilt had bin a buyin peawdher blue an' slatther't it on t'
road worn.

" Surely," he says, " this abominable stench would be
smothered by the flowers at that time ? "

" Nay ; not it ! " aw said. " There's a dyel o' weft i' this stink.
It'll ratch. There's no smoorin it. Just ston here where t' way-
ther's breighkin i' suds among t' rocks, an tak a good sniff. Tha's
no need to spare it — there'll be enough to goo reaund."

" Yes ; more than enough. Why, this ravine would rank
among the finest for miles round here if it had a fair chance. It
combines the beauties of Ramsden and Turvin, and is on a larger
scale than either ; but you can't tread along the rocks and stones
in the stream here as you do there, seeing the water slide and
break over the falls in glittering drops like like "

" Like wayther — what else ? Or is it fresh-dhrawn pop tha'rt
thryin to think on ?"

" No ; molten crystal."

" Come thee on ! " aw said. " This smell's gettin into thi

Punny, to turn in the toes.

44 tVORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

yead, an' makin thee talk moore hee-flown nor ever. Aw mun
get thee eaut ov here afore summat wur happens."

Aw took him through Simpson dough, up Birtle Road,
through some counthry lones an' a fielt or two, reaund to Ashoth
Valley ; an' theere aw set him on th' broo top, i' full sect o' th'
windin brook gurglin through wood an' meadow i' th' stillness o'
that quiet nook — a temple roofed wi green levs, wi three-roots for
stairs, an' grase for floor-cloth — an' said, " Heaw neaw ? "

He took in a deep breath, but said nowt ; an' we wandhered
deawn into th' cool restful shades, crossed a balancin-pow 'at's
reckon't to be a bridge, an' climbed up into th' common world
again.

We bwoth fund eaut o ov a sudden 'at we were hungry, so aw
made for th' aleheause bi t' shortest cut. It were gettin to'ard
four o' t' clock, an' we'd noather bitten nor supped sin' levin worn.
Aw began to cackle abeaut ham an' eggs, an' we sprinted up th'
broo like two greyheaunds in a race.

" What a view ! " John brasted eaut as soon as he londed on
th' top ; an' he gawped reaund wi o his e'en.

" Here the hollow vale,

Fringed with dense woodland, to the twisted brook
Sinks, and afar before us gently rise
The low green hills, while toward the setting sun
Spreads wide an undulating plain that seems
Illimitable as the reach of time."

"Come inside, lad!" aw said. "There's no need to let
everybody yer 'at tha's gwone off thi yead. Let's get summat
t' eight, an' then we'll talk abeaut scenery."

So aw pood him into th' aleheause parlour, an' rang th' bell.
T' yead waither coome, wi t' cloth cap an' smile he olez wears, an'
aw said,

" Neaw Moses ; ax th' owd lady to rear her clay pipe again th'
oon an' stir abeaut wi fryin pon an' taypot ; an' whol we're waitin
fot us some wom-brewed, an' bring thi bill in wi th' parcel."

He grinned an' went, an' coome again ; an' aw towd him to
put his finger up as soon as ever th' baggin were ready, for we'rn
bwoth clemmed.

" Yo'll be like to wait a bit," he says ; there's nine afore yo."

" Well, be as sharp as yo con, an' don't keep us waitin two
heaurs an' a hawve, same as yo did blint David one singin day."

" Nowe, aw wain't," says Moses ; an' he were as good as his
word, for it weren't long afore he coome to th' dur, put his finger
up as aw'd towd him, an' said, " Baggin."

" Come on, John," aw said, an' took him upstairs into one o'
th' tay rooms — a long narrow pleck, like a shootin gallery, wi

Pleck, place.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 45

white-weshed woles, a dyel table deawn th' middle, an forms to sit
on. There were hawve a dozen folk i' th' reawm when we went
in, but they filled theirsel an' pyched off bi odd uns whol there
were nobbut three left at th' top end — a mon an' woman, an' a
little lass. Aw couldn't get it eaut o' mi yead 'at aw'd sin th'
woman an' t' chilt afore, but couldn't make eaut wheere ; they
were like somebry aw knew, an' yet unlike, an' aw'd a quare fancy
'at they were lookin too weel off an' content to be gradely.

Heawever, aw geet forrad wi mi baggin an' bother't noane.
John showed a dyel too mich appetite for a poet ; butthercake
melted an' taycakes wapped eaut o' sect, bacon hud itsel, an' th'
hen eggs met have had wings. We like made th' provan hutch
up, an' were just slackenin off a bit when aw felt a hond laid on
mi shooldher an' turned to find th' young woman at mi elbow,
lookin at me wi weet e'en. It sthruck me o in a minute ! Aw
beaunced up, geet howd ov her hond, had a good look at her, an'
co'd eaut,

" Yo're th' clemmin woman me an' Billy let on at Stubbing
an' yon's yor little lass ! Well ! aw ne'er were so plez't i' mi
born days ! "

We sit deawn on th' form an' yeawl't together, an' th' poet
gated slattin weet abeaut his side o' th' table like a good un. Th'
chilt ran up an' said.

" What are you crying for, mother ? "

" For joy, love," hoo says. " See ! Who is this ? " pointin
at me.

Th' little lass looked an smil't, but didn't know me again.
Childher's memories are short, an' it's a rare good an' wise
ordherin 'at they should be, bless 'em !

" You don't remember him," t' mother said. " Well, some of
us can, and will."

Then hoo showed me a brooch hoo were wearin, an' what
done yo think it were ? Th' shillin aw'd gien her ; set i' gowd, wi
a glass front ! It happen't to be a new shillin, an' a very tidy
brooch it made.

" Husband ! " hoo co'd eaut, turnin toard th' chap, sittin
oppen-meauthed gawpin at us ; " this is one of the good friends
who helped me in my great trouble a few weeks ago. Can you
find any words to thank him with ? "

He coome forrad, took mi hond, an' said, " No ! and I shall
make no attempt. Friend ! when my wife got to Bolton that day
and told me of the state she had been in, it drove me nearly crazy.
You may judge what gratitude I felt towards you for your kind-
ness— "

" Give o'er wi thee," aw said ; " there's bin enough o' this !
Yo known weel enough, missis, it were o Billy's doin, an' aw'd
nowt to do wi shappin th' job. Goo an' cry o'er Billy ! "

46 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

11 I've been," hoo says, wi a twinkle in her e'en ; " and what
dp you think he said ? "

" Summat quare, aw darsay."

" He said it was a mistake going to him, as it was all t' other
chap's doing."

" Nay ! Well, that is a thumper ! "

" And he said if I would insist on slattherin saut-wayther on
his scoured floor, simply because he had given us a cake o' brade
and a railway ticket, he would spend all his savings in a gold
watchguard and black coat ; and, in his own words, ' Cob talk at
helpless folk astid o' hawpnies.' "

" Well, well ! aw am fain to see yo, missis, for sure ! So they'n
pieced yo up at th' hospital, maisther ?"

" Yes ; I soon got about again. My employers behaved very
well, and took care that we wanted for nothing, and I have a very
good place with them now. We have never looked behind us
since that one tight squeeze."

" Well, yo mun be thankful for it," aw said, " an' thry to be
good childher. See yo at th' little lass an' John cwortin. He's
getten her on his knee neaw, an' looks as iv he could eight her
beaut sugar. Yo mun get thick wi John ; he's a poet, it's thrue,
but it's noane otogether his faurt, poor lad ! "

" You are the prettiest little girl I have seen for a long time,"
John were sayin, an' th' chilt took to him as iv they'd bin brought
up together. " If your goodness turns out to equal your beauty it
will be very satisfactory."

" Howd thi din ! " aw said ; " thryin to freeten a little fairy like
that. Aw've no patience wi o th' cant aw yer talked abeaut good
looks ; as iv folk were forced to sken, or catch th' smo pox, or
lame theirsel, or summat, afore they con be woth aught. Aw
didn't expect sich talk fro a chap wi thy sense."

" Dear me ! what have I done now ? The fat's in the fire with
a vengeance this time ! I never meant to imply that the child
would turn out badly, or that she was at all likely to do."

" Nowe ; aw know. But beaut myenin it, or thinkin, tha's
getten howd o' th' common rubbitch 'at's talked, an' cawn't look
at a pratty face beaut fancyin th' dule's undher it. Tak beauty
when tha finds it an' be thankful ; an' never deaubt 'at Him 'at
makes th' eautside fair an' sweet con fit th' inside wi a clen soul.
What an owd foo aw am, to be saucin an' carryin on this road ! "

These good folks couldn't stop wi us long, as they wanted to
get forrad to Norden, where they'd some friends to see; so we
walked deawn wi 'em as fur as Hooslem Fowd, an parted wi o
maks o' good wishes.

We turned back an' followed th' brook up through Coal Bonk
wood for hawve a mile, findin some molten crystal at last, for it's

Sken, squint.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 47

as bonny a rindlet as we con show onywheere abeaut, an' comes
through t' meadows as sweet an' fresh as when it levs it yeth-
curtain't bed hee on th' hills aboon.

Afther a while we climbed up th' hill again toard th' chapel
an' aleheause, pyerched side bi side fair on th' top. We went
onto th' beawlin green, an' theere aw set John wi his face toard
Bamford, an' axed him what he could see.

" Many things, " he said ; "much more than can be told. Many
towns, trees, fields, and, above all, long chimneys, embraced by
the wide-stretching, semicircular horizon. Don't bother me for a
description ; I am content to simply look and admire. What a
distance we command westward ! "

" Dost see yon clump o' threes on th' Tandle Hill, like th' owd
prophet lookin deawn on his promised lond, flowin wi filth an'
money ? "

" Yes."

" Just o'er that hilltop, bare as it looks fro here, there's a big
shady wood, wi rabbits an' brids in it as thick as seeds in a fig.
Tha should sit theere, wi thi e'en turn't up an' a book i' thi honds,
undher one o' th' owd oaks, an' have thi porthrait takken. Tha'd
look summat like a poet then."

" Drop it, you elderly nuisance ! " John said. " There is no
end to your humbug. Is it because I am a pilgrim and a stranger
that you are always trying to take me in ? "

" What's t' use ov o my experience iv folk wain't let me teighch
'em ? Let's sit us deawn a bit an' watch th' beawlers."

There were a bit o' sport gooin forrad on th' green. Five or
six sets o' players were wortchin away ; cobbin their jacks eaut,
an' dhrawin o maks o' thriangles wi th' crossin o' their side-heavy
woods. One owd brid, wi a very dhry, solemn look abeaut him,
could welly make his beawls talk. They went rowlin up to th'
jack, an' worted o'er toard it as iv they'rn wick, an' doin it o'
purpose ; or neaw an' again, when t'other players had blocked t'
road up, th' owd chap 'd let fly wi a bit moore weft nor common,
an' wap ! yo'd see t'other woods scatther't abeaut, an' his own
huggin th' jack like two beads on a bant. He kept thryin to
teighch his partner — a shamblin young fellah co'd Bumper — but
couldn't bump mich into him.

" Get middlin o' thumb bias on," th' owd un said. "Tha just
wants to slur in between yon two, an' then we're reel. Dunnot
go too savage ; it's deawn-broo theere, think on."

" Bias be hanged ! " says Bumper. " Aw'm beaun to aim fair
at th' coalpit chimbley, an' whuzz in among 'em. We're three
points at front yet."

" Who's getten 'em ? "

" Well, yo'n getten 'em, Lijah ; an' yo'll be gettin tuthri moore
yet. Watch me, neaw I"

48 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

He cobbed his wood, an' it went wutherin away a couple o'
yard off what he aimed at, rowl't off th' green, an' let wi a soss
again lh' rails.

" Is it makin for Yeawood Church ? " Lijah axed. " Or is it
for swimmin deawn th' brook ? But for that bit o' joiners' wark
it 'd ha bin at Simpson Clough bi neaw."

Bumper fot his wood, lookin a bit sheepish, an' made rayther
a betther job o' th' next he sent.

" Noane a bad un," Lijah said, followin th' shot wi his practised
e'en. " It wants legs, or else. Tha mun larn to come reaund wi
a bit moore ov a sweep."

" Sweep Owdham ! " Bumper sheauted. " Let's see yo byet it."

Lijah squinted once at th' jack, deliver't his beawl smooth an'
yezzy, picked up his bit ov oilcloth, an' marched across th' green.

" It'll ne'er lond ! " Bumper co'd eaut. " Noane wick enough,
Lijah ! Yo con beawl noane."

Lijah nobbut looked at him, an' then watched his wood. It
ran just t' reet length, but a bit wide ; an' when we o thought it 'd
stopped it worted o'er an' rowl't fair on to th' jack.

" There's a broo yon ! " sheauted Bumper. " Sithee ! that's a
sthroke o' luck, owd un. Th' greaund fo's theere ! "

" Hasta just fund it eaut ? " axed Lijah, walkin up slow an'
cool, danglin his oilcloth. " Aiifve known that ten year."

That sattl't Bumper. When th' gam were up he bowted, lookin
as iv he ne'er wanted to see a beawlin-green again, an' Lijah geet a
partner wi rayther moore abeaut him.

It's a good gam, this beawlin ; plenty ov intherest, beaut too
mich excitement, good exercise for o maks o' folk, an' givin' th'
owd uns a chance o' howdin their own wi young uns. There met
be a good papper written abeaut it, tellin heaw it started, who won
th' first match, heaw umbrell greens were fund eaut, heaw Haw-
kins played a reaund to get his hond in for beawlin cannon-bo's at
th' Spaniards, an' heaw Springer, fro Norden, banted Bluepits Joe
one Ashoth Wakes.

It isn't everybody knows there is a Wakes at Ashoth. It leets
first ov ony on 'em, olez gatin on th' Monday next afther t' twelfth
o' July ; an' at one time there used to be greight stirrins. Aw were
tellin John abeaut it as we sit on a side bench watchin th' players.
Aw happen't to be up at th' last do, an' geet a rare time on't for a
couple ov heaurs i' th' aleheause kitchen. Abeaut twenty chaps
were sittin reaund th' woles, th' owd dame sit rockin at th' hobend,
wi her long clay, Moses nipped reaund waitin on, an' th' young
women were as busy as bees, cookin, weshin up, an' shappin i'
general. Some o' th' chaps had made a full day on it, some had
com'n up i' th' afthernoon, an' some when t' facthries stopped at
neet. Th' first lot were as full ov ale as they could howd beaut
fo'in o'er it, th' hawve timers were just nice an' bermy, an' th' edge

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 49

o' dark fellahs were as reet as bobbins, laughin at th' fun. Aw
were among th' last lot, an' there were a rare good singer among
us, too — a chap i' spectacles 'at coome fro somewheere near. He
gav us " Johnny Sands," for a start, an' made us crack wi laughin ;
an' then for a change he poo'd his mournful stop eaut, an' fot tears
fro everybody i' th' hole, hissel an' o. He did it wi a simple little
ballit abeaut a daughther, wi a babby at her breast, gooin back
i' th' neet to her owd worn, an' co'in on her fayther to let her in.
Wi thremblin honds hoo knocked at th' door,

" And the cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

Last line o'er again bi full chorus, in a whisper, very slow an'
sweet,

" The cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

T' fayther yerd in his chamber aboon, an' knew his daughther's
voice ; but he made no seaund, an' o i' vain t' poor thing knocked
at th' weel-known door,

" And the cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

Chorus rayther leaud, but wi feelin,

" The cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

Th' neet deepen't an' snow gated fo'in ; th' cowd-hearted fayther
lee still i' bed, thinkin ov his daughther's shame ; an' hoo, poor
lass ! sunk to th' greaund, too wake an' freeten't to knock longer
at th' close-shut door,

" And the cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

Chorus as afore, but very soft,

" The cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

An' what sect met that fayther's e'en, when, at morn, he coome
deawn th' stairs ? Theere lee his dyead daughther, claspin her
livin babby, i' th' snow pil't up reaund his door,

" And the cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

Chorus, in a whisper,

" The cold wind came sweeping across the wild moor."

Soon dee'd that cruel fayther, an' full soon t' babby followed it
lost mother ; they o lie i' th' churchyard neaw, an' th' villagers
point eaut their haunted cottage, wi t' mowldherin door,

" While the cold wind comes sweeping across the wild moor."

Chorus, deein away,

" The cold wind comes sweeping across the wild moor."

Lee, lay.

50 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" What's to do wi thee, John ? " aw said. " Arta snivellin
again ? Aw'll be hanged iv it isn't wur nor hawkin Spenish onions,
gooin eaut wi poets ! "

" Come ! " John says, dhryin his e'en, " confess that this
touching ballad is your own."

" Nay ! It o happen't just as aw towd thee. Ax th' owd dame,
or Moses oather, or Jim, th' gamkeeper. Iv aw could make th'
heart-sthrengs dither that road aw'd give o'er weighvin. It made
maut -juice run eaut o' some o' their e'en aboon a bit, an' they'd
fain have had th' singer gooin on o neet iv he'd bin hard. Nobry
could follow him to do ony good. One owd cock thried to
twitther,

' Mi-bowcl-foo-mart-hun-thers-come-list-en-to-me,
Aw'11-sing-yo-a-bit-ov-a-dit-ty ; '

but he could nobbut think o' two lines, an' iv his memory had bin
reel we should ha stopped him, for he were grindin it eaut moore
like a coffee-mill nor a Christian. Ah, we'd a rare do, tak it
©together."

When we'd sit a while cookin i' th' warm sun, an' sin as much
beawlin as we wanted, aw began wondherin what we were to do
next. John were off eaut o' th' world again, starin forty mile
across th' hills, his long fingers itchin to be scrawlin some moore
simils deawn ; so to stop his brains fro turnin aw wakken't him up
wi a clap on th' back an' said : " Let's see iv we con get i' th'
chapel; aw darsay it'll be oppen. There's a little orgin theere
'at'll happen plez thee."

" One with a handle ? "

" Oh, nowe ! it's one o' th' gradely mak ; wi pipes stonnin up
o reaund, two rows o' teeth, an' a knockin-off rod stickin eaut o'
one side. It taks two folk to wortch it."

" Very convenient arrangement having chapel and tavern next
door to each other," John said.

" It's like hondy, for sure. On singin days they takken th'
collection plate reaund th' alehouse, scrattin up o th' brass they
con. Aw guess t' parson thinks copper's no wur for bein weshed
i' berm. Aw'm oft up here on a fine Sunday, sittin i' th' graveyard
hearkenin th' sarvice. Th' singin seaunds betther eautside nor in :
th' parson's quiet voice runs on at a steady throt ; th' rosy-cheeked
sexton, in his fine black geawn, stons wi thfc bell-rope i' one hond
an' t' dur i' t'other ; t' greaund thrembles undherfoot wi th' deep-
rowlin orgin pipes ; brids twirl abeaut, whistlin ; th' fleawers smell
sweet, an' th' owd elms spread their green skirts o'er 'em, shakin
i' th' warm wynt 'at stirs yor whiskers an' cools yor cheeks as yo
pyerch on th' wole ; an' th' hills ston up o reaund, hearkenin too,
but sayin nowt. But aw s' talk thi yead off, lad ! Aw'm doin
aboon mi share to-day."

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 51

We fund two or three curious owd gravestones in th' buryin-
greaund. Accordin to th' dates they gated plantin folk at t' seauth
side o' th' church first, tailin off north an east, an' savin th' west
end, as usal, for th' fashionables. Th' owdest date we could see
were May 22nd, 1780, when John Burch dee'd ; an' next to him
coome John Barns, toard Kesmas i' 1783. There met be some
laid deawn afore these two Johns, for some o' th' stones are just
plain flags ; as iv poor folk had put 'em theere 'at couldn't afford
to pay for havin 'em written on, an' so had to let their dyead
relations lie wi nowt but a rough slice o' rock to mark th' spot
where they'd hutched away into th' dirt. There's plenty ov
epitaphs knockin abeaut o' one mak an' another. This is one fro
t'seauth-west corner : —

" Life is like an Inn where travellers stay,

Some only Breakfast, and so pass away,

Others for Dinner wait, then go full fed,

The oldest only sup and go to bed ;

Large are their Debts that tarry out the day,

They which go soonest have the least to pay."

Here's another, o'er th' top ov Esther Chadwick, buried i' 1852
at twenty-one year owd. There's a sweet, owd-fashion't savvour
abeaut it, an' signs ov a practised hond : —

" Alas ! she well knew the remediless smart
That wilders the brain and that withers the heart,
Envelopes existence and shrouds it with care,
That weighs down the spirit and bids it despair.
But the clouds of distress gather round her no more,
Her fears are all fled, and her anguish is o'er,
And we trust, while we sigh with affection and love,
That her gloom is dispelled by the glory above."

An' this is betther again — bwoth simple an' grand : —

" Jesus protects : my fears begone !

What can the rock of ages move ?
Safe in Thy arms I lay me down,
Thy everlasting arms of love."

We borrowed th' chapel keigh off th' londlady, an' went in to
have a look reaund. It's a clen, snug little place, nicely fitted up
an' painted. Th' woles are hung wi th' creed an' commandments,
tuthri black an' white mournin tablets, an' a picther o' t' royal arms
i' breet colours. On th' west wole, undher a gallery, a board hangs
wi this painted on : —

Requiescant in Pace.

Near this place rest the mortal remains of Benjamin Cass of Bircle,
aged 64, and Alice his wife, aged 76, obt. Octr. 1st, 1825.

Let the man who now lives without GOD in this life,

Give Ear to a Voice from the Grave ;
Tho' he look for to-morrow, the Murderer's Knife

May attack when there's no one to save.

Keigh, key.

52 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

We look'd for to-morrow as we went to repose

Thro' the night on our lone humble Bed,
But the Murderer came and the sun never rose

To us — for our Spirits had fled.

Live then to God whilst thou livest below,

And to Him give each Day as it flies ;
Prepare for the Grave, that when dead Thou may'st go

To dwell with thy GOD in the Skies.

We fund th' orgin unlocked, an' when we'd finished lookin
abeaut us, John climbed onto th' stoo, rooted eaut some music
books, an' axed me to blow for him.

" I'll give you a recital," he says. " There is plenty of good
stuff here. Will you have Mendelssohn or Bach ? "

" Aw s' be most use at th' back, aw darsay ; but oather on 'em
'11 suit me, back or front. Let's yer summat soft an' sweet, deein
away five mile off an' then rowlin back a far-fot Iwod o' music on
a theausand wheels, crashin through forest, swirlin across river an'
poand, rivin rock an' meauntain fro their deep roots, an' svvellin
eaut into a world-shakin clamour ; to sink again, lower and lower,
little by little, across far-off hollows an' levels, whisperin o' comfort
an' everlastin rest."

" That's a crescendo with a vengeance," John co'd eaut, starin
at me as iv he thought aw're gooin off it. " Where am I to find
a composition of that sort ? "

" Composition be hanged ! " aw said. " Put thi fingers on th'
keighs an' squeeze some poethry eaut on 'em. Make 'em talk ! "

So we gated. Aw wortched an' he played, an' between us we
turn't eaut some tidy bits o' stuff. One on 'em he towd me to tak
particlar notice on. Aw did as aw were ordher't, an' i' mi own
yead wove th' music into this :

A human soul, sthrong an' beautiful, but restless — unsattl't.
A spirit ov evil, shapin itsel i' th' soul's likeness, creeps near wi
temptin talk ; tells his tale o'er an' o'er again, gainin i' peawer,
when, hush ! fro some good angel comes a soft, sweet sthrain,
whisperin heavenly calm ; th' baffled imp ceawers i' silence for a
minute, an' then cobs back a mockin onswer, givin place again to
that solemn warnin song. Then th' evil spirit changes his shape
a bit, an' thries another dodge on, getherin up spite an' scorn i'
grooin fury ; but undher o his fumin, not to be smoor't, flows on
that quiet angel song, gainin greaund bit bi bit, risin i' pitch an'
sthrength, whol th' imp o' darkness flies wi a long yell o' despair;
an' freed fro sthrife an' restlessness th' purified soul hearkens to
that sweet, savin sthrain, soft as a breath, but swellin into one
mighty chorus o' majesty an' peawer.

" John," aw said, " that's music. There's bin a poet's brain
behinnd that. What dost co it ? "

Poand, pond.

AS FAR AS ASHOTH. 53

" It is the first movement of Mendelssohn's sonata in F minor,"
he says ; so aw towd him what aw thought abeaut it, an' he grunted
a bit, an' said he reckon't nowt o' thryin to explain music i' words
— we met as weel thry to fit a neetingale's song to th' scale.

" Well, we're noane beaun to fo eaut o'er it," aw said. " Let's
yer a bit o' that t'other chap tha mention't."

" Bach ? "

" Ah ; John up t' back, were it, tha co'd him ? "

" Listen with all your ears, then, to his Toccata and Fugue in
D minor."

" Aw could hearken betther iv we could catch a lad to blow,"
aw said, wipin th' sweat off mi face. " This is warmer wark nor
flue-clenin. Arta beaun to set o th' lot o' pipes skrikin again ?
It taks middlin o wynt when they're o gooin at once."

" Yes, we shall want them all."

" Goo on, then ; aw'll be noane licked bi a German band-
maisther, but there'd ha bin a dyel less wynt shifted iv he'd ne'er
bin born."

Th' piece started wi a twirl, an' then stopped. Then we'd
another bit ov a dither, an' a swift gallopin like a dhrove o' wild
horses. That stopped, an' a bit ov a tune coome next, fo'in eaut
wi one note 'at would keep talkin eaut ov it turn. That broke off,
followed bi bits ov another tune, moore ditherin an' gallopin, an'
aw began to see what were up. Owd John had bin just cobbin
his thoughts together, slattin tuthri notes abeaut to leet as they
would — grand bits o' thought they are — no babbywark — an' just
as aw fund eaut what he were at there coome a hondful o' solid,
heavy chords, wi a bowd, cheerful run on th' pedals, an' aw said
to misel, wipin mi yead wi one hond an' blowin hard wi t'other,
" Th' owd chap's getten it neaw ; he's beaun to start ov his wark."
Sure enough he in wi a shuttle, set his loom on, an' a rare cut he
wove i' tuthri minutes. Aw soon fund eaut he were runnin a
Jacquard, for he'd four shuttles gooin at once as oft as not, an'
whichever on 'em ran eaut he shapped to keep his loom on wi
t'other, iv there were nobbut one. like a cliver owd weighver as
he were. He put a bit o' fancy wark reight i' t' middle ov his
piece, but mixed it in so weel 'at it mended his pattheran astid o'
spoilin it ; then he slipped th' first lot o' shuttles in again, one bi
one, wove away whol his byem geet nicely filled, stopped to scrat
his yead an' think a minute, an' then wi a bit o' pushin shapped to
deawn his cut afore th' engine stopped wi tuthri giant sthrokes,
levin a silence as iv th' world had stopped too.

" Come on," aw said ; " let's goo neaw. Tha'll find nowt to
lick that so mich. Owd John had no need to live up a enthry,
aw yer ; he's a dyel bigger chap nor t'other. It's none as yezzy to
see what he's dhrivin at as wi th' first mon, but it's summat big an'
grand, aw'm satisfied o' that."

54 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Time were gettin on, so John gated thinkin abeaut his thrain
worn ; an' as he were bund to go back or miss his wark next
mornin we shapped toard Rachda bi t' nearest road. Aw stopped
him at one spot to show him two lones runnin side bi side fro
th' main road toard Bagslate.

" Look here," aw said. " What dost think abeaut this — two
roads goin to th' same point, wi nobbut a hedge between 'em ? "

"It seems strange, certainly. How do you account for the
business ? "

"Well, aw've towd thee mony a time, John, 'at it's a quare
world. Aw tell somebry or another every week ; an' th' owdher
aw get th' quarer aw find it. Neaw, we bwoth known a bit abeaut
brotherly love, an' o that, but would ta believe 'at two brothers
could ha bin sich reet-deawn bowstheryeads 'at they wouldn't walk
o'er th' same greaund, an' had to cut a road apiece to keep fro'
bein poison't wi th' dust o' one another's feet ? "

"Is that so?"

" That's th' tale as aw yerd it."

"This seems a good opportunity for sitting on a rail to
moralise for half-an-hour or so. What do you say ? "

" O aw con say is tha'll miss t' thrain iv tha does. Aws' ha to
tak thee sthraight to th' station as it is. We s' hardly ha time for
a stirrup-cup."

" We must try to bear up against all these misfortunes," John
laughed ; an' then we poted away like good uns whol we geet
into th' teawn. We just managed to knock t' Yokshire thrain, an'
aw bundl't th' poet into it.

" When is this return visit to be ? " he axed, stickin his yead
eaut o' th' window.

" We mun wait whol Spring neaw," aw said ; " it's no use me
comin afore. These bare hills ov eaurs looken their best i'
Winther, but it's noane so wi yor scenery. Next Spring, iv aw'm
wick, tha con expect to see me."

" Good-bye to you, then, for the present."

" Good neet, lad ; an God bless thee."

" In the Spring ! " he co'd eaut, as t' thrain slurred away.

" I' Spring," aw said ; an' aw watched t' thrain as long as it
could be sin, rowlin forrad to dive into th' long, dark tunnel, an'
jump eaut into th' breet, cheerful world at t'other end ; an' as aw
went wi slow feet toard worn aw felt as empty an' lonely as iv aw'd
parted fro mi own son.

Q

I

o
o

cr

LU
en
<

D
O

(75

SALLY BRELLA.

T'OTHER neet aw happened to get howd ov a library book
eaur Tom had left lyin on t' dhresser, an' fund it were one
o' th' novels 'at gwone flyin abeaut so thick neawadays,
helpin folk to fill up their spare time an' oppenin new worlds for
'em to wandher in. It were mostly abeaut a very honsome
young woman, wi plenty o' brass, a tendher heart, an' wit as sharp
as a needle. Hoo went wamblin abeaut o through t' book hopin
'at a very honsome young chap, wi a bit moore brass, were beaun
to ax her to wed him ; as he did at th' finish, afther wastin t' best
part o' their lives playin at babby-heause. They'd nowt else to do
'at aw could see, for noather t' young chap, nor his lass, nor t'
writher hissel, seemed to know there were ony mak o' wark i' t'
counthry. When aw'd waded o through it aw gated thinkin 'at
this young woman, nice as hoo were, could nobbut be reckon't a
weel-donned doll, wi nowt like th' shift ov a weighver or windher ;
for hoo could noather bake nor wesh, an' hoo'd no thrade in her
fingers. " Thomas Algernon '11 find thee a dear lump iv he ever
does wed thee," aw thought i' mi yead. " Iv he looks undher thi
thin crust o' schoo-larnin for brains he'll find noane ; iv he wants
owt doin i' th' heause he'll be like to pay somebry else, for tha'll
be no use ; iv he wants his childher nursin and rearin he mun put
'em eaut to seauk, for tha'rt a dyel too fine to bother wi 'em. Tha's
some bits o chatther abeaut paintin an' music, copied off other
folk ; tha's some scrapins o' talk abeaut books tha never read, an'
wouldn't undherstond iv tha did ; but what arta woth, Imogen, at
t' side ov owd Sally Brella ? "

Aw felt that were a bit ov a sattler, for Sally's turn't fifty year
owd, an' hoo's t' mother o' nine. It'd bother a novelist to get
mony fine speeches eaut ov her meauth, for hoo's a dyel betther
wortcher nor talker ; an' iv he went axin her opinion abeaut th'
influence o' German thought i' metaphysics, or thried to read her
some o' Breawnin's poems, he'd be moore likely nor not to get a
rowlin pin cobbed at his yead. He'd be cheted iv he went
seechin beauty in her, too. Sally cawn't show a meauthful o'
pearls between ripe cherry lips ; her teeth are as bad to find as
gaslamps in a Local Board disthrict. There's no glitther in her
e'en, noather ; they're rayther blear't, iv owt, wi o t' dhree starin
hoo's had to do. Her fingers are noane white an' taperin ; her
foot taks a sizable clog to howd it ; her yure doesn't goo ripplin
deawn her back i' waves o' gowd. What bit hoo has left hoo tees
up in a hanketcher.

Wamblin,, waverihg.

56 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Nowe!" aw thought, "tha'rt nowt i' th' novel-writin line,
Sally ; there's no moore romance abeaut thee nor in a peaund o'
blacklead ; iv folk are to know owt abeaut thee aw s' be like to
tell 'em misel, an' as tha'rt weel woth a shop among these

' Short and simple annals of the poor '

aw'll do it, an' keep weel eaut o' thi road when it's done, fleyed o'
gettin a brokken creawn for mi impidence."

Sally's Amos Brella wife. They'n bin teed together aboon
thirty year neaw, beaut oather fratchin or pooin at t' knot ; they'n
ne'er bin short o' noather hard wark, childher, nor meight sin' ;
they'n brass saved ready for ony backenins 'at may turn up, an'
they're bwoth as independent an' sthraightforrad as two folk con be.

Aw recollect th' weddin weel enough. They bwoth lived near
me, an' aw'd noticed 'em bein together a good bit for tuthri week,
so when aw met 'em one neet i' th' fields aboon Red Brook,
walkin on different sides o' th' lone beaut a word to say for
theirsels, aw could see they myent business.

Aw've yerd folk reckon to sneer at eaur Lancashire lads an'
lasses for their style o' cwortin — gooin gawpin abeaut together for
a whol neet wi hardly a word, lookin as iv they didn't belong to
one another. Let 'em sneer ; it nobbut shows their want o' sense.
Love con live an' thrive beaut talk ; e'e an' heart con speighk a
deeper language nor ony words con shape. Aw know bi misel
heaw it is, an' recollect some weel o th' heaurs aw've sit or walked
wi mi wife i' eaur cwortin days, brimful ov happiness to know
hoo were theere within arm's length, but i' no fettle for talkin. Mi
lass ne'er said mich, noather,

" But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
Paining with eloquence her balmy side ;
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
Her throat in vain."

Sally looked a bit different then fro what hoo does neaw. In
her wortchin clooas — grey shawl, clen appron, plain dark frock, an'
weel-polished clogs — wi her yure olez smooth an' shinin, an' her
womly face breet as a new shillin, hoo made a finer picther in a
sensible chap's e'en nor plenty o' donned-up dawdlin ladies ever
could do ; an' i' th' choir ov a Sunday, tidy, rosy, an' thrim, her
sweet threble ringin eaut i' " Rockingham " or " Creawn Him," hoo
could weel howd her own bwoth for looks an' wit wi ony lass i' th'
chapel. Amos thought so, shuzheaw. He were i' th' choir too —
singin bass hawve a yard deep — an' aw believe these two first
coome to a gradely undherstondin one rainy practice neet when
they'd to walk worn undher t' same umbrell ; so there were some
good coome ov a singin lesson for once.

Flayed, afraid.

SALLY BRELLA. 57

They made no fuss o'er it, yo known. Amos didn't dhrop
deawn o' one knee i' t' slutch, an' brast eaut, " Adorable Sarah !
Light of my solitary heart, for many years of patient waiting, look
with kindness upon thy trembling lover ! Raise him from the
lowest depths of unutterable despair to the loftiest summits of
unspeakable bliss ! "

Oh nowe ! nowt o' that mak. It never sthruck t' young chap
to kneel, an' iv it had done he wouldn't ha bin likely to do it wi
his best black breeches on. O he said were, " Mun we keep
company, Sarah ? "

" Eh ! for shame, Amos ! "

" There's nowt to be 'sham't on 'at aw con see. We're noane
t' first bi a good tuthri. Aw'm nobbut fyerd o' one thing, an' that
is 'at aw'm noane good enough for sich a lass as thee."

" Noane good enough for a four-loom weighver, Amos ? "

" That's noane it. Angels are no wur for gettin their wings
sprinkl't wi cotton dust. We're bwoth young an' hearty, an' makin
a good wage ; aw'll shap thee a comfortable worn an' use thee
weel, an' we con manage to toar on together some road, aw think."

" Aw mun be gettin worn," Sally said, thryin to put th' sweet-
heartin off, an wondherin whatever made her heart flutther so
mich. " Thank yo for th' umbrell. It's bin very useful. Aw
didn't want to get mi bonnet ribbins weet — they cost a shillin a
yard."

" Aw'll buy thee some at hawve-a-creawn iv aw mun," says
Amos ; " but it's a poor look eaut for me when tha nobbut thinks
abeaut thi ribbins afther o aw've said."

" Well, good neet ; an' thank yo," Sally said, wishin hoo durst
just tell him o hoo thought, but takkin care o t' same to look as
unconsarn't as iv hoo didn't care a bodle for him.

" Good neet, an' God bless thee," t' poor fellah said, thinkin
it were o up wi his chance o' gettin her ; noane findin eaut whol
long afther heaw Sally were thremblin, nor heaw mich sleep hoo
lost that neet. He went worn feelin very deawn, an' couldn't eight
his supper, so uncommon a thing wi him 'at his mother suspected
summat were up, an' axed him two or three score questions in a
crack, mendin his temper a lump. Haever, afore Sunday coome
reaund t' lad geet his pluck up again, thinkin he'd have another
thry when th' sarvice were o'er at neet. Sally were makin off wi
two or three lasses 'at lived her road on, but bowd Amos were
noane to be cheted i' that shap ; he went up to her an' said,
earless who yerd him,

" Sarah, come reaund this t'other road. Aw want to tell thee
summat."

Neaw, t'other road ran across th' meadows, an' were a dyel t'
longest. Sally knew that weel enough, an' knew what turnin back

58 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

wi Amos myent ; but hoo'd bin studyin what ailed her sin' t' prac-
tice neet, made her mind up, an' though feelin shy an' freeten't
hoo'd no thoughts o' keepin t' poor lad i' misery longer nor could
be helped. So they sthruck across t' fields, heedless o' th' snig-
gerin lasses starin afther 'em, walkin a good way beaut a word.

" Sarah, doesta like Joe Lomax betther nor me ? " Amos axed
at last.

" Nowe, aw don't."

"We may as weel link," Amos said, howdin his arm when
they'd walked a bit fur. Sally popped her little hond through it,
an' they went forrad again, but very slow neaw, whol they coome
to th' last fielt, where t' young chap poo'd up an' axed,

" Mun aw kuss thee, Sarah ? "

Sally's simple heart were fair lutchin wi love. Hoo said nowt,
but turn't her face toard his, an' he gav her sich a long kiss 'at
he'd to tak his wynt afther it. Then they'd another kiss or two,
or happen a dozen, an' Amos geet so bowd he were for takkin his
lass worn an' sattlin things wi her fayther sthraight off; but hoo
were too freeten't to let him, so he'd to be satisfied wi walkin o t'
road through heaven to t' last sthreet corner, dirt an' set-stones
feelin like gowd dust an' diamonds undher his feet, an' levin her
wi just one squeeze moore.

Amos an' Sally geet wed, then, as aw were sayin, furnished a
cottage, an' set up i' life wi four an' sixpence i' brass, a lod o' coals
i' th' cellar, an' no debts. Fro th' first Sally brought a good hawve
o' th' week's wage worn, bein a exthra good weighver an' full o'
shift ; an' when childher coome so fast 'at hoo were forced to stop
awom, hoo addl't mony a shillin bi weshin, clenin, an' sich-like.
Things were noane o sthraightforrad wi 'em. It were a toss up
once whether they o went to th' warkheause or not, for Amos were
laid up a good while wi rheumatics, an' wi five childher on her
honds Sally looked like bein fast. Their bits o' savins went wi a
rattle when there were nowt comin in, an' nine women i' ten 'd ha
gien th' job up as a bad un. Sally were noane one o' th' givin-up
mak. Hoo geet a new window-bottom put in, set eaut a toffy an'
oddment shop, gated bakin loaves, crumpets, moufins, an' what-
not, sendin th' owdest childher eaut sellin 'em ; an' hoo did so
weel 'at when Amos coome reaund he said t' best thing he could
do 'd be to fo ill again as soon as it could be snapped, as it paid
a dyel betther nor gooin to t' facthry.

It were a grand sect to watch that family when o t' nine
childher were grooin up, fillin th' little cottage whol there hardly
looked reawm to crom another in. Their style o' sidin th' dinner
table were summat to remember. Lobscouse, coffee an' butther-
cake, pickl't yerrin, black puddins, sheep yead — owt were reet

Lutchin, palpitating. Lobxcouse, a hash of meat and potatoes.

SALLY BRELLA. 59

for their healthy appetites ; so long as th' quantity were theere t'
quality ne'er bother't 'em, an' Sally took middlin good care they
were nowt short, iv they kept her ladin eaut whol hoo'd nowt left
for hersel.

" Iv they mun wortch they mun eight," hoo'd say ; an' they'd
to do bwoth.

Hutched up together like rabbits in a run, wi nobbut rough
plain fare an' makeshift clooas, wi a life ov hard wark an' sthruggle
afore 'em o, they were yet as breet an' content as onybody i' th'
world. T' young uns were olez considher't first ; iv they'd ony
dainties i' th' eightin line 'at wouldn't goo reaund, t' little lads an'
lasses geet th' first share, an' th' owdher end took their chance
beaut grumblin.

Wi clooas it were t'other road abeaut. Owt 'at t' fayther
finished wi — breeches, cwot, singlet, or what not — coome in for
th' owd'st lad, an' went fro him to th' next ; worn spots were cut
eaut or petched (not olez wi t' same cloth), breeches were turn't
into jackets, an' back again into less breeches, thravellin deawn
th' line whol there were a bit o' stuff left ; olez comin in at th'
finish to make harstone rugs, bed quilts, or map rags. Sally's
clooas went to th' lasses i' t' same road, lastin eaut whol warp an'
weft 'd howd together. Sunday shoon, caps, bonnets, an' so on
did duty for o th' family. As they geet too little for one there
were sure to be moore yeads or feet ready to fit 'em ; property
went fro one to another beaut oather writin off depreciation or
botherin wi law suits, an' vested intherests were ne'er thought on.
One thing Sally olez shapped, whether times were good or bad wi
'em ; that were to turn 'em o eaut dacent to th' schoo ov a Sunday
mornin. Years went on, an' th' procession kept grooin whol o th'
nine on 'em were gooin together, lookin a sthreetful when they
turn't eaut, an' makin folk wondher wherever they were crommed
away i' that bit ov a heause ; but few or mony, little or big, to
schoo they went as reglar as t' clock sthruck. •

Things were middlin lively at neets when o th' young uns were
at a loase end. Three or four on 'em 'd be runnin abeaut like wick-
silver, but wi rayther moore din ; little Betty 'd be hutched into
some corner, spellin at her book ; young Amos, th' family artist,
'd be dhrawin away wi slate an' pencil ; James Henry an' Samul
Robert, th' owdest lads, 'd be blowin cornet an' clarionet i' th'
bedreawm, practisin for th' brass band ; Sally 'd fuss abeaut, fo'in
o'er 'em, saucin one minute, laughin th' next ; owd Amos 'd sit
studyin o'er his long clay i' th' nook between fire an' window ;
an' deawn fro th' attics every neaw an' again 'd come a sthrange,
raspin seaund, summat like a joiner sawin planks, for Ephrairn
were larnin to sing, so t'other lot made him goo as hee up eaut

Harstone, hearthstone. Map, mop.

60 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

o' th' road as they could, short o' stickin him on th' slate. They
thried him i' th' cellar a time or two when he first started, but
they couldn't ston him theere at o. There were no moore com-
fort i' th' heause whol John Thomas, a science class scholar, fund
eaut 'at seaund had a thrick o' fo'in upbroo. When they larn't
that poor Eph were shifted fro t' bottom to th' top wi a rattle, an'
there were quietness again, obbut when a heavy note or two rowl't
deawn th' stairs, olez makin Sally think o' brimstone an' thraycle,
hoo said, but heaw that were hoo couldn't tell.

Iv ony refin't chap had put his yead into that heause he'd ha
bin sure ov a fit — aw myen that mak o' refinement 'at makes folk
freeten't ov a creawd, teighches 'em to wear spring glasses whol
their e'en are good, put scent upo' their hanketchers, an' think
silky Latin betther nor rough rowler-teawel Saxon ; an' iv ony
woman — lady aw should say — used to sittin idle i' th' pahlour
whol a sarvant did t' wark for her had sin Sally's style o' heause-
keepin, hoo'd ha fainted sthraight off. Not 'at there were ony
dirt, yo undherstond, for Sally olez kept things clen an' wholsome ;
it were like a want o' polish, a bare plainness abeaut pots an' furni-
thur, mixed wi sweet savvours o' reausty iron, wool oil, an' cotton
sizin off t' childher's clooas, 'at 'd ha sicken't weel-bred folk. For
one thing they'd no fancy brackets nor china plates hangin on
th' woles, no picther rail runnin reaund, no dado ( nor dodo
noather), no piano, no umbrell stond i' th' lobby an' no lobby for
one to ston in, no bells, no wot wayther upstairs, no wine cellar,
no stairs carpet, no muslin curtains, nor nowt. It's a capper
heaw they shapped to live, but they did shap it some road, an'
throve beside.

But there were tuthri things i' that heause 'at couldn't be hung
upo' woles or set eaut on shelves. Love were one. Amos an'
Sally brought that into th' spot on their weddin day, an' it's theere
yet, shinin breet wi reglar use. Thruth's lamp were theere, olez
blazin ; givin*th' shadows o' lyin an' chetin no chance to gether.
Honest independence grew wi a thick stalk eaut o' th' harstone,
spreadin healthy branches o reaund ; every young Brella rear't
undher t' shade o' that hardy evergreen would ha scorn't to beg or
owe onybody a bodle, an' sanner ha dee'd nor gwone to th' wark-
heause. Charity lived wi 'em, never wantin to flit ; an' that were
very like th' greight saycret on 'em agreein so weel wi theirsel an'
other folk, feelin satisfied wi what they had, an olez shappin some
road to spare a thrifle when it were needed. But there were no
refinement abeaut th' hole. Not a spoontle.

It were so weel known o reaund 'at th' Brellas were throubl't
wi this quare complaint o' charity 'at there were welly olez somebry
on th' durstep, seechin brass or advice, or happen bwoth ; but
come as thick as they would noane on 'em could charge Sally wi
bein slack at helpin. Iv hoo'd nowt to spare hersel hoo'd find

SALLY BRELLA. 6 1

somebry else 'at had ; hoo could ne'er have oppen't her meauth to
beg for ony ov her own, but at cadgin for other folk hoo were
a stunner.

Aw recollect a while sin' some Kershaws lived at t'other end
o'th' row fro Sally. One mornin their little lass — th' first chilt,
nobbut a year owd — were takken ill, an' t' mother bowled off,
passin every dur i' t' sthreet, to fot Mrs. Brella. Hoo ran in,
dhropped into a cheer an' brasted eaut cryin beaut sayin a word.
Noane were needed, for o th' neighbours knew weel enough 'at
th' chilt were gooin fast.

" Is hoo wur, Dinah ? " Sally axed, sthrippin t' dough off her
fingers ; for hoo were kneighdin.

" A dyel wur," t' poor mother said between her sobs. " What
it '11 turn to God knows, but aw'm fyerd hoo's sinkin."

" Is onybody gwone for t' docthor ? "

"Aw've nobry to send. Will yo stop wi her whol aw slip
deawn misel ? "

"Aw'll ha noane o' thee scuttherin up an' deawn th' teawn,
an' so near thi lyin-in too. Aw'll fot him."

" What abeaut yor babby ? " axed Mrs. Kershaw, for Sally had
a new chilt, a fortnit owd.

" Aw'll tak it wi me. T'other little uns are playin 'em at th'
back ; just keep one e'e on 'em chance they wanten summat, an'
aw'll lock up an' goo. Where does yor Joe wortch neaw ? "

"Mitchell Hey."

" Aw'll fot him too," Sally said. " Iv owt happens an' him
noane here aw s' ne'er forgive mysel."

Hoo lapped t' babby in her shawl an' were off like a rocket to
t' docthor's. He were awom bi good luck, an' gated saucin as
soon as he seed her.

" A sensible woman you are," he says. " Hardly over your
confinement, and rushing about like a steam engine. Carrying
the child too. Of course."

" Howd yor din, do," Sally said, busy pinnin th' babby's clooas
up. " Yo met think aw were as nesh as th' quality. Yo're wanted
up at Keighshaw's, an' soon ; so bowt."

" What is the use ? I can do no good whatever."

" Goo an' reckon to do then ! Is t' mother to be left bi hersel,
wi nobry thryin to shap nowt for her ? There's some scuse for a
bit ov humbug neaw iv ever there were i' this world. Hoo's o bi
hersel, poor thing ; so be sharp."

" You are right," t' docthor says, turnin serious. " I'll go back
with you at once."

" Nay ! yo mun find t' road yorsel. Aw'm beaun to Mitchell
Hey."

" Certainly ! Oh, by all means ! Go round by the White
House, or Norden, and get a good walk while you are about it.

62 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Nothing like exercise. You will want more physic to-morrow."

" Howd yer din ! " Sally said again, an' left him. Hoo thrail't
across th' Brodefielt deawn to t' facthry office, sent in for Kershaw
an' towd him to get worn as soon as he could. He were very
sickly lookin for a young chap, carryin t' thrade mark ov his
business in his hollow chest an' reaunt back.

"Aw've bin freeten't o' this o mornin," he towd her. "It's
rare an' good on yo to come o this road, Mrs. Brella. Yo're
noane fit to be eaut yorsel."

" Ne'er heed, lad ; we con fo eaut abeaut that afther. Run
worn as fast as tha con."

He shook his yead wi a sad but noane fretful look. " Aw
mun run noane up that broo; but aw'll thravel as fast as mi
wynt '11 let me."

In abeaut hawve an heaur Sally went into Kershaw's to see
heaw things were lookin. Hoo fund 'em bad. Th' chilt lee at it
last, wasted away to nowt, but still an' free fro pain. T' mother
bent o'er th' bed wi dhry e'en an' dhrawn face, sufferin agony sich
as no words could tell. T' fayther, lookin heart-brokken, stood
talkin softly to th' docthor in a corner. Th' end coome very soon,
breath levin t' little body so gently 'at for a minute t' mother didn't
notice 'at that precious life were gwone ; when hoo did hoo fell
forrad on th' bed wi a chawkin seaund in her throat, but Sally's
comfortin arms were reaund her, an' t' poor woman's yead soon
rested on t' width o' blue check 'at cover't as motherly an' tendher
a heart as ever stirred. Kershaw kissed his chilt's sunken cheek
an' took t' docthor deawn th' stairs, levin his wife to Sally — t' best
thing he could ha done.

" We must take great care of Mrs. Kershaw," t' docthor said.
" In her condition there will be danger if she gives way too much
to this trouble."

"It met happen be th' best job iv hoo did," Kershaw said,
lookin sattl't i' misery.

" Good heavens, man ! What do you mean ? "

" Yo known what aw myen, weel enough," t' sufferin fayther
went on. " It's o deawn i' yor scientific books, isn't it ? Wakely
parents '11 breed wakely childher, wain't they; an' th' curse o'
consumption gwoes deawn fro generation to generation ? Done
yo reckon aw cawn't tell what yo thinken abeaut this job ? Done
yo think aw didn't know th' risk we ran when aw geet wed ? Aw
took Dinah wi mi e'en oppen ; but hoo knew nowt — eh ! mi poor
lass ; to what have aw brought thee ! "

His smother't fire flashed eaut on him o in a minute. He broke
deawn an' cover't his face.

" I daren't venture to blame you, my poor friend, for we are
all blind fools at best ; yet, knowing that you were consumptive,
it was hardly wise to marry, to say the least."

SALLY BRELLA. 63

" Dunnot talk to me i' that cowd-blooded road. Dunnot !
Dunnot ! Aw were o'er t' yead i' love, mon, when aw wed yon
lass." He lifted his white face an' went on. " Done yo think aw
cawn't feel love becose aw'm a ignorant facthry chap 'at's never
bin to a college ? Aw ne'er stopped to reckon chances an' hap-
penins then same as aw should neaw. Aw were a dyel sthronger
chap then, beside, an' didn't reetly know aw werenot seaund.
Aw'd hopes then — hopes to poo through, an' find things shappin
for'th' best; hopes o' bein happy ah' makin mi wife so. What
mun aw do neaw — curse God an' dee?"

" No, no ! Don't talk in that wild way, my poor fellow."

" Aw'm noane wild, docthor. Nowt so lucky ! Mi brains are
steady enough an' mi wits o i' their reet slots. Aw tell yo again
it met be t' best thing iv mi wife dee'd neaw an' were saved o t'
throuble 'at lies afore her. We s' have another chilt born i' two
month. It'll ne'er live ! Heaw con it 1 Iv hoo suffers so mich
wi loisin this heaw will it be wi th' next ? Aw've two year o' life
left, mysel, moore or less ; hoo'll see me pinin away whol there's
hardly t' framewark ov a mon to heighve into th' coffin, an; hoo'll
ha to nurse me through scores o' weary days an' neets, to be left
bi hersel at last, teawin for a livin. But for God's sake dunnot
turn reaund on me neaw, sayin aw met ha known, or should ha
bin wiser, an' sich like. Aw cawn't ston it."

" I won't turn round on you," t' docthor said. " Not likely.
We must get you down south for a month or two, and try to set
you right. Things may turn out better than you expect."

Kershaw shook his yead'wi th' owd sad, patient look, an' went
upstairs to his wife.

T' same afthernoon, Sally were finishin her bakin when there
coome a middlin leaud ran-tan on th' dur. Hoo oppen't it, seed
a parson stonnin theere wi a thick stick in his hond, an' axed
rayther sharp,

" Are yo for hommerin th' dur deawn, or heaw?"

He looked as iv he hardly knew what hoo myent, an' said, " I
beg your pardon. Can you direct me to the house of a man
named Kershaw ? "

" What done yo want theere ?"

He looked mad at her sperrin him that road. " Excuse me.
Will you kindly direct me to the place ? "

" Yo'd best come inside a minute," Sally said. " Aw want to
have a word wi yo afore yo gwone clattherin upo' folks' durs fit to
wakken th' dyead."

He went in an' sit him deawn, pooin off his soft billycock an'
showin a yead runnin up to a point at th' top.

" Yo mun be a fresh mon," Sally said, sittin deawn an' smoothin
her brat o'er her knees. " Aw've ne'er sin yo afore to mi know-
ledge."

64 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" I have not been in the town long."

" Well, yo known, they'n a chilt dyead at Keighshaw's, so they
wain't want ony mak o' folk co'in just neaw."

" I have thought it my duty to call upon them. I wish to
recommend them to a charitable society if they prove to be
deserving people."

" Done yo for sure ? " Sally co'd eaut, curlin her nose up.
" They desarven o yo con do for 'em an' a bit beside, but iv yo're
for gettin 'em to a charity office yo'll want two pair ov hondcuffs
an' a waggin an' horses."

" I don't comprehend your meaning."

" Nowe, an' Joe Keighshaw wain't comprehend gooin a beggin,
noather. He'd sanner clem. He wouldn't like that sperrin 'at
charity offices are so fond on noather. Dacent folk don't want o
their neighbours tellin when they're forced to beg."

" I hardly follow you," th' parson says. " Does ' sperrin '
signify asking questions ? "

" Nay ! iv yo cawn't gawm gradely English aw met as weel
give o'er talkin. What use con yo be at preighchin iv that's it ? "

T' parson began lookin as iv he'd had abeaut enough o' Sally.
He thried to change th' subject when hoo'd done talkin, an' put
his foot into a wur spot nor ever.

" I understand," he says, " that this Mr. Kershaw was greatly
to blame for marrying at all. Is it true that he is consumptive ? "

" Happen it is," Sally said, screwin her meauth up an' lookin
dangerous.

" If people deliberately set the laws of nature at defiance they
must take the consequences. You know, my good woman,
political economy teaches "

"Aw know nowt abeaut no tickle commonies," Sally brasted
eaut. "Aw've tickle jobs enoo beaut larnin fresh. It's reel
enough 'at Keighshaw's gooin deawnbroo, an' has bin a good bit ;
an' he's noane th' first bi five theausan 'at cotton's made an end
on noather. Sendin childher into a facthry at eight year owd,
same as Joe were sent, sides 'em off abeaut as weel as owt aw
know on, obbut dhreawnin. Neaw, aw'll tell yo what it is, wi yor
commonies an' slutch. Stir another yard toard Keighshaw's an'
aw'll have o t' women i' t' sthreet eaut to punce yo off th' clod.
Just a yard ! Yo an' yor commonies ! As iv folk were noane
miserable enough beaut yor meddlin."

Hoo were bendin o'er th' table bi this time, shakin her neighve
in his face, so th' chap thought he'd best be gooin.

" I will call on a future day," he said, bowtin through t' dur,
wi Sally afther him, sheautin " Make it a twelvemonth."

As t' parson were turnin th' corner on his road back, another

Oawm, understand.

SALLY BRELLA. 65

parson ran again him. They shook honds an' stopped to have a
word or two.

" That is a very violent woman in the first house," number
one says.

" Indeed ! " says number two. " You can't mean Mrs. Brierley,
surely ? "

"The woman yonder looking out at us. She is a dreadful
creature."

"Nonsense, man !" number two laughed. "There is no better
woman in the town. What have you been doing to offend her ? "

" Nothing in the world. I can't understand the matter in the
least. She came at me like a wild cat."

" Did you ever see a wild cat."

" No."

" Have you made any study of the characteristics of Lancashire
people ?

" None whatever, and after the sample I have just had there
is little encouragement to do so. Inferior blood will display itself,
I suppose."

" It will, sir," number two said, " whether in aristocrats,
parsons, or operatives ; " an' he went forrad to wheere Sally stood
at her dur, lookin ill crammed.

" Good morning, Mrs. Brierley."

" Good mornin. Are yo makin for Keighshaw's ? "

" I have come to ask your advice about that. What do you
think?"

" It depends," Sally said, takkin him into th' kitchen an' dustin
a cheer for him wi her brat. (Hoo hadn't done that for t'other
mon.) "Are yo beaun a blowin 'em up, like yon t'other felly ?"

" Blowing them up !" th' parson co'd eaut, fair capped. " What
on earth is there to blow them up for at a time like this?"

" A dyel o' things," Sally towd him. " Joe had no business to
get wed, had he, wi a wake chest an' a cough ? They should have
had some brass saved, shouldn't they, astid o' botherin charity
offices. They should larn to wortch, shouldn't they, an keep i'
their places, an' deny theirsel, an' study thrift, an' above o things
mind to slutther sixpence into th' collection box ov a Sunday?"
Sally were cryin afore hoo'd done, wi her white brat to her e'en.

" I begin to see how my friend came to think you violent- "

" Iv he co's me aw'll poo his yure for him ! "

" I must blush for my cloth," t' parson went on, rayther stern ;
" but, Sarah, you have known me long enough to be sure that
I should never dream of talking such nonsense."

" Yo're betther nor a dyel on 'em, that's reet enough."

" If I go to see these suffering people my duty will be to
sympathise with them, and give such poor consolation as can be

66 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

found. If heaven is but a dream, as so many people say, it is at
least a charming dream ; and I for one would rather believe that
a universal Father takes these lost dear ones to his arms, setting
them

To dwell in amaranthine fields
Through never-falling time,

than accept the painful theory that we are dust, animated for an
hour only to sink into oblivion's gulf. But the wound in this
bereft mother's heart is still bleeding, her anguish must be intense,
and I fear a visit from anybody would be disagreeable just now.
What do you think ? "

" Yo may as weel goo. Yo'll do no harm, shuzheaw, an' yo
con cheer Joe up a bit."

" There is another matter. How will they be for the expenses
of the funeral ? "

" They hannot ten shillin i' th' heause, iv aw mun tell yo what
aw think."

" It will cost three or four pounds, won't it ?"

" Nay ! we mun shap it for two, some road. But ne'er bother
yorsel abeaut th' brass ; it'll be fund, yo'll see."

Th' parson poo'd a hondful o' brass eaut an' put two sovereigns
on th' table. " May I pay the money, as a particular favour to
me?"

" Nay ! yo're too lat ! " Sally said. " Aw'd sattl't it i' mi mind
afore yo coome. Aw'll pay it mysel."

" How can you afford it with so many children on your hands ?
Come, let me pay the money."

" Nowe, aw wain't."

" Will you give this to Mr. Kershaw, then, to use as he thinks
fit?"

" Aw will, an' thank yo kindly. But aw mun pay th' buryin
brass first, or else Joe wain't let me when he's o this in his pocket.
Eh ! aw wish o parsons were like yo ! "

It were chiefly owin to this good chap 'at Kershaw were
brought reaund. He geet Joe's chest examin't, an' fund th' poor
lad were noane hawve as bad as he'd thought hissel.

" Pure air," a physician towd 'em. " Get out of the cotton
dust for six months, and you will be as right as possible."

" Heaw mun we live o that time ? " poor Kershaw axed, feelin
hawve saved an' three-quathers lost.

" That shall be my business," th' parson said. " Make your
arrangements for going to the Isle of Wight, and I will beg, bor-
row or steal fifty pounds for you."

Kershaw laughed at him. " Yo myen weel, but yo'd betther
save yor wynt. Yo'll ne'er get th' hawve on't."

He were cheted. This parson had a thrick o' gooin forrad wi
jobs when he'd started on 'em. He went reaund th' teawn axin

SALLY BRELLA. 67

for fifty peaund to save a chap's life, an' geet it in a snift. One
rich owd mon stared wi o his e'en, an said,

" My dear sir, I have been asked to subscribe to new churches,
organs, stained glass windows, painting, general and particular
repairs, missionary funds, clergymen's funds, school funds, Whit-
suntide treats, bazaars, concerts, lectures, and all that, often
enough ; but in all my experience yours is the first case I ever
heard of where funds were solicited for a definite individual
matter of charity such as this."

" All the more reason why you should give me a handsome
subscription now," th' parson said. " The chance may never
occur again, you see."

So th' owd brid gav him five peaund, sayin iv they wanted
moore he'd make it ten ; an' away th' good shepherd bowted to
tak th' news to his saved sheep, where aw'll lev yo to guess what
Kershaw an' his wife said an' thought, an' heaw three kind hearts
were mingled an' mixed together i' love an' gratitude. There's
healthy childher enoo i' that family neaw, an' Joe's as fat an'
hearty as iv he'd never ail't nowt.

For o Sally were so tendher when owt happened to touch her
feelins, hoo could stick up for hersel rarely iv onybody thried to
put on her. There were one woman livin just across t' sthreet 'at
hoo never could agree wi long at once — a quare cross-grain't piece
o' goods, olez back wi her rent, spendin middlin i' ale, an' feelin a
grudge again folk 'at kept theirsel dacent an' paid their road.
Their rows started abeaut t' childher i' general. One o'th' young
Brellas 'd run skrikin to it mother, " Lijah Simpson's bin puncin
me ! " an' th' job 'd be sattl't. Sally 'd bowt off to th' dur, shake
her neighve at little Lijah, safe on his own step, an' sheaut, " Let
me catch thee once on this side, tha pousement, an' aw'll teighch
thee to shift thi clogs to some pitch."

" What's that yo say'n ? " Mrs. Simpson 'd sheaut, poppin her
yead eaut, an' then t' gam began.

" What's he bin puncin eaur Sam for ? Iv my childher cawn't
be letten a-be we'll ha some police on th' job."

' Yor Sam hit him first."

' Nay, not he ! "

1 Yigh, he did."

' Naught rf th' sort."

1 He did that."

' Ne'er i' this world."

' Poo that yead in an' get forrad wi yor bakin astid o' reausin
o t' sthreet up wi yor din. An' keep th' sond eaut o' yor moufins."

" Aw'll sond thee, tha besom," Sally 'd splutther, as mad as
hoo could howd. " Come here iv tha dar ! It'd seem thee betther
to get weshed, shap thi husbant his meals somebitlike, an' get yor
Sunday clooas fro th' popshop."

68 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

T'last rovins o' Simpson's temper 'd fly off th' bobbin then ;
hoo'd whuzz her arms reaund, wag her neighves, an' scutther in
an' eaut ov her kitchen, sheautin as hard as hoo could. " Chawk
yorsel wi crompets, yo stuck-up, consayted, felleyin, hecthorin,
ugly thing, yo ! A scrattin, flint-skinnin, slutch-bakin owd prout !
Set a foot on this cosy, an' aw'll make some yure fly. Aw may
ston an' watch mi childher be kil't undher mi e'en iv aw'm foo
enough."

" Yo'n bugs i'th' heause," Sally 'd bawl as soon as hoo could
get a word in. " Deny it iv yo con ; wi t' chamber blinds ne'er
weshed for a twelvemonth, windows fair lost i' dirt, an' noather
blacklead nor swop abeaut th' hole. Ger away wi yo, yo grinnin
good-for-nowt ! "

" Keep yor own hutch clen, an' ne'er mind other folk," Simp-
son 'd yell, slaverin wi passion. Hoo'd run into th' heause, bang
her dur shut, an' pop eaut again. " Aw'll spend no moore o' mi
time talkin to sich a piece o' goods. Yo wanten smoorin i' yor
own oon." Hoo'd wap inside again, bowtin eaut i' hawve a crack.
" There's ne'er bin no quietness for nobry sin yo coome a-livin up
here, what wi t' lads blowin their brass coronets, t' young uns
puncin everybody's childher to t' dyeath, an' yo pychin abeaut
watchin o 'at stirs — yo back-bitin, scornin, snighin snicket." In-
side hoo'd goo, bangin t' dur afther her.

" Goo an' pay what yo ow'n," Sally 'd goo on, earless whether
t'other yerd her or not. " What han yo chalked up at th' ale-
heause,? Livin o' reausty bacon ends, cheese crust, an' o sichlike,
to get brass for ale ! Aut on yo for a swillin, slotchin, sluttherin
baggitch ! "

" Dhreawn yorsel i'th' boiler," Simpson 'd yap eaut, just op-
penin th' dur fur enough to get her nose through ; an' likely
enough Sally 'd say summat to fot her onto th' step again, to start
o th' gam fro th' beginnin. They'd tail off i' time when they geet
weary, an' sulk quietly at one another as usal whol t' next row
coome off.

But Simpson lost his job at tailorin one Sethurday, an' very
soon there were no brass in his heause for noather ale nor nowt
else. On t' top o' that throuble his wife fell ill, an' things gated
lookin cheerful for that family. Sally yerd naught abeaut it for a
day or two, ne'er havin no thruck wi 'em ; but one mornin hoo
seed Sam cleautin Lijah on his own durstep, an' knew there mut
be summat wrong.

" Sam, thee come here ! " hoo co'd eaut. " Lijah, what's
getten thi mother ? "

" Hoo's ill i' bed iv yo wanten to know," Lijah blubber't,
rubbin black weet eaut ov his e'en. " Wait whol aw catch thee,
Sam Brella ! "

Cosy, causeway.

SALLY BRELLA. 69

" What art abusin th' chilt for an' his mother ill ? " Sally said,
fottin Sam a welt 'at made him study asthronomy. " Goo an'
ston i'th' nook whol aw tell thee to come eaut."

Sam were capped eaut ov his wits at that, for it upset o 'at
experience had larn't him, an' slutther't off as iv a boggart were at
his heels, whol Sally crossed o'er an' went into Simpson's for th'
first time in her life. Th' tailor sit o in his dirt rockin afore a fire
brunt deawn to t' last cindher ; th' ash-hole chawked up wi dirt,
floor an' woles in a bonny mess, an' hardly a stick o' furnithur
i'th' hole.

" Is yor missis ill, Simpson ? "

" Hoo reckons so," th' tailor grunted, heighvin his yead up an'
showin a scraggy length o' bare neck wi a dirty yollow shirt flappin
oppen reaund it.

" Are yo doin nowt for her ? "

" What con aw do ? There's nowt i' th' heause for nobry.
Some folk con olez have o they wanten, but aw were ne'er lucky
enough for that. Hoo mun help hersel."

He looked very unconsarn't abeaut it, as iv it matther't nowt
mich heaw things went.

" Are yo noane wortchin ? "

" Aw've getten bagged."

" Stir abeaut afther another job then, yo idle slotch ! " were
on th' end o' Sally's tongue, but hoo nobbut said, " Well, Simpson,
iv yo con do nowt aw mun thry to shap summat mysel. Mun aw
goo up to her ? "

" Plez yorsel," th' tailor said, an' deawn went his yead again.
Sally pushed her road through tuthri dirty, squabblin childher,
makin din enough to dyeafen her, an' climbed th' stairs, hutchin
in her clooas an' howdin her skirts weel up eaut o' th' dirt. Th'
ailin woman lee gaspin for wynt on a stinkin sthraw bed, tuthri
rags thrown o'er her for coverin. Things were dirtier upstairs nor
deawn, iv that could be, an' Sally thought to hersel, " Talk abeaut
bugs ! They could breed foumarts here."

" What done yo want ? " Mrs. Simpson axed wi a crammed
stare.

" Come, come ! " Sally said ; " we'll fo noane eaut to-day, as
heaw 't be. What's wrong wi yo ? "

" Eh ! aw'm some ill ; aw am that," Simpson whin't. " Mi
inside feels o ov a fire, an' aw'm full o wartches fro yead to foot.
Aw s' ne'er mend."

" Yo're noane weel, that's a sure thing," Sally towd her. " We
mun have a docthor on this job, an' aw'll shap to side up a bit for
yo. A cup o' linseed tay 'd do yo no harm, an' aw'll stop yon
childher's meauths wi a butthercake. What's yon chap o' yors
doin beaut wark ? "

Foumarts, polecats.

70 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" He wants no wark, not he ! Let him sit skollokin reaund
doin nowt an' he's reel. Aw met dee afore he'd stir a finger. Eh,
aw'm some ill ? "

" Yo'd do wi some moore clooas on th' bed," Sally says, thryin
to lap her up warmer. " Good mercy, woman ! done yo co this
thing a shift ? "

" It's o aw've getten," Simpson said, very sulky.

" Aw'll fot yo one o' mine, then ; this is noane fit for map-rags.
Is it breawntitus yo'n getten or inflameation ? "

" Aw know naught what it is, but aw'm some ill. Aw am that !
An' yon childher makin din enough to dyeafen a twod, an' their
fayther too idle to stir a limb. He cares nowt whether aw'm wick
or dyead ! "

" Yo're weel matched," Sally thought, as hoo went deawn th'
stairs, but hoo wouldn't ha towd em so for th' world just then.
Hoo sent for a docthor, geet some linseed an' broth made, per-
suaded Simpson to get weshed an' goo axin for his shop back
again ; an' then, gettin a neighbour to help, had a gradely set-to
wi soft swop an' scrubbin brushes, makin th heause as clen as a
pin afore neet.

When Mrs. Simpson geet eaut o' bed again hoo fund things so
thrim an' dacent hoo were fair capped, an' swore hoo'd ne'er fund
sich a friend in her life. Simpson kept steady, too, for awhile, a
bit freeten't wi th' close shave they'd had, an' ne'er geet weary o'
praisin Sally. But folk are nobbut mortal, yo known, when o's
said ; an' afore so very long Sally an' th' tailor's wife were fratchin
as hard as ever, Simpson dhroppin back into his owd idle habits.
Pity ? Oh, ah ! but it's thrue, an' iv folk wain't help theirsel a bit
what are yo beaun to do wi !em ?

Aw darsay it made Simpson wife wur mad nor hoo would ha
bin to see Amos an' his family gettin on so weel. They'n ne'er
done nowt but prosper, an' there's brass enough i' th' store an' t'
bank neaw to keep th' owd folk as long as they liven, iv they
never done another sthroke.

" Live without work ! " James Henry laughed when aw let on
him tuthri week sin' an' towd him th' owd folk should gate takkin
life yezzier. " My father and mother will never stop working
while they can see or stand, you may be sure of that. I proposed
the other day that they should both come to live in my big house
at Oldham, where they would find everything ready to their hands,
and have a chance of enjoying themselves, but bless you ! they
won't hear of it. ' We s' be chawked plenty soon enough i'
Rachda,' my mother said. ' This is noane mich ov a teawn, but
we con lick Owdham, shuzheaw.' "

" They'll flit noane fro Rachda, not they ! " aw said, grinnin at

Ghaiaked, choked.

SALLV BRELLA. 71

him. " Tha met ha known that. Ha'ever, aw'm fain to find
tha'rt willin to help an' plez th' owd folk a bit."

" They'n done enough for me, hannot they ? " he co'd eaut,
dhroppin into dialect, as o Lancashire chaps are olez ready to do,
shuz heaw mony sorts o' talk they'n larn't. " Aw should be a
poor wasthrel iv aw wouldn't wortch mi fingers to th' bwon for
sich a mother an' fayther as mine. Done yo think us lads could
e'er ha getten on as we han done but for t' bringin up an' careful
watchin we geet afore we'd larn't wit ? "

" Happen yo wouldn't," aw said. " But arta sure tha'rt noane
a little bit preaud neawadays, wi thi silk hat an' Exchange ticket,
an' o th' management o' yon hundherd-theausan-spindle facthry
i' thi honds ? "

" Proud ? Of course I am," he says, fo'in up t' steps into
English again. " I have a right to be proud of an honourable
position, gained by honest perseverance. " To tell you a pro-
found secret, though, my mother has a lot more pride in her than
I have."

" Aw darsay tha'rt reet, lad," aw said, laughin. " An' what's
this aw yer abeaut yor Ephraim ? He's turnin eaut a greight
singer they say'n."

" Oh yes ! The peculiar twang of sulphur in his voice makes
him just the man to play villains in Italian opera. Yes, Eph gets
on very well. We have another distinguished musician, too.
Samuel Robert has grown into a famous solo cornet player, and
teaches more brass bands than I can count. The old house is
emptying fast."

" There'll be one less, shuzheaw, when Betty weds th' ceaun-
cillor's son. Yo'll o be gwone dhirectly obbut th' young uns.
Oh ! aw've yerd nowt o' yor Amos latly. What abeaut him ? "

" He is sketching somewhere towards Preston. Nothing but
Lancashire scenery will do for Amos, you know, and nobody
paints our towns and hills like he does. He finds beauties every-
where."

" He's sense to use what lies undher his hond," aw said, " an'
that's what makes his wark so nathural an' dhrives it worn to th'
heart. He con show a bare moorside spread wi a theausan shades
o' leet an' dark, an' make Hollinoth as grand as Windhermere
itsel. Tha remembers that fine piece o' wark where he's daubed
Whitehowm lodge onto a yard o' cloth, wi t' pile o' shuttherin
rocks, an' owd Blacksnedge teawerin up behinnd, like Meaunt
Blank or some o' them ; dashed wi snow ridges, green wi moss,
dark wi wither't yeth, black wi turf bogs; sweepin reaund bi
wheere th' Roch springs send up their first tayspoonful o' wayther,
dhribblin deawn toard th' soot an' slutch i' th' valley. Ah ! he
paints wi his yead, yor Amos does, an' onybody con tell he's bin
o his life among t' things an' folk he dhraws."

72 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Yes, that picture helped to make him famous. I like his
bits of human nature best myself; such pieces as his ' Old Factory
Hand.' Did you see that ? "

" Nowe, aw think not. Aw've sin a tuthri wick uns, tha
knows."

" This is an old man, sitting in a ricketty wooden arm-chair
by his fireside. He is thin, pale, with swollen blue veins on his
hands, and deep lines worn into his face by work and trouble.
He has a patient, rather sad look, and is drawn to the life from
straggling grey hairs to shabby fustian and clogs. There is little
furniture, and that of the plainest sort — two or three rush-bottomed
chairs, far worn, and a round table holding a loaf, cup and saucer.
A six-inch square looking-glass is all that hangs on the walls, which
are as bare of paper as the stone floor is of carpet. At one end
of the mantelpiece is a large framed mount of memorial cards,
recording the burials of his wife and children ; at the other end is
an engrossed address, a presentation to the old man from his
fellow-workmen, ' as a token of good will and esteem ; ' and the
shelf also holds a short clay pipe, some tin canisters, and a broken
toy horse. A string hangs over the gas bracket, to carry the
breakfast can seen on the slopstone, when its contents want
heating ; a broken comb lies on the window-bottom, the old man's
cap and knitted scarf are thrown carelessly upon a chair, and
prints of his clog-irons show on the well-sanded floor. You can't
help feeling sorrow for the poor solitary chap, and regard for the
artist who could produce so pathetic and real a composition from
such simple materials."

" Give o'er, lad," aw said, wipin mi foolish owd e'en. " Aw
couldn't look at that picther beaut yeawlin like a babby, an'
thinkin o' th' warkheause. Haven't aw sin a score o' sich kitchens !
It's thrue, every hawpoth on't, an' that's th' very finest point
picthers con have. Tell Amos to keep on i' th' same road, an'
he'll do, shuz heaw mony ov his thrade are busy wi croo't-necked
goddesses, flyin dogs, an' sich like, fro th' mythology. Yor John
Tommy's makin a dyel o' brass, too, isn't he ? "

" He gets five hundred a year as chemist in a soap making
concern, to say nothing of his patents."

" He should be o reet then. So yo're like o wed an' sattl't
i' life ; doin weel, gettin on, an' enjoyin yorsel among it. Yo
couldn't be doin betther 'at aw know on."

James Henry wagged his yead. " As for enjoyment I am not
so sure. Business is a grinding thing." He bent deawn, whisperin
i' mi ear : " Don't tell onybody, but mony a time on th' Exchange
aw just feel 'at aw should like to bowt off an' have a good reaund
at thrinnel or duckstone. Thoose were grand owd times ! "

" Tha'd look weel playin duckstone in a top hat," aw said.

" There's th' same owd yead inside it, " he says, pooin his hat

SALLY BRELLA. 73

off to tap his creawn wi his knockles. " Aw keep gettin fresh stuff
inside t' yead, but there'll olez be a nook kept for th' owd days an'
th' owd folk."

" Hear, hear ! " aw said. " Stick to that an' tha'll ne'er ail
mich. Aw'll co an' see thi fayther an' mother ; aw'm just gooin
deawn that road on."

"Do!" he says. "Do!" An off he splutther't toard th'
railway station.

So aw co'd in at th' owd heause for tuthri minutes. There
were nobbut th' owd folk awom. Amos sit wi his pipe at th' hob-
end, as usal ; Sally were stirrin abeaut, puttin clen, new-iron't
clooas away i' t' dhrawers undher her cubbort, ready for Sunday.
There were a thick, sweet, damp sort ov a smell i' th' kitchen, 'at
made me sniff.

" Come, what arta snighin thi nose at ? " Sally axed, laughin
whol dimples showed in her reaunt rosy cheeks, an' th' breet
artificial fleawers in her cap nodded again.

" Aw've smelt summat like that afore," aw said, sniffin yet.
" It's noather ceaw juice nor nettle tay, that isn't."

" Ceawer thee deawn whol aw fot thee a saup," says Amos wi
a chuckle. " It's as grand wom-brewed as e'er touched a galker."

He brought a potful wi a rare top on, so weel brewed 'at it
tasted like melted tharcake an' slipped deawn like weet chicken
fithers.

" Ah-h-h-h ! " aw said, gettin mi wynt afther a long dhreight ;
" tha's noane forgetten heaw to mend rain-wayther yet, Sally, aw
see. Iv owt could make mi yure curl this would."

Sally nobbut laughed, smoothin back her toppin o' one side,
a bit ov a thrick hoo'd had fro bein a lass.

" Aw've just met yor James Henry. He's as mich set on him
as a lord, very near, sin' he gated gafferin at Stony Brook."

" He's reel enough," Amos says. " He's a fine lad, is eaur
Jimmy. He'll ne'er be freeten't o' bucklin to when there's ony
wark stirrin."

" Aw deaubt iv yon wife he's getten looks afther him as hoo
should do," Sally said.

Amos winked at me an' axed iv hoo'd ever yerd th' lad
grumble.

" Oh nowe ! He's a dyel too mich set up wi her to see owt.
Hoo's a smart lass enough — aw've nowt to say again her."

"Nobbut yo're his mother an' hoo ne'er will be," aw said.
" Yo wouldn't goo a livin wi 'em i' Owdham, it seems ? "

" Owdham ! " Sally co'd eaut, curlin her nose.

" It's a grand shop. Yo'n missed a chance wi not gooin ; to
say nowt o' th' hee society yo could ha mixed wi."

Sally stopped her wark an' turn't sayrious. " Young folk are
best left to theirsel. Tha'll ne'er catch Amos an' me meddlin wi

74 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

eaur childher's business afther they're wed. Aw've sin enough o'
that gam, an' don't howd wi it. As for th' hee society, tha knows,
it's reet enough for Jim an' t'other lads to meet sichlike, becose
they con howd their own bwoth for wit an' larnin. Heaw would
it be for us, thinksta ? Dost want us to make foos ov eaursel in
eaur owd days ? "

" Nowe aw don't, Sally. Aw darsay yo're bwoth betther awom
when aw come to think ; though yo're like to feel a bit lonely as
th' heause empties."

Th' husbant an' wife looked at one another wi a smile, an'
Amos said in his quiet road : " We'll chance it, Weighver. We'n
lived together bi eaursel afore neaw, an' con again. Aw've olez
encouraged my lads to get on an' shap for theirsel, tha knows ; not
like some folk, 'at wanten their childher to stop childish as long as
they con shap it. Aw took care to study what eaur young uns
were fit for whol they were little, an' to push 'em forrad into their
reet cracks, for aw knew too weel what aw'd lost mysel for want o'
book-larnin an' a bit o' sensible advice afore aw'd getten sense o'
mi own. Ah ! it depends a dyel on t' fayther heaw childher turn
eaut."

" What abeaut t' mother ? " aw said. " Has hoo nowt to do
but sew their buttons on an' keep their stockins weshed ? "

Amos looked at me a minute, an' then, gettin up, reighched a
little book off a shelf i' th' nook. " Hearken to this," he said :

" ' Who can find a virtuous woman ? for her price is far above rubies.

The heart of her husband doth salely trust in her, so that he shall
have no need of spoil.

She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.

She is like the merchants' ships ; she bringeth her food from afar.

She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household.

She stretcheth out her hand to the poor ; yea, she reacheth forth her
hands to the needy.

She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; and in her tongue is the law
of kindness.

She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the
bread of idleness.

Her children rise up and call her blessed ; her husband also, and he
praiseth her. ' "

" Well, that's very nice," aw said, " an' it's plain enough Solo-
mon knew a woman summat like yor Sally ; but it's no onswer to
th' question aw axed. It doesn't tell us heaw mich a good mother
does for her childher."

" Nobry con tell that," says Amos, shuttin his book up. " It's
past oather tellin or undherstondin bi sich poor wits as eaurs."

" But it's theere," aw said ; " nobry con deny that. What
done yo think, Sally ? "

" Aw think it mun be th' worn-brewed," hoo laughed. " Aw'll
put moore wayther in another time."

SALLY BRELLA. 75

"Yo'n bin lucky wi yor childher, as heaw 't be," aw said.
" They're o gettin on weel ; but they'll ne'er be 'sham't on yo
shiiz heaw hee they getten up."

" Not they," Sally said. " Look here what eaur Amos has
sent me. He's bin thinkin ov his owd mother, for one."

Hoo brought me a flat leather case, abeaut six inch bi four,
oppen't it, an' showed a picther ov hersel painted on a thin ivory
plate. It looked fair wick, an' spoke o' love, beside care an' cliver-
ness i' t' painther. Undher it were written i' smo letthers : " Drawn
from his heart, by your affectionate son, Amos Brierley."

"Come, Sally," aw said, "tha con never dee whol this picther's
safe. Aw ne'er seed sich a likeness afore ! It looks as iv it stirred."

" Aw mun dee some time, an' afore so long too," Sally says in
her cheerful way. " Mi wark's welly done neaw ; aw've naught
mich to do but sit an' watch th' world slurrin past. Aw nobbut
hope me an' Amos con finish somebitlike together, for aw don't
want to lev him pottherin reaund bi hissel, an' aw s' be fair lost iv
he levs me."

"Yer yo!" Amos chuckl't. "We're like- two young uns
cwortin, aren't we? We s' be sweethearts whol we dee'n, an'
noane be suited then iv we cawn't start for th' next world together."

" Ne'er bother yor yeads," aw said ; " yo'll meet again hard
enough, iv ever onybody does ; an' iv aw con shap to squeeze
through t' same dur aw s' be weel satisfied."

Well, yo should have some notion abeaut owd Sally's charac-
ther neaw; an' let me ax again what's Imogen, or a skipful ov
Imogens, at t' side on her ? " Sally's a rough un," yo say'n. Well,
aw know. " Hoo's ignorant." That depends upo' what yo co'n
knowledge. " Hoo's middlin o' temper." Happen so. Are yo
beaut ? Hoo's bowd, honest, thruthful, unselfish, hard-wortchin,
warm-hearted, brode-minded, an' charitable ; hoo's teawed through
moore nor forty year ov endless scrattin an' never grumbl't ; her
friends loven her, an' what tuthri enemies hoo has cawn't help
respectin her. Tak her otogether hoo's a fair sample o' theausands
ov eaur Lancashire women, an' there's no wondher at husbands
an' childher — ah ! an' gronchildher beside — risin up to bless 'em,
carryin i' their hearts lovin memories 'at owd age connot wither,
nor th' grave bury.

But it mun be alleawed, afther o's said an' done, 'at Sally wears
clogs, an' very oft gets her honds as black as soot wi her heause-
wark. Imogen never did so.

BOWD SLASHER.

IT'S a good while sin' aw went a pace-eggin mysel, neaw, but
aw'm olez intherested i' t' Good Friday performances o' th'
owd play. Who wrote that stirrin thragedy, aw wondher ?
It's bin honded deawn moore bi word o' meauth nor printin, aw
think, as far as Rachda gwoes, shuzheaw ; for yo'll have a job to
find two books alike, or ony book where it's set deawn same as
t' lads play it.

There's good points abeaut t' thing. Every acthor gets sum-
mat to do an' say : there's no supers, abeaut, an' nobry maudlin
reaund th' stage to put time on. Then, every mon tells his name
an' business when he first comes in ; a first-rate plan, savin a dyel
o' bother an' study for onybody 'at stons hearkenin. There's no
women i' t' road, noather, nobbut Dirty Bet, an' hoo doesn't
ceaunt ; so t' chaps con get forrad wi their wark in a business-like
style, an' feight away beaut onybody meddlin wi em. Th' action
never stops, for every scene's a feight in it, an' th' excitement keeps
grooin whol Bet comes in wi her besom to sweep up for a finish.

An' what grand characthers they are ! St. George, crowin o'er
everybody, olez winnin his battles, swaggerin o'er what he has
done an' what he's beaun to do ; th' king ov Egypt an' his son, wi
their oriental Smobridge manners ; their champion, Hecthor, wi
moore talk nor feight in him ; t' docthor, full o' long words, lies,
an' impidence ; th' owd Foo, an' Beelzebub, a bigger foo again ;
an' above o, Bowd Slasher. That's t' chap ! Noane runnin o'er
wi empty brag, like St. George, olez ready for his wark, full o' gam,
cured ov his.weaunds in a twinkle, noane spiteful when he's licked,
an' gooin off abeaut his business when he's nowt to do i' th' play.
Slasher were olez my favouryte, an' iv aw'd ever bin owt i' th'
actin line, that 'd ha bin th' part for me.

He comes on sthrong an' cool,

" I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name,
With sword and buckler by my side I hope to win the game. "

Then, when St. George threatens to breighk his yead, Slasher
says,

" My head is made of iron,
And my body's made of steel,
My hands and feet of knuckle-bone —
I challenge thee to feel ! "

" That speech olez made mi blood run cowd, an' wondher
heawever t' chap had bin pieced together, for aw never thought o'
deaubtin his word. Then there's a grand deein scene, an' comin

BOWD SLASHER. 77

to life again — a rare oppenin for good actin ; an' when t' docthor's
brought him reaund he sthretches eaut his glittherin swort, made
ov unpolished iron lattin, sets his e'en, an' co's eaut,

" O hark ! I hear the silver trumpet sound,
That summons us from off this bloody ground !
Down yonder is the way ;
Farewell, St. George, we can no longer stay."

An' away Slasher bowts, comin no moore whol t' last act, when he
turns up again to mention 'at his yead's iron, his body steel, an'
so on.

Nobbut professional pace-eggers con undherston what labbour
an' brain-wark there is abeaut gettin one o' these performances up.
Sworts han to be made for a start, for they're mostly oather lost
or brokken between one year an' t' next. Then there's a dyel o'
rehearsals to put in, particlar for St. George an' Slasher, as they'n
sich big parts, an' it's no yezzy job neawadays to find a quiet nook
to practise in. Mostly t' wark has to be done at a heause-end, or
i' t' middle ov a sthreet, where everybody con watch th' show for
nowt, makin o th' neighbours grumble. It's common enough for
a woman to come runnin to her dur, stop St. George i' one ov his
braggin speeches, an' sheaut,

" Na then, theere ! Iv yo aren't o off in a snift aw'll cob a
bucket o' wayther on yo ! "

It's laughable to see heaw th' bowd champions 'II slutther off
then, wi their sworts undher their arms ; but they seldom getten
fur nor t' next gaslamp afore they're at it again.

Aw seed a very good performance in th' oppen market o'
Friday mornin ; fit for ony stage. There were a full company o'
star artistes, properties an' dhresses on t' usal grand scale (a bor-
rowed skirt, long-brush steighl, an' egg-basket for .Dirty Bet; a
hawpoth o' silver nails for St. George's clogs ; rosettes, sashes, an'
a yard o' ribbin apiece o reaund), wi th' unpainted market scenery
thrown in for nowt. It were a slutchy snowy mornin, but th' per-
formers had shapped to get a dhry spot bi shiftin a stall or two.

St. George wortched i' th' same shade as me, so he coome up
to have a word when he seed me lookin.

" Good mornin, Billy," aw said.

" Same to yo, an' mony on 'em," Billy says. " Are yo for
stoppin it eaut ? "

" That depends on th' actin," aw towd him. " What mak o'
performers are yo ? "

" Good uns ! " Billy said. " Aw want yo to watch us, becose
we're thryin a fresh gam on. Aw'm weary o' th' owd road o' sayin
this piece — o upo' one keigh, same as a clockin hen or a skrikin
pulley — so aw've bin thryin to teighch this lot to put some moore
life into it, an' talk nathural like."

"That's a good idea, Billy."

78 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Yo'll say so when we getten agate. Aw've persuaded th'
King ov Egypt an' his son to blacken their faces, too. They'n
mostly nowt but a bit o' black ribbin to show 'at they're niggers ;
but that's noane good enough for us, so we'n gien 'em two cwots
o' brunt cork apiece."

" That's reel. Aw didn't know tha were sich a thoughtful
stage manager as o that."

" Oh yigh ! Iv we're beaun to start actin let's do it reet, that's
what aw say. Yo'll see noane o' that marchin across th' ring an'
knockin sworts together whol we're talkin, noather. Slasher fot o
th' skin off mi knockles t'other neet wi that thrick, so aw stopped
it. There's no sense i' that mak."

" Noane at o," aw said. " Come, aw mun see th' play, aw yer."

11 Ah, do ! " he says, turnin to goo, everybody starin to see me
talkin so intimate wi sich a greight champion. " Aw want somebdy
to cricketise us a bit. Some o' t' lads is rayther numb, but aw've
bin dhrillin 'em upo' Cronkeyshay this three week, so they should
do summat."

Aw made one ov a lot o' folk ringed reaund, gettin a full view
an' good yerin ; steeped in a rich, satisfyin smell fro th' fish shops
an' thripe stonnins.

They looked a very breet set o' lads, an' shapped as iv they
myent business. Th' King ov Egypt an' his son had faces shinin
as iv they'd bin blackleaded. Slasher had a bit ov a cowd in his
yead, an' had to keep wipin his sleeve on his nose neaw an' again.
Hecthor looked a fine figure ov a sodier, but were a thrifle bow-
legged, an' t' Foo beseemed his part up an' deawn. They o geet
ready to begin.

BEELZEBUB (aside to DIRTY BET). — Aw'm as dhry as soot,
Jimmy ; howd mi stick whol aw get a bottle o' lemonade up Twod
Lone.

DIRTY BET. — Don't be so long, think on. We cawn't sing
" Right fol layrol laddy " beaut thee.

BEELZEBUB. — O reet.

ST. GEORGE. — Where arta for, Sam ? We're beaun to start.

BEELZEBUB. — Goo on. Aw'll be back i' time.

ST. GEORGE. — Tha'll get no brass iv tha'rt off.

BEELZEBUB. — Gullook ! (Pushes through t' creawd}.

CHAP LOOKIN ON. — Come, lads ! Are yo for shappin to-day,

or not ? (Enther Foo.)

Foo. — Reawm, reawm, brave gallants

BUTCHER'S LAD (i'th' creawd). — Gallants ! He, he !
Foo (aside). — Shur up ! (aloud} — Give us reawm to sport,
For in this spot we myen to howd a court,
An' here repeat to yo eaur merry rhyme,
For remember, good folk, it's Aysther time.

BOWD SLASHER. 79

We are the merry acthors what con show yo pleasant

play,
So here steps in San George to clear the way.

(Enther ST. GEORGE.)

ST. GEORGE. — I am Sant George, who fro owd England sprung,
Mi famous name through o this world hath rung ;
Mony a bloody deed an' wondher aw've made known,
An' made th' owd tyrants thremble on their throne.

A giant nearly sthruck me dyead,

But by mi valyour aw chopped off his yead ;

Aw've seeched this here world o reaund an' reaund,

But nobry nowt like me aw never fund.

GENTLEMAN. — Found, my boy, found ! You spoil the rhyme.
ST. GEORGE. — Arejv? playin this, or me?
DIRTY BET. — Hear, hear ! Cob thi cap at him.

(Enther SLASHER.)

SLASHER (sleevin his nose). — Aw am a valyunt sodier, bowd
Slasher is mi name,

Wi sword an' buckle bi mi side aw hope to win this
game;

For to feight wi me aw see tha'rt noane able,

So wi this here glittherin sword aw'll soon thee disable.
ST. GEORGE. — Disable, saysta ! it lies not i' thi peawer,

For wi this glittherin sword an' spear aw soon will thee
deveaur ;

Stand off, bowd Slasher ! let no moore be said,

For if I dhraw mi sword aw'm sure to breighk thi yead.
SLASHER. — Heaw con ta breighk mi yead ?

Mi yead's made ov iron,

Mi body's made o' steel,

Mi honds an' feet o' knucklin bwon —

Aw chanellge to make thee feel.
ST. GEORGE (aside to Slasher). — Challenge, Joe.
SLASHER. — Shut up, cliverdick ! ( Wipes his sleeve.}
(Fendn-match — SLASHER dhrops — ST. GEORGE bowts —

Enther Foo).
Foo. — A docthor, a docthor ! Ten peaund for a docthor !

(DOCTHOR steps in).
DOCTHOR. — Here aw am.
Foo. — Are yo a docthor ?

DOCTHOR. — Yes, that yo con plainly see, bi mi art an' activity.
Foo. — Heaw mich to cure this dyead mon ?
DOCTHOR. — Ten peaund is mi fee, but iv tha'rt honest aw'll

tak five off thee.
Foo (Aside). — Tha'll be middlin fawse iv tha gets ony. (Aloud}

Heaw fur han yo thravell't ?

8o WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

DOCTHOR. — Through Italy, Sickaly, Hee Germany, France, an'
Spain ; an' so aw've returned to cure owd Englan again.
Foo. — What con yo cure ?

DOCTHOR. — Itch, pitch, palsy, an' geaut ; or iv a man's nine-
teen imps in his skull aw con let twenty ov 'em eaut.
Here, Jack, have a sup fro my bottle an' let it run deawn
thy throttle. Iv theau be not quite slain, rise, Jack, an'
fight again.

SLASHER (gettin up}. — Oh, mi back ! ( Wipes.)
Foo. — What's to do wi thi back ?
SLASHER. — Mi back's weaunded,

An' mi heart's confeaunded ;

Aw've bin knocked eaut o' seven wits into seven score ;
Nowt like it were ne'er sin i' owd Englan never afore.

(Enther ST. GEORGE.)

SLASHER. — Sang George, aw yer yon silver thrumpet seaund !
Deawn yon is the way pointin (wipes} ;
Farewell, Sang George, we con no longer stay.
KING OF EGYPT (aside to Slasher). — Tha shouldn't say pointin,
leatheryead ! It myens tha should stick thi finger eaut,
so. (Points toard Know' Hill.)
SLASHER. — It's deawn i'th' book shuzheaw ; so will that do for

thee ? (Pod's his book eaut an' finds it for him.)
KING.— Eh, tha foo !
SLASHER. — Just thee wait whol we'n done !

( Wipes his nose an' slutthers offwi f DOCTHOR an' Foo.)
ST. GEORGE. — I am Sant George, that noble champion bowd,
Wi this here good swort I've won ten theausan peaund
i' gowd ;

(Crack 0' laughin o reaund.)
'Twere I what fowl the fiery dhragon an' fot him unto

slaughther,

An' by them means won th' owd King of Egypt's
daughther.

(Enther PRINCE PARADINE.)
PRINCE. — I am black Prince Paradine, born ovgreight reneawn,

Soon will I fot Sain George's courage dea"wn.
ST. GEORGE. — Stand off, tha black Morocky dog,
Or bi my sword tha'll die ;
I'll piece thi body full ov holes,
An' make o thi buttons fly.

BUTCHER'S LAD. — It met happen cut a bit o' suet iv tha leet
it smell at a grindlestone.

PRINCE. — Poo eaut thi sword an' play,
Poo eaut thi brass an' pay ;
For aw'm beaun to have a reckoninpence
Afore aw'll goo away !

BOWD SLASHER. 8 1

GENTLEMAN., — Recompense, boy.

PRINCE (turnin on him wi witherin dignity]. — We cawn't o be
schoomaisthers. Aw'll oather wrostle or run thee for eightpence.

(Cobs his sword deawn an' shaps for boxing
DIRTY BET. — Give o'er, Ben ! Behave thisel.
PRINCE (sulky). — Aw'm noane com'n here to be talked to bi
him. Aw con do mi own clerkin. Who's he?
(Th1 champions /eight afther some moore talk, an' tK Prince is kil't.

Enther KING OF EGYPT.)

KING. — Aw'm th' owd King ov Egypt, as plainly doath appear —
GENTLEMAN. — How so ? You look quite as much like the
King of Abyssinia, or an Indian fakir.

CHAP NEAR HIM. — He looks moore like a doffer, a lump.
KING. — Lemme a-be ! Aw'm th' owd King ov Egypt —
BEELZEBUB (eautside). — Here, hutch up ! Let's come through,
some on yo.

FAT CHAP. — Tha'll come noane through me. Goo reaund, an'
stop that shovin, or aw'll lond thee one.

KING. — Make a less din i' that nook ! Aw'm th' owd King ov

Egypt—

BEELZEBUB. — Reighch mi stick o'er, Jimmy ; we'll see whether
aw'm comin in or not. (Pushes his road through.} That's betther !
Ger on wi thi actin, Snowbo.

KING. — Aw'll gie thee Snowbo in abeaut hawve a minute.

Aw'm th' owd King ov Egypt —

PARADINE (on his back, dyead}. — Heaw mony times yet ? Ger
on wi thee ?

KING. — Well, what done they keep agate on me for ?
Aw've com'n a seechin mi long-lost son an' heir.
ST. GEORGE. — He's kil't.
KING. — Who did him slay, who did him kill,

An' on this greaund his precious blood did spill ?
ST. GEORGE. — I did him slay, etc.
KING. — Oh, Hecthor ! Hecthor ! help me wi speed,
I' o mi life aw ne'er stood moore i' need.

(Enther HECTHOR.)
HECTHOR.— Yes, yes, mi lige, aw will obey,

An' wi this here swort hope to win the day ;
Iv this is him stonnin theere
'At kil't yor long-lost son an' heer,
Whether he's sprung fro ryal flood,
Aw'll make him run like Noah's blood,
ST. GEORGE. — Bowd Hecthor ! dunnot be so wot,
For here tha knows naught who tha's got ;
I'll inch thee, an' cut smo as flies,
Send thee o'er th' say to make mince pies —

82 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Mince pies wot an' mince pies cowd,
I'll send thee to Black Sam afore tha'rt three days owd !
HECTHOR. — Heaw con tha inch me, cut me smo as flies,
Send me o'er th' say, etc.

(Enther SLASHER, nosin his sleeve.}

SLASHER. — Howd, Sang George ! Stay thi valyour bowd !
Mi yead's made ov iron,
Mi body's made o' steel,
Mi honds an' feet o' knucklin-bwon —
Aw chanellge to make thee feel !

TH' OWD WEIGH VER (just behinnd him). — It's challenge, Joe.
Tha's bin towd afore.

SLASHER (turnin an' wipin). — Yo'n naught to do wi it, as aw
know on.

HECTHOR (to PARADINE). — Tha'rt lyin fair i' t' road, Paregoric ;
we'n no reawm to feight. Rowl o'er once.

(PARADINE rowls — ST. GEORGE an' HECTHOR set to.)
HECTHOR. — Howd on a bit ! Tha's knocked mi sword croot.
BUTCHER'S LAD. — It'll match thi legs then. Tha'll ne'er be
weaunded i' bwoth knees at once.

ANOTHER LAD. — He wain't that ! They'll ha no need to buy
callipers where that mon wortches.

HECTHOR. — Somebry's beaun to get punced afore so long !
BUTCHER'S LAD. — Ah ! tha'll do some puncin wi thoose feet.
Heigh ve one leg up an' tha'll wort o'er on t'other.

HECTHOR (gettin mad). — Aw'll talk to thee fur on, slink beef!
Tha'rt noane woth stewin.

(Sthraightens his sword, gets it knocked croot again, an'

worts o'er weaunded. )
HECTHOR. — Aw'm a bowd an' valyunt knight, Hecthor is mi

name,

Mony a bloody battle aw've fowl an' olez won the same ;
Fro Sank George's hond aw geet this here bloody

weaund —

Howd on ! Aw yer yon silver thrumpet seaund —
CHAP i' TH' CREAWD. — Tha lies, too.
HECTHOR. — Deawn yon is the way (pointin west wi his arm,

an' northerly wi his croot sword),
Farewell, Sank George ! aw connot longer stay.
CHAP. — Nobry wants thee to do. Tha shaps some wooden !
HECTHOR. — Oh ah ! Heaw con a chap>act wi o this here gam
gooin on ? Tha wouldn't like it thysel, aw'll bet !
BEELZEBUB. — Here steps in owd Beelzebub,
An' o'er mi shooldher aw carry a club,
An' in one hond a fryin pon,
An' aw think mysel a jolly owd mon.
Right fol layrol, etc,

BOWD SLASHER. 83

Then, as Dirty Bet (ornamented wi four finger marks o' one
cheek an' a sooty sthripe fro chin-end to foryead) were settin up a
dismal yeawl reckon't to be singin, aw thought it hee time to be
shappin for off. Aw left St. George swaggerin reaund wur con-
saited nor ever, Paradine's corpse sittin up on th' battle fielt talkin
to th' owd king, an' bowd Slasher stonnin near dhrawin his sleeve
across his nose.

T'OTHER SIDE RIO.

I. — LEVIN WOM.

WHEN, as a lad at th' neet schoo, aw used to look at th'
Merica map — t' seauth end like a big o'ergroon ham,
an' t' north thryin hard, wi bwoth arms sthretched, to
balance itsel on th' middle bit, but wortin to one side — aw ne'er
expected seein moore o' that counthry nor paint an' papper could
show me.

Iv onybody had said to me when aw were made gaffer o'er th'
cardreawm an geet wed at one-an'-twenty, " Lijah, i' ten year fro
neaw tha'll be crossin th' say, turnin thi back on owd Englan, on
wife, childher, kin, an' o thi heart howds best i' th' world," aw
should ha laughed him to scorn, or else punced him for thryin to
plague me.

" What ! " aw should ha thought to mysel, though aw metn't
ha whisper't it to ony mortal beside ; " lev mi wife — that dear lass
so deep loved, so hee set i' mi thoughts — lev little helpless
childher 'at God may send us to rear an' shape into good chaps
and women — oh nowe ! it con ne'er be so ! It's noane possible."

An' yet that sthrange thing coome abeaut, an' through no
lessenin o' love, noather ; for love itsel sent me across th' brode
Atlantic, to toil an' suffer, an' fret through mony a lonely month,
for th' good o' that very wife an' thoose pratty blossoms 'at were
so groon an' twin't abeaut mi heart.

For, done yo see, bi th' time aw reighched thirty year owd,
an' were fayther to two lads an' a lass, aw were forced to start
reckonin up heaw far mi wage were likely to ratch eaut toard
makin th' young uns comfortable, an' teighchin 'em o aw thought
they should larn ; an' aw were bund to sattle 'at aw could do very
little. It's a bitther thing for a fayther an' mother to see their
childher grooin up beaut larnin, o for want o' tuthri bits o' dirty
silver or grasy papper-lumps ; me an' Alice felt hurt aboon a bit
becose we could see no road oppen o' heipin 'em, but o th' com-
fort we could find were 'at plenty moore folk were i'th' same boat.

Neaw, one Sethurday t' young maisther sent for me into his
private office ; an' when aw geet theere he axed me to sit deawn,
for he's a gradely gentleman as ever stood i' shoe leather, thinkin
hissel no betther nor ony on us,

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 85

" How are you getting along, Garside?" he axed me. "And
how is your family ? "

Aw towd him we were o reet enough, so then he said he'd
noticed me lookin rayther deawn latly, as iv aw'd some throuble
on mi mind ; so aw eaut wi it, tellin him heaw t' thoughts o' mi
childher were botherin me, an' heaw aw craved for some road o'
doin betther for 'em, but were beginnin to think they mut live
an' dee beaut ever gettin a chance o' larnin moore wit nor their
fayther had done afore 'em.

" I will help you to educate them," he says.

" Nay, nay," aw towd him. " It's wi no thought o' beggin i'
mi yead 'at aw've towd yo o this. Yo munnot offer me charity ;
t' childher mun tak their chance o' what aw con addle for 'em."

He laughed an' said, " Wait till I offer you something before
getting your back up like that. Who can do any good with such
an independent fellow ? " If you won't beg for the children you
are willing to work for them, I suppose ? "

" Wi o mi heart," aw said ; " but there's moore wark nor brass
abeaut cardin."

" I can give you a place at six pounds a week, if you choose
to take it. Say three hundred pounds a year. In two years you
could save nearly four hundred pounds ; a sum quite enough not
only to educate your children, but to leave a comfortable balance
for you to fall back upon at any time when health or employment
fail you."

Aw could do nowt but gawp at him an' mutther, " Six peaund
a week ! Six peaund a week ! " for a while. Then aw said, " Yo're
oather makin gam on me, or yo wanten to start smugglin. There
isn't a cardher i' Englan could make o that brass."

" I said nothing of England."

Aw began to see what he were dhrivin at, an' axed, " Wheere
is it then ? "

" A village in Brazil," he says ; " near Rio de Janeiro."

Mi jaw dhropped. Aw couldn't speighk for a bit.

" That seems to fluster you," t' young maisther went on, smilin.
" Don't think too seriously of the difficulties. The distance is only
three thousand miles or so; your passage money shall be paid; you
shall have a contract for two years. The thing is simple enough."

" Is it ? " aw said. " Maisther Frank, yo're a husban an' a
fayther same as me ; would yo like to lev yor wife an' childher to
feight th' world bi theirsel two whol year, riskin yor life on th' say
an' among yollow fayver, an' sichlike ? Aw'd sooner breighk
stones i' owd Englan nor riddle gowd fro Merica slutch. Aw con
goo noane — don't ax me."

" I must ask you," he says, clearin his throat, as iv he'd a lump
in it. " You are just the man we want. The mill is a new one,
hardly built yet, so you would have everything to set up and get

86 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

into working order. The machinery goes from the town here,
and by the time it gets over the mountains to the mill it will be
smashed up, I expect. A mechanic is sailing in about a month,
so you can go with him if you accept."

Aw could do nowt but shake mi yead, noane seein mi road at
o ; an' yet, o that brass

" Aw con sattle nowt neaw," aw towd him. " Mi wife mun
know. Hoo'd never let me goo iv aw wanted."

" I suppose not," Misther Frank said, watchin me very close
wi his sharp breet e'en. " For all that three hundred a year should
be worth trying for, and I tell you plainly you are the very best
man I can recommend for the job. Find me another overlooker
with your knowledge of spinning and weaving, and of as reliable a
character, and he shall go instead of you."

Aw couldn't help feelin preaud to yer mysel praised to that
height bi a chap 'at olez said what he myent ; so aw thanked him
for his good opinion, sayin he were happen expectin moore nor
aw could do.

" Not at all," he says. " I know your capacity well enough.
It is not my habit to pay idle compliments, as you are quite aware,
no doubt. Naturally I should not send an incompetent workman
to such an important post; besides, these people are willing enough
to pay a good price, and I want them to be well served. Think
the matter over, consult your wife and friends, and let me know
your decision in a week."

Aw thanked him again, an' slutther't off wi mi yead whuzzin
like a hummin-top, but through mi maziness one sthrong point
began getherin weight an' size — like or not like it were mi duty to
put selfish feelins o' one side, an' fot this gowd waitin ready for
me. Afther t' first shock mi wife thought t' same, so th' job were
as good as sattl't.

So i' tuthri days aw gav mi word to goo ; t' conthract were
sign't, th' sailin day fixed, clooas an' oddments bought an' packed
up, an' Time went flyin on as iv somebry were afther him wi a
cart-whip. Eh, thoose last short days, afore we were to part !
We o thried to be cheerful, an' snapped to keep a middlin breet
eautside, though two hearts were bleedin. Aw kept mi wife an'
childher as mich i' sect as aw could, an' took care to get o their
likenesses takken to carry wi me o'er th' say, levin mi own to be
framed an' hanged up i' th' kitchen ; an' so we thrail't on to th'
last pitiful heaurs between me an' shipboard.

Th' mechanic they were sendin eaut wi me co'd to see us once
or twice. His name were Squire Marcroft, an' we framed like
gettin on very weel together. A big peawerful chap he were, wi
muscles as big as prize turmits, grizzl't yure, a red nose, an' a glint
o' fun in his e'en. He were a dozen year owdher nor me, wi no
childher to bother him, so he thought a dyel less o' t' thrip nor aw

T'OTHER SIDE Rio. 87

did, nobbut makin gam on me iv aw started o'er mi throubles, an'
talkin as iv we'd nowt afloat o' moore consequence nor hawve a
day at Hollinoth. Beside, he were nobbut wanted for a twelve-
month, so he'd get back again long afore aw could. He cheer't
mi wife up rarely whenever he coome, an' put us o i' betther
sperrits. He'd be just reet company for me, that were plain, an'
stop me fro gettin too thoughtsome an' mopish, as aw'm apt to do
when left to mysel, so aw felt rare an' thankful to have sich a
lively neighbourly chap to share mi thravels.

At last t' dhreaded mornin coome when we'd to start for
Liverpool. Aw left mi childher awom, wi sich good advice as aw
could think on, takkin mi wife in a cab to th' station. Theere on
th' platform aw took her i' mi arms once moore, kissin her weet
cheek an' quiverin lips wi love as deep an' sthrong as when aw
wed her, an' then o were o'er. We'd ridden a good way afore aw
felt like mysel again. Squire an' me had th' carriage to eaursel,
an' he'd kept quiet so as not to bother me, smookin an' watchin
t' counthry as it flew past.

" We're fairly in for it neaw, Squire," aw said, when aw geet
sattl't again.

" Ah, we're booked,'' he says, puttin one leg up on th' shet an'
fittin hissel into his nook, lookin as comfortable as could be.
" We're like takkin a rise eaut o' th' leoparts neaw."

"Heaw'sthat?"

" Changin spots, cawn't te see ! Cheer up, owd breek ! we s'
get o'er it, an' happen be as bad again."

" Aw seed nowt o' thi wife at th' station, Squire," aw said, bein
fur enough mended to tak a bit ov intherist i' somebry else's
affairs.

" Nor me noather," he says, very dhry, fillin his pipe again.

" Heaw were that ? "

" Well, two on us met ha cost a shillin for a cab, dost see; but
comin bi mysel aw could walk up wi th' hondcart. We mun save
brass wi o these fares to pay."

" Ger off wi thi nonsense ! "

" Tha's no need to think o wed folk are sugar an' spice an' owt
'at's nice, same as thee an' thi missis. My wife's a slat ov aliker,
or weshin liquor, or summat, in her, an' ne'er gushes o'er her
husban mich. Aw'll tell thee what ! Iv aw'd offer't to clip her
up afore folk on' th' platform, same as tha did yor Ailse, hoo'd ha
sauced me to t' dyeath."

We geet to Liverpool beaut mishaps, an' afore neet were
slippin deawn th' Channel toard oppen wayther. Squire reckon't
he hadn't made his mind up fairly whether to goo or not, as soon
as we geet nicely afloat, an' axed iv there were ony road back.

Shet, seat.

88 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Tha'd betther ax th' captain," aw said ; so off he went, as
cool as kest iron, to th' gowd-laced officer, stonnin wi some moore
swells on' th' bridge.

" Neaw, captain ! " he co'd eaut, lookin up an' takkin his clay
pipe eaut ov his rneauth a minute. " Neaw ! "

Th' captain looked deawn o'er th' rail at him, an' axed,

" What's the matter, my friend ? "

" Aw'm wondherin whether to turn back or not," Squire went
on. " Is there ony road eaut ? "

" I'm afraid not," th' captain says laughin, " unless we lash
you to a rocket line and shoot you back."

" Cawn't yo stop a bit, -an' send me in a boat? Or turn
reaund again — it's noane so fur ? "

" It is my painful duty to refuse," th' captain towd him, helpin
th' joke on wi ready humour. " You are not afraid of the water,
are you ? "

" Thai's just wheere aw'm fast," Squire said, solid as a box.
" Aw cawn't sattle that puzzle whol we getten past tuthri o' these
sondbonks. Which is yor next co'in shop ? "

" Bordeaux, probably. Perhaps you had better go on so far,
rather than delay the mails and the whole ship's company by
returning to Liverpool. What do you think ?"

" Aw darsay yo're reel. Well, thank yo, captain. What'll yo
have a gill ov ale on ?"

" Nothing at present, thank you," th' captain says, shakin his
lusty sides an' gooin back to his wark, whol Squire walked off as
iv nowt were.

That joke lasted th' passengers o t' thrip. Every time we
stopped some on 'em 'd say, " I'll be getting back now, captain —
kindly order my luggage up;" or, "I'll get off at the next calling
shop;" or summat o' that mak ; but never a smile could they fot
on Squire's dhry face.

He played moore nor one marlock o' th' same mak afore we'd
getten through th' first day, whol aw began thinkin he were carryin
on to smother his feelins an' keep his full heart fro runnin o'er.
Aw felt sure on't at bedtime, when he sit him deawn wi his yead
in his honds for a good while beaut stirrin.

" Tha'rt feelin it, owd mon," aw said, puttin a hond on his
shooldher. " Tha's sthriven hard again it, but it's no use."

" Aw'll tell thee what, Lijah," he says ; " aw should just like to
conthract wi th' owd woman to come an' gie me a week's saucin.
Aw'd pay her time an' quather for it. What the hangment is
there abeaut yon say-rocked cradle ov a island 'at makes it so
hard to get eaut on ?"

We geet doffed, climbed up onto th' panthry shelves where
they expected us to sleep, an' shapped to sattle deawn as weel as
we could whol mornin.

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 89

" Good neet, Lijah," Squire said, puttin his greight hond up to
grip mine. " God bless o th' folk i' owd Englan this neet, particlar
Rachda folk, an' speshly two little cottage-full 'at we known on.
God bless 'em o, chaps, women, young childher, an' facthry folk ;
an' may they never be forced to lev a good worn to goo brass-
huntin, same as two foos 'at could be mention't."

" Amen, Squire ! " aw said. " Amen ! "

II. — SHIPBOARD.

We were up soon next mornin, as stiff i' limbs an' back as iv
we'd bin weel punced, an' feelin rayther qualmish ; heawever,
hawve-an-heaur i' th' fresh sauty air an' a good breakfast set us
abeaut reet again. Squire had wakken't up quite cheerful an'
breet. He went reaund among th' passengers, gettin thick wi 'em
dhirectly, crackin jokes, playin his thricks, an' makin hissel quite
a\vom. Th' captain coome up laughin to shake honds wi him.
" How are you this morning, my friend ? Any more settled ?"

" Aw am that ! " Squire says. " Yo'll sattle me otogether afore
long iv aw'm to sleep in a packin case every neet. It nobbut
wants t'other side boardin up to make a tidy coffin."

" You are not much o.f a sailor, I'm afraid."

" Nowe ! Aw'd sooner have mi saut dhry, an' mi wayther bi
th' bucketful. There's too mich weet here o to be hanged ! It's
hee time they ran a railroad across, or else tunnell't undher it."

" You are going to ruin my profession," th' captain laughed,
an' away he went.

Aw were fain to see Squire enjoyin hissel, makin so free wi
'em o, an' yet never sayin or doin owt to hurt or insult onybody,
an' liked to watch his tall monly figure stirrin abeaut th' ship ; but
for mysel, it were my road to sit quiet, sayin little beaut aw were
spokken to — takkin o in an' lettin nowt eaut, as mi mate said.

We were second-class passengers. There were six on us to
start wi — four Englishmen, a Swiss, an' a German — an' we geet on
together very weel. We nobbut carried two or three first-class
folk, an' they ne'er bother't us. Th' steerage were middlin full,
but we ne'er bother't them — there were too mony rough customers,
an' too sthrong a flavvour o' sweaty feet.

We geet a sample o' rowlin i' th' Bay o' Biscay, an' a touch o'
say-sickness beside, but slurred on o reet as fur as t' Garonne
meauth, wheere a fog kept us fast four-an'-twenty heaurs. When
we started up th' river, slap we went onto a big sondbonk, an' had
to lie eaut another neet whol they geet a tug-boat up to rive us off.

We geet to Bordeaux on Sunday mornin, December seven-
teenth, eighteen hundherd an' eighty-two ; took in moore passen-
gers an' cargo, an' afore bedtime sailed for Spain.

90 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" This is where Rachda pigeon-flyers send their homin brids
to," Squire said, as we leighn't o'er th' ship side watchin t' vine-
counthry slip past i' th' darkenin neet. " Iv we'd one here big
enough to carry me aw should be tempted to chet back."

" Give o'er frettin, mon," aw towd him. " We're fairly off,
neaw, cardin-engine i' one hond, screw-keigh i' t'other ; duty lies
afore us, an' mun be done wi a mon's will. We're sent eaut to do
credit to Rachda, an' we'll do it too ! There's some grand, weel-
wooded hills abeaut here. It's a fine counthry."

" Aw've sin nowt hawve as nice as th' Sachary broo yet," Squire
grunted, " an' it'll tak a middlin good nathural curiosity to lick th'
owd church steps. There's nowt i' France woth a sham bodle."

We poo'd up next i' Corunna Bay, an' geet some letthers off
worn. Heaw aw tem'd o mi love an' hope into four little pages o'
papper aw'll lev yo to guess ; but yo couldn't guess heaw aw kissed
an' cried o'er that letther afore it went, an' heaw partin wi it were
like pooin a limb off.

Squire were noane for writin, he reckon't ; he'd started keepin
a diary, so his wife could read it o at once when he londed back ;
but aw geet him persuaded to send a line or two, an' he scrawl't
this off:

" Corunna, Spanish Juice Lond,

Four days off Kesmas.
Dear Wife,

We'n getten so fur, an' we'n a dyel fur to goo yet. Mi bacca's
lasted eaut, but aw reckon nowt o' this whistle-throttle Spenish
wine — a gill ov owd Foother ale's woth a barrel on it. Here's
hopin tha keeps weel as this levs me at present. So no moore fro
thi lovin husban,

SQUIRE MARCROFT."

" Theere ! " he says. " That's mi first love-letther, Lijah.
Th' owd woman '11 get it fram't, see iv hoo doesn't."

We took a lot moore steerage passengers aboard here, Spenish
mostly ; hawve weshed, olez smookin cigarettes, singin or dancin,
or doin o three at once, but takkin very particlar notice ov a
priest 'at gaffer't o'er 'em. That job ended we up anchor, an' away
reaund Cape Finisterre to Lisbon, where we stopped for a neet,
sleepin on dhry lond again for once. We walked up an' deawn a
bit, takkin stock o' th' square stone heauses, endless gardens,
dirty sthreets, an' sallow folk seaukin their everlastin papper cigars.
We went to th' circus, too, an' seed some bicycle performers 'at
Squire said he'd sin at owd Jeffrey's Music Hall once.

We stopped at Sneyd's Hotel, lookin eaut o'er th' wide bay,
an' next mornin felt summat like havin bin to bed, th' first time
for above a week. We sailed off wi a shipful this time — hawve-a-
dozen first-class, nearly twenty second, an' a hundherd an' fifty odd
third. Most o' these were French an' Portigee, an' Howden's
marionettes were nowt to 'em for knockin their legs an' arms

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 91

abeaut. As for chattherin, their tongues were never quiet. They
seemed o very friendly an' good-temper't wi one another. Iv a
couple had a fratch it were nobbut like childher han — five minutes'
passion, other five i' th' sulks, an' then kiss an' be friends again.

" It's done us good to get upo' dhry lond an heaur or two,"
Squire said to me as we sail't fro th' port, " but aw've had abeaut
enough o' this shop. Were it co'd Licebon once, an then shorten't,
dost think?"

" There's no tellin. Aw should think thoose things wouldn't
tarry where there's earthquakes."

" Well, happen they wouldn't ; but aw'll be hanged iv earth-
quakes ud make some o' these folk vvesh theirsel. There's some
difference between these yollow skins an' a gradely wholsom
Whitoth breawnback ! "

" As fur as aw con judge these are th' folk lha'll ha to live
among this next year," aw said ; " so tha'd betther be gettin used
to 'em."

" Why, aw thought we were mony a hundherd mile off yet ! "

" We are, but it's Portigee lond we're makin for, aw expect.
Hast ever yerd o' Vasco di Gama ? "

" What mak ov a gam ? "

" A chap 'at sailed fro here ; summat i' th' Columbus an' Cap-
tain Cook line. Tha may look to find thisel among plenty o'
Spenish an' Portigee chaps at thi new shop."

" Aw s' get o'er it, happen, iv aw haven't to sleep wi 'em.
They'n sense enough to shap summat t'eight, as heaw 'tis, for
they'n just slung ten bullocks an' a lot o' sheep in, beside ducks
an' geslins. We're noane beaun to be clemmed this thrip."

Kesmas Day fund us off Teneriffe. We didn't tarry theere,
but managed to find time, whol gooin forrad, for a rare good
dinner, joinin th' first-class folk for once. Th' captain were ill,
an' axed Squire to tak his cheer at th' table yead, but th' mis-
chievous reskil would shove me in for that job, sayin' aw were th'
best-lookin chap i' th' ship. At neet th' officers leet tuthri fire-
works off, an' so th' quarest Kesmas ever aw spent coome to it end.

Two days afther we reighched th' Cape de Verd islands, an'
poo'd up at St. Vincent to fill th' coal boxes ; a dirty, sweaty job,
'at took eight heaurs to knock off. It were neetfo when we
anchored, so there were nowt done whol mornin. As soon as day
broke a lot o' little boats put off fro lond, full o' chaps an' lads.
They coome bangin up ropes onto th' deck like a swarm o' midges,
an' comical lookin customers they were. There were white, black,
an' brokken-yur't uns among 'em, but it were hard to say which
had th' most vanity an' impidence. Plenty on 'em were big, fine-
limbed fellahs, an' their clooas showed their figures off rarely.

Brokken-yur't, cross-bred.

92 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Most on 'em wore nowt but a ragg'd shirt, though one or two
dandies sported sthraw hats beside, an' one young lad had nowt
i' th' world on but a dirty papper collar, festen't wi a twig, an' one
footless stockin.

Squire shoved among 'em, brastin wi laughin.

" It's hee time we coome here a weighvin," he co'd eaut,
catchin one on 'em bi his tatther't shirt-sleeve ; " cotton's as scace
i' this hole as thripe on a Wednesday."

One on 'em stalked forrad wi as mich set on him as a duke's
butler, hondin eaut a card.

" What neaw?" says Squire, lookin at it. "Some aleheause
advertizement, is it ? Why, tha's getten somebry to spell it eaut
i' English for thee ! "

He passed th' card on to me, an' aw read this :

Westward The Hotel,
Street Rebeira, St. Vincent.

This founclacion will prove himself with finest

lodging so foods arrange.
Salons attired mode Paris or Londres.

A highest chef distinguish guests according which
principles scientifique.

Oranges from the la tree, by sea water accommodated

with plaza, where thereof rested traveller genially

invite.

Mosquito does not himself an pleasure.
Tariff strictestly apply exclusive.

" Come ! that's summat like advertising' aw said. " Let's goo,
Squire, an' have a meal upo' scientific principles for once. We s'
ne'er get another chance, happen."

" Nowe ! " he says. " Aw'm havin noane o' that mak whol
there's beef left i' th' ship. Here !" givin th' nigger his card back ;
" we wanten nowt to-day. We're noane beaun ashore ; an' iv we
were thy shop wouldn't shuit iv tha'rt t' yead waither."

As th' islands breeten't i' th' mornin sun we catched a first
glint o' that wondherful growth o' plants we were to get so used to
afore we set faces toard Englan' again. A faint musky smell
coome off th' shore, breet-colour't brids flew abeaut, a swarm o'
flyin fish, lookin just like swallows, skimmed above t' wayther,
dhroppin neaw an' again into th' cool blue weet below. Toard
noon some moore boats dhrew up wi fresh-poo'd oranges, lemons,
cocoa nuts, an' what not, an' we'd some rare bargainin for an heaur.

Th' say's alive wi sharks o reaund theere, but th' young
niggers swim in among 'em quite earless, divin for hawpnies, turnin

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 93

summersets, an' sichlike. It gav me a chill to see tuthri long,
oily fins slur past ; but some road nigger-beef isn't temptin.

On New Year's Day, eighteen hundherd an' eighty-three, we
crossed th' line.

" Where is it ? " Squire axed when he yerd th' officers talkin
abeaut crossin ; an' he looked hard o'er th' side, but seed nowt
different to usal. He'd begun to feel summat, an' me too. It
should ha bin t' depth o' whither bi ony mak ov honest reckonin,
but iv t' wind dhropped it geet so roastin wot we could hardly
abide, an' there were no sleepin wi moore nor a couple o' sheets
on th' bed.

Another week's steady sailin o'er smooth wayther an' we seed
lond, an' plenty on it. Th' captain showed us Cape St. Roque
one mornin, an' at neet a line o' big meauntains showed dim again
th' settin sun. Th' Espinhazo Sierras, they co'd 'em, th' back-
bwon o' Brazil ; an' afther studyin a bit, an' larnin 'at another day
or so should bring us to Rio, aw made eaut 'at eaur new facthry
mut be somewheere up among thoose hills.

Squire had getten in for a bit of a row th' day afore. Th'
steward had takken on a fresh sarvant at St. Vincent — a yollow,
shrinkin, fawnin young Lascar, an' one o' th' English passengers
couldn't abide him. Whenever thoose two met there were a
cleaut or a curse, or oftener bwoth, for th' sarvant, an' nowt he
could do were reet ; though he were a willin, good-temper't, hard-
wortchin lad as onybody needs to see. Th' Englishman used him
like a dog, just, an' moore nor one among us cried shame on him ;
but as he were one o' yor greight swells, wi waxed moustache, new
clooas, an' a fayther undher t' Government, he took no notice o'
what common folk like us said or thought. Squire had grunted
once or twice abeaut puncin this mon iv he didn't give o'er, an
once aw yerd him thryin to persuade th' Lascar to hit back an
feight for it, good advice enough but noane likely to be takken ;
so aw partly what expected a shinty afore we londed. One mornin
th' Englishman geet up in a sulky temper, for he'd bin loisin at
cards o'erneet, an' like plenty moore ov his sort he'd no brass to
spare. He went up onto th deck, an' bang comes th' sarvant
again him, hurryin wi a big tureen i' bwoth honds. Smash went
pot an' pottatoes, an' off th' sarvant bowled ; but t'other catched
him up an' started hommerin his yead again th' ship, cursin an'
slavverin at t' meauth like a madman. Next minute he geet a
welt on th' earhole 'at sent him spinnin again th' stove pipe, an'
gether't hissel up to find Squire stonnin o'er him lookin as black
as thunner.

" Dal thi skin ! " th' mechanic said, takkin his pips eaut ov his
meauth; "iv ever aw catch thee layin a finger on that harmless
lad again, aw'll gie thee a puncin tha'll remember for a bit. Aw've
a pair o' clogs i' mi box, an' aw'll put 'em on o' purpose to do thee

94 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

justice. It's sich heaunds as thee 'at bring th' good owd English
name into ill credit ; an' no wondher, for iv we were o thy male we
could ne'er pay fourpence-hawpny i' th' shillin."

" I demand satisfaction," th' greight mon slutted, pikin hissel
up, his moustache comin eaut o' curl. " Do you know whom I
am, fellow ? "

" Some weel," Squire said, takkin him bi th' neck an' shakin
him like a ration ; " tha'rl a wake imilalion ov a genlleman. Thi
clooas are reel enough, an' thi yure's getlen lh' fashionable cut,
bul there's moore kesl iron nor wroughl abeaul Ihee. Touch yon
lad again iv lha dar."

" I demand satisfaction," th' fellah stulted again, ready to cry
at bein made to look so litlle, afther bein so long used to ihinkin
hissel big.

" Salisfaction !" Squire co'd eaut, starin at him. " Aw'll satisfy
thee middlin soon iv aw starl ; bul iv tha'll tak sensible advice
tha'll lev things as they are."

Th' captain coome up then to see whal o t' bother were abeaut,
an' aw were forced to admire his slhrong honsome figure, an' bowd
sthraightforrad look. He'd bin noane so weel on lh' road, but
were gellin o'er it a bit

" What's ihe mailer now ?" lh' caplain axed, so lh' swell slarled
a long nominy abeaul lh' sarvant's impidence ; said he'd bin grossly
insulled, an' he'd tell his fayther, have th' steward secked, stop th
boal fro runnin, ruin lh' company, gel l' moon awlher'l, an' aw
dun' know what.

Th' captain leet him run on whol o his yorn were off th' byem,
an' then said, as quiet as could be,

" Damn your father. Will you threaten me ?" Then he turn'l
to Squire. " What is the trulh of ihis business ?"

"T' ihrulh is he's lowd yo a lot o' lies," Squire says, shakin a
neighve as big as a mason's mallei undher t' fellah's nose, "an' for
two pins aw'd knock his skennin e'en up. Aw tell yo th' lad's
quiet an' willin enough, but he's no pleasur i' livin for this heaunt
hommerin an' cursin him."

" Do you mean to say the coward has struck ihe lad?" axed
lh' caplain, a red spol comin on his cheek.

" Mony a lime. He ne'er misses a chance ; bul he laks care
yo're nowheere i' seel when he does it."

" Then, sir, you have broken a rule of the company, besides
interfering with my servants. Now, damme, you shall apologise
lo the Lascar and ihe steward too, or never put a leg under my
table again."

" Good lad, captain ! " Squire said, clappin him on t' shooldher.
" Slick lo lhal — aw'll back Ihee up."

" Th' caplain grinned al lh' idea o' wanlin ony backin up on

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 95

his own ship; an' Squire, bethinkin hissel 'at his bacca were gwone
eaut, let a match on his pipe yead an' fell to smookin again.

So they fot th' steward, rooted th' lad eaut ov a nook i' th'
galley where he'd hud hissel, an' th' greight mon had to foot up
an' beg pardon. It's to be hoped it 'd do him good, but aw've
mi deaubts.

III.— A WARM SHOP.

Rio at last, an' th' long say thravel weel o'er. We'd had nowt
but th' best o' weather o t' road, hardly ever seein a wave bigger
nor Hollinoth con show, but we were noane soory to feel hard
greaund undher us again. When Squire had done takkin lev ov
his friends fro th' captain deawn, a job 'at took him a whol mornin,
we fund some lodgins, reported eaursel at th' agent's office, an'
then geet time to look abeaut us a bit.

Th' first thing to be done were to find th' post office an' ax for
some letthers, for we'd noather on us yerd a single word fro worn
sin' we left. There were noane, an' aw felt some bittherly dis-
appointed. Squire nobbut grunted, an' let his pipe. As we
walked away we passed two Portigees chattherin at a corner,
bwoth donned i' sleauched hats, knee boots, an' coarse shirts,
weel daubed wi slutch.

" Gibble cabara mobilotton sol fa poncher," one on 'em says,
or summat like that.

T'other mon were excited. He swung his arms up, sheautin,
" Wackerum bolivia topajos coimbranco manchique." Then, as
that nobbut made th' first un wag his yead, he brasted eaut o at
once, " Ger off wi thee, tha forty-horse-peawer bowstheryead !
Tha'd fair stow a grooin three ! "

Aw stagger't back again th' heause end ; Squire oppen't his
meauth wide, lettin his pipe fo an' smash to bits on th' stones.
Th' foreigner turn't him reaund an' seed us, muttherin to hissel,
" What the hangment's up neaw ? "

" Tha talks English weel for a native " — Squire were beginnin,
when he made th' chap eaut undher his breawn skin, an sheauted,
" Why, tha'rt Billy Greenhalgh fro Marian ! "

" Eh, bless thee, Squire," th' Portigee whimper't, fairly takkin
th' big mechanic in his arms. " It's ten year sin' aw seed a Rachda
face afore. Is this thi mate ? Is he a Rachda chap ? Heaw do,
friend ! Heaw arta, Squire ? Heaw's yor folk ? What is there
fresh Sudden road on ? Here ! come on wi me ; we mun sup
o'er this."

" Well, a saup ov ale wain't hurt us," Squire says, as plez't as
a fiddler at a sixpenny hop, an' aw felt th' same mysel to leet so
soon on a friend fro mi own clod.

"Tha'll find ale dearish dhrink i' these parts," Greenhalgh

96 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

says, takkin us into a wineshop. " We're noane at Owd Sam's
neaw, think on."

" What is it ? Twopence hawpny a glass, happen."

" Hawve a creawn a bottle," says th' Marlanite ; so we
throubl't noane at that price, but geet some chep spirits, summat
like white rum, astid.

Well, we'd a rare crack for a couple ov heaurs. Greenhalgh
were an owd sattler i' th1 counthry, it seemed. He went eaut in
his cwortin days, geet on weel, sent for his lass o'er, geet wed, an'
neaw he wortched at a gowd mine up i' th' hills, an' thought iv
he'd good luck he met save enough to go back to England wi i'
tuthri moore year.

" What han yo com'n a doin ? " he wanted to know next.
" An' wheere are yo for ? "

" We're sentenced for one an' two year penal facthrytude,"
Squire towd him. " Aw've sin t' name o' th' place once — it's
twisted wi cromp, or rheumatics or summat, an' noane safe for
Rachda tongues. Mazyteawn aw co it. Tall him where it is,
Lijah."

" Aw'll show him," aw said, for aw'd getten it written deawn
in a letther to th' agent 'at Misther Frank had gien me. So aw
showed him, an' he spelt it eaut.

" Marzagao," he says. " Oh, aw've bin to that shop. It's up
i' Minas Geraes, through Carandahy an' Sahara. Yo'll have above
a week's wark gettin up theere."

" It seaunds like a dacent road, shuzheaw, iv th' names are
owt to go by," Squire said. " Where done they sell clay pipes,
Billy ? Mine broke as soon as it seed thee."

" Nay ! there's no clays here. Tha mun larn to make an'
smooke cigarritos, same as other folk. As for th' road it's a rum
un, like o on 'em abeaut here."

" Heaw is it they hannot getten 'em dhrained, an' gas-lamped,
an' laid wi Pwllheli sets ? " aw axed him.

" They're weel laid wi slutch astid," Greenhalgh said. " We
don't oft get o'eryead in it iv we con manage to dodge th' soft bits
an' bogholes ; an' most o' thoose are gettin filled up neaw wi so
mony mules, an' ridhers, an' bullock carts, an' oddments o' that
mak, fo'in deawn 'em."

" We s' look weel iv we getten into one an' leeten across th'
new machinery at th' bottom," says Squire. " Neaw, waither !
Sixpennoth ov unmade cigars ! "

Greenhalgh laughed an' ordher't 'em for him, tellin us o their
brass were reckon't bi reis, an' gettin us tuthri shillin changed to
be gooin on wi.

" It's a healthy shop yo're beaun to," he says ; " a lot cooler
nor deawn here at th' say level."

That were welcome news enough, for we were o sweltherin as

TOTHER SIDE RIO. 97

iv set afore a wot fire, an' aw began to see some thinner clooas
ud be wanted iv we didn't myen bein rendher't deawn to candle
grase.

Aw showed Billy a list o' t' directhors o' th' new facthry,
thinkin he met know some on 'em.

" Oh, ah ! " he says. " There's a tuthri on 'em weel known
here. Dacent chaps too. Hello ! there's Miguel Gomez among
'em. What does he know abeaut cotton ? He were minin last aw
yerd on."

" What arta maundherin abeaut ? " Squire axed. " Dost think
a chap needs to know owt abeaut cotton to make a facthry
directhor ? Where hast bin browt up ? "

" Aw'm deawn on him," Greenhalgh says, waggin his yead.
" Have as little to do wi him as yo con. He's a deep un ! "

" We may happen ne'er see him," aw said. " He's nowt to do
wi th' management, 'at aw know on, an' he cawn't eight us whether
or not."

" There's summat noane gradely abeaut that Gomez," Billy
went on. " His charicther's nobbut so-an'-so. It's weel known 'at
wherever there's ony brass stirrin he's for havin it, bi ony dodge 'at
comes first. Iv yo send letthers worn see 'em into th' post yorsel
— thrust nobry else ; tak care yor letthers fro Englan are noane
stopped an' oppen't ; an' think on there's no policemen up yon
meauntains, but plenty o' sharp knives an' deep clough holes."

" Howd on !" Squire says. "Tha'rt a comfortin sort ov a chap
to leet on in a sthrange lond. Aw s' be ill in a bit, oather wi
hearkenin thi tales or smookin these bits o' breawn papper — aw
dun' know which."

" O reet, lad," Greenhalgh said ; " but keep yor e'en oppen,
shuz what else. Iv yo done get kil't don't come playin th' boggart
on my durstep, for mi wife's a bit nesh."

We'd to part afore Jong, as Billy had a fifty-mile mule ride to
start on, an' some deawn i' t' meauth we o felt to lev one another.
We seed him weel eaut o' th' teawn into a road hung wi white-
belled creepers, an' bordher't wi wild fuchsias, an' then Squire set
off to buy a pair o' long-sleeved shoon, to get into th' fashion.
We bwoth geet a pair, payin twice as mich for 'em as we should
have had^to do onywheere i' Lancashire, an' spent moore brass i'
thin jackets an' brode-brimmed hats to keep th' sun off.

There's some grand shops at Rio, an' i' some on 'em yo con
buy nearly ony mortal thing — that is iv yo'n brass enough, for
stuff's very dear. Th' teawn stons on a flat slice o' lond, wi hills,
creawned wi convents, at th' back, an' fur back again th' hee
sierras begin risin, chen afther chen, i' endless lines. As this flat
dirt-sthripe's nobbut narrow, th' teawn's had to be built o in a
length runnin on bi th' wayther side. It's weel built, too, mostly
o' stone ; th' heauses square-cut, topped wi red tiles, an' laid eaut

H

98 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

i' honsome sthreets, set off bi cool green threes an' shrubs wi
levs like fans. T' main sthreet runs on bi th' wayther edge, an'
there's a palace close to th' londin stage.

Toard neet we fund th' agent an' had a crack wi him. He
towd us it'd be a week or so afore they sent for us to Mazyteawn,
as Squire kessen't th' shop we were bund for ; an' as t' weather
were so wot at Rio he planned for us to go forrad to a cooler
neighbourhood, an' wait there. He were a very nice chap, talkin
English as weel as we could, though not quite wi sich a pure
Smobridge accent, happen. Aw took him for a Portigee, but that
nettl't him rarely, an' we were soon towd he were nowt less nor a
full-blooded Andalusian, wi th' full sthrem o' Spenish juice runnin
.up an' deawn him.

We made for th' lodgins again, havin to look middlin wakken
to miss gettin knocked deawn bi so mony durs oppenin eautside
astid ov in, an' to dodge t' thram-cars 'at gwone dartin abeaut i'
every sthreet, an' shapped off to bed soon, feelin as iv we'd had a
hard day. We began to undherston what made folk tak things
. so yezzy i' thoose sunbrunt parts, an' be so careful abeaut exertin
theirsel. Onybody fund in a hurry at Rio gets locked up an' has
his yead chopped off, to stop onybody else fro larnin sich wicked
ways. Ten peaund's a heavy Iwod for a chap to carry, an' a
hundherdweight for a bullock cart.

Everybody's weel off i' that teawn ; but th' brass mun come to
'em, for it's a sure thing they'll ne'er run afther it. Nobry walks
above a yard or two, an' not then beaut a fancy sthriped parasol.
It's o thram ridin, or mule an' horseback. We'd watched one mon
catchin a thram eautside th' post office. He walked on very
gently, an' when a car coome near he stopped an' put up his hond.
. Th' guard ne'er seed him, so th' machine went rowlin forrad. Wi
hawve-a-dozen sharp sthrides th' chap could ha catched it, but
howd off ! He propped hissel again a shop-front, tarryin for th'
next. This time he put his umbrell up, but th' guard were just
leetin another cigarette, an' missed seein it; so th' chap let a
cigarette too, an' when he seed another car comin walked gently
into th' road, stonnin wheere he were forced to be oather sin or
run o'er. He catched his bus that time ; but even then it looked
too mich throuble to climb in.

Th' niggers han a rare time on it i' Brazil. There's plenty on
'em, some brought o'er as slaves an' a rook born on th' clod ; an'
th' spot shuits 'em as weel as Africa, or betther. Their chief
business is to lie i' shady corners an' gape. Squire watched
one sthrong-lookin white-yeaded sample for hawve an heaur, an'
averaged him up at three gapes every seven minutes an' a six-
teenth. When they aren't gapin they're asleep, or just gooin to
their baggins, or crawlin back. They'n no need to get weshed —
th' sun sweats their dirt off, an' keeps their pores oppen ; beside,

TOTHER SIDE RIO. 99

it's o white slutch at Rio. VVark ne'er bothers 'em, as they con
live for next to nowt i' that climate, an' be moore comfortable
beaut clooas nor wi ; an' otogether they come as near th' Testa-
ment rules o' takkin no thought for to-morn an' layin up no moth-
etten hawpnies as ony folk ever aw yerd on.

Heawever, we went to bed, as aw were sayin, an' a warm shop
we fund it. Aw geet an heaur or two o' brokken sleep, wakkenin
up to find a candle blazin an' Squire scuttherin up an deawn th'
reawm like a sprint racer, layin abeaut him wi his leather belt,
sweat fair teemin off him.

" It'll be th' sun," aw thought to mysel. " It's brain fayver
he's getten, an' that'll turn into yollow Jack ; an' when he's dyead
aw s' ha to turn mechanic, beside cardin an' spinnin."

Just then he flopped deawn on his knees in a corner, sheautin,
" Aw have thee neaw, beggar ! Come eaut ! Bi go ! it's wapped
deawn that hole."

" Whatever's to do, Squire ? "

" Hello, sleepy-yead ! " he says, lookin reaund. " Hast done
snorin for a bit ? "

" Aw've ne'er started yet."

" Oh, nowe ! To be sure not ! Tha's ne'er yerd o these
crickets buzz, buzz, buzzin i' thi earhole, noather, aw reckon."

" Dost think aw coome to bed a-hearkenin crickets ? "

" Well, aw didn't mysel, 'at aw know on," Squire says, wipin
his weet face ; " aw'd made no bargain wi 'em, shuzheaw, but
they're summat like owd Wombwell's eddicated monkey, they'll
perform afore they're axed. Hast ever sin that monkey, Lijah ?
Th' beggar olez used to brast off wi his thricks five an' twenty
minutes afore th' show started, an' when th' curtain went up he'd
do nowt."

" Get into bed, do ! " aw grunted, gapin as wide as we'd sin
ony o' th' niggers doin. " Whatever arta preawlin abeaut theere
for, barfoot ? "

" It's this cricket huntin, aw tell thee. Aw've bin afther one
sample abeaut three inch long."

" Howd thi din ! Tell me it's as big as a pop-bottle, an' ha
done wi't."

" Iv that cricket doesn't measur two full inch an' three quathers
aw'll eight it first thing to-morn," Squire said, very solemn, comin
to mi bedside wi th' candle in his hond. " Beaut saut, too ! Dost
think aw cawn't tell to a eighth ov an inch bi t' rack o' th' e'e."

" Well, ne'er heed. Get to bed afore tha catches cowd."
" Cowd ! " he grumbl't, gettin undher his sheet again. " There
is noane i' this counthry. Th' oon's kept wot o reaund th' year
here, whether it's bakin day or not."

He sattl't deawn whol mornin afther that, an' aw did th' same,
yerin nowt no moore nobbut tuthri mice practisin " Hail, smilin
morn," somewheere i' th' tierin.

100 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

IV. — Rio TO MAZYTEAWN.

Next mornin we were off i' good time to th' railroad, inclin't
for gettin tuthri mile toard a cooler climate afore th' sun geet o
his irons wot. We thravell't o day, but like th' chap 'at supped a
gallon o' lager beer we ne'er geet mich forradher, becose th' line
winds in an' eaut among so mony broos ; comin at neetfo to Car-
andahy, where o th' roads i' Brazil meet — or nearly so. We'd
passed mony a hee meauntain an' dashin river, mony a hillside
farm an' gowd mine (most o' their workins are just like eaur
breast-hee pits, but they tunnel eaut yollow sond an' whiterock,
astid o' black coal-dust), an' run through mony a long valley
crommed wi wondherful green plants, feelin cooler every mile we
went. We seed whol swarms ov hummin birds, a dyel less nor
Squire's big cricket, sparklin like painted glass i' th' sunshine, an'
plenty o' bigger brids wi very fine fithers but not a song among
'em, noather comic nor sentimental.

As th' railroad went no fur nor this village we'd getten to, it
were to be a mule-back job for us to get o'er t'other bit o'
counthry. Squire said he'd set plenty o' mules up, but didn't
know whether he could ride one or not ; an' when they towd us
it 'd be a four-day journey he whistl't, scrat his yead, an' let
another cigarette.

We could see tuthri samples neaw o' th' slutchy roads Green-
halgh had warned us abeaut. They looked summat awful, an' we
began to feel betther satisfied wi th' knee boots, though they'd
cost us three gowd sovereigns a pair.

Carandahy's a pottherin little hole, wi twenty heauses or so
scatther't abeaut among th' slutch, an' meauntain roads runnin off
i' o directions like threads in a spidherweb. It's ill luck to th'
poor flee 'at gets fast in 'em, too. It's astonishin heaw busy this
little nook is, wi th' railway stoppin theere. Slhrengs o' mules an'
ponies are for ever comin an' gooin wi panniers on their backs ;
heavy carts crawl up an' deawn th' hills wi ten to twenty spon ov
oxen to poo 'em ; ridhers ov o ranks, nations, an' tempers are olez
passin through, plenty on 'em — though weel to-do — wi their spurs
sthrapped onto their bare feet. Whol we were theere we seed
gangs o' natives come in wi cotton, raw or wovven, Yankees an'
English fro different gowd mines, throops o' niggers, wortchin a
bit at last, an' every neaw an' again a little reaunt priest on his fat
mule, freetenin everybody eaut o' their wits.

It's rare sport shoein mules. Their system theere's for one
chap to howd th' leg up whol another mon lets fly wi a hommer ;
aimin at th' mule foot, but as oft as not catchin th' howdher's
knockles, or th' mule bwons, or missin everything. When he
does bi chance catch th' nail yead there's a clank like a railroad

TOTHER SIDE RIO. IOI

collision, th' mule whuzzes it legs abeaut sheautin murdher, an'
another start has to be made fro th' beginnin. Squire thought
this business promised weel for fun, so he geet a empty barrel
eaut o' th' store, upended it, an' sit watchin t' performance a good
while. Aw went to fot him to his baggin, an' fund him lookin on
wi greight intherist, a little hillock o' cigarette ends beside him.

"Baggin time?" he says. "Aw mun rip mysel away, then.
Lijah, aw've sin a bit o' mechanickin i' mi time, but this licks o.
Iv theese beggars were put on piece wark they'd soon find a
readier dodge nor this. Sithee ! " he went on, brastin wi laughin,
as t' sthriker sent his hommer beauncin again th' mule ribs, an'
him an' his mate an' their cigarettes, an' th' hommer, an' four
spring legs went flyin i' o directions. " Did te ever see sich a gam
as that afore?" Then he sheauted to th' sthriker, " Neaw, owd
un ! tha'd put 'em on a dyel betther wi a screwkeigh."

Th' Portigee turn't, jabberin, " Wackle casabianca senor milreis
chihuahua cabalatta montefiore," an' so on ; like rattlin alley stones
in a glass bottle.

" Aw don't believe thee," Squire said, turnin hawve reaund wi
his tub i' hond ; " tha knows what aw myen weel enough, but tha's
too mich stinkin pride to own it. That reminds me o' th' Whitoth
navvies, Lijah," he went on as we crossed o'er to th' lodgins.
" Two on 'em had bin feightin a while beaut sattlin owt, when one
says, ' What are we fo'in eaut for ? Tha knows aw love thee ! '

' Ah ! but aw'm lovin noane o' thee ! ' t'other says, puncin
him again.

' What hast again me ? '

' Why, tha skens.'

' That's noane my faurt, is it ? It's a misfortin.'

' Misfortin be hanged ! It's nowt but thi jadin ignorance.' "

" Keep that mak o' tales for th' Portigees," aw said, " an' come
to thi baggin."

" Aw'm comin, lad," he laughed, "an' aw nobbut wish we'd a
bit o' dacent moufin or cakebrade waitin for us, astid o' their
banana an' mandioca rubbitch. They con make tidy cheese here,
but that's abeaut o they han to swagger o'er."

We'd bwoth felt th' want o' bread, a thing seldom sin i' thoose
parts, an' nowt like th' English sort when fund. Another botherin
thing were 'at we'd noather twileet, moonleet, nor gasleet to finish
th' days off. It were dark bi seven o' t' clock, so we'd to stop
heause-bund ; for we could find no sport i' thrampin among slutch
bi th' shine ov a lanthron. We geet to bed toard eight, mostly,
olez gettin a fine serenade fro croakin frogs, gruntin pigs, clockin
hens, an' sichlike musical performers, whol we'd luck to fo asleep.

Alley, alabaster.

102 . WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Beds theere are yezzy made. Yo get a corn seek, crom it full
o' maize sweepins, throttle it wi some bant, an' that's yor bed.
There's no need to bother abeaut clooas — yo'll be warm enough,
plenty ; th' stingin flees '11 tak care o' that. There's one breed
o' bitin insects aw used to be very fond on. It dhrives a curly
saw deep into a limb, an' yo may poo it i' lumps but it'll ne'er let
goo. Another bores into yor foot-sole, an' lays eggs i' th' ex-
cavation.

We'd bin a full week sleauchin abeaut Carandahy, an' getten
weary o' th' job, afore they sent for us up to th' mill. One
mornin we'd getten up at five, as soon as dayleet broke, turnin
eaut to smell th' fresh air, an' afore so long a chen o' mules coome
up ridden bi hawve a dozen niggers an' brokken-yur't Tupys, or
Indians, stoppin near us. One o' th' chaps started off, as usal, wi
a lot o' Portigee gibberidge 'at we could make nowt on, though
Squire reckon't to keep up a conversation bi noddin his yead,
shakin it, puttin in "That's a lie," or "Tha never says," every neaw
an' again. Heawever, it turn't eaut to be us they were afther ; so
we sided o up that day, makin a bowd start up th' meauntains first
thing next mornin.

We shapped reel enough at mule ridin, Squire sayin he could
feel thankful neaw he'd getten so mich bobby-horse practice whol
a lad ; th' only bother were 'at t' four-legged things took no notice
ov English, bein as likely to stop as not when we towd 'em to gee
up. Heaw they ever carried us up thoose roads it's past my
reckonin to make eaut. There'd be a mile or two o' steepish
risin, through two to three feet deep o' slutch ; then some brokken
greaund, o lumps an' holes, wi steep rock o' one hond an' a deep
clough o' t'other ; then, for a change, t' thrack ud turn slap up a
slantin wole o' solid limestone, where we'd to hop up steps, like
hens climbin a ribbed plank ; fro t' top o' that there'd be a long
dhrop, where th' mules could tuck their back legs undher 'em
an' slur deawn, nobbut gettin deawn to start climbin again next
minute.

Squire kept whistlin an' scrattin his yead as we geet moore an'
moore acquainted wi this wondherful road, wondherin what mak
ov a state his machinery 'd be in wi that style o' thravellin. We
stopped o neet at a leausy little baitin shop, geet summat t' eight,
an' a good wesh wi a soft cob o' their black swop, emptyin th' suds
onto th' dirt floor, as th' fashion is ; an' then Squire started :

" Aw'll tell thee what, Lijah ; there's a rare oppenin for balloon
thrafific up here. He were a bowd chap 'at first carted ring frames
o'er these broos, an' he'd be a bowdher yet 'at could get 'em o'er
i' one piece. We s' ha to melt thi cardin engines up an' start
kestin fresh. They should ha sent a mouldher eaut astid ov a
mechanic."

" We mun shap to start their facthry for 'em some road."

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 103

" Oh ah ! " Squire says, gapin. •' We'll manage that, or else
make some hondlooms — these turmits '11 ne'er know th' difference.
Hey, dhriver ! Heaw mony mile han we com'n to-day ? "

T dhriver looked up, poo'd his cigarette eaut, blew some
smooke deawn his nose, wagged his yead, an mutther't, hawve
asleep, " Gunspackle caracal patterara, senor."

" Heaw mony mile ? " Squire axed, sheautin at him. " Mile !
Dost yer ? Mile ! tha yollow-legged heathen ! But it's no use
talkin ; aw could go back an' measur it wi a two-foot sooner nor
get owt eaut o' thee ! "

T' dhriver were fast asleep bi that time, unconsarn't abeaut
everything. He knew his mules couldn't get lost, for him an' his
mates had fixed two stangs across t' thrack, above an' below th'
hut we slept in, so th' only roads eaut were oather bi divin into a
clough beaut bottom or crawlin up eighty foot o' sthraight rock.
For his passengers he cared nowt ; for hissel very little. He slept,
snorin hard, t' last threads o' bacca smooke levin his nose-end ;
ne'er bother't bi t' thribes o' livestock 'at were determin't to worry
me an' Squire into maprags. Happy dhriver !

Four days o' this mak brought us to Sabara, three mile fro
Mazyteawn ; an' here we fund a post office, an aw geet mi first
letther fro worn. It were short o' six week sin' aw'd lost sect o' mi
wife an' childher, noane a long time to look at, but iv it 'd bin six
year aw could hardly ha felt th' separation moore, nor' ripped that
precious bit o' papper oppen wi keener impatience an' longin. Aw
read it wi swimmin e'en, hurryin o through it once to make sure
nowt had gwone wrong, then readin quietly every word mi dear
lass had to say.

" O's reet, Squire, bwoth at yor heause an' mine. They're o
weel an' hearty, thank God ! "

" Thank God ! " Squire said, very solemn. " Aw do believe
tuthri month i' Brazil '11 turn me religious."

He went eaut, geet two sleepin Indians bi th' neck, an' carried
'em squirmin above a hundherd yard ; then he let another cigarette
an' quieten't deawn. When he coome in again aw read most o' t'
letther eaut for him, nobbut keepin back tuthri lines where mi wife
had thried to put o her heart's love onto th' papper, i' words myent
for no e'en or ears beside mine. T' childher were o behavin very
weel, relations had bin kind an' thoughtful, an' Squire's wife sent
her best respects, hopin he'd be careful not to make a foo ov
hissel. So that were o reet an' satisfyin, an' we could shap abeaut
wi leet hearts.

Next mornin we were o up an' off i' good time to reighch this
wondherful facthry we'd com'n so fur to find ; levin Sabara, wi it
slutch-built huts, weedy gardens, coffee-plantins wi owd crops
rottin yet on t' neglected threes, unshifted dirt, an' o t'other signs
ov a breed o' folk too idle to stir a needless finger. Three mile

104 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

up an' deawn steep hills, on a narrow foot-road wi a wildherness
o' green stuff on bwoth sides, seein theausans o' gaudy brids,
tuthri painted snakes, an' one long-nosed tapir, an' we londed at
th' village.

One biggish heause, a hondful o' little huts, an' a long barn-
shaped buildin, part finished. That were o th' teawn. O reaund
were hee meauntains like big sugar loaves, an' a swift river coome
splashin across th' hollow, gettin forrad deawn it three theausan
foot ov a dhrop to th' say. Followin th' river bed up we seed a
gang o' black an' tan chaps busy wi a waytherwheel shoot, an'
gettin reaund a corner o' th' long barn we let on some moore
natives emptyin a cart-lwod o' machinery.

A natty, nimble-lookin yollow-skin, wizen-faced, donned like
a dandy, stood smookin an' watchin six peawerful niggers sthrivin
hard to shift a loom-end. He coome up to us, grinnin o reaund
his sharp white teeth.

" From Engleterra come you ? " says he.

" Nowe — Rachda," Squire said, busy watchin t' loom-shifthers.
" Well, iv this doesn't cap o ! Sithee, Lijah ! Hawve-a-dozen on
'em to one kestin ! Aw'm noane a swearin mon, but "

" Senor Garside and Senor Marcroft, you shall I call ? "

" Squire Marcroft," my mate said, swingin off his mule.
" Noane o' thi seeneys, nor sauts noather. This is Lijah Garside
— a dacent chap, but nowt to say for hissel. Are yo th' gaffer ? "

" Miguel Gomez," th' chap says, pointin to hissel.

" Aw thought so," Squire whisper't to me. " He's an ill un,
Lijah, iv looks are owt. Dal it ! he's just like a monkey cheawin
carraway seed. Wi abeaut ten ton o' rock on him he'd make a
rare pidistal for yon waytherwheel they're playin wi up th' broo
side."

" Don't be too ready wi that tongue o' thine," aw whisper't
back. " It's nowt to us what he is, iv we getten eaur share o' th'
wark done."

" Aw'll make a start neaw, then," Squire says, " for iv aw ston
watchin these helpless cawves ony longer aw s' be ill."

He went to th' cart-tail, geet howd o' th' loom kestin (th' nig-
gers had managed to shift it abeaut two inch), shoved back some
planks they'd brought to slur t' thing deawn on, an' swung th'
heavy lump o' metal to th' floor in a crack.

" Ah, viva ! " skriked Gomez in a voice like a tewit far gwone
i' th' breawntitus. " Ver good ! Ver good ! "

" That's naught to make thi noise abeaut," Squire grunted.
" Aw con undherston these big wages betther neaw, Lijah. We
con do as mich in a week as these pitiful objects con i' twelve
month."

Seeney, senna.

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 105

Aw looked at th' big mechanic, stonnin wi one arm thrown
o'er his mule back, sthrong, square-yeaded, honest-lookin ; an'
then at th' little Portigee dandy, keen, cringin, cat-like, undher-
hond.

It didn't tak me long to sattle which were th' Mon o' thoose
two ; an' yet it's sure enough, wherever they'd getten together, i'
England or eaut, little Gomez 'd ha bin th' gaffer same as he
were here, an' Squire nowt but a journeyman for him.

We looked th' machinery o'er, an' a weary sect we fund it.
Everything were brokken 'at possibly could be, an' cliver as aw
knew Squire were at his job aw deaubted iv he'd ever make mich
eaut o' sich a lot o' scrap. Beside bein brokken o th' tackle were
reausty wi lyin eaut i' th' rain, an' cover't wi dust an' slutch.

" O reet," Squire says, when aw towd him what aw thought.
" We'll shap some road, tha'll see, an' make their facthry whuzz
reaund. When tha's getten thi cards weel grund just run Gomez
through 'em. It'll do him good."

Aw wagged mi yead, deaubtin yet. " We con ne'er start wi
sich rubbitch as this."

" Start ! " Squire co'd eaut, clappin me on th' back. " Han
we com'n o t' road fro Sparrow Hill to tell these potyeads we
cawn't do th' job ? We'll wortch it upo' some tack, mon ; an' iv
we nobbut getten two throstles an' abeaut eight looms set up
they'll make wark enough for fifty o' these thraycle-toffy-colour't
objects. Neaw, Gomez, owd breek ! We're ready for some
baggin."

V. — TUTHRI LEVS FRO SQUIRE'S DIARY.

Mazyteawn, Jan. 29th, 1883. — Lijah keeps plaguin me abeaut
writin mi diary up, becose once for a joke aw towd him aw myent
keepin one ; an' as there's nowt to do here at neet but fo asleep
or catch blackjacks, aw'll practise t' scribblin thrade a bit. Aw
mun do summat, that's a sure thing, iv aw'm to howd fro
murdherin somebry an' keep mi brains owt like reet i' this
miserable hole. It's no shop this for honest Englishmen used
to gettin a cowd pint, a quiet gam ov all-fours, an' tuthri mates
to fratch wi ; an' iv it weren't for Lijah's company aw should ha
gwone redmad afore neaw. We're makin hondfuls o' brass ; but
it's noane th' brass — it's th' position, as Napoleon said when
Wellington towd him o his expenses should be paid on th' island.

There's no wark woth mentionin. We'n tuthri different gangs
o' labourers rootin abeaut th' shop, but they're o sich yezzy-gooin
beggars as aw ne'er yerd on afore. Aw'm fo'in into their habits
very nicely. It's no use doin nowt else, becose it's plain enough

Redmad, crazy.

106 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

we s' be ready wi th' machinery long afore t' waytherweel an' tur-
bine are fit to start ; so iv we getten finished too soon it'll be
wrong for th' little yollow-skin 'at reckons to gaffer o'er us, to say
nowt o' th' sleepy-lookin coffee-cheeked row o' directhors 'at coome
lookin reaund t'other day. We're gettin into a system o' shappin
so as to just get through eaur share o' th' wark bi th' time it'll be
wanted ; an' but for this wot sun we shouldn't slatther mich sweat
wi doin it.

This is abeaut th' gam. We getten up at hawve-past five,
suppen a cup o' coffee beaut milk, an' gwone into t' facthry. First
ov o aw tak a good look reaund to make sure nobry's brokken in
durin th' neet ; becose there's th' hawve o' one wole to build yet,
nowt leet enough to carry away, an' not a sowl within three mile
'at dar steighl owt iv he wants. Then aw walk reaund eautside
for a rest, just to get mi wind ; an' mostly watch 'em playin wi t'
waytherwheel whol breakfast-time. They're shiftin some wark at
that job ! There's a bonny lot on 'em, some delvin, some layin
stones, some studyin, some lyin reaund hawve wakken, an o on
'em smookin ; but there's ne'er nowt to show for their labbour.
At hawve-past eight we knocken off for th' first meal — almool, as
these lost craythers co'n it — beef, black byens, boil't rice, pot-
tatoes, pullen, bananas, an' coffee; o very good, barrin 'at th'
beef's oft as taugh as wedgwood. We're fair cravin for butther-
cakes, Lijah an' me. A shop loave ud send us singin reaund th'
teawn, an' a Blackwayther moufin be woth it weight i' gowd. We
expected havin tuthri things to put up wi, but ne'er dhrem't runnin
short o' butthercakes could ha plagued us to this pitch.

Breakfast o'er we gwone back to eaur wark whol twelve, settin
tuthri kestins again th' woles, dhrawin a chalk line or two on th'
dirt floor, practisin jugglin wi shuttles an' bobbins, playin at quoits
wi byem flanges, or havin argeyments abeaut church an' state ;
olez busy doin sums wi papper an' pencil iv onybody comes lookin
heaw we're gettin on. When Gomez comes aw start filin summat
or grumblin abeaut a brokken fittin, or measurin mi lond up to t'
thirty-second ov an inch, wondherin heaw the hangment we're ever
beaun to squeeze o th' frames in, though we'n reawm enough for
twice as mony.

At twelve there's moore coffee, wi a bitin on, just to keep us
wick whol dinner-time, abeaut three o' t' clock. Afther a good
dinner (jantar we co'n it) i' this wot climate wark's nowt but a
throuble ; so we gwone bathin deawn th' river, catchin hummin-
brids, or watchin th' pisamoors march abeaut like armies o' sodiers.
There's millions o' thoose fawse things here, some o' their hillocks
stonnin as hee as th' heause tops, an' we ne'er getten weary o'
studyin their owd-fashion't dodges.

Pullen, poultry. Pisamoors, ants.

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 107

So we con shap middlin to get through a day's wark, iv th'
manager nobbut alleaws us plenty o' bant. There's one dhraw-
back — it's pitch dark bi baggin time, an' as there's no gaslamps i'
t' sthreets, an' no sthreets to put 'em in, we're forced to stop i' th'
heause, read a bit, write diaries, fo eaut, or go to bed.

We're livin in a reawm o' th' manager's heause, an' he makes
us feel quite awom. He's a smart, dacent chap, weel up in his
business, an' he's a comfortable shop on it here, but as Gomez
nobbut lives hawve a mile off he's olez tootin reaund an' meddlin
wi things he knows nowt abeaut. Iv aw were th' manager aw
wouldn't ston it.

Aw said to Gomez to-day " Where's yor honds beaun to live
when i' facthry starts ? There's no heauses for 'em 'at aw con see."

" Arrange we all that," he says, showin his ivories. " Many
houses shall we soon build."

" Tha shaps very tidy at English for a Portigee," aw towd him ;
" but they mun ha larn't thee eaut ov a lift-honded spellin-book.
Let thi talk goo reaund fro yest to west wi th' sun, an' keep thi
teeth hud, an' aw'll make a scholar on thee in a bit. But abeaut
thoose heauses — iv yo're for buildin, get agate. Ratch yon way-
thershoot job eaut as they will it wain't last 'em above two month
moore, an' it'll be folly to keep yor facthry stonnin whol th' cottages
are run up."

That were a new leet to him otogether, as aw'd expected it
would be. For o they're so worried wi emmets they'n no moore
foreseet i' Mazyteawn nor a cuckoo. Nowt's wanted whol they're
at a stonstill for it ; as long as they'n a foot o' clear greaund afore
their nose-ends they're reet.

Their system o' buildin's like everything else abeaut 'em —
wrong end first. Astid o' layin a feaundation an' buildin uparts,
like Christians, they proppen their riggin-three up wi four sticks,
one at every corner, an' hang their woles onto it. O th' joinerin
wark's finished off—window frames, dur holes, an' so on — an'
t'other wole-space wattl't in wi lats an' slutch. Then th' consarn
nobbut wants a tack or two, just to howd it to th' greaund, or
teein to a three-stump wi a bit o' clewkin, an' yo con start livin
inside ony time iv yo'll mind fro sneezin.

As we left t' facthry to-neet a chap rode up on horseback an'
started beggin. We could make no sense ov his jibber-jabber, to
be sure, but there were no mistake abeaut his business when he
poo'd his billycock off an' passed it reaund. Aw'd a couple o'
brass time-checks i' mi pocket bi good luck, so aw gav him one,
an' he nearly went off his yead wi joy, thinkin he'd getten howd
o' some rare foreign gowdpiece. He sthruck wark on t' sthrength
o' sich a wyntfo, an' started playin him for th' neet.

" It's a corker when th' cadgers con ride abeaut that road," aw

Io8 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

said to Lijah. " What does th' owd provarb say — set a beggar on

horseback an' he'll ride to "

" Rio," Lijah says in his quiet way ; so we coome in to get
some porritch.

Feb. 14. — This is Volantine Day i' Rachda, but it's nowt here,
so t' less said abeaut it an' t' betther. Aw were up at th' wheel-
race again this mornin watchin th' masons penkin at stones wi
their little picks, three on 'em squarin up abeaut as mich in a day
as a gradely mon wi mallet an' chisel could shift in hawve an
heaur, when Mrs. Gomez coome up a-lookin. Hoo's a sharp
weel-fawour't little body, noane o'er an' above happy bi o ac-
ceaunts. We'd a long talk i' Portigee an' English, gettin on just
as weel as iv t' one knew what t'other were dhrivin at, makin eaut
bi signs what words couldn't do for us.

Toard noon Gomez coome through t' facthry, where aw were
busy settin looms up, lookin as black as thunner.

" To my wife you speak not," he stutted eaut, as mad as a
moonraker. " Away you approach when she follow, and not at all
speak."

" What art moidherin abeaut, tha little foo ? " aw said, hawve
inclin't to cob mi screwkeigh at him, wipin mi sweatin foryead on
a bare arm. " Aw'd ne'er bother to speighk iv aw couldn't do it
different to thee, shuzheaw. Is thy wife ony betther nor other
folk, 'at hoo's noane to be spokken to ? "

Aw geet a lot moore of his jabber, takkin no moore notice on
him. When he'd done an' bowled Lijah looked reaund an' says,

" Tha's done it neaw, Squire ! He's jealous on thee."

" An' no wondher," aw said. " He knows weel enough no
sensible woman ud look at a kittlin like him when there's full-
groon chaps abeaut. Bi go, Lijah ! tha mun ne'er let on to my
owd woman abeaut this, or aw s' ne'er yer th' end on't. Volantine
Day, too ! "

He laughed, sayin he'd be careful, an' we thought no moore
on it ; but Gomez keeps carryin his spite wi him, aw con see.

Everybody else is very friendly an' civil. These foreigners han
o very good manners, barrin one bad habit o' wipin their meauths
on th' table-cloth when they'n finished eightin. They're very
gentle an' quiet, olez good-temper't, an' as inquisitive as childher.
Yor business is their business. They'll meddle wi o yor consarns
iv yo let 'em ; but yo're olez welcome to do th' same wi them.

We mun be off to bed, Lijah says. It's nine o' t' clock, pitch
dark, an' we're th' only wakken folk on th' clod. Eautside there's
a steady hummin fro t' dhroves ov insects knockin abeaut, an'
theausans o' fireflees shine on every bonk. Aw seed a bunch o'
yollow buttherflees to-day, tuthri score on 'em o in a lump, lookin
just like a hondful o' daffydeawndillies. It's a grand counthry, for

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 109

sure — iv it were nobbut i' Rachda. So good neet, an' God bless
o th' folk across yon rowlin say.

March 19. — We'n getten things ship-shape i' t' facthry neaw,
an' con do wi some turnin peawer. Iv yon niggers putten so mich
moore time in o'er their bit ov a wheelrace aw'll punce 'em eaut
o' th' road an tackle th' job mysel. Eaur wage is gooin on, an' we
wanten to be doin summat for it; an' we're determin't to be runnin
afore another fortnit, or make somebry beaunce.

Th' English mail coome in at baggin-time to-neet, bringin a
hondful o' letthers an' newspappers for us.

" Why, there's a letther for thee, Squire, this time," my mate
says, howdin it eaut. " Tha mun be i' special favvour just neaw."

" What's wrong awom ? " aw said, shakin mi nob. " Th' owd
woman ud ne'er write beaut havin summat to find faurt wi, special
favvour or not. It's oather bad news or religious advice."

Aw rove it oppen an' read eaut what th' owd lass had to say
for hersel.

" my dear husband

i write this few lines hoping as times is going on all reet with
you as it leeves me at presant but i am sorry to say we have received
no munney from you and are getting very near clemmed i suppose
you will slotch hall your wages up for ale as there is noboddy in
Brazzil to look after you a bit and keep you sthraight it would seem
you better to have thought for them what is left here and try to keep
your wife out of Dernley but no doubt you are too big a felly now to
think of annything so common as your wedded wife and i can be
parish't for what you care so no more at presant from yours truely

SUSAN MARCROFT.

P.S. — hoping to receive some munney by next post and be sure to wear
the flannel chest protector i hud in your box as i am told the nights
is verry cold where you live."

Aw fot th' owd packin-case 'at sarves us for a table sich a welt
as split it fro end to side, makin a fine rattle among th' pots, an'
geet up.

"Come on, Lijah," aw splutther't, chawkin wi temper; "it
wain't tak long to sattle this job."

" Howd just a minute," he says. " Iv thy brass has gwone
wrong mine '11 be afther it. Let's see."

He looked his letthers through an' grunted, " Ah ! just so !
They'n never dhrawn a penny awom. Come on, Squire."

We went a-seechin Gomez, fund him in th' manager's office,
an' beaut ony meemawin aw said,

" Lijah an' me sattl't wi thee above three month sin' to send
some brass to Rachda. Heaw leets tha's ne'er done it ? "

He turn't o maks o' colours, like a dyead yerrin in a gutther,
an' mutther't summat abeaut havin insthructed his agent to send
th' brass forrad. But that tale were o lies, we knew.

110 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Iv yo'd insthructed yor agent at th' proper time thoose wages
ud ha bin liver't long sin'," Lijah towd him. " Here's eaur wives
an' families to be left i' want through yor carlessness ! Done yo
think we'n com'n three theausan mile to be made foos on ? Han
yo sent that brass off or not ? "

" Si, si, Senor Garside. Yes, yes, yes."

"Heaw long sin'?"

" Ago behind four weeks, my honour upon."

" Heaw leets tha didn't send it off above three month sin', as
we towd thee to do ? " aw axed him.

He'd say nowt to that, but it sthruck me o at once. " Bi
gum ! aw con see through it," aw co'd eaut, slappin mi leg. " Aw
recollect th' exchange rate were dear just abeaut then, for tha
thried to chet me bi givin twenty shillin for English sovereigns
whol they were fottin twenty-three i' th' market. Tha narrow-
backed, skennin, pawmpeckl t slag-lump ! Aw'll bet tha's bin
howdin that brass i' th' bank waitin for th' exchange to dhrop,
clemmin eaur folk awom an! gettin me a bad charicther, just to
addle tuthri dirty shillin for thi own peauch. By the lord Harry !
iv ever tha plays us sich a mank again we'll hommer bits off thee ! "
" Tha'rt reet, aw do believe ! " Lijah says ; but skennox ud say
nowt no road, so we'd to lev him, feelin surer nor ever he'd rogue
us iv he geet hawve a chance.

VI. — SQUIRE'S DIARY (continued).

April Foo Day. — There'll be a bit o' quietness for us to-day, as
it's Sunday, an' aw con tinker mi diary up a bit. It looks very
weel as far as aw've getten, written upo good carthridge papper wi
a joiners' blacklead 'at makes fine bowd sthrokes. Ink 's too dear
to use mich on — nowt less nor sixpence for a penny bottle. Lijah
says it'll be a useful record o' what we're gooin through, an' rooses
me for havin good insect into things, wi a knack o' puttin happenins
into readable shap an' tidy ordher. Aw darsay he's reet, as usal ;
but iv aw have sich things they'n com'n o' theirsel. Th' owd lad
sits o'ernenst me, writin his Sunday letther to his missis, sthrokin
his full breawn byert, wi neaw a twinkle an' neaw a weet- dhrop in
his e'en.

Aw've had mony a rook o' mates i' mi time, but ne'er one aw
liked betther nor this. He's so quiet an' stiddy, wi no beaunce
abeaut him, hardly a word to say beaut he's spokken to, an' yet wi
so mich in his yead, sich a knowledge ov his business, so tendher
an' reet minded. When young Misther Frank gav me this job he
said, " You will find Garside is a thorough master in factory work,
and altogether a man any firm might be proud to send abroad to

PaiompeckVt, freckled. Rooses, praises.

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. in

represent it." He were reet too, by gum ! Lijah's as good a
mechanic as me, very near. He could ha wrostl't o this job hissel
an' bin ready i' plenty o' time, for o there's bin so mich brokken
stuff to petch up ; an' yo may guess there's bin middlin when aw
tell yo we'd twenty brokken capbars to plate for one throstle. Aw
should ha bin fast mony a time but for his cliverness an' rezonin
way o' plannin things ; an' what aw should ha done beaut his
company i' this God-forgetten hole there's no tellin, but it's a sure
thing aw could ne'er ha carried mi wits worn again. Aw'll have a
word wi th' owd brid.

" Neaw, Lijah ! Dar we venthur on another smooke ?"

" Aw dar iv tha dar," he says, wakkenin up ; so we leeten some
worn-made cigars, smilin at one another through th' curlin blue
rings.

" What arta dhremin abeaut, owd mon ? "

" Aw've bin wishin," Lijah tells me, wi a far-seechin look on his
honsome face.

" Well, tha's brass enough to turn o'er i' thi pocket neaw ; but
there's no cuckoo to sing, noather. Turn thi stoo reaund once an'
wish again."

" Aw've bin wishin, an' studyin, an' longin. Heaw dost like
this reawm, Squire ? "

" It's reet enough. A dacent fire-range ud mend it, wi oon,
boiler, an' a gradely chimbley, astid o' just tuthri nicks to howd
pons, wi a hole i' th' wole for smooke to climb eaut at when it
isn't too idle. T' furnithur's nowt mich, to be sure — aw ne'er co
a kitchen fitted up mysel beaut there's a good dhresser in it. But
th' shop's reet enough."

Lijah looks at his watch, an' gwoes on, dhremlike,

" My childher '11 just be gettin worn fro th' Sunday schoo, aw
think, alleawin for th' variation i' time. Their mother sits bi th'
fire, wi her kettle boilin ready to make th' baggin as soon as her
little uns getten in. Her face is rayther deawnkest, for hoo's
thinkin abeaut me an' longin to clip me in her arms once again,
but hoo breetens up when t' childher bang in full o' cheerful
chatther an' joke. They sitten deawn to their baggins, settin up
my empty cheer at th' table top an' layin a cup for me, chance aw
should happen to dhrop in ; an' they talken abeaut me among
their t'other news, wishin they had me back — as God knows aw
nobbut wish they had ! Then at bedtime mi little Lucy kneels
her deawn in her white neetgeawn, axin her Fayther i' heaven to
watch o'er her poor lonely fayther lost i' Merica, an' mi wife teems
o her full heart eaut afore th' same greight Judge an' Ordherer ov
us o, prayin 'at aw may be weel guarded an' brought safe back at
last. Aw con see 'em, Squire ! Aw con see 'em ! Thoose are
th' orniments this reawm wants to set it off, an' whol we're beaut
'em it '11 ne'er be nowt to me."

112 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

His voice breighks an' aw'm busy sniffin, so we sitten tongue-
tee'd a bit an' then fo'n to writin again. Aw've some picthers
awom i' mind, too, but aw say naught abeaut 'em. Everybody
hasn't getten a born angel for a wife same as him.

We'd a stirrin day yestherday an' a lot o' visithors to look o'er
t' facthry. We'n getten a new boat into th' river, to run deawn to
Sahara an' back ; so it should be yezzier gettin to th' teawn neaw
nor havin three mile o' slutch to wade through. It's as big as a
Hollinoth styemer, an' it '11 come in hondy to bring buildin stuff
for th' new cottages. Hee time, too. Aw seed fourteen bullocks
come in yestherday wi a Iwod o' stone abeaut enough for a donkey
cart — happen abeaut a dozen lumps, a foot square. When t'
dhrivers had brought their carryvan to a stonstill, wi sheautin an'
cursin enough to shift a rigiment, up coome two bowd labourers
smookin cigarettes, bringin a hond-barrow to carry th' heavy lumps
o' rock across to th' masons. Aw could ha shifted o th' dollop at
twice, but theese hearties had moore wit — they carried th' stones
one at once, takkin up as mich time as they could do, an' it took
'em above an heaur to finish.

So mony pratty young women coome in 'at aw very near
blushed'. Aw showed 'em o reaund, explainin different things to
'em i' good English whol they chatther't Portigee, an' offer't to give
'em a twirl in th7 cotton gin, but they 'd ha noane. They were
donned up i' clen showy print frocks, wi brode-brimmed sthraw
hats an' flyin yure, an' as they coome single file up th' road — for
there's no cosy here to spread eaut on — they looked a picther.
When aw turn't a loom reaund bi hond, showin 'em heaw th'
shuttles picked across, they fair danced, clappin their honds an'
sheautin " Bo neet ! bo neet ! " myenin to say it were very nice,
iv they could nobbut ha spokken, poor things.

Aysther Monday. — We're noane started runnin yet. Yon
skilled niggers up th' broo han shapped to loise us another fortnit
wi breighkin t' waytherwheel. Iv there isn't summat done soon
aw'll gear a hondle to th' main shaft, an' Lijah an' me con turn o
th' consarn, like eaur Susan manglin her week's weshin. It's time
we did summat for a livin. Iv a Lancashire facthry owner geet
his brass cobbed away at this bat he'd use language, an' his
feet too.

We sailed deawn to Sahara o' Good Friday, findin sich stirrins
as never. O th' folk, for mony a mile reaund abeaut coome in to
yer th' church sarvices an' walk i' procession through t' slutch.
They kept it up o day o' Sethurday, hangin Judas Iscariot at neet
an' then brunnin him. It's a general haliday o through Brazil,
they say'n, an' everybody taks part i' these religious performances.
Everybody will do, aw darsay, for th' folk here are so desperate
religious 'at there's hardly ony stirrin for 'em. Every blaggard
wears a cross or a relic or summat ; an' gwoes to mass iv he has

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 113

to rob somebry next minute. Mig. Gomez sports a gowd cross
reaund his throttle ; some good it does him too, for iv there's a
wur sample nor him aw should like to see it. Big crosses are set
up i' every village, an' here an' theere bi th' roadsides ; an' theere
yo'll find mulhers an' homens (as we co'n women an' chaps)
kneelin to say their prayers, an' find as soon as they getten up 'at
they '11 chet yo some road or thry hard. Be hanged to 'em !

May 20. — We geet news this mornin o' th' Rachda Teawn Ho
fire just as we sit gettin some breakfast. Aw'd a meauth full o'
melancia, gratther't cheese, an' syrup, when Lijah sheauted eaut,

" Why, Squire ! What dost think ! Rachda Teawn Ho spire's
bin brunt deawn !"

Aw dhropped a chicken leg aw'd myent doin some business
wi, stared at him, an' axed,

" What's getten Sant George, then ?"

" He's deawn, that's o aw con tell thee. There'll be tuthri ton
o' snuff boxes cut eaut ov his ribs, aw reckon."

A " Rio News " had com'n up wi th' English mail, an' aw fund
this in it :

" The other day a planter of Itajuba, named Manoel Custodio dos
Santos (or, Manuel Custodian of the Saints), caught one of his slaves
eating a piece of sugar cane. Punishment being threatened, which was
always of the most savage description, the slave ran away, but subse-
quently returned. On presenting himself to his master he was first
knocked down, then his four front upper teeth were wrenched out with
a pair of pincers, and the four lower ones were broken off by blows
with the same instrument — and all by the hand of the master himself.
The poor slave went to the police authorities and an investigation was
made, but, as we all know, nothing will be done."

So we went back to eaur wark, feelin sure Brazil were a grand
shop to live in.

T' weather gets rayther frosty mornin an' neet, makin these
niggers an' yollow-backs dither an' rattle their teeth. A gradely
cowd wynt 'd kill 'em off like midges.

We'n bought two horses, Lijah an' me. They cost us four
peaund ten apiece, an' it'll tak two shillin a week to keep 'em, so
they're rayther a dear spec.; but we s' have a chance o' stirrin
abeaut t' counthry a bit ov a weekend neaw, beaut gettin up to
th' knees i' slutch, an' iv we getten weary o' keepin t' things we
con eight 'em or sell 'em off again.

May 28. — We'n shapped it at last ! T' waytherwheel turn't it
first summerset last Wednesday, an' we'n bin busy sin' squarin th'
gearin up an' grindin cards. On th' Friday we'd a bit ov a footin
do. T' directhors coome, bringin a lot moore folk wi 'em ; some
speeches were made, a band sthruck up, everybody sheauted
"Viva! viva!" some dinner were sarved up i' th' cookin pons,
fireworks were cracked off, an' otogether we ne'er seed sich times
among these broos.

i

114 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Yestherday bein good Sunday we sattl't to thry th' horses, an'
practise ridin a bit. We'd bin itchin a good while to slip o'er to a
place co'd Morro Velho, yerin there were some Englishmen at a
gowd mine theere, so we made up to have a shot at it. Lijah went
sperrin th' road eaut fro Gomez, an' th' owd foo towd him,

" Southward you shall depart until appears a mule track the
moors upon, where you shall divide west to follow across before,
turning north when catch from Sahara you to the mine the broad
path."

"Ger off!" aw said when mi mate coome back reckonin he
could find his road bi sich a guide book as that. " Aw'm noane
venthurin at that bat, wi neet fo'in as sudden as it does here. Iv
we once getten lost we s' be wandherin back to Rachda or some-
wheere, an' it's my belief Mig. 'd sooner loise us nor not."

Aw rooted eaut a Portigee 'at knew tuthri words ov English,
an' sperred off him. Afther a dyel o' jabber to no good aw gav
him mi joiners' lead an' a sheet o' papper to dhraw me a map.

" Muito bo, amigo," aw towd him afther he'd done, for aw like
to cackle Portigee a bit on a Sethurday afthernoon. " Very good
for a lamer. We con knock th' road neaw, an' aw'll speighk for
th' yead designer's shop for thee."

So off we set when dayleet sarved us o' Sunday mornin, soon
afther six o' t' clock, ridin through as lonely a bit o' counthry as
could weel be fund. Th' undherbrush were deein deawn neaw for
t' winther, so we could see abeaut us a bit. Fro one hill-top we
geet quite a view o reaund, lookin o'er a collection o' Brimrod
Hills poppin their yeads up i' every direction, thick set wi cedhar,
pereiba, jaracanda, palms, scrubbin brush, an' a taugh creepin
plant co'd embey, used a dyel for bridles, whips, . an' sichlike, but
a long way off bein up to clewkin. It's a nice ride across thoose
moors for onybody fond o' walkin on a knife-edge, or balancin on
a potshelf; becose yo'n olez th' satisfaction o' knowin 'at iv yo
missen a foot there's a clen dhrop o' tuthri score yard deawn th'
cliff edge, wi plenty o' jagged points stickin up ready at th'
bottom. It's best bi dayleet, happen ; for my taste, as heaw.

In a while we coome into th' main road followin afther afore
behinnd Sabara, as that foo ov a Gomez said, an' slap th' horses
went up to their shooldhers in a slutch hole, daubin us theegh-deep.

" We'd some sense makin so mich labbour oilin eaur shoon
this mornin," aw said. "We cawn't get ony wur neaw; let's throt
a bit."

Yezzy enough to say, but heaw would yo shap it wi a foreign
horse, too thick-skinned for whip or spur, an' born wi a idle gift ?
Aw tinker't at mine for awhile beaut stirrin it above a slow walk,
whol aw geet mad an' fot it a good welt on th' earhole. That
shifted t' thing. It yead went deawn, it heels coome up, an' off
aw went shuttherin into a weet leetin shop.

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 115

"Shall aw do neaw dost think?" aw axed th' horse, pikin misel
up an' turnin to show it heaw cliverly it'd slat me o reaund. "Iv
tha'rt thinkin o' rowlin me o'er again, walkin o'er me, or owt o'
that, just mention it."

Th' horse said nowt, not undherstondin English, so we went
on again, Lijah doin nowt but laugh. In a bit t' clay dhried hard
on mi clooas, an' aw geet a good idea how bein hawve-baked feels ;
but o that were nowt when we londed i' th' minin village an' yerd
a deep sthrong voice co eaut,

" Welcome, amigos ! Descendibus and partake of some
progibus."

" God bless thi pratty face !" aw co'd eaut to th' talker, a brode
six-foot wi black byert enough for two. "Tha's a tongue like
silver, an' talks th' best English ever aw yerd."

"Why, you are a Lancashire lad!" t' sthranger said, quaverin
a bit like in his lusty throttle. " You never happened to hear of a
place called Bradley Fold, did you ?"

"Not us!" aw said. "We ne'er happen't to be born just
t'other side Ashoth Moor, nor get baptised i' th' Roch, nor ston
upo' Knowe Hill gawpin, noather; yo may tell that bi mi
Cockney twang."

" Here, come in !" th' giant sheauted, rivin Lijah off his horse.
" Lothario, you black rascal, take these tits to the stable. Come
in ! Come in, boys ! My wife's a Heywood woman."

" Howd on !" aw said. " Aw'm noane fit for ladies to look at.
Heaw mun aw get this dirt off?"

He laughed. "What have you been trying to do?"

"Just samplin t' slutch-depth," aw said. "Aw'm thinkin o
patentin a new road scraper."

He towd me to bother noane, so we went forrad, slutch an' o,
into a womly little heause, most like one fro th' owd counthry ov
owt we'd sin yet ; th' chap's wife an' two childher sittin theere
comely an' clen, wi some dacent furnithur abeaut 'em — even to a
mahogany dhresser. Theere we sit for three mortal heaurs beaut
thinkin o' shiftin, an' theere we could ha weel liked to sit whol
neaw, hutchin wi envy to see folk so happy together, divin into a
gradely English meal once again, talkin, laughin, whimperin o at
once. It nearly made up for o we'd gwone through to meet wi
sich a welcome, an' see that Yeawood woman's breet e'en twinkle
or groo dim as we chatther't on. Aw coome eaut wi a lot o' wild
talk, just to keep things gooin, for aw knew Lijah wouldn't say
mich. Poor chap ! He sit lookin fro th' missis to her childher
playin 'em quietly in a nook, an' his big heart were full. Bi good
luck aw kept th' folk so busy 'at noather on 'em thought to speighk
to him whol he'd getten howd ov hissel again; iv they had
done he'd ha brasted eaut cryin, an' that olez makes a chap
look soft.

Il6 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Eaur new friend turn't eaut to be a civil engineer, one o' th'
yead gaffers o'er th' mine ; an' he'd ha bin fain to show us reaund
iv time had sarved. We'd to promise to goo again afore long, an'
towd him we should want little pressin to co an' stop otogether.
Afore we left some moore friends showed theirsel — t' docthor,
cashier, timekeeper, an' th' captain, yead mon o'er o th' dollop.

Yo may judge heaw minutes slipped away among that lot, an'
heaw lonesome we felt thrailin back among th' slutch toard Mazy-
teawn lockups. They o thought moore abeaut Lijah nor they did
abeaut me, as usal. Th' engineer axed me what made him so
quiet, an' aw whisper't back,

"Ax yorsel heaw yo'd feel comin here afther bein six month
away fro yor wife an' childher, wi no prospect o' seein 'em for
eighteen month moore. He's three babbies awom i; Rachda, an'
as good a wife as e'er a chap were blessed wi. Con yo see neaw?"

He blinked an' nodded. " Poor fellow ! He looks kindly and
capable. What a fine massive head he has ! "

" Yo'n fund him eaut," aw said. " He's o that an' a bit beside."

So th' engineer passed it reaund quietly, an' they were o as
good to Lijah as iv he'd belonged o th' gowd mine hissel. When
we'd climb't up th' horses ready for startin back, t' fayther brought
his young uns eaut an' hove 'em up to kiss us. That bit touched
me rayther, though th' sentimental business is nowt i' my road ; as
for Lijah, he welly rowl't off his galloway.

We londed back bi th' edge o' dark, seein nowt but a wild
animal or two on th' road. Aw'd a shot at a big eaunce wi mi
garusha, but nobbut hit a limestone rock. Th' eaunce (moore like
a forty peaund) is a sort o' tiger-bred thing, an' a garusha's a pistil.
Done yo see ?

VII. — SQUIRE'S DIARY (CONTINUED).

July 30. — Aw wish we were weel eaut o' this hole ! My time
'11 be up at Kesmas, as aw nobbut coome eaut for a twelvemonth,
so aw con happen shap to live whol then upo' some tack ; but
what Lijah's beaun to do when aw'm gwone licks me otogether.
Aw'll hawk yerrin afore aw'll lev mi native clod again.

We'n getten a heause ov eaur own neaw, an' for th' last fortnit
we'n bin moo'd eaut wi friends comin a warmin it. We're at th'
end ov a long row, an' as there's no tierin we con yer o 'at gwoes on
i' every heause, an' sheaut ov a neighbour beaut levin th' hobend.
There's olez guitars tinkle, tinkle, seaundin somewheere abeaut.
They're yezzy to play, as it matthers nowt abeaut ony tune, an'
just shuit these shiftless imps. As long as a Portigee con sit
tinklin he's reel; but set him to some dhree wark an' he'll soon
lap a cleaut reaund his yead an' be ill. A gang o' folk '11 come a
serenadin us tuthri neets a week, gam to stop up yeawlin whol two

T'OTHER SIDE Rto. ti7

o't' clock, an' sup up o there is. Aw'll give 'em a lesson i' singin
some o' these neets, iv aw con just think at it, an' that'll end their
foolishness.

Aw've getten on very weel wi these folk, tak 'em otogether.
They're like groon-up childher, an' wanten humourin a bit, but
they're as polite an' weel-manner't as lords an' ladies, an' seldom
eaut o' temper. Banjo tinklin's nowt i' my line, so aw've thried to
teighch some o' th' chaps a gam or two to pass time on ; but it's
no go, they're o too idle to stir theirsel. Aw've getten one or two
agate o' domino playin, an' thried hard to dhrill all fours into their
thick yeads, but they're too short o' gumption. They'n no gams
o' their own woth owt. Some on 'em '11 sit i' couples hawve a
day doin a performance summat like "Simon says thumbs up;"
one flirtin his hond up an' deawn whol t'other guesses heaw mony
fingers he's shown. One thing they con teighch me to some tune
— chetin. Aw're used to think mysel middlin sharp at takkin rises
eaut o' folk, but bless yor sowl ! these ham-an'-egg colour't gawm-
less lookin beggars could steighl mi back-teeth eaut o' mi yead iv
they took a fancy to do it. Lyin comes nathural to 'em, an' it's fair
touchin to see heaw innicent they'll walk off wi a bit o' sombry
else's property.

We rode o'er to Sabara last Sunday, to th' post office. We'd
getten suspicious 'at somebry oppen't eaur letthers when we wrote
worn, readin 'em o'er an' nobbut sendin forrad what they'd a mind,
so we'd thought o' postin some eaursel that day, to make sure.
Heawever, we were done at th' finish, for their post office is nobbut
oppen so mony heaurs a day, an' we fund it locked up. We
looked in at th' main store, or venda, where everything's sowd fro
dhried shrimps at twenty reis (a whol hawpny) apiece to native
topaz at ony price they con persuade folk to give, an' fund a
cheerful gang o' chaps theere chattherin an' suppin cidher wi a
dash o' brandy in it.

They'd a bit ov a joke on, we fund eaut. A young Cornwall
chap had bin livin i' th' neighbourhood tuthri year, an' seein his
road to sattlin he'd sent brass o'er to bring his sweetheart fro
Englan to wed him. T' lass had sail't off o reet, but on shipboard
hoo fell i' love wi another mon, an' wed him as soon as they
londed at Rio ; so when number one turn't up to fot her there
were some sport. Number two made things reet bi payin t'other
mon th' passage brass he'd advanced, an' it's to be hoped he'll find
his wife woth what hoo's cost him ; though aw've some smattherins
o deaubt whether aw should ha loased her eaut o' pop mysel.

In a bit a chap coome up axin iv we weren't fro Mazyteawn, so
we towd him he'd guessed reet.

"Why have you never answered my letters?" he axed us next;
an' that made us stare at him a bit.

" Letthers !" Lijah says. " What letthers ?"

Il8 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" You have not received them I expect," th' chap said. " I
thought as much. My name is Mitchell. I am a director of a
large mill between this and Rio, and I have written twice to see
if we could make terms with you when your present contract
expires."

" We'n ne'er yerd a word abeaut it," Lijah said. " T' letthers
mun ha getten lost i'th' slutch."

" Lost be hanged ! " aw co'd eaut. " It's owd Mig. again,
aw'll bet thee a milreis to a penny dobber. He's getten 'em ! "

" Iv he has — " Lijah multher't, settin his teeth an' doublin his
neighve. " Aw've bin jealous on him a good bit, maisther ; but
he's thryin his gam on wi th' wrong chaps."

" The trick is common enough here," Mitchell said. " The
directors will be afraid of any other company tempting you away
before your time is up. I should have come up to see you before
long if we had not met. One of you finishes about Christmas, I
believe ? "

" That's me," aw said.

" Come and start under me, then. I can give you a better
place and more pay than you are getting now."

" Iv yo'd gie me a gowd mine aw'd stop noane. Not me ! "

He thried hard to persuade me to awther mi mind, but he met
as weel ha whistl't. Then he'd a do at Lijah, wastin his time
again. Brass or no brass we were noane stoppin i' that leausy
lond five minutes longer nor we were forced.

" Nowe, Mitchell ! " aw said, " it'll do noane, so save thi wynt.
There's noane hawve enoo bakin days here for folk 'at's bin rear't
upo' Sam Fiddle cakebread. Aw've etten so mich pork latly 'at
gruntin comes nathural to me neaw, an' iv aw venthur't to stop
longer aw should be doin some cross-cut Darwinism, an' turnin
into a four-legged un, or summat o' that mak. It'll do noane ! "

He laughed at that, an' gav o'er botherin us ; so in a bit we
wandher't o'er to th' post office again, findin it oppen this time,
geet t' letthers safe 'liver't, an' bowted back up-broo to Mazyteawn,
seein nowt but tuthri antelopes an' snakes on th' road.

August 12. — We'd another mill footin yestherday, a gradely
do this time. Th' owd vicar coome fro Sahara, o t' breawn
directhors coome wi creawds o' folk beside, an' they'd a rare flare
up. Hee mass were gwone through for abeaut an heaur an' a
hawve first thing i' t' mornin, a lot o' fireworks an' bombs were
sent up, th' chen were takken off th' brass band, an' tuthri yollow
skins made speeches. Then they o gether't in a long procession,
wi crosses, leeted candles, holy wayther, incense, an' t'other
general tackle, an' set off for a walk. First they thrail't up to
th' waytherwheel, sprinklin it o'er wi a weet brush ; next they
slurred deawn to t' facthry, baptisin that; then they marched
through every alley, slattin o th' machinery.

T OTHER SIDE RIO. lip

Lijah an' me stood hutched up in a nook, watchin their tom-
foolery an' thinkin there'd ha to be some rubbin wi grasy waste in
a bit, or else middlin o' reausty metal.

" Th' frames should run neaw," Lijah says, very dhry. " Iv
this wain't make 'em weighve an' spin it's a poor look eaut."

" Goo an' poo thi lubricathors off," aw said. " There'll be no
moore oilin wanted aw sh' think. Tha may as weel hang thysel
on th' shaftin whol tha'rt agate. Tha'll ne'er be needed no
moore."

We'd a grand banquet afther t' procession broke up, an' made
a neet on't, wi sich yeawlin o' vivas as met ha freeten't a whol
army o' torn cats. We geet no sleep, for th' excitable beggars
were preawlin abeaut o neet, makin as mich din as they could ;
their lanthrons shinin through th' dark as they waded abeaut up
to their knees i' slutch.

This mornin everybody went confessin to th' owd vicar, keepin
him hard at wark whol noon. Chaps an' women kneel't abeaut
for heaurs, waitin their turns to get into th' manager's front reawm,
where th' confession coome off. Gomez coome o'er an' went in
soon on, gettin through i' tuthri minutes as he'd ne'er done mich
o' nowt wrong ; an' his wife followed him, lookin very red abeaut
th' e'en, as iv hoo'd bin cryin o neet. Toard baggin time th' owd
parson co'd to see us, axin in a jokin way heaw it were we'd missed
confessin, an' makin hissel very friendly wi us. He's a nice owd
chap, but he con talk two roads aw've noticed. He's reet enough
wi us, thryin noane ov his blarney ; but he comes deawn heavy
on some o' these miserable niggers an' Indians, freetenin 'em wi
brag abeaut fottin th' slate off an' nobry knows what.

It's bin very cowd neet an' mornin for tuthri week, but we s'
warm up again as winther comes nar. God bless Queen Victoria,
an' abeaut a score moore English folk aw've bin used to livin wi.
Lijah says " Hear, hear ! "

September 27. — Fireflees are comin back i' bunches neaw,
shinin like a congregation o' tollow candles howdin a camp meetin.
We'n sin nowt on 'em whol th' cowd summer weather's bin on.
T' facthry's buzzin away neaw. O th' frames are runnin, an' cotton
keeps comin as fast as we con use it. Most on it's brought o' mule
back, but a bale or two turns up in a bullock cart neaw an' again
poo'd bi eight or ten spon o' cattle. We're turnin some good
cloth eaut, a dyel betther nor samples we'n sin fro t'other mills
reaund abeaut, plenty good enough to ston it corner i' owd Englan.
A new spinner started last week. He rode up on a horse wi a
black sarvant followin him ; i' rayther different style to th' spindle-
twirlers at Mitchell Hey or th' Hangin Road. Even th' scutcher
felley's abeaut on horseback, an' there's a yollow-skin tentin th'
sizin frame as big a dandy as ever crawl't. Lijah's havin most ov

120 WORKS OF JOHN' TRAFFORD CLEGG.

his bonds to teighch, an they're o on 'em in a desperate hurry to
larn, as onybody met expect fro sich pushin craythers. Some ov
his weighvers con manage one loom neaw, an' th' new spinner
reckons he con tent a whol side ov a throstle hissel. They could
ony on 'em addle hawve-a-creawn a week i' Rachda.

Greight storm yestherday. Hailstones as big as marbles coome
through t' facthry slates, an' thunner rowl't fit to shake th' hills
deawn. There'd be some moore solid stuff to walk on iv that
happen't. Eh ! aw wish we were awom.

October 5th. — Aw were walkin past Gomez heause bi chance
last neet an' yerd his wife scremin murdher, so beaut ony moore
ado aw pept in to see what were up. Mig. were runnin her reaund
wi a mule whip, fottin her a nasty slash or two afore aw could stop
him. Aw laid howd on him bi th' neck, howdin him whol his
tanthrum were o'er, givin th' poor woman time to slip eaut. He
wriggl't, scrat, swore, an' splutther't ; but aw had him, an' aw kept
him whol he'd done.

"Again you!" he snarl't when aw leased him. "How near
my house do you? What message sent after my wife before?
That your contract completes himself it is soon well."

"Owt else?" aw said, leeting a cigarette; but as he'd finished
he marched off i' th' sulks. Iv aw catch him 'busin his wife again
he'll get weel cleauted, gaffer or not.

Two month moore an' aw'll be eaut o' this hole. Mi papper's
o used up, so aw'll give o'er diary writin. There's nowt mich to
put deawn neaw. One day's like another, an' o 's runnin as sweet
as hairoil.

Moore letthers fro worn. They're gettin th' brass reel enough
neaw it seems. Not a word fro my owd woman, so everything
mun be smooth. Hoo'll gi me a warm welcome back — too warm,
happen — but wot or cowd there's no shop like Rachda. Iv aw con
nobbut smell yon gasworks just once again — Husht ! Howd on !

So th' diary's finished at last. Very weel it looks, too, an' th
writin shows up some bowdly ; for aw write a useful box-label
hond, good enough for blint e'en to read. One o' th' lasses has
plaited me a honsome back for th' book wi long grase an' fleawer
stalks, so that just sets mi wark off. When aw get worn an' hond
th' book o'er to th' owd wench hoo'll squint at it, curl her nose,
an' say,

" Ah ! it's just like thee ! Olez wastin thi time o'er some mak
o' babbywark ! Aw wish tha'd larn to hang thi cap up sometime,
astid o' levin it lyin abeaut on t' dhresser this road, upsettin every-
thing i'th' heause!"

Bless her owd heart ! Hoo's fond on me afther o, an' me ov her.

What saysta, Lijah ? Welly ten o' t' clock ? Never, surelee !
Comin, owd brid, comin ! Keep thi yure on.

T OTHER SIDE RIO. 121

VIII. — THROUBLE FOR LIJAH.

Eighteen hundherd an' eighty-three geet toard it end, olez
grooin warmer as it went on. O were runnin smooth an' reglar i'
t' facthry, wark were yezzy, pay good, an' yet aw kept gettin moore
an' moore miserable every week. Aw dursen't look forrad to
another long dhree year i' that place. It 'd ha to be done, aw
knew, an' aw should be forced to tackle it bi misel, but aw couldn't
bide to think o'er th' job. To be sure everybody were very friendly
wi us, an' as far as their leets went did their best to make us com-
fortable ; for o that we fund Portigees an' hawve-breeds poor
company for thinkin chaps.

For one thing it were a good job Squire's time were nearly up.
There'd olez bin bad blood between him an' Gomez, an' it mended
noane as time went on. My mate couldn't howd fro plaguin t'
little Portigee whenever he geet a chance, an' chances were plenti-
ful ; so t' directhor were olez snappin an' snarlin, Squire nobbut
laughin at him.

November were fast gooin when we made it up to ride o'er to
th' gowd mine again, for Squire to tak lev ov o th' good friends
we had theere.

" For tha knows, Lijah, that's th' only Christian shop we'n let
on," he said. " Tha mun slip o'er middlin oft when aw'm gwone,
or thi brains '11 goo wrong."

So we started on a fine Sunday mornin, spent a happy day wi
th' engineer an' his wife, lookin reaund th' workins, crommed wi
tunnels an' waytherwheels, hearkenin th' captain 'liver a first rate
sarmon at th' little church, wondherin to find what labbour an'
patience were needed to sort an' gether th' gowd when they'd fund
it ; forced to envy thoose fine cliver fellahs a bit, sattl't theere so
comfortable wi their wives an' childher reaund 'em. Th' engineer's
little uns took to me rarely, followin me abeaut everywheere wi
their pratty babby-talk ; never dhremin heaw sore they made mi
heart whol aw chatther't an' laughed back. Ah, well !

It's a bonny little valley that village lies in, shut up snug o
reaund bi greight broos. Morro Velho myens " Th' Owd Hill "
— that is, th' hill where gowd were first delved for, scores o' years
back. Mine workins are scatther't up an' deawn th' slopes, huts
an' shanties are dotted abeaut, wi a casa grande or big heause for
th' captain, an' less heauses for t'other yead men. A busy, pratty
little shop, very, though they say'n th' gowd's gettin used up. We
went deawn th' mine, an' fund it a reawmy comfortable tunnel
enough, propped up bi sich a rook o' pows an' planks as nobry
could believe beaut seein. Joiners han summat to do theere,
that's plain.

That visit were soon o'er wi — too soon, a weary dyel — an' we
were back among th' cotton. So another three week went beaut

122 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

owt happenin, an' th' day coome near for Squire to lev me. O his
plans were laid, his boxes packed, mules ordher't, horse sowd,
friends takken bi th' hond ; another neet an' that cheerful com-
panion, that thrusty mate, ud be gwone.

Aw sit i' th' heause, feelin very deawnkest, when Squire ran in
wi a letther in his hond.

" Here, owd mon ! " he says. " This is physic to breeten that
face o' thine. It's just com'n up fro th' post. Catch howd, an'
aw'll goo an' slat a partin tear o'er yon musthart-colour't manager
afore aw lev him."

Off he went. Aw ripped t' letther open, to find it coome fro
mi wife wi bad news. Th' second chilt were deawn wi croup, hoo
said, an' t' docthor gav her little hope. " Dear Lijah, do come
back ! do come back ! " t' letther finished up. Poor thing ! Hoo
forgeet her news ud be a month owd when aw geet it, an' 'at there
were no gettin worn i' less nor another month, do as aw would.
An' so for owt aw knew or could know mi little lass met be dyead
that very minute — ah, an' buried beside ; an' as for ony help aw
could give her or mi wife aw met as weel ha bin dyead misel.

Neaw, what use were it for me to scrat brass together for
t' good o' mi childher, iv aw were to loise 'em that road ? Mi
little bonny Lucy ! Mi dear, dear, darlin chilt, left nobbut tuthri
month sin' wi a smile an' a kiss ; lost neaw for ever. Heaw could
mi wife live through it ? What greedy, graspin, devilish sperrit
had sent me o'er th' say, when mi reet place should ha bin awom
to watch an' comfort thoose aw loved so thrue, so deep, so far
aboon misel ? Mi chilt were dyead — aw felt sure hoo were dyead
— summat towd me this were a punishment for levin o aw loved
helpless bi theirsel, to risk mi life an' waste mi time scrapin up
bits o' dirty gowd. God help o awom ! Aw could do nowt nobbut
fret misel, stick to mi wark, an' howd up like a mon.

Squire coome back in a while to find mi yead deawn on th'
table an' wot tears runnin. He wapped in wi some mak o' jokin
talk ready on his tongue, but put it by beaut usin for once, sit
him deawn on th' kist beside me an' said very soft, " What's to
do, owd mon ? Iv tha'rt frettin so mich at loisin me aw'll stop
t'other year eaut."

Aw put t' letther in his hond, an' he read it twice through in a
whisper.

" Nay ! " he said dhirectly, puttin his arm o'er mi shooldher,
an' gripin mi hond tight wi his ; " that con ne'er be so ! God's
noane beaun to punish thee that road ; aw know betther. Iv it'd
bin me, or ony sich earless good-for-nowt, one met have undher-
stood it. Thee keep thi heart up, an' see iv there isn't another
letther next week wi betther news. Aw'll put off gooin — aw cawn't
lev thee this road."

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 123

" Yigh, tha mun goo," aw said. " Tha's o ready an' yor folk '11
be expectin thee. It's nobbut settin mi teeth an' howdin mi
patience tuthri month longer, hopin there'll be no moore on 'em
deein afore we con meet. As for Lucy, aw've gien her up. Hoo'll
pray for me no moore."

" Lijah, we'n bin good mates, hannot we ? " Squire went on,
squeezin mi hond like a vice. " Keep thi heart up, lad, an' it'll
o come reet tha'll see. Tha knows aw love thee, but whether aw
did or not aw couldn't turn mi back on a Rachda chap left i' this
pickle. It wouldn't be jannock. Aw cawn't manage thy wark, or
aw'd stop an' tha should goo ; but iv aw lev thee just neaw aw'll
be brokken up for scrap iron. So neaw tha knows."

He stuck to his text, spite ov owt aw could think on to per-
suade him, an' stopped another fortnit, ridin o'er to Sahara three
times to see iv t' letther had com'n. Nowt coome. O that weary
while aw'd to suffer i' ignorance, an' yet aw felt sure mi wife mut
ha written. Aw began wondherin iv Gomez had bin at his thricks
again ; so next time he coome into th' mill aw said to him,

" Han yo sin owt ov a letther for me ? Aw've bin expectin
one o week."

" No, no, Mister Lijah ; no, no, no. A lettare is not."

" Are yo sure ? " aw axed again. " A matther o' life or dyeath
hangs on it. Iv there's a letther com'n for God's sake dunnot
howd it back ! Aw'll tarry mi time eaut iv aw live ; yo'n no need
to be freeten't."

He chang't colour as aw looked hard at him, but stuck to it
yet there were noane, so aw were forced to tak his word.

Next day were Sunday, an' we set off to th' post-office i' good
time, Squire thryin hard to cheer me up as we went. Th' owd
postmaisther were in for a wondher, an' aw axed him wi a chawkin
throat iv he'd owt for me. Oh, ah ! he towd us, earless an' offhond,
he'd had a letther two days, but as it were o'erweight couldn't 'liver
it whol we paid him four hundherd reis (tenpence).

Aw ripped t' letther eaut ov his honds an' rove it oppen.
Squire cobbed a shillin deawn, swearin at th' fellah for his stupid
ways, an' tellin him he'd wring his neck iv ever owt o' th' sort
happen't again.

Good news this time ! Lucy mendin nicely, an' weel enough
to send her love to her fayther. Mi e'en swam ; aw rowl't o'er
again Squire.

" Yeads up, sodiers ! " he sheauted, howdin me fast. " Things
are lookin betther aw see. Steady, owd breek ! Aw towd thee,
didn't aw ! Dal thee an' thi tenpence, tha musthart blossom !
We'd ha gien ten peaund for this."

There were no howdin Squire afther sich good news. He poo'd
me into th' store an' stood two bottles ov English ale 'at cost him
five shillin, an' were noane so exthra good afther o, th' vowage

124 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

havin spoil't 'em a bit, sheautin, dancin, an' knockin niggers abeaut
like a crazy un. Aw were busy talkin to a chap fro Rio when sich
a clamour were yeard eautside as nobry could believe, an' we
looked eaut to find Squire at th' bottom on it. He'd two niggers,
one i' ayther hond, an' he were jowin their yeads together, puncin
'em, an' roarin wi laugh in ; abeaut forty natives skrikin o reaund,
but keepin a good arm's length eaut ov his reighch. Aw co'd on
him, so he coome up, wipin his sweatin face an' tellin us he'd bin
thryin to teighch 'em foot an' horseshoe, but they were too idle to
larn.

Aw felt middlin excited mysel, yo may be sure ; but as it's my
road to show no moore nor aw'm forced o' what's stirrin mi mind,
excitement olez helps to keep me quiet. Iv aw made no fuss aw
were noane wantin i' thankful feelins, an' aw didn't forget to kneel
deawn that neet to lay mi thoughts afore Him 'at 'd kept me safe
so long i' that wild counthry, an' myent yet, as aw hoped, to carry
me safe back to mi pined-for worn.

Well, there were nowt to keep Squire neaw, so in a day or two
he bowted toard Rio, everybody obbut Gomez feelin sorry to loise
him ; an' neaw aw'd twelve lonesome month to face like a mon.
Some on yo may happen think me moore woman nor mon, wi o th'
cryin an' frettin aw've owned to, but ne'er mind ! Aw hope noane
on yo'll ever be thried same as aw were.

Aw took to ridin abeaut at every chance, neaw, givin mi friends
no oppenin to charge me wi neglectin 'em. Every Sunday seed
me off one road or another ; every saint-day (an' there's a rare lot
theere, everyone on 'em holidays) were filled up th' same road ; so
afore long aw geet a good knowledge o' t' counthry, an' rode abeaut
as independent as a native.

Mitchell coome up one Sunday to thry me again wi offers ov a
good shop undher him, tellin me he'd stopped Squire on his road
worn but missed keepin him.

" Yo'll miss me, too," aw said. " Worn aw mun goo as soon
as ever mi time's up, an' iv aw come eaut ony moore mi family
mun come too."

Well, that'd shuit him weel enough, he said, an' promised to
see me again toard th' year end, when aw'd had time to turn it
o'er. He did see me on mi road deawn, but met as weel ha
whistl't as thried to hindher me.

Mi favouryte visitin shops were Sabara an' Morro Velho. At
th' first there were olez a bit o' news stirrin, an' mostly a fresh face
or two to see ; at t'other aw ne'er missed gettin a gradely English
welcome, an' comfort for mi wartchin heart.

Sahara's a curious shop, rayther. It stons on th' Velhas river,
an' that joins th' San Francisco, a bit ov a brook as near two
theausan mile long as makes no matther. A fine meauntain co'd

T'OTHER SIDE RIO. 125

th' Sierra da Piedada stons behinnd th' teawn, settin it off rarely,
an' there's plenty moore broos abeaut ov a rayther less breed.
They were expectin gettin t' railroad oppen't through to Rio that
year, so it'll be yezzy enough neaw to slip up theere fro th' say.
Tuthri generation moore an' there'll be plenty o' pushin English-
men upo' that clod, wakkenin th' sleepy Portigees up, an' makin
some use o' th' rich soil 'at's laid idle so long.

Once, folk say'n, Sahara had fifty theausan humans in it, o
busy seechin gowd ; an' there's some ancient ruins, brokken-deawn
huts, an' tunnels plain to be sin yet where th' owd mines were
oppen't eaut. Iv there's three theausan folk theere neaw it'll be as
mich, an' yo may rake o th' dirt wi a smo-tooth comm beaut findin
gowd enough to gild a pin-yead. There's some very grand stone
carvin on th' Catholic church theere, done bi a chap beaut arms —
or wi nowt but shooldhers an' elbows, shuzheaw. He were quite a
noted characther i' Minas province, an' there's plenty ov his rare
chisellin up an' deawn. He used to get a mallet an' chisel
sthrapped onto th' stumps ov his arms, an' then he were reet.
They don't gild their choice stone-cuttin theere, same as aw've sin
done in a teawn aw lived in once.

Aw fund mi road to th' greight St. John gowd mine one
Sunday, findin some moore Englishmen i' charge, an' gettin as
warm a welcome as nion could have. Another day aw geet to
Cuiba, havin th' river to cross abeaut a dozen times to shap it.
That's another minin village, o' th' same stamp as o on 'em.

So we crawl't reaund th' corner o' Kesmas, as wot a day as we'd
felt at ony part o' th' year, havin no disturbance fro carol singers,
left th' owd year behinnd us an' geet weel into th' yollow fayver
time. That year th' complaint were very bad at Rio whol toard
th' end ov April, an' though we'd nowt mich to be freeten't on up
i' th' hills there were summat flyin abeaut i' th' air different to
common. Aw fund mysel gettin heavy an' sleepified, wark feelin
sich a throuble 'at aw could hardly bring mi mind to it. Mi
appetite went, too, for th' first time sin levin England ; but aw'd a
dhruft on me for a day or two 'at nowt could sleek. One neet mi
pulse set off full gallop, bangin away like a engine piston wi th'
governors brokken, mi skin were brunt dhry an' wot, mi e'en badly
bloodshot, an' aw rowl't groanin o neet beaut a wink o' sleep.
Aw'd plenty o' nurses next mornin, Gomez wife particlar doin
what hoo could to yez me, but heaw aw missed mi own wife an'
kin con never be towd. Afore so long aw went off mi yead
otogether, ravin abeaut Alice an' mi little Lucy, an' frettin o'er
bein foo enough to lev 'em. Noane on 'em abeaut me thought
aw could poo through again. T' docthor wagged his grey yead,
sniffed at his smellin bottle, an' gav me up ; th' owd vicar were
sent for fro Sahara to pray o'er me; everything were ready for

126 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

sidin me off, an' yet, some road or another, aw wouldn't dee.
When th' fire were gwone fro mi blood an' mi candle should ha
gwone eaut through wakeness it would keep on brunnin ; an'
afther o t' throuble aw'd gien folk aw ne'er dee'd at th' finish.

IX. — ENGLAN, SQUIRE, AN' BEAUTY.

Aw fund mysel again at last, flat i' bed, wondherin where aw'd
bin an' whether aw were Lijah or somebody else. That could
ne'er be Lijah's arm, surelee — that thin, white object, no bigger
nor a pickin-rod hardly ; but it felt heavy, too, thin or thick, an'
took some heighvin up. What face were that — sthrong, monly,
breawnish-red, whisker-fringed — lookin deawn on th' poor sickly
figure sthretched on th' bed ? Where had aw sin it afore ?

"Why !" aw said, in a faint whisper, o th' bit o' voice aw could
find ; " why ! tha'rt Billy Greenhalgh fro Marian."

"Praise the Lord!" Greenhalgh sung eaut, rubbin his e'en.
" He's getten his wits back, aw do believe ! Lijah, owd mon, heaw
arta feelin ?"

"Nay ! aw con feel mich o' nowt. This is noane o' me, is it?
What's bin to do ?"

" Tha's bin off on a bit ov a thrip — noane a chep un, noather.
Well ! it's a leetenin to yer thee talkin sense again, owd brid.
Tha's bin nobbut wildish this day or so. Aw were ill freeten't we'd
sin t' last on thee, but tha'rt for chetin th' saxton, aw con see."

" Aw'm some fain tha'rt here, Billy. It's a greight comfort to
have one o' mi own breed on th' spot at a time like this. Hasta
bin here long?"

"Above a week. Aw coome expectin to find Squire wi thee,
but he's off it seems. Tha were nobbut just wick then, an' brunt
up wi fayver, so aw were like to see th' job through."

" An' neaw aw've disappointed thee at th' finish."

" Some ill !" th' Marlanite says, his e'en twinklin. " Aw myent
seein th' sods laid on thi yead. Gomez geet a grave delved eaut
ready for thee, an' between thee and me it's my opinion tha'd ha
bin at th' bottom on it neaw iv aw hadn't happen't to come. Tha
lee nearly hawve a day like a dyead un, an' tha knows heaw earless
these imps are. They'd ha buried thee that neet iv aw'd letten
'em."

" Aw've moore to thank thee for nor aw thought on then. Aw
hope nobry's sent word to mi wife. Iv hoo gets to know hoo'll
goo crazy, poor thing !"

"Oh nowe, there's bin nowt said. Aw did think o' writin
once, but it's no use freetenin th' women, tha knows. There's a
letther fro thi missis bin waitin a day or two."

He fot it in, howdin th' papper up to mi e'en, as mi own shakin
honds were no use, an' aw read it o through, feelin it were betther

T OTHER SIDE RIO. 127

nor physic. 0 were smooth an' sthraight awom. Lucy were weel
again, mi wages had bin sent reglar as they fell due, mi wife hersel
had good health, an' looked forrad wi patience to th' end o' mi
thravels, Squire had londed back, stuffin 'em up wi o maks o' fine
tales abeaut t' counthry an' th' pleasur o' livin in it — tellin ony lie
he thought on to yez their minds, aw could see ; mi owdest lad
had takken a prize at th' science class, an' it nobbut wanted me
awom to make 'em o happy. Awom ! Ah ! aw'd bin nar worn nor
mi dear lass knew on.

There were a general rush in to see me when news flew reaund
'at aw'd getten like mysel again. T' facthry stopped for hawve
an' heaur or so, an' everybody i' th' neighbourhood coome havin a
peep. There'd bin some sport whol aw'd bin laid up, seeminly.
Th' manager towd me three chaps had bin practisin cardin, getten
their fingers catched one afther another, an' turn't th' job up
disgusted. Nobry but " Sir Lijah " could run sich a terrible
machine as that, they o thought, so t' sooner aw could get back
an' t' betther.

It took a long while afore aw gated feelin like misel again.
When Greenhalgh had gwone weeks an' months crawl't past o
alike, wi nowt to breighk up their dyead level, whol th' summer
were gettin o'er an' th' end o' mi slavery comin weel i' sect ; an'
yet aw nobbut felt wake an' sickly. One Sunday aw rode o'er to
Morro Velho to find 'at a young Englishman were lyin dyead wi
th' fayver. Aw'd known him weel, an' his wife too. They'd a
little cottage o' their own, an' aw'd envied 'em their shop mony a
time, tellin 'em heaw aw suffer't wi bein so long divided fro mi
own wife and childher, an' gettin mony a kind word o' comfort.
Who con tell what lies afore him ! Less nor a short month back
aw'd sin that young chap alive, hearty, happy, lookin forrad to
savin brass enough to get back to th' owd island wi. Neaw he lee
cowd an' still ; his heart-brokken wife sittin at his bedside wi a
look on her face 'at made moore nor one sthrong chap run eaut
wi wot tears rowlin deawn his cheeks that day. An' aw'd bin
envyin their comforts an' their happy worn !

August went, bringin thoughts o' Rushbearin time, September
followed, then October. Nobbut six week neaw to th' end o' mi
throubles. Could that be thrue ! It were hard to believe, but
t' calendhar showed it. Mi taydious job were beaun to turn eaut
reet afther o, an' soon on i'th' new year aw met rezonably look for
o mi throubles bein past.

Gomez an' his wife had getten on wur an' wur latly. He'd
getten so used to hommerin th' poor woman 'at he could hardly
howd a day beaut cleautin her, slashin at her wi his whip, or
summat. Hoo coome to me a time or two, axin me to tak her
part; heawever, aw wouldn't meddle, knowin weel enough aw
should nobbut make wur mischief between 'em. Iv it'd bin Squire

128 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

hoo'd axed he'd ha thought nowt o' leatherin Gomez weel, earless
whether he geet secked or not, ne'er botherin his yead abeaut
what met come on it ; an' iv aw could ha felt satisfied 'at th' poor
woman wouldn't ha to suffer for it, aw'd ha punced th' little
heaunt a bit mysel.

Aw co'd to see th' owd vicar o' Sabara one Sunday, tellin him
heaw things were gooin on ; but he knew moore nor aw could tell
him, an' nobbut said they mut feight it eaut between 'em, as he
wouldn't meddle. Aw towd him plain enough 'at Gomez were a
bad lot, noane fit to be a gaffer nor to be thrusted wi a wife i' that
lonely spot ; but o th' owd chap said were,

" Where the ants gather together there comes the tapir also,"
an' looked as iv he thought that wise sayin saltPt o th' job. Happen
it did, but it made things no betther for Gomez wife.

So we crawl't on into December — time for me to start shappin
for worn. Aw made mi last reaund o' visits, takkin lev o' moore
nor one warm friend, carryin bits o' presents for their relations i'
Englan, sellin off what tackle aw didn't want an' packin up what
aw did, stonnin a native rum an' orange-lev tay baggin for mi mates
at Mazyteawn, an' gettin ready i' general. Some o' th' honds
reckon't they'd miss me gradely ill, an' coome yeawlin to mi front
dur wi tuthri stuffed hummin birds, choice yarbs, an' artificial
fleawers made fro fithers, a dodge these natives are very cliver at.

Wi everything ready for a bowd start next mornin aw went to
bed for th' last time i' Mazyteawn. A grand neet it were, wi th'
moon shinin as it seldom does, for there's very little moonleet i'
thoose regions. Aw'd getten middlin weel used to th' place ; an'
fain as aw were to have th' chance o' levin it aw like felt rayther
a pang at gooin. Sich quare craythers folk are ! Summer were
at th' height, an' as aw pepl through mi little window o th' ronk
beauty o' branch an' plant showed itsel i' th' white leet, an' mi
e'en ran o'er th' swellin hills up to th' black line o' meauntains fur
away. Buzz-z-z-z went mony a million winged little objects, keepin
up a steady hum neet an' day, brokken neaw an' again bi brid-
squalls, or yeawls fro four-legged varmint ov o disagreeable maks.
O'eryead a deep blue-black sky, wi not a cleaud to be sin ; for
t' dhry season were on when rain's as scace as diamonds — or
moore so, for they keepen findin tuthri o' thoose things a bit fur
north.

Weary o' gawpin at last an' pantin wi th' wot neet air, like a
dhraught fro a baker's oon, aw geet into bed an' fell asleep.
Abeaut three o' t' clock summat wakken't me again. Th' moon
had gwone then — it were pitch dark. Aw rowl't o'er once, an'
were just dhroppin off when aw yerd a bit ov a noise i' t'other
reawm ; an' lyin still, afore so long th' dur oppen't to let in honest
Gomez carryin a shaded candle in his hond. He went sthraight
to my clooas, hangin o'er a cheer, an' rommed a skinny hond into

T OTHER SIDE RIO. 1 29

a breeches pocket. Afore he could get it eaut again aw'd howd
on him, an' aw gav him sich a twiltin wi th' stock ov a mule-whip
lyin hondy as made him reet for sore bwons for mony a day to
come. He'd popped his leet eaut an' kept his meauth shut,
thinkin aw shouldn't know him i' th' dark ; but he were rayther
too lat theere, as th' flown poll-parrot said to Jarvis when he went
a-catchin it on th' slate. Aw lurried him through th' kitchen,
cobbed him eaut beaut sayin a word to him, festen't mi dur, an'
shapped to bed again. Iv o burglars could be sarved th' same
there'd soon be an end o' their job.

Aw seed through t' little rogue's dodge yezzy enough. Aw'd a
dyel o' brass i' th' heause, for aw'd sent noane worn latly, bein so
near gooin mysel, an' th' heaunt had thought to save me t' throuble
o' carryin so mich weight. Where he'd expected to find mi gowd
aw don't know, but it were hud in a safe nook, where aw were
freeten't o' nobry findin it. Aw couldn't help chucklin o'er th' job,
as he'd gien me sich a rare chance o' payin mi grudge off on his
ribs, an' so finishin mi wark gradely afore levin him. Aw walked
o'er to have a last look at him next mornin, but he sent word he
were fast i' bed wi rheumatics, an' hoped Sir Lijah met have a
good vowage, followin his road safe afther afore, an' gettin weel
forrad behinnd, or some sich gibberidge ; so aw bother't no fur
afther him, knowin weel enough it were no use.

Off at last ! Sabara once again, a weary thrail deawn to
Carandahy, an' so on bi railroad to Rio. Two days theere,
eightin mi fingers wi impatience, an' off we went across th' say ;
gettin some roughish weather an' one heavy storm, but carin nowt
abeaut it.

A cowd snowy Jenuary day seed us creepin up th' Mersey into
Liverpool. Who but Squire should be on th' londin-stage as we
dhrew up, an' who were that young woman wi him, sthretchin her
arms toard me ? My Alice — white an' thremblin, thin an' worn,
but wick, weel, hearty, lovin as ever ! Five minutes moore an' mi
arms were reaund her, an' hoo were dhroppin happy tears deawn
mi clen-starched dickey.

" It's poo'd thee deawn a bit, owd un," Squire says, stickin his
thumbs in his singlet sleeves, an' walkin reaund to look at me fro
o sides ; an' he were reet, for aw'd ne'er getten mi sthrength sin th'
fayver floor't me. " Hast bin ill or summat?"

"Just a bit," aw said, winkin at him to keep quiet afore mi
wife. " Nowt woth botherin abeaut. When arta for gooin back,
Squire ? There's bin a dyel o' sperrin for thee."

"Howd thi din," he said, grinnin. "Tha'll yer nowt o' me
gooin back whol t' Roch runs wi clear wayther an' Breawn Wardle
dhrops into Hollinoth. It's no job for soft-hearted chaps like thee
an' me, 'at cawn't bide to be rovven off th' owd clod. Iv ever aw

130 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CI.EGG.

thravel fur nor Blackpool again aw desarve to be worried wi
crickets."

"Three inch long," aw put in.

" Dhrot thee, Lijah !" Squire grunted, givin me a shake wi his
sthrong arm. "Tha'rt like as tha could ne'er believe me abeaut
that job. Sithee!

Is that finger weet ? Is that finger dhry ?

May aw ne'er dee i' bed iv aw've towd thee a lie."

" Well, come on," aw said. " Rachda for ever ! We're safe i'
owd Englan again, thank God ! So here's th' end o' th' wondher-
ful thravels o' Squire an' Lijah, an' may we ne'er be no wur off nor
we are neaw."

"Amen !" Squire says ; "but iv ever tha mentions that cricket
again yor Ailse con start bakin th' curran loave for thi buryin. So
neaw tha knows."

LIJAH'S FORTIN.

I. — UNSATTL'T.

Yo'll recollect me sayin, when aw londed back i' owd England
afther mi first Merica thrip, 'at nowt should persuade me ever to
cross that weary width ov ocean again — noather brass, nor wark,
roosin nor flytin, friendship nor love.

But we're changeable folk i' this world, an' it's seldom safe for
a mon to look twelve month afore him, to say nowt o' four year.
Aw went back, spite ov o mi talk ; an' this is th' histhory o' what
aw went for, an' heaw, wi a short description o' mi comin worn once
moore to this little island, where aw'm booked to stop neaw, whether
aw like it or not, as long as mi name's Lijah Garside.

What a quare thing it is i' this blintfowd life we're forced to
live 'at no object sthriven for looks woth owt afther it's won ! Folk
are like olez climbin hill-sides, thinkin iv they con nobbut just once
get fair on th' top they'll ne'er ha nowt moore to do nobbut sit
sthroddle-legged across it, findin everything reet. Let 'em lond
once at th' point they're aimin for, an' what happens then ? A
sthretch o' cowd hungry-lookin wildherness lies afore 'em, wi moore
hills risin on th' fur side ; or iv it's th' topmost meauntain th' poor
pilgrims han tackl't their case is wur again, for there's nowt to be
done then nobbut gawp down at th' world they'n left, an' slutther
toard it again as soon as con be respectably shapped.

Aw'd thought once ov a day 'at iv aw could just manage to get
mi childher schoo-larn't, an' started off a fair mark for their race
through th' world, aw could sattle deawn quietly o mi life, botherin
mi yead abeaut nowt no moore ; but when aw geet back fro Rio
wi mi pockets full o' gowd — o mi fancies come thrue, every hope
reighched — an' th' sattlin-deawn time should ha com'n, aw fund
misel as fur off content as ever.

Mi childher provided for, as one met say, iv puttin 'em into a
fair road for addlin their own livins con be co'd providin, aw'd time
to considher mi own case, an' study heaw th' comin years were
likely to hondle me. That study were noane o'er an' above
pleasant. So long as aw kept on wortchin things were likely to be
reet enough ; but aw were beginnin to deaubt whether too mich
wark wouldn't be throublesome or not, an' to wish for some prospect
ov a time when mi labbour met come to a creditable end beaut me
havin to dee first.

132 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Aw'd three hundherd peaund invested i' cotton shares, an' met
have had moore but for mi wife an' childher thinkin we should
fancy eaursel a bit becose we'd getten weel off, an' puttin th' livin
expenses on a bigger scale i' consequence. Aw never blamed nor
hindhered their ideas, for th' gowd had bin getten chiefly for their
comfort an' benefit, an' aw should ha bin a foo to lock it up where
nobry could have ony good fro it.

Neaw three hundherd peaund looks a lot, but it's hardly enough
to retire on; so as months went past aw kept sweighin reaund little
bi little to th' belief 'at wisdom pointed me again to th' fleawery
lond where a white mon's brains an' muscle fot sich a hee market
price. Fro thinkin this o'er bi misel aw started talkin to other folk
abeaut it ; an' th' longer aw talked th' moore determin't aw grew
to thry mi luck a second time. Squire gav me smo encouragement.
He'd takken a machine shop, an' started i' business for hissel wi
th' brass he'd made abrode ; an' he were doin so weel 'at he'd very
near gien o'er wortchin at th' bench ; payin other folk astid, as he
said, to addle his livin for him.

Aw co'd to see him one neet, an' we'd a long crack abeaut th'
business. He'd flitted fro his owd cottage into a new heause wi a
bow-window an' front garden, an' some comfortable th' owd brid
made bwoth hissel an' his wife. A sarvant lass coome to th' dur
when aw knocked, showin me forrad into a weel-fitted pahlour,
where Squire sit in his shirt sleeves smookin just sich another short
clay as he'd carried on his thravels. Mrs. Marcroft, donned i' black
silk, were sittin bi th' window, takkin stock ov everything 'at passed
eautside.

" Dar aw come in, Squire?" aw said. "Are common folk
alleawed among o this finery?"

"Sit thee deawn an' howd thi din," Squire said. " Whol aw've
a stoo to ceawer on tha'll be welcome to th' hawve on't, whether
it's rough pine or polished mahogany."

"Where mun aw sit, then?" his wife simper't, spreadin her
frock in a ladylike style.

" Tha mun pyerch on mi knee — that is iv tha behaves thisel,"
Squire said, sthrikin a match on his rough thumbnail. " Hasta
nowt to say to Lijah neaw he's co'd a seein us?"

" I am plez't to meet you, Misther Garside," th' wife says,
comin forrad an' givin me her hond wi greight state. " You will
p'raps excuse the drawin-room bein so mich upset. I gave our
servant particlar orders to clen it up, but hoo were too busy."

" Never apologise for that, missis," aw said. " Aw ne'er noticed
it. Are yo keepin middlin?"

" I am bothered with indisgestion very bad. How is your
good wife?"

" Yo'n just kessen't her reet this time," aw said. " A good wife
hoo is, an' olez were. Hoo's healthy an' weel for what aw know."

LIJAH'S FORTIN. • 133

" You must send her deawn here some day. Hoo will be fain
to look through my house, p'raps. The chambers is very hand-
some, and we have a pratty view as you enter out at the back. It's
cellared back an' front."

"Well, aw'll tell her."

" Squire, I feel fair shamed to see you smooke that clay pipe
when you have a genteel meerschaum lyin on that cornish. It
looks so !"

" Does it ?" Squire axed. " Well, we con soon awther that."

He took th' meerschaum deawn, set it undher his foot, an'
crushed it as flat as a poncake.

"Eh, tha greight nasty, dirty thing!" his wife skriked, flyin
into a rivin passion an' forgettin o abeaut her fine talk. " Did ever
onybody see sich a thrick as that ! Arta gooin off thi mind ? A
fifteen-shillin pipe brokken to bits, an' o that mess on th' new yeld
rug ! Aw'm sure no woman ever had to feight wi sich throubles
as me!"

Her passion melted into a cryin fit, an' hoo stood sobbin wi
her appron to her e'en.

"When tha's finished tha con goo," Squire said, quiet but firm.
" Aw hope this may be a lesson to thee, Susan, an' aw nobbut wish
thi foolish airs could be squozzen eaut on thee as yezzy as this bit
o' soft stone's bin flatten't. Iv thi spare brass an' fine foldherdols
are nobbut beaun to make thee stuck up, or set thee crowin o'er
owd an' weel-thried friends, aw'll flit into a two-reawmed cottage
again, an' make thee live on a peaund a week. So neaw tha
knows."

Mrs. Marcroft went eaut wi a dyel o' sniffin, bangin t' dur afther
her. Aw looked at mi owd mate, he looked at me, an' we undher-
stood one another beaut ony talkin.

" Hoo'll get o'er this nonsense," Squire said in a bit. " Th'
brass has like turn't her yead rayther, but hoo's seaund at th' heart
is Susan. Hoo'll get o'er it. What hast fresh, Lijah?"

" Aw've co'd to see iv tha'll keep me company to Rio again."

Squire leighn't him back in his cheer, laughin wi o t' depth ov
his lungs.

" Tha never says ! Eh, thoose were happy days, werenot they !
When a chap's weel an' hearty, wi no brass to bother him, nowt to
do but just shove a hommer an' screw-keigh into his pocket an' set
his feet across th' world, what else should he need to make him
content ? Nowt, Lijah ! Nowt ! Tha'rt noane sayrious abeaut
gooin back, arta 1 "

"Sayrious as a judge."

" Or a cowd chisel. Tha looks it, too. Arta pinin to see owd
Mig. again?"

Cornish, cornice. Yeld, heald.

134 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Nowe, aw'll thry a different shop this time."

Squire poo'd a bell-knob at his elbow, bringin th' sarvant up in
a crack.

" Get us some ale up, mi lass."

" Please, sir, missis has locked the cellar door and gone out
with the key."

" Is that so'/" says Squire, wi a chuckle. " Come on, lass, an'
bring a pitcher."

He marched off into th' kitchen, an' next minute aw yerd a
greight thunge an' bang 'at made o th' heause rock, wi a crash o'
splintherin wood. Then Squire coome back wi th' cellar dur in his
hond, balanced it on th' piano top, an' sit him deawn again.

" Hoo'll see it theere," he said, leetin his pipe.

Th' sarvant coome in wi a pitcher an' some glasses, lookin ill
freeten't, so t' maisther towd her to be shappin off to bed, as there
were likely to be a row afore long, an' aw began to think aw'd
betther be stirrin off misel whol a road stood oppen.

"Aw'll tell thee what it is, Lijah," Squire said, when he'd burl't
eaut an' we'd sampl't his ale ; " my opinion is tha'rt beaun off
a-seechin brass."

"To be sure. There's a fortin to be made across yon wayther."

" Hearken to me, neaw, an' tak advice when it's chep. Thee
stop awom. Tha's gowd enough for ony rezonable wants, iv tha
gets moore it'll nobbut be a throuble to thee, there's everything to
risk an' nowt woth winnin. Stop awom."

" Nay, aw'll thry mi luck once again."

" Lijah, tha mun think betther on it. Hasta forgetten so soon
heaw miserable we felt away fro owd Englan, an' heaw we suffer't
for want o' butthercakes ? Tha mun go noane."

" Ah, but aw'm beaun to tak mi family this time. When we're
theere together life '11 be different to what it were afore."

" O th' odds are dyead again this business turnin eaut weel,"
Squire says, scrattin his yead. " VVe'n gwone through it once, an'
bin lucky — let's be thankful an' sattle deawn. Tha'll ne'er do
betther nor tha'rt doin neaw, whatever side o' th' say tha flies to.
Thee stop awom. It's for thi own good aw'm tellin thee. Stop
awom !"

Aw shook mi yead. Just then we yerd a screm in th' kitchen,
an' th' missis coome runnin into th' reawm like somebry wild ;
shawl on, bonnet in her hond.

"Somebry's brokken into th' cellar! There's bin thieves in !
Heaw is it yo'n ne'er yerd 'em ? Thieves ! Thieves ! Help !"

We sit still, sayin nowt, whol th' excited woman rambl't on.

" They'n ta'en th' dur fair off it hinges ! Yo mun ha yerd 'em !
There's no tellin heaw mich they'n stown ! Get up, tha greight
idle thing, an' look !"

" Go deawn an' fill this pot again," Squire said quietly, howdin

LIJAHS FORTIN. 135

th' pitcher toard her. "Aw've put th' cellar dur on th' piano
theere, as aw fund it rayther i' mi road."

Susan skriked, dhropped into a cheer, an' looked fleyed eaut
ov her wits.

" Tak this pot an' fill it," Squire said again.

Mrs. Marcroft tee'd her bonnet on an' geet up.

" Aw'll go worn to mi mother. Aw'll live no longer wi sich a
chap as thee."

" Say two words moore an' tha shall goo," Squire said, bangin
his big neighve on th' table top. " That worn-eaut mouldy tale's
bin cobbed i' mi teeth oft enough. Aw've letten thee goo on wi
thi foolish ways thinkin tha'd surelee larn wit some day, but astid
o' mendin tha'rt makin bwoth thisel an' me into laughin-stocks.
Aw'll end this nonsense. Fill that pitcher."

Hoo stood still, never awsin to heed him, but lookin freeten't.

" Aw don't want to lay a finger on thee beaut aw'm forced,"
Squire went on, " but it's thee or me for it neaw, an' aw'm beaun
to be maisther in mi own heause. Fill that pot, or aw'll turn thee
eaut an' lock thee eaut ; an' iv aw'm once dhriven to that length
aw'll ne'er tak thee back no moore. Aw'll sell up an' go wi Lijah
o'er th' say again. So neaw tha knows."

Susan took th' pitcher beaut a word, went into th' cellar wi it,
brought it back full ov ale, set it deawn at Squire's elbow, an' went
sthraight upstairs to bed. Squire winked at me, let his pipe, burl't
eaut, an' said,

" Aw've a good oppenin for a partner wi a yead on. Put a
hundherd peaund into my business an' we'll wortch it together on
hawve shares."

Aw stared at him. This were a chance aw'd ne'er looked for,
summat weel woth takkin ; an' yet aw couldn't get shut o' mi cravin
to goo abrode.

" Nowe !" aw towd him at last, when he'd said o he could to
persuade me. " Nowe ! Aw cawn't sattle i' Englan no longer.
Aw'll sail off an' make mi fortin."

Squire grunted. " It's no use puttin hurdles reaund a jumpin
horse. Go thi ways."

So aw went.

II. — TOM SPEIGHKS UP.

Aw'd gi'en mi wife an' childher tuthri odd hints abeaut crossin
th' say again ; so neaw when aw towd 'em mi mind were made up,
an' they mut o get their boxes packed, they were little surprised.
Aw'd no throuble i' findin plenty o' jobs to go to, mi past experience
o' Brazil helpin to get me some good offers ; an' when, afther
studyin enough, aw picked eaut a place near civilised parts, where

136 WORKS OP JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGCJ.

thram-lines an' English neighbours were to be fund, it looked as iv
nowt could stop us fro bein comfortable an' doin weel.

" Aw'm freeten't tha'rt gettin too fond o' brass, Lijah," mi wife
said one neet ; but hoo ne'er objected to gooin, seein aw'd set mi
heart on it.

That sayin sthruck worn. Were there owt in it ? aw kept axin
misel. Likely enough there met be, for to be sure mi notions had
awther't a lot in th' last ten year. Surelee aw were noane beaun
to turn eaut a miser in mi owd age ! At ony rate it were noane
otogether for misel aw wanted to addle brass, becose aw thought
moore o' th' comfort o' thoose belongin to me nor abeaut mi own.

Mi owdest lad had getten to be eighteen, an' begun to feel
hissel a mon. In abeaut a week afther he knew aw myent flittin
he oppen't his mind to me, as aw've olez encouraged o mi childher
to do.

" Aw've bin thinkin this job o'er, fayther," he said, " but aw
cawn't quite see mi road plain."

Tom were a good scholar, wi a whol hondful o' technical an'
science certificates, but he olez used th' owd Rachda talk awom,
so as to keep i' th' fashion.

"What's botherin thee, mi lad?''

" Aw'd sooner stop here, aw think. There's nowt to hindher
me fro bein a manager i' tuthri year."

" Nowt at o, my lad ; for aw've eddicated an' brought thee up
wi a careful e'e to that very end. Practical experience is o tha'rt
short on, an' tha'll get that bi wortchin undher me a year or two —
nowheere betther. Tha'll find a different style o' doin things on
t'other side, too ; becose a chap cawn't expect to get every tool
an' frame ready to his hond theere, so he's to use his wits, invent
bits o' quirks, an' larn to depend on hissel."

" Let me stop here, fayther. Aw've a good enough chance o'
doin weel."

"There's betther oppenins in America, wi moore pay at th'
end on 'em. An' what abeaut thi mother, Tom ? Hoo could
ne'er be satisfied to lev thee."

" Aw know hoo'd feel hurt at first ; but iv hoo were persuaded
it'd be for mi good to stop hoo'd agree. Yo were off a good while
yorsel, but we o lived through it, an' everything coome reet again."

"Oh, be hanged!" aw said. "Tha'rt gettin too cliver at
argeyments. Come wi us, mi lad. We're o too fond on thee to
dhrem o' levin thee behinnd. Come for a couple o' year, shuz-
heaw, an' come back again then iv tha gets worn-sick."

"There's summat else, fayther," Tom says, stuttin an' colourin
up. " Aw've bin thinkin ov axin a young woman to keep company
wi me."

"There's plenty ov honsome lasses across yon brode wayther.
Goo an' look at 'em afore tha chooses."

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 137

" It's no use," Tom said, shakin his thoughtful noddle. "Aw
know one 'at 'II shuit me, an' aw cawn't believe th' sect ov a
theausan could change mi mind."

" Is hoo sich a beauty as o that."

" It's noane beauty otogether," th' lad went on, stuttin no
moore neaw, " though hoo's noane beaut. Aw cawn't tell heaw
it is — but there's like a summat some road, an' sich a look in her
e'en as aw've ne'er sin nowheere else. There's summat tells me
yon's th' lass aw mun have, or dee miserable afore long."

" Oh, tha'rt booked ! " aw said, laughin at him. " Tha's getten
o th' symptoms ov a bad attack, an' makes me think abeaut mi
own young days when aw went danglin afther thi mother. Who
is it?"

" Her name's Emma."

" An' what else ? No deaubt that's th' only name tha'rt in-
therested in, but hoo should have another, surelee."

" It's Crowther. Her fayther's a mechanic — he's foreman
neaw for Squire Marcroft."

" What, is it one ov owd Bob lasses tha'rt for havin ? They're
a dacent family — tha met do wur happen. But heaw iv hoo
doesn't fancy thee for a sweetheart ? "

" Aw think hoo will," says Tom, wi a sly little grin.

" Why, tha young scamp," aw said, " yo'n made it up aw con
see ! Bring her to her baggin next Sunday, an' we'll make a
shappin o' some mak."

So Tom thanked me, an' bowled off weel satisfied wi hissel.

What wi buyin goods, partin fro relations, an' squarin up a
theausan odds an' ends o' business, time went past whol th' sailin
day ; findin us ready to start, heawever, when th' heaur coome.
Tom had sattl't to go wi us, afther aw'd pointed eaut to him an'
his sweetheart what advantages he'd get bi thryin his luck abrode.
It looked a pity to part 'em, too, poor young things ! Love made
'em earless ov everything but stickin together, an' it took a dyel
ov eloquence to persuade my lad to rive hissel away ; but when o
th' case were laid afore their short-seeted e'en they gav in to my
notions wi middlin bowd hearts.

" It's just here, childher," aw said, feelin like a scamp for
thryin so hard to part 'em. " Yo're nobbut young, an' iv Tom
stops here yo cawn't expect to get wed for tuthri year. Bi crossin
th' say for awhile he con sooner afford to set up for hissel, an'
there's nowt to hindher yo fro writin to one another as oft as yo'n
a mind. Moore nor that, yo'll find bi partin whether yor likin for
one another con ston wear or not."

Mi wife followed wi moore advice o' th' same mak ; so at last
Tom spoke up an' said,

" Aw darsay it's good sense yo're talkin. Emma, tha mun
sattle this business. Mun aw goo or not ?"

138 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw believe it'll be for th' best," Emma says, lookin up at me
wi sorrowful e'en, her face white as a sheet ; an' then hoo broke
deawn into a cryin fit, an aw bowted off as iv aw'd done murdher,
levin Tom to comfort her as weel as he could.

So one unbrokken family we started off on a fine spring
mornin, to catch th' good ship " Galicia," an' seech a new worn
among sthrangers far away. Squire put his yead in at th' railway
carriage window just as t' thrain were stirrin.

" Aw'll nobbut say good mornin, Lijah, for yo'll o be londin
back afore six month end."

" Hardly so soon," aw said, gripin his honest neighve ; " but
we'll hope to see thee again some day."

" Oh, ah ! Yo'll soon have enough o' yon counthry, tha'll see.
Give my compliments to o th' yollow-backs aw'm acquainted wi, an'
tell 'em aw'm noane frettin misel to t' dyeath becose aw've lost their
company. Punce Gomez for me, too, iv tha happens to leet on him."

Aw promised to see abeaut it, an' he made us o laugh bi
reckonin to wipe some tears eaut ov his e'en as we slurred off.

When neet coome, still an' starlet, we were swingin on th'
brode Atlantic waves. Tom sit bi hissel, very quiet, lost i' thought ;
Harry an' Lucy laughed an' talked together, weel enough satisfied
wi th' change an' stir ; mi wife an' me stood hond i' hond lookin
o'er th' ship side. O aw loved best i' th' world were theere,
thrustin their lives to thin planks an' th' skill o' thoose bowd,
cliver sailors 'at dhrove us forrad sure an' sthraight, beaut oather
gaslamp or hee-road, across that shiftin waste o' weet ; an' aw felt
once again what a blint helpless thing a mon is, an' heaw mich
he's forced to depend on that unknown Peawer 'at rules us, oft bi
sthrange or little-undherstood laws, but olez for lastin good.

" Dunnot thee fret, mi lass," aw said. " Keep thi e'en breet
an' thi heart cheerful. Theausans o' good taugh English souls
han thravell't this road afore us, comin to no hurt, riskin their
lives here beaut one-hawve o' th' prospects we con see waitin for
us, an' wi God's help we're sure to do weel. There's plenty o'
folk in this ship to-neet wi throuble enough on their minds, iv we
nobbut knew, but we'n no rezon for grumblin eaursel. Be bowd
an' hopeful ; everything '11 come reel."

" Aw'm weel content when aw'm wi thee," Alice said, an' bi
th' dim star-shine aw seed her e'en were brim-full. " Whol we're
together nowt con happen moore nor we con bide."

Her hond thrembl't i' mine, but aw weel knew no wake cowart
feelins stirred that tendher, lovin heart. As we sailed on through
th' calm neet aw bethought me o' grand owd Milton's words,

' ' The world was all before them where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide,"

an' a comfortin leet fro th' hee stars seemed to fill me wi quiet
hope an' steady courage.

LIJAHS FORTIN. 139

III. — RlO TO JUIZ.

Leet winds an' fair weather followed us as we ploughed reaund
th' corner o' Europe an' sthruck off toard that bigger continent we
were bund for. T" childher were full o' life an' excitement, findin
fresh wondhers in every port we stopped at, an' new points ov
intherest abeaut th' ship every day. Aw fund th' voyage rayther
flattish misel, as aw'd bin o through it afore, an' hadn't Squire at
hond neaw to cheer things up ; beside, mi wife turn't eaut a bad
sailor, nobbut keepin poorly most o' th' road, an' that helped to
throw a saddish kest o'er th' journey. Poor Tom were moore
dismal again, hardly ony sect or curiosity stirrin him eaut ov his
throuble, his heart nobbut liftin a bit when we poo'd up at a
stoppin-place where he could post one o' th' long letthers to his
sweetheart he spent so mich time i' writin.

Lucy soon made hersel a favouryte wi sailors an' passengers.
Hoo'd turn't sixteen year owd, an' groon into a bonny, healthy lass,
breet an' cliver, weel fit to howd her own among ony mak o'
company. Harry were two year younger, but very near as fawse ;
an' bwoth Alice an' me oft felt dull an' slow compar't wi sich
wondherful far-larn't young uns, chock full o' science, grammar,
an' gumption, yet wi so little snobbery abeaut 'em 'at nobry could
ha piked ony eaut o' their ribs wi a reed -hook.

So i' good time we londed o safe at Rio, where aw'd little mind
to tarry long, as th' fayver were knockin abeaut middlin brisk ; an'
aw were fain to find we could get forrad bi railroad next mornin
up th' hills to Juiz de Fora, where th' family tent were neaw to be
pitched, an' where we met expect to find cooler an' wholsomer air.

Fro th' say-level at Rio to Juiz, up among th' meauntains,
there's a rise ov abeaut six theausan feet in two hundherd mile —
a tidy climb for a railway thrain. We were seven heaurs slantin
upbroo, startin at five an' londin bi noon. For scenery aw should
be bother't to mention ony ever aw seed finer nor con be sin fro
that railroad. First there's grand views o' Rio teawn an' bay to
look at, sinkin lower an' lower as yo climb, an' glints o' th' rowlin
blue ocean keep oppenin eaut between th' hills. Then, fur up, yo
get among coffee plantations, sprinkl't wi fine heauses set among
orange orchards or fleawer gardens, wi endless rows o' tall palms
an' cocoa-nut threes for a change. There's no colours i' Englan
like we con find i' thoose parts. Green's green theere, th' sun
shines wi breet gowd, th' sky fair blazes wi blue ; as for dirt, soot,
fogs, snowbroth — why ! yo may whistle for 'em.

There's a cliver piece ov engineerin on that line, where a steep
hill's bored through bi three tunnels at different levels, an' lookin
deawn fro th' top yo con see three lengths o' metals hangin one
above another below.

140 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

We fund Juiz a tidy little teawn enough, t' sthreets paved wi
white slutch, th' heauses mostly wood-built an' red-tiled, fleawers
an' fruit grooin everywheere, dhrains an' medical officers never
dhrem't on.

A civil young Portigee — a clerk fro th' mill — were waitin for
us at th' station, an' he lost no time i' gettin us carted off to th'
heause we were to live in, a comfortable one-story buildin wi floors
o' pitch-pine an' whitewesh for papper. Eautside we'd a verandah
o'erlookin a good slip o' garden-greaund ; inside, a big kitchen,
three sleepin-reawms, an' a cookin scullery.

We were o weel satisfied to find sich a nice heause waitin for
us, an' t' childher ran abeaut i' rare glee, findin no end o' new
sects an' seaunds i' that wondherful counthry.

"There'll be no lurryin up an' deawnstairs here, lass," aw said
to mi wife when Tom an' me had getten o th' luggage safe inside.
" This looks a shop likely enough to shuit us — weather-tight
heausin, neighbours plentiful, civilised parts close at hond. Con
we sattle here, dost think?"

" It's o sthrange to me yet," Alice said, lookin reaund wi
rayther a lost leet in her e'en. "There's no flags to swill, no
cellarin nor garrets, noather gaspipe nor slopstone, ash-grate nor
cubbort. We may happen larn to get used to it, but aw'm fast
heaw th' folk here con manage to live."

" That's just like Rachda women," aw said, laughin. " Shuz
what part o' th' world they getten to they'll expect to find a kest-
iron fire-range, a wayther tap, a flagged cosey an' a coal shoot.
Heaw does this counthry look to thee, Tom ?"

"Well," mi lad says, "aw remember once walkin worn fro
Bowton late at neet. There werenot a sowl stirrin, an' but for th'
gaslamps everything were pitch dark ; an' when at last, afther a
weary thrail, aw coome to Sudden broo it sthruck me aw'd never
sin a welcomer bit o' scenery in o mi life. Fayther, what would it
look like neaw?"

" Bless mi heart !" aw co'd eaut, thryin to cheer 'em up a bit,
" what mak o' chicken sperits have aw browt across wi me ? This
mak o' talk's good for nowt ! Columbus could ne'er ha fund
America, lad, iv he'd bin like thee ; an' as for owd Vasco, iv thy
wake heart had bin inside him he'd ne'er ha done nowt but build
hen-cotes or manage a bathin van !"

" They were two meddlin foos," says Tom in his sulks. " Aw
wish they'd tarried awom."

Aw seed there'd be no good done wi botherin just then, so aw
took him to look at th' mill, levin mi wife to shap some baggin.
Afther hawve a mile ov a walk we coome to th' facthry — a big
place, very weel fitted up wi machinery — an' fund everybody civil.
Th' honds were mostly Portigee an' German, but tuthri English
faces were to be sin among 'em, an' aw could see nowt to stop us

LIJAHS FORTIN. 141

fro sattlin theere contented iv we could nobbut just bring eaur
minds to it.

Th' manager were fain to see me, for th' cardin engines hadn't
bin runnin to his mind, an' he were anxious to have a change.
We fund he were a German, an' larn't afther 'at we'd a whol
colony ov his counthrymen in th' neighbourhood, brought o'er bi
a company 'at used to run coaches on th' Petropolis road afore th'
railway oppen't. That stopped their little gam, so most on 'em
had bin left to shift for theirsel, gettin wark at th' facthry or
wheere else they could.

" You are very welcome, Herr Garside," he says, talkin English
like a native. " The sooner you can what you call make a start
the better for us."

" Ony time," aw said, thinkin to misel he looked very delicate.
" Aw'll start neaw iv yo wanten me."

"Ach ! you are the man of beesness. It would be not fair to
make you the slave so. Nein ! When you are lodged and have
ordered your affairs — yes, yes ! that will be the time."

" Aw'll come in o' Monday mornin then. It's Thursday
to-day, so nowt mich con be done this week, beaut yo're fair
fast."

" That will be right, mein vriendt. You will have pot and
kettle to buy, and what you call the house-warm. Ach, yes ! On
Sunday is a selling of furnishings at Procopio — you will get the
cheap table and chairs from that."

"That'll be very hondy," aw said. "As for bitin midges,
snakes an' sichlike, we con get 'em for nowt, aw darsay?"

" Ach so !" he grinned. " You are the funny man it looks."

He left us^then, so Tom an' me wandher't back to get some
baggin. Alice had getten her tay brewed, but were stuck fast for
eightables. Hoo'd bin to a little store close to expectin to find
loaves an' butther sowd bi a shopkeeper far-larn't i' Lancashire
dialect ; so afther a long jabber wi th' Portigee store-chap hoo'd
gwone back cryin wi despair. Heawever that were soon put reet,
for aw went across misel an' geet some good bananas, biscuits,
rice, black byens, an' oddments to put us on whol we could rise a
bakin-day ; an' we were soon o sittin deawn to a plentiful meal,
set eaut on box-tops for want ov a table, makin up bi jokes what
were wantin i' comfort.

We fund in a day or two 'at bwoth loaves an' butther were to
be had, iv we could afford to pay th' price. Flesh-meight coome
chep, but th' groceries made us wink. Beef cost fourpence a
peaund, loaves (less nor four peaund weight) a shillin apiece, tay
eight shillin a peaund, coffee eightpence, pottatoes threepence,
swop fivepence, blackenin for shoon fivepence a box (abeaut a
hawpoth), saut a shillin a bottleful, an' nobbut a little bottle at
that. So astid o' little beef an' plentiful thrimmins, as th' English

142 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

fashion is, we'd to put up wi exthra weight o' beef at Juiz to ratch
bread an' pottatoes eaut.

Sunday turned eaut a busy day. It happened to be a saint
day, so in th' Brazil style we'd a grand religious procession — lasses
donned i' white, plump dignified priests, blazin candles, brass
bands, fireworks, an' greight excitement. Shops, theaythres, an'
dancin reawms were o i' full swing, fair horrifyin my wife, for
hoo'd ne'er sin nowt o' th' sort afore, an' couldn't undherston sich
carryins on. Th' auction sale shocked her feelins again, but we
bought tuthri things theere, as it were a matther o' necessity wi us ;
part furnishin th' kitchen, an' so makin th' new heause look moore
like worn.

Some very rich folk lived near us in a grand heause set reaund
wi parks an' gardens. Th' husband had bin banished to Europe
for some bother wi politics, levin his wife an' family six hundherd
peaund a month to live on. We seed his wife walkin through her
orange plantin, noane lookin so very cheerful as met be expected
considherin what barrowfuls o' gowd hoo had.

" Poor thing !" Alice whisper't as we wandher't past sniffin th'
warm fleawer-scented air ; " hoo looks lonesome. Aw con feel for
her, Lijah, for aw've noane forgetten what it were to loise thee."

" Heaw leets her chap didn't tak her wi him ? Their livin's
getten. They're happen fain to be shut o' one another a bit."

" Yon face doesn't say so. Tha sees hoo's noane gaddin
abeaut watchin th' dancers or play-actin — hoo tarries awom bi
hersel an' frets. Eh, what a counthry this is ! Sich carryins on —
an' good Sunday too ! Aw never durst ha com'n iv aw'd known."

" Tha'll soon get used to it, mi lass, an' bear i' mind folk are
noane forced to be bad becose their ways are different fro what
we'n bin used to. Everybody cawn't be brought up i' Rachda.
Come ! give o'er waggin that yead o' thine, an' look weel at o
these fine sects. Tha never seed sich scenery as this in o thi life."

We stopped on a risin hill just above th' little teawn, lookin
deawn on th' red-tiled heauses, planned eaut i' hollow squares as
th' Brazil style is. Above us big meauntains lifted sharp, brokken
lines again th' clear blue sky ; a swift deawn-dashin river foamed
an' sang as it fell past us in a deep-worn channel ; fruit an' fleawer,
bush an' three were set thick abeaut us ; greaund an' air were wick
wi livin things, tem'd brode-kest fro nathur's oppen hond. A
change, for sure, fro grey dhrivin Lancashire, to this mony-colour't
yezzy-gooin, sweet-scented, shiftless lond ! An' yet —

We looked into one another's e'en as we walked quietly back,
th' settin sun brunnin itsel to t' dyeath behinnd us.

" It's o very grand," Alice says. " Very grand it is. But —

"Tha'll soon loise this wom-sickness when we getten sattl't
deawn. Wark starts i' yearnest to-morn ; so we mun think o' nowt
but bucklin to an' savin some brass. They're beaun to pay me a

LIJAH S FORTIN. 143

bigger wage here nor ever aw've dhrawn afore, an' there'll be Tom
helpin us beside."

" Brass is noane everything. Aw cawn't get yon poor woman's
dismal face eaut o' mi thoughts."

"Cheer up, mi beauty !" aw said, feelin owt but cheerful misel
iv thruth mun be towd. " Iv everything turns eaut as it should
do we con lev this counthry i' five year, for bi that time aw s' ha
made mi fortin."

IV. — BUCKLIN TO.

Monday mornin seed us o up breet an' soon, gettin ready for
wark. Tom an' me were at th' mill afore t' wayther-wheel set on,
an' bi breakfast time we'd getten into full harness. Afore th' day
had gwone aw fund misel swingin away at mi wark as iv aw'd bin
i' th' shop long enough, feelin quite awom.

Aw'd nobbut th' spinnin an' cardin to manage, as th' looms
were undher a separate o'erlooker, so mi business were simple
enough to do, noather o'ertaxin brains nor time. Even iv aw'd
wanted to dhrive on an' hurry things a bit aw should ha bin cheted,
for th' honds went abeaut their jobs in t' thrue Brazil style, slow
an' earless as childher getherin butthercups in a summer meadow ;
but aw didn't want, for experience had made me too weel acquainted
wi th' native habits to dhrem o' meddlin.

This loom o'erlooker were a little clemmed-lookin Englishman,
wi a desperate lot o' fuss abeaut him. He coome to me, shakin
honds an' makin a lot o' slavverin compliments, sayin he'd ston mi
friend olez an' help me through wi ony difficulties 'at met bother
me ; so aw thanked him, said aw hoped to keep friendly wi every-
body theere, an' promised iv aw geet fast to ax his advice. He
showed me reaund his weighvin reawm, but iv he expected me to
praise his management theere he'd made a mistake. His looms
were dirty an' ill-gear't — rayther sthrange, aw thought, for sich a
capable chap as he'd seaunded when offerin to help me wi his
superior knowledge — an' a lot on Jem were stonnin otogether.

"What are yo doin wi so mony looms stopped?" aw axed
him.

" Waitin for stuff. T' preparation machinery's too little for t'
keep all these frames runnin. I'm continally short ayther o' warps
or cops."

"That's it, is it?" aw said, thinkin to misel aw'd tak middlin
good care to keep him gooin wi stuff enough i' time to come, for
it were plain to see wi hawve a look 'at aw'd plenty o' machines to
turn eaut moore yorn nor he could weighve.

" Then t' cotton's so poor they send us I can hardly make it
into respectable cloth. Yo'll find Grossel, t' manager, isn't very

144 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

experienced at his business. He reckons for t' grumble a deal at
things nobody can help. Yo'll find him out."

" No deaubt."

"Th' cotton buyer's a bit green, I think. I've tried at odd
times for t' give him a bit of advice, but he's above bein shown.
There's a want o' practical managers about th' place, someways,
an' t' board chairman often says to me, ' Reely, Mitchell, if it
wasn't for you bein here I don't see how we could carry the place
on.'"

" Then it's lucky tha coome."

" That may be t' reason for t' manager bein so jealous on me,"
th' o'erlooker went on, sinkin his voice to as low a confidential
whisper as could be yerd among th' clankin machinery. " I think
he's fear't I may be put into his shop."

"Tha'd tak it iv it were offer't, then ?"

Mitchell showed his teeth in a spiteful grin. " I should be a
fool for t' miss such a chance, man, an' there's nobody but me for
it. What bi t' salary an' commissions a cute manager could make
his fortin here."

Aw felt a cruddlin abeaut mi skin as iv a snake had wriggl't
across mi road. So this little good-for-nowt were seechin a fortin
too!

" Well," aw said, " iv tha'rt for doin him eaut ov his shop aw'd
best keep friends wi thee, or tha'll happen be seckin me too afore
so long."

" Oh no ! We shall hit it off together, Garside. We're sure
for t' do."

Aw felt owt but sure misel abeaut that point, but managed to
keep mi tongue civil for that time, soon levin th' greight mon to
swagger bi hissel.

In a week or two th' newness had worn off for most o' mi
family, an' life sattl't deawn into th' steady habits an' reglar ways o'
wortchin folk ; for facthry wark's pratty mich th' same thing o up
an' deawn th' world. Bits o' things kept happenin seldom known
i' England, sich as stoppin for wayther or cotton, but on th' whol
wark's wark shuz wheere we find it, a taydious endless reaund-
abeaut, hard to follow an' wur to lev.

Alice soon fund friends among her neighbours an' began wearin
her owd cheerful face again. Lucy were a rare help to her mother
abeaut th' heause, Harry geet a job in th' mill office afore long, an'
so we were like o provided for, o useful, o helpin one road or
another in th greight object o' makin brass. Aw used to wag mi
fawse yead at this time, rub mi honds, an' think " Goo on, Lijah,
owd brid ! Tuthri year at this rate an' tha'll be independent ov
everybody."

A letther fro Squire reighched us afther a while. Aw'd sent to

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 145

him for tuthri kestins we were short on, so he'd takken into his
yead to write.

" Rachda, Wakes week, 1887.
Dear Lijah,

So tha's wakken't up at last, an' recollected there's sich a chap as
me wick? What boat are yo comin back on? Aw'm rayther deaubtful
whether tha'll tarry long enough to get this mutual improvement essay
or not, an' writin's nobbut a desperate dhry job at best, but aw'll risk
it for owd friendship. Hast yerd what sport there's bin at th' facthry
here sin' tha left worn ? It seems they geet a young chap fro some
technical schoo to fill thy shop, bi way o' makin sure o' gettin a
gradely scientific mon ; an' bi o acceaunts he'd science enough to run a
whol mill beaut help. He distinguished hissel moore in a week nor
ignorant chaps like us could in a lifetime. First ov o he went messin
abeaut th' scutchin frame i' sich a clumsy style 'at he very near geet
fast in it.

' Ston back, mon !' th' scutcher says, rivin him away like pooin
a dish-cleaut off a nail. ' Get yor arm takken off somewheere else — •
we wanten no red dye among th' cotton here !'

'Ah, thank you, my good man,' says technical; 'I had over-
looked the fact that the machine's power is in direct proportion to the
number of revolutions made by the driving pulley. We had only a
model at the school.'

' Yo'd ha bin poo'd in i' summat less nor hawve a jimcrack, schoo
or no schoo,' th' scutcher grunted, watchin his mon close to be sure
he didn't make a scientific murdher ov hissel.

' Not quite, my friend,' th' scholar said wi a pathronisin grin. ' I
have had rather too much experience to be caught napping. What is
the diameter of your shaft ? '

He poo'd a notebook eaut to put th' figures deawn, rubbed his
jacket tails again t' sthrap, an' were as near takken up on it as a
toucher. Th' scutcher were in a cowd sweat wi terror bi that time,
so he plucked young technical eaut o' danger again an' ordher't him
off.

' Yo'n done enough for one day,' he says, ' an' aw'll tak th' res-
ponsibility o' keepin yo wick no longer. Be off eaut o' this hole —
it's no place for schoolads ! '

What does his fawse lordship then but bowt off to th' manager,
complainin abeaut th' scutcher's impidence, as he co'd it, but that
cock wouldn't feight.

* Aw'm noane intherferin between yo,' th' manager towd him.
' Yo'd best be gettin forrad wi yor own wark — there's a lot o' cards
yon wanten grindin.'

' Very well, sir,' young science says, an' away he scutthers to th'
card-reawm, axin one o' th' honds theere whose job it were to grind
cards. Th' chap stared at him, fast what to make o' sich a foo's
question as that, an' said he'd betther send for t' blacksmith.

So t' blacksmith were sent for an' coome up bare-armed an'
black-faced.

' What the Belle-Vue fireworks has card grindin to do wi me ? '
he brasted eaut when t' cardher towd him what were wanted.

' I am told it is your duty,' science says. ' We had no occasion
for the process at the school, so I am practically unacquainted with it.'

' Nay, it's noane o' my job. Somebry's bin humbuggin yo. My
time's filled up wi lookin cuts an' gooin to th' Liverpool markets. It s
a knife-grindin machine yo wanten — send a piecer eaut to find one,
an' sit deawn quietly on yor frame end whol he comes back. '

146 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Technical sent a lad eaut, as th' blacksmith advised him, but as
he were too fawse to sit still waitin he spent his time i' fillin a warpin-
mill full o' doublin bobbins, thinkin they were twist.

Mi lord were noane long i' gettin hissel secked at that rate, as
tha may guess, an' there's bin two or three at th' job sin' he left it,
noane on 'em doin mich good.

Aw hope yo'n had luck enough to leet on some mak o' Christian
meight i' this new part o' t' counthry yo're explorin neaw. Tha re-
members what gam we had up i' Mazyteawn to find provan? Eh dear !
Englan ! wi o thi faurts tha taks a dyel o' lickin i' th' meight an"
dhrink line. There's nowt i' Brazil — noather tharcake for Guy
Fawkes' day, curran cheese an' loave at Kesmas, nor pottato dolls for
th' New Market. Aw'd sooner live i' Mildhro, where they'n sheep-
yead broth every Sunday i' th' year obbut two — Wakes Sunday an' t'
Sunday afther ; becose on th' first they're o too rich to lower their
stomachs to it, an' bi th' second they're too far spent up to buy ony.
Aw went eaut to mi baggin at Ladyheause once an' geet greensauce
cakes wi fayberry lev tay, sweeten't wi black thraycle an' stirred up
wi iron spoons. Heaw's that for a hee-class spread ? They cawn't
come up to that mak i' Rio ; an' iv they're left behinnd i' th' eightin
line what chance han they when suppin comes to be mention't ?
They're nowheere ! Who could live long in a counthry where ale's
sowd at sich a price? Folk may weel be shrivell't an' yollow, seaukin
up sperrits same as th' Portigees, never tastin worn-brewed fro year
end to year end.

Maut an' hops

Fatten th' chops ;

Whisky an' gin

Brun through t' skin.

Sing that once to th' miserable wizen't objects an' see what they han
to say to it, an' then come worn again as soon as tha con. Aw guess
tha'll oft feel like an owd woman 'at went for relief i' th' Rachda
barley times, when fleaur were as dear as gowd an' folk clemmin.
Th' owd dame geet a bagful ov ungrund rice for her share, so next
time hoo went to th' relievin office hoo said, ' For God's sake, felley,
gie me summat else this time ; for t' childher's brokken their teeth
cheawin yon stuff ! '

Iv ever tha lives to see Rachda again tha'll stare at th' awtheration
i' my wife. Hoo's comin to her senses at last, an' there's moore
comfort i' th' heause neawadays nor ever we'n had sin' th' honeymoon.
Tha remembers we'd a bit ov a dust last time tha co'd here, an' we'd
tuthri moore afore th' job were sattl't ; but o's reet neaw, an' th' owd
lass has lost her foolish pride. Aw'd to brun her best Sunday bonnet
afore hoo'd be fairly maisther't. There's bin no bother sin'.

Well, owd mate, aw keep chattin away to thee as iv aw were
never beaun to stop. Aw'll send thoose kestins off this week, an'
hope bi sthrict attention to business to merit moore pathronage, as th'
fashionable twaddle gwoes. Tak care o' thisel — keep thi yead cool
an' thi feet fro snakes, an' when thi conthract's finished cart thisel
back to this smooky teawn, where tha'll olez find a hearty welcome
fro thi friend whol he's wick,

SQUIRE MARCROFT."

Fayberry, gooseberry.

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 147

V. — A NEW FRIEND.

My father asks me to write down a few impressions of our life
in that confounded Juiz de Fora, perched among the insufferable
hills above Rio, saying that between us we can give a more com-
plete account of our adventures there than he could alone ; so to
please him I am going to do it, however disagreeable the task may
be, and I hope after that never to hear the detestable hole mentioned
any more.

Is this strong language? You little know, reader, what this
unlucky mortal of a Thomas Garside endured and suffered during
his two years' banishment to the highlands of Brazil ! Duty is its
own reward, says the copy-book moralist ; but although I crossed
the sea purely from a sense of duty to my parents, no reward has
yet arrived.

If I had not been in love perhaps my views of the matter might
have been brighter ; but I was in love, and deeply, so it is idle to
waste more words on that aspect of the case.

If I had been an artist or a poet possibly the many beautiful
scenes we passed through would have coloured my judgment with
gayer tints. Instead of that I was a factory lad, ambitious enough
to think of rising to a responsible position in the trade, and selfish
enough to have a desire to reach that position as soon as possible,
feeling beyond that no pinings for worldly wealth or luxury, and
quite expecting to be a toiler all my life.

So in bitterness of spirit I sailed away from old England,
leaving my heart there, thinking only of the time when return
would be feasible ; and poor Emma tarried at home to fret and
hope, and wait with a woman's patience, as many before her have
had to do.

"For men must work and women must weep."

Of course, a good deal of this gloominess wore off by the time
we got settled at Juiz de Fora, and once fairly started with regular
work the days and weeks got themselves over well enough, a certain
pleasure coming from counting them up as so many obstacles
knocked on the head and buried. We soon fell into the ways of
the place ; but certainly never learned the shiftless, unconcerned
habits of the natives. " Come day, go day, God send Sunday,"
they seem to think ; the main object of their attention being to
avoid all worries of every description and do as little work as
possible. On my first day at the mill a yellow-skinned loafer
smashed four beam flanges through sheer idleness, but showed no
more concern than a child would at plucking a daisy. " No faz
mal — tern outer," he says, carelessly (meaning that the breakage
was of no consequence, as we had plenty more of the same sort),
and rambled off, leaving his bits for somebody else to shift.

148 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

The natives can live on next to nothing, and are content to do
it very often. Black beans and rice, with a chunk of pork or beef
at intervals, suffice them for food, and the genial climate makes
them independent of clothing. A skirt of thin factory material
with a coloured kerchief round the neck for the women, a pair of
light pantaloons and the thinnest of shirts for the men, and there
you are. Add to these a straw hat and a pair of tamancoes, and
you arrive at the full dress of the labouring classes. The tamanco
is a peculiar foot covering, with leather upper and shapeless wood
sole, made without heel-piece, and looking like a cross between a
clog and a sandal.

The factory work was easy enough to my father and me, hardly
needing a thought after the first day or two. We could have taken
the whole concern in hand just as easily, if need had arisen ; dis-
pensing entirely with the services of manager Grossel and loom-
canker Mitchell. The manager, in fact, looked ill and fragile
enough, even in those early days of our acquaintance with him, to
give us much reason for supposing that his management would not
last many months longer. We all liked him well, finding him
always a just and amiable man, who used considerately the almost
unrestricted power left in his hands by the directors, and strove
with care and thought to act equally in the interests of masters
and men.

Our lives ran along smoothly until mid-winter, when a new
acquaintance turned up to relieve the growing melancholy of my
existence. I had roamed off a mile from the town one Sunday
morning, making towards a group of mountains over which the
paths ran to the higher altitudes of the interior, losing myself and
the track also among the riotously-extravagant luxuriance of vege-
tation, now at its greatest height and strength. Pushing slowly
on through a wilderness of wild growths taller than myself, I heard
a fresh, sweet voice begin to sing, growing in volume as it came
nearer to me.

" I see her in the dewy flow'rs,

That spring sae fresh and fair ;
I hear her in the merry birds,

Whose music charms the air ;
There's not a bonny flow'r that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a merry bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean."

" And that's where you are?" the singer said, coming within
sight of me as his voice lingered over the last tender cadence of
his tune. He was a middle-sized, active young fellow, with
freckled face and scanty moustache, and he smiled at me in a
friendly way.

"Where did you learn to sing like that?" I asked him.
" Your heart was in the music."

LIJAH'S FORTH*. 149

"The wee birdies in the Heelands taught me, man. Ye'll
have seen Scoatland yoursel, it's like ?"

" No."

" Hech, laddie ! Dinna ye set me thinking about my native
hills so airly the morn. Come awa back to the toon, now I've
foregathered wi ye, and we'll have a bit crack. That's if ye're no
compelled to gang on further, ye ken."

I turned back with him willingly enough, such pleasant com-
panions being scarce in that part of the world, and on the way he
" spiered " me, as he called it, to learn my name, business, and
connections. His curiosity was soon satisfied, and on my part I
proceeded to sper for particulars relating to himself.

His name was Watty Ferguson, he told me, and his work lay
at a gold mine among the hills. He had come down to civilised
districts for a month's holiday, intending to catch a train at Juiz
for Rio, where he had friends.

" That's all right," I said ; " but as you can't get forward to-
day, come and have some breakfast with me and see my folks."

" And so I will," he said ; " for losh, man ! a white skin's
pleasant to see, and an English tongue makes music in ma ears
after a long spell up yonder among the natives."

So I took him home to breakfast, and very glad they all were
to have so cheerful a visitor ; and later on we all walked over to
the German village, where we attended service in a little Lutheran
church. Then we wandered back home to dinner, and by the
time that meal was over our new friend was quite one of the family.
Some hints he gave us about getting on his road were laughed at,
our unanimous decision being that the very least he could do
would be to tarry for the night, catching an early train next
morning.

"Tha mun goo noane to-day, lad," my father said in his
downright way. " Tha'll find no moore comfortable shop nor this
to sleep in, an' we're o fain to have thee. Stop here a week, iv
tha's a mind."

" Ah, no, Mr. Garrside ! I must be getting down the braes to
Rio e'er it's lang. I would bide here till morn if ye would take
siller for the lodging."

"Ah, but we shannot do so," my mother said, laughing.
u This is noane a lodgin-heause, but we con shap to find thee a
bed for o that."

" Do stay, sir," says Lucy, turning her blue eyes full upon him.
" We will do our best to make you comfortable."

"And would you wish it, lassie?" the Scotchman asked,
looking her straight in the eyes. " Then I'll bide here, though I
doubt ye'll make me so comfortable that I'll want to leave ye nae
mair."

He bided accordingly, delighting us all with his pleasant ways

150 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

and bright looks, making that Sunday memorable for us. Early
next morning he started for the coast, promising to call on his
way back, and possibly spend another night with us, before losing
himself in the solitude of the mountains again. He spoke highly
of the mine he was connected with, praising the management, and
speaking confidently of the value of the shares, which were then
paying a regular dividend of twenty per cent. My father was
evidently interested in this talk, and asked many questions about
the mine, the directors' names, and so on, until my mother
objected that conversation of that sort was unsuitable for Sunday.

At the end of a month young Watty turned up again on a
Monday night, saying that he had called to beg a night's lodgings,
and must face the mountain road with dawn next morning.

" And I'll pay ye naething for it," says he, " press me sair as ye
may. Once ye refused good siller, and noo I've little to offer, for
Rio's a strange place to swallow the bawbees."

My mother gave him some tea, lamenting his changed appear-
ance, his visit to the sweltering lowlands having thinned him down
a good deal, and we all spent another pleasant evening with him.
He had much to tell us of places and people seen during his
holiday, filling up the time with songs when talk ran out. His
favourite ballad seemed to be the one I had heard him singing at
my first meeting with him — Burns' " Of a' the airts," to my mind
one of the most tender and beautiful songs ever produced by the
inspired ploughman.

Nobody could have heard Ferguson sing those exquisite lines
without a throb of the heart and a tear in the eye. His own eyes
were wet, and his sweet voice trembled with real feeling, leaving
us all silent after the last pathetic cadence.

"Anybody could swear Burns was in deep earnest when he
wrote that song," I said ; " and for all that he was most likely
dangling after several other women at the same time."

" Of course he was in earnest, ye doubting rascal," says Watty.
" It's no for naething ye were christened Thomas, ye unbelieving
Sassenach ! It's no for the like o' you to criticise Burrns. Where
would I be up the hills yonder, far awa from a' friends as I am, if
I hadna the Scoatch sangs for company. It's no just the words,
ye ken, nor yet the tune, but the auld times that come back to
mind, the pictures o' strath an' heather-knowe, loch or brae-side.
Ah no ! there was never a sang writer like Burrns."

None of us felt inclined to contradict him on that point, and
after a while we all got ourselves off to bed. Next morning the
Scotchman was up early, ready to start on his road before my father
and I set off to the mill.

" I've a wee bit brooch here," Ferguson said, pulling a parcel
from his pocket just before he went. " I bought it in Rio. Will
ye wear't, lassie, gin I give 't ye?"

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 151

Lucy blushed like a rose, and shrank back behind her mother,
saying nothing in reply.

" Noo, Mrs. Garrside, ye'll no be hinderin the lassie. There's
nae harm at all. She shall hae 't for a kiss, and I'll pin it on her
breast mysel."

He proceeded to do so at once, while we all laughed. The
brooch was an oval plate of silver, with the word " Lembranca "
(Remembrance) engraved on it. Then he kissed Lucy and my
mother, saying,

"That sends me back to Glasgae, mither. Ye're the first
woman I've kissed since leaving the auld hame."

" Poor lad ! It's very lonely for thee up yon hills, wi hardly a
Christian to speighk to," my mother said. " Tha mun slip deawn
sometimes ov a Sunday, an' we'll thry to cheer thee up a bit."

" Dinna doubt that," says Watty. " I'll be coming, ye'll see."

" Tha'll be welcome, lad," my father said. " Next time tha
comes bring a prospectus or two o' th' gowd mine. Aw'm curious
to see heaw it stons an' who yor directhors are."

Ferguson promised that he would do so, took leave of us all,
and walked briskly off towards the hills. We all stood out in the
garden watching him climb the rising path. He turned once to
wave a hand at us, Lucy shaking her handkerchief in return ; then
he plodded along steadily, and we heard his sweet voice singing
one of the ditties he loved so well.

" Farewell my friends, farewell my foes ;
My peace with these, my love with those ;
The bursting tears my heart declare —
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr !"

VI. — CHANGES.

Anybody who happens to know my father's style of setting
about his work will need no telling that everything was soon put
into apple-pie order in his department of the factory. There had
been some difficulty about spinning cops enough to keep the looms
running before he took the job in hand, but in a month he was
well beforehand with both weft and warps. Still the looms were
not got to work, fully twenty of them standing idle from week-end
to week-end, lost in dirt, covered with rust, doing no good to any-
body. Grossel, the head manager, complained often about this
unsatisfactory business, but could never get the loom overlooker
to admit any fault on his side. Before long Grossel came to my
father to see if he could help in the matter, saying the overlooker
told him we couldn't produce yarn enough to feed all the looms,
and wanting to know the reason.

" Come this road," my father said at once, taking the manager
to see a big pile of full skips and bobbins. " There should be

152 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

enough here to be gooin on wi. Tell yor tackier to weigve his
hardest — aw'll keep up wi him yo'll see."

" Very good, Herr Garside. You are the man of business,"
says Grossel ; so he marched off and stirred Mitchell up.

A fortnight later Grossel came in again, saying the looms had
never been touched, and asking my father's opinion about the
reason for Mitchell's neglect. My father said in his dry way,

"Surelee it's noane becose he cawn't make 'em run? To yer
him talk he's th' only mon here 'at undherstons machines."

"That is very right," says Grossel, smiling. " He would teach
me my business if I did let him. Tom, my vriendt, ask that man
to step here."

I went into the weaving shed, found Mitchell walking about
whistling with his hands in his pockets, and gave him the manager's
order.

" I've hardly time for t' come just now," says Mitchell. " I'm
full o' work for a bit. What's up, Tom ?"

" Nay ! don't ask me. The manager's waiting for you in the
warehouse."

" It's very awkart bein called away from work like this. If
aught goes amiss while I'm out it's me 'at '11 get blamed for it.
There's a deeal o' bother wi gaffers awlus."

I suggested, trying to keep a serious face, that the mill could
be stopped until he got back to his looms, and all chance of
accidents avoided in that way, upon which he shot a suspicious
squint at me out of his little eyes, and marched off. I followed
him into the warehouse, where we found the manager and my father
contemplating the piles of twist and weft, which had grown bigger
than ever.

" You complain to me that you wait for stuff, Herr Mitchell,
yet here it looks is more yarn than enough for your weavers. Is
it not ?"

Mitchell looked about him, and was forced to admit that we
were well ahead of him for the moment.

" Then you will let me have all the looms running at once,"
says the manager. " They have stand too long."

"I didn't think it wisdom for t' push too much cloth out,"
says Mitchell, as cool as could be. " We're keepin well up to lh'
salesman."

Grossel stared at him, completely staggered by this piece of
impudence. However, he could always control his temper, and
all he said was,

" I will myself attend to the selling, Herr Mitchell. Let me
see what you call push out all you can."

" Well, I mun try for t' get some more looms on as soon as
there's time. But rayliegh I'm o'erworked as it is, an' could do wi
some help. I'd best have a under-tackier to help me out, an' then

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 153

I could shape to help in th' office at odd times if yo happened for
t' want me, or give Lijah here a lift in th' cardroom when he's o'er
pushed."

" Tha con give me o th' help aw'm likely to want as it is," my
father said. " Aw'm thinkin o' gooin on short time next week
whol tha catches up to us a bit."

"Yo'll have time for t' help me wi yon looms then, happen.
My time's awlus a good deeal taken up wi havin to watch so many
different things, sich as helpin th' salesman wi his samples, keepin
th' turbine i' good runnin order, an' so on."

"Ach himmel !" says the manager. " It's every man's business
but your own that you would do. Let me soon have the looms to
run, or I must arrange some other way. It is for you to weave,
and meddle not with other affairs at all."

"Oh ! Is that it?" Mitchell asked in what he intended for a
tone of honest independence. " Yo can crow now, when I've
been here long enough for t' have my brains sucked an' getten yor
consarn into good workin order ! That's t' reward a chap gets ! If
I'm not givin yo satisfaction pay me up, an' we'll dissolve the con-
tract by common consent."

Grossel took no notice of all this, but walked away to his office
without more talk. Then the overlooker began to jabber at my
father.

"That's awlus t' road these gaffers come interferin. They will
do it — like as they can ne'er trust a man. He'll be for servin yo
t' same afore yo've bin here so long."

" Dost think so ? He cawn't say aw've ony machines stonnin,
shuzheaw. What's to do wi yon looms, makes thee so freeten't
on 'em?"

" They're a odd lot of old rubbish, nobbut fit for t' be broken
up into scrap iron. There isn't a tackier livin as could make
'em wayve good cloth ; but I'll set 'em on, an' yon manager mun
take th' risk."

Away went Signor Mitchell, ruffling his feathers like a defeated
gamecock. My father chuckled as we turned to our work again,
and said to me,

" Hasta looked at yon owd looms, Tom ?"

" No," I said.

"Well, aw have. They're undherpick looms, an' it's plain
enough to me yon Jack ov o thrades finds hissel fast wi 'em.
They'll weighve reet enough when they're set plumb an' getten
abeaut hawve a ton o' dirt scraped off 'em. We s' ha to tak 'em
i' hond eaursel, aw expect, afore there's ony good done."

After another fortnight Mitchell managed to get four more
looms on, and turned off some cuts that made both manager and
salesman swear at him. The cloth was uneven, and had no face
on it fit to be seen.

154 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"No wonder, nayther," says Mitchell. "There isn't a chap
livin could make 'em wayve reet, even if we'd dacent cotton to
goo at ; this stuff we get for t' work up con hardly be made int'
cloth at all."

"What ails it?" my father asked. "Th' stuff spins weel
enough, an' should weighve reet for what aw con see."

" It may happen look so to you, but it's them as has for t' feight
with it as knows."

Grossel had come to the limit of his patience by this time.
He turned on Mitchell,

" Take out the warps and let the four looms stand till Christ-
mas. Your contract finishes then, and will not be renewed."

" Pay me up an' I'll go now," Mitchell shouted, and went on
jabbering a lot more stuff, so we all went away to attend to
business, leaving the poor simpleton to himself.

It was certainly hard lines for the overlooker, but he had made
himself so thoroughly disagreeable to nearly everybody in the place
by his conceit and meddling propensities that very few people felt
any sympathy with him. With the new year my father took charge
of the looms, leaving much of the preparatory work to me ; and in
a fortnight the despised underpicks were all running, turning out
as good cloth as could be woven by any loom in the shed.

So Mitchell vanished from the scene, with curses on his lips
and abiding malice in his breast, and our manager began to rub
his hands with satisfaction at the increased production. But he
did not rub them much longer, poor fellow. His health failed
him just when the mill began to answer his expectations. Every-
body had seen for months that he was losing flesh and energy, and
before summer came he was incapable of further work.

The natural end came, and we had poor Grossel's body to lay
in the cemetery. As the custom is, he was put into his coffin
dressed in a black suit, a white linen front ornamented with gold
studs on his breast, and all the mill hands walked in a motley
procession behind the body. In the Juiz cemetery only the
poorest people were buried in the ground. A high double wall of
adobe surrounded the place, the inner sides being pierced with
triple rows of cells large enough to hold a coffin, and here all
persons of distinction in the neighbourhood found their places of
rest. In one of these cells poor Grossel was laid, the opening was
bricked up, and the crowd of mourners paid their last tributes to
the memory of a just and kindly man.

The mill management now rested upon my father's shoulders,
with the result that I had to go into the loomshed, an under-carder
taking my place. The directors met to consider the appointment
of a new manager without coming to any particular decision, and
after a month of uncertainty concluded that my father should have
a fair chance of showing what he could do. They put up both

LIJAH'S FORTiN. 155

his wages and mine to a handsome figure, and as our family sat at
the tea table that night hopes of a speedy return to old England
grew strong in our breasts.

" It's a good job eaut ov a bad un," my father said, smoothing
down his full beard. "Yon manager were a rare chap — aw've let
across very few as upreet an' rezonable as him, an' it's a theausan
pities he's gwone. But for o that aw cawn't help feelin fain to
get sich a lift up as this."

"Perhaps you won't give them satisfaction, father," said sly
Lucy. " You are only on trial yet."

"What con a mon wish for moore nor a chance o' thryin?"
he said, squeezing her in his powerful arm for her archness, and
smiling at us all. " Let humbugs an' idlers jump into shops
they're noane fit to fill — a gradely mon nobbut laughs at sich
foos, scornin hissel to be set on a pyerch he hasn't fairly climbed
to ! Show me a moore pitiful object nor a chap reckonin to do
wark he's noather knowledge nor gumption to undherston ! He
dhraws a big wage, happen, an' hecthors abeaut thinkin nobry con
see through him, whol everybody's grinnin at him behinnd his
back. Tha little knows thi fayther, lass, iv tha taks him for sich
a turmit as that."

" Brag's a good dog," our mother said, laughing.

" Yo con say what yo'n a mind," young Harry chimed in, "but
iv we cawn't manage yon facthry among us let 'em give us o th'
seek, an' welcome."

We were all forced to grin at this, and my father turned his
eyes to me.

"An' what does Tom say?"

I said, " Father, there is not one here but knows that all mill
work is child's play to you ; not one here but knows and thanks
God for knowing that you are an honest man, and the best hus-
band and father in the world ; and if the directors don't confirm
your appointment we will try them for burglary and arson in the
criminal courts of Brazil."

" Well, thoose 'at liven '11 see," my father said, " but aw mun
say there looks a healthy chance just neaw o' makin that fortin."

VII. — THROUBLES BEGIN.

Young Tom's gien me a bit ov a lift wi this historical job, an'
he swaggers moore nor a little abeaut his share o' th' wark ; but
he's like a lot moore o' these fawse young uns — hardly as cliver
as he thinks. His writin's too mich dictionary in it, an' like most
hee-class describers he o'erlooks a lot o' womly touches 'at 'd give
force an' colourin to his tale. For one thing he could ne'er give
his mind to th' job, becose he hates Brazil an everything abeaut it,
grumblin to this day at th' time he spent theere parted fro his lass.

156 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

There were no howdin him when his two year were up. Nowt
but owd England would do for Thomas then ; no railway were
swift enough to whuzz him to Rio, no wynt too sthrong to blow
him across th' say. His mother cried, Lucy cried, Harry
whimper't, aw grunted a bit just to show mi authority, but o were
wasted on him.

" Pack him his things up, mother," aw said. " Love's clen
run away wi him, yure an' corns. Get o ready, an' aw'll go deawn
to Rio an' see him shipped off."

So we ordher't things that road, an' inside o' three days aw
seed him safe aboard for his long voyage. We parted beaut fuss
— th' women had made enough o' that at Juiz — for we knew one
another too weel to need ony palaverin.

" Good-bye, father," Tom said, an' aw seed th' glint ov a tear
in his e'e as aw turned to th' gangway. " Let us have you at home
before long. When I see you all safely back in Lancashire I will
forgive you for this crazy fortune hunting, and not before."

" Crazy, is it ? Tha'd happen best see me locked up safe in a
sylum afore tha sails."

He gav me his hond. " God bless you, father ! Never a son
had better parents than I have, or loved them more than I do
mine. You have made a man of me — or you and Emma together
— and I can do little to repay all your kindness and wise counsel."

" Tom," aw said, " time's short, an' th' captain's gettin restless
yon on his bridge. Iv we never meeten again think on it rests wi
thee to uphowd th' Garside name. We com'n ov a good owd
family, an' for hundherds o' years back every Garside's addl't his
own livin, done his share o' wark, an' thried to use his neighbour
same as hissel. It lies wi thee neaw to follow thi long line ov
ancesthors wi sthraight feet an' bring up thi childher to do th'
same. Let me never yer on thee tellin dirty lies nor layin a finger
on owt but what justly belongs to thee. Think on law's one thing
an' reel's another. Whol tha's a shillin left tha con olez spare
sixpence for a friend beaut brass. Say nowt again folk behinnd
their backs. Sup nowt sthronger nor worn-brewed, an' noane too
mich o' that. Keep low thoughts eaut o' thi mind bi fillin it wi
things brode an' hee. Festen thi e'en on th' sky — it's as yezzy to
look up as deawn, an' makes a vast difference in a mon. That's
abeaut o, aw think — there's advice enough theere to last for life."

" You are as wise as Polonius and much more practical," says
Tom. " Our long family roll of honourable traditions shall not be
blemished by me. Good-bye."

" God bless thee, my lad," aw said. " Mind o' fo'in."

Th' engine jonked, aw beaunced o'er th' side into a boat, th'
big screw turned grindin, slow an' steady th' greight styemer slipped
away wi sheautin an' wavin fro deck an' quay-side. My lad were
gwone.

LIJAHS FORTIN. 157

As aw walked back toard th' station who should aw meet but
little Mitchell, lookin wur clemmed nor ever, an' donned i' rags
'at 'd hardly howd together to cover him. He sent a murdherous
sceawl at me across th' road, but aw cared nowt for t' poor fellah's
spite, knowin weel aw'd done nowt to desarve it. Aw crossed o'er
to him.

"Nay, Mitchell!" aw said. " Whatever's brought thee deawn
to this pitch?"

He looked at me, black as thunner, an' wouldn't speighk.

"Tha'll find thi tongue in a bit," aw said. " Come this road!"

There were a little cookshop near us, so aw took him bi th'
arm an' lurried him inside. He were noane for gooin at first, but
as aw could ha carried him undher mi arm like a babby iv he'd
bin stupid, he changed his mind an' coome quietly. They brought
us some wot soup, wi pork an' bananas to follow, an' th' little mon
went at 'em wi moore relish nor ever aw'd sin him show at tacklin
his wark. But he'd say nowt, an' looked as sulky as ever.

" Aw'll sattle thee, owd brid," aw thought to misel ; so when
we'd etten up aw paid th' bill, an' took mi nowty scholar to a
ready-made clooas shop deawn bi th' harbour, where aw geet him
some dacent things to his back at smo expense. Th' owd Portigee
shopman thried to swindle me eaut o' tuthri milreis, but fund me
rayther too owd-fashion't for him.

Aw walked reaund Mitchell an' looked up an' deawn him,
thinkin to misel he'd do, so we went eaut. He looked a new mon,
what wi dinner an' clooas.

"Neaw, Mitchell," aw said, "thi sulkiness matthers nowt to
me, but aw mun catch this next thrain to Juiz ; so find thi tongue
an' let's yer heaw things ston wi thee."

" They're bad ! You know as they're like for t' be when

you've done me out o' my shop."

" It's no shappin o' mine, lad," aw said. " Dost think aw
poison't Grossel, or what? But that matthers nowt — what arta
beaun to do wi thisel?"

" Clem to t' deeath. I've tried a deal o' shops, but I can get
nowt for t' do. You've shoved me out an' happen yo'll live to rue
it some day."

" Give o'er o' thi twaddlin talk," aw said, gettin a bit mad at
him. " Wilta bite th' hond 'at feeds thee ? Neaw aw'll tell thee
what it is — my lad's off worn i' yon ship 'at's dhroppin below
t'wayther line. He's bin runnin thy looms, an' there's bin nobry
put in his place yet, so iv tha's a mind to come back wi me an'
behave thisel aw'll tak thee on again as o'erlooker. Every loom i'
th' shade's runnin neaw, an' aw'll help thee eaut wi yon undher-
picks iv tha gets fast. It mun be undherstood between us 'at tha

Lurried, dragged.

158 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

meddles wi nobry's wark beside thi own, an' rests content wi thi
own job beaut thryin to boss o th' mill ; an' that's th' only con-
dition aw'll ax thee to make."

Mitchell seauked in a deep breath, an' looked up very near as
consequential as ever.

" I knew as you were certain for t' miss me when I'd left," says
he. " Happen you'll own up now as you were in t' wrong for to
get me turned off."

It were no use talkin to sich a mon as that, so aw paid his fare
to Juiz an' carted him back up th' hills. In a week's time he were
swaggerin an' chattherin abeaut th' mill wi moore edge on him nor
ever, though aw took good care his foolishness didn't intherfere wi
his wark.

Young Ferguson had getten into a reglar habit o' spendin Sun-
day wi us, reckonin to say he were pinin away up i' th' hills for
want o' civilised society. To show us heaw thrue that tale were he
used to vanish afther he'd getten his dinner, seldom showin his
nose again whol tuthri minutes afore he'd to start back. It began
to sthrike me in a while 'at Lucy were never to be fund on a Sun-
day afthernoon, so then it like dawned on me 'at these two were
cwortin, a fact everybody else had sin plain enough for a good bit.
What smo deaubts aw could have abeaut th' job were shifted at
last, for th' lad coome axin mi consent to th' weddin. Aw'd little
to say again it, for Wat were a good lad, one fit to thrust mi bonny
lass's happiness to, an' as he geet a good wage there could be no
disputin his bein able to keep her ; th' only dhrawback were his
lonely worn among th' meauntains, bad enough for a lively chap
like him, an' likely to be a dyel wur for Lucy.

Well, there's no need to goo into every little point o' th'
business. It's enough 'at Alice an' me alleawed 'em to start
sweetheartin (as they'd bin cwortin tuthri week on their own hook),
jookin forrad to a weddin afore mony month were up.

Aw'd satisfied misel abeaut th' gowd mine bein a safe invest-
ment, an' takken up as mony shares as aw could afford. Ferguson
paid th' brass in for me, an' brought me th' scrip deawn, sayin aw'd
made a good spec.

" Put in all ye're worrth," he said. " Twenty per cent, every
year, an' as safe as the bank ! The mine's deep enough to hold all
your airnings."

" No deaubt it is ; but con we get 'em eaut again, that's th'
question !"

Aw thought Watty's advice were good, an' towd him aw'd tak
moore shares up at t' quather end, when aw dhrew mi wage.
Aw'd some thoughts o' sellin eaut mi English cotton shares an'
investin o that lot i' gowd ; but they'd bin payin so little dividend
that year 'at there were no partin wi 'em at owl like a fair price.

LIJAH S FORTIN. 159

" They'll get up again," aw thought to misel. " Aw'll let 'em
a-be a bit."

Afore long aw'd summat else to think abeaut nor brass breedin.
As we geet on toard December th' temperature went up to a pitch
hardly ever known on that coast afore. Even among th' hills,
where we lived, one could nobbut just bide, an' deawn at th' say
level folk were bein fair roasted wick. Business coome to a ston-
still, for they'd nobbut three heaurs a day fit to stir abeaut in ;
ships swung idle i' th' harbour, waitin for stuff 'at never coome ;
pack mules an' horses wandher't abeaut free fro wark, fain to cool
theirsel bi t' wayther-side ; folk ov o maks — black, white, an' yollow
— were to be sin lyin sthretched i' rows wherever a bit o" shade
could be fund fro th' sun's witherin leet.

Neaw, wot weather at Rio olez myens fayver, so yo may judge
what th' state o' things were at this time. Folk were deein i'
swathes, like grase on a mowin day, every sowl 'at could shap it
flyin up into th' hee levels fur inlond, where th' air were fresher an'
risks ov infection less. Plenty coome to Juiz among other shops,
thinkin o' nowt but savin theirsel, an' th' fayver coome wi 'em,
makin things rough for some on us. Th' little cemetary began
fillin up fast, wark coome to a stonstill at t' facthry, one hawve o'
th' honds fo'in ill, then to creawn things for us mi wife catched th'
complaint, very near sendin me eaut o' mi wits wi terror.

Wi o mi cliver calkilations, an' plans for sattlin heaw th' world
were to turn olez wi a sunny side my road on, nowt o' this mak
had sthruck me. It were summat otogether again experience for
mi wife to ail owt moore nor little women's touches o' sickness,
lastin happen a day or two. Her job were nursin other folk when
they happened to be laid helpless, an' some weel aw knew heaw
long an' wi what tendherness that unselfish wark had bin done.
But for Alice hersel to be takken bi a sayrious disease like this
terrible marsh-fayver, 'at swept abeaut on seaundless wings poisonin
folk brodekest, stagger't me quite. Could it be 'at aw mut loise
her — that faithful heart so long playin i' tune wi mi own — levin
her bwons buried on thoose dyeadly sun-brunt hills? Th' same
thoughts were in her own mind too. As aw stood bi th' bedside
one day, when hoo were lyin very wake an' far-spent, hoo gav me
her wasted hond, lookin up at me wi sunken wild e'en, an' said,

" Lijah, iv aw should dee here for God's sake carry me worn to
owd England. Aw could never rest buried i' this counthry."

" Never talk o' deein yet," aw said, fair heart-brokken ; " or iv
tha mun dee give thi ordhers to somebry else. Aw've done wi this
world iv tha'rt for levin it."

" There's Lucy an' th' lads to think abeaut — tha mun live for
them. Promise me, Lijah, an' then aw con dee content. Say
tha'll carry me worn, for aw know iv thi word's once passed tha'll
see it done."

160 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Iv aw live long enough afther thee," aw said, " an' iv it's
possible considherin what ails thee, aw'll see thi coffin safe to
England an' bury it theere in a spot weel known to us bwoth ;
that's thi last wish, it's o aw con do to plez thee, an' aw'll thry mi
hardest to see it through. Then aw hope to dee misel, an' be
soon lower't into th' same grave, an' iv God's hearkenin to us neaw
let him set a mark in His book again my name for witness 'at
aw've said it. Aw curse th' day an' th' heaur this wild fortin
cravin first enther't mi yead ; mi brain's bin turn't wi selfish plans
an' greedy thoughts ; aw con see neaw as iv it were written i' fire
across mi e'en what a pitiful mistake a mon con make bi sthrivin
for moore nor his share, astid o' stickin fast to honest wark whol
th' end. But aw'm punished for mi back-reckonins, Alice ;
desperate ill punished !"

" Aw knew we could ne'er prosper here," hoo said. " Heaw
aw've pined to go worn nobry con ever be towd ! It were o myen't
for th' best."

Aw could howd no longer — aw'd to get misel eautside into th'
air. Hardly knowin what aw did aw made for Mitchell's heause,
went sthraight in, an' fund him smookin at his fireside. He looked
at me wondherin, for aw'd sit me deawn beaut sayin owt, an' there
were summat ov a wild look abeaut me, most likely.

Mitchell spoke first. " How is your wife gettin on, Garside ?
They're sayin as she'll have a job for t' mend."

Aw couldn't tell him. For mi life aw couldn't ha spokken th'
words, " Hoo's deein." When aw fund mi tongue aw said,

" Mitchell, aw'm for England bi th' first boat we con catch.
Shuz what happens aw con tarry no longer here. Aw'll breighk
mi conthract an' give mi job up whatever it costs, so when th' mill
sets on again they'll want a new manager."

Mitchell's little e'en twinkl't. He were thinkin hissel just th'
mon for my shop, aw darsay.

" I'm sorry for your misfortins, Garside ; but you'll happen find
now what it's like for t' be i' throuble, an' learn how other folk
feels. I've awlus said as you'd have to suffer some day."

" Happen so," aw said. " Iv aw should meet a friend i' wur
throuble nor misel aw'll noane give him sich Job's comfort as
thine."

"I'm reely very sorry for you, Lijah — I reely am. Still, as
you've awlus stood i' my leet, an' it were through you as I got
sacked, it's not for t' be expected as I should cry because you're
goin out o' my road. This calamity's a judgment on you in a
sense."

"Laugh then, iv it'll shuit thee betther," aw said. "Aw'm a
brokken-hearted mon, an' no barkin fro mongrel heaunds like thee
con stir mi temper. Crawl on i' thi own gutther, snarlin an' bitin
thi best friends as tha scrunches lh' bwons they gien thee, get

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 161

thisel respected iv tha con, an' do thi best to disgrace thi breedin;
for there's nobry i' th' owd counthry 'at '11 ever howd thee to be a
gradely Englishman."

" I'll call myself owt for brass — ayther English or Irish, Spenish
or Mexican. A chap's no need for t' bother hisself about such
nonsense if he can nobbut get forrad i' life."

Aw left him theere, an' aw've never clapped e'en on th' waspish,
thankless, miserable object fro that day to this.

VIII. — RUIN FOLLOWS.

Aw went back up t' sthreet feelin as iv mi life were abeaut at
th' far end, seein things abeaut me in a sort ov a dhrem, mi mind
far away. Aw looked at nowt, but could see everything near me
— th' milkman takkin his ceaw reaund to milk at his customers'
durs, some natives busy in a little orange plantin, a big lizard
sthretched on th' sunny side ov a quartz rock, a fruitseller balancin
a board full o' bananas on his yead, stark-nak'd childher playin
'em among wild fleawers an' undherbrush, an' so on, even to a
split breek in a heause wall. Aw coome up to mi own dur, an'
theere were t' Portigee docthor just comin eaut.

"Sir Garside," he said in his best English, "the danger is
from your wife."

Aw catched him, beaut thinkin what aw did, in a gripe 'at
made him set his teeth wi pain an' dhrop his gowd-yeaded stick.

"Is th' danger o'er, docthor?"

He nodded.

"Are yo sure hoo'll live?"

T' docthor nodded again, though as it sthruck me afther he
couldn't have undherstood mi Rachda style o' talkin. Happen he
wanted to get loase, an' so were ready to nod at owt aw said ; but
be that as it may, his nod shifted a weight o' sorrow sich as aw'd
ne'er known afore, an' sent me deawn on mi knees at Alice's bed-
side to give thanks to that awful, unsin Ruler 'at con so mould an'
shape us eaut lives ov happiness or pain.

Her life were safe, an' o we cared for neaw were to get back
worn as soon as sthrength enough coome into her limbs. Back
worn ! What is that worn aw've talked so mich abeaut ? Surelee
mi worn were at Juiz, iv wife, childher, an' four walls could make
it ; an' thoose things are quite enough to make it here in th' owd
teawn 'at seed me born. What makes o this difference ? Is there
summat in th' fabric ov Englishmen made fro th' never-forgetten
soil they're bred on ? Is it some lastin virtue o' this sweet heart-
liftin moor-scented air, 'at once takken deep into th' lungs never

M

1 62 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

con lev body an' memory again ? Is it some deeper mind-wovven
pride an' love for kin an' native lond, coupled wi a mon's firm-set
wish to howd fast by an' feel hissel worthy ov his own folk an' his
own place ?

Aw'll give it up misel, bein a betther hond at cardin nor meta-
physics ; but there were no mistake abeaut one thing — no spot i'
th' wide world beside Rachda were good enough to wipe mi feet
on afther that terrible week when o creation had looked like slurrin
fro undher me.

Afore we could get sided up an' clear't off, one o' their little
Brazil revolutions happen't. Nobbut abeaut three month back
aw'd yerd ov a republican lecthurin chap bein punced eaut o' Rio,
where nobry could be fund to hearken a word again th' emperor ;
an' neaw, lo an' behowd, this same emperor, Don Pedro, were
quietly pension't off, tuthri objectin folk shot, an' a bran new Re-
public set up i' quicksticks. A native o' Juiz were made a Govern-
ment officer o' some mak ; so we'd banners flyin, fireworks whuzzin
abeaut (they con do nowt i' Brazil beaut sendin rockets up), free
dinners o' thripe an' chipped pottatoes cooked in th' London an'
Paris styles, an' general stirrins ov a lively stamp. Sich thrifles
as revolutions made smo difference to us afther what we'd just
gwone through — we'd no intherist i' sich babby-wark ; but th'
disturbance made us loise three days i' startin, an' durin that time
we'd a visit fro Ferguson an' a letther fro Tom.

Th' Scotchman londed first. He'd bin wi us nobbut two days
afore, takkin lev on us, an' sattlin wi Lucy to come o'er to Lan-
cashire an' wed her theere i' less nor two year. He'd fain ha
persuaded us to consent to their gettin wed first thing, an' carried
mi pratty lass up into th' hills wi him. Aw didn't see it i' that leet
misel — they were full young to couple, an' mi wise yead couldn't
bide to think neaw o' levin a chilt o' mine in that fascinatin but
dyeadly counthry, wheere nobbut three year back aw'd looked
forrad wi satisfaction to th' chance o' spendin o my days. So far
reaund mi views had shifted : an' just as once nowt but Brazil
looked possible for me to live in, so neaw aw felt 'at wick or dyead,
rich or beggar't, no lond but mi own could ever again bring con-
tent to mi heart. Yet aw've olez had a charicther for bein
thoughtful an' far-seein, foo as aw've olez known misel to be ; an'
bi puttin o' these happenins together aw've larn't to misthrist ony
wise mon 'at feels hissel quite sure ov a thing, knowin weel enough
'at a twinge o' toothwartch or a shoot ov east wynt may turn his
brainpon wrong end up ony minute.

"Nowe, Ferguson," aw said, wi mi bottom jaw set square.
"It's noane a bit o' use botherin. Iv Lucy's woth havin hoo's
woth waitin for an' fotchin. Tak her into Scotland iv tha will, but
ne'er spend thi wynt thinkin tha con talk me into levin her here."

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 163

So th' poor young things had mixed their tears, swearin ever-
lastin faith to one another, as sweethearts are olez ready to do, an'
then Watty had crawled away to his wark.

We o stared to see him back among us so soon, an' wondher't
what made him look so solemn.

"I must have a private word with you, Mr. Garrside," he said;
so we walked eaut together, an' aw soon fund mi knowledge
grooin fast. We crossed th' garden, wandherin into a plot o' spare
greaund close to, where we rambl't to an' again for awhile. Watty
started off bi axin,

"Mr. Garrside, do ye consider me to be an honest man?"

"That's a foolish question," aw said. "Aw've promised to
give my lass to thee, an' iv that isn't a good enough certificate for
thee, say what moore tha wants."

" 'Twas I advised ye to buy the shares in our mine, sir. 'Twas
on the faith of my worrd ye bought, and never man in this worrld
felt more certain of the future than I that ye would reap twenty-
fold what ye had sown. For, working there as I have done,
knowing the men in charge, and checking the turrnover from the
stampers, I durrst have staked ma life on the truth of the balance-
sheets. And yet I was sairly deceived."

Th' poor lad looked up at me so pitiful 'at aw felt co'd on to
shake his hond an' speighk a comfortin word.

" Tell me a plain tale, lad. Aw con bide it. There's above a
theausan peaund o' my hard-won brass staked on yon mine, but iv
it's gwone it's gwone."

" That's yet to be proved, sir. All I know is the treasurer's
missing, and there's talk in the mine of the lode working out.
The head engineer went to Rio Grande on leave a forrtnight ago,
and it's thought he'll be seen nae mair in these parrts. The shares
have dropped fifty per cent."

"They'll stop when th' bottom's reighched," aw said. "Well,
what arta beaun to do — go back to thi wark, or pack thi luggage
an' come wi us ? "

"There's nae gude stopping here longer. I'll gang wi ye."

We went in then to breighk th' bad news as gently as we
could. Lucy smil't to find her sweetheart were to go wi us, an'
Alice talked as iv th' loss ov a theausan peaund were a simple
fleabite to sich millionaires as us.

Ferguson thrail't off in a bit to fot his thraps, promisin to
get back again i' two days, so we'd quietness for th' rest o' that
afthernoon. Next mornin this letther o' Tom's turn't up. He
wrote a lot o' cheerful stuff abeaut his wife an' their wedded

164 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

happiness, wi gossip consarnin mony a friend, an' toard th' finish
he slipped this comfortin bit o' news in.

" I am sorry to hear that the Woodrock Spinning Company, in
which your capital is invested, has just declared a loss of five thousand
pounds on the past quarter's working, supposed to have been caused
by the old game of gambling in futures. As the concern was in a
bad stale before, there is poor chance of dividends being paid for a
while to come, and, of course, the shares are unsaleable now at any
price. What a pity you did not sell out last year, as you once thought
of doing, and invest the proceeds in Watty's gold mine !"

" It is a pity, for sure ! " aw said, when aw'd read o this eaut to
Alice an' Lucy. " Well, wife, it's o gwone neaw, so we'n nowt to
be freeten't on no moore. We are o wick, that's one comfort."

" We'n brass enough to pay th' passage back," hoo said ;
" that's o we needen to bother abeaut. There's good friends at
t'other end, thank God ! "

"Tha'rt reet, wife, an' aw were wrong. Everything's noane
lost."

Young Harry had bin sittin quiet in a nook, takkin o in,
so neaw he oppen't his meauth.

"Aw con help to keep yo, fayther, when we getten back to
Rachda. Aw con make as mich as ten shillin a week theere,
an' mi mother con have it o obbut sixpence."

"Do you want the sixpence for toffy ? " Lucy axed, rubbin his
yure deawn into his e'en.

" Ne'er mind ! " says Harry. " Aw want dhrawin papper an'
pencils, an' crayons, an' sich like."

" Hello, young un ! " aw said, wondherin what were in th' lad's
mind. " Has some idea sthricken thee o ov a sudden ? "

" It sthruck me a good while sin, aw con tell yo. Aw'm for
bein a dhraughtsman afore mony year."

" That's reet Harry," aw said, smilin at his sayrious looks.
" Surelee th' owd brids con rest in a bit, iv th' chickens are sich
bowd crowers. Aw'll see tha gets thi papper an' pencils, lad."

Next day Ferguson coome, bringin a mule to carry his box,
an' one moore day seed us fairly started on th' journey worn.
There were no tears dhropped o'er th' job noather.

But ill luck followed us as a burr sticks in a fleece. Afore we
geet to Rio aw fell poorly misel, flushed up like a fire, an' gated
ramblin i' mi talk. Next mornin a docthor had to be getten, an'
he ordher't us o off to a cooler spot eautside th' teawn, where we'd
to tarry for tuthri week. So it happen't at th' boat we should
ha sailed by went beaut us, carryin letthers to expectin friends
awom, filled wi bad news o' that fortin-huntin foo, Lijah Garside.

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 165

IX.— TH' FORTIN FUND.

A tall, thin, weshed-eaut lookin chap sit on a verandah at
Ponto de Caju one sunny afthernoon. His yollow face were
hawve hud i' breawn whiskers, a sthraw hat cover't his yead,
shadin two big sunken e'en, white cotton clooas lapped his
shrunken body an' limbs. Close to him sit a woman, good-lookin
yet, though her motherly face showed mony a line scrat bi Care's
finger, a quiet smile o' content in her e'en, her hond fast locked in
his. A bonny fleawer-sprinkl't garden spread reaund 'em, an a bit
fur off they could see th' blue ocean curlin up a low shore wi
never-restin swing. Soon a plump rosy-cheeked lass coome
wandherin up, sit her deawn too, an' geet howd o' th' chap's
t'other hond, an' next minute a curly-yeaded young fellah jumped
on to th' verandah rails, balancin theere wi danglin legs an' singlet
flyin loase in th' wot air.

" It's pleasant to see ye out again, Mr. Garrside," this last
comer says, fillin his pipe as he swung on his pyerch. " How are
ye feelin by noo ? "

" Hardly i' wrostlin fettle yet," aw said. " But aw'm thankful
to find misel wick an' mi wits i' gear again, for it's been a rough-
an'-tumble job this time reaund."

"Ye'll be thanking these two nurrses for that," says Watty.
"I wouldn't objaict to fall ill myself if I could be so carefully
tended. Harrdly a worrd have I got from Lucy this fortnight, so
much business the girrl's had on her hand."

" You will hear enough of my tongue in a while," Lucy said.
" Be satisfied."

" I'm no complaining, ye ken. And noo what's to hinder
us starting for the auld country before it's lang ? "

" Nowt, aw hope. Alice, is there as mich brass left as'll pay
th' fares across ? "

Mi wife flushed up an' thried to put me off. " Don't bother
abeaut that just neaw, Lijah. Get a bit sthronger, an' then we
con talk it o'er."

" Bless thi heart, wife, aw'm sthrong enough for owt ! Speighk
up. There's some wage owin at th' mill yet, think on — we con
soon write for it iv need be."

Aw felt two little honds turn wot an' thremble i' mine.

" There's a letther com'n," mi wife cheeped, as faint as a robin.
" Watty went up to Juiz, but they wouldn't pay him, an' said they'd
write i' due course, an' so it coome three days sin'."

Afther a bit moore persuadin Lucy brought me t' letther eaut.
It were nobbut what aw'd expected — quather's wage forfeited for
breighkin mi conthract, an' threats 'at there'd be some law flyin

1 66 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

afore long. Tuthri moore questions showed me 'at th' family
stockin were gettin empty, an' set me thinkin we should ha to
borrow brass to carry mi greight fortin worn.

" Aw mun slip deawn to th' English agent, an' iv he wain't foot
up we mun write worn," aw were sayin, when up comes little
Harry, an' cobs a hondful o' brass into his mother's appron.

" Are yo getten weel again, fayther?" he axed me, wipin his
sweatin face. " We're o weary o' seein yo laid on yor back i' yon
reawm."

"Mendin nicely, my lad. What's o this brass tha's brought?"

" It's mi week's wage," Harry says quite bowd. " Didn't yo
know aw were wortchin? There'd ha bin nowt comin in but
for me."

" That's reet, owd mon," aw said, feelin preaud o' mi lad an'
pattin his yead for him. "Thee be independent an' addle thi
keep. This brass '11 be useful enough, but we mun find a bit
moore somewheere — another hundherd peaund or so."

" That's a lump ! " Harry says. " It'll tak me a good while to
make that at fifteen milreis a week."

We agreed wi him, an' chatther't a while abeaut different roads
o' raisin brass, when young Watty put a quiet word in.

" What's to hinder me paying the passage money ? "

" Becose it wouldn't be fair," aw said. " Beside, aw thought
tha'd lost thi savins i' yon mine."

" All but two hunderrd pounds, sir — I've sae much siller left
in ma pouch. 'Tis this way, ye see. If ye've to write hame it
means waiting here three months. I'd fain be sailing sooner
mysel, and I'd have Lucy's fare to pay, ye ken, for 'twouldn't do
to go without ma girrl. Then, ye see, she wouldn't go without the
mither, and the mither wouldn't start without you, so there's na
ither way out o' the puzzle."

Th' lad's tale seaunded rezonable, so, knowin weel aw could
pay him back when we londed awom again, aw consented to use
his brass. So neaw th' packin-up fuss started o'er again, this time
beaut hindhrance, an' a short week fund us steerin across th'
restless weet wi noses sharp-set for England. Wi hearts risin every
day we made leet o' th' long journey, sailin into Liverpool as lively
as kittlins.

What gooins-on there were when we geet to Tom's heause,
takkin 'em bi surprise, for nobry expected us so soon. They very
near worried us, an' we o laughed an' snivell't together. Never
were sich a fine young husband as Tom, nowheere could be sin a
bonnier, wiser little wife nor Emma, no cottage could be moore
comfortable, clen, an' breet nor theirs. Never could be a happier
getherin nor moore thankful hearts i' this world o' care. An' when
we'd sit a while what should Emma do but slip upstairs, come
deawn again wi a little warm bundle o' shawls in her arms, set it

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 167

carefully on mi knee, an' theere were a new babby blinkin up at
me wi reaunt e'en an' never a tooth in it yead. My heart gav
a jump.

" God bless thi pratty face," aw said. " Aw'm a gronfayther,
aw do believe. Sithee, Alice ! "

But mi wife had howd o'th' chilt afore mi words were spokken,
an' Lucy, hangin o'er, helped her to squeeze an' kiss their new
relation whol aw began to think there'd be nowt left on it when
they'd done.

" We have given him your name, father," says Tom, lookin a
bit sheepish.

" Tak care he doesn't groo up as big a foo as me then," aw
said. " Iv there's ony luck i' names he'll be no betther for havin
mine festen't on him. An' whatever tha does teighch him to stop
awom, for once he gets a roamin sperrit undher his ribs he's
booked to suffer."

When th' baggin were sided me an' mi wife set off to find
Squire, for aw couldn't ha slept comfortable beaut seein mi owd
mate. He'd flitted again into sich a grand heause 'at we felt very
near freeten't o' knockin at his dur. We followed a carriage road
windin up a big garden, walked through a greenheause full o' fancy
plants, geet up some steps, an' then coome to a bell-hondle.

"This con ne'er be Squire's heause," Alice says, thremblin.
"We'd best go back an' sper again."

" Aw believe we're wrong misel," aw said, " but neaw we are
here there's no harm i' axin."

So aw rang th' bell. A lad wi buttons on his jacket coome,
an' aw axed him iv Squire Marcroft lived theere.

"Councillor Marcroft, sir? Yes, sir. What name, sir?"

" Let's goo," Alice whisper't i' mi ear. " This is some greight
mon's heause."

"Ceauncillor !" aw said, mi yure stonnin up. "It con ne'er
be^Squire, that's a sure thing. Aw've no visitin cards here, lad,
but carry this to thi maisther an' see iv he owns it."

Aw gav him a Spenish gowd piece off mi watch chen, one
Squire had gien me in th' pwd days at Marzagao. He'd scrat his
initials on an' cogged th' edges o reaund, an' aw felt sure he'd
know his hondiwark again when he seed it.

Th' lad went inside, levin us stonnin theere, an' next minute
we yerd a sheaut as iv a bull had brokken lease. Then Squire
coome sthridin eaut in his shirt sleeves, howdin a glue brush i' one
hond, his yure flyin abeaut o roads.

" Where is he ? Where the hangment is he ? Bi gum, it
is Lijah sure enough ! Aw knew it mut be ! Come in, tha thin-
ribbed fleycrow ! What arta stonnin theere for ? Eh, Mrs.
Garside, aw'm as fain as a weshed collier ! Come off that dur-
step, do ! "

1 68 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

He poo'd us inside, fair huggin us in his excitement, kissed
Alice, mauled us weel wi warm glue off his brush, an' shoved
us afore him into a comfortable sittin-reawm.

" Tell thi missis hoo's wanted, lad," he says, so young buttons
said " Yessir," an' made a bow as iv he were practisin dancin.

" Here, noane o' that ! " Squire sheauted, lookin like cobbin
his brush at th' polite sarvant. " Ston up like a mon an' keep
a civil tongue i' thi yead — that's o aw want fro thee. There'll
be no doancin dolls i' this heause whol aw pay th' rent."

Buttons bowted, Squire cobbed his brush into a glue pot on th'
harstone, an' brasted off again.

" Sit yo deawn ! Poo yor clooas off ! Make yorsel awom, do !
Aw feel as if Whissunday an' Kesmas had let bwoth together, an'
iv we don't make a neet on't this beaut aw'm no judge o' curran
loave. Han yo lost yor tongues or heaw ? What the hangment's
to do?"

" We're waitin whol yo'n finished, Squire," mi wife laughed.

" Why, aw've hardly spokken at o yet ! Neaw that's just yo
women up an' deawn — yo mun olez have th' last word, an' once
yo starten nobry else has time to cheep. Poo yor cheers up —
that's it ! "

In a minute Susan coome in, a different woman otogether fro
what aw'd ever known her. Hoo were donned plain an' tidy,
showed noane ov her fine-manner't nonsense, an' gav us a welcome
quiet an' hearty, showin hersel anxious to make us comfortable.

" Did onybody ever see sich a mess?" hoo axed, lookin reaund
her an' laughin. " Aw'm fair fast what to do with this chap o'
mine, he's that rackless an' yeadsthrong, an' sin' he started larnin
music he makes moore litther an' dirt nor a whole heauseful
o' childher."

There were a mess — hoo were reel enough theere — an' aw'd
known th' time when hoo'd ha flown into a rivin passion at th' sect
on't, cheerful as hoo took it neaw. A Merican orgin stood in
a nook, o th' inside works takken eaut, some laid on cheers some
on th' floor. A table were full o' reeds, springs, bits o' wood, rows
o' keighs, cowd chisels, hommers, brace-bits, planes, knives, files,
and so on. A pair o' vice were rear't again th' marble mantelpiece,
an' th' gluepot looked very weel on th' honsome harstone o' painted
tiles.

Aw began to undherston what were up, an' towd Squire
he were th' first mon aw'd sin larnin music wi a glue-brush, so he
explained things.

"Th' orgin geet damp in it inside, dost see, Lijah, an' th'
reeds gav o'er cheepin, so aw poo'd it i' lumps, thinkin a practical
mechanic should manage that job reet enough. But it's pottherin
me, an' aboon a bit too."

LIJAH'S FORTIN. 169

"Tha looks short o' tools," aw said, laughin at him as he
sit scrattin his chin o'er th' tableful o' rubbish. "Why not tak th'
bits to a machine shop where there's a good thravellin crane
an' plenty o' scaffoldin planks ? "

"Aw'll wrostle it yet," he says, shovin th' stuff away wi his
elbow. " Aw'm gettin into th' plan on it neaw."

"Tha's some likely fingers for playin on t' thing when it's
gear't up."

"They'll ha to do," Squire said, spreadin eaut his greight
honds, marked bi mony a hommer an' chisel knock. " Aw've no
moore. They wouldn't fit between th' black keighs at first, but
aw filed th' ivories deawn a bit, so neaw there's reawm for mi
claws onywheere. Aw con play ' God save the Queen ' wi
two fingers, iv aw happen to catch th' reet dominoes to start off.
That bothers me a bit — but aw'll make a pencil-mark on th'
beggars when aw find em again."

" What's this smith's vice for an' o this engineerin tackle ?
Is it to tune up wi ? "

" Nowe. It's too hard wark for me threddlin wind in. Aw've
sich long legs, tha sees, 'at when mi feet are on t' threddles
mi cheer's too fur off for me to reighch th' keighs, so aw'm dodgin
up some blowin gear — a weighted chen runnin o'er a pulley bindin
on a spring."

"Hearken yo theere ! " Susan laughed. "Con he be gradely
reet, done yo think ? Come, let's have this table emptied an' aw'll
put some supper on."

" That's reet, lass," Squire said ; " an' bring some ale up, for
iv there is a dhry job it's bein a professor o' music. Neaw Lijah,
let's yer thi news. What makes thee look so clemmed an'
yollow ? "

" Aw've had th' fayver an' tuthri moore ailments, an' nearly lost
mi wife beside."

" Tha'd ha larn't summat iv that had happen't. Well, go on.
That's very good so fur. Heaw mony theausan peaund hasta
made?"

" Aw've bin forced to borrow brass to come back."

" Tha'll be for thryin again next year, then ? Tha knows
there's no shop like Brazil for makin brass."

" Plague me no moore, Squire — aw cawn't ston it. Aw've
hardly a penny to co mi own, an' there's o th' world to start
on again ; we're clen ruinated this time."

" Yo'd best get summat t'eight whol yo'n a chance, then," Squire
said ; an' as th' supper were laid we took his advice.

" That mon o' thine co'd thee a ceauncillor," aw said in a bit.
"Isthatthrue?"

" Aw cawn't deny it, Lijah. There's hardly ony tellin what a
chap may lower hissel to, is there ? They would have it, with

1 70 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

their gibberidge abeaut native sense, practical knowledge, sich
folk as me bein wanted bi th' teawn, an' o maks. Aw'll tell
thee what " — here he bent across th' table end to whisper i' mi ear
— "iv aw'm foo enough they'll make a mayor on me yet wi a
dog-chen on. There's o sorts o' throuble afore me. Neaw, Lijah,
what arta beaun to do ? "

" Start wortchin somewheere."

"Aw made thee a good offer a while back, — it's oppen yet.
Tha wortches i' no shop but mine."

" Aw con happen be some use to thee as a foreman."

" Come, let's ha noane o' thi sauce becose aw'm on th' Ceauncil.
Tha knows weel 'at thee an' me mun olez ston on a level, an'
aw couldn't gaffer o'er thee iv aw wanted. Aw've noather chick
nor chilt — mi wife wain't object — pay for thi share iv tha'rt
determin't to be stupid — but thy brains aw mun have, an' my
partner tha mun be, or aw'll punce thee fro here to Owdham. So
neaw tha knows ! "

" Aw'm to find mi fortin awom, then, afther o."

Squire geet up, brought Alice to me, an' laid her hond i' mine.
" Here's thi fortin — stick to it fast. Tha's done thi best to cob it
away, an' iv that 'd happen't there'd be some sense in thi jabber
abeaut ruination. Aw tell thee a good wife's th' best fortin this
world howds for a mon — give him that an' he's independent ov o
th' gowd ever minted."

" Squire," aw said, " thi talk's as thrue as gospel. Tha makes
me feel like a schoolad wi' his lesson just larn't. Tha'rt wiser nor
me, an' a betther mon beside, for there's summat womanish
undher my ribs when there's throuble to feight. Aw'll ne'er crave
for brass no moore."

" Brass ! " says Squire. " Iv we cawn't make barrowfuls o' divi
wi thy yead an' my muscle aw'll never taste ale again ! Fill yor
glasses an' tay-cups, an' let's sup good health to th' new firm o'
Marcroft an' Garside, engineers, machine fettlers, repairs on th'
shortest notice, owd scrap swapped for new frames, an' o ordhers
attended to first thing bi hee-class technical-schoo-an'-college
thrained professors."

Alice gav me a sly look an' axed, " Hadn't yo best put a word
in abeaut experience i' foreign counthries ? "

" Iv we done," aw said, laughin fro a leet heart, " it'll be a line
at th' bottom—

Nowt no moore to do wi Brazil."

LEETIN BLACKSNEDQE.

Aw happen't to look in at th' White Heause one Sethurday
neet when aw'd getten dhry wi gawpin abeaut on th' moorside
whol th' edge o' dark, an' fund th' londlord blowin one o th' Local
Boardmen up, becose they wouldn't be persuaded to set a row o'
gaslamps up th' broo.

Aw'd a yead full ov o maks o' things just then, for aw'd bin
lettin a rook ov owd thraditions run through mi mind like wayther
runs reaund a canel bywesh — just makin a curve fro th' deep lodge
o' memory to slip back again unwasted — an' thinkin abeaut th'
greight historical chaps 'at 'd walked up that hill afore me ; so aw
took little notice o' th talk whol aw yerd mi own name mention't.

"There's this mon here," Pether were sayin, shakin his neighve
at me ; " hfll be breighkin his neck some day, for he's rootin
abeaut these moors at o sorts o' times. Some neets he comes
preawlin o'er th' tops just afore turnin-eaut time ; or if it
sthrikes him he'll be here afore th' dinner's ready, talkin abeaut
ramblin twenty mile across into Yokshire or some sich lies ; or
he'll come wandherin up toard baggin-time, an' then there'll be no
stirrin him whol long afther dark. He'll as sure be kil't as ever
owt were iv yo don't rear us some gaslamps."

Th' Boardman looked at me, an' said, " You won't charge your
funeral expenses to him, I suppose, if any accident should
happen?"

"There's no tellin," aw towd him. "That's a riddle aw've
little need to bother my yead wi. Done yo make Pether pay rates
for gasleets ?"

" He pays the general rate, of course — it includes lighting."

" Bi th' mass ! but aw should ston eaut again that. Why,
there's no gaslamps within a mile an' a hawve o' this heause 'at
ever aw've sin. Nay ! it's noane fair he should pay for other folks'
gas, shuz heaw 't be."

"It would be a dangerous precedent to allow him special
advantages over other ratepayers. You can never be sure where
that sort of thing will end."

" Yo'n no objection to me havin o th' special disadvantages,"
th' lonlord said. " But iv yo getten howd o' th' brass aw guess
yo're reet. There's no tellin what thrade it wouldn't bring here iv
we could have th' gas we han to pay for."

Blacksnedge, Blackstonedge.

172 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Th' Boardman winked at me an' said, "I really believe it
would pay you to put up a few lamps at your own expense."

" Mun aw keep th' roads i' repair for yo too ? " Pether axed
him ; an' off they set fratchin again for ever so long. Aw geet
weary o' their talk, an' hutched comfortably into a nook at th'
hobend, lettin mi yead run off into owd times again, when aw
yerd a lusty baritone eautside singin away.

" Knights of the Cross, lads of the moss,

Lasses fair as ever were seen,
In ribbon and feather, this holiday weather,
Lightly foot it on Sherwood Green.

Blow with a will, Mutch o' the mill,

Time our heels to thy whistle keen !
Summer's a-rustle — with sport and bustle

We'll follow the sun round Sherwood Green."

A firm foot seaunded on th' lobby flags, an' a weel-made hon-
some chap coome swaggerin forrad, carryin a bow longer nor
hissel. He were donned i' close-fittin green woollen clooas belted
reaund his middle, wore shoon up to his knees, an' a fither in
his cap.

" By St. Jerkin of the Wold ! " says this pottato, cobbin his
bow clattherin deawn onto th' bench ; " I would rather encounter
a full stoup of brown October than the wealthiest abbot of this
fair county."

" Heaw do, Robin !" aw said. "Aw were just thinkin abeaut
thee a bit sin'. Tha'd make little profit eaut ov abbots neawadays
— they'n larn't moore wit nor carryin their brass abeaut wi 'em.
Bring him a pint ov ale, Pether."

"Is he a rushcart chap, or what?" th' lonlord axed, bringin t'
dhrink in. " Threepence, maisther."

" An' thou pleadest to me for pence thy labour will be ill
rewarded, brave host," says Robin, clappin Pether on th' back wi
a welt 'at nearly upset him. " Fetch a more generous mutchkin
of ale, friend ; this is but a dewdrop in a forester's mouth."

" Sup away, lad !" aw said. " Aw'll pay for thee, iv it's nobbut
for owd acquaintance."

" Pay !" t' visithor said. " Now, by the trysting oak of Barnes-
dale, this is too much !"

" It's a bad thing to get too much," th' Boardman said, chucklin
at his own humour.

" Particlar where there's no gaslamps," says Pether, an' th'
chucklin stopped.

" Pay ! " th' quare customer went on. "If in all your historical
records you can find a trace of payment ever made by me I will
stand to be shot by the best archer within your bounds ! "

" Tha'd be safe enough, lad," aw said. " We could kill thee
sooner wi hawve-breeks nor arrows."

LEETIN BLACKSNEDGE. 173

" And shall it be said, marry, that now in merry England I am
to be pestered for pence ! Never ! as my name is "

" What is it ? " sheauted th' Boardman.

" Ah ! what's thi name ? " Pether axed.

" Robin Hood ! "

"Bi gacks it is ! " said a voice at th' dur. " Aw took thee for
a pace-egger." A womly-lookin owd chap coome forrad, pooin a
cheer up to th' fire. " Tha'rt a wharlock, aw'll uphowd teh," he
said to Robin, an' then turned to Pether. " Lonlort, is_there ony
throttle-weet i' this biggin ? Aw'm as dhry as a kex."

" Is there ony brass stirrin ? " Pether axed, " Iv tha'rt sich
another customer as th' last aw want nowt to do wi thee."

"Brass!" th' owd chap chuckl't, lookin reaund at us wi a
whimsical twist. " Uddzo ! There mun be some toard Rachda,
for they'n scruttl't aboon fourscore peaund together to bonk up mi
grave weh."

" Bi gum! "aw brasted eaut, "aw thought it mut be thee!
Tha'rt Tim Bobbin iv ever onybody were ! Fot a barrel in,
Pether ; quarts are no use to-neet."

Th' Boardman looked fleyed eaut ov his wits. " Tim Bobbin !"
he mutther't, oppenin his meauth as wide as th' hinges ud let him.
" I thought he was dead."

" Naught o' th' sort ! " aw said. " He'll ne'er be dyead; Tim
wain't — he's getten past that."

" And who may this Tim Bobbin be ? " Robin axed. " Me-
seems he is marvellous like a sturdy friar of my acquaintance."

Tim looked at him, sceawlin a bit. " There'll be one sthroke
o' difference between me an' ony acquaintance o' thine."

"What is that, marry?"

" Why, marry," Tim says, winkin at me, " aw wear Saddle'oth
glooves."

" I understand thee not," Robin said, givin his moustache a
twirl. " Expound, thou unfrocked clerk ! "

" Soon an' sanner," says Tim. " Aw keep mi bonds i' mi own
breeches pockets, dost see ? Thy mates had theirs i' somebry
else's mostly."

Here Pether brought some ale in, so we o supped once
an' started talkin i turns, like play acthors.

TIM (warmin his hands). — Aw feel th' cowd wynt a bit weh
bein eaut on't so long. It fair maes meh wacker ! It's some dark,
too, comin up this hill.

PETHER. — It may weel be dark when there's no gettin these
Local Boards to do nowt. Iv it'd bin a road-mendin job, wi
a ride reaund for inspection once a year, they'd ha looked to
it long sin'."

Wharlock, wizard. Wacker, shiver.

174 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

TIM. — Couldn't teh shap a brunfire or summat, to show deawn
th' slawpe a piece ?

ROBIN. — Or a line of varlets to mark the path. That was our
fashion of finding friends or warning off dishonest enemies.

TIM. — I' Gadlins ! That shads Wrynot, an' Wrynot shad the
dule ! There'd be some sport when tha let among thieves ! A
good lanthron were thought useful i' my day, an' sharp chaps
could pyke a road bi th' glint o' their clog-irons an' starleet.

WEIGHVER. — But it's gas they wanten now.

TIM.— Gas ? What the hectum's that ? "

BOARDMAN. — Gas is a general name for elastic aeriform fluids.
The particular species referred to now is the carburetted hydrogen
gas distilled from coal, which, by combustion, produces a brilliant
light.

WEIGHVER. — Hear, hear ! Goo up one.

PETHER. — That's heaw he talks to th' Board, aw guess. No
wondher gas is so bad to get howd on iv it's sich far-larn't stuff as
that.

ROBIN. — Pierce me with a clothyard shaft if I wot the meaning
of all this.

TIM. — Same here, says Bodle.

WEIGHVER. — Get back to yor cracks i' th' greaund, owd brids,
an' ne'er bother yor brains wi thryin to undherston what's gooin on
i' th' world neaw. Yo con ne'er gawm it beaut startin fro th'
schoo again.

TIM. — Well, shouldn't aw be awom theere, thinks teh ?

WEIGHVER. — Yigh — but wi a difference. Tha were a schoo-
maisther once, but tha'd be th' bottom scholar neaw. We'n getten
some fawse sin tha left us.

TIM. — Dule steaund teh ! Aw'm uncoth fain to yer it. There
were nowt mich but foos once ov a day.

ROBIN (elappin tK Boardmarfs knee). — What ho, my comely
citizen ! Hast ever a plump bag of merks about thee ?

BOARDMAN (shiftinfur off). — I have nothing but a few shillings
for immediate expenses. Rates and rents are too high for us
to save much here.

ROBIN. — Rates ? Rents ? Beshrew me if a plain woodsman
may comprehend this jargon ! (Dhraws a keen huntin knife.}
Pass hither thy silver, citizen ; or by St. Winnibald of the West
thou shall have rents enough and to spare !

BOARDMAN (hutchin &wvfc).-Help ! Help ! Hold him, landlord !

PETER. — Will yo see abeaut thoose gaslamps iv aw do ?

BOARDMAN. — Anything, Peter ! I promise anything ! He's
throttling me ! Help !

( Tim jumps up, lays howd <? Robin, an' wrestles wi him.
TK Boardmanfcts back on a bench, short o' wynt.)

Shads, beats,

LEETIN BLACKSNEDGE. 175

PETHER. — Howd on ! This'll do noane. No feightin i' this
heause !

WEIGHVER. — Let 'em a-be, mon ; they're nobbut two boggarts
wrostlin. There'll be nowt brokken. Neaw Tim, owd breek ;
Mildhro for ever ! Mind thoose pots !

BOARDMAN (pantin). — For God's sake take me out landlord !
My life is in danger from that ruffian.

PETHER. — Yo con never get deawn th' hill bi yorsel i' th' dark.
Iv yo'd nobbut rear't us tuthri gaslamps

ROBIN (blowin hard). — A murrain on thy stiff-built carcase !
Shall a village yokel cope with Robin Hood !

TIM (cobbin him into tit nook}. — Flop tha gwoes, greensauce !
Lie still, or aw'll bant thi ribs ! Sich urchons as thee looken reel
enough felleyin up an' deawn i' books, but there's no greight stink
ov honesty abeaut th' best on yo.

(Tim si is him deawn. Oliver Cromwell looks in at tti dur,
donned in a loase cloak, ridin boots an' sleauched billycock, wf
swort an pistils stickin in his brode leather belt.}

OLIVER. — What ungodly revel is here toward !

ROBIN (gets up swearin). — A malison on thee, clown ! Thou
hast left a dinge in my ribs.

TIM. — Tha should behave thisel. Who's this rednosed black-
lookin turmit at th' dur ? Are yo pace-eggers, or not ? Aw ne'er
let on wi sich a gang afore.

OLIVER. — Begone, ye unseemly brawlers, and seek to reduce by
self-denial and secret meditation your tendencies towards mirth
and junketings ! Host ! look well to my horse — he stumbled in
the dark, and I fear his knees have suffered.

PETHER. — There's no wondher at him fo'in. Yo see, we con
get nobry to set us gaslamps up here

OLIVER. — Silence, sirrah ! Let the Lord be as a lamp to thy
feet and a light in thy paths, and set about thy duties with a still
tongue.

TIM. — What bowd gamcock's this ? There'll be moore wrostlin
afore long, or the dule's in't ! (Spits on his hands).

WEIGHVER. — Ne'er heed him, Tim. He used to be a brewer
once.

TIM (sattlin back on his bench). — Oh, well ! That's another
mak o' porritch. Aw took him for Guy Fawkes.

OLIVER. — Away, ye vain babblers ! Projects of weight and
import seethe in my massive brain, and I would be alone. Retire,
and peace be with ye. (Aside). Until my cannon disturb it !

ROBIN (catchin up his bow). — Now, by silver Trent, I budge
not an ell at thy bidding ! One blast on this horn will pit against
thee odds thou little wottest of ! Have a care, thou grim-faced
varlet !

176 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

TIM. — We con sattle this mon beaut horn-blowin. Put that
wythin deawn an' poo tht neighves eaut.

OLIVER. — 'Sdeath ! Does no man stir at my command !
Without, there ! Harrison ! Barbone ! Who waits ?

PETHER. — Aw do misel, i' general. Did yo co for summat ?

OLIVER (gettin mad an' cobbin his cloak off}. — Nay, then ! If
my orders are to be thus set at naught I will even put my own
hand to the plough. Out with ye ! or I smite hip and thigh, and
spare not !

TIM. — Tha brags hard for sich a bantam. Traunce off, afore
aw lond teh a wherrit.

WEIGH VER. — Done yo tak us for th' Long Parliament, or what?

When aw axed him that Oliver lost his temper otogether, an'
laid howd on me to rive me off mi pyerch. He gav me sich a
stirrin as wakken't me up, to find it were th' lonlort shakin me an'
noane Cromwell at o.

"Come, come!" Pether says. "Tha'rt for sleepin o neet aw
think.

" Have aw bin asleep ?" aw gaped, reausin mysel. " Has Tim
gwone?"

" Tim who ? " th' lonlort axed. " Tha's bin snorin hard this
last heaur, whether tha's bin asleep or not. This Board chap's
waitin for thee to be company deawn th' broo."

"Where's Robin?" aw said, starin reaund me, for aw'd sin th'
bowd eautlaw so plain a minute afore 'at aw couldn't undherston
him vanishin that road. " Hast put Oliver horse i' th' stable?"

Pether looked at me very quare. "Yo're ramblin abeaut
summat. There's bin nobry here nobbut us three."

Th' Boardman nudged him, whisperin, " The poor man hardly
seems right in his head. Perhaps I had better not trust myself
alone with him."

" Start off bi yorsel, then," th' lonlort said, chucklin. " Iv we
nobbut getten one o' th' Board lost or lamed there'll be electhric
leets up this moor i' tuthri week, say nowt o' gas."

" Come on gaffer," aw said, gapin yet. " Let's get deawn into
th' world again."

So we wandher't off deawn th' moor, findin th' neet dark
enough an' no mistake. Th' Boardman kept his own side o' th'
road, as iv he hardly knew what to expect fro me, an' aw put some
wildish questions to him just to freeten him a bit ; but he seemed
to make his mind up 'at aw were nobbut a harmless mak ov a
lunatic afther o' an' we were good friends when we reighched th'
gaslamp 'at marks th' limit o' Local Board civilisation.

Then th' Boardman dhrew in a deep seauk o' wynt, an' said,

"Now we have no need to fear either ghosts or thieves.
Certainly gaslight is something to be thankful for."

Wythin, a flexible branch. Traunce, trudge. Wherrit, a blow.

LEETIN BLACKSNEDGE. 177

" Look up yon," aw said, turnin him toard th' moor, risin like
a wole o' solid darkness. Far up th' hill a spark o' leet were
hangin, favvourin a smo yollow star — very like fro Pether's lanthron
as he stirred abeaut his fowt festenin up for th' neet.

" Yes, I can just see it," he said, an' were turnin again to go
forrad when aw catched him bi th' arm, axin iv that speck o'
candle-blaze had put nowt into his mind.

" Why," he says, laughin, " I suppose our friends up yonder
must find themselves much inconvenienced for want of better
lighting."

" 'Specially when yo maken 'em pay for summat they cawn't
get," aw said. "But is that o yon spark says to yo?"

"Yes."

" Well, aw guess iv yo were a fanciful chap yo'd be little use on
a Local Board ; but there's summat woth noticin abeaut this job,
iv aw weren't too sleepy to hommer it eaut. We're stonnin on th'
edge o' th' modhern world here, done ye see ; cross this line an'
yo're back i' th' owd days again. Below us there's every comfort
brass con buy or brains plan : above us — hello ! Pop gwoes thi
candle, Pether, an' off tha bowts to bed ! — above us, aw say, there's
darkness an' danger, simple nathural ways o' life, hardship, dhrem-
less sleep, owd-fashion't days, an' quiet neets. Heaw plain this
division o' leet an' dark shows us th' difference between owd times
an' new ! Five hundherd year sin' o England were as dark as that
moorside, wi happen some dim shine ov hope, like Pether's candle,
stirrin among th' blackness ov ignorance an' oppression. To-day
our island is illuminated by the intellectual lamps of awaking
reason and growing justice — before long to brighten into the
electric blaze of equal rights and unselfish humanity."

Aw happen't to look at th' Boardman, an' seed his meauth wide
oppen an' his e'en stickin eaut ov his yead. " Good heavens !"
he gasped in a minute. " The man is talking English ! ! ! "

" Were aw for sure ?" aw said. " Well, it shan't happen again
to-neet. But con yo see what aw'm dhrivin at ?"

"Not I !" says he, settin off deawn th' road. "I never talked
to such a rambling old fellow in my life. You will be in Prest-
wich before long."

" Let's hope not," aw said. " Aw s' happen mend again wi
time an' care. Well, yo'll see th' Board abeaut leetin this hill ?
Yo promised Pether, yo known, when Robin Hood were throttlin
yo "

Th' Boardman were off like a rocket deawn a side lone, an' it
sthruck me then — too lat, as usal — aw were mixed up i' mi dhrem
yet, an' talkin stuff 'at seaunded to him like th' ravins ov a lunatic.
But th' chap met ha said good neet, surelee.

BEN RAMSDEN.

I.

At twenty year owd Ben Ramsden were as smart a lad as
needs to be sin. He wove i' th' cotton, makin a good wage,
mindin his wark, lookin forrad to doin greight things i' time to
come. For he'd read, had Ben, an' studied, an' gwone reglar to a
neet-schoo ; th' upshot ov o that bein 'at he felt fit to get on, an'
were determin't to do it. Bi way o' makin a short cut to pro-
sperity, he geet wed, an' fund life happy enough for tuthri year ;
then it like dawned on him 'at brass were scarce an' wark taydious,
an' he began wondherin iv he were beaun to run four looms o his
life, an' iv so whether he should like it or not. Tuthri year moore
fund him wi seven childher, an' quite satisfied 'at he could live to
find hissel weary o' weighvin. He'd getten a habit, too, o' spendin
his neets at th' aleheause, to get eaut o' th' road ov his noisy
childher an' busy wife ; rayther a quare thing, for as a young chap
he'd olez looked forrad to long comfortable heaurs at his own
fireside wi a contented family abeaut him. When his first chilt —
a lad — were born, he'd said so his wife,

" Ellen, aw myen doin summat wi this young fatsides. He
mun ha larnin an' science to get him forrad i' th' world, an' aw'll
watch him weel mysel, to make sure on him gooin reet."

" Don't kill him wi wark, bless him !" t' mother said. " Tha'd
olez rayther big ideas, Ben, an' happen th' chilt cawn't come up to
'em."

" He'll be reet enough, tha'll see," Ben towd her. " He should
be a bit like his fayther, an' iv so we s' get on weel enough to-
gether, shan't we?"

" Aw'm noane so sure abeaut that ! Tha'rt reet enough whol
tha con ordher everything thi own road, but tha con be middlin
stupid when onybody else thries to shap things. Iv th' chilt
doesn't happen to do o tha tells him it'll be wrong, aw know !"

" Make me eaut a bad un iv tha con ! " Ben said, givin her a
buss an' ticklin t' babby's cheek wi a finger. " Thee get thysel
weel, get eaut o' bed, an' look afther thi nursin ; aw'll see to
t'other."

But afore t' young un were owd enough to profit bi t' fayther's
care an' teighchin there were three moore babbies i' th' heause ;
an' when it were ready to start wi th' science classes brass had run
so short 'at nowt but th' common day schoo larnin could be
afforded. Wur nor that, Ben fund hissel noane quite as happy

BEN RAMSDEN. 179

among his family as he'd looked forrad to bein. T' childher made
sich a din 'at they stopped him fro thinkin an' plannin heaw they
were beaun to mend theirsel ; an' some road his wife were olez
scrattin at her wark, wi hardly time to speighk a word to him,
dhroppin asleep iv hoo'd tuthri minutes to spare, an' complainin o'
bein wortched to t' dyeath.

Ben ud be turned thirty year owd when it began sthrikin his
thoughtful mind 'at things were wrong somewheere, to make life
sich a hard job for a steady desarvin chap like him. He were
noane beaut hopes yet o' gettin set on a betther footin, though his
hopes ne'er showed him heaw to do owt but study an' grumble.

"There's no chance at o for a chap !" he'd tell his wife. " It's
these greight folk 'at keepen sweighin us deawn an' stickin to th'
brass. We'n no chance ! Am aw ne'er to do nowt but scrat just
to pay th' rent an' buy meight an' clogs?"

"Tha mun wait an' see," Ellen 'd say ; " but there's no need to
bother thi yead abeaut what's beaun to happen. We're reel enough
up to neaw, an' t' childher 's comin on nicely toard helpin us.
Give o'er plannin so mich, an' let things a-be."

" There's summat wrong, aw tell thee. There's no justice i'
this mak."

" Aw wish tha'd sattle thi mind, Ben, an' tak moore notice o' t'
childher. Tha never thinks to play wi 'em a bit, iv tha speighks
it's nobbut to snap at 'em, an' it's no wondher they're gettin
freeten't on thee. Tha reckons to be schamin to do us good, but
aw'd sooner see thee moore sociable an' breet neaw nor sulkin
twenty year to get betther off."

Ben felt sometimes he'd bin a bit ov a foo when t' missis talked
to him that road, but kept gooin on i' th' same slot, olez lookin
forrad. His lads an' lasses started levin t' schoo for t' facthry,
makin moore brass for t' careful mother to spend, an' helpin her
wi her never-endin wark; but there were no science scholars
among 'em, an' their manners were nowt to swagger abeaut. They
shapped to agree middlin weel wi one another, in a rough way, but
their fayther were ill-satisfied to find they were noane a bit betther
nor cliverer nor t' neighbours' childher, havin so long nursed a
fancy 'at they'd turn eaut summat above th' common.

So things went on whol Harry, th' owdest lad, were nineteen
•year owd. There were four o' th childher wortchin then, addlin
two peaund a week among 'em. Th' family were like comfortably
off for brass, so Ben were gettin th' habit o' spendin middlin on
ale, missin odd days fro his wark neaw an' again, an' gettin rayther
fresh sometimes.

One neet he coome worn fro th' aleheause, latish on, an' fund
Harry waitin up for him.

"Time tha were i' bed, lad," he said, in a ordherin-abeaut
sort o' style he olez used for t' childher.

180 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw wanted to have a word wi yo, fayther," Harry says, " an'
there's no chance whol o th' young uns are runnin abeaut."

" What's to do neaw ? " Ben axed, cobbin his cap on t' dhresser,
an' walkin as sthraight as he could to his armcheer.

" Aw want to get wed."

"Get thi hippins off first," Ben grunted. "Tha'rt nobbut a
babby yet, mon."

11 Aw'm nineteen, an' weel able to keep mysel."

"Tha mun do a bit toard keepin me. Get to bed wi thee, an'
talk o' this rubbish i' ten year or so."

" Well, aw'm tellin yo, fayther. We're beaun to get wed this
summer; so yo'll know."

"Tha'rt beaun to do naught o' th' sort," Ben said. "Dost
think aw've bin at o t' bother an' expense o' rearin thee to let thee
scutther off neaw tha'rt addlin a bit o' brass ? Iv aw yer another
word abeaut weddin aw'll punce thee weel !"

" Not quietly, yo wain't," Harry said. " Two con play at that
gam. Yo're makin brass enough beaut me, an' yo'n no business
to ston i' mi leet. But aw'll talk it o'er wi yo some time else ;
yo're noane sober neaw."

Ben had just supped enough to make him stupid, an' Harry's
independent talk made him mad. "Talk it o'er!" he brasted
eaut. " We'll sattle this job beaut so mich talkin o'er ! Aw'm
thi fayther yet, aw expect, an' tha'll do as aw want iv tha'rt stoppin
here. So neaw, which is it to be ? Tarry wi us an' say nowt no
moore abeaut this nonsense; or be stupid, an' eaut at that
dur that gwoes ! "

Harry nobbut laughed at him. "Are yo for turnin me eaut at
midneet ? "

"This minute ! Tha'll come noane back, noather."

"It'll shuit me reet enough," Harry says. "A neet eautside
wain't hurt me, an' aw s' get wed sthraight off iv aw'm turn't eaut :
but aw don't fancy bein punced away fro worn that road. Aw've
olez bin a stiddy quiet lad ; yo'n no faurt to find wi me, aw know."

" Why, tha impident young prout ! dost think aw'm beaun to
argey wi thee o neet ! Not another word ! "

Harry geet up an' put his cap on. " Is it undherstood 'at
aw mun never come back ? "

" Aw'll punce thee weel iv tha does ! "

" Punce ! " says Harry wi scorn. " Look at me once, an' see
iv aw'm a likely chap to ston puncin."

Ben looked as weel as he could wi his fuddl't e'en, an' were
forced to think sich a lusty young chap met be awkart to meddle
wi. Harry went on,

" Aw could ha liked to part friends, iv part we mun ; but shap
it yor own road. Yo'n noane bin a bad fayther to me, tak yo
otogether, though yo ne'er oppen't yor heart to us nor thried to be

BEN RAMSDEN. l8l

friendly as a fayther should. Yo're too mich lapped up i' yorsel o
to be hanged."

" Aw should be owd enough to shap beaut thy teighchin," Ben
said, howdin deawn his grooin passion. " Arta for gooin or
stoppin ? "

" Aw'd sooner stop, fayther."

" An' ha done wi this foolishness ? "

" It's no use axin me to give yon lass up," Harry said. " Aw
wain't loise her for o t' faythers ever born."

Ben geet up, set th' dur oppen, an' said, "This is thi road then.
Get eautside ! "

So th' son bowted, an' t' fayther crawl't up to bed as weel as
he could. Fro that day Ben were a changed chap. He seed
plain enough at last he'd no chance o' risin ; for wi nowt but
his childhers' wage to reckon on he could do no good beaut
their consent. Loisin Harry, or rayther Harry's brass, for that
were t' main considheration, fair knocked Ben o'er. He gav th'
job up. Iv th' young uns were for levin him that road as they
grew up he'd be like to keep gettin wur off every year, whol
he finished off i' th' warkheause.

" Aw may as weel spend it whol aw have it," Ben thought, so
he took a week on th' spree for a start. As he wanted somebody
to oppen eaut his throubles to, beside plenty ov ale to sup, he
sattl't on a dhrunken ne'er-do-weel co'd Ginger, stonnin him dhrink
i' payment for his company, an' tellin sich pitiful tales ov his
brokken hopes as made 'em bwoth cry when they'd supped enoo
cowd pints to brew tears.

" Though aw cawn't see what tha's getten to bother abeaut,"
Ginger towd him. " There's young uns enough to see thee reet,
an' tha'rt a foo to keep wortchin for nowt. There's nobbut six-
pence a day difference between playin an' wortchin, an' th' player
mostly gets it."

Ginger were what they co'n a philosopher ; so long as he geet
a yezzy life he were earless where th' brass coome fro, an' he ne'er
made hissel ill wi frettin o'er other folks' throubles. But Ben's
wife had noane so mich philosophy abeaut her. Hoo objected
to seein their hard-addl't shilling cobbed away ; so there were very
soon some fo'in eaut between husband an' wife. Little grew
to moore ; t' childher, 'at were to ha done sich greight things were
clemmed an' cleauted ; Ellen began to find eaut heaw it felt to get
knocked deawn an' left to pike hersel up ; furnithur vanished an'
never coome back ; otogether t' Ramsdens were gettin into a
bonny pickle.

" Aw'll put up wi this no longer, fayther," th' owdest lass said
one Sethurday neet when Ben rowl't worn mazy wi fourpenny.
" My wage is nobbut wasted here. Aw'll goo into lodgins an' keep
mysel."

182 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Be off wi thee, selfish besom!" Ben hiccuped. "There'll
happen be justice for a poor chap some time."

" Justice ! " his wife sobbed, watchin him as he fell back
i' dhrunken sleep. " When will there be ony for me, aw wondher ?
Aw could like thee to stop an" help me to feight it eaut, lass, but
plez thysel. Tha'rt owd enough to walk thi own road."

" Let's o lev him, mother," t' lass whisper't, puttin her arm
reaund Ellen's neck. " This life's killin yo fast. He'll ne'er do
no good whol we keepen howdin wi him, but left to hissel he'll
oather ha to wortch or dee."

" Aw'm his wife, tha knows," t' poor woman said. " Aw wed
him for betther an' wur, an' aw'll stick it eaut to th' finish. He'll
happen mend. It isn't 'at thi fayther's a bad chap ; he nobbut
taks too mich thought abeaut things."

" He thinks little ov his wife an' childher, aw know," t'
daughther grumbl't. Hoo kissed her mother an' went — th' second
brid gwone fro th' neest.

" We mun ha justice ! " Ben maundher't, dhremin in his cheer,
an' cobbin his arms abeaut. " Heaw long will they threighd us
deawn yet ! Justice ! "

"Ah! sure!" Ellen says, wipin her weet e'en. "Justice '11
set thee reel, tha bonny sample ! "

Hoo locked th' heause up, an' carted him off to bed.

II.

A parson were takkin a walk abeaut Rachda one Sethurday
neet, sniffin up t' thick sooty air an' admirin th' dingy breek buildins,
planned on' th' good owd design, two sthraight lines up an' one
across, when he yerd a woman skrikin. Followin th' seaund he
coome to a narrow enthry, an' gooin through it he fund hissel in a
flagged yard wi dirty little cottages stuck reaund it. A creawd o'
folk stood at one heause dur, hearkenin. O were dark inside.
There were nowt to be sin, but as th' parson coome up he yerd a
dull thumpin seaund ; then th' woman skriked again, an' a little
lass co'd eaut, "Oh, fayther! Oh, fayther!" in a voice to melt a
stone.

"What is all this?" th' parson axed, a red spot comin on his
cheeks an' fire shinin through his e'en, but nobry took ony notice
on him. O th' creawd were laughin an' chattherin as iv nowt
were, never stirrin a finger to help th' scremin woman.

"What is the matter here?" th' parson axed again, shovin his
road toard th' heause dur, wondherin what mak ov heathens he'd
let among.

A fat chap stonnin in his shirt-sleeves, wi his bonds in his
pockets, looked reaund an' said,

" It's nowt new — nobbut Ben Ramsden puncin his wife a bit."

BRONZE STATUE OF JOHN BRIGHT.
TOWN HALL SQUARE, ROCHDALE.

BEN RAMSDEN. 183

" He might be murdering her, judging by the woman's cries.
Can't we stop this?"

" Ben's on his own clod," th' chap says, shakin his yead ; "he's
getten th' law wi him, an' we'd best bother noane, for he's middlin
lungeous when he's bermy."

" Oh, fayther !" they yerd t' little lass skrike again. " Dunnot
hit me ! Dunnot hit me !"

" I'll stop this, law or no law," th' parson co'd eaut. " Come
and help me, men ; don't stand there like helpless cowards ! "

He thried t' dur, fund it were locked, an' set o his sthrength
to stir it, but couldn't shap. Seein he myent business th' fat chap
an' another or two lent a hond, very soon brastin th' dur oppen
among 'em. Th' parson let a match, an' geet a glint ov a sthrong-
built fellah between forty an' fifty flyin at him. Th' fat chap an'
his mates bowled, pooin t' dur to afther 'em, an' th' parson felt
hissel catched in a pair o' sthrong honds an' whuzzed o1 one side.
He let another match, an' this time shapped to leet th' gas too, so
he'd a chance o' lookin abeaut him. A thin, delicate-lookin
woman lee moanin on th' floor, an' some little freeten't faces were
peepin fro nooks where t' childher had hud theirsel.

"What dost want here?" Ben axed, wi a curse, steadyin hissel
again t' dhresser.

Th' parson took no notice on him, but bent o'er Ellen, axin iv
hoo were hurt.

" It matthers nowt," hoo said, lettin him help her up an' set
her on a cheer. " He's gettin o'er his hig neaw, an' there'll be
quietness for another neet. Come here, Alice, my love."

A little lass crept eaut ov a corner to her mother's knee. Ellen
clipped her up an' kissed her. " Has he hurt thee, my beauty?"

" Nowe, aw were nobbut freeten't, mother."

" Run away to bed, my love, an' tak t' little uns wi thee."

Alice ferreted eaut two lads fro their nooks an' took 'em up-
stairs. O this time Ben had stood still, lookin as black as thunner,
heedless o' th' creawd o' folk buzzin reaund his dur ; but neaw,
weary o' doin nowt, he~started swearin at th' parson, an' ordherin
him off.

"Tha's middlin ov impidence to come bangin into a chap's
heause this road, but aw reckon tha'll tak care to pay noane o' th'
rent. Eautside wi thee."

"Is it safe to leave you alone with him?" th' parson axed
Ellen.

" Ah ! he'll be quiet enough neaw. Aw'm mich obleeged to
yo for yor throuble, but aw'm rayther soory yo coome in. It
nobbut makes him stupid to be crossed."

"I suppose the correct thing would have been to stand out-
side, as the neighbours were doing, listen to your shrieks calmly,
allow you to be quietly murdered, and then have walked off
unconcernedly ! "

184 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" It's a pity yo coom in, shuzheaw."

"You shall live to change your opinion," th' parson said. "It
is well I came, and you may depend upon it I shall come again."

" Tha'd best wait to be invited first," Ben grunted. " Tha'rt
middlin free an' yezzy, but aw'm t' maisther here mostly. Be off!"

"As for you, miserable ruffian !" th' parson said, turnin on him,
"your power to afflict these helpless creatures shall be lessened.
Lay a finger upon one of them, and I swear that if there is justice
in this island it shall be invoked to punish you !"

" Aw've bin seechin justice a good while," Ben said, wi a
dhrunken laugh. " Bring it an' welcome !"

" I will call again to-morrow," th' parson said to Ellen ; an' he
went eaut, t' wondherin creawd followin at his heels sperrin heaw
he'd gwone on wi savage Ben.

He co'd again t' next afthernoon — Sunday — but fund Ben
hadn't getten up. Ellen were noane mich plez't to see him, as
hoo'd a fine pair o' black e'en hoo'd rayther ha kept eaut o'
th' sect, an' were freeten't Ben 'd be awkart when he yerd o' th'
parson co'in.

" It's no use yo comin again to-day," hoo said. " He'll get up
toard baggin-time, an' he olez gwoes eaut for a tuthri pints at neet.
Are yo one o' th' Owd Church felleys ? "

" Yes, I have lately come there as curate."

" What done they co yo ? "

" Francis Ashburn, or oftener Frank."

" Well, aw darsay yo're weel-myenin enough, but yo'd best let
us a-be. Aw darn't encourage onybody to come here."

"You must be in mortal terror of this man," Ashburn said,
laughin an' sittin him deawn. " Why don't you leave him ? "

" Yer yo ! He's gettin up ! " Ellen co'd eaut, freeten't eaut
ov her wits. " Do go, felley, for God's sake ! Childher, put yor
caps on an' run eautside a bit."

" What country have I dropped into ? " th' parson axed. " Is
this civilized England, or have I strayed into some barbarous
clime ? Don't be afraid, my good woman ; this man must be
faced and subdued, or you will have no comfort with him as long
as you live."

He sit cool an' yezzy, swingin one leg o'er t'other, an' Ellen
plucked up a bit to see him so bowd an' firm. In a bit a heavy
foot coome deawn th' stairs, an' Ramsden showed hissel, unweshed,
his thin grey yure flyin, nowt on but breeches an' shirt. Ashburn
geet up an' put his hond eaut. "Good mornin," he said wi
a smile, takkin stock o' Ben's lusty brode-set figure an' obstinate-
lookin face.

"Mornin," Ben grunted, just touchin t'other's fingers. "What
done yo want ? "

"Nothing particular. I am paying you a friendly visit, that's all."

6EN RAMSDEN. 185

"Tha's paid it neaw, then, so be gooin. We're so little used
to friendly visits 'at eaur manners happen wain't shuit thee."

" They don't suit me at all. Judging from what I have already
seen it appears to me that a native African could give you a good
start and easily come in first."

" We're noane cut eaut bi thy pattheran, tha sees," Ben said
wi savage scorn. " Tha should ha sent us a tallygram, an' we met
ha bin awther't ready."

" I intend to alter you myself. You look like a sensible man,
though evidently an obstinate one, and it should be possible
to convince you that, as a matter of common sense, your course of
life is foolish, wicked, barbarous."

" Well, aw'll be damned iv ever aw yerd sich impidence as this
i' mi life ! " Ramsden brasted eaut, fottin th' table a wusk wi his
big neighve. " Cawn't aw plez mysel what aw do, beaut havin a
little grinnin dandy like thee on mi ribs ?"

" If the evil were confined to yourself I should care less,
though even then I should interfere ; but when I find your wife
and children shrinking from you, living in danger of their lives

" What nonsense is this ? " Ben broke in. " What lies hast bin
tellin him Ellen ? Have aw bin a good husban to thee or not?"

Ellen dursen't onswer that question, so hoo started cryin an'
said nowt.

" What ! " Ben sheauted. " Will yo ston up to me i' mi own
heause thryin to make eaut aw'm sich a wasthrel as that, an' afther
o aw've put up wi ? Is it noane enough for yo rich idle folk
to sweigh us deawn an' deny us ony mak o' common justice,
beaut comin here wi th' dules's own impidence co'in me to
mi face. Wilta goo, or be punced eaut ? "

"I will go," th' parson said, gettin up quietly. "You are
a nice man to talk of justice."

" Who should talk abeaut it iv aw munnot ? Who's bin wur
put on nor me?"

"Your wife for one, I should think. However, rich and idle
as I am, I have my living to earn and a sermon to preach to-night,
so I must go. You will see me again."

" Iv tha keeps comin botherin me aw'll breighk thi neck," Ben
splutther't, boilin o'er wi passion. " We wanten noather thee nor
nowt tha has."

" I shall come again, dead or alive," Ashburn says. " Will you
shake hands ? "

Ben turned his back. Th' parson smil't to hissel, shook honds
wi Ellen, an' went beaut another word.

He co'd again t' neet afther, bein ov a perseverin turn. Th'
family had just finished their baggins, t' mother were busy sidin
her table, an' Ben sit i' greight state at th' fireside, a sultan among
his slaves.

l86 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

" Here again ! " he grunted, lookin at th' parson as iv he could
ha bitten him.

" As you see," Ashburn says, sittin deawn an' takkin t' youngest
chilt on his knee. " What is your name my little fellow ? "

T' little lad were too shy to speighk, so th' parson gav him a
bunch o' keighs to play wi an' went on : "I am glad to see you so
much better this evening. The fever has gone from your blood
to a great extent, and you look like a reasonable and reasoning
human creature, instead of the brutal and brainless animal you
seemed to be on Saturday. Let me compliment you on the
improvement."

Ellen fair dithered in her clogs to yer this cool young chap
co'in her husband that road ; two words o' that sort were enough
to madden him i' general, an here he sit hearkenin quietly to
a whol hondful o' sthraight forrad talk, an' lookin a bit shame-faced
beside.

" Tha'rt a plain-spokken chap," he said, " an' noane short o'
gam to come swaggerin here this road "

" To beard the lion in his den,
The Ramsden in his hall,"

th' parson put in.

" What makes thee tak o this throuble ? Aw tell thee, plain
enough, tha'rt noane wanted."

" I have always been of a meddlesome, inquisitive disposition.
Besides, if you consider for a moment you will perceive that this
occupation is part of my duty."

" Arta for botherin o t' fellahs i' th' parish at this rate?"

" By no means. Most of them can do as well without as with
me, others want occasional care and assistance, a few require
frequent looking up, and you alone, so far as I know, demand
continual watching."

It were touch an' goo wi th' parson then, an' he knew it, though
he kept playin wi th' chilt an' showed no signs o' what he thought.
Ben flushed wi sudden passion, jumped eaut ov his cheer, an' laid
howd ov Ashburn's shooldher ; but th' parson looked quietly up at
him beaut stirrin, so he cool't an' sit him deawn again.

"Tha'rt a cool hond !" he said, showin his teeth in a bad
temper't grin. " So tha thinks me a gradely ill un, doesta ? "

" I do indeed."

" That's o tha knows abeaut it ! Arta foo enough to think tha
con read a chap's charicther bi seein him once? Afore tha
could do me justice tha'd ha to larn summat abeaut what aw've
had to go through."

" You talk a good deal about justice, I have noticed. Where
is the equity of punishing your wife and children because you have
had to suffer?"

BEN RAMSDEN. 187

"Aw don't punish 'em," Ben grunted, fillin a short clay an'
startin to smooke. " Naught o' th' sort ! Sich like as thee knows
nowt what a hard-wortchin chap has to put up wi."

" Being idle myself; eh?"

" To be sure."

"And so enormously wealthy?"

"Well, aw reckon tha'rt weel off; most o' yo humbugs are.
Heaw is it tha's thried to beg nowt yet? Is there no stained
windows wanted, nor brass for t' niggers, nor nowt?"

" There is much wanted, my friend ; but we can discuss those
matters when you have become a peaceable self-denying citizen,
and a regular attender at public worship."

Ben laughed wi scorn. " Tha'll have a bit to wait afore that
happens. Parsons mun larn to talk sense afore aw sit hearkenin
'em, an' give o'er beggin so mich afore aw go near 'em."

" You will not object to send your children to a Sunday school,
perhaps !"

" Oh nowe ! They may goo iv they wanten."

" They'n hardly a rag to their backs," Ellen said. " Iv tha'll
get 'em some clooas they con goo."

"Clooas!" Ben snarl't. "O maks ov expense! Aw wain't
ha t' childher stuck up wi a lot o' faldherdals ; we cawn't afford it.
They mun stop as they are."

" Will you allow me to pay for them ?" Ashburn axed, puttin
a sovereign on th' table. " I shall take it as a great favour if you
will."

Ben looked wi greedy e'en at th' gowd piece. " Lev it iv tha's
a mind," he says ; " but iv tha does aw s' spend it i' ale."

" I don't think you will," Ashburn said, gettin up to goo. " A
man with your sense of justice. However, we shall see."

III.

Ben were as good as his word. He went on t' fuddle wi th'
parson's sovereign, makin hissel ill an' loisin nearly a week's wark,
so t' childher were fur off their new clooas nor ever. Ellen cried,
sayin hoo could ne'er forshame to face th' curate again, but Ben
nobbut swore at her, reckonin he hoped it'd teighch one meddlin
foo to mind his own business. It were tuthri days afore Ashburn
co'd again, as some job or another had takken him eaut o' th'
teawn. When he did co it didn't tak him long to find what had
happen't, for Ben towd him sthraight off.

" All right !" Asburn said as iv nowt were. " So your children
are no nearer school, Mrs. Ramsden ?"

Ellen said nowe, they werenot ; an' were makin some shame-
faced excuses, but Ben stopped her middlin sharp.

Ashburn went on : " I think if I had children of my own, and

l88 WORKS OP JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

were an able-bodied man, skilled in labour, I would struggle hard
to keep those children decently dressed. If I were so pitiably
helpless that I could not refrain from spending the necessary
money in beer, I could certainly not object to my children rising
up and asking for justice."

It suited noane o' Ben to have his favouryte word cobbed into
his teeth that road, but he threw it off wi a blustherin laugh, put
his cap on, an' said,

"Well, aw'll goo as fur as th' aleheause. Will yo come,
parson ? "

" Certainly, if you wish me to do so."

Ben an' Ellen stared at him wi oppen meauths.

" Yo will ! " Ben axed, wondherin. " Well, aw'll be hanged !"

" What surprises you ? Haven't I as much right to go to an
alehouse as you have ? As a matter of justice I have more right ;
for I can afford to go and you can't."

"Come on!" Ben said, wi a seaur grin. "It'll be summat
fresh to get on th' fuddle wi a parson."

" One moment ; let us have these children attended to. You
are not worthy to be trusted with money, so I will write down my
tailor's address, and your wife shall go and get what clothes she
needs. Observe, it is a piece of great injustice that I should be
put to this expense ; you are well able to buy the things wanted if
you would."

It were mony a year sin' Ben had felt so potther't. He reckon't
to get mad to hud his feelins, co'in eaut in a crammed style, "Are
yo for comin or not? Aw cawn't stop here o neet."

They set eaut together for Ben's favouryte heause, went into
th' tapreawm an' co'd for some ale. There were nobbut one chap
in beside — a dirty fley crow sittin behinnd a pint pot.

"Neaw, Ginger !" Ben said to him. "Have another pint."

" O reet," Ginger says. " It'll help to balance."

" Heaw balance ? What dost myen ?"

" Nowt, nobbut aw've had some croot ale this afthernoon."

"Crooked ale!" Ashburn co'd eaut. "What can you mean
by that?"

" It's simple enough," Ginger towd him. " First aw geet a gill,
an' then a pint, an' a quart on t' top o' that, so they'n worted a bit.
Iv aw'd laid th' quart in for a feaundation it'd ha bin moore sensible
like ;" so Ginger laid his yead on th' table an' fell asleep.

Ashburn paid for two pints, an' supped o' one on 'em.

" Poor stuff!" he said, screwin his meauth up. " How many
pints of this trash can you drink at a sitting?"

" It depends ; happen seven or eight i' general."

"Well, every man to his taste," Ashburn said, pooin eaut a
pipe an peauch. " As we are in such a dissipating humour I may
as well have a smoke."

BEN RAMSDEN. 189

Ramsden watched him wi a curlin lip. " Ah ! yo con grumble
at us poor divvies for smookin or dhrinkin, but yo're no betther
nor us when yo're reckon't up."

"When have I grumbled at you, my friend?"

" Iv yo hannot other folk han."

"A very just reflection, truly. By the way, I notice that you
are quite a different man here. How is it? You are better
tempered than when at home ; you seem freer and more content."

" Aw'm olez comfortable here, some road."

" Strange phenomenon ! These benches are hard, the bare
walls far from inviting, the society — if this gentleman is a sample
of it — is indifferent, the ale sour. Where is the charm ?"

" Cawn't say. Have another pint."

" By no means. I have too much respect for my stomach to
pour this stuff into it."

So Ramsden had one hissel, an' very soon another. As he
supped his tongue begun to swing, an' afore bedtime Ashburn had
larn't summat abeaut him, an' could partly undherston heaw th'
poor fellah had groon into what he were. Toard ten o' t' clock
th' weighver began to get noisy an' awkart, so Ashburn shapped for
off. He'd had just abeaut enough o' that cheerless shop, an' bin
betther stared at bi lonlord an' customers nor ever he had bin in
his life afore.

"Come along, Ben!" he said. "We have been here long
enough."

" Mind yor own business," Ramsden greawl't, wi a curse.
" What done yo keep meddlin wi me for ? Aw'm beaun to have
another pint."

" Get a quart if you have any."

"What the hangment for?"

" A pint will make you quarrelsome, and lead to trouble ; a
quart may stupefy you sufficiently to ensure your going quietly to
bed."

" Tha'rt a quare un, bi gum ! Aw ne'er yerd ov a parson per-
suadin folk to get fuddl't afore."

" Perhaps not. I must thank you for the evening's entertain-
ment, but can't say that I should care to come here often. It is
singular that you don't get tired of this dreary business. Good
night."

" Good neet," Ramsden grunted, an' began singin " Oh ! the
Loom an' the Lathe," to a dismal tune.

On t' Sunday afther that o t' childher were turn't eaut i' new
shuits an' went to schoo twice, plezin their mother aboon a bit ;
an' th' week followin their fayther went on th' spree, as his habit
were neaw an' again. Ellen knew what to expect — two or three
week sleauchin beaut wark, no brass comin in, o on 'em brought
to th' edge o' cle.mmin, an' very likely cleauted an' punced weel.

IQO WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

In her temper hoo blamed th' parson for it, tellin him, " Iv it
hadn't bin for yor botherin him so mich he'd ha bin reet enough.
Yo'n fair dhriven him to it this time !"

That cut Ashburn to th' very heart. He turn't away wi a white
face an' walked eaut o' th' heause beaut a word, wondherin iv
there were ony gratitude i' th' world ; but he were soon hissel again,
an' next time he co'd Ellen went deawn on her knees, sobbin,
beggin his pardon, roosin his kindness, an' even kissin his cwot-lap.
One day, when he'd had nearly a fortnit on th' spree, an' t' brass
were done, Ben went worn wi a brilliant idea in his yead, walked
sthraight upstairs, took t' childhers' new Sunday clooas fro t'
dhrawer, lapped 'em i' papper an' marched deawn wi 'em undher
his arm.

"Whatever is t' chap afther?" Ellen wondher't, watchin him
as he went through th' kitchen on his road eaut, givin her noather
word nor look. It sthruck her o in a minute as hoo seed t' bundle
undher his arm. Hoo ran an' catched howd on him, as he laid
his hond on th' dur.

" Ben ! Tha'rt never takkin t' childhers' clooas ! Tha shannot !
Tha shannot ! " Hoo poo'd an' rove at th' parcel, but it were fast
in his sthrong arm. He said nowt, but sent her flyin mony a yard
off an' set th' dur oppen.

"Tha shannot goo !" Ellen skriked, runnin at him again an'
gettin fast howd ov his arm. " Aw'll be poo'd i' lumps afore aw'll
let thee."

"Ger off!" grunted Ben wi a dhrunken wag ov his muddl't
yead. " Aw'll hit thee !"

" Ben ! " Ellen sobbed, dhroppin on her knees afore him, " it's
seldom aw've axed thee for owt sin' we geet wed — tha met plez
me this once. Dunnot tak t' poor childhers' things, 'at they're so
preaud on an' looken so weel in ! Dunnot play sich a dirty thrick
on th' good chap 'at bought 'em ! Tak owt there is i' th' heause
beside an' aw'll ne'er say a word. Give it me, Ben ! Give it me !"

" Let loase ! " Ben greawl't shuttin his big neighve. " Aw tell
thee once ; aw tell thee twice — tha'll happen be quiet neaw ! "

He hit her fair between th' e'en, rowlin her o'er helpless
an' bleedin. Off he went to a pop-shop, geet some brass lent on
his bundle, an' were makin for th' aleheause again when he coome
across th' parson.

" Hello theere ! " Ben co'd eaut to him, stonnin as steady
as he could. " Come an' have a pint."

" No, thank you. The beer is not good enough."

" Aw've just bin poppin yon clooas yo bought for th' young
uns, so aw con afford to pay for a saup iv yo'll have it."

Ashburn's cheek flushed red an' he partly turned away, Ben
watchin him wi a dhrunken grin.

" You may as well give me the pawn-ticket," th' curate said,

BEN RAMSDEN. 191

smotherin his temper. "You will never be able to redeem the
clothes yourself, of course ? "

" There's no tellin ; never's a long word. What done yo want
th' ticket for?"

" To get the clothes out again."

" Aw'll sell yo th' ticket for a shillin," Ben says, pooin t' bit o'
papper eaut ov his pocket. " Come ! that's chep enough, surelee,
seein what a grand oppenin yo'll have for playin th' guardian angel.
But yo mun undherston 'at aw s' pop t' things again iv aw set
that road."

"Probably you will, being so just and honest a man," Ashburn
said, payin for th' ticket an' levin th' fawse fuddler to hissel.

So th' clooas were takken eaut o' pop again an' put into
Ellen's honds, an' th' same gam were played twice moore. Then
th' parson stopped it. "I hoped to touch his sense of shame,
Mrs. Ramsden," he said, "but that seems impossible. I am
simply supplying him with funds for drink, and making matters
worse. The clothes shall stop where they are."

Then he started sperrin heaw they were for meight, fund they
were o but clemmed, an' set 'em gooin again wi a full panthry.
Ellen were gettin to think him moore angel nor mon, he'd so oft
leeten't her throubles an' helped her forrad ; an' it were a greight
satisfaction to him 'at he'd shapped to make things a bit moore
comfortable for her an' th' young uns, though he'd failed to do ony
good wi stupid Ben.

Just abeaut th' finish up o' Ben's spreein, when he'd getten
hissel supped into a fayver an' started thinkin he met as weel get
back to his wark on t' comin Monday, his son Harry took it into
his yead to co a seein his fayther an' mother. Harry's weddin
had turn't eaut weel. He'd getten a good wife, an' were a steady
promisin young chap hissel, so he'd had nowt to repent on i'
takkin his own road.

" It's a good while sin' aw seed eaur folk," he towd his wife one
Sethurday neet; "aw'll slip o'er an' see heaw they're gettin on.
Mi fayther '11 be at th' aleheause, aw reckon ; but aw s' find
mi mother awom shuzheaw."

So he went ; takkin his little five year owd lass, Polly, wi him.
Ben were awom as it happen't, sittin hearkenin a lecthur fro
Ashburn, nobbut hawve sober, an' i' one ov his worst tempers.
Th' parson's talk had nettl't him a bit, so when Harry showed
hissel t' fayther jumped up, pointed to th dur an' ordher't him off.

" Don't be so crammed, mon," Harry said, comin forrad.
" We'n ne'er met for hawve-a-dozen year, so it's no use fo'in eaut
neaw. Polly, run an' kiss thi gronfayther."

T' little lass went, rayther slow, for there were nowt invitin
abeaut Ben's looks ; stoppin within arm's length on him, fyerd o'
gooin nearer. Then, ov a sudden, o th' dangerous, devilish

192 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

temper Ben had nursed so long gethered an' broke eaut. He fell
into a wild fit o' cursin, laid howd o' t' little lass, an' threw her
across th' kitchen. Hoo gav one screm, dhropped huddl't up in
a lump, an' lee still. Harry jumped forrad wi a sheaut, but geet a
knock fro his fayther's hond 'at sthretched him dateless on th' flags.

" Heaw mony moore ? " Ben yelled, sthridin reaund ravin mad.
"Am aw maisther here or not ?"

"You dastardly hound !" th' parson sheauted, loisin o his grip
ov hissel for once. " Stand and fight if you have the spirit of
a man."

" Feight ! " Ben roared, gooin at th' parson yead first. "Aw'll
punce thi ribs in i' hawve a minute !"

Ellen were bendin o'er little Polly, thryin to bring her reaund.
Hoo looked up skrikin when th' feight started, thinkin t' parson
had no chance again Ben's weight an' muscle ; but hoo soon seed
different. Ashburn could box, an' keepin eaut o' Ben's clutches,
an' dodgin his clogs, he gav him sich a hidin i' less nor ten
minutes as bunged his e'en up, set his nose bleedin, an' sattl't him
off quiet an' satisfied.

"Lie down, dog !" th' parson said, knockin th' weighver into
a corner wi a last cleaut. Then he turn't to Harry, loasen't his
collar, an' sthraighten't him eaut to get his wynt back yezzier.

"How is the child, Mrs. Ramsden?"

"Aw deaubt it's badly hurt somewheere. It keeps mournin
an' twitchin, an' it doesn't know me."

" Any bones broken ? Is there a doctor near ? If so, fetch
him."

" There's one i' t' next sthreet," Ellen said, puttin her shawl
on. " Aw'll fot him in a minute. Well ! there's a bonny look-on
here for a dacent heause !"

" Never mind that ; run for the doctor," th' parson says.
Whol hoo were away he geet a saup o' wayther for Harry, an'
brought him reaund. He ne'er went near Ben, knowin there were
no greight damage done i' that quather, an' feelin moore inclined
to jump on him nor help him.

T' docthor coome, looked reaund an' whistl't. " You've had
a tidy row here, Frank. Where shall I begin ? "

"Look at this child first. I'm afraid she is injured some-
where."

T' docthor examined her wi care, an' said, "The brain has
had a severe shock, which may permanently affect it, or may not —
we must wait to know. The right leg is broken and twisted at the
knee joint. In all probability the child will be a cripple for life."

"Cripple!" Harry co'd eaut, dhraggin hissel forrad across th'
floor. " Oh nowe ! dunnot say that ! Dunnot, docthor ! Dunnot ! "

" Who's crippl't ! " grunted Ben, just wakkenin up in his
corner. " What's o this bother abeaut ? "

BEN RAMSDEN. 193

Ashburn sthrode to him, sent th' table spinnin eaut o' th' road,
an' poo'd him in a lump to wheere Polly were lying on Ellen's knee.

"Look upon your work," he said. "Look at this child,
crushed, all but killed, by your hand, and hide your face in
shame."

"Don't hecthor o'er me," Ben said, gettin up an' wipin his
bleedin face. He turned to Harry. " Tak thi chilt worn ; tha'd
no business to bring her."

That were rayther moore nor Harry could ston. He jumped
for th' poker, an' it took bwoth t' docthor an' parson a couple o'
minutes' hard sthrugglin to stop him fro breighkin his fayther's
yead wi it.

" That'll do ! " Harry said, when they'd quieten't him. " Aw
were a foo, an' met ha done murdher." He took Polly in his arms
an' turn't to th' dur. " Iv there's justice i' heaven, fayther, an' a
watchin God to keep us reet, yo'll yer moore abeaut this job some
day. There's no police courts nor law 'at con help me here; aw
mun lev it for different honds to sattle. Aw've finished wi yo
neaw ; yo're no fayther o' mine. Yo may clem afore aw'll heighve
a finger to help yo ; an' aw hope yo'll live i' misery an' dee i' tor-
ment, sufferin as mich as yo'n made me suffer."

"Justice?" mutther't Ben, as iv he were dhremin, watchin
Harry walk eaut wi th' little lass in his arms. " What's that he
says ? "

"You must leave this man," Ashburn said to Ellen. "Your
life is in danger with him. I give him up, now ; all I can do only
makes him worse."

" Lev him ! " Ellen said. " Nay ! surelee not, afther o these
years ! Ben ! tha'll ne'er hurt me, aw know ; they munnot per-
suade me to lev thee."

" Plez thysel," Ben mutther't, very surly, his mind runnin on
summat else. "Aw'm independent ov o t' bag o' thricks, iv it
comes to that. Justice, did he say ? " He turned on th' docthor
an' Ashburn, wi th' owd stupid look on his face. " Eaut o' th'
heause wi yo ! Aw'm maisther here ! "

IV.

When Ben Ramsden coome to his reet senses again afther
lamin his gronchilt, when tuthri days' wark had cooled his wot
blood an' gien him time to think, he felt lower sunk in his own
opinion nor ever he had done afore, an' began wondherin iv his
style o' livin were woth o t' bother it cost him an' other folk. His
stupid pride kept him fro gooin to see his son an' makin what poor
amends he met ha done, but he couldn't get eaut ov his yead th'
pitiful seet o' little Polly, nor help blamin hissel for what he'd done.

T94 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw mun be gettin wur," he thought. " Th' parson's gien me
up neaw, an' that shows."

He felt so repentant that neet 'at he went off an' supped some
unyerd on stock o' cowd pints, rowlin worn to bed lost to sect an'
seaund ; for his preaud stomach stopped him fro showin ony signs
o' mendin, an' so there were nobbut t'other road left oppen.

T' neet afther he were sittin awom feelin sick an' ill, i' no
humour for ale for a wondher, when Ashburn walked in.

Ben were rare an' plez't to see him, for th' parson were th' only
friend he had woth aught, so he thried to look as sulky as he could
(an* he'd greight peawers i' that line) an' co'd eaut in a surly voice,

"Hello ! Aw thought yo'd done wi us ?"

"Why did you think so?"

" Yo said so, shuzheaw."

" Sometimes people say and do things in the heat of anger
which they afterwards repent of. Does that ever happen with
you?"

Ben swore, an' towd him to mind his own business.

"Very good !" says Ashburn. "You feel remorse, I can see,
and so the matter may rest between us. I want to mention
another thing. Are you aware that one of your sons has decided
talent for drawing?"

" Nowe ! Aw ne'er knew they'd talent for nowt."

" Look at these sketches then," pooin some bits o' dirty papper
eaut ov his pocket." " These are samples of your Joe's work."

"Nay sure !" Ben said, fair capped for once. "Why, this is
packin papper eaut o' cop skips. An has eaur Joe dhrawn o these
— heauses, an' folk, an' broos, an' meadows ! Aw cawn't believe it."

"The lad has always hidden his accomplishment from you,
knowing he would get no encouragement. Joe thinks it a piece
of great injustice that he has not been provided with a better
father "

" Theere yo gwone again wi yor justice !"

" Have I pierced your thick skin at last ? Come now ! Is a
lad who can produce work like this to be wasted in a factory?"

" He mun wortch hissel eaut, iv he's cliver enough."

" You must help him by getting him properly taught."

" Aw cawn't afford it ; an' we cawn't do beaut his wage, noather.
Aw'd olez a fancy for my childher risin i' th' world, but luck's bin
again 'em."

" You have always had vague desires, but have not seriously
faced the question of ways and means. Without definite ideas
little can be done. Now here is something definite enough. With
a little self-denial you can pay for Joe's teaching, and in a few
years he will do you credit."

" It cawn't be done. He mun stop where he is."

"Consider this for a minute. Undertake the duty of helping

BEN RAMSDEN. 1 95

the lad forward, and your own character is bound to improve in
the process. You will have before you a worthy object, your
energies will be strung, the habit of self-denial will benefit you
greatly, you will rise to a higher plane in life. What lies before
you in your present course ? So many barrels of beer to be drunk ;
so many squabbles, fights, black eyes ; so many days of muddled
oblivion, followed by as many more of sulky repentance ; a long
vista of misspent lonely years, ending in a workhouse and a
pauper's grave. The choice should be easy."

" Aw wish yo'd mind yor own business ! Joe mun stop where
he is."

" I suppose so. But you can't deny that with very moderate
carefulness in the past you would have been well able to help the
lad now. Consequently it appears that with all your loud-mouthed
demands for justice to yourself and your children, you are no more
virtuous at the bottom than other people are."

" Heaw weel he reckons me up !" Ben thought to hissel, sayin
nowt.

" However, the lad's ability shall be cultivated," Frank went
on. " I will see to his getting the necessary tuition in spite of you.
How long will you, who profess to be an independent man, con-
descend to receive my charity?"

" He hits hard," Ben mutther't when th' parson had gwone.
" But he's reel, dam him !"

Then he smooked four pipes o' thick twist sthraight off, makin
hissel so dhry 'at he'd to bowt off on th' fuddle again.

Years went on, showin little awtheration i' Ben's style o' livin.
His childher grew up an' left worn one afther another, ne'er
botherin him no fur. They o turned eaut steady, dacent lads an'
lasses, weel able to tak care o' theirsel ; an' young Joe, th' artist,
helped forrad by Ashburn, made bwoth fame an' brass ; but ne'er
one o' th' crew looked toard worn again afther once levin it.
Happen they were o touched wi their fayther's stupid, independent
spirit. At ony rate he'd done his best to squeeze eaut on 'em what
bit o' tendherness they met ha felt for him ; an' he'd shapped it,
too, some weel.

But little as he showed it, an' long as th' change took to wortch
itsel eaut, Ben were turnin into a different mon. He'd olez reckon't
to laugh an' sneer at religious folk as a lot ov humbugs, but there
were no gettin o'er a sample like Ashburn. Mony an' mony a
time Ben had thought to hissel, " What makes this parson spend
so mich time an' brass on us ? He makes nowt by it. There mun
be summat in this religion iv a sensible chap like him believes in
it." He'd feel asham't ov hissel afther one o' these thoughtful
fits, an' be forced to goo on th' spree to get o'er it. Ashburn kept
up his friendly visits, takkin care Ellen wanted for nowt, but
couldn't help thinkin Ben geet wur astid o' betther. Heawever,

196 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

th' curate were mista'en abeaut that ; every kindness shown him
made th' poor thick-yeaded weighver moore an' moore grateful,
though he were very careful to keep that to hissel, showin his
sulkiest side when his heart were softest ; an' a time were comin
when his betther feelins, grooin sthronger bi keepin deawn, were
to maisther him, an' turn him into far different roads nor his clogs
had bin used to thravellin.

Frank Ashburn had never bin a very lusty chap. He'd middlin
o' muscle, an' moore spirit ; but th' heart were a wake spot, an' his
wark were noane likely to spare it mich. He'd no notion o' takkin
care ov hissel i' ony snap ; so he wortched away soon an' late as
long as he could, an' then dhropped. He fund hissel one Sethur-
day neet fair at th' far end ; wake as a kittlin, an' wi a curious
jumpin i' th' lift breast, as iv his heart were countin six, stoppin a
bit, countin again, an' so on.

" One more day's work," he thought. It may kill me, but I
shall never be worth anything again and may as well risk it. One
more sermon, and there's an end of poor Frank. I wish that con-
founded Ramsden had shown some improvement after all my years
of trouble with him ; but he is surlier than ever of late, although
I have sometimes fancied he is gentler with his wife. Poor fellow,
with his parrot cry of ' Justice ! ' I have a good mind to preach
upon his favourite theme to-morrow night."

Ben geet up toard dinnertime that Sunday feelin rayther deawn.
He'd a bad yeadwartch wi suppin too mich t' neet afore, an' he felt
rayther lost becose th' parson hadn't co'd to see him for a week.
He'd getten so used to Frank blowin him up reglar, 'at he quite
missed th' excitement on it. He potther't abeaut whol baggin-
time, wi no satisfaction to hissel nor nobry else.

" Has t' parson gien us up again ?" he axed his wife.

" They say'n he's very ill," Ellen towd him. " Eh, Ben ! what
if he were to dee ? "

"Well, what then?"

" Never nobry had a betther friend nor we'n had i' him," Ellen
said, wi her brat to her e'en. " Whatever could we do beaut him !"

" Same as we did afore he coome ; what else ? Dost think o
t' world '11 stop for want o' one parson ? "

But for o his talk Ben were freeten't. He went eaut, levin
Ellen noane so mich comforted, an' her question kept runnin
through his yead, " What iv he were to dee ? What iv he were
to dee ? "

" Aw'll awther mi ceaunts," he mutther't to hissel. " Aw will,
for sure ! Aw'm weary o' this mak."

He geet wandher't up toard th' Owd Church, yerd th' bells
ringin, seed a sthrem o' folk gooin to th' sarvice, an' felt hawve a

Saggin-time, tea-time.

BEN RAMSDEN. 197

mind to goo hissel ; but next minute laughed i' scorn, turnin toard
th' " Royal Oak," across Church Lone. As he turned he coome
face to face wi Ashburn ; white and thin, noane fit to be eaut that
were plain.

" Are you coming into the church ? " th' curate axed.

" Me in a church ? " Ramsden sneer't. " That's noane likely."

" Will you come, Ben ? I ask you as a friend to oblige me.
It is the first and last favour I shall ever ask from you."

" It's o nonsense ! " Ramsden blusther't, ready to brast eaut
cryin, but brazenin it eaut to th' end. " Aw'll ha' nowt to do wi
sich humbuggin wark. Tha'rt lookin ill, lad. Tha'd have a job
to wallop me neaw, aw think."

" Yes ; I am effectually ' walloped ' myself. The last bell has
stopped. Are you coming ? "

" Nay ! Aw'll goo an' have a gill ; it'll do me moore good."

"As you will," Ashburn said wi a sigh. "Shake hands; I
may never see you again."

" Aw'll co an' see yo to-morn at neet. Yo'n bin oft enough to
my heause ; aw5!! come to yors for a change."

" To-morrow night ? " Ashburn said, wi a sthrange smile.
" Yes, come by all means. You may be in time."

He hurried into th' church, Ben stonnin watchin him, won-
dherin what th' chap myent bi bein i' time. Then he went into
th' aleheause, geet a pint ov his favouryte physic, set t' pot to his
meauth, an' stopped.

" Aw'm a smart chap ! " he said to hissel. " Th' best friend
ever aw fund i' this world's axed me for th' first time in his life to
do summat for him, an' aw wouldn't." He set his pot deawn
beaut suppin. " Have aw lost o th' reet feelins ov a mon ? Is
this thee, Ben; an' iv so what devil's getten into thee sin' tha
were a young chap ? Aw studied hard whol a lad, an' larn't a
dyel o' things. Where's mi larnin neaw ? O gwone ! Aw myent
doin summat to help mi wife an' childher. What have aw done ?
Th' wife's a dhrudgin miserable ill-used woman ; t' childher liken
me as weel as they done Owd Nick. It's ale ! It con be nowt
else ! Every hope an' comfort i' life cobbed away for th' sake o'
suppin tuthri potful o' seaur maut juice every week ! Brass spent,
time wasted, wholsome blood turn't to poison ! It's desperate
expensive dhrink at threepence a quart. Ben, tha'rt a foo ! Thy
balance sheet adds up some ill. It's sideheavy — an' th' wrong
side too ! " He shook his neighve at th' pint pot. " It's th' ale !
Aw s' be fit for nowt whol aw dhrink, an' iv aw'm to give o'er it
mun be neaw, for yon chap's beaun to dee an' lev me to feight on
bi mysel. What am aw beaun to do ? " He were a good while
makin his mind up. At last he geet off th' bench. "This is mi
last pint ; aw'll ne'er sup ale again." He emptied th' pot an' poo'd

198 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

his face. " It's flat ! " he grumbl't, forgettin heaw long he'd letten
it ston. " They met ha gien me some dacent stuff for a finish."

He walked across to th' church, crept softly in, an' sit deawn
near th' dur. Everything were very still, he thought, an' wondher't
what made folk so quiet. Then he yerd a voice speighkin a good
way off, low but clear, an' lookin up he seed Ashburn stonnin i
th' pulpit. Some sweet that voice seaunded in his ears — some oft
he'd yerd it, scornin what it towd him — some fain he'd a sworn to
heed it neaw, iv it could nobbut stop wi him — ah ! iv it could
nobbut stop ! " What iv he were to dee ? What iv he were
to dee?"

Ashburn were talkin abeaut justice, Ben's favouryte subject.
He showed what mak ov a world this 'd be iv nowt but just folk
lived in it, an' leet his hearkeners see middlin plain heaw that
could never happen, an' what for. There'd olez bin a dyel ov
injustice i' th' world, he said, an' olez mut be whol th' present
breed o' folk lived in it ; an', sthrange to tell, folk 'at sheauted
hardest for justice were lest inclin't to practise it theirsel. He
filled up his sarmon wi anecdotes an' simils, keepin everybody
intherested in his talk, same as he olez did, an' coome to th' finishin
up. " My remarks to-night have been prompted by a case con-
nected with my parish work among you. One man of my
acquaintance in this town has been completely unmoved by per-
severing and deeply-considered efforts to improve his character.
He has long been a drunkard, a wife beater, a careless father.
Yet this man continually cries aloud for justice, with an earnest-
ness that would be supremely absurd if it were not appalling. I
have done my duty here with toil and carefulness, and on the
whole am satisfied with the somewhat small result ; yet I would
give up all to see this one man — for whom I have chiefly and
peculiarly striven — turned from his present courses into a nobler
way. If by any miracle that could happen I should indeed think
my labour here not wholly in vain."

He finished, an' they o stood up to sing that grand owd hymn,
" For ever with the Lord." Ben had ne'er yerd that fine thrilltn
tune sin he were a little lad at th' Sunday schoo forty year back,
but once yerd it con ne'er be forgetten. He went eaut wi th' in-
spired music ringin through his yead, walkin deawn th' church
steps like a mon asleep, stopped in a quiet nook behinnd th'
Packer, an' theere his deep-stirred feelins gushed fro his e'en, an'
his sthrong body shook wi rivin sobs.

" It's little t' parson axes for o his labbour an' love," Ben
thought, as he went forrad again wi soften't heart. "Cawn't aw
manage this bit ov a job for him ? It'll be a lastin shame to me
an mine iv aw let him dee beaut givin him that satisfaction."

O that neet, whol he fell asleep i' bed, part o' th' owd hymn
buzzed in his ears :

BEN RAMSDEN. 199

"For ever with the Lord!"

Father, if 'tis Thy will,

The promise of that faithful word

Even here to me fulfil.

Be Thou at my right hand,
Then can I never fail,
Uphold Thou me and I shall stand,
Fight, and I must prevail.

V.

As soon as Ben had finished his baggin next neet he made
sthraight for Ashburn's lodgins an' axed for him. They weren't
for lettin him in at first, but soon fund they'd have a job to keep
t' chap eaut.

" Aw have to see him," Ben said. " We'n made it up. It's no
use yo talkin."

He made his road up-stairs an' fund th' parson i' bed, lookin
done, but wick enough yet to smile when he seed th' owd stupid
yead he'd hommer't at so long.

"You are welcome," he says, puttin eaut his wasted hond.
" Most obstinate and refractory of all my parishioners, I am glad
to see you."

" Aw didn't think yo'd ha started blowin me up to-neet ; but
goo on, iv it's ony pleasur to yo. Aw con ston it."

" No. Surely I have ' blown up,' as you call it, enough. You
must go your way in future unchecked and unchided by me.
What hours of time I have wasted on you, to be sure ! "

" Are yo sure it's o wasted ? " Ben axed, an' his voice thrembl't
a bit do what he would.

" I fear so. Politeness should perhaps induce me to give you
a more flattering answer ; but you know my blunt style and can
perhaps excuse it."

" Neaw or never ! " Ben thought to hissel. " Aw'll give him
one bit o pleasur afore aw loise him." He kneel't deawn at th'
bedside an' said, " Hearken to me, parson ; aw've summat to say
woth yerin. Aw hadn't thought to tell yo so soon, but aw'm
bund to do it afore yo dee. Yo'n made a different chap on
me otogether."

"Have I?" Ashburn axed, wi his faint smile. "Are you
better or worse?"

"Yo mun sattle that for yorsel. Aw yerd th' finish o' yor
sarmon last neet."

Th' curate stared at him i' wondher. " Did you so ? After
swearing so decidedly not to enter the church ? What has come
over you, my friend ?"

Yerin, hearing. Buwl, bound.

200 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" It's yo at's getten o'er me," Ramsden went on. " There's
summat in this religion afther o — there mun be ! What's kept yo
sthrivin an' feightin so long to help us ? Yo'n made nought by it,
an" nobbut worn yorsel eaut among it ; but yo'd ne'er give in.
What's made yo do it?"

"Christian love and a sense of duty are answerable for all.
Maudlin cant, isn't it ? Give me a drink of that stimulant, if you
please ; I am sinking fast."

" Cant, done yo co it ?" Ben said, puttin his arm gently reaund
th' curate's neck an' howdin t' physic to his meauth. " Then
cant's saved mi wife an' childher fro clemmin, an' shown me what
a foo an' a rogue aw've bin o these years. An' neaw yo're for
deein, afore aw con show yo what a change yo'n made in me.
That's justice!"

"You incorrigible creature!" th' parson co'd eaut, heighvin
hissel o' one arm. " What right have you to prate of justice ?"

" Yo'n axed me that afore, an' yo're reet too. But it's hard yo
should have had o this bother an' cawn't live to see what good
yo'n done."

" You will live at any rate. Time is all before you. Naturally
you feel troubled and sorrowful to find me in this state, but how
long will the feeling last after I am gone ? "

"As long as aw live. Con aw ever be t' same chap again,
done yo reckon ? Heaw con onybody be done to as yo'n done to
me beaut feelin heartbrokken at loisin sich a friend ? Yo're little
aware heaw aw've loved yo, for aw'd hardly own it to mysel ; an'
yo'n little thought mony a time when aw've bin sulky or awkart 'at
every word yo said went through me like a dart, whol aw could
fair ha cried an' axed yor pardon for plaguin yo so mich. Aw've
larn't to feel like a brother toard yo."

"All the same, you would have wrung my neck cheerfully
when we had our famous fight."

"Aw should ! God help me, aw should !"

" No, no, my friend ! this strange fit of penitence cannot last.
It is like drawing water from rock to move your feelings at all in
the direction of tenderness, and I take it as a high compliment
that you should be so much affected by my death; but it can
never last, you know."

" Cawn't it ? Aw thought yo'd fund eaut aw could be middlin
sthrong-willed, too, when aw set that road."

" Certainly ; but this sudden change of long practised habits is
hardly possible. If I could believe your repentance to be sincere
and lasting what a happy man it would make me !"

"Sincere ! " Ramsden said, jumpin up. " Done yo deaubt mi
word ? When did aw ever tell yo lies ? As God yers an' sees us

Clemmin, starving.

BEN RAMSDEN. 2OI

aw'll live different fro this neet . Oh, Lord ! help me neaw an' i'
time to come ! Aw've deaubted an' scorn't yor watchin peawer,
but aw ston here neaw wake as a babby, axin for help. You mun
help me, Lord, for mi best friend's deein undher mi e'en, never
dhremin heaw it rives mi heart to see it, an' soon aw s' be left bi
mysel. Let me live thuthri year longer, to do summat for o th'
good chap's done for me !"

" Ben ! can this wonderful thing be true ? " th' parson said,
pantin', takkin Ramsden's sthrong hond in his thin fingers. " Oh
God ! whose faithful servant I have long been, seeking no selfish
reward, give me this one soul ! Make this man strong in good as
he has been stubborn in evil ; humble his proud heart ; open his
blind eyes ; strengthen his impulse towards right and truth !
Justice he has long craved, not knowing his want of understanding;
teach him now, and lead him, merciful Father, in Thy paths, that
he may strive earnestly for the honour and glory of Thy name ! "

" Amen ! " Ramsden whisper't kneelin deawn an' coverin his
face. " Teighch me ! Show me ! What con aw do ? What con
aw do ?"

" Listen ! " Ashburn said, his worn face shinin as iv a breet
leet fell on it. " First of all, you must give up drinking."

" It's done."

" Your family is unhappy. See to it, as you would have peace
here and hereafter. You demand justice ; practise it in dealing
with those dependent upon you. Remember this — he who deals
justly never fails to receive justice. Prove to me one case in the
world's history contradicting this law, and I will admit life to be a
delusion, a mockery, and a lie."

"Be satisfied. Nobbut live another week an' yo'll see that
awther't."

" I impose no religious forms upon you. Seek and practise
such as you choose; but be sure that without prayer, felt or
expressed, no man can fully live."

" Aw believe every word yo say'n. What else ? "

" Nothing. The rest is for you to discover and decide upon.
There are active and passive Christians — choose your own course.
I will only suggest that a man with your strength of character
might be an immense force for good among the working people
here. As one of themselves you could do twice the work possible
to a man like me."

" Aw'll do it, wi God's help."

Ashburn catched him bi th' arm wi a nervous grip. " Ben ! is
it true ? Do you earnestly and seriously promise me all these
things ? How can I credit such a miracle ? "

" What con aw say to make yo believe me ? " Ben axed,
showin his white face an' liftin his reet arm toard heaven. " Afore
that God, so long denied, so late fund — afore yo, mi saviour, iv

202 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

ever a poor wasthrel had one i' this world — aw promise faithful an'
thrue, yead an' heart, body an' bwons ! Aw'll ne'er touch ale
again ; aw'll do reet awom ; aw'll mind mi wark fro this day forrad ;
aw'll thry hard to help other folk ; aw'll live justly accordin to mi
leets, shuz who else does ; aw'll feight hard for th' reet, an' iv aw
breighk deawn aw'll start again, ne'er ownin mysel licked whol aw
dee ! Lord help me to keep this solemn promise ! "

" A right confession of faith ! " th' parson said, his een blazin'.
" This makes amends for all !

' The fight is o'er, the battle won.'

Here is a Bible. Take it ; read it ; study the Sermon on the
Mount, shape your future by it, and have no fear."

"Aw'll do it," Ben said, kissin th' book and puttin it in his
pocket.

" You will find that old pawn ticket in the drawer yonder. It
is no use now, but take it to remember me by. I suppose the
poor children's clothes were never redeemed?"

"They're i' th' pop shop yet for what aw know," Ben said,
pocketin th' ticket wi a shamefaced look. " An neaw that's enough
abeaut me ; what con aw do for yo ? "

" Nothing, my dear friend ; I am spent." He dhropped back
faintin, o his fire gwone eaut on him. Ben ran to fot t' docthor,
but Frank were past physic. Th' excitement had bin too mich for
him, an' he stirred no moore. As th' poor weighver stood lookin
deawn on th' friend 'at 'd done so mich for him he seed thoose
breet e'en groo dim, felt th' wot hond turning cowd, an' knew that
sthrong, tendher, lovin, patient heart were still. He kissed Ash-
burn's smooth foryead an' crept quietly away, wi sich torment in
his mind as he'd ne'er known ; sufferin agony 'at chawked an'
crushed him, but carried life an' lastin comfort in it wings.

Ben went sthraight worn, walked quietly in, hanged his cap up,
sit him deawn bi th' fire, an' started smookin, his wife starin at
him wi o her e'en, for it were mony a long month sin' he'd
reighched worn so soon an' sober. Heawever, hoo axed no ques-
tions, not knowin what mak ov a humour he were in, but geet on
wi her heausewark, levin him to hissel.

" He's dyead, Ellen," Ben said in a bit.

" Who's dyead ! Tha never myens t' parson ? "

"Yigh; he's gwone."

Ellen sit deawn an' cried a good while, an' then shapped abeaut
her wark again, sayin no moore. Ben had long dhrilled her into
huddin her feelins, though for once he were nettl't becose hoo
didn't make moore noise an' fuss.

In a bit hoo axed him, hawve freeten't, iv he weren't gooin to
th' aleheause. He were just beaun to tell her he'd done wi that
gam for ever, but another thought sthruck him.

6EN RAMSDEN. 2O;$

" Aw'll just have hawve an heaur," he towd her, puttin his cap
on an' walkin off. As he geet eautside he mutther't to hissel,
" Aw'll go an' stop Ginger fro fuddlin ; he's bin at it welly long
enough. Aw con cure Ginger i' hawve an heaur, aw think."

Away he went to th' owd shop, where he fund Ginger asleep,
as usal, wi his yead on th' tap-reawm table.

" Wakken up, lad ! " Ben co'd eaut, clappin his back.

" Aw'll have a pint," says Ginger, rubbin his e'en an' gapin.
" What art doing so lat, Ben ? "

" Come eautside an' aw'll tell thee." When they geet into t'
sthreet he went on, " Go thee worn an' to bed ; it's hee time. Iv
ever aw catch thee fuddl't again aw'll punce thee weel. Dost
undherston that ? "

" Well, tha knows, aw've getten to like ale. What's turn't thee
so vartuous o at once ? "

" Ne'er thee mind ! " Ben said wi a catchin in his throat.
" Aw'm beaun to be stiddy neaw, an' wortch ; so tha'll ha to do
th' same."

" Aw'm noan so fond o' wark."

"Nowe, aw know that; but tha'll start wortchin again or aw'll
leather thee weel. So what saysta?''

" Oh ! aw'll start, as tha'rt so particlar. Aw dun' know but
aw'm weary o' this mak."

He promised to seech a shop next mornin, an' Ben slutther't
back worn, sayin to hissel, " Aws' ha to get mi hond in at mendin
folk neaw, so aw'll practise on Ginger."

Ashburn were buried at th' cemetary, an' Ben walked after his
coffin o t' road, bare-yeaded ; gettin off his wark o' purpose, an'
gooin back to it when he'd done. There were tuthri score o' weet
e'en bi that grave side, an' big yeps o' white fleawers were pil't up
o reaund. Ben fancied he could like to lay tuthri blooms on th
grave hissel, but fund they cost a dyel. When his wark were o'er
at neet he went into th' fields, teed up a honsome bunch o' wild
fleawers an' thorn blossom, an' laid that o'er his buried friend.
It looked rayther like a poor relation among th' fine camellias, but
iv o his love an' sorrow could ha breeten't it no grandher fleawers
need ha bin wanted.

When Sethurday coome Ben took o his wage worn, an' put it
into Ellen's hond."

" Tak care o' this," he said in his rough way. " Aw've ne'er
done no good wi brass ; let's see heaw tha con shap."

" Ben ! " hoo gasped, welly eaut ov her wits. " What does
this myen ? "

"Aw'll soon show thee what it myens," Ben said, pooin a
square parcel eaut ov his pocket. " Look here."

Ellen oppen't th' parcel eaut. It were th' owd pop-ticket,
framed an' glazed liked a picther. Hoo needed no more tellin,

204 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

but dhropped on his shouldher, sheddin tears ov a different sort
fro what hoo'd bin used to for tuthri year.

" Tha sees neaw what it myens," Ben said. " We'll hang that
up o'er th' cornish, to keep us i' mind o' one o' th' best fellahs 'at
ever throde this greaund, an' we'll make some moore awtherations
at th' same time. Tha's put up wi me some weel, never grumblin
nor findin faut, but stickin to me like a faithful wife, though aw've
mony a time thrated thee wur nor a dog. Aw've noane bin blint,
lass, iv aw've said nowt. Thi love an' care are noane wasted —
aw've nobbut bin savin 'em up, an' aw'll pay 'em back neaw wi
compound intherist. So iv tha con let bygones a-be, an' start
again beaut bearin me ony grudge, gi me a buss an' we'll sattle it.

" Bear thee a grudge ! " Ellen said puttin her lips to his.
" Nay ! tha's olez bin t' same to me as when we started cwortin.
Other folk may co thee iv they'n a mind, but it's noane my job."

VI.

Iv onybody thinks Ben had a yezzy piece o' business afore him
afther he turned sober, that thought's noane reet. He managed
to maisther hissel, wi hard wark, an' very near made Ginger into a
respectable mon, hardher wark again ; but he fund th' hardest
business ov o were to persuade folk i' general 'at he'd mended his
ways. He'd bin dhrunken an' nowt long enough to get a
charicther likely to last him a bit. Harry gav him th' keenest rub
ov onybody. Ben co'd a-seein him two year afther Ashburn were
buried, thinkin their differences met be pieced up, but Harry towd
him plain an' short he'd bother noane wi sich a chap.

"Yo're noane woth knowin," Harry says. "Aw ne'er had
a fayther yet, an' aw con do beaut neaw. Yo'n no need to come
here."

" Aw'll come no moore iv aw'm i' th' road," Ben said, slow an'
humble. "Aw'd thought to get summat like friendly wi mi
childher neaw, but it seems aw munnot. Nowe, aw"ll bother yo
no moore."

" Aw's ne'er believe yo con awther whol aw see it, afther
't road yo'n carried on o these years," Harry said ; " but whether
yo're for awtherin or not matthers nowt. Yo'n kilt every seed o
love an' respect 'at met ha groon an' blossom't i' mi heart, an
nowt i' this world con ever plant 'em o'er again. Yo'n done that
to me an' mine 'at con ne'er be forgetten. Yo're nowt to me —
we're noane akin. Aw'll ne'er touch yor hond nor cross yor dur-
step ; iv there were nobbut us two left i' th' world aw'd keep eaut
o' yor seet ; aw wouldn't cross t' sthreet to-day to save yo fro
deein. So neaw yo known."

"It's takken thee a good while to save up sich a weight

BEN RAMSDEN. 205

ov hate as that," Ben said. " Aw mun ha wortched hard to addle
sich a wage."

He went, beaut another word, feelin a twinge of his owd reck-
less stupidity rivin at him, an sich a cravin to bowt off on th' spree
as he hadn't felt afore sin' emptyin his last pint pot at th' " Royal
Oak." For a minute it were a toss-up whether he broke deawn or
not, but at t' sthreet corner he passed a little lass walkin wi a
crutch, an' th' sect ov her face sent o his wild thoughts flyin in a
crack.

" Doesn't ta know me, Polly ?" he axed.

" To be sure," hoo said ; " yo're mi gronfayther. Aw know yo
weel enough, but yo'n like ne'er wanted to be bother't wi me, so
aw've kept away."

" Would ta come, then, iv aw wanted thee?"

"To be sure aw would !" Polly says. "Aw've hardly ever had
a chance o' speighkin noather to yo nor mi gronmother. That's
noane reet, is it ; an' me gettin on for eleven year owd?"

" It's wrong, Polly lass ! dyeadly wrong!" Ben said, wi sum-
mat chawkin in his throat. Aw guess tha knows it were me 'at
lamed thee?"

" Ah ! but then yo were fuddl't that day, an' didn't know what
yo were doin. Aw've getten used to mi leg, an' ne'er think mich
on it neaw. Mun aw go worn wi yo, an' see mi gronmother ? It's
noane mi bedtime yet."

" Ah, come lass ! an' God bless thee," Ben said, comfort fo'in
on his throubl't mind; so they walked on together — t' sthrong
chap an' th' wakely cripple — hond i' hond to Ben's heause.

"Eh, Polly!" Ellen co'd eaut as they went in. "That con
ne'er be thee !"

" It's me, gronmother," Polly says, kissin her, settin her crutch
in a nook, an' sittin deawn just as iv hoo were awom. " Heaw is
it yo never com'n a-seein us, neaw ? Iv yo wain't come, aw mun."

" Come an' welcome," says Ellen, " an' bring thi fayther too.
Heaw hast gwone on wi him, lad ?"

"Badly," Ben said. "He co's me wur nor ever th' parson did, an'
he'll ne'er ha nowt to do wi us no moore. There's no stirrin him."

" He's a bit o' thy temper in him," Ellen said. " Aw recollect
thee sayin when he were a babby 'at iv he grew up like his fayther
he'd be reet. What dost think neaw?"

"Well, aw've nobbut mysel to blame when o's done," Ben said.
" It sarves me reet. Aw'm a bad chap, Polly."

"Yo're mi gronfayther," Polly said, lookin as fawse as a fairy
godmother, " an' that's o aw've owt to do wi. Iv yo'n bin doin
wrong yo mun give o'er, an' things '11 soon come reet."

" Iv we were o like thee we could manage betther," Ben said.
" Aw ne'er knew afore to-neet what a good little lass tha's groon

Addle, earn,

206 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

into. Tha mun come here oft, an' keep me company. Aw've
dhriven o mi own childher away wi mi nowty wark ; an' iv mi wife
hadn't bin a born angel hoo'd ha gwone too, long sin, an' left me
to mysel. Arta noane freeten't on me, Polly ?"

" Eh nowe ! aw'm noane freeten't on yo. Yo're mi gronfayther.
Aw'll come an' sit here sometimes — aw've nowt else to do. Aw
sit t' day long awom whol t' other's off at their wark, think, think,
think, o bi misel ; for aw cawn't wortch nor walk far. Aw'll be
sure to come."

" Tha's me to thank for bein so helpless."

" Aw con ne'er recollect bein nowt else," Polly said. " It's so
long sin', yo known ; aw were nobbut a babby when it happen't,
an* aw'm so used to one leg neaw at two ud nobbut bother me."

"What dost think abeaut, sittin so quiet o day?" Ellen axed
her.

" O maks ! " Polly laughed. " Aw think, an' think, an' think.
Sometimes voices come talkin to me, belongin to folk aw've ne'er
sin an' shouldn't know iv aw did, tellin me o sorts o' wondherful
things ; an' sometimes aw just sit dhremin o' fine counthries where
there's no smooke nor dirt, nor nowt but rivers o' shinin wayther
fo'in deawn broosides, or gooin slow through green meadows full o'
ceaws twitchin their tails, an' horses gallopin. Then again aw get
among folk olez donned up an' gooin a-walkin, an' laughin childher
runnin abeaut wi noather schoo nor facthry to bother 'em, wearin
their Sunday clooas every day, getherin fleawers — eh ! sich
fleawers ! — there's nowt like 'em i' th' Park — red, an' blue, an'
yollow, an' white as chalk — threspassin i' th' mowin grase beaut
ever gettin a summons, an' playin at huddin-peep i' big dark woods
where th' sun cawnt make 'em sweat. Done yo think there is sich
places, gronfayther?"

" Aw deaubt it, lass ; there's noane i' Lancashire, shuzheaw.
Aw think God puts these picthers into thi mind, to help thee
through t' long heaurs an' stop thee fro frettin."

" Me frettin ? Eh ! yo don't know mich abeaut me yet, or
yo'd ne'er talk so ! Heaw con aw fret when everybody's so good
to me, watchin to see which con do t' most to plez me ? Yo should
just see heaw they o looken afther me awom, settin me t' first olez
— fayther, mother, an' o t' lot — an' yo'd ne'er think o' frettin. Yo
should just see ! "

" Aw mun ne'er see that, Polly," Ben said wi a sigh. " But
aw'm fain to yer it, for o that. Happy families con be fund some-
wheere, it seems, iv not i' this heause."

So Ben fund one comforther where he'd little expected or de-
sarved doin, an' went on his hard road wi new sperrit. Iv he'd
bin a chap in a book he'd ha done summat greight to make folk

Moirin grase, mowing grass.

BEN RAMSDEN. 207

think betther on him — risked his life in a fire, venthur't among
smopox, saved tuthri folk fro dhreawnin, or some fanciful gam o'
that mak — but as he happen't to be wick he'd to tak things as they
coome, contentin hissel wi stickin close to his wark, an' thryin to
make hissel o' some use in his loase time.

Ashburn had towd Ben once 'at wortchin-chaps sadly wanted
some place to meet in ov a neet, where they could have summat
gooin on to intherist 'em, an' put their time on i' comfort ; so
neaw th' anxious weighver thought he'd thry to shap summat o'
that sort. Sich things had bin thried mony a time, to be sure, but
never i' that teawn beaut some mixthur o' religion or politics. Iv
it were to be done t' facthry chaps ud ha to do it theirsel, beaut
waitin for oather parson or ambitious gentleman to pathronise 'em,
an' Ben felt sure iv some ov his mates could be persuaded to start
o' th' job they'd goo forrad wi it. Just to thry it on he took
a biggish reawm for a neet, put some forms in it, geet a piano an'
a vamper, an' when o were ready axed o th' chaps he knew
to come an' spend a neet wi him. Abeaut a score coome, mostly
eaut o' curiosity, Ginger among 'em, lookin like a lord in a
new Sunday black shuit.

" Sit yo deawn," Ben says as they coome in. " Make yorsel
a-wom — t' moore an' t' merrier."

When everybody were planted he went up to th' top end where
o could see him, an' made his first speech.

" Aw want to see, chaps, iv we cawn't pass a comfortable heaur
or two, an' get some pleasur together. It's oft looked to me 'at
we wanten some reawm like this where we con sit, smooke, talk,
sing, dance, or owt we'n a mind, wi some sense an' satisfaction.
We'n o middlin o' spare time on eaur honds at neets neaw, an'
we're oft short o' summut to fill it up. We cawn't olez be hutched
up i' th' miserable dog kennels we're forced to live in ; we don't
want to be olez i' th' aleheause "

"That's thrue, that is," Ginger says, sittin wi bwoth honds
deep in his breeches pockets. "Aw should know iv onybody
does."

" Hear, hear ! " a young fellah put in. " Hearken Owd Nick
an' his scholar talkin Bible ! "

" Who lam't his gronchilt ? " another sheauted.

Ben went on when they'd finished. " Aw desarve everything
yo con co me, so speighk yor minds. Nobry knows betther nor
me what a smart mon aw am to teighch other folk ; but aw've
gien mi word, honest an' straight, an' aw'll stop noane for bein
laughed at."

" Who punced his wife ? " sombry axed.

" Go on," Ben said. " Aw con ston it ; aw desarve it some

Gronchilt, grandchild.

208 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

weel. Yo're noane fond on me, aw know, but yo'll happen gi me
some hit o' credit for thryin to mend. Neaw, its a quare thing to
me iv we cawn't be sociable. Will onybody sing a song ? This
piano chap con play owt, so yo'n no need to be bashful."

Wherever a dozen facthry folk getten together there's sure to
be tuthri singers among 'em. One geet up to mention 'at Tom
Bowlin were gwone " hay-y-loft," an' a recither followed him wi
Tennyson's " Charge of the Light Brigade," reight through fro
" Half a league ! " past " Flashed all their sabrees bare," to th end.
A clog-hornpipe coome in very weel afther that, though eaur lads
han lost th' gradely Lancashire steps sin' thoose Music Hall
dancers geet so common, an' then th' vamper wakken't everybody
up wi what he co'd " Boildew's Overchure to th' Calup." A
Rachda concert's never complete beaut th' " Wolf," so a young
weighver wi a bad cowd were persuaded to thry his skill at that
classical song, an' then some " refreshments " were brought in —
tay, coffee, ale, curran loave, cheese, an sichlike. That getten shut
on there were moore singin an' talkin' whol ten o' t' clock coome
an' Ben turn't his pupils eaut, axin 'em to come again another
neet an' bring their wives wi 'em.

So mony coome th' second time ov axin 'at they fund th'
reawm too little ; but they shapped to make bare floor enough for
tuthri couple to dance on, an' as women's tongues con rattle
oather wi reawm or beaut there were no want o' sport to fill
th' neet up.

Afore his scholars went Ben gav' em another sarmon. " It's
plain enough yo liken this sort o' business," he said. " Iv yo'n
ony wit yo'll collect tuthri shillin among yorsel, pike eaut a
committee, tak a gradely reawm somewheere, an' set abeaut gettin
some pleasur at neets. Parties o' this sort are summat like what
betther-off folk are used to. Folk wi time an' brass find these
getherins are woth their weight i' gowd for makin everybody
sociable an' weel-manner't. We're short o' time an' noane weighted
deawn wi brass, but we con shap theese meetins weel enough
iv we nobbut takken t' throuble, so we're as weel off i' that point as
ony folk there is. There's another thing, too. We don't make
hawve enough use o' th' Sethurday holidays. They're wasted for
most on us, an' will be whol yo women starten o' shappin different.

Iv aw'd my road there'd ha to be no clenin up o' Sethurday
afthernoons. Every fine week end aw should like to see whol
families settin off together, oather up th' hill sides or to Hollinoth,
or somewheere among fresh air an' green fields. Aw'd let nowt
ston i' th' road o' thoose thrips — noather blackleadin, nor swillin,
nor idleness, nor nowt. They'd cost very little, an' th' savin o'
temper an docthor's physic ud be summat moore nor yo'n ony
notion on whol yo'n thried it."

BEN RAMSDEN. 2OQ

As he stopped a minute to tak wynt a woman jumped up
an' co'd eaut,

" It's yezzy for yo chaps to talk, but heaw's th' heausewark to
be getten through ? It taks some on us o Sethurday an' Sunday to
shap things for th' week. What are we to do wi young childher ?
It's no holiday for us iv they're to be carried i' arms, an' yet we
connot lev 'em bi theirsel to upset everything or happen brun
th' heause deawn. Who's beaun to do th' wark whol we're gaddin
off i' t' counthry ? It's yezzy talkin ! "

"Just thry it on, neaw," Ben said sticking to his text. " Yo'll
happen noane find it as hard to shap as yo're thinkin on. Nobbut
let it be undherstood at Sethurday's a gooin-off day, an' everything
'Jl come reaund reel enough. Yo'll find sharper roads o' shiftin yor
wark, stop some o' yor needless labbour off, an' come back fro
yor walks fresh an' hearty enough to shift a day's wark in an heaur
or two. Heaw mony on yo's ever bin reaund Breawn Wardle,
across Rooley Moor, to Greenbooth, up th' Tandle Hill, or across
th' top o' Blacksnedge ? Iv yo done goo it's nobbut once i' five
year, an' then it's as mich thought on as a thrip reaund Europe ;
but yo met just as weel goo every week iv yo would. Th' broos
are olez stonnin theere, doin nowt. Yo should be thankful to have
a shop like Hollinoth to go to ; but nowe ! it's noane good enough.
Tuthri lads an' lasses gwone theere a dancin, gettin their like-
nesses takken, an' sichlike, things 'at could be betther done i' th'
teawn, but where's o th' groon-up folk ? Where's o th' sickly
women an' chaps 'at we'yar'n grumblin so hard abeaut indigestion,
liver complaint, an' so on, spendin a lump o' their wages i' pills or
physic every week ? Th' women are busy sweepin, dustin, suppin
sthrong tay ; th' chaps are readin their pappers, smookin at th'
hobend, or ceawerin i' th' aleheause. These things are o reet
enough i' their place, but woth nowt to th' chance o' gettin eaut
undher th' oppen sky. Stir abeaut an' thry a fresh start. Brass
is noane everything; we con dhraw in as mich wynt as Queen
Victoria, we'n plenty o' good greaund to walk o'er, th' sun shines
for us as mich as onybody else, we'n moore pleasur i' watchin grase
an' fleawers groo nor oather farmer or londlord, an' there's no want
ov innicent, wholsome pleasur lyin within hond-reighch iv we'n a
mind to sthretch eaur arms eaut."

Ben were like most reformers — born rayther too soon. His
advice were sensible, everybody said, but nobry bother't to follow
it. His meetin-reawm plan went on for awhile, an' then folk geet
weary o' gooin ; as for th' hill-climbin, we con walk up an' deawn
th' moors yet beaut bein o'er-creawded mich.

Hobend, fireside.

210 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

VII.

A time were comin when Ben were to be thried up whether his
mendin ran o through or were nobbut skin deep. He lost his wife.
Ellen had fund happy times at last, an' fain would ha lived tuthri
year to keep her chang't husban company ; but that were noane to
be. Hoo deed, levin him bi hissel.

When they laid her in th' coffin Ben sit up wi her a whol neet,
feelin as iv o th' life were gwone eaut on him. As he looked at her
white still face he thought deep an' long ov o that good woman
had done for him, an' heaw he'd saived her for o her love an' care.
He'd ha gien summat that neet to just have his selfish life to start
o'er again. There'd be some awtheration in him iv that could be
shapped ; but it were no use wishin — his time were gwone — he'd
had his own stupid road, an' this were th' end on't.

There were hawve a bottle o' brandy stonnin on t' dhrawers,
left o'er o' some ordher't for Ellen bi t' docthor. Ben seed it,
reighched it deawn, an' tem'd eaut a saup into a gill pot.

" It's no use botherin no longer," he mutther't to hissel.
" Live weel or live ill there's nowt but throuble for folk i' this
world. This stuff smells sthrong an' good — it's rare physic for
wartchin hearts. Howd !" he whisper't, wi a wild look. " What
am aw beaun to do ? What will little Polly think iv aw goo wrong
again ? Aw con feel th' owd cravin for dhrink comin o'er me.
Iv aw sup this aw s' want moore, an' once started there's no friend
like Ashburn to watch me neaw. Am awJaeaun to disgrace mysel
again wi mi dyead wife lyin afore mi e'en ! Nowe !" an' he cobbed
pot an' bottle into th' fire grate. " Never no moore i' this world
will aw gi mysel up to dhrink. Never !"

He kissed Ellen's cowd foryead, kneel't him deawn at th' bed-
side, an' axed for help to steer him through t' rough ocean o' life ;
an' so wi prayers an' brokken sleep he geet through that pitiful
neet.

Ben's childher o turn't up at th' buryin, but they'd as little to
do wi their fayther as they could shap. Two o' th lasses went
back worn wi him, blew him up a while, an' left him. Most o' th'
lads an' lasses had passed a word o' some mak wi him, noane olez
ov a very lovin sort, but Harry stood off noather speighkin nor
lookin, turnin his back on his fayther as iv he'd ne'er sin th' owd
chap afore.

" It sarves me reel afther o," Ben thought, left bi hissel i' th'
empty heause. " It's every bit mi own shappin. But Harry's very
stupid, very ; wur nor me. Well, aw mun do th' best aw con, an'
larn to do beaut love an' kin. When aw could have had 'em aw
wouldn't. It sarves me reel ! "

Afore he'd sit frettin so long th' dur oppen't, an' Polly coome
limpin in.

BEN RAMSDEN. 21 I

"Heaw are yo, gronfayther?" hoo axed, hangin her shawl up
i' th' owd-fashion't womly road 'at were nathural to her.

•' Nobbut middlin," Ben said.

"Yo mun keep yor heart up, yo known," Polly says, startin
sidin up abeaut th' harstone. " Aw'm thinkin o' comin to heause-
keep for yo ; becose yo cawn't live here o bi yorsel."

"Tha'rt what !" Ben co'd eaut, fair capped.

" Aw'll come an live wi yo," Polly went on, sweepin th' cindhers
up as iv nowt were. " Yo'll want sombry, wain't yo ? Aw've groon
sthrong an weel neaw, an' th' heause-wark '11 be nowt to me. Aw'll
come in to-morn an' get yon bed ready i' th' little chamber."

As t' cindhers were swept up hoo started breetenin t' fendher
wi some bits ov emery papper. Ben felt his een runnin o'er to
think o' what he owd to that quiet, cheerful lass, an' what a com-
fort hoo could be to him ; but he were freeten't it were o too good
to be thrue.

"God bless thee, Polly," he said. "Aw know tha ne'er myens
nowt but weel, an' aw'm sure tha coome sthraight deawn fro
heaven to keep me reet ; but tha knows thi fayther '11 ne'er yer o'
sich a thing as thee comin here."

"Wain't he?" says Polly, twitchin her sharp little yead. "Aw'll
show yo ! Mi fayther olez does as aw tell him."

"He'll ne'er get far wrong iv he does, that's a sure thing.
Well, we s' see!"

He did see, an' soon beside, for Polly flitted next mornin, made
her bed up, an' sattl't deawn as iv hoo'd done nowt but manage
heauses o her life. Harry grumbl't when hoo towd him what her
plans were, but didn't thry to stop her, an' happen felt rayther fain
at th' bottom to find his little daughther so useful.

As time went on Ben fund eaut there were moore nor him
thought weel o' Polly. Hoo'd partly o'ergroon her lameness, walkin
beaut crutch wi just a bit ov a limp, an' at eighteen year owd hoo
looked so pratty an' good there were no wondher young chaps
began hangin abeaut. Afore so long one on 'em persuaded her to
tak him for a sweetheart, an' in a while, time slippin on full speed
as usal, there were a weddin ; so Ben geet another lodger.

"Tha mun undherston, neaw," Polly had said to her chap, "'at
mi gronfayther's getten owd, an' there's nobbut me to look afther
him ; so iv we getten wed we mun live theere. Aw know he likes
thee, an' it '11 be o reet."

Th' young chap (Tom Smethurst bi name, joiner bi thrade)
said it 'd tak a dyel moore nor that to freeten him ; so th' job were
sattl't, th' weddin coome off, an' greight-gronchildher started grooin
up reaund Ben.

Capped, astonished.

2T2 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

It were nobbut then 'at th' owd chap fairly seed what a foo he'd
made ov hissel. Wi his own experience o' bringin childher up he
looked to find throuble wi th' risin young uns, an' expected his wis-
dom met be useful to Polly an' her husban ; but they soon showed
him 'at they could shap things very weel theirsel. Smethurst
gav a dyel o' time to his childher ; playin o maks o' gams wi
'em whol they were babbies, teighchin 'em useful pastimes as they
grew bigger, an' takkin good care at o times to keep things on a
pleasant footin. Afore th' two owdest lads left off gooin to th'
dayschoo one on 'em were as hondy as a full mon wi a joiner's
bench, an' t' other could turn eaut o maks o' cabinet wark wi lathe
an' fretsaw. They were just as weel forrad wi their booklarnin, for
their fayther talked to 'em as they wortched, takkin care their
lessons were undherstood an' thought on ; yet, through o, shappin
to make o their wark like play to 'em, an' keep love brunnin o
reaund.

" Tha fair licks me, Tom," Ben said one neet as he sit at th'
fireside wi Polly an' her husban. " Aw used to think thee rayther
a soft sort ov a chap, an' pity thee for havin less brains nor me ;
an' yet tha'rt as fawse abeaut bringin childher up as a Solomon.
Where hast larn't o thi wit ? Polly had a groon-up yead at twelve
year owd, an' aw think thine mun ha bin th' same."

" Happen so," says Tom. " It's no plannin o' mine, as aw
know on ; nobbut aw've always thried to keep friendly wi th' young
uns, an' teighch 'em to help theirsel a bit."

" Well," Ben said, wi a deep sigh, " tha's hit th' reet road an'
aw missed it. Aw con see neaw, but it's too lat."

Ben were fast gettin toard th' end at that time. Soon afther he
took to his bed, an' everybody could see it were a case wi th' owd
chap. For mony a long year past his name had bin spokken on
wi respect, for he'd fairly lived deawn o thoughts ov his owd
carryins on, an' shown plain enough he could be as obstinate for
good as bad iv he once set that road.

He'd long made friends wi his childher — o but Harry. That
were another stupid-yead, noather to be coaxed nor dhriven.
Nowt his fayther could do or say ever persuaded Harry 'at there'd
bin ony change. He olez looked for Ben brastin eaut into his
wild habits again ; no length o' years shiftin his belief.

So when Ben lee at th' last, an' sons an' daughthers co'd to see
him once again, Harry wouldn't stir a foot. A parson coome to
th' deein chap, talkin o' preparin him for th' next world, but Ben
wouldn't hearken to him.

"Dunnot tell me!" he co'd eaut, cobbin his arm up. "Yo
myen weel, aw darsay; but it's no use comin yeawlin o'er me
neaw. Mi wark's done ; it mun ston for what it's woth, an' aw'll
ston by it, beaut ony chicken-hearted beggin to be letten off what

BEN RAMSDEN. 213

aw desarve. Justice is what aw want, maisther ; an' aw'm in a fair
road for havin it afore long. Aw've sthriven hard to do reet sin'
Ashburn started me, an' for what aw did wrong afore aw mun tak
mi chance. When God co's on me aw'm ready."

" Yer yo, maisther !" Polly said. "There ne'er were a betther
chap nor mi gronfayther's bin this twenty year, but he will keep
co'in hissel for what's long o'er wi an' cawn't be helped. Yo ne'er
seed a betther chap nor mi gronfayther, did yo ? "

" At any rate I consider him to be a very good man. Ever
since I came into the town I have found him untiring in good
works, generous, charitable, kindly, humble minded. A good man
without a doubt."

" Ah ! yo little known what yo're talkin abeaut," Ben went on.
" Iv Ashburn were here he'd gie me a different charicther to that,
some soon ! An' he knew, iv onybody ever did ; for he could read
me like a book. Well ! o's o'er wi an' done. Polly, lass, a thank-
ful owd mon's blessin belongs to thee, for makin his lonesome life
comfortable. A good daughther, a good mother, a good wife, it's
olez bin thy business to spread content an' happiness wherever
that sweet patient face o' thine has showed itsel. God bless thee,
my bonny lass ! God bless thee ! When thi gronmother dee'd
tha coome into this heause like an angel o' leet ; an' it's nobry i'
th' world but thee 'at 's saved me fro gooin wrong. Aw could ha
liked to see thi fayther once again — he's very stupid, Harry is ;
very ! But aw've nobbut mysel to blame."

" Mun aw run for him, gronfayther ? It wain't tak a minute."

Hardly waitin for Ben to look his consent, Polly were off.
Hoo fund Harry awom, an' said,

" Fayther ! Do come ! He's deein, an' wants to see yo."

" Nay, not he !" says Harry. " He ne'er wanted to see nowt
no moore o' me nor he could help."

" Fayther, yo mun come," Polly said. " Aw wain't yer sich
talk no longer. Put yor cap on this minute an' come wi me."

" Well, aw'll see dhirectly," her fayther mutther't. " Go thi
ways back an' tell him aw'll be theere afore long."

Polly ran back, Ben's lip curlin wi a bitther smile as hoo went
in bi hersel.

"Aw knew he'd come noane."

" Yigh, he's comin in a minute/' Polly gasped, short o' wynt
wi hurryin. " He is for sure !"

" He'll be just a minute too lat," Ben said, lettin his yead sink
among th' pillows. " Stick to mi hond, Polly."

Hoo put her little hond in his, sittin deawn bi th' bedside, an'
i' tuthri minutes a foot seaunded on th' stairs.

" This'll be him," Polly says, lookin reaund.

But hoo were mistaen. A grasy cloth cap wi a reausty-thatched
yead undher it rose above th' floor level, followed bi a thin white

214 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

face an' slendher body, o on 'em belongin a little pychin chap
'at coome forrad into th' chamber, wi bwoth honds deep in his
breeches pockets.

" What, is that thee, Ginger ?" Ben axed, wi a faint smile at
his owd mate.

" Aw've co'd a seein thee, Ben," Ginger said, very solid, keepin
his honds in his pockets. " They say'n tha'rt for deein to-neet."

" It's likely enough, my lad. See tha taks care o' thysel when
aw'm gwone. Tha's ne'er brokken teetotal yet, hasta?"

" Nowe."

" Well, come ! Aw've bin o' some use i' th' world," Ben said.
" Aw've cured Ginger. God bless thee, Polly ! Aw shan't last
mich longer. Aw'm obleeged to yo for comin, parson. Yo're a
good mon, but nowt like Frank."

His voice dwindl't away ; he looked to sink deeper into th'
bedclooas. Polly felt his hond turnin cowd.

Another foot on th' stairs — steady, maistherful. Harry coome
up an' stood bi th' bedside, his steaut lusty figure teawerin big an'
sthrong o'er th' grey wasted body on th' bed.

"Fayther!" he said softly, but Ben ne'er stirred no moore.
Th' son met sulk at him neaw iv he'd a mind, an' no harm could
be done ; or he met soften an' feel shame at his own stupidness
beaut doin ony good. He were too lat for oather soothin or
frettin that quiet shape lyin afore him. A fairer Judge nor hissel
had takken up judgment on th' poor owd sinner ; an' what Harry
thought or didn't think matther't nowt no moore, noather i' this
world nor th' next.

" He is gone !" th' parson said, puttin his hond on Ben's cowd
foreyead an' kneelin deawn at th' bedside.

" Gwone !" Harry said, startin. " Nay ! Surelee not ! Gwone
beaut a word !"

" Yo should ha com'n sooner," Polly towd him, wipin her
swelled e'en. " Poor gronfayther ! What a good owd mon he
were ! "

" Nay !" Harry says, fair breighkin deawn at last. " Iv tha
con think so weel on him afther o he's made thee suffer, surelee
aw con make shift to forgive him too. Aw deaubt aw've bin
rayther too hard on him. He were mi fayther, aw guess, when o's
said. Well ! his throubles are o'er wi ; but aw fully myent havin
just a partin word wi him, too."

" Is he dyead, say'n yo ?" Ginger axed, bwoth honds glued in
his pockets yet. " He'd getten to a good age, yo known ; an' he
couldn't live for ever, could he ? Eh ! he were a rare chap, were
Ben ! There were nobbut one road wi him, an' that were his own ;
an' aw once seed him sup fifteen pints ov ale i' less nor two
heaurs."

fiEN RAMSDEN. 215

That were Ben Ramsden's epitaph. When he'd spokken it
Ginger crept off deawn th' stairs, levin, th' parson prayin, Polly
howdin her dyead gronfayther's hond, an' Harry stonnin o'er th'
bed as iv he'd larn't a lesson he were noane likely to forget whol
his own turn coome to threighd that dark slippy road we mun o
thravel one bi one.

So Ben, like some o' Bach's fugues, afther wandherin a while
through minor keighs finished wi a major chord.

Let o th' good folk 'at may happen to read this tak care abeaut
cobbin stones at him, just think once heaw a smo change in his
point o' sect made o th' difference between his bein a good chap
or a bad un, an' then mind fro fo'in theirsel.

DEAWN V TH' SHADE.

We'n quite a little world i' th' weighvin shade,
An' folk ov o maks wortchin hard for brade ;
Iv hard yo reckon it to keep on t' throt
Fro year to year end, pottherin reaund th' same spot ;
So mony minutes for yor breakfast time,
So mony moore when th' owd sun's done his climb
To hurry worn an' gulp yor dinner deawn,
Wearin th' same stones i' t' same dull sthreets o' th' teawn ;
So mony heaurs to watch yor loom-slays rock,
Then off to bed whol t' mornin boggart's knock
Rings five on th' window wi a fyersome seaund,
Startin again yor never-endin reaund.
Some co'n it yezzy wark enough — aw've yerd
Blue-blooded folk, 'at ne'er a finger stirred
To addle cheese, make eaut 'at th' best o' luck
Kept dhroppin onto folk i' t' facthries stuck ;
Say, th' job were leet an' comfortin, surelee,
Fro weary brains an' anxious thinkin free,
An' wondher heaw we ever could ha th' cheek
To live like nabobs on a peaund a week,
Wi meight an' clooas sich as they could ne'er
Afford on mony a hundherd peaund a year ;
But, though aw've promised oft to teighch 'em free,
They're noane so keen o' th' job 'at aw con see.
Poor things ! they known no betther. Let 'em talk,
An' through their aimless lives contented walk ;
Aw wish no harm to th' pathronisin crew,
An' wain't begin to measur folk their due,
But aw'm ill-tempted when i' th' grumblin mood
To fancy twelvemonth wark met do 'em good.

Come into th' shade wi me, an' look abeaut ;
Yo'll find some things woth seein, aw've no deaubt,
An' yerin, too, for once yo're fairly in,
Yo'll know five hundherd looms con make a din.
But ne'er mind that, yo'll soon get used to t' clatther,
To feelin sweat rowl deawn yor back like watther,
An' larn to relish th' savvoury size and fluff,
'At makes us thrive like fyerns up Ramsden Clough,
An' whets eaur appetites to edge so sharp
We feel bi noon 'at we could eight a warp.

DEAWN I* TH* SHADE. 217

Look reaund at o these little lads an' lasses,

Here hawve their time an' hawve i' th' schooboard classes ;

They'd be as weel off pluckin daisies yet

As shut up here so long to teaw an' fret.

Th' owd maisther says there's nowt like wark to poo

Their wits i' shape afore they gwone to th' schoo ;

Aw guess he lets his childher lie i' bed

Becose he's fleyed they'll get too sthrong i' th' yead,

Givin 'em change ov air an' dainty bites

To howd 'em deawn to th' level o' these mites.

There's women here wi wark enough awom,

But th' world ud turn noane iv they didn't come ;

Beside, they'n t' neet afore 'em, long an' chep,

To nurse, wesh, bake, sing, swill, clen-up an' threp.

These groon-up chaps don't look so fat an' breet

As yo'd expect wi wark so nice an' leet ;

It's plain enough 'at when we're off this greaund

We're noane forever whuzzin dumbells reaund,

Climbin up pows or usin th' swingin bar,

Or we met happen change fro what we are.

Iv we 'd beaunce up i' th' mornin soon an' bowd

To pop o'er th' yead i' wayther clen an' cowd,

Walk oft i' t' counthry in a thoughtful way,

Say th' catechism once or twice a day,

An' calm wi porritch eaur excited blood,

Wise neighbours tell us that 'd do us good ;

But whether these philosophers could jump

Fro bed at five to scutther off to th' pump,

Or, afther bein stewed ten heaurs a day,

Start sthrugglin wi their muscles, aw cawn't say.

We shouldn't smooke, nor dhrink, nor ware mich brass,

But go to t' lecthur reawm or th' science class ;

But theere ! It's no use talkin ! We're so numb,

We s' slutther on th' owd road whol kingdom come.

There's noane mich change abeaut this weighvin job —
This pleasant, yezzy road o' fillin th' fob ;
On t' crossin-off day we con happen put
A thrillin heaur on, deawnin a late cut,
An' oft for crimes repented make amends
Wi floats, thin laps, or knots o' brokken ends.
When wynt fro north or east blows dhry an' sharp
There's apt to be some gam wi weft an' warp,
Though comfort fo's again wi rainy weet,
For cotton thravels best on witchert feet.

Fleyed, afraid. Threp, argue. Witchert, wetshod.

2l8 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Sometimes, to make some exthra sport i' th cage,
We sthriken for less wark or bigger wage ;
Takkin a holiday wi nowt to spend,
Determin't, this time, 'at we'll dee or mend ;
Practisin deein for a while, some fain
At last to crawl to th' facthry once again,
Wi o th' fawse craythers yappin at eaur heels
'At never knew heaw wark or clemmin feels,
Yet could ha towd us o fro th' very start,
For sich-like wickedness eaur backs mut smart.

Yon little chap, wi coarse an' pettish face,
Is th' manager 'at gaffers o'er o th' place ;
He were a weighver once, but rose an' throve
Whol common folk he meaunted hee above,
Noane so particlar where his clogs met dhrop
Iv he could nobbut safely lond at th' top ;
Takkin greight care to steighl o th' brains he could,
An' olez gam to chet for his own good.
He stares some crammed, majestic ordhers dhrops,
Seemin to think there's merit i' seaur chops ;
Just hearken heaw he's swearin at yon lass
Becose hoo nudged him as he thried to pass !
Watch him sthrut reaund among these busy folk,
Cobbin at some a condescendin joke,
Stormin at moore wi sudden-ragin fit,
'At makes him stut, an' cough, an' stamp, an' spit ;
Ne'er thinkin we con read him for a dunce,
A foo it 'd be wastin time to punce,
An' see through o his impident pretence,
Propped up bi noather gumption, thruth, nor sense.
But howd ! Just watch that smile ! There's t' maisther yon ;
Neaw yo'll find th' manager a different mon ;
Watch him wi humble smirk an' shiftin e'e,
Lookin as mild an' honest as con be,
Ready for slavverin on th' greight mon's toe,
Thryin some wit an' cliverness to show,
Bi way o' makin eaut 'at there's ne'er bin
Sich management as his sin' th' world coome in.
T' keen maisther has him weighed — he turns away
Wi cool, "Yes, you've done wonders, I daresay,"
An' little lie-bag, cobbed again i' th' slutch,
I* spite makes o his weighvers beaunce an' hutch ;
For, cursed hissel wi sneakin, slavish mind,
He itches independent folk to grind.

Look at this grey-yured, worn-faced woman here ;
Hoo's plodded i' that nook for thirty year ;

DEAWN l' TH* SHADE. 219

Th' " widow bewitched " we co'n her, i' eaur way,

Becose her husbant bowled off o'er th' say ;

Hoo's a good sort enough, an' so were he,

But some road they ne'er managed to agree.

For one thing hoo catched th' clennin fayver bad,

A speck o' dirt were fit to dhrive her mad ;

To every visitor hoo sang th' same tune,

" Yo're welcome, but for God's sake wipe yor shoon !"

When th' eautside flags were swilled o' th' Friday neet,

'Twere murdher to her theere to set yor feet,

Th' cosy were nobbut laid for her to slat,

An' th' public met goo ony road but that ;

Hoo'd ston at th' dur wi th' swillin-brush, an' sauce

Threspassin folk, 'at dared to walk across.

Inside hoo made things lively for her chap ;

He hardly durst sit deawn or doff his cap ;

He couldn't stir beaut knockin summat croot,

Or makin fearful havoc undherfoot ;

Iv ever he'd a wish i' th' heause to stop,

Hoo'd buckle to an' swill him eaut o' th' shop,

Or iv he stood that make him cough an' wink

Wi dust, or wi French polish reause a stink.

They fitted a front reawm up when they'rn wed,

Where th' husbant looked to rest his weary yead

O' th' Sunday, but howd off ! hoo locked th' reawm dur,

An' nobry were alleawed inside but her ;

Hoo nobbut went to dust, clen up, an' that,

For sittin deawn myent squeezin th' cushins flat.

A little lad were born, an' for awhile

Their lives were breeten't bi his bonny smile ;

But one day, through t' durs flyin front an' back,

I' one o' th' clennin fits, he shapped to tak

A cowd 'at sent him to another lond,

Levin his mother wi moore time i' hond.

Some shoots o' love fro th' parents' hearts had sprung,

An' reaund that pratty chilt had twin't an' clung,

But wither't soon when his support were ta'en,

An love ne'er bother't thoose poor folk again ;

So climbin plants, thrained reaund abeaut a rod,

Their uphowd gwone, fo deein upo' th' sod.

Aw let on th' husbant once at his back dur,

Lookin so lost aw're forced to stop an' sper

What ailed him. " Nowt," he says ; " but aw mun wait

Eautside whol th' mappin's getten eaut o' th' gate.

Aw'm gettin stowed ; mi patience is o'er-thried,"

An' then he rubbed his e'en, an' snurched, an' cried,

Mappin, mopping. Snurched, sniffed.

220 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Tha foo !" aw said. " Dost co thisel a mon ?

Goo in an' leather her as hard's tha con !

Breighk oppen th' pahlour dur, make th' cushins fly,

An' wipe thi clog-irons on her napery ;

Pile up o t' furnithur i' tuthri yeps,

An' cob her faldherdals deawn th' cellar steps ;

Cob her, beside, iv hoo makes owt to do,

An' then there'll be some comfort for yo two."

" Nay, nay !" he said ; " it isn't 'at hoo's nowt,

T'best shappin aw con mak '11 be to bowt ;

Left bi hersel hoo'll have a chance to scrat

Beaut plaguin onybody obbut th' cat ;

Iv ifs noane fairly shuited it con preawl

Abeaut i' th' yard, or sit on th' slate an' yeawl ;

That's where aw'm licked, for through some blundherin sect

Aw've bin brought up to sleep inside at neet."

So th' brokken-hearted chap pyched off an' went,

Levin his wife to yammer and repent.

This limber-jointed lad's a famous runner,
At five-mile scuttherins a gradely stunner ;
His mates sayn Choppy Warbutton could ne'er
Come near him when he's runnin sthraight an' square,
An' Thraycle, though a sweet un in his day,
Owns up 'at Tommy licks him far away.
He's built for speed an' lastin peawer, yo see,
Deep chest, thin rib, long leg, an' clen-cut knee ;
When sthripped his skin's like marble, mapped wi blue,
Wi every joint an' muscle fashion't thrue —
Obbut his cawves — they'n rayther gwone to th' dogs
Through him an' his forefaythers wearin clogs.
There's a square fielt above where oft at neet
Yo'll find Tom exercisin his swift feet,
His thrainer an' a friend or two i' th' nook,
To time him, rub his 'lastic shanks, an' look
'At nobry's sneakin reaund to watch him shap
An' get him set fur back i' th' hondicap.
" Two seconds slow !" t' crammed thrainer snarls. "By gum
Aw'll give th' job up iv tha keeps smookin, Turn !
Tha'll ha no wynt at o left in a bit ;
A week off th' races, an' tha'rt nowt like fit !
Think on my name's dependin upo thee,
An' iv aw cob thee o'er where wilta be ? "
So th' freetent runner promises to mend,
Beggin th' owd chap to gaffer him to th' end.

Yammer, to cry fretfully.

DEAWN I TH SHADE.

On race-days Tommy i' full glory shows,

Donned i' breet silks, leet-balanced on his toes.

Ready to shoot away at th' pistil-crack

On his long journeyin reaund t' curvin thrack,

A steady swing a mile or two he keeps,

An' past o t'other runners gently creeps,

Then dhrops behinnd again wi cunnin blint

As iv he'd run hissel fair eaut o' wynt ;

His honest mates are ready neaw to bet —

" Come ! aw'll tak three to one on Tummy yet ;

He's lookin ill, that's thrue ; — it's this wot sun ;

Tha'll nobbut lay me two ? Ger off ! Well, done !

He'll lond noane — it'd pay him t' best to sthrike,

But aw mun back him just for friendship like."

Then up creeps dodgin Thomas wi a wap,

Passin two runners in another lap :

Then howds a bit, shammin to blow an' grunt,

But foot by foot keeps pychin nar to th' front :

Wi th' first mon neck an' neck he thries a poo,

Dhrawin him eaut to see what he con do,

An' wins bi tuthri yard i' yezzy style,

Whol cheted loisers curse an' backers smile.

Here's a young woman weel woth lookin at,
Wi cheerful face, breet yure, an' spotless brat,
Olez good-temper't, everybody's friend,
Ready when axed a helpin hond to lend ;
Fayther an' mother Liza keeps awom,
Where t'other childher ne'er find time to come ;
Hoo's th' youngest ov eleven, but t' other ten
Con make o t' bit o' brass they getten sken,
They're o moore likely Liza's help to ax
Nor thry th' owd folk to carry on their backs ;
They're o wed off an' nicely eaut o' th' gate,
But hoo, poor lass ! for th' weddin-day mun wait.
One tells her, " Come ! aw'll tak thee to Belle Vue,
An' buy thee a new bonnet. Tha'rt a foo
To wear thisel i' lumps to keep th' owd folk ;
Tha's done thi share — it's getten past a joke ;
Let t'other childher have a turn, an' come
To join me at a comfortable worn.
Ne'er heed Bill Lomas — wi a wife like thee
To keep him he'd be olez upo' th' spree ;
He'd let thee slave thisel to t' dyeath, my lass,
To keep him reet for sleauchin-time an' brass."
" Would he ?" laughs Liza. " Tha does weel to tak
A chance o' co'in Bill behinnd his back ;

222 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Tha dursen't tell him th' hawve on 't to his face,

For weel tha knows he's th' steadiest chap i' th' place.

He's offer't, iv aw'll nobbut be his wife,

To find th' owd folk a dacent worn for life,

An' as for cobbin brass away on th' spree

Aw'd sooner thrust mysel to Bill nor thee."

" Is that it ?" grumbles th' fellah, lookin seaur ;

" Tha'd betther snap him up, then, whol tha's peawer ;

Sich angels seldom com'n through t' world to creep,

Most on us thinken one's enough to keep."

" Nowe !" Liza says, "aw'll saddle noane o' Bill

Wi my relations whol aw've weighvin skill ;

Aw'll hurry noane to wed wi ony mon,

Iv aw'm woth havin aw'm woth waitin on."

Next comes Dick Scwofilt, eaur chief music-chap,
Wi tunes ov o maks undherneighth his cap ;
His yead's so crommed wi ditties sad an' breet
He yeawls an' whistles at 'em day an' neet,
Fingerin th' keighless loom as t' cloth laps reaund,
His nimble clog-irons ringin time on th' greaund.
Dick's ne'er had lessons, as he's free to tell,
His music's groon inside him ov itsel ;
When quite a babby he could cry i' tune,
An' mark his dinner-time wi clattherin spoon ;
He were a concertina player born,
An' larn't to vamp afore he'd breeches worn.
He bothers noane wi notes — it's o bi ear,
An', like th' owd crows i' Spotlan', olez theere.
On t' rook o' thrained professors Dick looks deawn ;
"Aw'll vamp 'em o," he'll say, "for hawve a creawn ;
They're lost beaut papper, they cawn't play a song
Beaut practisin wi th' singer ever so long,
An' iv he wants th' keigh shiftin deawn or up
They'll gawp at him as dateless as a tup !"
Dick vamps on t' weekly free-an'-easy neet
At th' " Silver Shuttle," deawn i' Cotton Sthreet,
When th' singin-reawm wi customers is packed,
An' ale teems through it in a catharact,
Whol cleauds o' bacco smooke hang reaund so sthrong
They sattle solid on yor e'en an' tongue.
Th' owd cheerman, pyerch't at th' table-end i' state,
Knocks wi his hommer to stop some o' th' prate,
Sheauts " Mr. Pogson will oblige," an' through
O th' reechin creawd comes Pogson to Dick's stoo.

Vamp, to accompany songs by ear in defiance of musical rules.
Qmep, gape. Dateless, dull of understanding.

DEAWN i' TH* SHADE. 223

" It 's ' Th' Anchor's Weighed,' lad,' th' singer whispers soft ;

"Aw darsay tha'll ha yerd it middlin oft;"

" Just once or twice," says Dick, wi merry blink,

"What keigh?" an' Pogson says, "One flat, aw think."

Dick saws off th' symphony wi ready knack ;

" Ordher !" bawls th' cheerman, fottin th' board a crack ;

" Play it again," says Pogson wi a cough,

An' when it comes his turn again brasts off:

"The tear fell gently from er heye when last

We parted on the shore (Howd ! not so fast !),

Her boasom eaved with many a — dhrot it ! Dick !

Tha's pitched me reet deawn where mi voice is thick ;

Ladies an' gentlemen, it's th' vamper's faut ;

Tighten thi scrowl, mon ; this mak's up to naught !"

He's followed bi a bass chap, rumblin deawn

Whol one met think he're beaun to shake o th' teawn ;

Then comes a comic, makin th' women bawl

Bi singin some poor thrash fro th' music hall ;

An* so whol turnin eaut time they gwone on,

Gettin what pleasur eaut o' th' job they con.

Dick teighches music, too, i' tip-top style,

Some ov his scholars com'n above a mile,

For he's weel known to have t' thrue saycret art,

An' th' pupils he turns eaut are olez smart.

" Look at th' piano," Dick '11 say. " Tha sees

'At th' black keighs ston i' lumps o' twos an' threes ;

Bi that it's yezzy ony keigh to spot,

An' tha con very soon get used to th' lot.

Howd thi arms stiff an' keep th' leaud threadle deawn

(Aw've cut a wedge for yon o' mine i' th' teawn),

An' keep thi wake back-fingers eaut o' th' gate,

There's seldom wark for moore nor six or eight,

Play th' air i' octaves weel up t' thribble clef,

An' thump away i' th' bass whol folk are dyeaf ;

Larn hawve a dozen pieces off bi heart,

An' tha con olez shap to tak thi part."

Wi simple rules like these Dick made his way

To th' preaud position 'at he howds to-day ;

We're o weel sure 'at iv he'd nobbut brass

O th' music chaps i' Lunnon he could pass —

Barrin like one or two o' th' finest crem,

Rubbinstone, Sullivan, or some o' them.

Neaw here's another woman, comely yet,
Though thin an' grey as iv hoo'd had to fret ;

Scrowl, a regulating attachment of the power loom.

224 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Ten year sin' Sally were so fine an' smart

'At young Sam Isherwood fair lost his heart ;

Hoo wed him an' left th' shade, for Sam were sure

Hoo'd ha no need for weighvin ony moore ;

Heawever, tuthri month sin' hoo coome back,

Hawve clemmed, ill-donned, her shop again to tak,

An' buckled to at wark wi reel good will,

Larnin again her long-forgetten skill.

"Sally, my lass," aw said, "tha'rt lookin worn ;"

"Eh, mon," hoo says, "there's bin eight childher born

Sin' aw wed Sam, an' though he's rayther preaud,

An' desperate hard to keep us o he's teawed,

We'n fund it eaut 'at pride '11 never do

Whol we'n to keep yon childher o at th' schoo.

Aw s' ha mi honds full neaw, to weighve bi day,

An' every neet mi heausewark side away,

But there '11 be summat t' eight, shuzheaw, an' that

Gwoes fur toard makin folk content an' fat.

Iv we con get another year weel past

We s' have a lad hawve-time, an' get on fast."

" Thoose cliver chaps i' th' parliment," aw said,

" Bi o aw yer, han ta'en it i' their yead

To put th' age up, an' let no childher scrat

Whol twelve year owd — what done yo think o' that?"

" Eh ! but they munnot do !" hoo says ; "they'n sin

But little, or they'd never make that din ;

Heaw mony on 'em's rear't a thribe ov eight,

Four on 'em twins, an' kept 'em reet for meight ?

Iv sich a foolish gam they're beaun to start

They'll breighk aboon one toilin mother's heart."

Hoo breeten't famously i' tuthri week,

An' roses gated bloomin on her cheek ;

They're gettin on some weel, though hoo's to slave

Mornin to neet, an' every penny save.

Aw noticed t'other day hoo looked hawve dyead,

An' axed th' poor woman iv hoo'd bin i' bed ;

" Nowe, aw've bin sittin up o neet," hoo says ;

" Yo see, it's Whissunday i' tuthri days,

An' t' little lasses mun ha frocks to walk

I' th' schoo procession, or there'll be some talk ;

Aw cawn't afford 'em clooas ready made,

So aw've to stitch 'em whol aw'm eaut o' th' shade ;

Monday aw wesh whol o mi limbs fair wartch,

Tuesday aw've o mi things to iron an' starch,

On t' Wednesday aw bake for th' hungry crew,

Thursday aw've o mi mendin wark to do,

DEAWN I1 TH' SHADE. 2 25

Friday an' Sethurday aw swill an' clen,

An' Sunday brings o maks o' jobs again ;

So, to make th' little uns a dacent sect,

Aw'm like fair forced to tarry up at neet.

Aw deaubt yo'll think mi pride's noane flitted yet,

But aw cawn't bide to see t' poor childher fret."

" That's honest pride," aw said ; " it's born o' love,

An' little selfish feelin's hee above ;

Tha'rt reet enough to make thi childher smart,

Among their mates to tak a gradely part,

But tha con never keep this business up,

Wortchin bwoth neet an' day for bite an' sup ;

Why, niggers never han to scrat like thee ;

Thy job's a vast dyel wur nor slavery."

" Ah, well !" hoo sighed, "aw con but do mi best ;

Happen i' heaven aw s' get a bit o' rest."

This is a bettin chap, long odds he taks,
For they're eautsidhers mostly 'at he backs ;
He bothers noane wi favourytes an' sich,
Becose he reckons th' owners are too rich,
Carin nowt whether th' horses lond or loise,
Nor whether backers win or make a noise.
He thinks hissel a brid o' th' fawser end,
But some road olez shaps his wage to spend
Beaut gettin for it owt to see or feel,
An' that shows up his fawseness middlin weel.
It's seldom beefs fund cookin in his pon,
His wife an' childher catchen what they con
I' th' shape o' meight an' dhrink ; his brass mun goo
To th' race-greaund, where it's chance enough to groo.
It looks to me 'at iv he'd plant it eaut
I' th' yard or t' cellar, it met sooner spreaut,
Or iv it didn't he could olez find
What he'd put in whenever he'd a mind.
He pays for telegrams an' stable news,
Hopin to chet some less enleeten't foos ;
An' iv he larns, just when a race is run,
Bi wire or sportin papper, which horse won,
He'll hunt up some poor fellah noane i' th' swim,
An' wi a cheerful conscience swindle him.
On race days he's as restless as a cowt,
Wi hardly time enough his meals to bowt ;
He loises sleep, gets bated for bad wark,
Keepin hissel on pins fro leet to dark ;
An o' through winther-time he sulks an' frets
For spring to blossom wi fresh crops o' bets.

226 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

He oft comes botherin wi " reglar snips,"

" Sure pots o' brass," an' t' sthraightest o' sthraight tips ;

" Look here," he said once, " don't be sich a foo,

" Get four legs on thi wage an' make it goo !

Aw've sich a chance as hardly ever comes,

Forty to one, an' sure as thrums is thrums ;

Scrape up o t' brass tha has an' daub it on,

This horse is bund to win, do what they con."

" Nay, come !" aw said ; "aw'm noane a greedy chap,

Nor keen wi other folk good brass to swap ;

Tha's lost a dyel, Sam, so it's nobbut fair

'At in this grand tit's winnins tha should share ;

Tak my advice, lad ; back it for a pot,

An' then tha'll oather loise or win a lot."

" It's sure to win, there'll be no stoppin it ;

Aw've put three peaund on, an' we're beaun to flit

Wi th' winnins, for yon heause gets full o' soot,

An' it's a slutchy disthrict undherfoot."

Aw thought he'd betther wait whol th' race were o'er,

But he'd gie notice theere an' then, he swore ;

He nobbut wished he're hawve as sure he'd get

To heaven as sure that horse could lond his bet.

When th' race day coome Sam felt hissel so rich

'At weighvin didn't fit his humour mich ;

He stopped at noon for hawve a day on th' spree,

" It's reet enough, owd brid !" he says to me,

" Co in to-neet at th' ' Yells an' Reed,' to sup

Good health to th' bonny tit 'at's getten th' Cup ;

Surelee it should afford us hawve a day,

Aw s' win moore brass nor aw con cart away !"

Aw co'd when t' facthry stopped, an' fund a pyerch

I' th' tap-reawm, full but quiet as a church ;

A gang o' chaps sit solemn, beaut a seaund,

Wi dismal faces an' dull e'en on th' greaund ;

" What neaw ?" aw axed ; " another weighver dyead ?"

Then every chap hove up his dhroopin yead,

An' sich a volley o' wot curses flew

As met ha' bor't mi carcase through an' through.

" Neaw Sam," aw said, " art beaun to stOn that gill ?"

He clear't his throat an' mutther't " Aw've o th' will,

But t' brass is done an' t' lonlord wain't gie sthrap ;

So pay thisel, an' ston me one, owd chap."

" O reet ! " aw said ; " owt to relieve a cough ;

What's up ? Aw thought these bets were paid sthraight off."

" They are," he greawl't wi curses ; " that's just it ! "

" Well, there's a summat here 'at's past my wit ;

DEAWN l' TH' SHADE. 227

Tha reckon't winnin when this day coome reaund

Somewheere i' th' neighbourhood o' six score peaund."

He grunted eaut, " Aw've cobbed three peaund away ;

Th' horse 'at aw backed were scrat eaut yestherday ;

Aw wish we'd th' owner here 'at's made this wreck,

Aw'd scrat him eaut, too, or else breighk his neck ! "

Then th' cursin chorus gav another wail,

Sluttherin up an' deawn th' chromatic scale.

Wi talk 'at ony dacent ears ud shock,

Welly enough to make o th' aleheause rock.

" Howd on a bit !" aw said ; "just hearken me ;

Yo'n nowt to grumble at as aw con see ;

Yo knew at forty peaund to one could ne'er

Be won or lost bi dyelins owt like fair ;

Becose yo'n lost th' odd peaund there's o this bother,

But yo'd ha takken t' forty wi a wuther,

Though t'other loisers ud be forced to thry

Full forty stings like this 'at's made yo cry ;

When luck's again yo set yor teeth an' grin,

Iv yo cawn't loise yo don't desarve to win."

T'other were nowt to them, they said, an' blew

Me rarely up for talkin like a foo,

So toard mi baggin aw began to shap,

Hopin 'at Sam had larn't some wit, poor chap.

Here's an owd gronmother ; just rest yor e'e
On th' wizen't dame, an' yer her talk to me.
"Aw'm weighvin yet, yo sin, an' feel as reet
4?or wark as ever sin' aw felt mi feet ;
Aw'm sixty-five — owd age we connot chet —
But betther nor a lot o' dyead uns yet ;
An' here i' t' facthry aw look like to stop
Whol aw'm laid sideway in a darker shop.
Aw'm noane behowden to this wark, that's thrue,
But summat to fill time up aw mun do,
An' nobry i' their nathral wits ud cob
A chance away o' followin this job.
Mi sons keep tellin me to stop awom,
But aw keep tellin them aw'm fain to come,
For weighvin's sich a job as never were,
Aw s' stow noane on it in a hundherd year.
Aw've brass 'at me an' David shapped to save,
An' brass, they say'n, '11 be no use i' th' grave ;
They're reet enough, but iv aw spend o neaw,
Levin 'em nowt at last, they'll look some feaw ;

Dyelins, dealings. Stow, stall or tire.

228 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Beside, a yezzy life aw s' never seech,

For idleness bites at me like a leech ;

Iv sattlin deawn at Seauthport aw're to goo,

There'd be some deein in a week or two.

When aw were young, wi David deep i' love,

Together mony a year we lived an' wove —

Ah ! mony a happy year ! Though neaw they're gwone,

An' dyeath's ta'en eaut o' th' world mi good owd mon,

Aw s' ne'er forget mi wedded days wi him,

Nor love him less nor when he're young an' thrim.

Yo known what David were — a chap 'at towd

Just what he thought, i' talk bwoth short an' bowd,

Ne'er missin t' maisther's wark to do his own,

An' clen i' conscience as a new-sceaur't stone ;

He made me feel some preaud to be his wife,

An' he ne'er lost a quather in his life.

There couldn't be a betther job nor this,

Aw'm capped some takken it so mich amiss ;

We known what time to start an' when we'n done,

As soon as th' engine stops away we gwone,

Wi mony a heaur at neet to rest eaur shanks,

An' brass at th' week-end to put into th' banks ;

Iv folk were o as satisfied as me

There'd be less yeawlin eaut for charity."

Good luck to thee, owd crayther ! We mun hope

Thi road fro here '11 be up th' heavenly slope ;

If tha'rt to join thi husbant tha mun goo,

For there's smo deaubt he's safely up that broo.

Theere, when th' last pay day comes he'll make a stir ; *

For, among th' creawd o' betther folk an' wur,

There'll noane be mony 'at con ston an' say

They never lost a quather ov a day.

Look at yon woman, wi her yollow skin,
An' restless, jealous e'e, 'at taks o in.
Poor Mally ! Iv there's onybody wick
Desarvin pity an' a good tough stick,
Hoo does ; her judgment's getten thrut skew-wift,
At seein injuries hoo's quite a gift ;
There's nobry likes her, in her own consait,
We're thryin hard to shunt her eaut o' th' gate ;
Hoo's hung abeaut wi enemies, hoo'll tell,
Ne'er dhremin it's o fancy in hersel.
Aw'm soory for her, but it turns me vexed
To yer her sniff an' yeawl, an' quote a text

Skeiv-wift, askew.

DEAWN I TH SHADE. 229

Her patient self-denyin mind to show,

When hoo's ne'er had sich furnithur at o.

Just give her hawve a chance ho'll cry an' heighve,

Betther complaints nor pieces hoo con weighve,

Wondherin why hoo ever coome on t' yearth,

Wheere hoo's sin nowt but misery fro birth ;

Where everybody's set again her hard,

Measurin wrongs an' insults eaut bi th' yard ;

Hoo cawn't tell what hoo's doin here i' th' shade,

An' thinks t' Lord's set her to a leausy thrade ;

Th' weighvers o reaund abeaut hoo cawn't abide,

Becose they watchen her at every side,

Ceauntin heaw mony cuts hoo carries in,

Heaw oft her tenther gwoes for cops wi th' tin,

Tootin an' meddlin shameful every road ;

Hoo never liked but neaw hoo's gradely stowed ;

Hoo cawn't tell what they're thinkin at, hoo's sure,

They make her shame whol hoo could dhrop through t' floor.

Iv they'd just study what hoo's had to meet —

Husbant an' childher bowted eaut o' th' sect,

Her back so painful hoo con hardly bend,

Showin some plain hoo's gettin to th' far end,

Wi ne'er a friend i' th' world to co her own —

They'd surelee awther, or they'n hearts o' stone.

So hoo keeps makin throubles eaut o' nowt ;

No wondher t' worried husbant had to bowt,

An' t' childher too, to chet that awful tongue

At mut be reausty when it first were hung.

What makes things wur, th' owd besom does o' t' thricks

Hoo thries so hard on other folk to fix ;

There's nowt con stir inside her range o' sect

But Mally '11 be aware on 't soon an' breet,

An' iv for ony weighvers hoo's a grudge

There's ne'er no quietness whol hoo's made 'em budge.

"Yon grinnin snicket mun tak care !" hoo'll say,

" Aw've stood her impidence this mony a day,

An' bin some patient — never nobry moore ;

Why ! nobry else ud ston sich thricks, aw'm sure ;

Hoo'd betther mind, aw say, for iv aw speighk

Th' hawve 'at aw know a thunnerbowt '11 breighk

Above her yead. Aw'll sattle her, some sharp !

Hoo threw on Belfielt Club for a soft warp,

An' hoo'll goo gaddin reaund wi ony chap

'At's getten brass, iv he'll just cob his cap.

Hoo's no shame in her, or hoo'd stop awom,

Brush her frizzed yure, an' breighk that fancy comm ;

Tootin, whispering.

230 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Astid o' tellin folk aw'm crammed an' nowt,

An' o sich lies. Hoo'll ha to mind, or bowt !"

So Mally grumbles, wi a list as black

Ready to pin to onybody's back,

For hoo's just wit enough to see a faut

But ne'er sees merits, or else ceaunts 'em naught.

Poor should-ha-bin ! some pity we mun feel,

But hoo desarves a leatherin some weel ;

Hoo're olez coddl't sin' hoo first could wink,

It's mostly that 'at's ruin't her, aw think,

An' nowt like gettin gradely hurt for once

Her maudlin thoughts away ud help to punce.

There's a young chap yon, wortchin i' th' side alley,
'At's noane acquainted yet wi his own vally ;
He's very shy an' quiet, an' some few
Laugh at him here for teighchin th' Sunday schoo.
Whatever mak o' weather Sunday brings,
Lijah puts on his best black chapel things,
Tees up a bit o' dinner in a cleaut,
An' sets off bowdly on a two-mile eaut.
His schoo stons somewheere upo' th' borough side,
An' Lijah gaffers o'er it wi some pride,
Teighches th' big scholars, their behaviour thrims,
An' grinds th' harmonium whol they're singin hymns ;
When t' mornin lesson's o'er an' t' childher gwone
He sits him deawn to get his eightin done,
Then reads a chapther, sings, or plays a tune
Whol th' classes meet again i' th' afthernoon ;
Gets on his road when four begins to chime,
Londin hissel awom bi baggin time ;
An', havin fairly done his wark, at neet
He gwoes to th' chapel for a special treat.
Young chaps i' th' shade con chuckle at o this,
An' think him soft his haliday to miss,
But iv they copied him they'd be no wur,
Astid o' decoratin th' ale-heause dur,
Or sluttherin through t' fields, a noisy rook,
To poison th' scented air wi Dacca smooke.
Leaud as they dog at Lijah they weel know
He's moore inside nor his mild face con show,
An' quiet as he looks they darnot thry
To damage onybody when he's by ;
Aw've sin him knock a bigger chap to th' floor
For pooin a young tenther reaund bi th' yure,
Ston o'er him, like St. George wi t' dhragon deawn,
Freetenin th' fellah wi his awesome freawn,

DEAWN I TH SHADE. 231

Then help him up wi softenin face, an' say

He axed his pardon for so givin way.

Once t' lads had played a rat some cruel thrick,

Lijah ran at 'em wi a pickin stick,

His e'en afire, red murdher in his look,

They stopped to argey noane but off they took,

An' i' their terror ran so far away

They londed noane at th' shade again that day.

He'll let folk carry on again hissel

As they'n a mind, an' ne'er were known to tell

Ov owt they did. One gawpyead slat some oil

On Lijah's looms, an' shapped two cuts to spoil ;

Th' o'erlooker scented mischief, swore he'd kill

Th' oil-slatther an' then punce him eaut o' th' mill,

An' co'd on Lijah to tell o he knew,

Or else he'd bother noane but seek him too.

" Well," Lijah says, " then aw s' be like to stop ;"

So deawn he laid a shuttle an' a cop,

Knocked o his sthraps off, put his jacket on,

An' in a twinkle eaut o' th' shade were gwone.

" Dal it !" says th' o'erlooker, " aw've bin too sharp,

A betther weighver never deawn't a warp ;

Here, Billy ! run an' fot eaur Lijah back,

Aw'll sattle this job on another tack."

Lijah coome in as quiet as he went,

Startin his looms afore a word he spent ;

" Neaw, lad," th' o'erlooker says, " it's noane thy faut ;

But tell me, who's this arrant good for naught ?"

" Aw'll pay for th' cuts," says Lijah, " say no moore ;

He'll ne'er do nowt o' th' sort again, aw'm sure."

Says Gawpyead, " Aw cawn't ston this o at once ;

It's me 'at did it, gaffer — yo con punce !"

" Thee ! " sheauts th' o'erlooker, catchin him bi th' scruff,

" Surelee tha's bin quite throublesome enough,

Wi o th' bad wark an' blundherin tha's made,

Beaut puttin onto th' quietest lad i' th' shade ;

Pack up thi thraps an' scutther, whol tha'rt wick,

Or slap among thi ribs mi clogs '11 rick !"

" Come !" Lijah says, " just thry him once again ;

He's mendin, an' aw'll help him neaw an' then ;

He nobbut did it in a jokin fit ;

He'll make a reel good weighver in a bit."

So Gawpyead paid for t' cloth an' sattl't th' do,

An' neaw he's helpin Lijah up at th' schoo.

Wherever folk may sthrive, at wark or play,
There's mostly one to carry th' palm away ;

232 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

We'n a young fellah 'at con make moore brass

Nor ony one beside him, lad or lass.

Look at his sharp breet e'en an' rapid hond,

An' part o' th' saycret yo con undherstond ;

Watch him awhile, an' notice wi what care

He slips his cops i' th' shuttles sthraight an' square,

Shappin some hondy when a weft fork's dhropped

To start his loom afore it's fairly stopped ;

Ne'er-endin foreseet th' list o' talents swells

He lets no lumpy yorn crash through his yells,

But watchin carefully his risin warp

Pikes eaut o snarls an' knots some clen an' sharp ;

He stons noane gawpin at a float or thrap,

But shaps abeaut an' reets it in a wap ;

An' every minute between th' buzzer's seaund,

Fro six to hawve-past five he's upo' th' greaund ;

He comes noane sluttherin five minutes late,

So sleepy he con hardly knock th' mill gate,

An' he'd soon tell yo it were noane a joke

To stop a loom afore t' last engine-sthroke.

Wi o his merits he's noane liked so mich ;

He's greedy, an' o'er-anxious to get rich,

A thing unnathural to th' weighvin breed —

It's throublesome to tent so fine a reed ;

His thrift's bred in him, for his fayther made

A bit o' brass bi nippin t' grocery thrade ;

It's said he'd split a curran to make weight,

But some road, wi th' expense o' rent an' meight,

For o his scrattin he ne'er shapped to save

Enough to pay for plantin him i' th' grave ;

Th' son had to bury him, an' oft he'll fret

Becose wi th' guardians he'd to square that debt.

He's never sin at supperin nor stir.

At neet he's never fund eautside his dur;

He's sign't teetotal, an' he eights no beef,

No mak o' pleasur gies his mind relief;

Ax him to goo to concert or to play

An' he'll boil o'er wi temper hawve a day;

For church or chapel sarvice he's no wish,

Becose he's freeten't o' th' collectin dish ;

He'd happen buy a dacent shuit or two,

But tailyors charge so mich he darnot goo.

So deawn his narrow cosy let him pass,

Despised an' pointed at, but huddin brass ;

Yells, healds. Float or thrap, faulty places in the woven cloth.
Tent, tend. Cosy, causeway. Htiddin, hiding.

DEAWN l' TH1 SHADE. 233

Content enough through time's revolvin shocks
To make hissel a walkin savins-box.

Look next at Martha Pillin — hoo's a face
As honsome yet as ony i' this place,
Though moore nor forty year th' good woman's sin,
Wi noane too mich ov happiness cobbed in.
Some twenty year back Martha's sweetheart dee'd,
Just when they'd hoped together to be teed ;
He fell deawn th' hoist, hurtin hissel so bad
There weren't a bit o' chance o' savin th' lad.
Wi lovin care hoo watched him day an' neet,
Claimin that duty as her own bi reet,
An' when too soon he faded eaut o' life
His e'en last rested on his promised wife.
Hoo shed no tears 'at ever folk could see,
But o could feel her depth o' misery.
" Aw'm gooin fast," her deein sweetheart said,
When, near his end, hoo watched beside his bed ;
" We looked for love an happy days i' store,
An' this is th' end on't — o mi dhremin's o'er !
But aw mun tell thee once afore we part,
Though long aw've loved thee an' wi o my heart,
Feelin some preaud for thee to sthrive an' teaw,
Aw never loved thee lass, as aw do neaw !
Aw'm bund for some fresh counthry eaut o' th' seet ;
An' cawn't tell where aw s' be to-morn at neet ;
Happen when hovven off this slutchy throd
Aw s' get a footin on some breether sod ;
Happen wi th' o'erlookers aw shan't agree,
Or summat else may plague an' bother me ;
But whol aw've life enough to see or feel,
Where thoughts an' looks '11 be aw know some weel ! "
Hoo kissed his batther't face an' laid his yead
Tendherly on her thremblin breast, an said :
" Think on aw've noane so long to tarry here,
We're happen nobbut partin tuthri year ;
Aw'll pray to God, wi hope an' longin bowd,
To keep thee safe i' th' everlastin fowd,
An' when He's ready send for me to come,
'At we con meet together theere, awom.
Aw s' ne'er forget thee shuz heaw long aw live,
Aw've noather love nor heart again to give ;
Nobry i' th' world shall e'er come cwortin me ;
Aw've gien my promise — aw belong to thee ! "

Teaw, toil. Hovven, lifted.

234 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

So, breet wi love and hope, he smilin dee'd,

Levin her faithful heart to warch an' bleed.

Seldom to th' cemetary aw con goo

Beaut findin Martha near his grave on th' broo ;

Some oft hoo walks theere, whisperin to hersel,

As iv to th' buried mon her thoughts hoo'd tell,

An' every Aysther Sunday lays a knot

O' fresh-poo'd yollow fleawers on th' sacred spot.

Yet oft yo'll find i' mony another scene

Her sweet expectin face an' honest e'en ;

Iv some poor family gets down i' th' shell,

They cawn't do betther nor their throubles tell

To Martha, for hoo's olez brass to spare,

An' olez ready what hoo has to share ;

Iv illness gets a neighbour deawn i' bed,

" Fot Martha Pillin " 's oft t' first thing 'at's said ;

Hoo's a rare nurse, so tendher, wi sich skill,

Hoo makes it fair a pleasur to be ill ;

Mony a sufferer's felt his e'en groo weet

To find her watchin him i' th' lonesome neet,

Wi sich a look as angels weel met wear,

An' oft for God to bless her said a prayer.

Once hoo were ill wi fayver long an' dhree,

An' word were brought us hoo were beaun to dee ;

Aw ne'er yerd sich a tumult sin' aw're born

As th' weighvers made to think hoo'd done her yorn ;

Then when we'd betther news they gav a sheaut

'At made one thankful t' roof were middlin steaut,

An' welly shapped bwoth woles an' ears to crack

When, pale but weel again, th' dear lass coome back.

It's Martha 'at th' owd maisther's youngest lad

Wanted to wed, afore he went to th' bad ;

Aw used to see him bendin o'er her loom

Wi saycret whisper every time he coome ;

He were a lively, honsome chap, for sure,

Wi plump red cheeks an' shinin curly yure ;

Hoo met ha saved him, happen, iv hoo would,

He wanted firmness but his mind were good,

But that were noane to be. " Nowe, nowe ! " hoo said,

" Aw'm spokken for bi one 'at's long bin dyead ;

It's no use talkin ! iv yor fayther knew

Yo wanted me there'd be a rare to-do !

Yor ways are sthrange, aw couldn't live yor life,

An' aw've no larnin for a rich mon's wife ;

It's foolishness, so pray yo let it dhrop,

Whol aw con weighve i' th' shade aw'm beaun to stop."

DEAWN I* TH* SHADE. 235

" Listen, my dear," he'd say, " before you dash

My cup of bliss away with hand so rash ;

Your ignorance is nothing — there are schools,

And we can laugh at criticising fools ;

My father cannot stay us, he shall know

That for your sake I'll wealth and power forego ;

Without your love, to bless me and control,

I rush to ruin, body, brains, and soul !"

" Do hush ! " cries Martha. " That's wake childish talk,

Yo're owd enough neaw bi yorsel to walk ;

Surelee yo're noane so slamp 'at yo'll be lost

Becose a foolish lass yor fancy crossed ;

But be 't as 'twill, mi promise has bin passed,

An' mi first sweetheart's beaun to be mi last."

Yon long-necked weighver makes me laugh some oft,
A moore unsattl't fellah never coughed ;
For o t' long years he's wovven, he's ne'er sure
At th' week end iv he's comin ony moore ;
" Aw'm stowed o' weighvin ! " he keeps brastin eaut ;
" Aw'm i' th' wrong reed, there cawn't be hawve a deaubt ;
Above this job aw'm beaun to jump a step —
Who'll buy mi sithers, knife, or reedhook, chep ?
There met be nowt to do i' th' world but weighve,
To summat else aw'm beaun to set mi neighve ;
T' longer aw stop an' t' moore they han me fast ;
Aw'll oather loasen misel neaw or brast ! "
He olez comes again o' th' Monday mornin,
An' sattles, iv he's owt like dacent yorn in,
Whol th' pay day makes him chunther, an' once moore
Comes Sethurday to find him noane just sure ;
But iv his warps are bad he carries on
As iv there'd ne'er bin sich a ill-used mon ;
He's sure enough then 'at he's beaun to goo,
An' taks care to keep tellin us t' week through.
Aw axed him once, " What doesta want to be ? "
" Nay ! aw've nowt sattl't yet," he says, " we s' see ;
Aw'm noane particlar iv it's summat good ;
Say docthorin — aw've olez undherstood
Thoose chaps con addle fortins every week
Wi tuthri bottles an' a bit o' cheek."
" It's noane a very yezzy job," aw said ;
" Tha knows, they'll come an' rugg thee eaut o' bed
At every heaur o'th' neet, an' nobbut pay
Thi bills at Midsummer an' Kesmas Day ;

Slamp, limp. Chunther, grumble.

236 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Beside, tha'll ha to slat i' blood, an' chop

Bad arms an' legs off in a dhreadful crop."

" Howd hard ! " he says, " that'll do noane for me ;

Aw sleep some seaundly when aw've bin on th' spree ;

Aw'd clen forgetten o'er that carvin thrick —

Why, iv mi nose bleeds, mon, it turns me sick !

An' as for six month paydays, at that bat

Aw'd betther stick to th' job aw'm wortchin at ;

Aw darsay, lookin weel at things o reaund,

A turney's job's abeaut th' most safe an' seaund."

" That's it ! " aw towd him. " Into th' garrets climb,

An' study law books up to th' edge o' time,

Then pay a hundherd peaund to get i'th' class,

An' there'll be nowt to stop thee makin brass."

" Why, hang it, mon ! " he says, " aw'd liefer be

A bobby nor keep messin here, dost see ?

Neaw that's bwoth leet an' ornimental wark ;

They'n nobbut to thry t' windows afther dark,

Walk reaund majestic undher t' warmin sun,

Two days off duty an' another on,

Ston i' th' police court yerin cases thried —

They'n ne'er to lift a hond for nowt beside.

Th' helmets are useful to hud oddments in,

An' t' thruncheon makes a hondy rowlin-pin,

Th' whistle an' lanthron's just what t' childher like

To play wi; so what saysta? Mun aw sthrike?"

"Just plez thisel," aw towd him; "there's no deaubt

A Roman helmet sets a fellah eaut,

Though iv they copied classic models reet

They'd want short frocks, bare legs, an' clog-shod feet.

Tha wain't object to gettin punced sometimes,

When tacklin big sthrong fellahs for their crimes ;

Through mizzlin rain for heaurs tha'll ha to ston,

But that wain't olez kill a healthy mon ;

An' iv o' th' fire brigade tha gets a lick

Tha'll look for bein kilt or roasted wick."

He whistl't, skenned, an' thought he wouldn't cob

His time away on sich a risky job,

So aw advis't him to goo into thripe

As bein t' best gam gooin brass to slype,

For they could oather sell eaut iv it paid,

Or swallow th' levins o' their stock-i'-thrade.

He'd bother noane, he thought ; aw thought so too,

An' could ha towd him summat he ne'er knew,

For nowt's so sure as he'll to weighvin howd

Whol fro owd Dyeath he catches his last cowd.

Slype, to gather in heaps like grass cut by a scythe.

DEAWN l' TH' SHADE. 237

Yon's Abel Priestley an' his sisther Jane,
Young offshoots ov a good owd Rachda sthrain ;
Iv o these folk i' th' borough larn't their ways
There'd be a sattlement i' tuthri days.
They're olez cheerful, sociable, an' kind,
No selfishness finds harbour i' their rnind ;
T' lad never keeps his sisther runnin reaund
To do his arrands, whol he stons his greaund,
An' merry Jane, though ov her joke some fond,
Ne'er thinks o' plaguin ony folk i' th' lond.
Young Abel's beaun to be a science mon,
He taks moore things nor weighvin in his spon ;
He studies engineerin, an' at sums
Con ston his corner again owt 'at comes ;
He'll tarry noane i' th' shade — his road slants breet
An' wide afore his steady-risin feet.
Jane's no particlar points o' good or ill,
Hoo just keeps ploddin quietly at th' mill ;
Though labbour fills her life wi tedious reaund
Her merry heart ne'er feels th' chen's canker't weaund ;
Hoo's noane a beauty, but her smile's so breet
It flashes deawn th' long alleys like a leet.
There's ne'er no fratchin between minds so thrue,
Their joy an' sorrow's olez hawved bi two ;
Like sweethearts they gwone walkin bi theirsel,
Keepin no saycrets back 'at words con tell.
Ah ! it's a pity we con seldom see
Brothers an' sisthers i' sich harmony.

Silas, weel-loved owd friend ! afore aw stop,
Last i' th' procession tha mun have a shop ;
'Tvvere no use axin thee to ston at th' front,
Or thry to squeeze thisel fur up i' th' hunt,
Too weel aw know tha wortches bi th' Owd Book,
Makin for t' lowest cheer or th' hindmost nook ;
So neaw cob off thi bashfulness — tha'rt fast,
An' beaun to get thi picther ta'en at last.
Knock off thi looms a minute, turn this road
Thi mild blue e'en o'erhung bi foryead brode,
Put back thi long white yure, as snod as silk,
An' show thi cheeks, like roses dipped i' milk,
Rear up thi long thin figure i' full view —
Aw'll say no word abeaut thee but what's thrue.
Eh, lad ! aw recollect thee smart an' young,
ChQted bi Harriet's deceivin tongue ;
Hoo nobbut played at cwortin thee, for fun,
Though t' joke were bitther for thee when hoo'd done ;

238 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Hoo's wished some oft hoo'd takken thee, aw'll bet,

Yon dhrunken husband's fairly made her sweat.

Thrown o'er bi her tha shrunk away fro th' leet,

An' started wandherin i' t' depth o' neet,

Oft stoppin eaut whol th' sun again had come,

Takkin thi facthry-wark on th' journey worn.

Tha brings some bonny maks o' stuff to th' shade —

Grubs, loaches, mice, an' sich quare stock-i'-thrade,

Chattherin mony a heaur wi pride an' glee

O'er findin some rare leause or buttherflee ;

At throstle tamin aw ne'er fund thi match,

O winged an' four-legged craythers tha con catch,

Ne'er thinkin twice at riskin life an' limb

To gether brid eggs or deep lodges swim.

Tha looks a pratty sect sometimes, owd mon,

When thrailin back fro starlet carryins on

I' wood an' fielt ; thi pockets crommed wi stuff

Gether't wi care fro mony a broo an' clough,

Plants reaund thi neck an' on thi jacket lap,

A neest o' buzzarts shoved inside thi cap,

A weasel, frog, or cheepin brid i' hond,

A bag o' thrash fro brook an' meadow-lond

Slung on thi back, thi face scrat middlin weel,

Plaisther't wi weet an' dirt fro creawn to heel.

Tha felt some preaud when th' chap fro Lunnon coome,

An' set thee sortin dogberry an' broom,

Givin thi stuffed collections praise so keen,

An' writin o'er thee in his magazine ;

Heaw capped they were, thoose genthry greight an' rich,

To think a weighver should ha done so mich,

An' find tha'd sooner independent stop

Nor tak fro them a charitable shop !

Ah, lad ! they never knew tha'd made a start

Nathuralisin through a brokken heart.

Young childher used to sheaut thee up an' deawn

To see thee cuttin sich quare freaks i' th' teawn,

But neaw to do thi pleasur there's a race,

So weel they love thi gentle, kindly face ;

Bi groon-up folk tha'rt hee respected, too,

There's noane so mony neaw to co thee foo ;

Not everybody undherstonds thi style,

There's olez tuthri cliverdicks to smile

At owt they thinken rayther eaut-o'th'-road,

But when they'n grinned an' chuckl't whol they're stowed

They'll think abeaut thi curious habits less,

An' find thi deep-hud springs o' tendherness.

DEAWN l' TH' SHADE. 239

Live on thi innicent an' simple life,

O livin things thi childher, th' world thi wife,

Thi modest spirit hutched up in it shell

VVhol stirred bi pity to forget itsel,

Contented thrailin on thi lonely reaund,

Findin rich stores i' every foot o' greaund,

Quiet an' steady ploddin at thi wark,

Thi sun just risin abeaut th' edge o' dark,

Regarded, honoured, harmless as a dove,

Whol th' startin-bell rings for thee up above ;

Tha'll feel thisel awom on th' heavenly clod,

So long through o His works tha's worshipped God.

Well ! long enough, wi likenesses an' chat,
Aw could ratch eaut this cut aw'm weighvin at ;
But, as it's narrow width an noane o'er-copped,
I' rezonable length it should be stopped.
Aw've said enough to show what weighvers are,
An' twelvemonth scrattin connot bring us nar ;
Aw've shown yo middlin plain, shuz heaw it be,
'At we're like other folk fro low to hee —
Made o' th' same stuff, i' th' same quare fashion mixed,
Wi minds an' hopes on t' same adventhurs fixed.
We're o alike ! it's noane a bit o' use
Yo tellin me 'at brass con gild a goose,
Or to hee-breedin we should cringe an' squirm ;
Sich talk as that con never carry berm.
Rich idleness mun bring consait, we know ;
Hard-wortchin poverty mun envy show ;
But deep below that crust t' same nathur lies,
An' some day, happen, we may see it rise,
When things are on a level footin set,
An' there's an end to us, an' th' world, an' th' fret.

CHATTHERIN TIMBER.

There's some owd oak furnithur i' th' " Red Lion " at Little-
bro' an' among it a grand carved cubbort, or scrutore or what
yo'n a mind to co it, eight foot hee bi four wide, two feet fro front
to back, \vi two sets o' double durs, an' o maks o' fancy designs cut
on th' panels — o th' lot built o' solid rich-colour't Lancashire oak,
lookin as iv it 'd weather't a theausan storms an' were noane par-
ticlar to an odd theausan or two moore. Sthraight up an' deawn
it stons, square-planted, earless o' time's tooth an' th' breighkin surf
o' generations — adscriptus glebtz — rooted to th' clod firm as when
it stood a livin teawer o' sthrength an' beauty in it native forest.
Aw'd oft sin this fine piece o' wark, wondherin an' admirin ; an'
one neet as aw happen't to sit near it waitin for a thrain worn, o bi
mysel, aw turn't toard t' thing an' axed,

" Heaw owd arta, aw should like to know?"

There were a faint, wheezy seaund, like an owd asthmatical
chap thryin to cough, an' then a mufiTt voice seaunded fro th'
cubbort, sayin, " Two hunduth year, welly."

"An' i' good fettle yet?" aw said. "Tha'rt a gradely Methu-
selah among cubborts. But tha seaunds a bit reausty. Comei
aw'll oppen this top dur a bit, an' then aw s' yer thee betther."

" Tha'd be reausty, young chap, iv tha'd stood here as long as
me beaut ever bendin thi back, to say naught o' bein welly chawked
wi dust when th' sarvants sweepen up — a murrain on 'em ! "

"Just thee keep a civil tongue o' thi shelf," aw said. "Aw'll
talk noane wi noather cubborts nor tables 'at cawn't be summat
like dacent."

" Nay ! don't goo yet," it co'd eaut, a bit excited. " Tha'rt t'
first chap aw've spokken to for mony a year. Aw geet weary o'
talkin long sin', for most o' th' ears 'at com'n in here con yer nowt.
Let's have a bit ov a crack, an' aw'll thry to keep off sthrong lan-
guage as weel as aw con. Tha mun alleaw a bit for mi bringin up,
tha knows ; there were a dyel o' bad talk when aw first coome eaut
i' society."

"Is that so?" aw said. "Why, o th' good folk keepen tellin
us 'at we ne'er were so bad as we are neaw."

"Thee tak no notice on 'em : it's me 'at knows. Where there's
one curse neaw there used to be ten, an' a gill ov ale satisfies a chap
to-day where his greight-gronfayther ud ha wanted hawve-a-gallon.
Eh, mon ! aw could tell some tales iv aw'd a mind."

CHATTHERIN TIMBER. 24!

" Well, get forrad," aw said. " Aw'll wait for t' next thrain iv
tha's owt to say woth hearkenin. It's doin thee good to chat a bit:
tha seaunds a dyel clearer oready."

"Aw dun' know whether my owd-fashion't talk '11 intherest a
young lad like thee or not. But tha happen thinks thysel middlin
owd becose tha's getten a grey yead."

" Aw've bin younger i' mi time, shuzheaw ; but aw'm noane
swaggerin, undherstond. We con nobbut leet where we're cobbed."

" Swaggerin ! " says th' cubbort, makin a spluttherin seaund as
iv thryin to laugh, an' blowin a bit ov eddycrop web off th' top
shelf. "Tha's summat to swagger o'er !"

" Tha'rt a bit consaited, aw yer, like most owd folk ; but think on
tha'rt nobbut a wood-yead, an' con ne'er be nowt else. Aw'll sit
noane here to be laughed at bi a cubbort, so give o'er witha. Let's
yer where tha coome fro, an' who made thee."

" Well, aw'll thry. It'll be a long tale, so tha'd betther co for
another gill afore aw gate. Aw don't want to be brokken off i' th'
middle ; for aw deaubt mi memory's getten a bit touched this last
tuthri year."

" Tha'll happen pay for a saup."

" Tha's spokken too lat. Aw've had hundherds o' guineas hud
away i' mi saycret dhrawers for scores o' years at a time, but there's
nowt left — not a creawn-piece. Aw'm rayther mad abeaut it ; for
aw'd sanner be thought stupid nor greedy, same as most British
oak-lumps."

" Ne'er mind," aw said; " it's nobbut a three-hawpny job. Tha
wain't have a saup thysel, happen ? Aw see no signs ov a throttle
abeaut thee, but iv it'll be ony satisfaction to set a potful on one o'
thi shelves aw'll do it."

" Nowe ; ne'er bother," it said. " Tha may set th' dur hawve-
an-inch fur oppen, so 'at aw con get mi wynt betther, an' then aw
s' be reet enough."

Aw seed to th' bits ov arrangements it mention'!, an' sattl't
deawn to yer what it had to tell.

" Mi recollection gwoes back welly three hunduth year, but
there's no need to start at th' beginnin. Aw grew up a sthraight,
honsome young saplin, among a creawd moore, mostly owdher nor
mysel. Fifty year we stood through o maks o' weather, an' bi that
time aw'd getten to be reckon't among th' owd uns, for there were
olez plenty comin up. Forty year moore an' aw were one o' th'
kings o' th' wood. Most o' th' owdher end were failin or dyead by
one mishap or another, but there were no failins abeaut me.
Preaud an' full o' life aw rear't mi tall, thick column, spread eaut
mi green banners, dhrove mi taugh suckers deep into th' root-
crommed greaund; an' no shaft o' timber i' that plantin could
brag o'er me. We stood just aboon Belfield — or th' Beal-fielt as

Gate, begin. R

242 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

we co'd it then, afther t' windin river 'at ran wandherin across t'
meadow, in an' eaut o' th' wood, toard th' silvery Roch.

One day two chaps coome fro Littlebro' here, across moor
an' bog, howt an' howm, pikin their road among th timber whol
they coome to me.

' This '11 do,' one on 'em says ; so he off wi his jerkin an cap,
showin a brode foryead an' arms full o' muscle, an' fot me a cleaut
wi a sharp axe 'at made me hutch. Then t'other chap gated
penkin at mi ribs on t'other side, an' between 'em they soon
brought me thundherin deawn. It took 'em mony a day to get
me carted deawn onto this clod, for circular saws hadn't bin
thought on then ; but they shapped it at last, geet me split into
planks, an' laid me by awhile in a croft at Windybonk. When
aw'd bin lyin theere tuthri month him 'at 'd hit me first coome
again, looked at a plank or two, an' were so takken up wi mi fine
grain 'at he swore,

' As sure as my name's Crab Scwofilt aw'll cut sich a cabinet
eaut o' thee as ne'er were sin. It shall be fit for kings to look at ;
an' long afther aw've bin planted an' com'n up turmits folk shall
see it wi wondher, and say, " That's Scwofilt wark ; they thought
he were nobbut a cartmendher, but heaw neaw ?" '

Crab were no idle braggart. He'd some brains at t' back o'
that big foryead ov his, an' he put o his heart into th' wark, as ony-
body may see yet bi lookin at me. Aw were like a hobby for him
to potther at when his gradely wark were o'er, an' he played wi me
every neet through a whol summer an winther, never stowin ov his
job. His wife used to bring her knittin an' pyerch i' th' window-
bottom, where hoo could look deawn th' valley toard th' settin sun,
an' watch o 'at stirred ; whol their childher laughed an' danced
abeaut as iv life were a good joke, plezin their mother an' makin
their fayther's yead warch, as he studied o'er his plans or chisell't
at his carvin.

' Do be quiet, childher,' he'd co eaut. ' They mun ha getten
their noisy nathur fro thee, Mally. Aw were olez a quiet lad
mysel.'

' Tha were that !' his wife said. ' Iv there'd bin a tuthri moore
as quiet nobody could ha lived abeaut here for yo. Tha'd three
hunduth an' sixty-five mischief neets a year.'

' Nay ! aw snapped to spare one or two for cwortin, aw think.
Dost remember me singin this song undher thi chamber window ?

Aw'm thinkin on thee day an' neet,
Whol aw con hardly keep mi feet ;
Oh ! tha'rt a blossom fair an' sweet,
My Mally !

At bull bait, foumart hunt, or race,
Aw olez used to have a place ;
Neaw aw con nobbut see thy face,
My Mally !

CHATTHERIN TIMBER. 243

There were a lot moore on't, but aw've forgetten it neaw. Dost
recollect?'

' Aw recollect thee makin a greight din an' scrapin a fiddle,
when tha'd ha bin betther i' bed.'

' Makin a din !' Crab grunted, gettin up to sthretch his joints
an' spreadin his arms wi a wide gape. ' It were sweet enough i' thi
ears then, let me tell thee. Aw should have had a lute to be i' th'
fashion, but th' owd fiddle did very weel considherin. T' worst
on't were aw geet a cowd i' mi yead wi th' job, an' there's noane
mich romance abeaut a chap whol he's a runnin nose.'

' Sarve thee reel !' Mally said, laughin ; an' he lifted her in his
sthrong arms, gav her a buss, an' dhropped her into th' window
bottom again.

' Tha cares nowt who sees thi carryins on,' hoo says, wipin her
meauth on her brat. ' Yon's th' owd cake-brade baker comin up.
He's sin us !'

' Let him !' says Crab, givin her another buss, marlockin wi his
childher a bit — tossin 'em up, reckonin to shut 'em i' my cubborts,
an' what not — an' then bucklin to his wark again.

But Mrs. Scwofilt geet weary o' th' job afore it were finish't, for
when he coome toard th' end, an' could see th' full beauty ov his
wark, Crab could hardly lev me neet or day. There were no
gettin him to bed, an' sometimes his wife couldn't edge a word eaut
on him, he were so lapped up in his studyin.

' Aw'll be gooin to bed, Crab,' hoo'd say, toard ten o' t' clock.
' Dunnot be long.'

' Well,' Crab ud say, beaut lookin reaund.

' Mind thi candle fro swailin, or tha'll set th' rushes in a blaze ;
an' be sure tha tees yon dur fast. Tha wain't be long, neaw ? An'
think on to put some turf on th' fire to-neet.'

' Well,' he'd say again.

'An' keep thi shavins eaut o' th' porritch pon. Aw ne'er
bargain't for eightin chips iv aw wed a joiner. Tak t' chen off th'
bull-dog, an' think on to bring thi gun upstairs wi thee. Aw'll
swear there were summat wick i' th' butthery last neet. An' dun-
not be long neaw.'

Hoo'd get hersel sided off at last, an' afther a while, when
hoo'd sheauted deawnstairs at him tuthri times, he'd follow, for-
gettin o th' jobs hoo'd set him. But one neet hoo fell asleep,
weary o' co'in on him, wakkenin up to find him noane com'n an'
th' grey mornin peepin through t' window slits, so hoo put some
clooas on an' went a seechin him. Crab were deawn o' one knee
lookin hard at me, mallet an' chisel i' hond, candle guttherin to th'
wood socket, an' th' fire clen eaut.

' Whatever's to do, my lad ?' hoo axed him, wondherin iv his
yead were turn't.

244 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

1 Nowt, Mally,' he said, jumpin up an' cobbin his tools away.
' O's done at last ! Look as aw will there's noather point nor nook
to be fund 'at aw con awther. It's finish't !'

' Come to bed, do,' Mally said. ' Aw wondher tha hasn't fo'n
asleep o'er it bi neaw.'

' Bed be hanged !' Crab co'd eaut. ' What's a neet's sleep to a
chap 'at's just finished a grand, solid bit o' wark like this ? Fot
me a quart ov ale an' th' hamshank ; aw'll ha mi breakfast. Tha
should feel preaud o' havin sich a husbant as me ;' an' he gav her
a seaundin buss an' a squeeze.

1 Well, happen aw do,' Mally laughed, sluttherin off for summat
t' eight.

Scwofilt ne'r parted wi me whol he lived. Scores o' greight
folk co'd at th' Windybonk to see me, an' offer't Crab yeps o' brass
iv he'd nobbut sell ; but he'd have his own road, an' olez towd 'em
he'd as soon think o' sellin one o' th' childher. Some young prout
up i' Whittaker an' Cleggswood made it up to steighl me one neet;
but Crab geet a side wind on it, loden't a batther't owd blunderbox
'at his fayther had swapped three beeas for, an' when he yerd t'
thieves comin took aim deawn th' brooside an' swept it as clen as
a bucketful o' gravel an' welly hawve a peaund o' peawdher met
be expected to do, beside puttin his shooldher-knockle eaut o'
joint an' o but shakin th' heause deawn. That gang coome no
moore shuzheaw.

II.

Thoose were stirrin days. Fourteen year afore Crab geet me
finished th' Habeas Corpus Act were made law, an' that upset at
one smack th' good owd plan o' crommin folk into prison just
becose they happen't to be i' somebry's road. Raleigh had
twelve year o' that lonely job ; but it ne'er hurt Walther mich, for
he were a chap in a theausan. Th' Queen o' Scots geet nineteen
year for her share, wi th' rheumatics cobbed in, for th' crime o'
bein akin to Lizabeth. It were hee time to stop that gam, an' th'
Habeas Corpus did it wi a wap; pavin a road for th' glorious
system we han neaw, when a chap's soon towd whether it's five
shillin an' costs or a free sarmon fro th' cheerman."

"Give o'er wi thee, vinegar chops !" aw said, "afore tha turns
th' ale seaur. Onybody met think tha'd bin run in fuddl't an
disordherly thysel."

" Nay ; aw've olez bin steady. Ah ! thoose were wick times,
lad. Whigs an' Tories were first yerd on just abeaut then — they'd
bin Reauntyeads an' Cavaliers afore — an' iv there hasn't bin
enough yerd on 'em sin' it's a pity. Th' politics aw've to ston
hearkenin ud weary a twod. Then there were o t' religious bother

Yepx, heaps.

CHATTHERIN TIMBER. 245

gooin on i' Scotlan, where theausans o' folk were tickl't wi thumb-
screws, sworts, pistils, noosed bant, an' sichlike, becose they
wanted to say their prayers i' their own road astid o' doin as they
were towd, never carin heaw mich throuble they gav th' bishops,
an' wortchin th' poor sodiers to t' dyeath. Th' Rye Heause plot
made a dyel o' talk, too, an' a bit o' wark for th' hangsman ; an'
then King Charley deed, wi nobry but a dog or two to fret o'er
him, an' his brother Jim geet th' shop. Young Monmouth, one o'
th' rook o' Charley's chance childher, hanker't afther t' creawn,
an' welly geet it, beside. It were a toss up at Sedgmoor, an' awVe
oft turn't o'er i' mi wood-yead what 'd have happen't iv Monmouth
had won. There'd ha bin some curious puzzles to dyel wi then,
wouldn't there ? Ha'ever, he lost, an' sly Jimmy chopped his yead
off, an' that seem't to quieten him. He were a honsome, bowd,
oppen, sthraightforrad lad, iv he were a love-chilt, an' everybody
liked him — obbut Jimmy.

That duleskin ov a Judge Jeffreys were agate ov his marlocks
at that time — busy teemin a river o' blood o deawn th' west
counthry ; lyin, cursin, murdherin, stickin at nowt to spread justice
an' help on religion. Sly Jimmy backed him up, chucklin in his
wide sleeve, an' thinkin they were doin greight sthrokes between
'em. Aw wondher what he thought four year afther, livin upo
charity i' France, when he'd cheted eaut ov his own counthry i'
th' dark, fleyed 'at his subjects had getten so fond on him 'at
they'd want his yead for a dobber. An' what thought t' butcherin
judge when they rove him eaut o' th' aleheause coalhole where
he'd hud hissel, an' marched him to th' Teawer wi' a theausan
tongues clattherin at his ears, an' ten theausan fingers itchin to rip
his flesh into ribbins ? Sam Butler had deed nine year afore that,
takkin one o' th' keenest wits i' England wi him, or he met happen
have had a word or two to say abeaut th' job. Another talkative
chap had gwone just afore th' king bowted — a rough ramblin tinker
'at Jim had locked up once for preighchin. That turn't eaut to be
th' best bit o' wark Jimmy ever did, for th' tinker gated waggin a
pen when they stopped him fro waggin his tongue, an' scrat deawn
some writin 'at fro what aw yer shaps like bein here when th' king,
an' th' judge, an' o sich like o'erlookers an' foremen ov an heaur
are nowt but names in a printed list. Jack Bunyan they co'd him,
an' a dyel o' folk thought he'd a slate off.

Ah ! they were busy days, thoose. Things did sattle a bit
when William gated gafferin ; though it wern't o smooth. There
were that Boyne wayther job, tha knows, an' th' Glencoe
murdher "

" Aw'm soory to stop thee," aw put in, " but iv we're beaun to
have o th' English histhory for two hundherd year back we mun
have a full day to it. Beside, there's plenty o' that mak o' news
i' schoo books."

246 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLECG.

" Aw wain't say another word," th' cubbort snapped. " Pest
on't ! tha'rt as bad as ony on 'em. Aw've bin talkin, just to plez
thee, whol aw feel as rough as sondpapper, an' tha shuts me up
this road !"

" Dunnot get so reausty i' th' hinges," aw said, " an' stop that
swearin. Let's yer some moore abeaut Scwofilt, or some mak o'
common folk, an' let th' kings an' queens a-be. Tha mun ha sin
an' yerd a dyel o' things i' thi long life — good, bad, an' t'other sort.
There's mony a play bin acted at t' front o' thee, aw know, wi
bwoth dirty thricks an' fine actions in it; tha's known tears to rain
an' yerd th' wynt o' laughther blow. What's moore, tha'll ha' yerd
folk talk to theirsel, an' that's th' time to read a mind ; for a chap
never starts that gam beaut findin stuff on his tongue 'at caps him
as mich as onybody else. Tha should be a philosopher, wi o t'
human nathur tha's com'n across, but tha hardly favvours it, loisin
thi temper for nowt."

" Look o'er it this time, an' it shannot happen again. Aw'm
owd enough to keep mi temper, it's thrue ; but there's tuthri knots
i' mi timber 'at will keep givin me a twinge neaw an' again. Aw s'
ne'er get o'er it. Aw were groon so."

" Aw'll forgive thee this once," aw said ; " specially afther sich
a honsome apology. Here's good health an' long life to thee.
Aw hope tha'll last as long as th' owd tinker's book."

" Nay ! Aw s' come to th' worms when mi time's up, same as
o on yo. Well, aw hardly know what to tell thee, 'at '11 plez. It's
a tough job sortin eaut th' recollections ov a life like mine."

"Will it help thee iv aw scrat thi yead a bit? It's oft a
greight relief to me when aw've mi studyin cap on."

" Nowe. Mi skin's too thick. Mun aw tell thee a tale abeaut
a will 'at were hud away once i' mi inside ; an' abeaut a young
chap 'at were badly used, but never grumbl't, an' wouldn't revenge
hissel when he geet a good chance?"

"Is that chapdyead?"

" Long sin'."

" It sthruck me aw'd ne'er let on him."

" There were sich a mon, whether tha laughs or not. Mun aw
tell thee abeaut him?"

" Bi o myens. Aw'll walk worn rayther nor miss yerin ov a
chap o' that mak, so get on wi thi sawin."

" It were i' this shap, dost see. Aw belonged once to owd
Josha Thruebonk at Leetowlers — aboon a hunduth year back.
Josh dee'd, levin two lads 'at ne'er could agree wi one another :
Philip, twenty-five year owd, black-yured, slendher, quiet, an'
thoughtful ; an' Roger, two year younger, breet, fair, rosy, wakken
as a cricket.

Black Philip had bin no favouryte wi his fayther, nor wi ony-
body else mich ; for he were too shy an' close to push hissel forrad,

CHATTHERIN TIMBER. 247

an' olez kept his meauth shut iv he'd nowt to talk abeaut woth
yerin. Roger were t' family pet ; bangin reaund like six feet o'
sunshine, his tongue for ever waggin wi o maks o' leet nonsense,
his honsome face dhrawin everybody to it as a thraycle-daubed
papper fots flees.

Just afore th' owd chap fell into his last illness he sent for his
owdest lad into th' library, where he kept me, an said,

1 Philip, you will be master here when I am gone. Whether
you will fill the place with credit or not remains to be seen. I fear
me you have not the spirit of a real Truebank.'

' I am as you and God have made me.'

'No doubt, boy; but the question is, have you fitting pride for
the holder of this large estate. If it had been Roger '

•As you will, sir. Don't let me interfere with my brother's
prospects.'

' I would fain have you curb that biting tongue, Philip. Can
you then so easily throw away your inheritance, with all its privi-
leges of wealth and power, and content yourself with a younger
son's portion ?'

' Either position will content me. If I am to rule after you
my government shall be just ; if not — well, in that case there will
be no need to assume over other men a superiority that does not
exist.'

' You are a strange boy,' says Josha, shakin his yead. ' Fear-
fully advanced in your ideas. Take heed to your rent-roll, think
of your exalted rank, and drop these wild doctrines. What is your
quarrel with Roger?'

' I have none.'

'He accuses you of being chief culprit in your ceaseless
squabbles.'

' Then, I suppose, it must be true. Perhaps my quarrelsome
vein may serve me well in regulating the estate.'

' Don't be so unreasonable with your brother. He is younger
than you, remember, and has no such high position before him.
Be considerate towards the lad, and try to imitate his frank, cordial
manner, and appreciate his warm, generous heart.'

' I will so endeavour, sir. The young man shall be considered,
and the light of reason shall be applied to him.'

c Ah ! cold-hearted and full of shallow scorn, as usual. I do
well to talk reasonably with you. Call somebody to help me to
bed.'

His mon carted him upstairs, levin Philip bi hissel to grunt an'
march abeaut awhile.

1 How is it that my father will persist in fitting wrong meanings
and intentions upon all my statements ? Heartless and scornful !
A decent character, surely. Roger seriously held up as a model
worthy of my imitation ! Satis superque ! Come, let us see what

248 WORKS OP JOHN tRAFPORD CLEGG.

the new Scotch poet has to say, and forget this whirling frenzy of
existence for an hour.'

He sit him deawn to read Burns, but didn't get th' heaur he
wanted, for i' tuthri minutes his brother coome bangin into th'
reawm, lookin middlin black, cobbed hissel into a cheer, an' gated
gabblin curses to hissel as fast as his tongue could wag.

' Is this the amiable young man I am desired to copy ?' Philip
thought. 'Truly, you must hold me excused, my father.' He
looked o'er his book wi a pityin sort ov a smile 'at made t'other
wur mad nor ever.

' Plague on your gipsy face, bookworm !' Roger snarled.
' Would you mock me ?'

' Not without good cause, brother,' says Philip, as cool an' quiet
as t'other were flushed an' wot. ' Can this be the ideal Truebank
of whom I hear so much — the amiable, the jocular, the good-
natured? Assume your company face and manners, good Roger;
I love not to see your true nature so indiscreetly exposed.'

' Curse your sarcasm ! ' sheauted Roger, rippin his swort eaut
an' flyin at him like a madman. Philip wapped his own swort off
th' table, ne'er botherin to poo th' scabbart off, an' were ready for
him when he londed ; an' slash or poke as he met th' young un
could do nowt moore dangerous nor grindin his teeth an' stampin.

' Peace, good brother !' Philip said, when t'other geet weary o'
pokin at him. ' Rest, perturbed spirit ! Is this sudden fury
accounted for by the fact that you have been gambling again, and
losing as usual ?'

'Curse you !' sheauted Roger, fair spluttherin wi temper.

1 So you remarked before — and quite unnecessarily. Have we
finished this exercise ?'

Roger turn't away, lookin like havin a fit, an' just then a sar-
vant coome to bring their fayther's compliments, an' beg Mister
Philip not to make ony further disturbance. That made t' brothers
bwoth brast eaut laughin, an' Roger looked sham't ov hissel when
he'd done.

' Forgive my unlucky temper, Phil. I have been cursedly hard
hit at piquet.'

' So ! my prophetic soul ! How much this time, will you allow
me to ask ?

1 A beggarly hundred or so. Nothing if my allowance were
what it ought to be, or if with my usual luck I had not been a
younger son.'

' You have my sympathy, Roger. At the same time, being a
younger son by grievous prior birth of my superfluous and stupidly
obstructive self, are you justified in scattering money as you do ?'

' Pish ! all that will settle itself. I must marry Lucy Grange ;
she is rich enough in all conscience.'

CHATTHERlN TIMBER. 249

' Previously — merely as a matter of form — persuading her to
consent ?'

Roger laughed an' looked very knowin. ' She is infatuated
with me, and only waits to be invited.'

' If she were acquainted with all I could tell her perhaps her
thoughts might change.'

' Egad ! they might !' Roger said, lookin freeten't for a minute.
' But fortunately you are the last man in the world to betray secrets.
You scrupulously honourable gentry are convenient in that point at
least.'

'And useful if a man wishes to spread lies concerning us?'

' Very, very !' Roger chuckl't, swaggerin off t' best side eaut
again.

' Another dream gone,' Philip said, talkin to hissel. ' Can she
indeed love that shallow coxcomb, who makes no effort to disguise
the fact that he seeks her wealth chiefly ? Love him ? Why, yes ;
assuredly. How could she resist so much red and white, so gay a
rattlepate, so experienced a charmer ? 'Tis not in reason. If she
is for him decidedly she cannot be for me. That must be looked
to. I will bring my lady to the test, win or lose, and determine
whether my future is to be happy or miserable, valuable or worth-
less. Till then sit still my soul.'

III.

Philip were noane long wi satisfyin hissel abeaut t' state o'
Lucy's mind. He were determin't enough when he'd ony job i'
hond 'at he thought woth doin ; olez settin abeaut his wark in a
sthraightforard style, makin no fuss, but gettin bits o' business
done very oft whol other folk would ha bin thinkin heaw they were
to start.

Whether he axed her plump eaut, or sattl't it wi Roger, or what,
aw never knew ; but he coome i' th library one day lookin very
deawn i' t' meauth, shut hissel in, an' read eaut some verses.

TO LUCY.

Scant offering of a faithful heart,

A lover writes this simple lay,
And dedicates it as a part

Of all the debt he hopes to pay ;
For what in him is worth receiving
To Lucy he would fain be giving.

Fly, winged song, and wrap my love

In soft enchantment by thy note ;
Sing to her like the enamelled dove,

That woos the spring with fluty throat :
With music's voice the truth deliver
That I am Lucy's slave for ever.

250 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Not all Euterpe's sweetest tones

Could speak the depth of my sweet woe ;

List, maiden, to thy lover's moans,
Nor let him all despairing go :

Till for my stars thine eyes are lighted,

I walk the earth as one benighted.

Around me a faint splendour glows,

As when the moon, itself unseen,
Through veiling mist the outline shows

Of steely brook and upland green :
And so the face for which I'm sighing
May hidden pass, with sunrise flying.

'Tis true the day brings added light,

But not the light of Lucy's eye ;
And he who lives but in her sight

In other beam must surely die ;
Or, living, with false brightness cover
The inward gloom of a lost lover.

Ye heavens ! be witness of my truth !

Picture my steadfast heart ! oh sea !
And, Lucy, pity thou the youth

Who sees in all the world but thee !
His fond devotion hold for merit,
With constant radiance fill his spirit.

1 Quite a classic,' Philip mutther't when he'd finished. ' A pity
that so much ardent passion and so many flowing iambics should
be wasted.' He crushed th' papper in his bond, threw up his reet
arm, an' broke eaut,

' Lord ! Thou madest me to wear a sensitive nature under a
cold-looking face ! Was it just ? Must it be ever my lot to writhe
in secret torture, while coarser and more selfish men have the
priceless gifts of friendship and love ? Shall I never find one sym-
pathetic heart to share my thoughts, one tender bosom to beat
against my own ? Thou knowest, Lord, all my desires ; my soul is
not hid from Thee!'

He stood a while, thremblin, an' then quieten't deawn. ' Retro
Sathanas ! Let me not lose command of myself if all else is lost.
As for thee, foolish song, thy mission is past. I pondered over
thee in secret while a readier suitor spoke boldly and won the
prize.' So he ripped his verses up an' brunt 'em.

Tha'll see fro o this heaw things stood wi these lads when their
fayther dee'd. Th' owd chap went off sudden at th' finish, sayin
nowt no moore abeaut his property, an' nobry 'd ever yerd ov a
will bein made. Everybody felt sure 'at Philip were th' comin mon,
but everybody were cheted for once ; for when th' buryin were o'er
t' family lawyer read a papper 'at he'd fund i' one o' my cubborts,
givin th' estates to ' my well-beloved son Roger,' an' to ' my elder
son ' two hundherd peaund a year.

' This document is quite irregular,' t' lawyer said to Philip.
' You will contest it, of course.'

CHATTHERlN TIMBER. 25!

1 Certainly not,' Philip towd him, very sharp an' short.

' My dear sir ! You will never allow so fine a property to slip
from your hands. This paper is not witnessed, and cannot stand
in law.'

' Do you doubt that these lines show my father's wishes ? Shall
I, by a legal quibble, confiscate goods not meant to be mine ?'

' Nobody could think the worse of you for that. In fact, you
will be generally set down as foolish or mad if you neglect to seize
the estate.'

' Silence, sir !' Philip said, in a fashion nobry ever yerd fro him
afore. ' Because your mean soul is incapable of realising abstract
virtue — but I beg your pardon. I have no right to dictate to you.'

So Roger geet o th' property, an' Philip were just as satisfied
wi his two hundherd a year as iv it 'd bin twenty. But he were
noane satisfied abeaut loisin Lucy. He made his mind up 'at when
Roger wed her they'd want him no longer moidherin reaund th'
heause ; so he geet ready to flit across th' say, eaut o' th' gate.

A day or two afore th' weddin he were rootin abeaut lookin for
a silver snuffbox ov his fayther's, thinkin to tak it wi him for a
keepsake, but there were no findin t' thing, an' nobry could tell him
owt abeaut it. When he'd seeched everywheere else he coome
muttherin to me, wondherin iv there were ony saycret dhrawers i'
mi inside, an' studyin heaw to find 'em. He fund one, too, afther
a bit, but there were no snuffbox in it, nor owt else, nobbut a sheet
o' stiff papper cover't wi writin. Philip read it o'er, an' fund it to
be a will levin th' property to him an' four hundherd a year to
Roger ; dated a week afore his fayther dee'd, an' sign't bi two o' th'
sarvants as witnesses.

' They would sign the paper without knowing what it was, most
likely,' t' young chap said to hissel. ' That may account for their
silence. Well, now, if my father wrote this will he certainly had no
hand in the other. If he did not write that other Roger must have
done so himself. If Roger wrote it he is guilty of forgery. The
punishment of forgery is death. By his death Lucy would be set
free, and in all probability would marry me sooner or later. But
she would suffer bitterly, for she unquestionably loves that smiling
rascal. So, on the one hand, it is my duty to claim this estate,
and take my rightful place ; on the other stands the fact that by
doing so I doom my brother to the gallows, and inflict lasting
pangs upon a woman for whose happiness I would cheerfully
forfeit life. Shall I play hearts or trumps ?'

Whol he stood wondherin th' dur oppen't, an' Roger an' Lucy
coome in, chattherin an' laughin together like childher.

1 What a beauteous youth he is,' Philip grunted, slippin th' will
into his pocket. 'Who could refuse so fascinating a lover?'

Th' sweethearts talked to him abeaut his journey an' his pros-
pects, Roger thinkin he met do very weel in America, wi care, an'

252 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Lucy advisin him to think abeaut gettin wed as soon as he could
shap, for single fellahs ne'er did no good ; whol black Philip
grinned through his teeth, talked off his tongue end, an' thought
heaw he could make 'em beaunce iv he'd a mind.

' If I decide to establish a business in America I may have to
ask you for some capital, Roger,' says Philip. ' May I reckon on
you for a thousand pounds or so?'

' Most certainly, brother, if I can possibly spare the money.
The expenses of my estate here will be very large.'

Philip very like thought he could soon lessen 'em for him iv
he'd a mind, but nobbut said,

'Hardly so large as your rent roll, probably. What trade
would you recommend me to start, Lucy?'

' Don't attempt to start anything so dreary as trade,' Lucy
advised him. ' Stay here and be comfortable in your old home.'

'What, saddle myself upon an indigent brother, who will
barely be able to pay his way on three thousand pounds a year ?
No, no, Lucy ! I would rather swindle him out of his rights.
What's the matter, Roger ? You look pale.'

' Nothing, brother. A sudden twinge of toothache. Really, I
can't endure the thought of your crossing the sea. It was too bad
of the old man to put me over you in this fashion. If you will
stop here I will increase your allowance by fifty pounds a year so
long as I can afford it.'

' You are generosity itself, Roger,' Philip says, grinnin. ' How-
ever, I dare not put so heavy a strain on your finances. It would
ill become me to profit by a brother's ruin, and one can always
beg if the worst comes.'

'Poor fellow!' Roger said. 'My heart aches for you. But
no doubt you will do very well in the new world. Steady men
always seem to get on there.'

'You consider me to be a steady man, then?' Philip axed wi
a serious face, an' they o laughed. ' I must endeavour to merit
your commendation, and between steadiness and matrimony tread
safely on to fortune. I feared you would be making some childish
proposal of dividing the estate with me, Roger; but you have
more sense fortunately.'

Roger flushed an' slutted a bit at that, an' said, ' Nothing
would give me greater pleasure, my dear Philip, if duty to my
father and the principle of the thing permitted it. You must see
under the circumstances '

' Certainly, my dear fellow. Don't apologise. Let us be men
of principle before all things.'

'That will be my chief aim, brother. In my position one
should set an example to the common herd.'

'Your sentiments are noble, sir,' Philip said, 'and must find an
echo in every honest bosom.'

CHATTHERIN TIMBER. 253

When they went an' left him he walked up an' deawn th' reawm
a good while afore he seemed to make his mind up ; but he sattl't
th' job at last.

'She loves him,' he said, 'and after all the villain is my brother.
I play hearts;' an' pooin th' will eaut ov his pocket he ripped it
into a hundherd bits an' went to bed."

Aw waited a while, expectin there were some moore to come,
but th' cubbort didn't awse to gate again, so aw axed iv that were
o th' tale.

" Yigh, that's t' lot ; an' enough too, surelee."

" Be hanged to thy mak o' tales !" aw said. " Tha should ha'
towd heaw Philip went o'er th' say an' coome back to find his
brother dyead, or heaw somebry pieced th' bits o' th' will together
again, or summat o' that mak, an' finish't thi parcel bi lappin some
silver papper an' orange-blossom reaund it. Tha levs Vice crowin
on th' midden, an' punces Virtue off eaut o' th' yard. That'll do
noane i' books."

" It were so, books or no books. Philip ne'er coome back, an'
Roger lived wi his wife an' childher as comfortable an' pratty a
chap as ever were sin. Iv he'd ony throuble on his mind he kept
it theere. Folk used to say he were rayther a severe magisthrate,
an' coome deawn heavy on dishonest folk when he'd a chance, but
that were o aw ever yerd again him. He lived to be eighty year
owd, an' aw ne'er seed a finer lookin gronfayther i' mi life nor him."

"An' wheere would he go to when he dee'd, dost think?"

" Nay ! he's ne'er spokken sin they buried him. There may
some mak ov a lumber reawm for yo wick folk i' th' next world ;
some shop where croot hinges con be set sthraight an' brokken
panels put in. Tha'll see in a bit. When aw fo i' lumps somebry
'11 beet a fire wi th' pieces, an' side me off that road ; tak care tha
doesn't come to th' same end."

" Aw didn't expect thee to finish wi a sarmon," aw said. " It
looks as iv ony timber-yead could preighch when tha starts.
Ha'ever, aw'll do mi best to plez thee."

Just then a sarvant lass coome bustlin in. " Eleven o'clock, sir."

" Nay, for sure it !" aw co'd eaut, fair capped to find heaw th'
time had flown. " Aw mun be bowtin, an' wi a rattle too."

So aw shook hondles wi th' talkin oak, catch't a glint o' gasleet
on it breet face as iv it were winkin at me, an' scutther't off into
th' eautside darkness.

Aw were so full o' mi tale 'at when aw geet worn aw towd th'
owd beauty o abeaut it, welly talkin her asleep. When aw'd
finished hoo turn't reaund an' axed,

" What hasta bin suppin ?"

JAMES LEACH.

I.

We're most on us i' this part o' Lancashire weel acquainted wi
Wardle as it stons to-day. Mony a one 'at reads this has walked
up th' risin road fro th' Red Lion corner, past th' Egerton Club,
as far as th' owd village, lyin deep in it green bason among th'
close-hutchin hills. Pleasant walk it is, too. Tuthri yard up th'
road a fine view oppens eaut east an' seauth. There's th' honsome
warkheause teawer (we're never far eaut o' sect o' that i' Rachda),
showin dark-red again a backgreaund o' blue-black moor, a wide
sweep o' counthry curvin reaund toard Mildhro, an' close to us
stons Smobridge Church, black wi th' sulks becose it should ha
bin planted i' Spotlan ; though it may weel be fain to have greaund
fund for it onywheere considherin heaw feaw it is. Deawn a
clough to th' reet hond th' owd brook comes windin, set off bi
owd-fashion't breek chimbleys, marks ov a bygwone stage i' th'
cotton thrade, an' belongin mostly to facthries lost i' rack an' ruin.

A piece fur on yo see th' church spire peepin up, an' then th'
road dhrops deawn into th' village, a curious collection ov owd an'
new — ancient hondloom weighvin chambers close to bran new
square stone heauses — everything lookin clen an' thrim, as iv th'
sweet moor-sweepin airs were i' th' habit o' fannin every speck o'
dirt far away wi their fluttherin wings. Followin th' narrow twistin
main sthreet, undher Vest Hill's brokken green-petched slope
dotted wi greystone farms, we come soon to th' honsome church
wi it slendher needle-like spire, an' iv we're lucky enough to lond
at th' reet time we con yer th' crackedest, worst-toned bell i'
Lancashire ringin fro th' steeple. Get a weel-brunt fryin-pon wi a
biggish hole i' th' bottom, hang it on a clooas-line, hommer at it
wi hawve-a-breek, an' yo'll have summat like that dismal seaund.

Next dur comes th' Co-op. Store, an' next to that th' Wesleyan
Chapel an' Schoo ston hond i' hond together, facin th' owd Fowl o'
Wardle, where some o' th' owdest buildins seem to be lingerin yet.

Fur on again we come to th' Primitive Methodist Chapel,
Waythergrove Mill, an' so to some sthragglin farms an' rows o' stone
cottages runnin up to th' very feet o' thoose fine hills — Breawn
Wardle, Middle, Hades — stonnin, their sky-line stamped deep
into every Rachda-groon heart, like bowd Horatius an' his mates
at th' bridge, a solid-lookin three likely to want some gettin o'er.

Neaw, iv we could poo up these Wardle pavin sets an' flag-
stones, levin a slutchy throd bordher't bi oppen ditches, shift

JAMES LEACH. 255

church, chapel, an' facthry, gaslamps, an' tallygraph wire, cart
away o th' heauses obbut just an odd un here an' theere, levin
little beside wild moor an' rough-tilled farms, we met happen get
some notion o' what th' village were like a hundherd an' thirty
year sin'.

No postman, no daily newspapper, no tay, no railway near, no
hawve holidays — whatever could folk do wi theirsel i' sich times
as that !

Greight doins were afloat then, up an' deawn th' world.
George Third, owin to his fayther's mishap wi a cricket-bo, had
bin king gettin on for two year, but William Pitt did th' gafferin
for him (as he'd latly done for th' Second George) whol parliment
put it motty in an' William turned his job up. He'd made things
lively for hawve-a-dozen year or so, had William. Feightin undher
Clive i' India, undher Wolfe i' Canada, warmin th' French at
Minden, sinkin a whol fleet for 'em off Bretagne undher Hawke,
English sodiers an' sailors were kept busy, Pitt eggin 'em on an'
findin brass enough for peawdher. When o thoose risky gams were
won th' owd brid wanted to have a shot at Spain, but Parliment
said they were spent up an' wouldn't pay for his friskin, so William
poo'd his clogs off an' sattl't deawn retired, th' Heause o' Com-
mons, as they'd no brass, findin him a pension o' three theausan
peaund a year — enough to keep a cotton facthry, say nowt abeaut
one chap.

Iv th' brass had bin gien to Richard Arkwright, abeaut thirty
year owd at that time, or to James Watt, four year younger, happen
some betther use met ha bin made on it. Iv onybody could ha
towd Feightin Pitt 'at thoose two hard-wortchin young chaps — one
wi a styem engine, t'other wi a spinnin frame — were beaun to give
th' world a shove forrad an' send English credit up as he'd never
done wi o his blood an' gowd, heaw Billy would ha laughed !

Among o these happenins — past, present, or soon to come —
fair i' t' thick o' rowlin cannon an' swillin blood, coome th' year
1762, when Peter Third climbed onto th' Russian throne, an'
James Leach were born i' Wardle.

There'd be no public rejoicins when James coome into th'
world, for he were no greight mon's chilt. Nobry ever dhrem't he
were owt different fro babbies i' general. He were nobbut another
to th' rook o' weighvers' childher, an' barrin a saup o' rum for th'
kessenin baggin there'd be no fuss made o'er him.

Whol Mrs. Leach rocked her babby in his cradle throuble were
brewin wi America. Th' English lords, anxious to get back some
o' th' brass Pitt had cobbed away so free an' bowd, started taxin
th' Yankees for papper, tay, glass an' what not, a piece o' foolish-
ness 'at brought on sich a war as we never wanten to see again.

Plenty o' poor folk were short o' brass then, as weel as th'
Parliment. Weighvers, sthrange to say, for one lot, were noane

256 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

weighted deawn mich wi gowd, an' it's likely owd Leach had to
threddle away hard at his looms to keep his family gooin. Little
James were noane lapped i' rose-levs, nor fed on choice dainties.
Porritch an' clogs ud be abeaut his mark ; but he geet enough to
keep him wick some road, grew too big for a cradle an" started
runnin abeaut on his own legs.

Lonesome an' wild as th' Wardle moors were then, folk livin
theere had one greight gift to breeten their lives, help off their
spare time, an' heighve their deawn-sweighed thoughts up to a
heigher level. That greight an' precious gift, dhropped sthraight
fro heaven to give folk feelins an' hopes deeper nor words con say
or thoughts reighch, were music. To be sure it were no yezzy job
then larnin to play or sing, There were no concerts every week,
no pianos in th' cottages, no professors wi part o' th' alphabet
hangin fro their name-ends ; smo chance, one met think, wi
neighbours scarce an' roads bad, o' folk getherin to practise mich.

But, bless yo ! music charms away deaubts an' hindhrances,
lurryin it followers up an' deawn t' counthry just as it wants, never
axin 'em whether they wanten or not, an' among other spots it
lurried some on 'em to Wardle. Fiddlers, clarionet an' flute
blowers, horse-leg an' sarpent wrostlers, players on brass thrumpets
big an' little, singers ov o sorts, gether't fro miles reaund whenever
their scant holiday heaurs gav 'em a chance, wortchin away at bits
ov Handel or Haydn, carryin to an' again wi 'em weel-prized
copies o' chorus or anthem mostly written bi their own honds.

Owd Isaac Bamford, betther known as Isaac o' Lijah's, were
olez t' conducthor at Wardle music meetins. Ditherin Isaac he
were oft co'd, fro his habit o' makin his voice thremble when he
sang, oather to seaund pathetic or summat, an' everybody alleawed
him to be one o' th' best-larn't an cliverest music-teighchers i' Lan-
cashire. He'd bin sent for moore nor once to sing alto in th'
London festival concerts, an' happen fancied hissel a bit becose o'
that honour. Fro Rachda to Littleborough, an' it were even said
as far as Walsden, Isaac were known as a rare chap to conduct
band or chorus; so he'd olez summat gooin on i' th' music line, for
singin days, oratorios, or sichlike.

Owd Leach were as fond o' music as onybody, played very weel
on a fiddle, an' liked nowt betther nor to see tuthri mates in his
heause helpin him to grind t' dyead maisthers o'er again, or put
some weight into a good owd psalm tune. One neet Isaac
happen't to be theere gafferin o'er a sthreng quartet, when he
noticed little James waggin his arm an' croonin to th' music. Th'
lad were abeaut four year owd then, an' he'd bin rayther fayverish
an' fractious, sittin cryin bi th' fire wi his warchin yead on his
mother's knee ; but th' music sooth't an' intheristed him as soon as
th' fiddles sthruck up, an' he followed th' air fro th' first note to
th' last, ahmin afther it as weel as he could.

Ahmin, aiming.

JAMES LEACH. 257

" See yo theere !" says owd Isaac. " Did onybody ever ! He's
keepin time as steady as aw con mysel, an' aw'm th' best time-
keeper i' Englan. He's thryin to sing th' melody too. Nay ! this
sheds o ! Why, Layche, that babby mun ha music born in him."

" He may have," Leach said. " He yeawls keen enough at
times."

" Tak yo notice, neaw," says Isaac, seein a good chance for a
bit o' prophetic business. "This chill's beaun to be a greight
musicianer. Aw'm a judge o' these things, as yo known, so just
tak notice. He met live to be co'd on to Lunnon yet, same as
me."

" It'll tak him a good while to get up to yor pitch, Isaac,"
Leach said. " There's noane mony wi sich a rare knack as yo."

" Aw'm gettin eldherly," says Isaac, " an there's nobry shappin
to tak howd o' mi job yet. Iv this chilt con larn th' business he
shall do, an' aw'll do mi best to get him forrad wi his thoroughbass
an' th' scales."

" Thank yo," Mrs. Leach said. " Iv Jimmy's owt inside him
yo'll fot it eaut iv onybody con. It's very good on yo, aw'm sure."

" Well, it may be thought lucky 'at aw'm here to teighch him,"
Isaac chuckl't, rubbin his honds together, weel-satisfied. " There's
happen few i' England con do moore for him."

James were i' no hurry to prove Isaac a chap o' foreseet. He
played abeaut as long as his fayther leet him, turnin to th' weighvin
thrade i' good time, an' catchin what bits o' schoo-larnin he ever
had i' ony odd heaurs 'at sarved. He showed moore taste for
toffy an' marbles nor for music, takkin scant intherist in Isaac's
teighchin an' larnin little. At twelve year owd he could riddle a
bit, sing a bit, think a lot, an' wandher abeaut bi hissel for ony
length o' time beaut gettin weary. He'd never mich to say for
hissel, an' oft enough when talkin were gooin on close to him he'd
sit lookin at nowt, hearkenin nowt, lapped up in hissel i' some
quare fashion, as iv he'd another lad inside him, an' they were
hatchin saycrets together.

Gentle, quiet, rayther bashful manners grew fro his thoughtful
habits an' lonesome wandherins, helpin to get him everybody's
good opinion ; an' undher o t' lad's silence and shyness there were
summat likeable abeaut him, some rare thread o' feelin or fancy
'at folk could feel beaut knowin what stirred 'em.

A slendher, delicate, thin-skinned lad, James fund th' village
mates ov his own size rayther too rough, so he bother't 'em little.
Happen he fund lasses betther to get on wi, for tuthri year moore
fund him whisperin nearly every neet to a neighbour's daughther,
an' it soon geet known 'at these two were cwortin, though wi little
seet o' gettin wed for mony a long year to come. Their faythers
an' mothers grumbl't an' snighed a bit, co'in 'em foolish babbies,

258 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

tell in 'em no sensible folk geet wed whol they'd turn't forty year
owd, givin 'em o th' owd advice o'er again spokken bi so mony
theausan parents, an' so little heeded bi their rackless childher, but
wise talk were nobbut wasted on thoose two. Young James, shy
i' general, were bowd enough upo this point, an' his lass in a modest
way showed hersel as determin't as he were ; so afther a while th'
owd folk geet weary o' botherin, an' th' young uns went on sweet-
heartin beaut onybody meddlin wi 'em.

II.

Abeaut this time owd Isaac noticed 'at his pupil started takkin
moore intherist in th' music lessons, an' iv his e'eseet had bin
clear he met ha noticed beside 'at th' scholar knew a dyel moore
nor his maisther. James had olez bin a bit ov a puzzle to th' owd
chap sin' they'd takken music i' hond together. Th' lad cared
little or nowt for larnin long rules off bi heart, wouldn't lumber his
mind up wi th' lappins an' packin-cases o' knowledge, an' ne'er
took mich notice ov his teighcher's kest-iron notions as to what
were reel or wrong ; yet he'd olez a knack ov axin questions 'at
dived deep into th' rezon o' things, botherin Isaac aboon a bit to
undherston what he were dhrivin at, say nowt ov onswerin him.
James took in o he were towd, every fresh step forrad lookin to
come yezzy to him. His ear were keen an' thrue, his time steady
as a clock, his insect into new pieces swift and sure; but he could
nobbut larn in his own road, an' as that road were different fro
Isaac's he'd to put up wi th' charicther ov a dull scholar. James
hissel knew no different. Shy, self-watchin, livin most ov his
time in a thought-built fanciful world ov his own wheere vanity
ne'er geet foot-howd, this quare lad knew little or nowt what rare
talents were fast grooin ripe in him, an' ne'er dhrem't o' pushin
hissel forrad.

Heawever, neaw he'd getten to be a young chap wi th' respon-
sibility ov a pratty sweetheart on his honds, this dhremer wakken't
up o ov a sudden, bucklin to at his lessons wi a relish, an' sperrin
off Isaac whol th' owd brid oft felt muddl't. His own studies had
ne'er takken him far past a knowledge o' simple chords or th'
knack ov arrangin bits o' things for a band, but this fawse scholar
started talkin abeaut countherpoint, fugue, modulation, part-writin,
an' sichlike — things Isaac knew bi sect, but could hardly be said to
have speighkin acquaintance wi.

Th' fashion i' music at that day were o for orniments an'
flourishes. Turns, shakes, an' grace-notes were crommed in bi
wholsale, so 'at very oft there were moore twiddle nor tune. Neaw
Isaac had two or three patent flourishes ov his own 'at he were very

Sperrin, enquiring.

JAMES LEACH. 259

fond o' stickin into whatever classical piece he took i' hond ; an'
he'd tuthri dodges o' makin pauses, hurryin up or howdin back, at
places where th' composers said nowt abeaut it. Through long
experience these bits o' quirks had com'n to look important to
Isaac, an' when he fund James took no notice on 'em he could
nobbut think th' lad were gettin stuck-up. As for thinkin his own
style o' teighchin met be wrong, sich a fancy were th' last thing
likely to come into his yead. His t'other scholars were satisfied to
tak what he gav 'em, ne'er botherin their yeads an' his wi thinkin
too mich o'er th' lessons, but this Leach lad were olez wantin to
know moore nor th' teighcher could tell, whol Isaac geet deaubtful
sometimes whether he were teighchin Jimmy or Jimmy were
teighchin him.

Other folk were gettin deaubtful, too. Isaac were a rare mon
at his job, to be sure, but — well, he were noane as young as he
used to be, yo known, an' some road young Leach had a wonder-
ful knack. He could hondle a band some weel, stirrin up o
skulkin players 'at thried to dodge their parts, an' not a wrong note
could be cheted past his sensitive ears. Awkart bits for wind or
sthrengs, whatever keigh or clef they were written in, he could play
at sect, makin th' band chaps feel in a crack heaw to phrase an'
wheere to play leaud or soft. Above o things he'd have a com-
poser's directions followed just as they were written deawn, happen
thinkin th' music-maker knew what he wanted as weel or betther
nor onybody else.

As for singers he could tuthor 'em some rarely ! He'd have
no sweighin one note into another, like shuttherin cobs deawn a
cellar-hole, no fancy variations bi tenors or altos hawve-larn't i'
their parts, no cheawin o' music nor rowlin it reaund throat or
tongue afore it coome eaut, no shade o' sharpness or flatness, no
slackenin or hurryin o' time, no murdherin o' words, no cowd
hawve-hearted rendherin o' pieces red-wot fro th' lastin fire o'
genius. Iv ony part geet stuck fast he could help 'em eaut wi his
sweet hee-pitched voice in a way they couldn't miss but follow, an'
it were seldom th' owdest experienced members ov a chorus
practised undher him beaut larnin summat likely to do 'em good.

We may guess fro these things 'at iv James had been like some
young chaps he could very soon ha put poor owd Isaac's nose
eaut o' joint, takken o th' best wark off him, an' fair brokken his
heart ; for heawever willin th' owd chap met be to turn his business
o'er to James when he'd finished wi it hissel, we con be sure he
wouldn't ha fancied bein shoved eaut bi one ov his own scholars.
But eaur young weighver were as modest an' reet-minded as he
were cliver ; an' so far fro thryin to best Isaac or play undherhond
thricks on him, he took care an' throuble to keep hissel i' th' back-
greaund as long as he could, an' to respect th' owd brid's quirks an'
owd-fashion't ideas whether they were reet or wrong.

260 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

That greight conducthor, Time, kept on waggin his stick o this
while, an' one day owd Mrs. Leach said to her husban,

" Jimmy's twenty year owd this week. Could onybody believe
years had flown so fast sin he're born ! He's groon up sthrong an'
hearty, an' that's a blessin ; but eh ! aw do wish he'd give o'er
runnin afther yon lass an' think moore ov his good worn !"

" Husht !" Leach says, laughin quietly. " Jim's a steady, hard-
wortchin lad, as good a weighver as we han i' Wardle, an' what
moore would ta have ? Blame Adam, iv tha's a mind, for settin
sich a bad example, but ne'er blame th' lad hissel. He's gettin on
weel wi his music neaw, owd Isaac says, an' shaps for makin sum-
mat on it. As soon as he con see his road to keepin two he'll be
gettin wed, aw'll uphowd ta. There's eaur Mary too — hoo'll be
eighteen dhirectly, so it'll be her turn afore long."

" Her turn !" Mrs. Leach co'd eaut. " Iv aw catch onybody
runnin afther her aw'll make it warm for him. Folk'll bi cwortin
i' their cradles next !"

"They met do wur," says Leach. " Wark's a dhry job where
there's no love to breeten it. Eaur Mary's too honsome an'
sensible to be left single so long, make up thi mind to that."

" Eh, dear !" t' mother sighed. " VVe'n o t' throuble an' care
o' rearin these childher, an' they thinkin o' nowt but levin as soon
as they con shap it."

Th' husband laughed again, an' nobbut said, " It's a way we'n
olez had i' lh' Laych family. Weddin an' singin's what we're noted
for."

Th' same neet James were conductin a band practice at Smo-
bridge, for he'd gettin to be oft wanted at jobs o' that sort. Isaac
were there, to see heaw his pupil shapped, an' they walked worn
together when th' wark were o'er, carryin a lanthron to pike there
road by.

" Tha'rt mendin, Jimmy," says Isaac, pathronisin his pupil, as
maisthers olez will. " Aw'd getten to think tha'd nobbut turn eaut
a numb scholar, but tha'rt mendin nicely neaw an' larnin to keep
thi grip on th' band. Yon hobye player missed comin in twice
when tha gav him th' nod, aw noticed. Tha mun ston noane o'
that, think on. Poo 'em up, iv there's owt wrong ! Poo 'em up !"

" Aw've just had a word wi him," James said, in a quiet con-
sidherin way o' talkin nathural to him. " It's Billy Howarth, th'
stonemason, an' he's nobbut a young player yo known, beaut mich
practice. Aw felt for him a bit, an' thought aw wouldn't show him
up afore o th' band chaps an' th' chapel singers. Aw'll see him
to-morn — he's th' makins ov a good musician in him, aw con tell."

"Well, it may pass for an odd time," Isaac says, waggin his
yead rayther dubious, " but we mun have things done reet, tha
knows, shuz what happens. Tha'rt too soft-hearted to make a
gradely good conducthor, aw deaubt ; not but what tha shaps very

JAMES LEACH. 261

weel — very weel ! ' Comfort ye ' were too slow rayther — aw've
towd thee afore to get on middlin wi thi speed theere, becose th'
air's so long — th' tenor seaunds as iv he'd ne'er get done, an' folk
starten wondherin when th' oritory's beaun to gate."

" We'n o eaur own ideas abeaut these things, aw guess," th'
pupil said. " Aw were thryin to get th' music sung as Handel
myen't it to be done, ne'er thinkin whether folk liked it or not. Iv
they didn't so mich wur for 'em."

" Ideas !" bawl't Isaac, very near fo'in into a slutch-hole
through bein' too excited to watch his feet on th' narrow throd.
" Tha mun have no ideas yet, mon ! Do as aw tell thee, an' rest
satisfied to be a larner another ten year. Ideas be hanged ! Tha'rt
gettin consayted, aw yer."

" Aw think not," James said, wi a curious smile common to
him, as iv he were onswerin some inside thoughts ov his own as
weel as talkin to th' owd chap.

" But aw'm sure on't," Isaac splutther't. " Tha'd never reckon
to set thi ideas again mine iv tha werenot. Neaw, Jimmy, aw beg
on thee, whatever tha does else, mind fro gettin consayted !
There's nowt wur nor that ! Keep thi own level, mi lad, an' never
let me yer thee brag this road again as long as tha lives."

" Mind yor feet, owd friend," James said, just catchin Isaac as
he were sluttherin into th' ditch. " It's very slutchy to-neet."

"Once let consayt get howd o' thee an' tha'rt done," Isaac
went on, thinkin ov his sarmon moore nor his clogs. " Tha con
sing weel an' play weel, but iv ever tha myens takkin my shop an'
bein looked up to as th' best chorus teighcher an' most experienced
musicianer in o England, same as me, tha mun keep consayt eaut
o' thi road."

James chuckl't to hissel, but he'd a dyel too mich likin an'
respect for th' owd brid to say owt likely to hurt his feelins, so he
kept his tongue inside his teeth.

When Isaac londed at his heause dur, afther some hard
fleaundherin up th' dirty lone, he'd part ov his lesson to liver o'er
again afore he could say good neet to his patient scholar.

" Do watch thysel, neaw, for gettin preaud. Iv aw'd gien way
to sich feelins mysel where should aw ha bin, dost think ? An'
yet iv onybody's an excuse for bein consayted it's happen a chap
'at's sung i' th' Lunnon concerts, wi a whol row o' kings an' queens
on th' front form. Just think on tha knows nowt but what aw've
larn't thee."

"Nowt at o?" James axed, puttin on his curious double smile
again, knowin th' owd pottato couldn't see it i' th' dark.

"Why, what else conta know? Tha's ne'er bin nowheere
nobbut Wardle. Who's ever teighched thee owt beside me?"

" Nobry," James towd him. " Yo're mi only teighcher, Isaac."

262 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Well, that sattles it, then; so tak a pattheran fro me an'
think little o' thysel. Good neet, my lad, an' God bless thee."

" Good neet to yo," says James, sthridin forrad toard worn wi
t' lanthron, thinkin to hissel, "There's summat in this yead o'
mine 'at Isaac never put theere, afther o, shuz wheere it coome
fro."

He londed safe awom i' Wardle fowt, geet his supper, chatted
wi th' owd folk a while in his quiet cheerful way, an' took hissel
off to bed.

" What would Isaac say,'' James axed hissel, layin tindher-box
an' long match ready for mornin, poppin his candle eaut an' slippin
between th' blankets, "what would Isaac say iv he knew aw'd
turn't composer?"

A corn-crake, throubl't wi th' neet-mare in a fielt across th'
lone, set up a yarkin seaund 'at ripped into th' young chap's deli-
cate nerves, so he lapped his ears up an' fell asleep beaut waitin
for ony betther onswer to his question.

III.

Next mornin eaur ploddin young musician were up threddin at
his loom afore th' March sun showed it weel-sceaur't threncher
above Vest Hill. Breakfast-time fund him ready for his porritch,
an' another hawve-heaur seed him back at his wark again, weighvin
away as iv th' world were beaun to be stopped for cloth iv he
didn't keep his yells stirrin. His thoughts were noane i'th' loom-
chamber, iv his body were. Mony a longin look he sent through
his smo-quarrell't window at fielt an' hill just breetenin into green,
mony a sthrain he hummed an' whistl't, an' once or twice he
stopped a minute to dot deawn tuthri notes on a bit o' music
papper, gatin his loom again wi new sperrit when he'd done.

Dinner-time coome reaund in a while, an' when his share o' th'
meight were etten James walked eaut into th' sunshine for tuthri
minutes, crossin th' lone to where a big wareheause were bein built,
just above where th' Wesleyan Chapel stons neaw. Theere he
fund a stonemason, about a year younger nor hissell, chippin away
at a smooth flag, and singin this :

" Oh ! iv aw were a robin aw'd sit in a thorn,

An' chirp to mi thrue love fro neaw whol to- morn ;

Iv aw were a layrock aw'd sing up aboon,

An' slur into th sky on a rainbow o' tune ;

But here aw'm a maundherin thrailer on th' floor,

So what con aw do mi wot passion to cure ?

Aw oather mun keep it or cob it away,

Or give it mi thrue love some mornin i' May.

Foldherdol laddy !
Foldherdol laddy !
Foldherdol oldherdol oldherdol lay ! "

JAMES LEACH. 263

"What mak o' classical music doesta co that?" James axed,
sittin him deawn on a stone-block.

" Heaw do, Jimmy!" th' singer said, turnin reaund a plump
red face wi a wide grin on it. " Tha looks as white as a candle
an' as thin as a hayrake. Heaw dost feel?"

"Aw'm ailin nowt particlar" James said, smilin at th' lusty
steaut-set young mason. " We cawn't o be as fresh an' sthrong as
thee, Billy, kept eaut o'th' sun as mich as we are."

" Tha should ha larn't a dacent thrade," Billy says ; "weighvin's
nowt. But tha'll be settin up as a music chap afore long, aw
reckon, an' then tha'll be abeaut reet."

" Happen so. Will that hobye part be reet for Sunday ? Aw
want thee to play it at th' sarvice here."

" Reet an' plumb ! Aw'll twitther it off, tha'll see. A bit
moore practice wi th' band an' aw'll play owt tha con set me, so
make up thi mind to that, Misther Jimmy. Who's preighchin o'
Sunday neet ?"

" Mi uncle John's comin o'er fro Rachda."

" Oh, he is, is he ? " Billy says, wi a hearty laugh. " Well, he's
a dacent owd cock, is John ! He'll tell us some rare tales, aw'll
warrand. Aw recollect him tellin o'er him bein left awom to rock
th' babby when he were a lad at Hey Barn, whol his mother went
to th' Baptist chapel next dur, an' heaw he geet some lengths o'
bant, teed 'em end to end, an' crept to th' chapel window,
hearkenin to th' sarmon an' keepin t' kayther gooin' at th' same
time. Is that thrue, Jimmy ?"

"Aw believe it is. It looks as iv he were myent for th'
preighchin business, doesn't it?"

" Yigh ; but he'd little think then o' livin to be one o' Wesley's
journeymen. Well, aw guess iv he's comin thi sisther '11 be gooin
to th' sarvice."

" What Mary ? To be sure ; we're o gooin, aw expect. What
for?"

Billy studied his wark a minute, whistlin softly. He were
carvin some capital letthers on his square flag, wi a ring o' rope
bordherin reaund 'em, an' orniments at th' corners like bits o'
brokken clog irons — an' carvin weel, too, as onybody may soon
see, for th' stone's yon yet built into th' wole. Then he rubbed his
chisel point, scrat his knob, said " Oh, nowt ! " an' fell to his
chippin again.

James chuckl't to hissel as iv he scented a joke somewheere,
stood a minute watchin th' mallet rise an' fo, an' then said,

" Aw mun get yon loom on again. Slip in to-neet, Billy, an'
we'll thry thoose awkart runs together."

" Aw cawn't come to-neet," Billy said, stuttin a bit.

" It's nobbut tuthri minutes ov a job. What's makin thee so
busy?"

264 WORKS OP JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw've to go deawn to Sleighty abeaut a dog." Billy slutted,
beaut lookin up, " an' then aw've a chap to see o'er th' Slarrin to
sattle abeaut some wark, an' there's tuthri moore odd jobs want
lookin to. Aw cawn't come to-neet."

"Well, ony time," James said, an' went back to his loom
laughin to hissel.

"Mary?" he co'd eaut to his sisther as he went through th'
kitchen ; an' Mary coom fro t' butthery, axin

"Well?"

" Aw'll teighch thee that song o' Purcell's to-neet," James said,
looking at her wi a sly glint in his e'en. " I'v tha'rt for singin it o'
Sunday it's time to be framin."

Mary were tall, good-lookin, an' as rosy-cheeked as o th' Wardle
lasses. " There'll hardly be time to-neet, Jimmy," hoo said afther
a minute. " Aw've to goo eaut."

"Wheereto?"

" A bit ov an arrand," Mary says, flushin up an' bowtin eaut ov
his road ; so James set to at his wark again laughin moore nor ever.

Soon afther t' baggin were o'er Mary put her shawl on an' went
deawn th' road, sayin hoo'd to co at Mary Ann Buckley's. Tuthri
minutes afther Billy Howarth went swingin deawn i' th' same
direction at five mile to th' heaur. Toard bedtime, as th' neet
were clear, James wandher't up th' lone a mile or so th' opposite
road on an coome face to face wi these two dodgers, plain to be
sin undher t' stars.

" Hello ! " says James, quite simple. " Aw thought tha were
at Mary Ann's, lass. Well, Billy, what abeaut yon dog?"

Billy sit him deawn i' th' hedge-bottom an' laughed whol his
ribs were sore. " Neaw, Jimmy," he said at last, " whisper a word
o' this to onybody else an' tha'll ne'er play th' fiddle again ! "

" Nonsense !" James said. " What are yo freetent on, yo two ?
There's no credit i' this undherhond wark, an' th' sooner yo'con
get some undherstonnin wi th' owd folk t' neither it'll be. There's
Mary here thremblin like a lev. Whal are yo freelenl on ? Come
on wi me worn, an' we'll soon sallle it."

" Eh, aw darnot !" Mary said. " Dunnot say a word, Jimmy ;
dunnol ! They'll yer soon enough, an' whalever would mi mother
say ?"

" Aw care liltle whal Ihi molher says," Billy pul in gellin on
his feel again, " bul Ihi fayther's a big sthrong chap, an' his clogs
looken to be a lidy weight Thee howd Ihi tongue, Jimmy Laych,
an' wait whol we're ready."

" Why, plez yorsel," James said, as they walked deawn loard
th' village. " Plez yorsel, an' yo'll be longest salisfied ; but iv yo
takken my advice yo'll be sthraighlforrad wi yor cworlin, an' make
il known. Heaw will it be to sallle lh' job o' Sunday neel, whol
uncle John's here, Mary ?"

JAMES LEACH. 265

" Say no moore iv tha wants me to sleep," Mary said. " Aw
darn't think o' sich a thing."

Sunday coome, an' John Leach went sthridin up fro Rachda
to th' Wardle meetin-reawm, a big loft runnin o'er th' aleheause i'
th' fowt. He were a sthrong honsome chap o' fifty, just a reel
sample o' that wandherin band o' Wesleyan parsons 'at were doin
so mich good then up an' deawn among th' little villages.

Th' long low room were packed full, an' o th' local music talent
were theere to help. Isaac conducted, James an' Billy were i' th'
band an' their sweethearts i' th' choir. Th' skyleets were set oppen
for ventilation, lettin in a rush o' cool air an' a twittherin chorus
fro th' brids eautside; an' theere wi sweet voices an' reverent
hearts, that little congregation o' yearnest Christians worshipped
their common Father.

John were a born preighcher, like mony another 'at that moore
famous John gether't reaund him. Plain an' simple, sensible in a
pleasant, intheristin way, deepenin neaw an' again into weight an'
force, he dhrew o hearts an' ears to th' stirrin ov his tongue, makin

0 his relations preaud to see an' yer him.

When th' sarvice were o'er he complimented his nevvy. " I
understand you have been training the choir lately, James," says
he, " and certainly I never heard them sing better. You will have
to make music your profession."

" Not yet a bit," James laughed. " It's some o' these young
women 'at maken th' music so sweet — eaur Mary here an' mi
sweetheart an' tuthri moore. Their voices are like bells."

" I wish you would come over to Rochdale and settle there,"
John said. " You would be sure to succeed, and could certainly
command a better living than you can ever hope to do by weaving.

1 have many friends who could put you on the high road to
fortune-"

" It may happen come to that some day," James said, "but aw
mun plod on here a bit longer first. There mun be no fo'in deawn
again for want o' patience i' climbin."

" You are not very enterprising," says John. " Somehow you
appear to live in a sort of dream, with little interest in what goes
on about you in the world. Still you are not wanting in energy. I
can't altogether read your character yet."

" Aw cawn't mysel," James laughed. " But ne'er heed ! It's
o thought eaut as fur as con be."

There were a creawded reawm again when th' candles were let
for th' evenin sarvice. Billy geet theere i' good time, an' feelin
rayther dhryish he slipped in at th' aleheause back dur to get a gill,
an' stopped chattherin theere wi some mates, in a leet-hearted car-
less way he had, whol th' full rich seaund ov a hymn above his
yead towd him he'd tarried too long.

Nevvy, nephew.

266 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Na then ! " says Billy, wiping his meauth, pikin up his hobye
an' raakin for th' stairs eautside. " They're pewdlin an' singin, an'
me noane theere ! What'll Mary say neaw ? Aw've made a job
o' this, an' at t' front ov o these Layches too ! This comes o' bein
a band chap. That weddin wain't come off neaw, aw deaubt !"

When he geet to th' stairs yead he'd to stop, for th' reawm
were so creawded he could hardly squeeze hissel in ; so theere he
stood, just inside th' dur, th' hobye undher his arm, feelin as
miserable as a seeded kittlin. He yerd John read a lesson in his
clear solemn voice, an' then seed James ston up to sing. A sym-
phony o' brokken phrases an' plaintive notes, like sobs o' pain, an'
th' purest, best-managed voice among thoose hills were lifted in a
sthrain o' deep but tendher sorrow.

" He was despised " — sang James — " He was despised and re-
jected of men ; a Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief."

Isaac's fiddle throbbed in between th' voice parts wi heart-
breighkin cadence, an' th' singer, feelin Handel's music thrill into
th' very marrow ov his heart, sang wi peawer an' passion, carryin o
afore him.

Billy blinked, rubbed his sleeve across his e'en, sniffed, an'
then had to poo his hanketcher eaut, lettin th' tears rowl deawn
whol he could hardly see th' singer's tall slendher figure an' clear-
cut face.

James sit him deawn again, th' hush an' stillness were brokken
bi whisper an' restless stir, e'en were wiped dhry, an' poor Billy
crept deawn th' stairs. He could ston no moore.

" Where hast bin ? " grunted Isaac, as he coome deawn t'
laddher an' fund his hobye player at th' bottom. " Tha'rt a smart
mon to play in a band !"

" Aw couldn't get in," Billy said. " Aw ne'er seed sich a
creawd afore."

Isaac looked black at him an' went, and Billy hutched back
into a dark corner as th' Layches started coming deawn. Mary
were last among 'em, an' hoo looked reaund th' fowl as iv expect-
ing to see somebody theere.

" Whatever's bin to do, William ?" hoo axed when th' mason
had pyched up to her. " Aw've bin some unyezzy o neet !"

" Tha'd no need," Billy said in a dismal keigh ; " aw were
rayther too lat, that's o."

"Too lat !" Mary poo'd her hanketcher eaut as tears started
rowlin. " Tha were happen noane o'er anxious to come."

" Give o'er !" Billy said. " Aw'd ha gien out to squeeze in,
but it were no go. Iv tha co's me ony moore aw'll run away an'
dhreawn mysel ! It were o accident, like. Aw stopped for oil,
same as th' ten vargins, an' neaw aw feel as foolish as they did."

Seeded, scalded.

JAMES LEACH. 267

" Eh, what a pity ! Eaur John preighched a grand sarmon, an'
Jimmy sang as aw've ne'er yerd him do afore. It is a pity tha
missed it."

" Aw yerd him sing," Billy says. " It's been a greight day for
yo Layches. Well, aw'll be gooin ; yor folk'll wondher where tha's
getten to."

Just then James coome to th' heause dur an' sheauted, " Mary !"

" Eh, my goodness !" Mary says. " Aw mun goo, or he'll have
'em o eaut starin at us in a minute."

" Is that thee, Billy?" James sheauted again, walkin toard 'em.
" Come in an' have a bit o' supper wi us? Heaw leets tha didn't
come into th' band to-neet afther o th' bother o' larnin thi part ?"

" Aw had to meet a chap just across theere, so it thrut me late,"
Billy said, jertin a thumb o'er his shooldher.

" Were it abeaut a dog?" James axed laughin.

" Nowe, it werenot !" Billy says, rayther sulky. " Iv tha thinks
aw'm a liar, co me one."

" Aw'll co thee nowt," says James. " Come in, aw tell thee."

He took Billy bi one arm an' Mary bi another, takkin 'em
bwoth wi him into th' heause, where his fayther, mother, an' uncle
sit gettin their suppers.

" Look here, neaw," James said, stonnin wi his victims in a
row. " Did yo ever see a prattier couple nor these two childher ?
They'n started cwortin, an' aw've persuaded 'em to come a tellin
yo."

" For shame o' thi face, Jimmy !" t' mother said, beauncin up.
" Go thi ways, tha impident young pousement ; an' as for thee,
Mary, aw fair wondher heaw tha con ston theere an' look mi i' th'
face."

Mary looked fit to dhrop, an' felt to be brunnin fro yead to
foot ; but hoo knew they were in for it neaw, an' mut sattle th' job
one road or another, so hoo stood her greaund, stickin fast to
James's arm.

" Tak thi time a minute," owd Leach said, puttin a soothin
hond on his wife's shooldher. " Whose lad arta ?"

" Aw'm Billy o' Ben's," th' mason said, feelin bowd an' like a
mon neaw th' warst shock were o'er. " Howarth's mi Sunday
name, but aw'm best known as Billy wi th' Pipes."

" And how did you get that curious name?" John axed him.

" Oh ! nobbut becose aw play whistles, an' flutes, an' hobyes,
an sich things."

" We wanton no pipes here," Mrs. Leach grumbl't. " Be off
wi tha !"

" Nay, nay !" th' husband said, wi a twist o' humour on his lip.
" We're little used to turnin folk eaut o' this heause at sich short
notice. What is it tha wants, Billy ? Speighk up !"

Thrut, threw.

268 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw want nowt nobbut this lass o' yors," Billy said, " an hoo
wants nowt nobbut me ; an' we s' ne'er give o'er wantin noather,
whol we liven. So neaw plez yorsel."

" Pointed and forcible," says John, smilin. " Whitefield him-
self could not have made a proposal in fitter terms."

" Hear, hear," James said, laughin. " Iv tha hasn't sattl't it
neaw, Billy, aw dun know what con do. Neaw, mother, it's no use
botherin no moore — iv yo wain't consent aw'll get uncle John to
wed 'em sthraight off an' ha done wi 't. Billy's a good lad an'
Mary cawn't mend her choice."

" Pipes, too !" grumbl't his mother, lookin some savage at th'
bowd stone-mason.

" Betther pipes nor pistils," said owd Leach, wi th' wisdom ov
experience. " Aw towd thee heaw it'd be, an' aw'd rayther have a
musid-blower for son-i'-law nor a sodier. Hang thy cap up, Billy,
and sit thee deawn. Aw'll tak thee on thrial for a week or two.
Come, here Mary, tha sly puss, an' get thi supper."

So Mary crept reaund to kiss her fayther an' mother, an' sit
deawn saying nowt but lookin happy.

" Mun aw cut thee some beef, Billy ?" James axed flourishin a
knife an' fork.

" Nowe," Billy said, an' he sit him deawn between his sweet-
heart an th' parson, feelin as iv he'd bin part hanged an' were just
gettin nicely reaund again ; " aw'll have a thraycle buttercake for
once — there's nowt else good enough for sich a dooment as this ! "

IV.

Heawever busy he met be helpin forrad his sisther's sweet-
heartin, James didn't forget his own. He'd bin lucky enough to
choose a good an' sensible lass, one likely to be some use in a
heause beside ornimentin it, an' th' course o' their love ran as
smooth as it mostly does among simple-minded busy-honded folk.
In a while, th' young chap bein close on three-an'-twenty an' his
sweetheart a couple o' year younger, they geet wed, settin up in a
heause o' their own, where they felt as happy as two brids in a bush.

" Aw'm beaun a puttin th' axins up, Billy," James had said to
th' young mason. " Tha'd best come too, an' we con o be wed
together."

" Howd off !" Billy said. " Aw'll have a weddin o' mi own
when aw do start ; but aw mun chip at tuthri moore boudhers
afore that happens."

So Billy stood as best mon at th' weddin, an' some gam he
made, helpin to tee th' young couple up wi every prospect afore
'em o' contented lives. Eaur risin musician had made hissel a
name bi that time, getten together a tidy teighchin connection, an'

JAMES LEACH. 269

even bin to Lunnon, singin at th' greight concerts owd Isaac
thought so mich abeaut ; but like a sensible mon he stuck to his
looms yet, though not so close as he'd bin forced to do once ov
a day, to be sure.

So modest an' misthrustful were this shy lad abeaut hissel an'
his wark, 'at it were nobbut tuthri week afther t' weddin he durst
tell his wife he'd made an' written deawn a lot o' psalm-tunes, an'
heaw his greight hope an' ambition were to be known as a music
composer, an' live to see his tunes get into general use. So, as
yo met guess, nowt ud do then but he mut bring his precious bits
o' papper eaut, sing his airs through an' play 'em on th' fiddle,
whol his wife larn't 'em off an' join't in wi her clear thribble. It
were a sweet heaur for th' young musician when he yerd his own
notes fro thoose lips he loved, an' sweet for th' young wife to lend
seaund to her husband's long-hud fancies.

" Eh, James ! " hoo said when he laid his fiddle deawn.
"Heaw grand they are! An' to think nobry knows these fine
tunes nobbut us !"

"Are they fine, Esther?" says James, axin hissel as mich as his
wife. " Will they be sung ? Or is it nowt but blint vanity o' my
side an' love o' thine ? "

" Let Isaac look at 'em," Esther said. " He'll be sure to
know."

" Tha's greight faith i' what Isaac thinks." James said, laughin.
" But he shall see 'em, my lass, an' yer 'em too. Aw've nobbut
kept 'em by me long enough to feel sure they're as good as aw
con make 'em."

"Just think o' thee bein a music composer,'' says Esther,
clappin her honds. " It's wondherful !"

" Aw con remember, ever sin aw were a little pottherin lad,"
James said in his thougtful way, " havin a sort o' fancy 'at aw could
yer sweet sthrains seaundin inside mi yead, comin fro wheere aw
could never tell. For a good while aw thought other folk mut
have th' same sensations, but grooin owdher aw soon fund that
were a mistake. Iv chaps i' th' general had music in their yeads
same as aw have it they'd be a lot betther nor they are — kindher,
less selfish, moore honest a dyel. It took me a time to find what
ailed me, for though Isaac were reckonin to teighch me music, o
he showed me were cowd an' dyead. Aw'd betther stuff o' mi
own, beaut larnin, so aw'd little intherest in his talk. He showed
me heaw to play th' fiddle, to be sure, an' that's summat to thank
him for. So for mony a year aw wondher't an' studied what were
t' matther wi me, but could ne'er find eaut whol aw geet to be
nearly eighteen year owd an' went one Sunday neet to a Wesleyan
sarvice at Littleborough."

Thribble, treble.

270 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Esther looked up wi a flush. " Were it that day we first went
together? Tha smiles ! Aw do believe it were !"

"That very day, Esther. Tha knows heaw we larn't one
another's hearts that neet as we walked o'er Birch Hill back toard
worn. When aw left thee at th' lone end, knowin tha loved me as
aw'd long done thee, some disturbance happen't among th' jumble
o' music olez ringin i' mi ears ; an' no wondlier, for th' world itsel
were turn't o'er for me, an' sich a shinin road ov happiness oppen't
afore mi feet as aw'd hardly dar'd to hope for. Iv tha remembers
we'd bin singin that owd hymn.

"The Lord my pasture shall prepare,"

to a dull ramblin mak ov a tune 'at took o sense an' feelin eaut o'
th' poethry. Well, as aw walked on worn bi mysel afther levin
thee, brimmin o'er wi happy feelins, aw began singin that hymn
o'er again. Aw'd finished one verse an' started ov another when
summat stopped me o in a minute, ' What tune's that?' aw said to
mysel. ' It's noane yon reaundabeaut thing we'n had at th' sarvice.
Where have aw yerd it ?' So aw hummed it through again, puzzl't
yet, took it wi me to bed beaut gettin nearer, whistl't it again next
mornin, sang it awhile at mi loom, an' felt sure at last that tune
were mine an' nobry else's. Aw geet mi fiddle to it that neet,
puttin tuthri chords together to fit as weel as aw could make 'em,
but fund aw knew little or nowt abeaut harmony, an' could nobbut
thrust to mi ear to keep me reet. Heawever, aw copied mi tune
eaut as weel as aw could, an' never seed owt prattier i' th world
nor that bit ov ink-daubed papper, nobbut thy face."

"Ah, to be sure!" Esther laughed. "Tha mun flatther me
up neaw tha's getten me tee'd fast. So tha reckons it were me 'at
set thee off?"

"Tha has it neaw just as it happen't," James said, bendin to
kiss her rose-colour't cheek as hoo sit on a stoo at his feet.
" Reckon it up for thysel. So aw turn't to at studyin thoroughbass
fro owd Isaac. There's no books to be getten here, tha knows,
beaut spendin a dyel o' brass. Aw'd to do beaut, larnin o th' owd
chap could tell me — noane so mich happen — bi word o' meauth,
an' piecin t'other eaut for mysel. Aw kept writin fresh tunes, an'
petchin at 'em o'er an' o'er again whol they geet summat like into
shape ; an' so aw've gwone on ever sin', an' shall do longer yet.
But there's olez this thought to bother mi mind — Con it be possible
for me, James Leach, a poor ignorant chap born here i' Wardle, to
tak a place among thoose greight folk 'at con make music live for
hundhreds o' years?"

" Why shouldn't it be ? They're born somewheere, iv not i'
Wardle, an' happen iv we nobbut knew 'em they're noane so
different fro common folk. Thoose tunes '11 get sung as soon as
they're known, aw'm satisfied o' that."

JAMES LEACH. 271

" But will they last ? " says deaubtin James. " Is there ony
life in 'em ? Where will they be in a hundherd year fro neaw ? "

" Don't look so far forrad, Jimmy," th' wife said. " An1 have
moore faith i' thysel, do ! Who is there abeaut here 'at con make
tunes up beside thee ! Owd Isaac hissel couldn't do it !"

James laughed at that woman's logic. " Tha reminds me o'
little Ben, Esther. He wanted me to engage his wife for that
concert aw gav last year at Rachda, so he kept givin me sly hints
abeaut her cliverness. Aw'd hearken't her singin oft enough to
know hoo were nobbut very middlin at th' best, an' Ben knew weel
enough aw'd yerd her ; but he oather forgeet aw were able to
judge, or else his anxiety to have her at th' concert made him
blint to common sense. 'James,' he'd say, 'there's an owd
chap at Smobridge 'at's yerd o th' big singers there is goin, an' he
says wi a bit o' practice my wife could ston up wi th' best on 'em.'
Or he'd co in to tell me hoo'd bin singin at a tayparty, an' when
her song were o'er some woman had getten up crying, an' said,
' Eh, folk, that ts nice ! Iv aw'd sich a voice aw could sing afore
King George hissel ! It's enough to fot tears eaut ov a stwon ! "
Tha sees, it o depends on t' standhard we wanten to fix. Iv it
were a question ov who could write th' best music i' Wardle aw
could onswer it soon, becose aw'm th' only chap 'at writes ; but
th' puzzle is, con James Leach compose music good in itsel, fit to
be takken onywheere stonnin on it own feet, wick enough to live,
sthrong enough to last ? Onswer me that ! "

But Esther couldn't do so. Nobbut time could sattle that
point, so bi way o' givin time a shove forrad James made tuthri
copies o' what he thought were some ov his best tunes an' had 'em
thried o'er next time he geet a band an' chorus together.

Isaac were playin th' first fiddle that neet, as he would do
sometimes in a condescendin way. " There's some new psalm
tunes here aw want runnin o'er," James said to him as iv nowt
were. " There's one here i' D major — we'll start wi that." An'
th' young composer bonded his copies reaund, wondherin what o
thoose chaps an' women ud think iv they knew he'd made that
tune hissel, walkin whom bi starleet afther his first sweetheartin
expedition.

Th' fiddlers sawed his piece through tuthri times whol th'
singers geet howd on it; then James took his stond, started 'em off
a fair mark, an' yerd th' full effect ov his long-studied wark for th'
first time. But in his humble, self-deaubtin mind he felt moore
bother't nor plez't, for his music had com'n to be so mich a
part ov hissel 'at he could no moore tell t' thrue quality on it
nor fly. He could nobbut wondher wi a tinge o' sadness, " Is it
good, or am aw makin a foo o' mysel ? "

Stwon, stone.

272 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Th' performers were less puzzl't to make their minds up. They
broke into one sheaut o' praise, an' would have th' hymn o'er
again o through. So James humour't 'em, an' again th' singers
seed green fields spreadin reaund an' yerd wandherin brooks
murmur past, undher t' magic o' that slow-windin rustic melody
sung at so mony theausand camp-meetins sin :

" The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye ;
My noonday walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountains pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary, wand'ring steps He leads,
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow."

" Where hast let o' this, Jimmy ? " Isaac axed, as he rosined
his bow ready for a fresh start. "' Pastoral' it's co'd, is it?
It's pratty — very simple, like, but sweet — an shuits Doddhridge's
words wery weel. Is it Boyce or Croft ? "

" Aw'll tell yo dhirectly," says James, puttin th' owd brid off.
" There's another on 'em here."

He passed reaund his neaw weel-known " Townhead," a model
of unstudied beauty, followin on wi "Shepherd's Lover," an'
bi that time everybody i' th' reawm felt they'd let on a new
composer, wi some weft abeaut him.

" Whose are they, lad ? " Isaac axed again, pooin his long
white curls wi impatience. " Come, eaut wi it ! Nobry's ony
need to be sham't ov ownin sich music as this."

Few young fellahs stonnin i' James's shoon could ha refused
claimin th' honour justly belongin to him. Every e'e rested on
his flushed, deawn-kest face, th' preaud minute he'd long looked
forrad to had com'n, his music had made it mark, wi a word
he could cover hissel wi lastin credit, an' his wife sit theere
waitin an' hopin for that word to come. But James Leach were
noane cut fro common stuff. He carried moore modesty nor
ambition abeaut him, an' stood too far below his own standhard o'
merit to care for catchin chep glory fro folk less qualified to judge.

So he whisper't Isaac to wait a bit, looked at his wife wi
th' owd smile hoo undherstood so weel, co'd his little army to
ordher, and pushed forrad wi th' practice, makin up for lost
time. Th' saycret were kept tuthri week longer, an' his tunes
were ringin o reaund th' neighbourhood afore moore nor hawve a
dozen folk knew who'd written 'em.

But he'd to tell Isaac that neet, for th' owd chap followed him
worn an' wouldn't budge whol he knew. James plagued him

JAMES LEACH. 273

a while, an' then brought onto th' table a box he kept his threasures
in, showin rough copies o' th' tunes they'd practised, wi mony
another fine bit o' music yet to be thried.

" Neaw, Isaac ; whose writin's this ? "

" Oh, it's thy writin," Isaac says, turnin th' pappers o'er in his
thin fingers, lissom wi fifty year o' fiddle an flute playin. " Aw
know that mich, or should do afther o th' exercises aw've made
thee scrat deawn. But where hasta copied 'em fro ? Theyr'e
noane Handel's, aw think — th' harmony's noane full enough."

" There's no copies nobbut them," James said quietly. "Aw've
put 'em together eaut o' mi own yead."

Isaac olez said it took middlin to surprise him i' th' music
line, but he looked capped enough for once, sittin so witbegwone
at' Esther went laughin to fan him back to life wi her apron.

" This is a bad job, Jimmy," he said at last. " A very bad
job ! Missis ! yo mun persuade him to give o'er o' this mak."

" Nay, aw never shall," Esther said. " He's noane so mony
joys i' life 'at aw con afford to rob him o' th' biggest."

" It'll do noane," Isaac grumbl't. " It'll never do i' th' world !
Jimmy, aw've olez bin freeten't on thee gettin consayted, an' neaw
tha shows it some bowdly !"

" Done yo co my Jim consayted ?" Esther axed, wi less respect
for Isaac nor ever hoo'd felt afore. " Why, yo foolish owd chap,
there's nobry thinks less ov hissel "

James put his finger up, stoppin her, an' Isaac rambl't on.

"Tha doesn't undherston him, lass, same as me. Aw've larn't
him o he knows, an' olez charged him to mind for gettin too mich
opinion ov hissel. He's welly fit neaw to come afther me an' tak
my place when aw've finished wi it, an' what finer position could
a chap howd ? There's plenty betther paid shops, it's thrue ; but
find me one 'at needs a gradely musicianer as ill, or thries up his
knowledge as hard. There isn't one i' Englan ! Not th' odd un !
Surelee tha should be satisfied wi sich a chance as that ! Why,
bless thee, lad, aw never made a tune i' mi life, an' aw never larn't
thee to do noather !"

" Nowe, yo ne'er larn't me that, owd friend," James says, with
a sly kindly look at him. "But they didn't sing amiss, aw
thought ?"

" Nay, they'll pass," Isaac owned. " But let's ha no moore on
'em, dunnot ! It's a lowerin to a conducthor."

Heawever, there were moore on 'em to come, spite of Isaac's
advice ; an' wherever they went they tarried, for folk couldn't get
'em eaut o' their yeads once they'd slipped in.

In a year or two Leach's psalm-tunes were ringin i' every chapel
an cottage reaund abeaut. Far-larn't musicians turned their noses
up at 'em rayther, sayin th' harmonies were poor an' thin, full o'

274 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

consecutive fifths an' false relations, though some o' th' melodies
had a touch o' peawer an' a plaintive beauty o' their own not olez
fund i' moore correct writins. Folk i' general ne'er bother't their
yeads sortin th' tunes eaut bi rule that road, but just sang 'em wi
o their hearts an' sthrength o' wynt. Most o' th' airs want hearty
singers, for they're set weel up th' scale (happen becose James had
a hee-pitched voice hissel), findin t' thribbles plenty o' wark to
tackle 'em.

"Rochdale," "Melody," "Oldham," "Wrestling Jacob," "Pis-
gah," "Sabbath," "Mount Pleasant," " Middleton," "Nativity,"
an' a score moore pieces were soon as weel known reaund th'
Wardle hills as th' owd song tunes honded fro fayther to son deawn
mony a generation. Th' music had a Wardle taste in it some
road, smelt o' th' moorends, belonged to th' clod just as mich as
daisies or yeth-bloom grooin theere ; an' singers took to it — con-
secutive fifths, wake modulations, false relations an' o — feelin there
•were sthrong relationship somewheere, false or not, between thoose
sweet saddish sthrains an' their own deepest thoughts.

So Leach's name spread wide o'er this end o' Lancashire, music
takkin up moore an' moore ov his time as months went on. Every-
body looked up to him as a musician born ; but thoughtful, self-
watchin James nobbut studied hissel deeper th' moore praise he
geet, thinkin less nor ever ov his rare gifts, an' (accordin to Isaac)
grooin moore consayted every day.

V.

Nobry could expect o th' Wardle music folk to be as ploddin
an' yearnest-minded as James hissel were. There were middlin
o' gam at some o' th' practices, th' young conducthor's patience oft
gettin pushed to th' far end. O maks ov accidents stopped his
fiddlers an' pipers fro turnin up o at one time, so he'd to shift as
weel as he could, makin th' best ov everything, knowin weel enough
'at music were nobbut a pastime for his band an' chorus, sayrious
as it looked to hissel. Singers an' players could mostly be
depended on for th' public performances, but practice meetins
had to tak their chance, gettin a good or bad show o' performers,
just as things let.

James geet it into his yead one day to tackle "Israel in Egypt,"
gav special notice to o th' music-likin folk near enough to come,
went to middlin expense i' buyin an' writin copies, borrowed th'
Wesleyan meetin reawm, an' fixed a Sethurday neet for a full
practice.

When th' time coome Leach were theere, wi his music o ready,
two rows o' red-cheeked lasses footed up, an' tuthri chaps wandher't
in, some to play, some to sing.

JAMES LEACH. 275

" We'll be shappin to make a start iv yo'n a mind," James said,
afther waitin a while for some late scholars. " Billy's missin as
usal — has onybody sin him?"

" He's happen built hissel in somewheere," said a big bass
singer known as Stamper. " Last week he were finishin a pig-cote
off, stonnin inside it whol his mates roofed it in wi two heavy flags,
an' it were nobbut just as t' second flag were dhroppin he fund
eaut there'd bin no durhole left ; so he'd to creep o'er th' wole to
get hissel eaut."

" He's bin off his wark o day," says Ned o' Ted's, one o
James's relations, an' a singer bi consequence. " He'll bi fuddlin
i' some nook or another."

" It's no good a waitin for him iv that's it," James went on.
" Where's o th' tenors getten to again ? There's like nowt but
bother wi tenors, an' as for dependin on 'em one met just as weel
whistle."

" There's some on 'em gwone up Shore moor to th' Blue Pots
spring," said a clarionet player co'd Stansfielt. " Aw seed Robin
o' Jone's an' three moore startin soon afther noon. There's a
knurr and spell match up theere to-day."

" Surelee they met ha bin back afore neaw," James said, ray-
ther nettl't. " Iv th' heaunds are eaut Robin '11 be afther 'em, aw
reckon, shuz heaw th' music gwoes on. It's too bad is this !"

" Aw yerd summat abeaut a cockfeight comin off toard
Shore," says Ned. " Iv that's th' case tha may give yon lot
up for to-neet."

Th' dur oppen't, lettin in a steaut little chap carryin a wisket
full o' fiddle chips i' one bond, whol he balanced th' back-bwon ov
a double-bass on his shooldher wi t' other. He marched forrad,
stonnin like a Dirty Bet in a pace-eggin party, dhrops o' weet fro
his jacket an' breeches splashin onto th' chamber floor, makin a
ring o reaund him.

There were sich a crack o' laughin 'at nobry could speighk for a
minute, an' th' new-comer were noane mich plez't by it.

" What are yo foos laughin at ?" he axed, sceawlin at 'em o
reaund. " Iv a chap geet dhreawn't yo'd nobbut make a joke on
it. Laych, aw've brought thi big fiddle worn."

" Aw see tha has, Stott. It's summat fresh to find one carried
in a basket."

" Well, aw cawn't help it, lad. It's o owin to yon bit ov a
plank at' reckons to be a bridge o'er th' brook. Mi foot slipped on
it, so deawn aw went wi th' fiddle underneighth, an' it looks to ha
dinged th' frame a bit."

"Ah, it's rayther dinged for sure," James said. "Rear thi
timber i' yon corner. It may do for mendin clog-soles wi, but he'll
be a cliver player 'at ever fiddles on it again. This is beaun to be
a rare practice aw con see !"

276 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Stott sided away his firewood, sittin deawn among th' singers
as he'd nowt to play on, an' James made a start o' th' greight
choruses.

In a while a gawmless-lookin young chap wandher't into th'
reawm, blinkin as iv his sect were dull. T' first thing he did were
to fo o'er a bucket o' dirty wayther left bi a woman 'at 'd bin weshin
th' floor, bangin deawn full length into a river o' suds.

" Eh ! he'll be kilt," a woman skriked.

" Not he !" Ned says, laughin. " It's Robin o' Jone's — he's
fund t' Blue Pots wayther too sthrong for him."

They gether't Robin up, wiped him wi a dishcleaut, set him on
a form again th' wole, wheere he soon fell asleep, an' then th'
practisin went forrad again. Th' choir nobbut framed badly, as
th' music were new to 'em an' hard to sing, so th' conducthor fund
his job taydious enough. When they stopped for th' neet Stamper
went up to James wi his music paper, axin

" Heaw does this goo, Jimmy 1 Aw wish tha'd just sing it o'er
for me — th' time's a bit crossed theere."

James hummed th' passage o'er, an' Stamper says,

" Oh ah ! Aw see it neaw ! Aw mun keep countin th' time as
aw go on, an' then aw con maisther it. Just gie me th' pitch, an'
hearken ! "

So James gave him th' pitch in a sweet alto note, an' Stamper,
oppenin a meauth like a baker's oon, set up a roar deawn among
th' bass.

" The horse (two, three) an' his ridher (one) — the horse (two,
three) an' his ridher (one). Come, aw'm gettin into it nicely neaw.
Aw'll just thry once again."

Th' terrible din wakken't Robin o' Jone's, an' as Stamper's
meauth were turn't i' that misguided young chap's direction, th'
seet an' seaund together were enough to freeten him eaut ov his
wits.

" Iv he does that again aw'll cob this in his chops," Robin
mutther't, layin houd o' th' dishcleaut 'at 'd bin left on th' form
near him.

"The horse (two, three) an* his ri ," Stamper roared, when

soss coome th' squozzen cleaut fair between his sthretched jaws.
He made one sthride across th' floor, but were too lat ; for Robin
had flown, sober enough bi then to know his neck were i' danger.

" Dun yo co this nice music, Mister Laych ?" th' first soprano
axed on her road eaut.

" Nice !" says James, a bit takken on. " It's grand enough —
aw know nowt abeaut nice. What's amiss wi it ?"

"There's like nowt mich for me to do. Aw'm noane sure
whether aw con come to th' performance or not."

Soss, souse.

JAMES LEACH. 277

" Come to plez me, that's a good lass, an' we'll thry to choose
thee summat tha con show off in next time. Why, these are some
o' th' greightest choruses ever written ! "

" Happen they are," th' soprano said, lookin no happier for
that news, " but yo cawn't expect me to rack mi voice up wi chorus
singin. Heaw would it be to put a song or two in fro summat
else?"

" Nay ! we'll lev th' piece as it is."

" Well, it's too taydious for me," th' soprano snapped. " It's
mich iv aw con make time to come."

Hoo flutther't off disgusted, an' one o' th' tenors went up to
James.

" Laych," he says, " there con be no music written i' seven
flats, con there?"

" To be sure — or fourteen oather."

"Tha'rt makin gam on me, aw think. Why there's nobbut
seven notes to th' scale, an' surelee they cawn't o be flat at
once ! "

So James scrawl't tuthri major an' minor scales deawn to show
th' tenor heaw t' thrick were done, axin iv that satisfied him ; an'
th' chap said he could gawm it reel enough, but were hardly satis-
fied, becose he'd lost a quart ov ale o'er th' job.

Ned o' Ted's had bin hearkenin this bit ov a music lesson.

" Gabriel," he says to th' tenor, a thick-set young quarryman
fro Whitoth, " tha reminds me o' what Curly said to th' bull."

" What were that ?"

" Curly plays a thrombone i' th' Dyearnley band, tha knows.
He were makin for worn one neet afther practisin, an' blew a deep
note on his thrumpet just for company like. Another note, sum-
mat th' same, seaunded behinnd him, so, thinkin one ov his mates
were comin, he sheauts, beaut lookin reaund, 'Thai^t flat — an'
aboon a bit, too ! ' "

" Next minute he felt hissel cobbed o'er th' hedge, londin
hawve road up a broo-side, an' lookin deawn he seed a big bull
snookin abeaut among th' wicksets.

" Oh !" he says. " It's thee ! Well, tha may be sthrong i' th'
back, but tha'rt no musicianer ! "

"Neaw come!" Gabriel said, laughin. "Tha cawn't expect
us o to be music-bred like yo Layches. But aw ne'er put swop
into th' singers' ale same as thee."

" Howd on !" Ned says, makin off. " Tha has me this time
— aw'm soory aw spoke."

" Is that some prank o' Ned's tha'rt talkin abeaut ?" James
axed as he collected his books an' pappers.

" Ah, it were at th' last Norden sing," Gabriel said, chucklin
as he talked. " Yor Ned an' me went. Nanny o' th' Steps had
made a special brewin ov ale for th' singers, an' left it coolin in a

278 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

doaf mug. Ned went to wesh his bonds, leet th' swop fo slap into
th' liquor, an' could'nt get it eaut afore it melted, so when th' ale
coome to be supped there were some sport. One said it felt weel-
lythed, another thought there were too mony hops in, an' noane
on 'em seemed to matther it so mich. Nanny said their meauths
mut be eaut o' fettle, as there could be nowt amiss wi th' brewin,
but hoo'd most o' th' ale left on her honds at th' finish. Aw'd
noticed Ned wouldn't sup, but iv aw'd known everything he should
ha done, for aw'd a tem'd a pint or two into him."

" Tha looks weary, Jimmy lad," Stansfielt said, helpin t' con-
ducthor to gether his music up. " It's bin rough for thee to-neet."

" It has for sure ! Tha's bin to London, aw yer, sin aw seed
thee last ? "

" Aw have — but never no moore ! "

" Why, heaw's that. It's a grand shop, isn't it, wi o th' fine
heauses, big shops, silk-donned chaps, women wi petches on their
cheeks, ridin cheers, rogues, an' flyin slutch ?"

"Tha does weel to put rogues in. Aw co'd at a coffee-heause
to get some dinner, an' let across two rare uns. First they talked
o'er t' weather, then they axed me iv aw were a native, an' next
wanted to know mi arrand. Aw towd 'em one o' mi jobs were to
buy a clarionet, an' sthrange to say that were just what they'd
getten i' hond theirsel, for they bwoth wanted clarionets. So they
agreed 'at th' best plan ud be for us o to put eaur brass together
an' let one chap buy th' pipes, as they'd come cheper that road.
Their tale seaunded rezonable so far, but when one offer't to be th'
buyer, an' axed me for some brass, aw dhrew eaut o' partnership."

" A good job too ! Tha'd ne'er ha sin thi brass again."

" Oh nowe ! but we're hardly simple enough i' Wardle to be
robbed wakken that road. Aw'd to show 'em mi clogs afore they'd
goo. Hast ever bin to th' Opera when tha's gwone o'er?"

"Once or twice. There's summat like music to be yerd
theere."

" Aw darsay. Aw went one neet, but cawn't say aw'm mich
intheristed in it. Aw squoze mysel in just behinnd th' first
clarionet player, an' watched him o th' time. He noticed me
leighnin o'er to peep at his book, so when he'd finished he turned
to ax iv aw played mysel. ' Just a bit,' aw said, ' but aw notice yo
don't play o 'at's i' yor copy.' "

"That were a middlin hardish rap," James said, laughin.

" It were thrue enough, shuzheaw. ' No, my vrient,' he says,
talking some mak o' tongue-teed English ; ' nor you could not
play him too.' ' Play him two,' aw said ; ' nowe, but aw con play
him one bi mysel iv aw mun have elbow-reawm an' a pint o'
worn-brewed.' Th' upshot were he took me behinnd th' stage to

Doaf, dough.

JAMES LEACH. 379

get some supper wi th' band, an' afther that geet me on playin.
Aw made some on em' oppen their e'en, Jimmy, iv tha con
believe me."

" Aw con believe weel enough, for aw know what tha con do."

" They offer't me a shop at three peaund a week, shuzheaw 't
be, so aw mun ha plez't 'em. ' Ger off!' aw said. ' Aw'm addlin
fifteen shillin a week i' bonny Wardle, where aw've a wife an' three
childher to keep. Aw cawn't lev worn.' "

" It looks a pity to miss sich a chance as that, too," James
said, thinkin it o'er. " Aw'd goo iv aw were thee."

" Aw wain't," says Stansfielt. " Aw'm satisfied here, an' myen
stoppin ; so good neet to thee."

James wished him good neet, an' walked toard worn, studyin
o'er what Stansfielt had said, an' wondherin iv he'd getten sich a
chance hissel what it met have ended in.

His sisther stood at th' fowt end wi a shawl o'er her yead.

" Han yo finished, Jimmy ?"

" Just finished ; an' a weary job it's bin for some on us."

" Has Billy gwone worn ? "

" Aw've sin nowt on him to-neet, Mary. It's no use reckonin
to depend on him."

" He promised to co to-neet," Mary said, puttin her brat to her
e'en. ' Eh ! aw wondher wherever he is ! It's noane th' first
time he's made a foo on me this road, but happen it'll be th' last."

" Well, well ! " James said, soothin her. " Don't make too mich
on it, lass. Billy's a bit earless, but he's a weel-myenin lad, an'
he'll sattle deawn when yo getten wed."

" He'll wed noane o' me whol he shows some awtheration, an'
tha con tell him aw say so."

" Nay ! aw'll meddle noane between sweethearts. Get thisel
to bed an' think no moore on it ; he'll be turnin up to-morn feelin
asham't ov hissel."

What had becom'n o' this quare Billy, 'at everybody wanted
an' nobry could find. He'd gwone to Smobridge that mornin,
persuadin hissel he'd some business theere, fund there were a
thrail hunt to be run at Belfielt, an' scutther't off wot-foot to see it,
soon forgettin band practice, cwortin, an' everything belongin to
Wardle. He lost some brass wi bettin on th' race, set off to get
worn hi baggin time, stopped to get just one gill on th' road, an'
stirred no moore whol midneet. When at last he turn't up th'
owd lone toard worn, his legs, happen a bit mad at havin to wait
for him so long, started roamin abeaut i' o directions.

" What hast agate, tha numb thing ? " Billy axed ov his reet
shank, feelin at it to make sure it belonged him. " It's o thy doin
— t'other side's stiddy enough. Behave thisel, an come this road,
or aw'll hop worn an carry thee. Woa, mi lads, an' mind fro fo'in !

280 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Yon's heavy ale — it's o flown to mi heels. This road wants levellin
some ill — it's noane plumb."

He flopped into th' ditch next minute, thryin to steer hissel
reaund a bend, an' crawl't eaut levin his cap behinnd him.

" Thaghyer ! " he said to his independent feet. " Aw knew
heaw it 'd be ! Happen yo'll larn wit sometime, yo wandherin
beggars ! What yo mun keep aimin at Blacksnedge for aw cawn't
tell, but aw'm gooin noane theere to-neet ; so tak that fro Billy an'
be hanged to yo ! It's lucky there's a saup o' moonleet ! Eh,
Mally, aw do love thee ! Heaw the hangment did yon black dog
shap to win ? Aw durst a backed th' brindl't bitch for a theausand
peaund, an' that's a full week's wage. Shine away owd bluebell !
Aw'm lookin at thee, wi thi pratty childher winkin deawn at
Billy."

Wi sichlike m'aundherin talk th' muddl't mason crawl't on to
Wardle.

" Aw'm th' last chap eaut to-neet, aw do believe, but it
wouldn't do for us o to be i' bed at once. Ah, it's my turn !
Yon's Mary's window wi th' moon peepin through. Bi th' mass !
hoo'd be expectin me to-neet ! Or were it to-morn aw promised
to goo ? Aw'll be hanged iv aw con tell to a day ! Howd on !
Aw'll sattle it neaw !"

He turned off th' road into a croft, crept undher Mary's
window, an' started singin, inspired bi love an' ale.

" Iv aw were a posy i' gardens to groo,

Aw'd wait for me thrue love (hie) mi blossoms to poo ;

Iv aw wur a rincllet deawn th' hillside to run,

Aw'd chatther (hie) mi love-tale whol t' wayther were done ;

But here aw've to wortch wi mi honds an' mi feet,

An" so (hie) mi own thrue love's oft eaut o' mi sect ;

But aw'll sattle this job in a sensible way (hie),

For aw'll tak her an wed her some mornin i' May.

Foldherdol laddy !

Foldher (hie) dol laddy '.
Foldherdol oldherdol oldherdol lay !"

Mary, frettin, wakken i' bed, yerd this fine performance.

" Eh, yon foolish lad !" hoo thought, creepin to th' window to
peep at her chap. Throubl't as hoo were th' poor lass could
hardly howd fro laughin to see him makin a desperate sthruggle to
ston sthraight, his flushed face turn't up toard her, his heavy
tongue muttherin away some mak o' love-born saycrets to his own
dull ears.

" Aw mun send him worn," Mary whisper't, lappin hersel up,
her woman's heart meltin wi pity. " There's no tellin heaw long
he'll tarry theere iv aw don't."

Hoo poo'd th' window back, put her pratty yead eaut, an' said,
" Billy !" in a soft voice.

JAMES LEACH. 281

" Hoo's theere!" Billy said, an' forgettin to balance hissel he
sit deawn wi a sudden thump on th' damp grass. " It's her !
That's heaw angels mun look through th' shinin quarrels ov
heaven's windows ! Mally, aw've com'n a cwortin."

" Do go worn," Mary said. " Tha'll catch thi dyeath o' cowd,
aw'm sure. Eh, Billy ! what a dhreadful state th'art in ! an' where's
thi cap ?"

"There's no tellin," Billy says, feelin at his yead an' findin
nowt but slutch-daubed yure. " Aw had it a bit sin' aw think.
That accounts for mi brains feelin so leet happen. Bless thee !
mi bonny lass ! Aw've bin thinkin o'er thee o day."

" Aw've bin thinkin o' thee, too, moore nor a little. Where
hasta bin ?"

" It's o yon dogs."

" Dogs !" Mary said wi scorn. " That's another word for lies
wi thee ! Go worn, neaw ! "

" Nowe, aw wain't, whol tha gies o'er flytin. Save that mak
o' talk whol we getten wed."

" Wed ! Nay, aw'll wed noane wi a dhrunken chap ! "

" Aw'll bet a bodle tha doesn't," Billy maundher't, talkin very
thick. " Aw'll stop that gam bi weddin thee mysel. Aw promised
to co to-neet, tha knows, so aw've com'n."

" Go to bed, do," Mary said, her heart fair wartchin for him.
" Do go, my lad ! Aw'll see thee to-morn."

" Aw deaubt tha will ! There's throuble brewin for Billy, an'
that's a sort o' worn-brewed he reckons nowt on. Go worn, saysta?
Aw'll go deawn to th' brook an' end it ! If tha con use a sweet-
heart this road tha'll make a husbant beaunce, aw'll warrand ! "

He climbed onto his feet wi a dyel o' throuble, Mary lookin at
him wi tears in her e'en.

" Good neet," th' mason co'd eaut, staggerin off. " O's o'er
between us neaw ! Good neet, lass ! Aw'm soory for thee ; but
a flytin wife wain't do for Billy."

He rambl't off reaund th' corner toard worn.

" What weary wark !" Mary sighed, hearkenin to th' seaund ov
his clumsy feet a minute. " Whatever con aw do wi sich a random
customer as yon !"

Clunther, clunther, went Billy's clogs on th' stony throd. Mary
yerd him sthrike up a tuneless

" Foldherdol oldherdol lay."

as he went, disturbin th' still neet. Laughin to hersel, i' spite ov
her throubl't mind, hoo shut her window an' crept back into bed.

Quarrels, window-panes. Flytin, scolding.

282 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

VI.

When John Leach took his weel-loved maisther, Wesley, to
preighch at Wardle, in th' spring o' 1788, eaur young composer
were theere conductin a big chorus o' singers, bringin eaut some
new tunes to do honour to th' greight occasion. Sich creawds o'
folk coome 'at ony thought o' squeezin 'em inside a buildin were
eawt ov o question ; so Wesley, bare-yeaded, wearin his black
geawn an' brode white tie, marched afore 'em to th' moorside,
takkin his ston theere wi his flock gether't below an' above him.

" My brethren," he said then, " it is not unfitting that, like the
faithful people of old time, we should assemble before God un-
screened save by the hollow dome of heaven. Before we kneel in
prayer upon this green earth let us join in a song of reverent
praise."

Wesley's hymns were some twelve year owd then, an' weel
known through o t' counthry. Wesley, in his thravellin abeaut,
had yerd 'em sung o maks o' roads to o sorts o' tunes ; but his
heart stirred wi new an' deep feelins, quiet as he stood theere,
when hundherds o' voices broke into one ov his brother Charles's
fine hymns, new-set bi Leach to a bowd dignified melody co'd
" New Trumpet."

" Blow ye the trumpet, blow,

The gladly solemn sound,
Let all the nations know

To earth's remotest bound ;
The year of Jubilee is come !
Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.

Ye who have sold for nought

Your heritage above,
Receive it back unbought,

The gift of Jesu's love ;
The year of Jubilee is come !
Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.

The gospel trumpet hear,

The news of heavenly grace,
And, saved from earth, appear

Before your Saviour's face :
The year of Jubilee is come !
Return, ye ransomed sinners, home."

Moore an' moore voices kept joinin in as th' hymn went on,
whol at th' last verse nearly every tongue theere were busy, an' a
full chorus o' thrillin seaund went rowlin away up th' slantin moor-
side as iv makin sthraight for heaven.

Wesley preighched a sarmon that day 'at most o' th' folk
hearkenin ne'er forgeet whol they lived. He'd no thricks o' stile
abeaut his talkin ; everything were plain, simple, full o' weight an'

JAMES LEACH. 283

wit. He wasted no time wavin his arms abeaut, turnin his e'en up,
speautin hee-flown gush ; he stood still, just liftin his reet hond
once or twice, looked folk square i' th' e'en, spoke nowt but what
he felt in his heart to be good an' reet. Wi less fire nor Blair,
Whitefield, or Robertson, his deeper insect into human nathur gav
him full as mich peawer to stir a congregation, his words gainin
sthrength fro everybody's knowledge ov his honest, sincere, hard-
wortchin, monly life. Ah ! that were one greight saycret o'
Wesley's peawer. He were a MON first an' a parson afther, actin
up to his beliefs, an' never advisin onybody to do owt beaut doin
it hissel.

His clear voice rang across th' hillside, his steady e'en shin't
wi courage an' love, his weel-set figure stood sthraight an' firm for
justice an' liberty. No mon were he to be throttl't wi' form or
dogma, no cantin heaunt to preighch lies for brass, no tongue-
tee'd cowart freeten't to say what he thought. He co'd every mon
brother, myenin what he said, were content wi a crust when nowt
better offer't, gav o his sthrength, soul, an' worldly goods for God's
wark, an' he'd ha gien his life too sanner nor foot back a single
inch fro th' mark he'd set for hissel.

Th' sarvice finished wi th' favourite hymn,

" Lo ! He comes with clouds descending,
Once for favoured sinners slain,"

an' James had another piece ready for it — his "Judgment," a fine
sample ov his maistherly hondlin an' clen swing o' tune.

Then Wesley, spreadin his arms, blessed that greight kneelin
creawd o' good an' bad, an' sent 'em o off to their own woms.
When o were quiet again he didn't forget to ax John Leach where
they fund sich grand psalm tunes.

" We make our own, sir," John towd him wi pride. " The
tunes you have heard this morning were written by one of my
nephews, who has a natural genius for music. I will fetch him,
for the lad is too shy to come himself."

So he sorted James eaut, an' took him to wheere Wesley were
stonnin at th' hill-foot, an' they o three walked on together toard
th' meetin-reawm, wheere th' parsons had some business to sattle.

" Here is our James, Mr. Wesley," says John, so th' famous
preighcher shook honds wi th' composer, takkin in wi one keen look
young Leach's wide, thoughtful foryead, big, weel-shaped honds,
an' honsome, sthraight-cut face, let up bi dark e'en ov a depth
nobbut fund i' th' yeads o' folk able to see theirsel bwoth inside
an' eaut. " This is the most talented man of all the gifted Leach
family — one likely to be heard of when all the rest are forgotten."

" Nonsense !" James laughed. " Yo shouldn't roose me to mi
face, uncle John."

Boose, praise.

284 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" I have to thank you for affording me great and peculiar
pleasure, my young friend," Wesley said. " It is gratifying indeed
to find my dear Charles's verses clothed in music of so much
power and beauty."

" Aw've done mi best," said James, feelin ashamed ov hissel
becose his wark were no betther, " but aw'm nobbut a very ignorant
chap, gropin mi road into music-lond as weel as aw con."

" You are modest, brother,'' Wesley said, wi a twitch ov his lip
'at happen myen't he hadn't fund that virtue too common among
music folk. " Do not hold to low an estimate of your ability."

James shook his yead. " Aw con judge what's good or bad in
other folk's music, but not i' mi own. Bi th' time aw've finished
polishin an' petchin a tune it's getten so melted an' mixed into mi
brains 'at aw cawn't ston o' one side an' weigh justly whot it's
woth. Aw could as soon reckon up my own vally, an' yo known
what a simpleton a chap makes ov hissel when he thries that."

" You speak words of truth and soberness," Wesley said, " and
put into forcible language a peculiarity of the mind which I have
often experienced myself."

" It's just here, done yo see," James went on, oppenin o his
heart undher t' leet o' thoose clear e'en. " There's so mony rules
to larn 'at one may study o his life beaut gettin larn't up ; an' aw've
olez bin short ov a good teighcher, beside. Aw've been thinkin
aw'd get some college-thrained professor to help mi eaut with th'
harmonies."

Wesley looked as iv he were findin th' young composer to be a
curious an' intheristin study, an' thried him wi a seechin question,
just to see what onswer he'd get.

" If you do that it must follow that the tunes can no longer be
considered wholly your own."

" That's thrue enough," says James, flushin up, for th' parson
were divin deep into his saycrets. " Aw've thought o' that some
oft, an' it's a hard thought too. But, iv aw mun eaut wi every-
thing— an' aw'm beaun to seaund very consayted neaw — "

" I don't think you are, brother ; but go on."

" Yo're like as yo con turn me inside eaut," James went on,
laughin bwoth at hissel and Wesley. " Aw ne'er oppen't misel so
mich afore — not even to mi wife. Heawever, what aw wanted to
say were just this — iv these melodies 'at keepen comin into mi
yead are woth aught, they desarven donnin i' th' best clooas aw
con get for 'em ; an' happen it's mi duty to give 'em that chance,
whether my name dhrops eaut o' sect or not."

Wesley looked at John, smilin.

" You see how it is with him, sir," John said, onswerin his
maisther's look. " James has wandered in dreamland so long,
sitting in judgment over himself and his work, that self-abnegation
is an easy matter for him. The lad's curious habits puzzled me

JAMES LEACH. 285

for a long time until this creative faculty declared itself and gave
me the clue to his character, showing plainly that his elevated
course of thought and study had helped him to build up many
solid mental virtues."

" Yo'll make me think aw am somebody in a bit," says James,
his mind comparin John's opinions wi his own. " Aw've naught
to swagger o'er iv yo'll reckon me up reet."

That made his uncle laugh. " The spectacle of James Leach
swaggering would be edifying indeed ! The difficulty is to make
you entertain even a moderate estimate of yourself."

" Aw know misel middlin weel, aw think," says James, deep i'
thought, " an' my belief is yo're expectin too mich. Iv aw could
put o aw feel into th' music it met do, but that con never happen."

" You are a man of admirable and rarely-combined qualities,"
Wesley said, as they poo'd up at th' fowt-end, " and I hasten to
declare the fact, because your sensitive and humble mind requires
encouragement from others. Take my serious advice and allow
no man to meddle with your compositions. Let them spread
abroad with whatever faults you may think belong to them, and be
not ashamed to acknowledge them as the ripe fruit of honest and
patient labour. I can myself avouch that if your works carry no
college graces they have much power to stir the heart. Be of good
cheer, brother, and may God spare thee long to use thy precious
gift to the glory of His name."

Wi a warm hondshake th' greight preighcher an' his journeyman
were gwone, levin James rayther preaud to yer his wark roosed so
mich, but wi little betther opinion ov hissel nor he'd had afore.

VII.

That spring seed Billy an' Mary made mon an' wife. Young
Howarth were doin weel at his business, an' he'd getten known o
up an' deawn as a fine player on th' hobye. There were no need
for conducthors to watch him neaw when he took his part in a
band ; nobry could be thruer to his time nor Billy, nobry could
fot finer tone eaut of a reed, nor blow wi longer length o' wynt.
Th' same earless, good-temper't lad as ever, a favourite wi o 'at
knew him, he'd a curious knack o' gettin hissel into bits o' scrapes,
an' this quare luck followed him on his weddin mornin, very near
puttin a stop to o th' job.

It'd bin sattl't 'at th' young couple an' their relations should
walk deawn to Rachda parish church to be wed, so Billy co'd at
Leach's heause i' good time to fot his sweetheart an' get on th'
road. He wore a blue lap jacket wi gilt buttons, a fine neck-
hanketcher an' singlet, knee breeches, worn-knitted grey stockins,
weel-greased shoon, an' a new cloth cap, He carried a big bunch

286 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

o' fleawers in his bond, an' his plump weather-tanned face shin't
wi fresh polish fro a good rowler towel ; but his good looks were a
bit spoil't bi a darkish ring reaund his left e'e. Owd Leach noticed
it in a minute, an' sheauted,

" What, Billy ! Hast bin feightin so soon this mornin ?"

" Nowe," Billy said, sharp an' short, thryin to keep his face
eaut o' th' women's sect, an' wishin th' owd chap 'd howd his din.

" Why, iv he hasn't getten a black e'e !" Mrs. Leach co's eaut.
" Eh, Billy ! aw'd olez mi deaubts on thee doin weel."

James an' his wife were theere, waitin to join th' weddin pro-
cession, so they bwoth cracked off into a laugh, an' Mary sit her
deawn cryin as iv her heart were brokken.

" Whatever hasta bin doin, lad ?" James axed him.

"Aw geet it i' th' aleheause last neet," Billy said, stonnin,
fleawers i' one bond, cap i' t' other, hardly darin to look at ony-
body. " It's noane my faurt. Two chaps were fo'in eaut, so aw
parted 'em, an' one leatheryead fot me a cleaut. Aw'm olez
happenin summat!"

"Well, th'art a bonny picther!" Mrs. Leach quaver't. "Tha
art so ! Dost think ony dacent folk '11 walk wi thee o th' road to
Rachda wi thi face i' that pickle?"

" We mun put it off," Mary sobbed, dhroppin wot tears o'er
her new frock. " Eh, tha foolish lad ! "

" Put it off!" Billy said, sthricken. " It's no faurt o' mine aw
tell yo. Laych, what ban yo to say abeaut it ?"

" Let 'em talk a while," th' owd chap said, leetin his pipe an'
sittin deawn at th' hobend. "They'll come reaund when they'n
finished co'in thee."

"Nowe, aw wain't!" Billy said. " Iv they were women aw
cared nowt abeaut it wouldn't matther a bodle, but aw cawn't ston
it fro these."

" Poo yor bonnets off, lasses," t' mother says. " There'll be no
weddin to-day. Surelee tha met ha takken care o' thysel for one
day, Billy."

" Han yo o done neaw ?" th' mason axed, lookin reaund at
'em ? " Esther, has tha nowt to say ?"

" Aw've a bit o' silk here," Esther said, comin forrad. "Aw'll
make a shade for that e'e an' then it'll ne'er be noticed."

"Put th' silk i' thi pocket," Billy grunted, wavin her off.
" Aw'm donned up enough for one weddin, an' iv aw get a shade
on aw s' want a wood leg to match it. Aw'm noane so ill-lookin
'at a black e'e con spoil me."

" Th' weddin mun wait," Mary whimper't. " Aw darn't for
shame goo into th' church wi thee that figure. Eh, what foolish
wark ! An' o th' neighbours expectin us to start, too !"

" Hearken thee neaw to me, Mally Laych," says Billy wi th'
Pipes, settin his plump shouldhers back, his face sattlin into a

JAMES LEACH. 287

determin't look. " Aw'm havin a say i' this, an' just heed what aw
tell thee. Iv tha'rt th' lass aw've cworted thee for an' loved so
long tha'll wipe that saut wayther fro thi e'en, tak this posy aw've
brought thee to carry, an' aw'll link thee deawn to th' Owd Church
an' wed thee, fast an' soon. Iv not, aw'll cob mi fleawers i' th'
fire, brun mi love wi 'em, turn mi back on thee once an' for ever,
an' lev thee to get a betther husbant wi two white e'en, iv tha con
find one. Aw'm noane as cliver as Solomon, but it's noane thy
tongue 'at should co me a foo, an' iv tha con dhrem o' settin this
weddin back for another day — ah, or another heaur ! — tha'rt noane
th' woman aw've thrusted mi heart to. Billy Howarth wife mun
feel noane asham't ov her chap — nor ov owt he does, noather —
nor set ony thought ov her neighbours aboon her opinion ov him.
Undherston that an' make thi mind up."

" That's reet, Billy," says th' owd chap, noddin wi satisfaction
as he poo'd at his long clay. "Tha'll be t' maisther i' thi own
heause, aw yer."

" Aw'll be maisther enough for quiet livin an' a comfortable
hobend," Billy said, settin his teeth, " an aw'm beaun to start as
aw myen gooin on. Aw'm happen rayther too fond ov ale, iv owt;
but aw've ne'er stown, nor lied, nor cheted at marrables. Tha
knows what aw am, Mary — if tha likes me neaw tha'll like me olez
— iv tha doesn't we'll part an' tha mun go to heaven bi thisel, for
it'll shuit noane o' Billy to be felleyed o'er bi his wife "

"There's bin a greight parliment mon wasted i' thee lad,"
James chuckl't. " Tha seldom starts talkin beaut makin a
sattlement."

Billy's speech were a fettler for th' women. They'd ne'er sin
him wi his back up afore, an' happen thought him a simple lad
they could sauce onytime they'd a mind. Billy had made no din
mich abeaut his lecturin, but it were so plain he myent every word
he'd spokken 'at th' owd dame put her bonnet on again, Mary
dhried her face, an' i' tuthri minutes th' procession were off deawn
th' lone. So th' weddin coome off o reet, hardly onybody noticin
th' black mark 'at 'd made so mich bother, an' th' party turn't toard
worn as cheerful as iv nowt were.

Eautside th' little ring o' Wardle life th' greight world had kept
whuzzin away at th' owd bat. A bit afore James geet wed th'
Merica war finished, George Washington playin th' winnin sthroke
i' that long-fought gam bi shuttin Cornwallis an' seven theausan
British sodiers up i' Yorktown like wasps in a neest.

Besides this Merica job England had bits o' dusts here an'
theere wi hauve-a-dozen foreign nations, olez shappin to come eaut
on th' top in every wrestle. That greight law -suit again Warren
Hastings started abeaut this time, when Burke, Fox, an' Sheridan
made sich rare speeches. Th' case lasted seven year, levin Warren
beaut brass at th' finish, but he were no wur off nor theausans o'

288 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Lancashire folk 'at 'd to sweat for his feightin, an' help to keep him
an' t'other rook o' sodiers.

Heawever, James Leach prosper't, bad as times were, an' when
th' greight French Revolution started — bein groon up then to th'
age o' twenty-seven — he made three bowd sthrides forrad i' th'
world. First, he gav o'er weighvin, levin his loom bench wi some
regrets, for he'd known mony a quiet an' happy heaur theere.
Weighvin has one merit as a job for thinkin chaps — it levs their
brains free to wandher; an' eaur young musician had wovven
mony a tune in his yead whol feet an' honds were busy wortchin
away wi heavy shuttle an' rattlin timbers. Second, he flitted to
Rachda, wi his wife an' two childher, settin up i' business as a full-
blown professor o' music. Third, he published a book ov his
tunes ; partly becose folk kept botherin him to write copies eaut,
an' partly wi a hopeful e'e toard comin fame.

Yo may be sure there'd to be a grand farewell performance
afore eaur young music maker were alleawed to lev Wardle. Th'
Wesleyan singin day happened to be due a fortnit afore th' flittin,
so it were planned to have a special afthernoon sarvice wi James's
hymns an' anthems for music. Th' aleheause attics were too little
for sich a greight getherin as were expected, so th' big stone ware-
heause built partly bi that rovin blade Billy Howarth were takken
an' fitted up, an' when th' day coome o' th' music-likin folk fro
miles reaund abeaut flocked theere wi one consent. Slendher
lasses singin thribble, plump dimply lasses singin alto, steaut young
tenors wi mustashes, hungry lookin clen-shaved basses, fiddlers
enough, blowers o' brass an' wood pipes, cymbal an' dhrum-
bangers — theere they were in a creaud, ready for ony quantity o'
wark. Isaac were persuaded to play th first fiddle, rayther again
his will, for th' fine owd chap had aged sadly in th' last year or two,
an' his owd skill failed him ; Billy were theere wi his sweet reed,
Stott wrostl't a new double-bass, Stansfielt brought his clarionet,
even Robin o' Jone's had shapped to lond sober for once, an'
stood beside Stamper, i' th' next row to Gabriel an Ned o' Ted's,
lookin as solemn as iv he'd ne'er sin a thrail hunt or a Rachda
bull-bait in his life.

James crept quietly to his place, colourin up to find hissel
stared at bi so mony folk. He poo'd hissel together an' looked
reaund th' big reawm, creawded to th' dur. Theere sit his owd
fayther an' mother, his wife an' two little plump sons, o their faces
shinin wi love ; theere were dozens ov his relations, lookin on him
wi pride ; theere were scores ov acquaintances, an' plenty o' friends
he'd ne'er sin afore, o gether't to do him honour. He turned,
lookin o'er his singers an' players, smilin as his e'en ran fro row to
row. Theere they were, those folk he'd spent so mony precious
heaurs i' tuthorin, oft wi little to show for his patient wark — theere
they were in a rook, sharp an' dull, good temper't an' bad, bowd

JAMES LEACH. 289

an' bashful, o feelin respect for their young maisther. Tuthri on
'em had bin jealous on him at times, but that ronk weed envy
were kil't as it sprung bi his sthrong sense an rare talents, an'
throdden witherin i' th' dust. James lifted his hond an' th' tide o'
music rose an' broke i' full waves o' seaund — music at spoke fro
heart to heart, sacred music to stir feelins o' joy an' sorrow, airs
brethin wild nathural freedom an' beauty, noane thrimmed an'
cropped bi rule an' fashion to one artificial level. Folk were
ignorant then. Heaw were they to know it's coarse an' common to
laugh or cry ? We known betther neaw, an' con go through life
wi one set refined snigger, usin hee-flown language, feelin little, an'
freeten't o' lettin even that little be sin.

Th' sarvice, filled eaut wi prayers, Bible readins, an' singin,
coome to it end. For th' last hymn James had written a new tune
co'd " Travelling," neaw weel known.

" Leader of faithful souls, and Guide

Of all that travel to the sky,
Come and with us, even us, abide,

Who would on thee alone rely ;
On thee alone our spirits stay,
While held in life's uneven way.

Strangers and pilgrims here below,

This earth, we know, is not our place ;

But hasten through this vale of woe,
And, restless to behold Thy face,

Swift to our heavenly country move,

Our everlasting home of love.

We have no 'biding city here,

But seek a city out of sight ;
Thither our steady course we steer,

Aspiring to the plains of light,
Jerusalem, the saints' abode,
Whose founder is the living God.

Through Thee, who all our sins hast borne,

Freely and graciously forgiven,
With songs to Zion we return,

Contending for our native heaven ;
That palace of our glorious King,
We find it nearer while we sing."

These words touched mony a heart, pointin as they did to th'
young composer's lev-takkin. E'en began to fill, an' Isaac were so
o'ercome 'at he laid his fiddle deawn an' fair sobbed. He sit still
in his place, restin his yead on his hond, whol th' buildin were
nearly empty ; an' James comin up to collect some music, findin
him theere, axed what were to do.

" Aw've done thee wrong, Jimmy," poor Isaac said, lookin up
wi dim e'en, his long white curls hangin o'er his face. He put eaut

2QO WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

a thremblin bond for his pupil to grip. " Aw've done thee wrong,
mi own lad ! Aw con see it neaw ! Tha desarves it o ! Tha
does, for sure ! Tha's gwone again my advice, an' aw've fretted
o'er it ; but tha did reet, Jimmy — tha did reel !"

" Don't tak on this road," James said gently. " Nobody could
ha bin kindher to me nor yo — not even mi own fayther ; an' aw
shan't forget yo when aw'm gwone."

"Aw know tha wain't," Isaac quaver't. "It's noane i' thi
nathur to forget owd friends. ' VVi' songs to Zion we return,' does
it say ? Ah ! but tha'll come back no moore, mi lad ! Never no
moore ! Tha's summat moore in thee nor ever aw thought, an'
tha'll be wanted i' bigger teawns nor this. Aw do believe tha were
reet to turn composer, consayted as it looks for a Wardle lad to
set hissel again th' greight musicianers. Aw've misjudged thee ! "

"Reet or wrong aw were forced to start," James said. "Aw
couldn't help it. But as for settin misel again onybody aw've no
sich thought i' mi yead. Aw'm nobbut a little pipin counthry singer,
an' never expect to catch th' world's ear like some ; but aw'll do
mi best as far as it gwoes."

" Aw've done thee wrong," Isaac said again. " Reighch mi
cap, Jimmy. Wardle music's sin it best days, for tha'rt levin us
an' aw'm gettin welly done."

They went eaut together, partin at th' owd fowl corner.

"God bless thee, lad," Isaac said wi th' owd womly warm-
hearted words o' separation. "Tha'll soon be levin th' owd clod,
an' afore so long they'll ha to lay me undher it. Aw may happen
ne'er see thee again — but tha'll do weel — tha'll do weel ! God
bless thee ! "

So they parted, an' never again did o th' owd lot o' Wardle
musicians meet together to practise th' art they loved so weel.

VIII.

Neaw flittin's one thing, and publishin a book's another. For
th' first yo may reckon th' expense somewheere near, an' guess
summatlike what yo'll get for yor brass ; as for t'other yo con tell
nought abeaut it, but mun be content to aim at a blint mark, hopin
yor frisky shot wain't help to lond yo i' th' sylum or warkheause.

James hadn't a dyel o' goods to shift, bein satisfied in th' simple
style ov his time wi furnithur enough for use, beaut keepin ony for
show. Carrier Billy's cart took 'em — goods, childher, James, an'
Esther — o at one journey, londin 'em dhry an' seaund at their fresh
heause. That were a simple job enough, chep, soon paid for an'
done wi.

Gettin th' book eaut were noane quite as yezzy, but James
fund a friend to help him through that job — sich a friend as risin

JAMES LEACH. 29!

geniuses seldom meet wi — able to see th' young chap's peawers
an' willin to find brass to help him up th' steep road he were
sthrivin so hard to climb. As Capel Lofft ten year afther were
to help Robert Bloomfield, as Gavin Hamilton three year afore
had helped Robert Burns, so neaw another yet moore famous
Hamilton oppen't his purse to James Leach ; an' their names
should olez be coupled together.

Nobry near Rachda could print music i' thoose days, so th'
job were sent to London, th' finished books comin fro theere i'
due time, an' soon gettin theirsel sowd off.

This first printed collection o' Leach's music, a little oblong
book, sowd at four shillin. There's twenty-two psalm tunes, printed
i' oppen score, some i' four, some i' six parts, an' two long anthems
to finish wi, written for solo voices, full chorus, an' band. James
shows his modest spirit i' th' preface, makin a sort ov apology for
runnin into print :

" Having had a turn for music from my infancy, I have em-
ployed my leisure hours in cultivating the same. A few years ago
I composed a few tunes, and without the least design of their being
made public, being at the time ignorant of the rules of composi-
tion. These few tunes accordingly got handed about, and were
introduced into many congregations, insomuch that I was called
upon from all quarters for copies, so that I found myself under
the disagreeable necessity of denying many requests of that kind.
For having a family to maintain with my hand labour I had already
spent more time than I could well spare ; but a friend knowing
my importunities of that kind, and wishing the tunes to be more
generally known, advised me, by all means, to compose a few
more select pieces, and let a number of them be struck off, as the
price would be small, so that such as wished to have them might
procure them at a small expense; and therefore I now submit them
to the judgment of the public ; I mean such as understand music."

Th' sly dog's quiet humour peeps eaut i' that last line. We
con see him smile as he fots th' public that friendly dig i' th' ribs,
an' we're forced to admire his honest simple style o' writin, free
alike fro vanity or pretence. " Ignorant of the rules of composi-
tion," says he, takkin everybody into his confidence in a way 'at
proves what seaund metal he had in him. " Having a family to
maintain with my hand labour." Heaw mony preface makers ud
ever ha thought o' puttin that in ? This is a quare style ov
advertisin a new book, compar't wi th' present systems, an' makes
us wondher if it were th' fashion i' thoose days for everybody to
speighk thruth i' sich a sthraightforrad oppen way.

T'other day Leach's written copies o' this first collection o'
tunes were put into mi honds. Aw could ha cried o'er 'em iv
there hadn't been tears enough dhropped up an' deawn this
blundherin histhory. Thoose bits o' time-colour't papper, cover't

292 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

i' faded ink wi James's careful painstakkin hondwritin, could say
summat to us iv they'd gifts o' speech. Aw con see that tall figure
bendin o'er 'em, that yearnest deep-thinkin face, thoose long 'lastic
fingers busy at their wark. Soon an' late, bi mornin shine an'
candle leet, were these lastin marks dotted deawn to wakken
tendher feelins i' mony a sympathisin heart. Into that rough
cottage, scant o' furnithur, wi' whiteweshed woles an' sonded floor,
coome thoughts an' sthrains fro heaven's star-jewelled arches,
theere to rest an' tak shapes fit for mortal use. Little o' thoose
wondherful far-sent messages these age-worn sheets con show, but
signs an' glints ov immortal leet are lingerin yet reaund 'em, to
prove what stores o' sthrong an' tendher fancy lee hud in th' mind
'at plodded so long an' hard to stamp 'em wi shapes o' peawer an'
beauty. Little these clear-dhrawn notes con tell ov o th' time an'
thought spent o'er 'em. Art never sleeps. Once James fund
he could create he'd never get his mind free again fro getherin
fancies. At his loom, at his meals, walkin eautside, sittin among
friends or kin, busy at performance or practice, soon as mornin
oppen't his e'en or neet shut 'em — nay ! mony a time dhremin in
his bed, he'd carry th' same cravin wishes, hopes, deaubts. When,
time sarvin, he could get bi hissel, quietness reaund him, free to
meet his saycret soul face to face, he'd feel sich a joy an' sense o'
peawer to rise aboon th' world's chens an' thrammels as few can
ever know ; but mostly he'd be forced to keep tight howd ov
hissel, ploddin on his narrow thrack o' monful duty wi little sign
o' th' deep sthrem ov inner life nobry else could share.

There were hardly as mony music professors i' Rachda an' th'
neighbourhood a hundherd year sin as we han to-day. Onybody
con teighch music neaw afther twelvemonth larnin, but it were
noane used to be so. Leach had th' fielt to hissel very near as a
singin maisther, things went weel wi him, an' he soon geet known
as far as Mancnesther.

Poor owd Isaac coome to his end a year afther t' flittin, an'
James were sent for in a hurry to see him for th' last time. Th'
owd chap were quite sensible, lyin i' bed twitchin t' sthrengs ov
his favourite fiddle. He breeten't up to see his best scholar, an'
welcom't him in a brokken whisper, for his once clear alto were o
but gwone, an' his wynt coome an' went i' gasps.

" Aw'm fain to see thee, lad. Sit thee deawn. Aw ail nowt
nobbut owd age. Aw'm levin thee this fiddle. It's th' best aw
have. Tha'll happen use it neaw an' again. Just to keep th' owd
chap i' thi mind."

" Aw'll use it every day," James towd him. " When aw go to
London to join th' king's band aw'll tak this fiddle to play on. An'
aw'll have a silver plate put on it — ' Presented to James Leach by
his beloved and only master in music, Isaac Bamford.'"

JAMES LEACH. 293

Th' owd fiddler's e'en glisten't. " Tha'rt a good lad, Jimmy.
Olez kind i' th' heart tha were. O mi copies o' music tha mun
have. Aw shouldn't like onybody else to touch 'em. Mony a
theausan an' theausan bars. Copied wi mi own honds. That's
what helped to make me. Sich a wondherful timist."

" Thank yo," James said, wipin his e'en, touched to find heaw
mich Isaac thought on him. "They could be left to nobry 'at's
moore respect for yo nor me, iv it's nobbut for th' sake ov owd
times. What a weary time it looks, Isaac, sin yo gav me mi first
music lesson !"

" It does ! It does ! A scholar to be preaud on. But it's
partly mi way o' teighchin tha knows. Tha's made a din i' th'
world sin'. It were me larn't thee — think on o' that ! Arta as con-
sayted as tha were ? "

" Abeaut th' same, aw think," James said, too mich consarn't
at loisin his owd friend to smile.

" Tha would be a composer shuz what aw said. Aw geet that
book tha sent me. Wi o thi tunes in. They looken weel i'
print. Rare an' weel ! Very consayted on thee to print 'em.
Mozart could nobbut ha done that. But tha did reet, Jimmy.
Tha did just reet."

"Aw know it's consayted enough," James said, " but what con
a chap do when he's summat inside him 'at keeps dhrivin him on ?"

" Aw know nought abeaut that," whisper't Isaac. " Aw ne'er
felt no dhrivin o' that mak." He lee still a minute, an' then said,
" Jimmy ! "

"Well?"

" Seein as tha's started composin. Aw wouldn't ax thee beaut.
To show respect to thi owd maisther like."

"Well?"

" Not as aw'm onyways wishful. To seem betther than other
folk. When aw'm laid undher t' clod."

"Well, Isaac? What is it?"

" As tha's made so mony tunes. An' th' mischief's done. Tha
met as weel make one moore. An' have it sung o'er th' grave.
When they lay'n me deawn."

Soft-hearted James broke deawn otogether at that late con-
fession o' th' owd chap's pride in his lad.

" Aw'll do it, Isaac, yo may be sure. Th' finest tune mi brains
con shape or mi fingers write yo shall have ; an' th' sweetest voices
reaund Wardle shall sing it at th' graveside."

" Aw thank thee, Jimmy," th' owd chap whisper't, lookin
plez't an' satisfied. " Aw knew tha'd do it for me. Olez kind i'
th' heart. Never hurt nobry. Fro bein a chilt. Tha mun lev me
neaw. Aw'm gettin done. Good day, an' God bless thee."

Isaac nobbut lived a day or two longer. His buryin made a
greight stir, bringin a dyel o' folk fro th' teawns near ; an' there

294 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

were few dhry e'en in th' creawded graveyard when Leach's choir
sthruck up his fine tune " Egypt," yerd then for th' first time in o
it mournful tendherness, weel suited to Watts's hymn :

" And must this body die ?"

This well-wrought frame decay ?
And must these active limbs of mine

Lie mouldering in the clay ?

God, my Redeemer, lives,

And ever from the skies
Looks down and watches all my dust

Till He shall bid it rise.

Arrayed in glorious grace

Shall these vile bodies shine ;
And every shape and every face

Be heavenly and divine.

These lively hopes we owe,

Lord, to Thy dying love ;
O may we bless Thy grace below,

And sing Thy power above.

I' less nor five year James sattl't to flit again — to Salford this
time, takkin four childher astid o' two, an' so mony goods 'at he'd
a job to crom everything on a lurry.

" Well, aw dun know," Esther said, when they'd o londed safe;
" we keepen gettin to bigger teawns — there's nowt but London for
us neaw !"

But James had moore wit nor thryin London. He'd bin
rayther too oft to not know what he met expect theere. Once
he'd takken his book o' tunes to th' organist at Westminsther
Abbey, an' made hissel known to th' greight mon.

" Hm ? Hm !" grunted th' professor, lookin th' book o'er, an'
thryin two or three tunes on his harpsichord. " Yes, yes, yes !
Defective harmonies — wrong accents — too much similar motion —
knowledge of counterpoint wanted. Take a year's course in theory
with me — teach you to write then — melodies not without feeling —
you sing well too — solo in anthem very good last night — you have
natural taste and talent. Study with me for a year."

" It'll do noane," James said, wi th' owd smile on his face.
" Aw've a wife an' four childher to keep, an' no brass to spare for
studyin here. But aw'm obleeged to yo th' same for o' that."

" Dear, dear, dear !" says th' professor. " Pity to be so poor,
isn't it ? Great pity for you, young man ! Great pity ! Could
have made something of you."

" An' made summat eaut on me, beside," Leach thought wi a
touch o' native thrift as th' greight mon showed him eaut. "Well,
aw knew what he'd say — nobbut aw'd a sneakin hope he met
praise mi wark a bit, an' yet aw felt sich hopes were foolishness.

JAMES LEACH. 295

Chance is a fine thing ! Aw have it in me to make as good a
musician as yon docthor'; but he's howdin th' best position i'
London, whol aw mun scrat o mi life for nowt mich beside bare
livin."

Then he smil't at hissel to find heaw consayted he were gettin,
an' thried to put th' disappointment eaut ov his mind.

So James were noane likely to bother London, knowin as weel
as onybody could tell him he'd nobbut be eaut of his place theere,
an' weel enough satisfied wi th' honest position his talent had won
for him i' Lancashire.

He'd his honds full neaw, havin to come o'er to Rachda twice
a week, an' bein full up wi pupils at t' Manchester end. Poor owd
Isaac's connection he'd bin forced to give up, not beaut frettin a
bit ; for among o his creawd o' fine friends eaur unspoil't composer
liked th' owd uns best, an' were olez fain to set his shoon on Wardle
greaund, though, to be sure, his life theere had bin poor an' hard
enough, an a dyel smoother road oppen't afore him neaw.

IX.

Afther a while eaur risin composer geet a second book o' tunes
printed, an' fund little throuble i' sellin 'em, for his name were
known o up an' deawn England through his music an' Wesley's
hymns gooin together. Th' preface to this second book shows 'at
James had recollected Wesley's advice abeaut not havin th' music
petched up, an' gies us a sample o' th' composer's best Sunday
English, marked bi his never-failin thought an' good sense :

" A few years ago, by the advice of a friend, I ventured to
publish a small volume of Hymns and Psalm Tunes, and have
reason to believe it has met with a kind reception, as a second
edition has been called for and is rapidly going off. I promised a
second volume, consisting of several select pieces, as well as tunes
suited to different meters usually sung in public. This promise
would have been fulfilled some time since, but the poverty
occasioned by the present war put a check upon my design ; for it
is to be noted that many of my brethren in the musical line are
pretty much like myself — viz., we are not troubled with much
wealth. However, the work is now committed to the public, and
must, therefore, take its chance — whatever credit or profit may
accrue to the author.

In my first work I requested that no one would attempt the
altering of my tunes, but let them run just as they are ; in this my
request has been in the general complied with. I have heard of
very few who have pretended to improve them. In the general
we may say of music menders what is vulgarly said of tinkers — in
attempting to repair one hole they make two. Pedantry in every

296 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

department is ridiculous, and full as much in music as in any other
science, and often proves injurious to the original composer. It
may be called a sort of piratical murder, and it would be exceeding
well if the legislature were to appoint that such a one should never
appear in public but with a cap or mitre on his head, marked in
the front with this label — Assassin ; for surely he is guilty of a two-
fold assassination — even the music and the character of the author.
I have seen excellent tunes so mangled and disfigured by self-con-
ceited improvers that they have left them, like the man who fell
among thieves, stripped and wounded, even half dead. I would
here remark that the old 100 psalm tune has lately undergone a
metamorphosis of this sort, which has left it neither spirit nor life.
If a man can fancy himself capable of improving the works of
another, he is certainly capable of composing himself; and if so,
let him build upon his own ground, and if there be any merit in
his work let him wear the honour.

Furthermore, I would here advise that when a new tune is
introduced into a congregation, to be sung by the people in
general, to sing the tenor only for a few times, that such as catch
a tune only by the ear may obtain a right notion of the same, for
unless that is the case they are apt to jumble the notes together
and make a most wretched jargon. I own it is a prodigious disad-
vantage to a tune its being produced with a naked tenor only ; but
if the tune be a good one it will clear its own way, especially if a
reason be assigned for so singular an introduction.

There is another great indecorum in many who have good
voices but only sing by the ear, and that is, their attempting to
sing the other parts — the bass, for instance, which sounds like the
growling of a bear or an angry mastiff. There are great incon-
veniences which common singing is liable to, but is not the case
in singing select pieces, where none engage but such as understand
music. But as I wish the divine science to be as general as it
possibly can in public congregations, so I wish it to be performed
with the utmost decency.

The design of music is to exhilarate and animate the mind ; to
soothe it under its various cares, vicissitudes and anxieties, while
passing through the house of our pilgrimage here below ; it will be
well for all who engage in it to aim at the glory of our Maker, so
that we may in due time join the choir above, where pain and
sickness, sighs and tears, shall never succeed our loftiest strains to
all Eternity."

Heaw's that for a Wardle hond-loom weighver ?

Some folk may be puzzl't bi this advice to sing th' tenor bi
itsel, but they mun recollect th' owd style o' writin were to put th'
chief melody i' th' tenor part. Sopranos oft used to be co'd female
tenors.

JAMES LEACH. 2Q7

Iv musical pirates had to wear thoose marked caps neawadays,
what a greight an' busy industhry cap-makin ud be !

An' iv o composers took James's hee views ov his art what
should we do for comic operas ?

Let it be said here 'at onybody curious to weigh up James
Leach's knowledge an' skill i' music mun turn to th' first editions
ov his books to do it. Aw've sin a lot ov his psalm tunes arranged
i' short score bi different folk, but some road arrangers cawn't be
satisfied to let 'em " run just as they are." Melodies are chopped
up, inner parts twisted abeaut, bass parts otogether re-written,
blundhers made 'at James hissel ud ha bin th' first to laugh at.
We mun look at his own wark to judge him. That wark's noane
perfect, but Leach wrote wi a maisther's grip, an' his faurts are
nobbut noticeable neaw becose music's made sich sthrides forrad
sin' his day, an' part-writin's getten to sich a hee level. Con-
sidherin th' state ov his art at that time, wi his scant chances to
larn, it's bare justice to reckon him a genius ; an' aw'm forced to
fret when aw see prentice-honds spoilin his tunes, damagin his
hard-won credit, an' helpin to keep his own thoughtful, solid wark
i' th' backgreaund.

His second collection o' tunes helped on Leach's grooin fame,
an' soon spread o'er miles o' counthry ; but whol nearly everybody
were busy praisin his wark th' young chap, ill satisfied wi it hissel,
were carefully studyin heaw to mend his knowledge, an' practisin
anthem-writin for voices wi wind an' sthreng band. So, makin th'
most ov every heaur ov his time, ploddin steady an' thoughtful up
his risin road to honour an' fortin, James turned th' corner o'
Kesmas, seventeen hundherd an' ninety-seven, an' broke into th'
new year.

X

One February neet James Leach sit wi his wife an' sisther Mary
bi his kitchen fire, smookin his pipe, lapped i' thought as he mostly
were, whol th' women's tongues ran on i' quiet chatther.

Billy had bin sent for to play at a concert i' Manchesther, so
he'd brought Mary o'er wi him for th' day, plannin to sleep at
James's heause an' catch th' mornin coach worn.

Esther were knittin as hoo talked, an' watchin her husband's
face as th' fireleet played o'er it.

" James," hoo said to him in a while, wi a little sigh, " aw don't
know heaw it is, but tha'rt like never cheerful an' leet-hearted same
as other folk. There should be nowt neaw to stop thee fro bein
happy."

"Happy !" her husband said, wakkenin up wi a breet look at
her. " Aw've ne'er bin nowt else sin aw knew thee."

298 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Tha dosen't show it, then," says Esther. " Tha bothers thi
yead too mich. Think less, tak thi wark yezzier, an' start enjoyin
thisel a bit moore. Tha's olez a face as long as thi fiddle."

"Have aw, lass!" James axed, laughin. "Aw didn't know
things had getten so bad as that. Why, bless thi heart, Esther,
there's nobry moore content nor me ! Iv life keeps gooin on wi
us as it's doin neaw, aw s' ne'er grumble nor want to change ; an'
that should satisfy thee whether aw'm happy or not."

" Tha's like getten very sayrious, latly, that's thrue," says Mary.
"Tha were olez cheerful an' cant when tha lived i' Wardle, an'
ready enough wi thi joke. Is it this Salford soot, or what is it ?"

"He's a dyel too sayrious," Esther said. "Aw cawn't abide to
see him so deawnkest an' quiet, lapped up i' music as iv there were
nowt else i' th' world woth lookin at. We're weel off neaw, an' aw
wain't let him teaw hissel to t' dyeath — aw love him rayther too
mich for that."

" Aw mun tak mi chance, lass. It's no use thryin to goo again
mi nathur. Happen some day, when aw've composed music
enough, aw con shap wi less thinkin, but it's no use botherin
abeaut it just neaw."

" Rest a bit," says Esther. " Play thee awhile — it'll be summat
fresh for thee, that will. Look what a greight mon tha's groon
into fro a poor weighver ; be satisfied wi what tha's done, an'
think abeaut makin thi life comfortable."

" Aw wish music could quieten eaur Billy a bit," Mary says,
laughin. " He's as mich gam in him as ever, for o his pipe blowin,
an' to look at him nobry'd think he'd childher awom. He's stopped
fuddlin neaw, aw guess — yon concert mun be o'er long sin'."

"It's no use, lasses," James said. "There's no stoppin nor
stonnin still neaw — aw mun push on or dee."

" Nay ! there's no need to talk abeaut deein yet, surelee !" said
his wife. " Tha'rt nobbut six-an'-thirty, an' looks as weel as ever
tha did."

" There's long years afore us yet, no deaubt," James said, "an'
moore credit to be won nor we con reckon up to-neet. Aw'm just
seein mi road into scientific part-writin, an' afore long aw'll tackle
th' college scholars on their own greaund. Talk no moore o' givin
up, Esther ! Aw'm nobbut just beginnin ! "

There coome a thunge on th' dur, an' then a bang or two,
makin Esther beaunce up to see who'd com'n.

" That's Billy, aw con yer," Mary said. " Does th' gawmless
thing want to wakken o yor childher up?"

It were Billy, sure enough. He coome sthridin up to th' har-
stone, lookin mad, an' brasted eaut,

" There's nowt nobbut rogues i' this teawn." Aw'll come here
no moore — nowe ! not for gowd sovereigns."

Yezzier, easier.

JAMES LEACH. 299

Th' women looked at him, freeten't, wondherin what had
happen't.

"There's honest folk stirrin abeaut here an' theere," James
said. " But what's to do, Billy ?"

" Nowt. There's enough done, aw think, for one while. Aw
tell thee, Jimmy, there's wasthrels here 'at 'd tak new-weshed clooas
off a hedge!"

" What hast had agate ?" Mary axed.

" It were meaunted wi silver," Billy said, cobbin his cap deawn
an' puffin eaut his plump red cheeks. " It's bin i' th' family fifty
year, an' moore too, an' neaw aw mun come thrailin o this road to
get it stown ! "

"Is it thi hobye tha's lost?" James axed, seein leet.

"Lost!" Billy grunted wi vexation. "Aw ne'er lost nowt i'
mi life, nobbut odd bits o' things neaw an' again, or happen a
chisel or a two-foot. It's bin stown, aw tell yo ! Aw just dhropped
in at a aleheause, accidental like, when th' concert finished, put
mi pipe deawn whol aw supped a pint, an' theere, lo an' behowd,
it went — scutther't — bowted — flew ! There ne'er were a chap like
me i' this world for ill luck ! Aw mun ha bin witched i' mi cradle,
it's my belief. Why, yon pipe belonged mi gronfayther ! Aw
would'nt ha parted wi it for nowt."

" Tha's no business i' aleheauses," Mary said. " Heaw oft
mun aw warn thee ? Iv tha'd com'n sthraight worn this could
ne'er have happen't.

" Ale does me good," says Billy, sittin him deawn. " It's a
kind crayther is worn-brewed to a chap 'at swallows as mich stone
dust as me, an' aw'll ne'er 'buse it. But aw played a tune on
some o' their shins 'at they'll recollect for a bit. They took me for
green becose aw live where grase groos, an' th' brids han reawm to
sing ; but howd off, says Billy ! Wardle again Salford ony day ! "

James had some music tools hangin o'er th' cornish, among
'em a fine hobye wi honsome keighs an' fittins. He reighched it
deawn, hondin it o'er to his brother-i'-law. " Tha shan't go worn
beaut pipe, Billy. Let me make thee a present o' this. It were
played on at th' greight Handel festival i' London, so aw bought it
for a curiosity, an' there's nobry belongin th' Laych family fitther
to use it nor thee."

" Eh, thank thee, Jimmy lad !" Billy said wi honest pride, his
temper meltin away. "Tha were olez thoughtful for thi relations."
He blew tuthri deep sweet notes on th' pipe, finishin wi a flourish
Isaac had larn't him. " It's a grand un, an' praise fro thee weighs
like gowd ! Aw'll twitther on this as long as mi wynt lets me."

" Iv tha doesn't loise it," Mary says.

" Howd thi din !" Billy said. " Iv ony scamp thries to steighl
this aw'll chisel him into scaplins, an' letther his gravestone for
nowt."

Clooas, clothes.

30O WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

XI.

James had business i' Rachda next mornin, so he rode wi his
sisther an' her husbant bi th' Leeds coach to th' Roch side, levin
his relations to go forrad to Wardle bi theirsel.

"Come an' see us afore long," Billy said, as they parted.
" They're o some preaud on thee among yon hills. Tha could do
wi a rest, to put some flesh on thi ribs. Tha's a tidy front
elevation, like, but thi livin reawms wanten settin fur back. Come
o'er to Wardle a bit, an' avv'll soon awther that."

" Well, aw'll do mi best. Is wark plentiful wi thee ? "

" There's moore nor aw con do. Folk keepen thryin to dhrive
me, but that wain't do for Billy ! Good wark wain't be run off it
feet."

" It wain't, for sure ! Aw know that some weel, an' heaw
little there is to show for weeks an' months o' sthrivin."

"Ne'er thee mind!" Billy said, wi a touch o' wisdom 'at
seaunded sthrange fro his tongue. " We're buildin stuff to last,
thee an' me. There'll be no shuttherin abeaut eaur jobs, noather
music nor masonwark, so tak that fro Billy."

" Eh tha braggin thing !" Mary said, nudgin his plump side wi
her elbow. " Iv tha'd hawve as mich wit as eaur Jimmy there'd
be some hope for thee."

" Foldherdol oldherdol lay !" Billy sang, laughin, as th' coach
rowlt forrad.

"What a merry lad he is!" James thought wi hawve a sigh
for his own sayrious mind. " But he's plenty o' sense in him, too,
has Billy."

He waved his hond, Billy an' Mary motioned back, an' so
these lovin hearts parted, never to meet again i' this sorrow-filled
world. Never no moore !

James knocked abeaut whol noon busy wi his teighchin.
Then he geet a bit o' dinner, an' sattl't wi some Union-street
Chapel committeemen abeaut some singers they wanted him to
thrain up. He'd bin t' choirmaisther at that chapel whol he lived
i' Rachda, an' made a dyel o' friends theere — not 'at that were owt
new for James, becose everybody were takken at first sect bi his
modest manners an' honest look.

Then he co'd to see Parson Threlkeld abeaut some music for
a special sarvice at Blackwayther Chapel. This were a wondherful
chap, 'at could talk i' nine languages, an' knew o 'at were or ever
had bin. He were as good as a reference library, an' cost a dyel
less to keep. For o his wondherful knowledge th' owd gentleman
were just as simple as a lad, wi abeaut as mich notion o' managin
ony business ; an' he'd getten so short-seeted wi porin o'er his
books 'at he'd to put his face close to Leach's afore he could make
him eaut.

o

JAMES LEACH. 301

Afther that there were moore lessons to give up an' deawn th'
teawn, but James geet his wark finished i' time to catch th' coach
as it coome through fro Yokshire. He stood a minute waitin for
it bi th' Market Cross, lookin reaund him at clear river, green
church-slope an' spreadin fields, o touched wi frost, when James
Hamilton happen't to come past, makin toard his tin-hommerin
shop. These two were greight friends, an' had bin long afore
Leach left Wardle This were th' Hamilton 'at fund brass to pay
for th' composer's first book o' music ; an' James had put a tune
in co'd afther his friend, sayin it were like intherist on th' loan.

"Now, my lad!" says Hamilton, "are you off back without
calling to see me ? You have no business to pass White Beaver
Yard without coming in."

" Eh, aw'm fain to see yo !" says James, lookin wi pleasur into
his friend's face, where marks o' content an' happiness were plain
for o to see. " Aw've had a throng day, an' nobbut just finished.
When will yo come o'er to Salford again ? T' childher's olez axin
abeaut yo. Come o'er o' Sunday."

" Sunday, you rascal !" Hamilton laughed. " What about my
school ?"

"To be sure ! Aw -weren't thinkin just for th' minute. Yo'n
a rare lot a scholars neaw, aw yer."

" The place is crammed every Sunday. Since we moved into
Union-street our numbers have grown fast."

" Aw've just written a sort o' Sunday Schoo Ode," James said.
" Aw'll bring it o'er next time aw come for yo to see. It's finished
neaw o but tuthri notes. It begins wi this —

' Blest be the man whose lib'ral heart

Our Sunday schools began !
To train the Youth in Virtue's path

How Godlike was the plan !

If ought on earth could merit praise,

Or Heaven's favour gain,
To lead the Youth in Wisdom's ways

Must surely both obtain.'

Then there's a long chorus to finish off — summat very grand, yo'll
see."

" Bring it over and I will teach the school children to sing it.
They like your tunes, perhaps because the airs are easy to catch."

" Done yo never get weary o' bein tee'd so mich ? Yo'n had a
long sthretch o' this teighchin, neaw, an' may weel take a rest."

" Sixteen long, happy years I have been at the work," Hamilton
said, smilin, shakin a finger at some childher as they passed an'
sheauted to him, for nearly o' th' young uns i' Rachda knew an'
loved that good mon. " You remember the beginning of it in the
little chamber over my works ? You were courting then, James ; a
shy, meditative youth, unknown to fame."

302 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGO.

" Aw wondher yo don't get weary o' th' job," James said, as his
coach rowlt up wi a dyel a fuss an' horn-bio win. " Yo'n wark
enough beaut."

Hamilton whispered in his ear : " Whoso shall receive one
little child in My name receiveth Me."

" Well, good-neet, an' God bless yo," says James, as they shook
honds. " Aw'm foolish to talk on yo givin up wark 'at's rewarded
bwoth i' this world an' th' next."

" Good-night, my dear lad. Long life and prosperity. Give
my love to your wife."

" An' tell her yo'll be comin o'er soon ? "

"Yes, you may promise that in all truth."

So James climbed onto th' coach top, cracked a joke wi t*
guard an' dhriver, knowin 'em bwoth weel wi thravellin so oft,
planted hissel wi owd Isaac's fiddle on his knees, an' off th' horses
went wi a rattle, as iv they could undherstond they were on th' last
sthretch o' their journey.

Th' coach beawlt away up Church Lone, through Bluepits an'
Middleton, James hummin one of his new anthems, his thoughts
runnin on his music, his wife an' childher, as they mostly did.

" God bless that lovin lass o' mine," he thought. " What aw
should do beaut her, or what hoo could do beaut me, there's no
tellin. We s' have yon lads groon up soon. Jim's beaun to make
a fiddler aw believe. Will they live to be preaud o' their fayther,
or find eaut wi time 'at James Leach thought he could compose,
but nobbut made a foo ov hissel ? It'll be a pity iv o mi thought
an' throuble's bin wasted ; but aw guess iv it has aw'm noane th'
first mon 'at's spent his life huntin game he couldn't catch."

His thoughts were brokken off theere, sudden an' for ever.
Th' coach had getten to Blackley broo, an' were beawlin deawn at
a good speed when a wheel flew off. Th' coach went o'er, throwin
everybody off th' top, so for tuthri minutes there were din an'
skrikin enough. When th' plungin horses had bin quieten't a bit
th' passengers were looked to. Most on 'em had gether't theirsels
up, moore or less marked an' banged abeaut bi their sudden upset,
but one tall young chap lee very still undher th' hedge, howdin fast
to a brokken fiddle-box.

A docthor had bin fund somewheere near, an' he were busy
plaistherin some o' th' wur hurt among th' passengers when th'
guard coome up, carryin a big blundherbuss o'er his shouldher.

" Docthor," he says, in a whisper, " just come look at Jimmy
Leach as soon as ever yo con. Aw don't like th' look on him a
bit."

T' docthor went where th' guard took him, an' fund th' poor
lad lyin still — his fiddle brokken, his modest hopes ended.

" Look heaw he lies !" th' guard says. " Aw mislike it."

JAMES LEACH. 303

T docthor bent to feel pulse an' heart, an' look into th' seetless
e'en. One look were enough. He dhropped James's limp delicate
hond, sthraighten't hissel up, an' said, whol scodin tears ran deawn
th' guard's brode red face,

" He 's stone dead !"

We con onswer th' sensitive composer's deaubts ov hissel neaw.
His music lives afther a full hundherd year o' time's passed o'er it,
stirrin an' meltin theausans ov hearts yet, on moore sides o' th' say
nor one, wi peawer as fresh an' sthrong as when Wesley yerd it
rowlt i' rich cadence up th' moorside at Wardle.

Honest an' careful wark's seldom wasted. Iv James had spared
his thoughtful brains he met very likely ha bin moore lively an'
cheerful, an' made his life a dyel pleasanther nor he ever cared to
do. Then his music met ha bin as empty an' coarse as th' liltin,
maudlin Merica rubbitch sung i' mony a church an' chapel neaw,
wheere they'd do weel to turn again to Leach's simple sweet
sthrains, never wantin i' religious feelin an' good taste. Then th'
poor lad met ha dee'd as soon as he'd a mind, bin buried, an'
theere an end.

But this unlarn't weighver took a sayrious view ov his rare gifts,
an' once his road were plain to him he followed it wi steady feet.
For o he'd little confidence in his life's wark comin to mich, he
put o his soul an' mind into it, never restin ; determin't, whether
he could make music good enough to last or not, it should at least
be as good as he'd peawer in him to make it.

This monly modest spirit it were 'at directed th' composer's
sthrength to one aim, stopped him fro frittherin his talent away
on useless things, lifted him fro th' rut o' grindin never-endin
mechanical wark — enough in itsel, God knows, to crush every hee
ambition eaut ov ony but th' toughest o' folk — made him a name
'at's loved an' respected yet, an' will be for long years to come.

This yearnest sthrivin it were 'at lifted his mind above th'
common level, made him sich a peawer in his own day an' genera-
tion, sent his melodies ringin through every clough an' valley
reaund abeaut his native hills, set him so deep in th' hearts o'
thoose 'at knew him best, an' made hundherds o' folk feel 'at bi
loisin him they'd lost moore like a brother nor a friend.

Wardle Wesleyans han no need to meet i' aleheause garrets
neaw. They'n a good chapel o' their own, an a honsome new
schoo beside, opposite th' owd fowt. O they're short on is some
stone or monument to James Leach, for in o his native village
there's nowt to show he ever lived theere, or were undherstood bi
a single one ov his neighbours. It should be summat simple an'
plain, sich as would ha satisfied James's refined taste, an' every
penny o' th' cost should be paid for bi Wardle-born folk. John
Leach preighched th' oppenin sarmons i' this chapel in 1 809, so

304 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG. "

far gwone wi age 'at two chaps had to help him in an' eaut o' th'
pulpit. He dee'd soon afther, endin a long life spent i' faithful,
humbled-minded Christian wark, gooin to his grave wi everybody's
good word ; an' iv th' cliverest chap ever born could do moore
nor that, or make betther use ov his time, aw'm curious to know
heaw he'd set abeaut it.

Billy wi th' Pipes had a hond i' th' mason wark, so we may be
sure it's weel done ; for though Billy olez took his own time o'er a
job, nobry could mend it when he'd finished. He kept his
cheerful earless spirits an' his likin for ale to th' end ov his life, an'
dee'd weel respected but noane so rich, for Mary had to start
teighchin a schoo i' th' fowl to keep hersel when he'd gwone.
They'd three sons — Abram o' Billy's, a famous alto singer ; Jim o'
Billy's, 'at played a horse-leg an' lived at Biggins ; John o' Billy's,
'at did nowt mich nobbut make flannel an' brass. They'd a
daughther, too, 'at wed a Rachda chap co'd Edward Waugh.
This couple, among other childher, had a son kessent Edwin, 'at
broke eaut into poethry astid o' measles, an' catched a runnin
influenza o' dialect writin 'at stuck to him as long as he lived.
This Edwin wed my mother's cousin, so we're o related in a rook.
We mun dhrop a dacent curtain o'er th' sorrows an' sthruggles
ov Esther Leach an' her four childher, left to feight their road as
weel as they could. Some Manchesther an' Rachda friends
published a book o' James's tunes an' anthems to raise some brass
for his widow an' orphans, an' help were noane slack at comin fro
Wardle. Billy, wi tears in his e'en, begged on his sisther-i'-law to
go back to th' owd village, where warm hearts an' oppen durs were
waitin for her ; but Esther were too independent to saddle her
relations, thought her childher could do betther where they were,
an' so sattl't to stop.

James Leach lies in Union-sthreet Chapel graveyard. On th'
stone 'at covers him these words are chisell't : —

Mere

Lieth the Body of James Leach
who without the aid of

Classical Science
By the singular felicity of

Original Genius
Was raised to a high degree

Of Celebrity
As a teacher and composer of

Sacred Music.
His death was occasioned by the

Breaking down of the
Leeds Coach near Manchester

on his return from a visit

to this town February 8th, 1798.

Aged 36 yeais.

Reader
There is but one step between thee and Death.

Kessent, christened.

JAMES LEACH. 305

Squeezed into th' top corners o' this square flag, as iv bi some
aftherthought, Leach's tune "Egypt," composed for Isaac Bamford's
buryin, could once be read ; but he'd be a keen-seeted musician
'at could make it eaut neaw.

This gravestone's badly weather-worn an' throdden. It's as
owd as Tim Bobbin's, within a dozen year or so. Iv it should
ever come to be carved o'er again, or to be swapped for one moore
worthy o' James Leach's memory, a possible thing neaw th'
fashion's set in for fettlin graves up, reawm should be made for
tuthri lines written bi John Milton o'er a friend ov his own — a
friend betther larn't, to be sure, but no moore gifted or desarvin
nor this gentle-hearted, reet-minded, self-knowin, plain weighver-
lad fro Wardle.

"Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble minds)
To scorn delights and live laborious days :
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life."

MAGIC AT NORDEN.

I.

There's a bit ov a fowl at th' top o' Woodheause Lone, just afore
yo getten to th' moor foot, wheere once ov a day there lived a
wizart. He'd nowt mich in his looks to fley onybody, an' at first
sect met ha' passed for a common, harmless chap enough ; an'
when yo come to think abeaut it bwoth wizarts an' witches mun
be made o' th' same sort o' stuff as gradely folk as far as th'
eautside's consarnt, th' main difference bein 'at dyelers i' magic
han their inside reawms betther fitted up for makin Owd Scrat
sattle deawn an' feel awom.

This Norden professor were a little lame chap, very thin an'
sickly lookin, as iv his quare job weren't ©together wholsome ; an'
moore nor one fawse brid i' th' neighbourhood (there's a dyel o'
sharp-set wits between Bagslate an' Meadow Yead) said he'd ne'er
ha bother't wi magic but for th' white swellin in his knee, an' a sort
o' nattheral dislike for hard wark. Nobry knew his name, as he
weren't a native o' these parts, but a sthrag fro some other cote ;
so they kessent him Spitfire for a Sunday name, an' co'd him
Dulecatcher o' wartays.

There's little need for wizarts neaw, but forty or fifty year sin'
that thrade were good — fo'in off a bit happen, but naught mich to
grumble abeaut. Boggarts were very wick an' thick on at that
time, an' took a dyel o' layin ; as yo may know when aw tell yo 'at
one owd witch i' Marian wortched away for three year thryin to
side one eaut ov a barn, an' deed beaut shiftin it at th' finish, for
th' cawves were runnin up th' woles afore hoo were weel buried,
an' they met as weel ha' brokken th' churn up as kept it theere, for
ony butther they could squeeze eaut on't. T' farmer said th' owd
besom mut ha bargain't wi t' thing to stop theere for so mich a
week, knowin hoo were reel for meight an' dhrink whol th' job
lasted ; but he dursent ha said that afore hoo deed — nowe ! nor
thought it — for his skin. There were charms for breedin hens 'an
grooin crops, spells for makin beef tendher an' keepin milk sweet,
speeches for fottin up o maks o' garden stuff — an' that were
reckon't a very far-larn't branch o' magic ; for what 'd make salary
groo met very soon damage th' turmits iv t' performer weren't
careful, an' what suited sharlots oft played havoc wi t' fleawer beds.
Then there were love charms 'at for abeaut eighteenpence gav a

Sthrag, stray. Wartays, week-days.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 307

young chap peawer to wed ony lass he fancied, iv he nobbut
bother't her long enough an' hoo happen't to like him ; cripplin
spells to lame or kill folk, when helped bi a cleaut fro a thorn
plant, or a shove deawn a clough-hole; physic for bargains, 'at
missed fire sometimes when bwoth buyer an' seller had bin takkin
it, or one on em happen't to be honest, curses fit to breighk a cart
shaft, an' prayers sure to give long life to healthy folk 'at took care
o' theirsel. Then there were sleepin dhraughts an' wakkenin
bottles, cures for tooth an' yead wartch, corn an' wart shiftin stuff,
dodges for bringin red cheeks an' shinin yure, an' plenty moore
thricks ; so wi one thing an' another a wizart wi a middlin connec-
tion geet wark enough on his honds, an' olez kept it too, for they'd
o moore wit nor curin their customers an' loisin 'em.

Spitfire had a tidy little counthry business, mostly dyelin wi
pullen or beeas, wi neaw an' again a brokken heart to petch up, or
a cracked yead to glue together, an' shapped to make a dacent
livin bi th' job. He'd nobbut hissel to keep, for it's one o' t'
dhrawbacks i' th' magic line 'at a professor's like forced to live bi
hissel, or slatther o' his saycrets ; an', as he'd most ov his meight
gien him, he managed to save a peaund or two i' th' owd stockin
to help him eaut when thrade ran slack, or he'd to send for t'
docthor — for he nobbut reckon't to cure other folk, an' ne'er awsed
to tackle his own ailments.

He geet famous i' time, an' were talked on as far as Rachda ;
an' one day, toard t' back end o' t' year, three or four young
chaps yerd a barber chattherin abeaut him whol they waited to be
shaved.

",Oh, he can raise the devil," th' barber says; "there's no
dubitation about that. It's unsafe for any individual to disturb
him during the nocturmal period. Little more to the left sir.
Thank you."

" Aw'll rugg him up ony neet for a gill ov ale," said a weighver
known as Scrawmer for a byname. " He'll fley noane o' me."

" Lets goo up o' Sethurday an' see what he con do," said Tom
Horsfall, a young chap eaut ov a wool warehouse. " What saysta,
Whiteyead ? Tha's studied chemicals a bit."

"Next in rotation, please," th' barber co'd eaut, pooin th'
napkin off wi a flourish, an' Horsfall were just gettin up when th'
dur banged oppen, an' in beaunced a big heavy chap in a terrible
hurry.

"Naa, suds!" he said, "wilta shaave me reight off? Aw've
a cooach to catch."

"Gentlemen, please," axed th' barber, lookin reaund th' shop;
"can you all wait please?"

P^Ulen, poultry. Beeas, cows.

Rugg, shake ; to make a noise on a door or window.
Fley, frighten.

308 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Aw mun ha' th' next turn, then," said a carther co'd Kershaw;
" my time's welly up neaw."

"O reet !" Horsfall said, sittin him deawn again; " Aw'm i' no
hurry," says Scrawmer ; an' o t'other fellahs nodded.

" Take a seat, please," th' barber said, plantin his new customer
in a cheer an' rommin th' towel ends deawn t' back ov his neck.
" You are rather hirstute, sir."

" What's that !" t'other says, very savage. " Wilta caw me that
agean ?"

" A little hairy, I mean. No offence, please ; no offence."

" He myens yo'n o good thack o' yure reaund th' chops," Ker-
shaw put in, an' th' big chap gave o'er glarin at th' barber, laughed
an' sattl't hissel again th' block. " Aw thowt he were cawin me
summat noane reight."

" Nay, it's nobbut Latin for yure," Kershaw said. " What's t'
foreign for sithers, Sammy ?"

" There is no precise equivalent in the Latin," th' barber towd
him. " We can only express the term by using a figure of speech
— as ' corrigendum ' to clip ; ' nescibantur,' to open and shut ; and
other simils."

" Oppen an' shut, saysta ? That wouldn't be a bad word for
oysthers, Scrawmer. ' Messybant ' — what is't, Sammy ?"

" Aw con bant 'em weel enough beaut Latin, Kershaw,"
Scrawmer said, an' then a greight spluttherin stopped him. Th'
chap i' th' shavin-cheer had oppen't his meauth to say summat, an'
t' lother brush had wapped fair in, for th' barber were so busy
teighchin Latin 'at he'd forgetten to mind his wark. Th' fellah
beaunced up, sheawerin suds o' reaund him, like a fairy feauntain
or a deggin-cart, an' stood starin at Sammy as iv he'd a mind to
eight him.

" Very sorry, sir," t' barber says, dancin abeaut him ; " beg
pardon, I'm sure. Quite an accident — a lapsus linguae in fact."

" What tha meeans is 'at aw mun loss mi cooach an' get mi in-
side full o' sooap-suds, o for a penny. Arta fit to be thrusted wi a
raazor, or tha'll cut mi heead off afore tha's done ? Leeave thi
Latin, an' get me shaaved i' English."

" Certainly, sir," th' barber said, gettin him planted, an' gatin
lotherin again as hard as he could. " Fine day, please."

Th' Yorkshireman fixed sich a murdherous look on him 'at he
dursen't say another word, so he geet forrad wi his wark i' quiet-
ness for once.

" What were ta sayin abeaut gooin o'er to Norden, Horsfall ?"
axed Whiteyead.

" Aw say we'll go o' Sethurday iv tha's a mind, an' teighch him
a bit o' conjurin ov a new mak. We con soon raise th' dule
among us, whether he does or not. Bring a bit o' phosphorus, an'

Thack, thatch.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 309

brimstone, an' gunpeawdher, an' sich-like eaut o' th' shop — owt
'at's ony gam abeaut it — an' we'll show him summat."

" Aw'll goo," says Whiteyead ; " neaw Scrawm ?"

" Oh ah ! aw mun see th fun," Scrawnier says. " Wilta goo,
Kershaw?"

" Sartain," Kershaw said. " We'll make hawve a day on it. We
con goo up bi th' " Moorcock," cross o'er Rooley's, an' dhrop
deawn on th' boggart hunter toard neet, when th' eawls are
skrikin. There's nowt abeaut him woth gooin for, but it'll be a
bit of a eaut."

Th' Yorkshireman were polished off bi neaw ; so he gether't
his thraps up, gav th' barber his penny, an' made for th' dur.

" Thank you, sir," says Sammy, dodgin afther him wi a clooas-
brush to sweep some bits o' dust off his jacket. " Good day,
please. Come from Bradford way, sir ?"

" Ne'er thee mind," th' big chap said. " It's naught to thee
wheere aw coome thro, nor where aw'm baan. Bedlam's thy
counthry;" an' off he bowted.

" Rather uncivil, that gentleman," Sammy said, as th' dur
banged.

" Tha wouldn't be so exthra polite thysel iv somebry rommed
a lother brush deawn thi throat," Kershaw said, takkin th' cheer.
" Noane o' thi Latin marlocks wi me, neaw ! "

"No, sir; certainly not, sir; thank you, sir. It is a singular
circumstance, or what one might term a phenomenon, that the
ancient Romans "

" Wilta howd thi din an' get me shav't ?" Kershaw co'd eaut.
" There's mi horse an' cart bin stonnin i' t' brode enthry aboon
hawve an heaur, waitin o' thee an' thi crackjaw talk."

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," Sammy said; an' shapped to keep
his tongue still whol he'd finish't wi t' carther.

" Well ! Sethurday, lads," Kershaw said, makin ready for off.
" Wheere hast put mi whip, Sammy ? Tha doesn't want it to stir
thi lother up wi, doesta ?"

" No, sir ; here it is, sir ; behind the mensarum. Thank you,
sir."

" Be at th' ' Winkin Kittlin ' at two o' t' clock, an' we'll o' meet
thee," Horsfall said.

" Agreed on," says t' carther ; an' off he went.

" Mr. Kershaw is generally in a hurry," th' barber said, as he
sattl't Horsfall i' th' yure cuttin cheer. " Fugit cito slurritur pede.
Will you have much off, Mr. Horsfall, please ! Brevis or longa?"

" It's noane a bit o' use me tellin thee, Sammy, for tha olez
cuts it just t' same shuz what aw say. Get done an' let me be
gooin. Iv Kershaw comes here in a hurry he comes to t' wrong
shop, for tha con waste hawve a day's time for a chap as yezzy as
onybody aw know on." Then he beaunced up, sheautin "O-o-o-o !"

3IO WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

for Sammy had nipped him wi doin t' fancy prestissimo flourish
reaund th' neckhole 'at o barbers are so fond o' playin at.

" Very sorry, sir ! Very sorry ! Merely an accident, please !
Kindly be seated."

" Oh ah ! iv tha snicked mi yead off it'd nobbut be a accident,
aw reckon," Horsfall grumbl't, wipin t' blood off his neck. " Iv
tha does that again aw'll fot thee a wusk 'at'll sarve thee this year
eaut."

" Extremely sorry, Mr. Horsfall. Mea culpa."

"Stop thi gibberidge !" sheauted t' wool sorther, turnin reaund
as mad as he could howd, feelin no betther to see Whiteyead an'
Scrawmer rowlin abeaut brastin wi laughin. " Get thi job done,
an' don't lev so mony cellar steps up t' sides o' mi yead as tha uses
doin. Tha turns me eaut sometimes like a waytherworks shoot,
or a horse-scraper."

" Or a scolloped bakin-tin, or a worted cockle shell," Whiteyead
says to help him eaut.

" Or a pair o' rough-ribbed stockins, or th' iron window-shuts
at th' Store," Scrawmer put in.

" Ah ; or a patent laddher for performin fleas, or or owt.

Neaw, Sammy, chirp another word afore tha's finished wi me an'
we'll make hashed meight on thee whol we han thee to eaursel."

When Horsfall were thrimmed off an' ready to bowt Whiteyead
geet up, put his top-cwot on, an' shapped for off too, as nowt were.

"Hair cutting, Mr. Whitehead, please?" Sammy axed, starin
at him.

" It wants cuttin some ill," Whiteyead says, wi his hond on th'
dur latch. " It's groon hawve an inch or so whol aw've bin sittin
here waitin mi turn."

" Don't go, Mr. Whitehead, please. I will cut it in a moment
— instanter, so to speak."

"Nay, mi time's up neaw, so get forrad wi Scrawmer yead.
Aw'll rugg thee up some mornin abeaut five o' t' clock, so as tha
con have a full day at th' job. Aw coome here wi an heaur an' a
hawve to spare, thinkin that 'd gi thee margin enough, but aw'm
cheted once again."

They left t' little barber grinnin a sickly grin, i' deaubt whether
they were makin gam on him or not, an' bowled.

" Tha'rt a comical chap, Whiteyead," Horsfall says, spluttherin
an' laughin, when they geet eautside. " What the hangment made
thee sit yon o this while iv tha wants nowt doin at thee?"

" Howd thi noise ! " says Whiteyead, turnin into his shop.
"Aw never let Sammy pow me, tha knows. Aw nobbut co when
aw've a bit o' time to put on. It's cheper nor th' aleheause, an'
there's a dyel moore gam. Well, next Sethurday, Tom ? "

" O reet, lad," Horsfall said, an' knocked forrad whistlin.

Pow, to cut the hair.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 311

II.

/.— Kitchen o' th' " Winkin Kittlin." Sonded floor, white-
weshed woles, Smobridge ceilin (bare planks an' cross-byems).
Seauth woles decorated wi a big wood-framed wusted sampler, full
o' tombstones, temples, weepin willows, an' coffin lids ; balanced
bi two little oil paintins — Napoleon ridin o'er some Alps as big
as haycocks, an' Burns gawpin at his plough astid o' gettin forrad
wi his wark an' shiftin hissel fro undher a very solid-lookin spirit
o' poethry, foin fro th' cleauds full-bang on his yead. North wole
filled wi a big pot-shelf an' th' window. East wole hung wi breet-
polished tin cookin-tackle, a weather-glass, an' a wood clock.
Owd-fashion't chimbley-piece on th' west, set eaut wi two pot
ornaments, a coffee mill, two brass candlesticks, an' th' ale warmer,
an' fitted up wi new boiler, oon, an' firebars. Tuthri hams an' a
brass kettle hangin fro hooks i' th' top. Bread-flake, full o cakes,
wi some flannel shirts an' lin clooas hangin fro one end. Reaunt
dyel table, cracked reight across th' middle, dhresser, square wood
cheers, an' a form or two. Slopstone undher t' window ; fuchsia
in a fleawer-pot i' th' window-bottom.

Folk. — Scrawmer, Horsfall, Whiteyead, an' Sammy pyercht
abeaut wi gill pots.

Time. — Hawve-past two o' Sethurday.

(Rnther Kershaw^ sweatin).

KERSHAW. — Eh, lads ! aw've welly had to breighk mi neck to
catch yo. It went a quather-past as aw coome deawn th' Packer,
an' aw felt sure yo'd o be gwone. (Rubs weet off his yead).

HORSFALL. — Th' day's young enough yet, lad, for owt we han
to do.

KERSHAW. — What, Sammy ! That's ne'er thee, belike ?

SAMMY. — Yes, sir; it is indeed. I am here, as the duke's
motto says. How are you, please ?

KERSHAW. — What me ? Eh ! bless thi ribs ! aw ne'er ail nowt.
Cartin's th' best job there is. But heaw will t' business shap to-
neet, Sammy ? Hasta left somebry waggin t' sithers for thee ?

SAMMY. — No hair-cutting to-day, sir. Shaving only on Satur-
days.

SCRAWMER. — That's war again ! Iv tha's left a new-catcht un
on th' job he'll be cuttin a throttle or two.

SAMMY (grinnin). — Oh no, sir ! No fear of that ! My assistant
is no such catechumentical bungler.

HORSFALL. — By gum !

WHITEYEAD. — That's a good un, Sammy. Aw ne'er yerd that
afore. It's a swing wi it like a rantipow.

Bread-flake, rack for oatcake.

312 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

KERSHAW. — Nor me, noather. It's long enough for a bucklin
chen. What were it, Sammy? Summat abeaut cats an' ale?
Aw'll have a gill afther that, as heaw.

SCRAWMER. — Sammy's getten that off o' purpose for th' do. We
durn't get 'em that length i' th' shavin shop. Is't Latin, owd brid ?

SAMMY. — Partially derived from the Roman tongue, sir, please.

HORSFALL. — An' it myens yezzy shavin, aw reckon, does it ?

SAMMY. — Well, yes, sir ; we may say it is equivalent to that, sir,
except perhaps in a few isolated cases.

WHITEYEAD. — Bi th' mass ! he's fair runnin o'er wi 'em to-
day. We s' larn summat afore we getten him on th' top o'
Rooley's, iv he doesn't give us o th' yeadwartch.

SCRAWMER. — Well, come, Kershaw ! Here's to thee. What's
made thee so lat to-day ? Aw thought yo knocked off at twelve
ov a Sethurday.

KERSHAW. — Ah, we done reckon so ; but t' wark has to be
done, tha knows. Aw've had some stone to fot fro Whitoth, an'
that thrut me a bit. There's some stirrins up theere to-day.

O ON 'EM.— What's to do ?

KERSHAW. — Well, it's Wakes for one thing, yo known. But
that's noane o on't.

SAMMY. — What is it then, please ?

KERSHAW. — Aw thought yo barbers knew ov o 't stirred.
Heaw is't tha's to come to me for thi news when tha keeps a shop
'at's nobbut one greight earhole for o th' teawn ?

SAMMY. — He, he ! Very good, sir ; very good.

HORSFALL. — Iv tha wants to laugh, Sammy, set thi lid gradely
oppen ; tha'rt wur nor a tewit, scrapin. What's bin up, then,
Kershaw ?

KERSHAW. — Aw'll tell yo in a bit ; but aw'm as dhry as un-
slecked lime. (Hammers on tti table. EntJter lonlort.)

LONLORT. — Were yo knockin ?

KERSHAW. — Gill ov ale.

(Enther another Chap.)

CHAP. — An' bring me one.

LONLORT. — Hasta owt to pay wi ?

CHAP. — Nowe. Is thi chalk o done ?

LONLORT. — Happen not ; but thi dur's full. It's time tha
gated sthraightenin th' owd off afore tha sups fresh.

CHAP. — Tha makes a dyel o' bother abeaut a saup ov ale.
Aw'm th' best customer tha's getten, amm't aw ?

LONLORT. — Tha met be iv there were ever ony brass at th' end
on't ; but it's wur nor gatin a chancery shuit chalkin up for a
fellah like thee.

KERSHAW. — Come, owd mon ! Don't keep us here o day !
(Lonlort bowts.)

Yeadwartch, headache.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 313

CHAP. — This is gratitude, this is ! Afther o aw've spent i' this
heause, an' o th' flat ale aw've sided for him'! ^It's a rare world !

SAMMY. — Beati shunt non qui expectant —

CHAP. — Iv that says another word aw'll knock thi e'en up !
Wilta cob Welsh at me ?

(Enther Lonlort wi one gill.)

LONLORT. — Thee make less o' thi din, Cropper. Aw'll ha
noane ov a chap like thee sheautin at good customers.

CHAP. — Arta for bringin me nowt ?

LONLORT. — No we.

CHAP. — Then tha mun tak th' consequences. It'll be laid to
thee iv owt happens.

LONLORT. — Aw's ne'er take no brass off thee, it's my belief,
whatever else aw get.

CHAP. — Enough said ! Tha's done t' thrick neaw. Tha's
brought it on thisel.

HORSFALL. — Fot him a gill ; he looks hawve-clemmed. Aw'll
pay for it.

(Lonlort slutthers off.)

CHAP. — Well ! th'art t' first friend aw've fund this mony a
year. God bless thee !

(Slats maudlin tears abeaut. Lonlort brings gill.)

HORSFALL. — Here's a penny, Daff. Give him a hondful o'
cake-brade an' cheese ; he's nobbut hawve wick.

CHAP. — Good health ! Here's hopin every poor fellah may
find as good a friend when he's hard up.

SCRAWMER. — What's makin thee so ill off. Dost wortch noane ?

CHAP. — Oh, yigh ! Aw've done a fortnit sin' Whissunday.

WHITEYEAD. — Well, tha may make it a month afore t' year
end, iv th'art sharp.

CHAP. — It's a smart, rubbitchly hole ov a world, is this !
There's naught but scrattin, an' ne'er no rest for nobry.

KERSHAW. — Tha mun ha rested middlin thisel, iv tha's nobbut
made a fortnit sin' last Whissunday. Aw've shifted a good tuthri
Iwod sin' then. What arta grumblin abeaut ?

CHAP. — It'd make onybody grumble, wouldn't it? Aw want
nowt nobbut to sit quiet an' get a saup o' summat to sup neaw an'
again, but aw munnot do that beaut my wife, or th' rent chap, or
somebry botherin. It's a rare world !

HORSFALL. — Goo an' gate o' thi wark, an' howd thi din.

CHAP. — Wortchin agrees noane wi me — it ma'es mi back
wartch an' gies me sore feet dhirectly. Pay for another gill
wilta ?

HORSFALL. — Not iv aw know it ! Tha wouldn't ha getten
t'other iv aw'd waited to yer thee talk a bit.

Gob, throw. Cake-brade, oatcake. Lwod, load.

314 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

CHAP. — Ah ! just as aw expected ! Th' owd tale !

SAMMY. — Mr. Kershaw, please; what is that news from Whit-
worth ?

SCRAWMER. — Ah ! tha ne'er towd us that.

KERSHAW. — Well, aw will do, when aw've tasted once. (Sups).

CHAP (to kissel). — What a world !

KERSHAW. — As aw dhrove through Endin abeaut nine o' t'
clock this mornin aw coome up wi a dhrove o' young pigs, looked
afther bi an owd Irishman ; an' aw'd to sheaut at him to sam 'em
together a bit so 'at t' cart could pass, for they scutther't an' squeal't
reight across th' road. " Heaw fur are yo takkin that lot?" aw
axed him. " Bakkup, sur." " Well, aw'd sanner yo'd th' job nor
me," aw said. " Och ! it's aisy enough to dhroive pigs ! " he says,
crackin his long whip. " Come out o' the good woman's door, ye
wid the black snout ! Hurroosh, ye divvies ! " Aw went forrad to
Whitoth, geet loden't up, an' just as aw were comin deawn th' broo
into th' turnpike road aw seed t' dhrove o' pigs passin t' lone
bottom. Comin on to'ard 'em fro Facit there were a wild beast
show, wi tuthri carryvans, an' two thumpin big elephants i' their
stockin feet ; an' just opposite me were o th' fair stalls an' shows
on a piece ov oppen greaund. Just then a bobby-horse orgin, wi
abeaut forty brass thrumpets in it inside, banged off at full cock,
settin th' elephants agate o' dancin, an' in a twinkle th' pigs were
off like wicksilver. One lot shoved straight forrad, between horse
an' elephant legs, an' bowted toard Yorkshire ; another lot turn't
reaund o' their tails, upset t' dhriver, an' made for Rachda as hard
as they could goo ; another gang coome bangin up th' lone past
me, an' there were no puncin 'em back noather ; an' o t'other lot
sprinted across th' fair-greaund, an' nipped up th' hill-sides as iv
they'rn gooin wimberry getherin. O t' dhrove skriked an' squeal't
wur nor a killin day, folk ran abeaut, cursin, sheautin, an' makin
things wur, th' elephants danced an' jumped, aw stood at mi horse-
yead to watch th' fun, an' th' owd Irishman sit him deawn on a
flag, cobbed his long whip away, an' says " O Lard ! what'll oi do !
what'll oi do ! " Aw co'd eaut to him, " Neaw, owd mon ! aw
thought it were aisy to dhroive pigs ; " an' he sheauted back, " Ah,
ye divvle ! thread on a man bekase he's down. Sure, ye Whitwort
people can thry pig-huntin on yer native hills at last. See the
spotted darlins climbin ! There niver was so much game up there
afore, oi'll go bail. Sorra one o' ye will oi ever see more ! " " Not
iv tha keeps sittin theere," aw said. " Shap abeaut an' be afther
'em, whol there's some good to be done." " How'll oi go four
ways at wanst ?" he says. " Well, keep sittin theere an' whistle for
'em," aw said ; "they'll happen come again when»they'n had a bit
ov a gallop reaund th' moor tops." So aw coome away, levin t'
sthreets crommed wi laughin folk. Th' fair's nowheere neaw,
afther t' pig race.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 315

CHAP (to hissel). — It's a leausy world, is this !

SCRAWMER. — There'll be a bit o' roast pork i' Whitoth to-neet,
then. Some o' thoose stone-delph lads '11 side tuthri spar-ribs eaut
o' th' sect iv they getten a chance.

KERSHAW. — They'll ne'er have a betther chance, shuzheaw.
(Enther woman).

WOMAN. — Ben, aw do wish tha'd come worn. Eaur Liza's
wur again.

CHAP. — Arta here again bi neaw ! Am aw newer to get a
minute's quietness ?

WOMAN. — Do come wi me, Ben. Aw ne'er geet a wink o'
sleep last neet, an' aw'm fair done o'er. Aw want thee to sit wi
th' chilt whol aw fot th' teawn's docthor to her. Aw'm fleyed
hoo's shappin for th' breawn titus. Come !

CHAP. — Ger off wi thee an' put a powltice on, or else some
goose-grase ; it's nobbut a smatch o' cowd. There's naught but
bother wi women an' childher.

WOMAN. — Come !

CHAP. — Will aw Owdham as like ! Tha'll get cleauted iv tha
comes rootin afther me again, aw con tell thee. Aw've no pleasur
i' livin at this bat.

WOMAN. — Wilta gi me some brass, then. There's nowt for th'
dinner, an' t' childher han done as long as they con. One o' th'
neighbours did give Isral a butthercake this mornin, an' he brought
it worn to divide wi t'other two ; but it were nobbut a bite apiece,
poor things ! Come, Ben !

CHAP. — Tha's some wit comin to me for brass, shuzheaw.
Hasn't ta dhrawn for thi weshin yet ?

WOMAN. — Nowe. Come, aw know tha geet sixpence for gerrin
yon Iwod o' coals in at th' butcher's. Iv tha'll gi me twopence it'll
do, just neaw.

CHAP. — Did ever onybody see sich a world as this ! Be off,
aw tell thee ! Aw've no brass.

WOMAN. — Eh, Ben ! surelee tha's ne'er spent o that i' ale.

CHAP (gettin mad}. — Iv tha artn't off i' two minutes aw'll floor
thee.

( Woman puts appron to fur den an' makes for tK dur).

SAMMY. — A moment, please, missis ! Just a moment !

(Poo's his billycock o/l dhrops a shillin in, an* howds it eaut to
f other fellahs}.

KERSHAW. — That's a good sthroke, Sammy. Aw'll be another.

HORSFALL. — Bring it this road. We'n do a shillin apiece
chaps.

SCRAWMER ) ~, , .

WHITEYEAD / Oh> ah !

Sreaivn titus, bronchitis.

316 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

SAMMY. — Thank you, gentlemen ; thank you. See my poor
woman ; here is a little eleemosymary contribution

KERSHAW. — Yer thee !

SAMMY. — which we hope will be of service to you. Five

shillings, please.

( Woman sobs.)

CHAP. — Come, aw'll have a pint eaut o' that lot, Mary !
(Knocks.)

HORSFALL. — Iv hoo gies thee a hawpny on't we'll have eaur
brass back.

CHAP. — Ah ! Just so !

(Enther Lonlort.)

LONLORT (gawpin reaund). — Were yo knockin ?

HORSFALL. — Nowe, but tha con knock that chap on th' yed
whol tha'rt here.

LONLORT. — What Cropper ? Nay ! aw met as weel cleaut a
stoop.

(Slutthers eaut again.)

WOMAN. — Aw cawn't say a word to thank yo. Aw'm fair full.
Aw con get some arrowroot neaw, an' some linseed, an' a loaf for
t' childher. Thank yo ! thank yo ! an' God bless yo !

O ON 'EM. — Yo're welcome.

( Woman runs eaut.)

SCRAWMER. — Come, lads ; let's be gettin a bit nar.

WHITEYEAD. — Ah, it's time we were shappin.
(O sup up an' bowt.)

CHAP (left bi kissel). — There's some set o' yo lot, by gum ! Yo
met be somebry ! (Looks into o th' pots to see iv there's ony
bottoms left.) Just as aw expected ! They hannot left enough to
fuddle a flee. It's a bonny hole ov a world is this !
(Sits him deawn an' fo's asleep.)

III.

It's a fairish poo fro Spotland Brigg to th' top o' Rooley's ; but
wi tuthri rests, a refreshin gill at Lone Yead, an' a dyel o' gruntin,
t' wizart hunthers fund theirsel weel up th' moorside afther a while.

" Aw could do betther wi this hill-climbin iv there were ony
deawn-broo in it," Scrawmer said, gaspin for wynt, for he were a
bit touched i' th' chest, weighver-like. " It's wearisome to be olez
slantin uparts, like a warp comin off a byem."

" What is that delightful perfume?" axed little Sammy, stoppin
to sniff th' warm air blowin across t' moorside. " Quiet nectareous,
really."

" Scented hair oil," Whiteyead towd him.

Stoop, post.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 317

" Aw dun know what the hangment it is," Horsfall said, " but
it's noane off Cape wool aw'll bet a hawpny. It's moore like all-
spice an' cinnamon sticks, wi a bit o' grund ginger sprinkl't o'er 'em.
Tha sells o maks o' stinks, Whiteyead ; con ta kessen it ?"

" Yeth bloom," Whiteyead says. " It needs no dhruggist to
tell that. Wheere hast bin browt up ? "

" Noane on th' moor-ends wur luck ! Aw've olez lived i' back-
yards an' up enthries, an' wortched among flannel-grase whol aw
feel a bit sheepish mysel."

" Tha has had a bit ov a look o' one sin' Sammy clipped thee
t'other day," Whiteyead towd him.

" Let Sammy a-be, wilta ?" Kershaw said, pattin t' barber's back
wi his greight hond. " Aw wain't have him put on. Sammy,
tha'rt as nimble as a bantam to-day; tha's nipped up this broo like
a fither. Aw reckon that comes o' livin upo bear's grase an' yure-
pins."

" He, he !" Sammy laughed. " Very good, sir, very good !"

" We're noane aboon forty mile off th' ' Moorcock,' neaw, are
we ?" Scrawmer axed, rubbin his face. " We'n thravell't hawve
road across t' world, welly, it looks to me, an' as dhry a gate as
e'er aw let on. Con we lond theere this week, or heaw ? "

" Tha'll see it dhirectly," Kershaw said. " Just o'er this next
broo, an' then. Iv tha'd bin up here for stone an' engine-sleek
as oft as me tha'd feel awom."

" Aw've ne'er bin afore, an' aw' s' come no moore yet a bit. Iv
yo takken me a-walkin again it'll ha to be up th' cut-bank, or
somewheere else where it's level."

" Comin no moore, saysta ?" Horsfall co'd eaut. " Tha'rt as
ill to plez as a mule-fitther 'at were lodgin i' Bury once. His lond-
lady sent him a bill in at th' week end at fair made his yure ston
up. ' Here ! what done yo co this ?' he says. ' Aw'm noane payin
o that, nor th' hawve on't. Aw met eight as mich as a wild beast
show ! Heaw con yo reckon it up ?"

T' londlady said, ' Well, pottatoes han gwone up yo known ;
fleaur's very dear, yo known ; berm's like upo t' rise too, yo known ;
beefs a shillin a peaund, yo known ; brass '11 hardly buy cabbitches,
yo known ; an' we'n welly as mich to pay for rates as rent i' this
hole, yo known. So neaw yo han it.'

' Aw have that !' he says, 'an' aboon a bit. Well, aw'll pay
this time, yo known, seein as it's yo, like, yo known, but aw'm
comin no moore, yo known.' "

"He, he, he !" Sammy laughed. " Very good, sir, very good !
Bona fabula."

" Howd !" Scrawmer co'd eaut, marchin a bit at th' front.
" There's a heause yon hangin on a brooside, like a side o' bacon
fro a hook. Is yon it, Kershaw ? "

318 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Reel again, lad. There's nobbut one heause hereabeaut.
Aw wondher iv they'n ony ale left."

" It'll be a rum un iv we'n to goo back to th' ' Kittlin ' afore
we con get a gill," Whiteyead says. " We'n had wit enough to
pike as dhrufty a road as there is i' th' parish, shuzheaw. Done
they ever have teetotal meetins up here, aw wondher ? It's a rare
shop for 'em "

" Aw've ne'er sin noane," Kershaw said. " It'd nobbut be time
wasted iv they coome, for it'll want moore nor talk to stop some
o' these quarry chaps fro fuddlin. We s' be likely to find th' ale-
heause full on 'em neaw, wi bein Sethurday."

He were a bit mista'en theere, for they nobbut fund two, an'
one o' them were asleep in a cheer bi t' kitchen fire. T'other sit
near him, restin his bare arms on a little reaunt table, wi a quart
jug an' a tot glass undher his nose. He stared hard at t' Rachda
chaps whol they planted theirsel, geet summat to sup, an' ordher't
some baggin to be shapped ; fillin an' emptyin his glass once or
twice, but sayin nowt. A big, sthrong, hardy fellah he looked ; his
singlet flyin oppen, coarse white shirt loase abeaut his bull neck,
narrow leather belt reaund his middle, shoon an inch thick i' t'
sole, an' a weather-blown, wholsome colour abeaut his skin 'at
stamped him ov a different breed fro th' teawn-groon lads he
gawped at.

"Is thi e'eseet middlin good?" Scrawmer axed him at last,
weary o' bein looked o'er i' that shap.

Th' navvy filled an' emptied his glass, as iv he went bi
machinery, an' had to sup every so oft whether he wanted or not,
wiped his meauth wi a hond like a fairish sized ham, fowded his
arms on th' table again, an' then fund time to say,

" Tidy, mate, tidy."

" It taks thee a good while to get a gradely sect, shuzheaw.
Look at sombry else a bit for a change."

Th' navvy geet howd o' Scrawmer's thin, delicate hond, turnin
it o'er in his own, where it looked like a white fire-breek in a
buildher's hod, put it deawn, supped again, an' axed,

" D' you call yourself a man ?"

" Aws' co noane o' misel nowt," Scrawmer says, " there's folk
enoo for that job. Aw've a wife to keep, an' three childher at
co'n me fayther, iv that'll do for thee."

Th' navvy said nowt, but sit whol it were time to fill his glass.
Then, findin his pitcher empty, he says to hissel " The jug's off
again," an' hommer't wi it on th' table, sheautin " Landlord !
Landlord!"

Th' lonlort coome noane, so a young woman nursin a babby at
t' other end o' th' kitchen filled t' jug an' set t' dhrinkin machine
off again.

" Thank you, Matilda," th' navvy said when he'd supped once.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 319

" Aw want summat moore nor thanks," t' young woman said,
laughin. " Am aw to chalk it up to yo ?"

" Book it to George," he says in his slow, heavy style.

" He's fast asleep an' happen wain't pay when he wakkens*"

" Won't pay !" grunted th' navvy, wi summat like scorn in his
face. " You don't know my mate. This is George's quart. If
he don't pay I'll brek his head ; and if he don't drink the slop I
shall. Book it to George, girl."

"That's a new mak ov a partnership, owd mon," Whiteyead
co'd eaut. " Tha sups an' he pays. He's a sleepin partner wi a
wuther, is this. Aw dun' know heaw th' plan '11 act when yo're
bwoth wakken at once — if yo ever are — but it's a tip-top dodge
whol there's nobbut hawve o' th' firm on t' fuddle."

"You think so?" axed t' navvy, when he'd stared at Whiteyead
abeaut two minutes. " You're a clever sort of gent, ain't you ?"

" Oliver enough to set a quart on to oather thee or George, iv
tha'll nobbut fo asleep a bit. Yo con ne'er count up to an odd
un, aw know."

" Maybe," t' navvy says when he'd gien his slow tongue time
to turn. He filled his glass again, shoved it toard 'em, an' said,
" Take a drink, mateys."

"Nay ! we s' nobbut be robbin thee," Horsfall towd him. ulv
tha'rt beaun to keep emptyin that tot o neet at this speed tha'll
run short afore turnin eaut time."

" Drink, mate !" th' navvy said again, dhroppin his neighve on
th' table wi a bang 'at made t' pots beaunce an' welly split th'
wood. " We works hard and we drinks hard. Look here ! This
is George " — heighvin a finger like a clooas-peg to point him out —
"my mate George. Look at him!" He turned to Scrawmer :
" George is a man. So 'm I. We's Linc'shire boys ; fenmen both.
Linc'shire born, Suffolk reared ; all round the blooming island
since." It were time to empty his glass again, so he did it, an'
went on : " Look at George, now. There's the man to fight, brek
stone, or breed pups with any of ye." He put his hond undher t'
bench, poo'd eaut a little King Charley spaniel, an' set it, wi it shinin
silky yure, long ears, an' fithery tail, among th' ale pots, wheere it
minced abeaut seechin a dhry spot for it dainty feet. " That's
George's dawg."

" Come ! that's a beauty," Horsfall brasted eaut, takkin t' little
thing in his hond to see iv it marks were reet. " Aw've bred a
tuthri o' these mysel, an' reckon to know a good un when aw see
it. Why, this is woth mony a peaund. Will thi mate sell it, dost
think ?"

" Sell his dawg ! No fear. This is all the same to George as
'Tilda's baby in the cradle yon'er is to her."

" Nay, it isn't, noather," t' young woman co'd eaut, busy among

320 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

her taythings. " We're noane havin that. It met seem yo bwoth
betther iv yo'd get wed, an' spend yor brass o' somebry woth it."

" D'ye think so, girl ? You're a clever sort of woman ain't
you?"

" There's betther an' wur. Neaw, chaps, yor baggin's ready.
Win yo come on to this t'other table ? "

" Nay, we s' do here," Horsfall said. " We'll shift these pots
an' then. Wilt have a bite wi us, mate ?"

" I ain't done drinking, yet. My jug's off again, 'Tilda."

" Set another on to George," Whiteyead chuckl't, plantin hissel
at t' back ov a lump o' cowd beef. " It's his turn. When will thi
dhrinkin time be up ?"

11 He'll sit slotchin here whol eleven," Matilda said. " These
two takken as mich fillin as a boiler. Done yo o tak sugar an"
milk?"

" When we con get it," Scrawmer said ; " but that's noane
every week."

" Well, yo mun o help yorsel, an' iv yo're owt short yo'll happen
speighk."

" My jug's off, 'Tilda."

" Yo mun wait a minute ; there's t' chilt cryin."

Hoo ran across t' kitchen, rocked t' kayther a bit, an' then filled
th' navvy his pot again.

" I pay for this," he says, pooin some coppers eaut ; then he
swigged another tot off an sattl't hissel deawn on th' table again.

"Tha'rt lettin thi mate off then, this time reaund?" Whiteyead
axed.

" George pays for the next. If he don't drink it I will," th'
navvy said. " Fair play among mates."

" Oh, ah ! it's fair enough — iv he'll ston it. Tha pays for hawve
o' t' dhrink an' sups t' lot."

" My name's Will Broxton, and I cares for nobody. Look at
George ! He cares for nobody — not a curse. Open to fight or
wrestle any man ; game to drink while the money lasts, game to
work our share and no grumbling. Show me the man can stand
up to Linc'shire Will !"

" Look this road," Kershaw said, his meauth full o' beef an'
butther-cake. " Aw'll oather feight or wrostle thee for five shillin
— neighves or clogs in as tha's a mind. Tha moan't gate braggin
at that rate — but it's th' ale 'at's swaggerin aw reckon."

Th' navvy reighched across to feel at Kershaw's muscle, lookin
weel at t' carther's brode back and solid body. " Your'e a man,"
he says, suppin once. " You're a man — but no match for Will
Brox'on. Will you try a fall, matey ?"

" Ony time when tha'rt sober ; aw'll ha nowt to do wi thee
whol tha'rt bermy. Tha's moore meauth nor merit, aw expect
same as most on us."

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 32!

Horsfall had put th' spaniel deawn when t' baggin were ready,
an' it 'd bin friskin abeaut it sleepin maisther whol he'd reaused up
a bit. He rowlt his heavy yead tuthri times, spread his arms wi a
long grunt, oppen't two dull e'en, an' gawped abeaut him. He
were a big, clumsy, black-yur't lump ov a chap, lookin as crammed
an' awkart as his mate were quiet. He gav a bad-temper't stare o
reaund him, laid howd o' th' ale-jug, filled t' glass, emptied it,
sattl't back in his cheer an' gated snorin.

" Wake up, sleepyhead !" Broxton co'd eaut, shakin him up
weel bi t' shooldher, an' at that George turned reaund on him
middlin sharp, axin, " What d'ye mean, cuss you ?"

" Wake up and show yourself to the gentlemen. We've com-
pany to-night, look ye. 'Tilda, the jug's off. You pays next,
George."

" Do I. You're gassing again s'pose." He fixed his e'en on
little Sammy, hawve geet up, an' sheauted, " Who are you, cuss
you?"

" Samuel Brown, sir, please ; barber of Rochdale, Lancashire,"
Sammy said, ceawerin into his nook, too freeten't for once to talk
Latin.

" Barber," grunted George, sneerin. " Have I come to 'sociate
with barbers ?" He laid howd o' th' jug, fund it empty, banged it
deawn an' turned on his mate like a mad bull. " Where's the beer,
ye drunken sot?"

"This is your quart," Broxton says, beaut stirrin. George
geet up an' fell forrad on t' top ov his mate, for he couldn't ston
up, makin a blint sthroke or two wi his arms ; so t'other laid howd
on him, fot him a lusty cleaut or two on th' earhole, an' dhropped
him into his cheer again, where George fell back fast asleep, wi t'
little dog pyerchin on his knee.

" Keep quiet, sleepyhead," Broxton said, takkin his owd shop
at th' table. " 'Tilda, the jug's off."

" Tha's getten a crammed mak ov a mate, by gum," says White-
yead. " Aw should goo noane on t' fuddle wi that mon. Breeten
up, Sammy, lad ! We shan't let him eight thee."

" All right, Mr. Whitehead ; all right, sir ! I am not afraid."

" Tha looks freeten't an' some ill too, whether tha feels so or
not."

" It's only one of George's little ways," t' navvy said. " He
wouldn't hurt a fly, poor fellow, but he was crossed in love, d'ye
see, was my mate, and ye can't expect a man to tek that easy.
When he crippled the foundryman at Brum he only meant it for a
lark, and that was all lies about him splitting the sergeant's head
with half a brick. George is a good pal." He supped once, an'
turned to Kershaw : " Try a fall, mate ; friendly."

" Aw'll ha nowt to do wi thee to-neet. Why, Scrawm, thcUrt
lookin freeten't neaw. What's up?"

w

322 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Scrawmer pointed to t' dur, his e'en startin eaut ov his yead.
They o looked, an' seed a big white bull bitch come marchin in as
iv o th' heause belonged to it.

" That's only my dawg," Broxton said, in his dull, slow fashion.
He chirped, sang eaut, "Come, Sally, lass," an' Sally waddl't forrad
on her bandy legs, jumped on to t' bench, an' sit deawn at t' side
ov her maisther, makin Scrawmer hutch up eaut ov her road
middlin sharp. Sally were a reglar beauty — red e'en, flappin ears,
two front teeth just showin undher t' savage top lip, thick neck,
big chest, an' curly legs. Hoo wore a leather collar set wi brass
studs for ornament, an' looked o reaund t' table wi a mournful
face, as iv to say, " Aw s' very like ha to bite some on yo afore so
long, but there's no pleasur in it."

IV.

"Good dawg !" th' navvy said, rubbin her wi his greight hond.
" This is the sort of friend for a man, gents."

" Gather thy taste or mine mun be wrong," Scrawmer grunted.
" Thy mak o' mates '11 do noane at o for me. Is t' thing used to
weighver beef? It's lookin at me in a hungry road."

" Arta sure it's a dog ?" axed Whiteyead. " It looks moore o'
th' dur knocker breed to me. Aw've ne'er sin as feaw a face as
that eautside kest iron afore."

"Set him, Sally, !" Broxton said, catchin her bi th' collar; an'
hoo put her back up, snarlin at t' dhruggist wi two rows o' sharp
teeth i' full sect.

"Here, howd on!" Whiteyead co'd eaut, hutchin away.
" Howd on, maisther ! Aw'll poo it back, or apologise, or owt.
Jump i' t' front o' me, Sammy, iv yon collar slips."

But Sammy were off. They went a-seechin him hawve an
heaur afther an' fund him hud i' th' coal hole, but he took a dyel
o' persuadin afore he'd go back. They'd to get th' navvy to shut
his pet up in another reawm afore t' little chap durst foot up, but
once he knew Sally were safe undher lock an' keigh he marched
in as bowd as a sodier.

Broxton were dhroppin asleep o'er his ale, but wakken't up a
bit when Sammy showed hissel. "Come in, matey; don't be
afeared of a little dawg. Sally wouldn't hurt a fly."

" Hoo may be nowt mich at flee catchin," Scrawmer said ;
" th' question is, heaw fur con hoo be thrusted wi flesh meight ?"

" Thy friends are o ov a very harmless breed to yer thee talk,"
Kershaw says. " It's rayther a pity their looks are so mich again
'em."

" Try a fall, now. Come !" said Broxton, gettin up an' catchin
t' carther bi th' arm. "Any style ye likes. I'm the boy to wrestle!"

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 323

" Be quiet an' sit thee deawn, tha foo," Kershaw said. " It'll tak
thee o thi time to wrostle wi th' ale tha's supped."

Ha'ever, Broxton were stupid, poo'd him off his shet, an' laid
howd on him reaund th' middle. Matilda skriked eaut, co'in for
t'other chaps to stop 'em, but as they o wanted to see th' sport
they budged noane. Kershaw nobbut laughed o'er th' job, leet
th' navvy rive at him a bit, an' then thripped him up, his yead
comin again th' flags wi a bang.

" All right, matey," Broxton said, gettin up an' shakin hissel.
" Shek hands. You're a man, you are, but it's lucky for ye George
is asleep. 'Tilda, my jug's off."

" Yo'n had too mich as it is," Matilda towd him. " Yo mun
be fuddl't, but yo're like as yo ne'er shown it."

"Fuddled with this slop?" t' navvy axed wi scorn, tossin
another glass off. "What d'ye tek me for?" He crossed his
arms on t' table again, sit quiet tuthri minutes, an' then said he'd
sing 'em a song iv they'd let Sally eaut.

" Come on, Sammy ! " Scrawmer said. " We'll be shappin off
deawn t' broo iv that thing's comin back again."

" Sit down, mateys. Honour bright. How'd you like your
little dawg shut in there by itself in the dark. She'll be quiet
enough ; no fear."

So Matilda oppen't t'other reawm dur, coome back wi Sally
waddlin at t' front on her, an' t' doleful lookin craythur pyerch'd
up bi it maisther again, nuzzlin in his hond, an' lookin a bit moore
dismal nor common — very like t' poor thing's road o' showin it
were plez't.

" Na then, lads ! songs abeaut," Whiteyead says. " Shift these
taythings, missis, bring us summat to sup, an' put it o deawn to
George — he'll be wakkenin in a bit. Brast off, owd stone-clipper !
What art beaun to sing ?"

" Anything you likes, mate. I can sing anything. My name's
Will Brox'on, and I cares for nobody."

" Heaw oft art beaun to tell us that?" Kershaw axed him.
" Get forrad wi thi yeawlin."

Broxton supped once, sthroked his little dawg, crossed his
arms afore him again, an' started in a voice 'at Scrawmer said were
like thundher an' leetnin hawve mixed.

THE QUARRYMAN.

Oh ! free is the life of a quarryman bold,
In heat of summer or winter's cold ;
A lusty giant, all muscle and bone,
He delves his bread from the flinty stone.

Strike high, strike low ;

Hammer away, boys, steady and slow !

324 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

The sturdy lark sings over his head,
He starts the hare from its dewy bed,
Sweet moorland flowers about him spring,
The winds come flying on scented wing.

Strike high, strike low ;

Hammer away, boys, steady and slow !

He whirls his pick with shattering sweep,
He probes with his crow the fissure deep ;
Carving the world into shelf and ledge,
Cleaving the hills with chisel and sledge.

Strike high, strike low ;

Hammer away, boys, steady and slow !

Yes, free is the life of a quarryman bold,
Hurling the rocks like a Titan old ;
Hard he toils and in toil shall die,
But his life is under the open sky.

Strike high, strike low ;

Hammer away, boys, steady and slow !

"Hear, hear! Good do!" Horsfall said, whol they o rattl't
their pots i' compliment to t' singer. " Santley's a foo to thee.
Who's next? Come, Sammy, lad; dost know ony songs?"

" No, sir ; thank you, sir. I am little fitted for laryngoscoptic
exercises, and unacquainted with English verse. If you would like
me to recite a few hextameters, or penameters, of course that would
be different."

"Sammy, tha'rt a terrible humbug," Whiteyead says. "Tha'll
come to a bad end yet wi thi lies. Tha knows no moore abeaut
1 hextameters,' as tha co's 'em, nor this bull-dog, but tha will keep
thryin to chet folk wi thi fag-ends eaut o' t' dictionary, forgettin 'at
aw've had to study Latin a bit, mysel. For shame o' thi face !"

" He, he !" chuckl't Sammy, wi a very sickly grin. " You will
have your little joke, Mr. Whitehead."

"Tha'rt hardly fit to come eaut wi dacent folk, Sammy, an'
that's t' top an' bottom on it. Iv tha doesn't behave thysel we'll lev
thee on th' moor-top, among t' boggarts. They'll shave thee !
Neaw, Kershaw, thee give us a yelp."

" Nay ! Aw'm below singin pitch yet. There's these two chaps
i' th' nook — cotton an' woollen. They should shap to turn eaut
some mak o' stuff between 'em."

" It'd nobbut be shoddy, iv we did," Scrawmer said. " Aw'll
poo a yard or two off mi own loom, as yo're o so freeten't, an' yo
con join i' th' chorus."

" Right you are, mate ! Keep the ball a-rolling."

" Thee keep fast howd o' thi dog, an stop that fro rowlin. Its
a dyel nar me nor aw like, an' iv it doesn't happen to fancy th'
tune it met turn awkart. Some dogs han noane mich ear for
music."

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 325

" Wouldn't hurt a fly, tell ye!" Broxton said, suppin once again.
" Not a quieter little dawg in England."

Scrawnier wagged his yead, as iv he'd some deaubts abeaut
that, and brasted off wi

BILLY WINKER.

Billy Winker dhrove a cart

For a brewer deawn at Shay ;
Wi full ale barrels he'd start

On a journey every day ;
Empty kegs he'd get fro some,

But — o th' shameful tale to tell —
When wi th' empties he geet worn

He were oft brimful hissel.
Chorus (slow music) :

Oh, Billy ! What a mon !

Life's last bodle soon tha spent ;
Neaw tha's supped o th' ale tha con ;
It were gettin time tha went.

Customers, ne'er thinkin wrong,

Used to give him 'leawance glasses,
Mild or bitther, wake an' sthrong,

Every mak fro Coop's to Bass's ;
Winker olez sattl't th' lot,

Owt were reet his spark to sleek ;
Jug or bottle, glass or pot,

He could empty deawn his neck ;
Oh, Billy ! &c.

Bill grew fat, an' Bill grew fatther,

Whol his nose wi shame went pink ;
He'd forgetten t' taste o' watther

Sin' he'd taen to mix his dhrink ;
So it is bad habits floor

Th' best o' folk 'at live bi sweat ;
Iv he'd stuck to milk it's sure

Th' fellah could ha bin here yet,
Oh, Billy ! &c.

Billy's maisther, soft i' th' yead,
Co'd his mon in one fine day ;
" Here's nine gallon, lad," he said,

" Tak it worn — tha's nowt to pay.
Tha con swallow weel, aw think,

Or tha'rt ill belied bi folk ;
Set thysel to side this dhrink,

An' aw'll time thee, just for th' joke."
Oh, Billy ! &c.

Billy thanked him wi a grin,

T' barrel on his shooldher cocked,
Made for worn, an' safely in,

Front an' back his durs he locked,
Tapped his bung, an' deawn he sit,

Bucklin to a neet's hard wark ;
Th' ale so fast began to flit

It were welly gwone bi dark.
Oh, Billy ! &c.

326 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Mornin coome — bi nine o' t' clock

Back wi t' barrel Billy went,
Stonnin steady as a rock,

Fillin th' spot wi bermy scent.
" Done bi neaw !" his maisther cries ;

" Billy Winker, tha'rt a cure !"
" Done ! Why, mon, to tell no lies,

For th' supper aw'd to fot some moore."
Oh, Billy ! &c.

" Put thi barrel deawn i' th' nook,"

T' brewer said ; " tha's sattl't me !"
Bill ne'er snapped to tak his hook,

But stood his greaund wi twinklin e'e.
" What art stoppin theere for ? Bowt !"

T' maisther sheauted in a crack ;
" Come !" says Billy ; "is there nowt

At o for bringin th' barrel back ?"

Chorus (solemn) :

Oh, Billy ! What a mon !

Life's last bodle soon tha spent ;
Neaw tha's supped o' th' ale tha con ;
It were gettin time tha went !

" Tha's sung th' navvy asleep, shuzheaw," Horsfall said, lookin
at his watch. " Aw'll tell yo what, chaps ; iv we're beaun reaund
bi Norden it's hee time we made a start."

" Bi gum ! aw'd clen forgetten t' wizart," Whiteyead co'd eaut.
" We s' have a job to get across t' moor i' th' dark, but we'll be
noane licked neaw."

They gated shappin for off. T' navvy's yead had dhropped
deawn on his arms, but he looked up when he yerd 'em stirrin.

" Not going, mates, are ye?"

"Yigh, we mun be off," Kershaw said, gettin up. "It's gettin
toard bedtime. Tha met find a betther road o' spendin thi Sethur-
days nor this. We're noane born to make ale barrels ov eaursel."

"Watch 'em, Sally!" Broxton grunted, an' deawn went his
muzzy yead again. Th' bulldog beaunced forrad an' faced th'
Rachda chaps, legs set for a spring, every tooth in it yead showin,
red e'en afire.

They o dhropped into their shets again, middlin sharp ; th'
londlady stood across th' kitchen watchin 'em, too freetent to stir
or speighk, an' th' lonlort showed hissel at th' dur, just gettin worn
fro th' teawn, but poo'd up when he seed t' dog.

"This is a bonny come off," he sheauted. "What han yo
chaps agate ?" He chirped at Sally, an' snapped his fingers, but
Sally budged noane. " Neaw, Bill!" he sheauted again. " Wakken
up an' shift this dog. It's a rum un iv aw cawn't get into mi own
heause."

" There's a good chance for George to wakken neaw," White-
yead chuckl't, rowlin abeaut on th' bench, howdin his sides. " It's

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 327

mony a bakin day sin aw were in at sich a spree as this. We're
reet here whol mornin, seeminly."

He lifted his walkin-stick to prod George i' th' ribs, but Sally
snarled at him in a road 'at made him dhrop his hond again.

"This is awful!" little Sammy groan't. "For heaven's sake
don't move again Mr. Whitehead." Sweat were runnin fro undher
t' barber's billycock, but he dursen't shift a finger to wipe it off.

"What's t' Latin for bull pup?" axed Horsfall, leetin his pipe
as iv he myent stoppin a bit. " Tha'll ha time to give us a tuthri
o' thoose pennyomethers as tha co's 'em ; or hawpny uns met
happen do."

" Aw'm gettin stowed o' sittin here," Whiteyead says. "There
seems to be nowt for it but givin Sammy to th' dog, an' slippin
eaut whol it's busy eightin him. We could shap to get worn bi
bedtime then. What saysta, Sammy? Tha'rt nobbut little, an'
wouldn't feel it worryin thee hawve as long as we should ; beside,
it 'd be a good job for that fawse assistant o' thine iv tha ne'er
went back. Come, foot up ! Dulce et decorum est per Sally
mori."

" Give o'er plaguin t' little chap, Whiteyead," Kershaw said.
" Aw wain't have him fleyed to t' dyeath. There's beaun to be an
end o' this job one road or t'other."

He geet up, takkin no notice o' th' snarlin dog, laid howd o'
th' navvy an' gav him a shake 'at wakken't him weel an' soon.

" What's the game, matey ? " Broxton grunted, his hond gooin
to th' quart jug bi force ov habit.

" Tell that dog to lie deawn, iv tha doesn't want it lamin."

"Laming ! What, lame my dawg !" He beaunced up lookin
awkart.

"Ah ! an' thee too iv aw've ony moore bother wi thee," Kershaw
said. " Aw'll cob thee George in, beside, whol aw'm agate. Tell
that bitch to lie deawn, tha foo."

"All right, matey," t' quarryman said, sittin him deawn, his
heavy yead hangin forrad. " Come in, Sally. Good dawg ! My
name's Will Brox'on, and I cares for nobody. I works hard and
I drinks hard. Who sings next?"

But they were waitin noane, noather for singin nor nowt else.
As soon as th' dog shifted they were off in a rook. They yerd th'
navvy mutther, " 'Tilda, my jug's off," as they squoze through th'
dur, an' a minute afther they were a good piece deawn t' moorside.
It were a fine, clear neet ; no moon, but lots o' breet stars shinin,
an' a cool sweet wind fluttherin among rushes an' yeth beds.

" What foos we are, sittin stoved-up i' yon hole o neet wastin
sich weather as this," Scrawmer grumbl't.

That were his opinion ; but when th' lonlort turned t' quarry-
men eaut at eleven o' t' clock Broxton grunted to his mate,

" Have you enjoyed yourself, George ?"

328 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Ain't you gassed enough for one night?" sociable George
axed, turnin on him wi a savage look. " I've been right enough."

" Had a pleasant evening, ain't we old chum ?" t'other
maundher't. " Could have done with another jug if we'd had
time. I always likes you to enjoy yourself, George, and forget as
you was crossed in love."

"Shut your face, cuss you!" George snapped; an' they
sleauched deawn th' hill toard their lodgins, wi t' little dog barkin
an' friskin reaund 'em, an' th' big un waddlin slow an' quiet at it
maisther's heel.

V.

Th' wizart went to bed abeaut ten o' t' clock that Sethurday
neet, as thrade were a bit slack. He nobbut addl't eighteenpence
afther baggin-time — a sixpenny papper to shift blackjacks, an' a
shillin charm to make sure o' good harvestin weather — so he geet
weary o' brunnin candles an' coals for nowt. He hadn't bin laid
deawn mony minutes afore he yerd some chaps talkin eautside,
an' in a bit there coome a thunge on th' dur as iv somebry 'd ta'en
a run punce at it. Th' owd chap lee still, an' there coome another
thunge 'at made th' heause rock, an' next minute hawve a breek
coome smashin through t' window.

" It's time to be stirrin," th' wizart thought ; " aw met as weel
be kilt as let 'em knock th' heause deawn." He put th' window
up an' popped his grey yead eaut i' th' starleet very carefully.

" Is there somebry theere ?" he says.

"Dost feel some deaubt abeaut it?" Horsfall axed him, "or
mun we punce th' dur in just to make sure ?"

" What dun yo want here at this lime o' neet ?"

" We wanten some conjurin. Art tha t' chap 'at does it ?"

" Ah, it's me ; but aw'm shut up for to-neet. Yo mun come
sanner nor this — it's too lat to gate neaw."

" Bring a lot o' yon boudhers here, lads," Horsfall said, " We'n
soon oppen t' shop for him."

" Here ! give o'er !" th' wizart splutther't. " Aw'll come deawn
iv yo'll be quiet."

" Aw thought tha'd come," says Whiteyead.

" Aw'd ne'er no deaubt abeaut it mysel," Horsfall said. " But
what are we to do wi him neaw we'n getten him ?"

" We con freeten him a bit," Kershaw said, " or punce him a
bit oather ; aw'm noane particlar which. But he's nobbut a little
wakely chap — we munnot hurt him."

" We'll match Sammy to feight him," Scrawmer says. " They'll
be like two bantams on a hay -moo. Howd ! he's comin. Aw con
yer his clogs cluntherin on th' stairs."

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 329

They yerd th' owd fellah pottherin abeaut makin a leet ; then
he set th' dur oppen an' they o marched in, Sammy goin first be-
cose he'd a new billycock on an' favvor't Lord Nelson a bit ; an*
they planted theirsel where they could, on cheers, table, an' boxes.

" What is it yo wan ten ?" axed th' wizart, gawpin at 'em wi his
blear't e'en, an' lookin nobbut hawve wick, he were so thin, white,
an' thrembly.

" Tha should know that beaut tellin aw sh' think," Kershaw
said, " or else thy job's noane mich good."

" Yo looken as iv yo'd com'n eaut o' mischief, but that's o aw
con make on yo."

" We wish to see a little magic please," Sammy said. " We are
all anxious to learn something about it, especially me, for I do
something in the black art myself."

"Tha never says!" Scrawmer brasted eaut. "An' what's
that ?"

" Hair dyeing."

" Oh ! aw see."

" Hast getten ony o' thi imps abeaut to-neet ?" Horsfall axed.
" Let's see hawve a dozen on 'em to be going on wi, an' tell us
what they're co'd."

Th' wizart grinned, but said nowt, an' sit him deawn on th'
bottom step o' t' stairs.

" That's reet, owd brid ! Make thysel awom," Whiteyead says,
lookin into a lot a jars an' bottles ; for he wortched in a chemical
wareheause, an' knew a bit abeaut dhrugs, an' he were curious to
see what th' owd humbug sowd. He fund nowt woth mentionin
nobbut grund ollum, gurn arabic, lumps ov unmade rosin, an' some
soft swop in a bucket. " Is this what tha makes thi pills on ?" he
axed, but th' wizart nobbut grinned. " It's a rare chep stock-i'-
thrade," Whiteyead went on when he'd bin o reaund. " Onybody
'at bought thee eaut for five shillin ud loise brass. Tha'rt noane
hawve fitted up for thi business. There should be a skellinton
propped again yon wole, facin th' dur, an' tuthri stuffed bats an'
eawls. Tha wants a big iron pot i' th' middle here, stonnin upo
three long legs, an' some rowls o' white papper on t' dhresser, to
look like law-writins. Then tha should have a bason o' red ink on
t' counther, to make folk think it were blood, an' a odd theegh-
bwon, or skull, or so, lyin abeaut. It'll cost thee five peaund at
lest to set up i' dacent style, wi owt like a respectable plant."

" It'll do weel enough for me as it is," th' conjuror says.

" Nay ! aw'd tak a bit moore pride i' mi job nor that iv aw
sowd magic," says Whiteyead. " Nobry could tell tha were i' th'
business at o bi th' look o' things here. Wheere's t' black cat, 'at
should olez bi sittin on th' table sendin sparks eaut ov it e'en?

Theegh-bwon, thigh-bone.

330 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Heaw dost shap to get on beaut havin a three-foot ring painted on
th' flags, an' wheere's thi conjurin pow wi a bit o candle on th' end ?
Tha looks to ha nowt i' th' shape ov a thriangle abeaut th' hole ;
to say nowt abeaut t' five-legged whelp swimmin i' whisky, an' th'
long black geawn wi a red linin 'at everybody should don afore
meddlin wi spirits fro th' next world. Dost think they'll tak
ony notice ov a chap in a fustian jacket wi horn buttons ?"

44 Tha seaunds to be weel up at this job," Spitfire said, gapin
hard. " Tha's bin in it thysel, happen. Aw wish yo leatheryeads
ud goo an' let me shap off to bed."

. " What the hangment han we com'n here for ?" Scrawmer co'd
eaut. " It's as dhry as a meetin abeaut politics."

" Aw'm welly asleep, mysel," Horsfall said. " We may as weel
bowt, an' let this fawse thradesman pyche upstairs again."

" What did yo expect ?" axed Kershaw. " Aw thought it were
a foo ov a job when we set off; but yo would come. Wakken up,
Sammy, lad ; tha'll rowl off that stoo in a minute."

"Thank you, sir; thank you," Sammy said, hawve asleep.
" Little more off the back, please ? Yessir."

" Tha'll be off t' back onto th' floor, aw tell thee, iv tha worts
abeaut that road," Kershaw towd him ; an' heighvin Sammy up wi
one hond an' t' stoo wi t'other, he balanced th' barber again t' wole.
41 Iv tha breighks thi neck we s' ha to carry thee worn, an' aw've
done wark enough for one day."

44 Yo'n brokken my chamber window," th' wizart said. 44 Heaw's
that beawn to be getten in again ?"

44 Well, there's different roads o' fettlin windows/' Whiteyead
says. " It 'd be a good plan to ston on th' harstone i' thi shirt at
midneet, swing a length o' blazin pitch-rope reaund thi yead, an'
sing 4 Dickory, dickory dock ' nine times wi thi teeth shut. That
should fot it. Or tha met level some wayther eaut to th' reet
thickness, wait whol it sets, an' then cut it eaut wi t' sithers, an'
put it in edge up. Or get a plumber's lad up fro Norden ; he'd
shap it in abeaut two days. First he'd come wi a putty knife, an'
scrape for hawve an heaur reaund th' frame ; then he'd ha to go
back for his two-foot, an' when he'd brought that an' measur't up
he'd ha' to start again to fot his glass ; then he' find hissel beaut
putty, an' have another thravel for that, an' at th' finish it's ten to
one his quarrel ud be cut a sixteenth too narrow, an' he'd ha' to gate
at th' beginnin again. But he'd shap it i' time."

44 Tha seaunds to have a dyel a foreseet," says th' wizart ; 4<but
aw s' ha' th' window to pay for mysel aw yer."

41 Put it among thrade losses," Scrawmer said. "Iv Sammy
had been wakken we'd a getten him to charm it in wi a bit o'
Latin. Con ta conjure us a saup o' worn-brewed up, owd brid ?
This magic's taydious."

Pyche, to go furtively. Worts, falls to one side.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 331

"There should be some somewheere," th' wizart says. He
rooted in a cubbort undher t' stairs an' pood eaut a hawve gallon
bottle an' some gill pots.

" Come ! tha'rt shappin neaw," Kershaw said, rubbin his honds.
"There's some wit abeaut this mak o' magic. Here aw'll burl
eaut for thee."

" It's a rare top on," Horsfall said, smackin his lips as t'carther
sent a breet yollow sthrem splashin into th' gill pots. " Wakken
up, Sammy, lad ! "

" Next, please," murmur't Sammy.

" Tha'rt t' next aw tell thee. Wakken up lad, an' taste ; «n'
he clapped him seaundly on th' back, makin Sammy snore like a
brass thrombone.

" Good health, wizart," says Whiteyead. " Aw reckon there's
no brimstone abeaut this, is there ?"

" Nowe ; it's my own brewin," th' owd chap said. " Aw'll
have a saup mysel, aw think, iv there's another pot." He rooted
i' th' cubbort again, an' coome back wi a bason. " Aw mun use
th' milk bowl ; my milk chap's ne'er co'd to-neet."

" Tha should charm him different to so," Kershaw said.
" Bring thi bowl this road, an' thry to make thysel awom as weel
as tha con. Tha'rt welcome to owt there is, an' iv aw'd a shive o'
cheese an' brade aw'd gi thee some."

" Iv tha wants summat t' eight tha should ha' spokken," says
th' wizart. " Aw'd gated thinkin yo'd noane on yo wit enough to
wag a spoon ; but yo are wick, it seems. Side yor cups off that
table, an' poo it this road a bit."

He limped to his cubbort again, brought eaut a lump o' cheese,
a fresh-boil't pestil, some cake-brade, an' bakstone moufins ; an'
mended t' look o' th' table rarely.

"Things are lookin up !" says Horsfall. "Come on, lads !
Wakken that barber."

Sammy soon wakken't when he yerd th' knives an' plates
rattlin, an' he played as good a stick at th' eightin as ony on em.

" Tha'rt a rare owd thrump, wizart," Scrawmer said, " an'
here's luck to thee. We wouldn't ha punced th' dur iv we'd
known."

" It's reel enough," th' wizart says. " Aw like a bit o' company
neaw an' again ; but yo'n no need to knock quite as hard next
time. Aw'll have a saup moore ale wi yo."

"What ! hasta supped o that bi neaw?" Kershaw said, fillin th'
milk-bowl up again. "Tha mun be careful, tha knows; it'll do
noane for a conjuror to get fuddl't."

" This'll hurt nobry ; it's nobbut good maut an' hops. Here's
to yo, lads ! It's like owd times wi me to-neet. It's mony a year

Burl, pour. Moufins, muffins.

332 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

sin' aw gav a party afore." Th' owd chap had breeten't up
wondherfully, an' his little black e'en twinkl't like candles in a
dhraught.

" Tha's bin a middlin lively customer i' thi time, aw shouldn't
wondher," Horsfall said. " At ony rate tha'rt weshed eaut enough
neaw."

" Aw've sin a dyel i' mi time," th' wizart says, " an' life's noane
bin o curran loave an' thraycle toffy wi me ; but we're noane
grumblin, yo known — we're noane grumblin."

" That's reel," Whiteyead says. " Tha'll shap to addle a livin
whol folk getten o'erstocked wi wit, an' that wain't be just yet.
There'll be tuthri bowstheryeads up here, aw reckon ?"

"One or two. Iv some on 'em could tell what aw think
abeaut 'em aw should be loisin their custom. It's quare heaw
touchous empty-yeaded folk are abeaut bein thought foos."

" There's naught quare abeaut it," Horsfall said. " It wants
no conjurin to riddle that eaut. Gawmless folk con see o reaund
their own little minds, an' it ne'er sthrikes 'em 'at there's bigger
rings nor their own. Heaw should it ? A good job for thee, too,
iv tha's to get thi livin bi sellin slutch."

" Well, happen it is ; but aw cawn't ston foos, whether aw've
to get mi livin eaut on 'em or not. Aw thought yo were summat
o' that mak when yo coome ruggin me up."

" But tha were cheted, tha sees," Scrawmer said. " We're a
middlin fawse lot when we're reckon't up. What saysta, Sammy ?"

" Oh ! yes, sir ; certainly, sir. Mens sana in corporation sano."

"What breed ov a cowl's that?" axed th' wizart, wi a pityin
look at th' little barber. " Yo'd betther get him toard worn : th'
ale's getten howd on him."

" Not at all, sir," Sammy said. " I am as fresh as a daisy,
please."

" Or new-mixed lother," Whiteyead put in.

" Sammy's a betther conjuror nor thee, wizart, so tha's no need
to curl thi nose at him. He's pow'd tuthri o' these chaps to sich
a tune 'at aw'll be hanged iv aw knew 'em again — nay ! their
mothers would'nt ha known 'em."

" Pardon me, Mr. Whitehead, please. Allow me to understand
my own business, will you be good enough ? I repeal your
insinuations."

" Nay ! its hee time to be off iv thar't gettin mad," Scrawmer
said, laughin to see th' little barber sthrut reaund in a temper.
" It's a good job there's no razzors abeaut."

" Ah, we'd betther be gooin, lads," said Kershaw. " It'll soon
be Sunday. Done yo ever come o'er to Rachda, owd un ?"

" Neaw an' again."

Curran loave, currant bread. Gawmless, dull-witted.

MAGIC AT NORDEN. 333

" Well, yo mun look us up some time."

" Done yo fly o'er on th' brush steighl, or heaw ?" Whiteyead
axed.

" Nay, aw mostly walk, iv aw miss catchin th' bus," th' wizart
said. " My flyin days are o'er. Well, good neet to yo. Co in
again iv yo getten up this road."

So they left him, an' thrail't deawn between thorn hedges to
Norden, an' across th' quiet fields toard worn. They ne'er seed
th' owd wizart again, but he potther't abeaut tuthri year longer,
makin a fair livin to th' last eaut o' th' rook o' foos reaund him,
an' then he deed, an' they made reawm for him i' th' dirt ; so
there were an end to th' Norden magic, for he'd no childher to
turn his business o'er to, an' ne'er had a prentice (an' could ha'
teighched him nowt iv he'd getten one), an' there were nobry else
i' th' neighbourhood 'at could tak howd o' th' job. They looken
to ha' shapped as weel beaut him as wi him, for owt aw con see,
an' iv th' owd lad were to come back neaw aw deaubt he'd find it
hard scrattin. He welly made a livin eaut o' boggarts, but they're
mostly dyead neaw, an' nobry's fleyed on 'em ; love pills are noane
wanted, for we're o too busy makin brass to bother wi sich foolish
wark as cwortin ; an' iv there is an odd neck or two brokken, or
yead cracked, it's noane wi conjurin. Folk wishen no harm to
one another neaw. We liven i' brotherly love, takken good care
to help one another, thinken 'at th' world were ne'er made just for
one chap to live an' dee in, say'n some prayers mornin an' neet,
an' gwone to sarvice twice on a Sunday ; an' so everything's gooin
on o reet.

Brush steighl, brush handle.

MENDIN DEQGER.

I.

Ben Simpson an' me happen't to have a bit o' business i' th'
teawn one neet, an' as we were gooin through St. Mary's Gate aw
seed a steel plate ov Edwin Long's grand picther, " Diana or
Christ," hangin in a shop window. Aw co'd Ben to look at it,
tellin him aw'd sin th' paintin i' t' Manchester Exhibition, an'
thought this were a very good copy.

" O reet ! " he says, " but let's see what this wackerin creawd's
doin first ;" so we went on three durs further, where a lot o' folk
stood starin at a 'lusthrated newspapper sheet, full o' murdhers,
robberies, an' prize-feights, printed off rough-cut wood blocks. We
soon had enough o' that cheerful sect, an' turn't back to th' picther,
gettin it o to eaursel, for nobry seemed to notice it.

" Eh, that's nice !" Ben says. " What's it o abeaut ? Let's see.
That young woman wi th' bonny face — sithee what e'en ! — has bin
gettin into throuble some road. That redmad powfag readin th'
papper to her 's had summat to do wi 't. He's a tale-tellin tit, that
is ! Aw could like to sthrike twelve on his whirlbwons wi mi new
clogs ! Th' owd priest's in at it, too, aw'll bet — that mon wi th'
long byert an' t' tub-gath reaund his yead ! What's her sweetheart
agate ? He's some bits ov unmade rosin, or summat, i' one hond,
an' looks freeten't."

" That's incense. He wants her to cob it into that blazin pot,
sithee. Iv hoo doesn't they'll tak her fur back into th' circus an'
set t' lions to worry her."

"Oh, aw see!" Ben says, scrattin his yead. "That insenses
me into o th' job. This '11 be th' gaffer sittin so smush in his
cheer. He's a rare muscle ! It's rushbearin wi 'em, seeminly, bi
th' garlans they're heighvin abeaut. Look what a yeadpiece that
sodier's wearin — him next to th' nigger ; it's like a 'lecthroplated
taypot wi th' bottom knocked eaut. They'n built their theaythre
weel upo th' bias, shuzheaw ; there's shets o t' road up, too, same
as there should be for comfortable seein. Dost myen to say folk
had ever ony plezur i' wearin thoose hemlets, or whatever they co'd
'em, on their yeads?"

" Nay ! it's no use axin me."

Insfnses me, gives me an insight. Gaffer, principal.
Smush, smart.

MENDIN DEGGER. 335

" They'd be a greight weight, or it's a fizzer to me, to say nowt
o' th' sceawrin they'd want to keep 'em shiny. A Scotch cap licks
'em into fits !"

" But it's noane as good to feight in."

"A chap's no need to lap his yead wi boiler plates to goo
a-feightin. Were their iron clooas fitted up wi safety valves, dost
think?"

" Aw should say not."

" Why ! there's one o' thoose lasses playin two flutes at once !
Aw seed a cadger thryin that gam wi two tin whistles a bit sin', but
aw ne'er lippen't they used to do it i' ancient times. What shall
aw larn next !"

Just then a chap coome up wi his nose in a pocket-book an'
banged again me, nearly knockin me o'er.

" Beg pardon !" he co'd eaut. " Hello, Weigh ver ! An' is that
thee, Simpson ! What the hangment are yo stonnin theere for,
blockin o th' road up?"

" Look where tha'rt gooin," aw said, a bit mad, for aw care
noane to have other folk meddlin wi mi ribs. " Lev thi wark at
th' shop, an' then thi e'en '11 be useful for summat else eautside."

It were a chap aw'd known fro bein a schoolad. He'd scraped
his road into a biggish grocery business, an' did middlin weel eaut
on 't ; but he'd ha made brass at ony job, for wark were o he
thought abeaut. Soon an' late he were scrattin away, like a
clemmed hen among screenins, gettin o he could eaut ov his men
an' payin 'em as little as they'd wortch for. He were co'd Degger
for a byname, fro a thrick he had o' dampin his shop-floor wi a
waytherin-can ; an' he were olez talkin or thinkin abeaut cotton,
as he'd a dyel o' brass eaut i' Limited shares.

"Aw didn't do it o' purpose, mon," Degger said, sidin his
book away. " Aw were just lookin what mi empties fot last year,
as aw've some to sell. T' market's dhroppin again, bi th' papper."

"Let it dhrop," says Ben.

" But th' bank rate keeps gooin up."

"Let it!" Ben says again. "Iv it gwoes as hee as Professor
Baldwin an' ne'er comes deawn again it matthers nowt to me."

" Are yo beaun Spotlan road on ?" Degger axed. " Come on,
then. What are yo gawpin reaund here for?"

" Studyin human nathur," aw towd him. " Sithee at o yon folk
squeezin to look at common newspapper blocks, wi no e'en i' their
yeads to see a grand picther like this."

"Be hanged to picthers !" Degger says. "Aw've summat else
to think abeaut. They'n sattl't that Mitchell Hey sthrike, aw yer.
Iv it'd bin me th' weighvers ud ha getten no moore, sthrike or no
sthrike."

Fizzer, astonisher. Lippen't, thought.

336 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"That's reel!" Ben said. "They'll nobbut be settin up
carriages, or buyin property, or some mak o' nonsense. Aw'm
towd they'n getten as mich as a farthin a cut put on, o at once.
Mich iv it doesn't ruinate some on "em."

Degger stared at him, hardly knowin whether to laugh or cry,
for he's a poor un at seein jokes.

We were passin th' bill-postin board at t' top o' Blackwayther,
when aw catched sect ov a railway bill abeaut Sethurday thrips to
Windhermere for four shillin.

" Neaw, Ben ! " aw said, stoppin him. " We were talkin t'other
neet abeaut havin a jaunt somewheere to. What saysta iv we
gwone this weekend ?"

" Oh ! aw'm gam."

"Hollinoth's cheper," Degger said, readin th' bill o'er.
" There'll be a dyel ov expense beside th railway ticket — dinner,
an' baggin, an' sichlike. It'll make a hole into hawve a sovereign,
that will ! "

"Pluck up an' come wi us," Ben said. "There'll be plenty
gooin fro Mitchell Hey afther this rise, an' iv they con afford it tha
con. It's aboon thirty year sin' we'd a day off together."

" Ah ! go wi us," aw chim't in. " We'll teighch thee some wit
afore tha comes back."

" It's a good while sin' aw'd a holiday, for sure," Degger said,
considherin like. "Aw cawn't see heaw it's to be shapped.
There'll be nowt at o done at yon shop iv mi back's turn't."

" Well, iv it's beaun to warsen thee tha'd best stop awom," Ben
towd him. " Iv thi honds misthrist thee as ill as tha does them
there mun be a smart gang on yo when yo're o together."

"Let's see. Aw met happen get some disceaunt off three
tickets iv aw geet 'em o at once."

" Get mine an' welcome," aw said.

" Same here," Ben says.

" Howd off ! Yo'll pay noane at that bat. Con yo get three
moore to goo, an' aw'll write for six tickets ? We con make a bit
that road."

" Get 'em to put us a peigh saloon on, and ston us a posnetful
ov ale apiece at Lankesther," Ben said.

" Iv tha wants moore passengers tha mun get 'em thysel," aw
towd th' grocer. " We're noane beawn huntin thravellers reaund
th' teawn just to save thee a shillin or two. Iv tha'rt willin to come
same as other folk we'll tak thee ; iv not, stop awom."

" Well we s' see," Degger says. " It's a dyel o brass. Aw
cawnt see mi road yet."

When he left us aw said to Ben : " Aw nobbut wish he would
come wi us. A day off wi two dacent sensible chaps like us cawn't

Peigh, pea.

MENDIN DEGGER. 337

hurt him, an' met do him o' dyel o' good. Aw dar say th' poor
fellah's wur nor he would ha bin iv he'd had a betther example set
him."

" There's summat i' that," Ben says. " We con happen mend
him a bit. There's nowt done beaut thryin, shuzheaw. ' Thry, thry,
thry again ! ' says Shakspere."

" Tha myens Byron."

" Well, it's one on 'em at onyrate. Ah ! we'll have a shot at
mendin Degger iv he comes ; but it's nobbut thus-an'-so wi him."

Aw ne'er expected th' grocer turnin up ; but he did, for we fund
him on th' station platform i' good time on t' Sethurday mornin,
an' bi hawve-past six we were bowlin away toard t' north. A dull
cleaudy mornin, shappin for weet, were th' best thing t' weather
clerk could do for us ; but as we geet reaund Ashoth Moor into th'
Irwell valley we fund th' day breetenin up rarely. Through
sthragglin Yeawood an' thrivin Bury, dingy Black Lone an' Brad-
ley Fowt, past Darcy Lever, wi it bits o' green counthry an' pratty
crotchet-worked spire, into dismal Bowton station, where nobry
ever gwoes beaut bein forced. Forrad again, weather an' scenery
mendin together, through Chorley an' Leyland to preaud Preston.

" It's a nice shop, this," Ben says, as we rode through t' park
an' crossed th' brode river. " They con afford to plant threes on
th' railway bankin here, an' float abeaut i' cockboats. What dost
think abeaut this park, Degger?"

" Wha ?" Degger said, lookin up fro his newspapper. " Park !
Oh ! we'n getten to Preston, aw see. Neaw, con onybody tell me
what they're lettin this good lond lie empty for, so near two rail-
roads an' wi o this wayther hondy ? Aw ne'er seed a betther plot
i' mi life for settin tuthri facthries on."

He fell back on his market reports again, an' we leet him a-be.
Ben fund time to slip eaut to th' refreshment reawm, comin back
wi a bottleful o' rum an' milk an' pooin his face to some tune.

" Aw'm poison't !" he co'd eaut, dhroppin into his shet again.
" It'll be a warnin to me will this."

"What's to do?"

" This comes o' gettin up so soon ! Aw've getten th' first gill
dhrawn this mornin, an' it's bin stonnin i' th' pipes o' neet."

He gurgl't in his throat, an' kept grumblin as we went forrad bi
Barton, Garstang, Bay Horse, an' Galgate, little counthry villages
dotted abeaut brode sweeps o' meadow lond, rich wi wood an'
brook, say o' one side, Yokshire hills on t'other, on to ancient
Lankesther, bowd an' breet on it hee pyerch o'er th' sauty Lune."

" We'll just have a taste neaw to keep th' cowd eaut," Ben
said, hondin his bottle reaund. " Here, Degger ! sup once."

Sauty, salty.

338 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Degger were busy addin sums up in his pocket-book. Ov o
th' fine views we'd passed — wood, hill, fielt, an' sthrem — sin' levin
Preston, he'd ne'er looked at one. He took th' bottle an' tasted,
but splutther't o eaut again lookin middlin savage at Ben. " Aw
con buy my own sauve," he said. " Here ! tak thi rubbitch !"

" What's up neaw ?" Ben axed, starin. Comin to look he fund
his milk crudded, an' t' mixthur lookin as bilious as carriage
varnish. He thried a careful lick but didn't seem to matther it
mich, an' axed me to sample th' stuff.

"Nay !" aw said. " T' look's enough for me. Aw don't use
furnithur polish to mi inside. Tha'd betther give it to th' guard
for axle oil."

"Aw've some luck wi mi dhrink to-day, shuzheaw," Ben
grumbl't. " Iv it weren't for th' bottle aw'd cob it away."

North again, levin Morecambe an' Grange to th' left hond,
runnin on th' bay edge awhile, bi Bowton-le-Sands an' Carnforth to
Oxenhowm Junction, where we turn't off th' main line, droppin
deawn through bonny Kendal to Windhermere station.

"Abeaut time, too!" Degger grumbl't. "Four heaur an a'
hauve wi runnin eighty mile ! They wanten a bigger flywheel, or
less pulleys, or sthraps tightenin, or summat. Wheere neaw ?
Aw see nought o' t' wayther yet."

Ben had bin afore an' knew his road abeaut. " We mun tak a
bus deawn to Bowness," he towd us. " That's where they keepen
th' lake, an' they'll find us summat t' eight beside."

So we geet on a 'bus, rode deawn to th' say level within a foot
or two, an' fund Bowness smother't i' roses. They charged us
sixpence apiece for th' fare, an' that geet Degger's back up some
soon.

" Heaw fur is it ? " he axed th' guard.

" A mile and a half, sir," th' chap said, very civil, wi a pleasant
dhrawl 'at belongs to these Westmorland folk.

" It's rank robbery ! " Degger swore. " Aw'll pay noane ! Six-
pence for a penny ride, an' th' market deawn a sixteenth again
this mornin ! Yo met think we were made o' brass."

" Sixpence, please. It is the ordinary fare."

" It's ornary enough," says Degger, walkin off. " We're noane
as green as we're goose-lookin, think on. Aw'll pay no moore nor
threehawpence shuz what happens, an' tha may fot th' policemen
an' th' fire brigade iv tha's a mind. Aw were a bit fast heaw yo
geet yor livin up here, for aw've ne'er sin a facthry chimbley for
thirty mile, but aw con see neaw:"

Ben an' me paid th' fare between us, as t'other mon couldn't
afford it, an' we looked afther summat t'eight to lay a feaundation
for th' day's wark, Degger gruntin like a dog wi a sore leg.

Sauve, salve. Ornary, bad, ill-favoured.

MENDIN DEGGER. . 339

Dinner o'er, we started shappin to find th' lake. As we left
th' table Ben poo'd his ointment bottle eaut an' offer5! us some.

" Taste, lads," he said. " It'll sattle yor meight."

" Ger off wi thi slutch ! " Degger co'd eaut. " That 'd sattle
me, beside mi meight. Iv tha shows that thing again to-day aw'll
dhreawn thee i' t' wayther — iv there is ony, that is. Aw'm gettin
some deaubts abeaut 'em havin a lake at o."

But his deaubts were soon shifted, for less nor five minutes'
walk through pratty windin sthreets, past heauses built o' dhry
wallin an' hud i' rose an' honeysuckle, brought us on to th' lake
bankin. Long an' narrow, t' clear wayther lee sparklin i' th' sun,
sthretchin seauth between weel-timbered hillocks toard More-
cambe Bay, an' north to th' feet ov a lot o' big meauntains,
stonnin abeaut ony road, steep, rocky, painted green an' breawn.
Dotted up an' deawn th' lake we seed little reaunt green islands,
an' t'other bank rose hee an' sthraight, crommed wi dark-shinin
firs, shuttin th' view in o' that side.

" So this is it ! " aw brasted eaut. " This is th' shop we'n yerd
so mich abeaut ever sin' we were lads ! This is th' valley 'at's sent
a whole rook o' poets off their yeads, an' set 'em to th' weary job
o' dhrawin it wi papper an' ink ! Ston back a bit whol aw read yo
some blank verse."

" Howd on ! " Ben says. " Noane o' thi marlocks, or aw'll
cob thee in. It's nowt but wayther, an' dirt, an' timber, when o 's
said. There's nowt to make a song abeaut."

Degger stood a minute or two wi his meauth oppen at th' first
seet o' so mich beauty, but when his teeth coome together again
his business habits set him studyin what 'd be th' best use to
make o' th' spot.

" It wouldn't cost mich to run a dam across that narrow part,"
he mutther't to hissel. " There's just nice width for a ropewalk
undher yon fur side, an' a thravellin crane ud be rare an' hondy
on th' broo top. T' facthry ud ston just abeaut here. There's
stone an' timber ready on th' greaund, an' no 'casion for ony
expense i' back-lashes. It should be cool an' damp, too, undher
o these hills ; weighvin ud be no throuble mich here."

He poo'd th' owd pocketbook eaut an' gated doin sums again.
" Say we started wi a mule-reawm eighty yard long, an' a theausan-
loom shade. Co it two hundhred yard. Then we mut have a
dye-works — this wayther met a bin gether't here o' purpose for
dyein, but these bowstheryeads han ne'er fund it eaut, seeminly —
an' hawve a dozen canel boats to bring cotton up th' brook an'
tak cops an' cuts back. Say a quather ov a mile, wharf an o.
There looks lond enough between here an' yon nook. Let's see."

Off he set, yardin th' lakeside eaut, takkin no notice o' nobry ;
dotted th' distance deawn in his book, an' coome back.

340 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" He's a fizzer is yon mon," Ben says, chucklin. " We'd some
wit axin him to come a pleasurin wi us. He should have a bed
set up in a facthry office, an' sleep among cotton every neet."

" Aw deaubt iv he con sleep for it, bi th' road he shaps.
Why, he'll have hawve-a- dozen facthries, tuthri machine shops,
an' a co-op, store planned afore baggin-time, iv we'll nobbut let
him a-be ! "

" It's nought less nor a shame to lev o this greaund an' way-
ther lyin idle," Degger said, wi a disgusted look as he coome up
to us. " It's a ready-made hole for cotton-spinnin, this is. There
met happen be some bother to get good honds, as th' folk here
han so little shift in 'em ; but when we geet these gardens,
fleawers, an' sichlike rubbitch shifted, they'd ha less reawm for
idlin their time away an' met larn some useful wark."

"Well," aw said, " Iv tha's getten thi new consarn mapped
eaut, tha'll ha time to come for a sail neaw. Tuthri moore o'
thy breed an' Englan ud be o soot boxes, long chimbleys, an'
cat runs."

We fund a styemer for Ambleside, an' sail't off eaut o' th'
bay — for they co'n it a bay, though it's nobbut like a dinge i' th'
lakeside. Th' captain set his boat nose fair at th' rook o' meaun-
tains 'at looked to block o t' north up, an' at 'em we went, like a
tarrier at a row ov elephants.

" Cultured slopes,

Wild tracks of forest ground, and scattered groves,

And mountains bare, or clothed with ancient woods,

Surrounded us ; and as we held our way

Along the level of the glassy flood,

They ceased not to surround us ; change of place,

From kindred features diversely combined,

Producing change of beauty ever new."

There were plenty o' cock-boats, electhric launches, barges
cover't in wi sthriped cloth, an' so on, knockin abeaut, givin life
to th' view. Otogether, what wi th' creawdin hills, endless woods,
plant-crommed islands, an' dancin wayther, it looked to me aw'd
ne'er sin sich a bonny spot i' o mi life.

" Tell us what yo co'n o these meauntains," Ben said to th'
steersman, a quiet, civil chap. " There's one yon wi a back like
a camel."

"Those are the Langdale Pikes. Over here to the left is
Coniston Old Man; but you can't see our highest mountains
for the mist. These are only hills, you know."

" Is that o ?" Ben said. " Some on 'em '11 tak a bit o' climbin,
too. Hills, are they ? Well, thank yo, maisther. Have a taste ;
it'll make that pulley twirl reaund yezzier."

"What on earth have you got here?" th' wheelman axed,
lookin hard at th' bottle, where lines o' breawn rum showed

MENDIN DEGGER. $4!

between brokken lumps an' cruds o' seaur milk. " Something
you want drinking ? "

Ben nodded, so th' steerer sheauted deawn th' firehole an' a
coaly, sweaty engineer popped his yead up.

" Are you thirsty, William ? "

" Thirsty ! " grunted th' engineer, lookin disgusted bi sich a
foolish question, an' wringin a weet splash eaut ov his cap. " But
for stopping business by stranding the blessed boat, I could drink
the lake dry."

" Here you are, then," says the steersman givin him Ben's
patent medicine. " Drink that."

" What sort of a brew's this ?" t'other axed, just tastin an' lickin
his lips. " Shoe polish ? It's wet, anyhow." So he deawn wi it,
vanishin into his hole again ; an' that were th' last o' Simpson's
wondherful lotion.

We'd to get eaut an' walk at Ambleside, as t' wayther gwoes no
fur ; an' welly afore we'd planted foot upo dhry lond we geet
worried bi wagonette dhrivers wantin to take us to Grasmere.
Degger were for havin noane.

" It's nobbut moore expense," he grumbl't, " an' now't to be sin
nobbut moore broos, an' plantins, an' crazy heauses built o' stone
fit for nowt but road metal. Aw'm stoppin' here whol th' boat
gwoes back."

" Come on, Ben ! " aw said, " Let's goo an' see Wordsworth's
grave. It's woth eighteenpence to walk reaund a dyead poet."

" Wordsworth ! " Ben axed, studyin. " Who's he ? There's
some Wadsworths up Halifax Road, iv they're ony relation. Nowe?
Oh well ! aw'll go wi thee. Aw'm noane skymous."

" Come on, Degger," aw said, "It's no use sittin here bi thysel,
an' we may happen leet on a betther shop to plant thi new teawn in.
Make a gradely survey afore tha starts buildin."

So he coome wi us, grumblin hard at th' expense. We climbed
onto a wagonette, behinnd two gam little galloways 'at slashed away
oather up hill or deawn at seven mile an heaur, a rare speed for a
meauntain road, an' what wi th' swift thravellin an' sweet coolin
wynt aw could feel mi spirits gooin up like a balloon. We were in
a narrow windin valley between th' hills, every yard o' fruitful
greaund showin beauties oather o' mon's wark or nathur's shapin.
Threes hung o'er us an' stood abeaut wherever they could get foot-
howd on th' steep slopes, fleawers lent rare colours an' rich scents,
brooks an' threads o' wayther ran abeaut an' cobbed theirsel deawn
hee rocks, chatther, chatther, chattherin wur nor a sewin-class, an'
olez afore us a shiftin blue line o' far-off hills invited curious
thravellers to seech fur into th' unknown magic nooks where th'
marks o' God's fingers are yet so plain to be sin.

We passed a big square stone heause, buried in a green grove
to th' reel. " Rydal Mount," t' dhriver towd us ; an' a bit fur on
Skymous, squeamish.

342 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

he showed us a big cowd-lookin boudher where he reckon't Words-
worth used to sit composin. Then we coome to Rydal wayther, a
little still poand like a lookin-glass, showin picthers o' wood an'
broo, wrong end up,

" A thousand fathoms down."

On again, reaund tuthri moore corners, deeper among th' lonely
hills, to Grasmere lake an' village, a quiet, simple counthry nook,
hollowed eaut o' purpose for dhremers to idle in, an' be thankful
they're wick. Even Degger, noane mich i' t' dhremin line mostly,
felt some touch o' satisfaction, an' happen for abeaut th' first time
sin' he were born gated thinkin there met be summat betther i' life
nor facthry wark an' butther scrapin. Aw yerd him give a bit ov a
sigh, an' said, to draw him eaut, " Good oppenin for a fullin mill
here, owd mon. Yon waytherfo ud be very hondy, an' t' lake ud
look moore ornimental wi some chemical berm floatin abeaut it,
astid ov o these lilies an' sich like weedy rubbitch. When we'd
getten that an' a good long row o' breek back-to-back cottages, th'
valley ud be fitted up."

Degger looked hard at me, an' then said, "Iv ever aw con
addle brass enough to keep mysel aw'll sattle here an' have a rest.
There's summat i' th' air feels soothin — same as a Sunday mornin
when th' engine's stopped. It does for sure."

" Thee rest ! " Ben co'd eaut. " There's no rest for sich
diversome folk as thee eautside a wood singlet."

We looked reaund th' village, what bit there were to see, went
into th' church, a plain owd-fashion't place enough, an' then
walked through t' graveyard whol we coome to a shady corner,
where a flag stood up carved wi a name aw'd known ever sin',
as a hawve-timer, aw'd larn't th' bad habit o' lyin on mi bed-
chamber floor to read books late at neet bi th' leet ov a hawpny
candle.

" Na then, lads," aw said. " There's a chap undher here 'at
yo'll happen like to yer summat abeaut. What done yo think
brings folk here fro every nook o' th' world to read th' inscription
on that square flag, an' dhrop these bunches o' fresh-plucked
fleawers on this green sod ?"

"Nay !" Degger says, lookin reaund him. "Aw con see nowt
to come for. Aw con undherston folk gooin a mile or two eaut o'
their road to look at new machinery or wom-fed pigs "

"Shut up !" Ben said, stoppin him. " What dost want bringin
thi shop-talk here, as iv we hadn't enough awom ! Iv ever tha
gwoes up to heaven it'll be in a cheese-box. Goo on, weighver ;
let's yer summat abeaut this chap."

" Well, first ov o, aw should think he ne'er did a day's hard
wark in his life."

Wood singlet, coffin.

MENDIN DEGGER. 343

" Then he were up to nought," says Degger. " It's no use
thee talkin ! Aw reckon he were too far larn't to buckle to.
What were his thrade?"

" He ne'er larn't one. Most ov his time went i' walkin up an'
deawn here, thravellin o'er Europe, an' writin poethry."

"Well, aw'll be shot!" Degger said, turnin away as iv that
sattl't him.

" Iv that's bein a poet aw could do wi prenticin to th' job
mysel," Ben says. " Wi some thick twist an' a quart ov ale or two
life wouldn't be so cumbersome up here. Aw'd oather jow tuthri
songs eaut o' mi yead or thry hard."

"Tha'll happen stare, Degger, iv aw tell thee 'at for o he
wortched noane, an' tha's done nowt else sin' tha were nine year
owd, he were a dyel moore use i' th' world nor thee."
" That's noane sayin mich," Ben put in.
" Oh ! isn't it ?" Degger sneer't. " Aw've done summat yo
cliver-dicks ne'er shapped, shuzheaw — aw've made brass. Aw con
buy yo bwoth eaut ! " He slapped his pocket, makin tuthri hawp-
nies jingle, an' looked at us as iv there were nowt no moore to be
said after that.

" Aw'm noane upo sale mysel," aw went on, " an iv tha bought
Ben he'd turn eaut a quare bargain. One o' this dyead chap's
greight merits were 'at he'd tell no lies, nor ston 'em quietly fro
other folk."

" It's a good job he ne'er did goo into business, then," Degger
said, quite solid. " He'd soon ha bin ruinated at that speed."

" He geet a notion into his yead middlin soon on 'at he were
born for a poet, an' it's rayther laughable to see wi what care he
saved up an' printed every scrap o' verse 'at coome into his
thoughtful brains. Some ov his stuffs poor enough. Hearken to
this :

' The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun ;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest ;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising ;
There are forty feeding like one ! ' "

" Th' poet ud ha bin at his wark, too, iv aw'd bin here,"
Degger said ; " or else ha getten punced. Why, it's wur nor ' A
little ship,' or ' Twinkle, twinkle.' "

" Aw'll back mysel to do as good as that wi a fortnit's thrainin,
iv th' weather '11 keep owt like," Ben said.

" Well, iv that doesn't shuit yo conossers aw'll thry summat
else. Hearken again a minute."

344 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Tha doesn't expect we s' be foos enough to ston here whol
tha reads o that book through, doesta?" Degger axed. "Shove it
i' thi pocket, mon, an' give o'er."

" Keep quiet, wi thee ; aw shan't be aboon five minutes.

Husht !

' I have seen

A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell ;
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy ; for murmurings from within
Were heard — sonorous cadences ! whereby,
To his belief, the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with its native sea.
Even such a shell the universe itself
Is to the ear of Faith ; and there are times,
I doubt not, when to you it doth impart
Authentic tidings of invisible things ;
Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power ;
And central peace, subsisting at the heart
Of endless agitation. Here you stand,
Adore, and worship, when you know it not ;
Pious beyond the intention of your thought ;
Devout above the meaning of your will.' "

"Come, that's noane so dusty!" says Degger when aw stopped.
" Aw've sin yon little lass ov eaurs doin that thrick wi th' big shell
on th' front reawm chimbley-piece, an' hoo talks abeaut yerin th'
say rowl inside. Who's towd him that, aw wondher?"

Ben had bin waggin his yead a bit, an' when Degger finished
he said,

" That's what they co'n poethry, is it ? Iv aw yerd that mak
o' talk i' Rachda aw should co it babbywark, but some road it
seaunds reet enough here, oather wi th' climate or summat. It's
like rayther deep, too, as iv th' owd brid hardly knew hissel what
he myent."

" Come ! aw s' be forced to give yo a bit moore, as yo're bwoth
dubious abeaut th' job. Yo'n bwoth sin th' moon rise mony a
time."

" Ah ! an' gwone a cwortin undher it," Degger said.

" What thee ?" Ben axed him. " Aw should ne'er ha thought
tha could make time for that."

" We don't tell o we known," grinned Degger, wi th' sly
undherhond look common to folk 'at getten a livin bi dodgin.
"Aw've had as mich time for plezurin as aw wanted, an' made
brass beside."

"Aw'll tell thee what, Degger," aw said, gettin mad at his
beaunce, " iv tha swaggers ony moore abeaut thi brass Ben an' me
'11 upend thee an' tak it, levin thee nowt but a railway ticket an'

MENDIN DEGGER. 345

th' price ov a cowd pint. We'n as mich reet to it as thee, an'
that's noane so desperate mich iv justice coome to be done."

" Well, aw did think aw were comin eaut wi honest folk,
shuzheaw."

" Tha thought reet," Ben towd him. " Iv we done rob thee
it'll be in a fair honest road, afther gradely notice. Noane o' thi
lyin, chetin, sellin wayther for bacca, an' sichlike for us ! Goo on,
weighver, he's noane woth botherin wi."

So aw read up another bit o' blank :

" Within the soul a faculty abides,

That with interpositions, which would hide

And darken, so can deal that they become

Contingencies of pomp ; and serve to exalt

Her native brightness. As the ample moon,

In the deep stillness of a summer even

Rising behind a thick and lofty grove,

Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light,

In the green trees ; and, kindling on all sides,

Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil

Into a substance glorious as her own,

Yea ! with her own incorporated, by power

Capacious and serene. Like power abides

In man's celestial spirit ; virtue thus

Sets forth and magnifies herself ; thus feeds

A calm, a beautiful, a silent fire,

From the encumbrances of mortal life,

From error, disappointment — nay, from guilt ;

And sometimes, so relenting justice wills,

From palpable oppressions of despair."

" That's o moonshine ! " Degger co'd eaut. " There's tuthri
good words in it, too."

" What's tha getten to say again it?" aw axed Ben.

" Nay !" he says, "it's yezzier nor t' other, but a bit deep yet
for a chap to undherston 'at started in a scutchin hole. Aw
cawn't foot up to that mak. It's takken summat moore nor
Limerick rowl an' Wardle seauk to put that together."

" Iv tha could yer us, William," aw said, turnin toard th'
gravestone, " tha met weel be preaud o' sich a compliment as
that, fro a gradely Rachda chap, betther acquainted wi cotton nor
cantos an' soot nor sonnets. Good day, owd friend; long an'
quiet rest to thee, an' let's hope thy example may do summat
toard stoppin th' mad greedy scutther for brass an' wicked grindin
deawn ov helpless folk we sin sadly to mich on."

" Same here," Ben chim't in. " Aw wish thee good luck, flat
o' thi back undher t' clod. It's noane every day tha gets three
sich quare customers to talk wi thee."

Degger said nowt, havin no manners abeaut him, but turn't
his back ; so we o walked off deawn to th' lake, lyin reaunt as a
ring undher green slantin hills. Iv we'd nobbut had a bit moore
time we could soon ha bin at Thirlmere, an' getten a look at

346 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Helvellyn ; but it were no go iv we myent catchin a thrain worn,
so we sattl't to just have a peep reaund an' be shappin back.

On th' lake edge, sittin wi his bare feet i' t' wayther an' a
greight pair o' thick-soled shoon beside him, we fund a shabby-
donned chap. He were gettin owdish, bi th' look ov his long
white yure an' whiskers, but that didn't bother him mich, judgin
bi his cheerful whistle. Th' sun had tanned him a rich breawn,
like good rowler leather, an' he looked as tough an' limber as a
willow switch. So he sit whistlin an' bathin his feet, an' we stood
starin at him awhile, thinkin he seemed as free fro care as ony
chap we'd let on in eaur thravels that day.

" Yon's a nice owd chap," aw said. " He nobbut wants a
brode brim to his cap, tuthri cockle-shells, an' a hook on his iron-
shod walkin-stick to make a tidy pilgrim. Happen he is one ;
let's get a bit nar."

Th' owd lad see'd us comin, stopped his whistlin, an' co'd eaut,
" The pride of the day to you, gentlemen."

Same to him we o said, an' sittin us deawn on th' bonk we'd a
bit ov a talk.

BEN. — Yo'n bin walkin, owd brid. It's made yor toes a bit
sore, has it ?

PILGRIM. — I was up Skiddaw at sunrise with a Lancashire party,
and have been wandering over fell and holm ever since.

WEIGHVER. — An' neaw yo'n let across another Lancashire gang
at Grasmere. Are yo fond o' walkin ?

PILGRIM. — I make a living by it, that's all. How stifling the
air is down here after being on the mountains !

BEN. — It may feel so to yo, maisther ; but aw ne'er tasted sich
grand stuff afore.

DEGGER. — Tha'rt smother't i' yure, owd chap ; that's o 'at ails
thee. Get pow'd an tha'll fot thi wynt yezzier.

PILGRIM.— Pow'd ? What is that ?

WEIGHVER. — He nobbut myens yo wanten some yure clippin.
Where's thi manners, Degger ?

PILGRIM. — Yure ? What do you mean by yure ?

DEGGER. — Well, for an owd un aw ne'er coome across one 'at
knew less.

PILGRIM. — As you please, sir. Can I take you gentlemen up
Scafell to-morrow ?

BEN. — Hardly, beaut yo'll tak us reaund bi Rachda. We're
for worn bi t' next thrain.

PILGRIM. — I advise you to stop while you are here. This is
admitted to be the finest part of the world, to say nothing of Gras-
mere sports coming on shortly. Wait till then, and see me figure
in the guides' race.

WEIGHVER. — Oh ! that's yor job, is it ? But yo'll want a bit
ov a start off th' young uns. Nowe ! we mun get back to-neet.

MENDIN DEGGER. 347

PILGRIM. — Let me lose you on the hills. You will have a good
excuse then, and I undertake to find you again in time for the fun.

DEGGER (grinnin). — That'll do ! Tha knows moore nor aw
thought.

WEIGHVER. — Ah ! that just shuits thy dodgy mind, lad. It's
abeaut ov a piece wi that bacon job.

DEGGER (crammed}. — Howd thi din wi thi bacon !

BEN. — Hello ! What were that abeaut ?

WEIGHVER. — What ! Hast ne'er yerd o' that bit o' thradin ?
Degger were i' Manchesther soon one mornin, tha knows, an' yerd
ov a rise i' bacon. Next minute he met a wholsale dyeler fro
Rachda on Victoria Bridge, an' thought to hissel " Dan's nobbut
just comin into th' market, he wain't know o' this rise. He'll ha
left his lad i' th' shop — aw'll slip back an' buy 'em up afore th' owd
chap con tallygraph." So he just had a word or two wi Dan,
keepin him whol close on thrain time, an' then bowted off to
Rachda an' bought mony a hundherdweight o' pig flesh at his own
price.

DEGGER (grinnin). — Sarve 'em reet ? They'd th' same chance
as me, hadn't they ?

PILGRIM. — The wild creatures of the mountain treat one
another more fairly than that. I am sorry you have such a
treacherous heart.

(Puts his stockins an' shoon on.}

DEGGER (sulky). — There's nowt undherhond abeaut it. Aw've
had to wortch hard for what aw've getten, let me tell thee. Folk
i' business mun do same as other folk.

PILGRIM (gettin up}. — You are doing well to leave our country
so soon. This is no place for small hearts and sordid minds. I
will go back into the hills, where no such rogues as you poison the
wind.

DEGGER. — Aw tell thee onybody i' th' same thrade ud just ha
done as aw did. Were aw beaun to teighch 'em their business ?
Not likely !

BEN. — Tha'rt a poor hond at logic, Degger. Upo that tack
ony thief met co hissel honest becose folk wouldn't tak care
enough o' their property.

DEGGER. — Yo're gooin it wi some ov a rattle, by gum ! Just
becose aw've made a bit yo're as jealous as a ceaw wi two cawves.
It's nobbut t' reglar system o' doin business, that isn't — wi co-ops,
an' o.

WEIGHVER. — Business may weel be bad, then ! Ne'er mind,
Degger, lad ! Tha's plenty o' brass o' thi own an' other folks', so
tha'rt content.

DEGGER. — Nay ! indeed aw noather. Aw'll lev twenty theau-
sand peaund behinnd me when aw dee. So neaw ! what han yo
to say to that, yo chaps addlin a peaund a week ?

348 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

BEN. — Tha'd better tak it wi thee, aw sh' think.

PILGRIM. — There, you see ! What a strange fancy this is of
money saving ! Twenty thousand pounds ! I couldn't spend
that in a hundred years.

DEGGER (sarcastic). — Aw darsay ! (Bragging But aw con
buy yo everyone up, for o yor talk. Everyone !

WEIGHVER. — Ger off into thi meauntains, owd brid, afore we
ruinate thi morals, an' we'll be takkin this mon worn. Good neet.

PILGRIM. — Good night, sir ; good night to all. Speaking of
money, if you choose to give me a trifle I will accept it. (To
Deggcr.} Not from you, however. I should scorn to handle your
money.

DEGGER. — That's a good job, becose tha'rt noane likely to
have mich chance.

PILGRIM. — Scorn it, sir, I repeat ! But if these gentlemen —
these gentlemen, you understand — wish to offer me a small me-
morial, I will not decline it.

WEIGHVER (whisperiri). — Heaw mich apiece, Ben? We con
hardly offer less nor sixpence to a chap wi o that yure on him.

BEN.— O reet !
(Pilgrim gets a shillin an' marches offwi a long swingin sthride.)

WEIGHVER. — Well, aw would ha gien th' owd chap a copper or
two, iv aw'd bin thee, Degger.

BEN. — He's too greedy to live very near. Yon's a good owd
chap, aw'll bet, judgin fro his looks.

DEGGER. — Dost think so ?

WEIGHVER. — Aw think so, shuzheaw. His leet heart an' breet
face con nobbut ha worn so weel bi havin a clear conscience
behinnd 'em. A face soon shows what a mon is an' does ; that's
heaw it happens 'at thy nose an' chin are gettin so sharp at th' end.

DEGGER. — O reet, parson ! Aw'd as soon have a sharp nose as
a reaunt un iv there's brass at th' end on't. Aw con buy yo o up,
fawse as yo reckon to be.

WEIGHVER. — There's no curin thee, Degger, so tha mun go
back as tha coome. Here's eaur shanthrydan comin. Neaw
dhriver ! Who's yon tall white-yeaded owd chap gooin up th'
lone?

DHRIVER. — Nobody knows. Have you given him anything?

BEN (softly). — Hello ! (Leaud) Nobbut a shillin.

DHRIVER.— He, he ! You'll find him at the " Salutation " to-
night, then.

BEN. — Nay ! Come ! He's no aleheause chap, yon. He's off
up th' meauntains.

DHRIVER. — Mountains ! He hasn't climbed a hill this dozen
years.

DEGGER. — What abeaut him bein a guide an' runnin i' Gras-
mere sports, then ?

MENDIN DEGGER. 349

DHRIVER — What him ! Ho, ho ! Well you are a simple lot.

WEIGHVER. — Neaw look here, young chap ! This is a sayrious
job. Arta beaun to make eaut 'at yon honsome, venerable chap
tells lies ?

DHRIVER. — That's how he makes his living. He was asleep in
a barn here at eight o'clock this morning, dead drunk.

That sattl't me an' Ben. We crept, crushed flat, into th'
carriage, Degger brastin wi laughin an' crowin o'er us to some
tune; an' we gav up thryin to mend him sthraight off.

Back we went through o th' glorious sects deawn to th' lake,
an' o'er that to Bowness again, an' so worn afore midneet. We'll
ha nowt no moore to do \\i mendin Degger. He's like wur nor
ever sin' we took him i' hond, an 'that shows heaw dangerous it is
to start preighchin beaut experience.

CLOG TOPS.

J ACOB Hardstone, a Whitoth lonlord, stood at his heause dur

Jlookin abeaut him an' gapin hard, as lonlords will do in
their spare time. He looked up Market sthreet, an' he
looked deawn it, beaut makin ony impression on that owd-
established hee-road ; he stared afore him at th' opposite row ov
heauses, shuttin off his view o' th' railway station an' snow-peckl't
heights o' Rooleys ; he walked to his heause-end to peep up th'
hill toard Lobden ; then, as nowt happen't an' nobry stirred, he
gaped again an' went inside to th' tapreawm fire.

" Sleepy wark, this," says Jacob, swingin his arms behinnd his
yead. " We met as weel shut up — nobry's likely to want frozzen
ale. Iv aw'd had ony wit aw should ha gwone into th' grocerin
business, for folk mun eight whatever happens. Nowt but snow
and ice to be sin, and cowd enough to starve yon craven images
on th' church speaut ! Iv there's ony brass to be made this
weather it'll be among th' skate-farmers. This fire's gettin deawn,
too ; we mun keep that up, aw reckon. Neaw, Phyllis !"

"What neaw?" his wife sheauted fro th' kitchen.

" This fire wants mendin. Bring a shoolful o' naplins an' a
cob or two."

Th' missis coome wi a bucket o' coal, catchin Jacob just i' th'
middle ov a long gape, as he stood wi his back to th' fire.

"Heaw leets tha couldn't fot 'em thisel, idleback?" hoo says,
shovin him o' one side wi a good-humour't smile. " Tha's nowt
agate. It's a bonny thing 'at aw mun lev mi weshin to wait on a
mon like thee. .Here aw've bin up sin' hawve-past six, scrattin
like a bantam, wi thee snorin i' bed whol ten very near; an'
neaw tha'rt getten up tha'll do nowt. Arta for killin me wi wark,
or heaw?"

" Tha wants some sleek to make a gradely job o' that," Jacob
said, thinkin moore abeaut th' fire-mendin nor his wife's talk.
" Bonk it up weel at th' back, an' it'll last a bit."

" Tha taks some waitin on," Phyllis grumbl't ; but hoo fot th'
sleek as hoo were towd, cobbed it on th' fireback, an' rear't a
poker again th' top-bar to charm a dhraught.

Just then a little stiff chap coome in, carryin a parcel on his
shooldher, sit him deawn, and axed for some ale. Jacob fot it an'
said,

" Dost find it cowd eautside, dogger?"

" Rayther, for sure."

CLOG TOPS. 351

" Where hast bin to-day ?"

" Deawn th' road a piece."

"Heaw fur?"

" As far as Rachda," Clogger said, a bit nettl't. " Is there
owt else tha wants to know ?"

" Nay, nay ! It's noane at aw'm inquisitive. Is there mich
stirrin Rachda road on?"

" Like middlin."

" Is there owt fresh theere, particlar ?"

" Aw've yerd o' nowt."

" Tha'll ha bin upo business o' some mak, aw guess ?"

" Aw've bin for some clog-tops, an aw've getten 'em here
lapped up i' this parcel, sithee. When tha's finished thi sperrin
aw 11 lev thee to tak care on 'em a bit, whol aw slip up into th'
Square."

"Clog tops, are they ?" says Jacob. " Well ! An' what price
are they fottin just neaw, like?

"Ne'er thee mind !" Clogger towd him. "Stick to thi own
thrade. What makes this chap o' yors so curious, missis ? Done
yo ne'er tell him nought, 'at he's to bother other folk so mich ?"

" It's no use me sayin nought, Jim," Phyllis laughed. " He's
larn't up, for owt aw con teighch him."

Clogger went eaut when his pot were empty, an' afore his
back were fairly turn't Jacob were fingerin th' parcel — weighin it
in his honds, peepin in at th' ends, an' so on."

" Aw wondher iv he buys his tops rough or polished, neaw.
Aw've a good mind to oppen 'em eaut, an' see. What saysta,
Phyllis?"

" Aw say mind thi own business, an' keep thi itchin fingers off
other folks' property ;" an' away went Phyllis back to her weshin.

"Jacob potther't abeaut th' parcel, studyin whether to cut it

oppen or not, when he catched sect ov a bit o' white papper just

showin at one end. Eaut it coome in a twinkle. It were a white

selvedge off a newspapper sheet, wi this written on i' blacklead :

" Weight, 24lb. 8oz."

" Good do !" th' lonlort chuckl't, tuckin th' slip weel inside
again. " Aw'll have some gam eaut o' this yet."

" What hast getten theere, Jacob ?" a voice axed behinnd him,
for he'd bin too busy stickin his nose into th' parcel to yer a
young chap come in.

"Eh!" he co'd eaut, jumpin. "Is it thee, Threpper? Aw
guess yo're stopped i' th' stone-delph ?"

" Dost think onybody but a foo ud stop theere this weather !
What hast getten theere, aw say? Cheese?"

" Nay, it's some tops Jim Clogger left whol he co's up th' hill.
Aw were just wondherin what they weighed. Heaw mich would
ta guess?"

352 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

" Abeaut five hunduth-weight, by an' so," Threpper said, fillin
his pipe. " Warm me some ale, an' squeeze a saup o' rum into
it."

So Hardstone geet deawn his tin neetcap to cook th" ale in,
an' Threpper sang a little ditty to hissel whol he waited.

SONG.

Last neet aw watched a thremblin star,

Breet as my Hannah's e'en,
An' thought, " For o tha's com'n so far,

Beaut stairs or steps between,
As far mi love for her con sthrike,

As plain to th' world con show ;
So wot it swuthers up it's like

As folk are bund to know."

A smooky cleaud crawl't o'er an' hud

That pratty star fro sect ;
" Ah, but," aw said, " it's undherstood

Tha's lost no spark o' leet ;
Bwoth stars an' lovin hearts shine on

Whatever screens divide,
When th' smooky reech is past an' gwone

O's reel at t'other side."

Afore the song were finished another customer turn't up —
Solomon Griskin, a butcher 'at lived tuthri durs nar Endin. He
sit him deawn, gav th' singer a clap, an' axed Jacob to fot him
some whisky.

" Poo up to th' fire, owd brid," Threpper said. " It's nobbut
cowdish. Yo're gettin to look betther for keepin, Solomon — yo'll
be as far reaund as a waytherworks in a bit."

" Aw'm different to thee, then," th' butcher said. " It'd tak
tuthri thi thickness to fill a fire-escape. Heaw is it book-keepin
taks o t' nathur eaut o' folk ?"

" It's wi smellin raw stone so mich, aw think," Threpper said,
laughin. " Aw'm most o' mi time up i' th' delph neaw, bookin
weigh tickets an' sich like. Tha'd run to seed a bit thisel, butcher,
iv tha stood upo yon hill tuthri days."

" Nay ! aw'll stop deawn i' th' bottom," Solomon says. " It's
hard wark broo-climbin just neaw."

" It's yezzy enough slurrin deawn again, so there is a bit ov a
poo theere. There's a slippy-ice deawn th' Ho-fowt tuthri mile
long."

"Tuthri what?" Jacob sheauted, very near upsettin th' ale-
warmer.

" Well, it's two hundherd yard iv it's an inch, an' nobbut a foot
wide. Aw wouldn't trust mysel on it for a thrifle, an' heaw t' lads
getten deawn beaut breighkin their necks aw cawn't tell. There's
mony a theausan young imps slurrin away, whistlin — bonds i' their
pockets — forty mile to th' heaur ; an' yo should see what a patent

CLOG TOPS. 353

knock-kneed twitch they putten on to skim reaund a corner.
Summat this road." He took a turn across th' floor to show 'em
heaw t' thrick were done.

" Mony a theausan is there?" Solomon grunted.

" By an' so," says Threpper, laughin again.

" Aw've just had Jim Clogger in," Jacob said, when he'd fitted
his customers wi their dhrink. " He's left yon parcel "

Threpper broke him off. " Aw say, Jacob ! Hast yerd abeaut
Sam, th' owd grocer, gettin dhropped on t'other neet ?"

" Nowe ! As aw were sayin abeaut Jim "

" What dhropped on him ?" th' butcher axed.

" Why," Threpper chuckl't, " he were gooin worn fro his club
late one neet, happen a bit lively in his yead iv owt, practisin a song
as he walked. Th owd brid thinks hissel a rare singer, yo known,
an' likes a yeawl whenever he's a chance. So he were blazin away
as hard as he could,

' The hanchor's weigh-h-h-h-ed,'

Howdin a top note eaut as long as his wynt lasted, when a dur
oppen't, an' a woman ran eaut wi a ladin-can, sheautin,

' Here, felly ! Aw'll have two quart.' "

" Oh, aw see !" Solomon says, grinnin. " Hoo took him for a
cockle hawker like."

" As aw were tellin yo abeaut th' clogger " Jacob started

again, but Threpper went on talkin, ne'er takkin no notice.

"So yo mun mind what yo say'n to Sammy, neaw, butcher.
Ne'er mention nowt abeaut weighin, or yo'll have a din wi him."

" Talkin abeaut weighin," Jacob put in, catchin at his chance,
" what done yo think this weighs ?" He slapped th' clog tops on
th' table undher their noses. " There's one on yo used to weighin
stone, an' t'other beef; let's see iv yo'n ony judgment i' leather."

Solomon looked at th' parcel wi a solid face, an' said, " Aw
could guess somewheere near, aw think."

" Come, let's have a bet on !" Jacob said. "Just for sport,
that's o. What say'n yo ?"

"There's some dodge i' 'rithmetic o' gettin at these mak o'
things," Threpper said. " Some plan o' runnin a length o' clewkin
reaund th' object, then takkin a diamether or two, multiplyin bi th'
number o' degrees fro Grinidge, an' fottin o deawn to peaunds an'
eaunces. Fot a yard o' bant, Jacob ; aw con come within a ton
that road."

" Ne'er mind bant," Jacob said, freeten't every minute th'
clogger met be comin back to spoil his gam. " Arta bettin ?"

" Nowt less nor five theausan peaund."

" Well, Solomon, aw'll bet yo."

" Nay, bettin's nowt i' my road."

y

354 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

u Be hanged to 'em ! " Jacob thought. " Aw'd ne'er a betther
chance nor this o' takkin a rise eaut o' folk, but it's no use to me
neaw aw've getten it."

" It's middlin heavy for th' size on't," he said, heighvin th
parcel up. " Just feel at it, butcher."

" There's a dyel o' bother wi thee an' thi bundle," Solomon
grumbl't, sweighin th' clog-tops up an' deawn. " It's heavyish,
for sure."

" Bet him, butcher, an' get done wi 't," Threpper said.
" There'll be no pleasur i' livin wi him whol th' job's sattl't."

" Goo on, then," Solomon says. " What mun we bet ? Two
glasses ? "

" Make it a pint o' whisky, just to put a little bit ov intherist
into th' business," says artful Jacob. " That'll breighk noather
on us."

" Agreed on," Solomon said. " Thee declare first."

"Nowe, we'll shap it betther nor that," Jacob towd him.
" We mun get a bit o' papper apiece, write th' weight deawn beaut
showin one another, an' him 'at comes nearest wins."

Th' butcher agreed to that, so they set abeaut fillin their
pappers up. Jacob thought to hissel, " Neaw, iv aw put just th'
exact weight deawn they'll find me eaut, an' that'll do noane."
So he made his papper eaut two eaunce less nor th' parcel ticket,
thinkin hissel middlin clivver. What Solomon thought there's no
tellin, but he soon had his papper written, oather wi thinkin
or beaut.

"Howd on, neaw, whol aw get th' bundle weighed," Threpper
said. "Will yo come an' see fair play, or yo con thrust to
mi word for th' weight ? "

" Aw'll tak thi word, lad," said th' butcher wi a sly twinkle in
his e'en ; Jacob, wi a self-satisfied chuckle, said he durst chance it
too ; so Threpper bowted off wi th' parcel to seech a pair o' weigh-
scales, gettin back again i' tuthri minutes.

"Show yor pappers neaw," he co'd eaut. "Aw'll soon umpire
this job for yo."

So they gav him their tickets, an' he read eaut,

" Jacob, twenty-four peaund six eaunce ; Solomon, twenty-four
peaund seven eaunce. Th' parcel weighs just twenty-four peaund
an' a hawve bi th' Store scales, so th' butcher wins bi a full
eaunce. Yo're two rare good guessers ! "

Hardstone could ha punced hissel. His face had bin a study
whol Threpper were readin, showin every change o' look fro a
satisfied grin to a twist like a new-slapped chill's. " Too clivver
again ! " he thought. " Who could ever ha dhrem't he'd ha
getten so near ! It mun be becose he's used to heighvin weights,
aw expect. What a foo aw were to lev so mich margin — hawve
an eaunce ud ha done it."

CLOG TOPS. 355

He fot th' whisky, lookin very dismal. Solomon put th' bottle
quietly into his pocket an' snapped for gooin. Tears coome into
Jacob's e'en to think what sport he should have had iv it hadn't
missed comin off, an' just then his wife coome to th' dur, co'in eaut,

" Here, Jacob ! Aw want thee to mangle tuthri minutes."

" Mangle ! " Jacob grunted. " Aw'm mangl't enough for
once, aw think." An' he thought again to hissel, " Eh ! what
a foo aw were not to put seven eaunce an' a hawve deawn, when
aw knew ! "

"Well, aw'll be gooin," Solomon said, "Tha made a very tidy
guess, Jacob. Tha'rt noane a bad judge o' weights."

" Guess ! " th' lonlord sheauted, too mad to howd hissel ony
longer, dhriven eaut ov o patience to think what gam he'd missed,
an' like itchin to let em' o know he met ha won iv he'd wanted.
" Guess be hanged ! Bi th' mon, aw've a good mind to tell yo o
abeaut it ! Aw will, too ! "

He ripped th' parcel oppen, pood eaut th' weight ticket 'at
were responsible for o t' bother, an' showed it to 'em. " See yo !
Aw knew abeaut this afore we started, an' thought aw had yo reet,
butcher, just for once !"

" Oh ! that's it ? " Solomon said, stoppin at th' dur on his road
eaut." "Aw thought tha'd some prank afloat, made thee so
anxious to bet. There's nought so funny as funny folk, Jacob ;
but aw con tell thee summat moore abeaut thoose clog-tops yet."

" There's no need," Hardstone greawl't. " Aw know enough."

Solomon went on ; " Jim Clogger forgeet to get his parcel
weighed i' Rachda, so as he coome up he just co'd in at my shop
to pop it on th' scales."

" He did ? " Jacob sheauted, his e'en startin eaut ov his yead.

" He did," th' butcher said, quiet an' solid. " So then, Jacob,
just to make sure there'd be no mistake, tha sees "

"Well, what then?"

" Aw wrote him that weight ticket eaut mysel."

" Wrote it yorsel ! " Jacob splutther't, lookin like fo'in in a fit,
his wife and Threpper brastin their sides wi laughin at him. "Yo
did ? Then aw'll tell yo what it is Griskin — a chap 'at'll do that
wouldn't stick at steighlin, aw don't care who he is ! "

Solomon walked quietly off, noather speighkin nor smilin, an'
next minute th' clogger bustl't in, co'in eaut,

" Neaw, Jacob, aw'll tak that parcel worn. Who's bin rivin it
oppen this road ? "

"Tak it, an' be hanged to 't," snarl't Jacob. "What dost
want rootin here wi thi clog-tops ? "

" Yer yo ! " Jim said to Mrs. Hardstone. " That chap o' yors
'11 ax questions when he's deein, an' iv ever they ta'en him
to heaven he'll be sperrin o th' road."

Sperrin, asking questions.

356 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw know nought abeaut that," Phyllis says, laughin at her
husban, " but iv he isn't at th' back o' yon mangle i' two minutes
it'll be wur for him !"

So Phyllis went off back to her weshin, an' Jim teed his tops
up an' bowted.

" Eh ! what rogues there is i' this world ! " Jacob said, stonnin
i' th' middle o' t' floor like somebry gloppen't. " Aw met just as
weel ne'er ha known what it weighed ! "

" It looks to me, tha knows," Threpper said, "'at Solomon an'
th' clogger made this up between 'em."

" Dost think so ? "

" It looks so to me," says Threpper, waggin his yead like a
chap 'at knew a thing or so.

"Well, but aw started th' gam mysel, tha sees. An' heaw
could they tell aw should look at th' ticket ? "

" Nay ! they should know tha'rt a chap 'at ne'er spers."

" They should do," says Jacob. " Eh ! what rogues there
is ! An' iv aw'd nobbut put deawn seven eaunce an' a hawve aw
should ha won ! "

So he made toard his mangle, an' Threpper went eaut singin
to hissel,

" Oh ! stars an' lovin hearts shine on,

Whatever screens divide ;
When th' smoky reech is past an' gwone
O 's reel at t'other side."

A WINTHER JAUNT.

i.

SOON afther this year ov eighteen hundherd an' ninety-two
coome into force aw let on a young bass singin friend o'
mine, 'at said to me.

" Several of us are going to Knot End about the middle of
February for a short holiday. Will you come ? "

" Knot End ? " aw said, studyin. " Where's that ? "

" In the Fylde — just across the river from Fleetwood."

" It'll be rayther cowdish, wain't it ? "

" Nothing to hurt anybody. I have been there often in the
same month, and found good weather generally. There is shoot-
ing, boating, and walking in the neighbourhood ; so you will keep
yourself warm easily enough."

" Well, aw should like to goo, iv it's nobbut for knowin thi
fayther so weel, but we'll see a bit nar th' time," aw towd him, an'
thought little moore abeaut th' job whol a note coome tellin me
to be ready for off on t' sixteenth o' February, at hawve past six
i' th' mornin.

Aw sattl't to goo, an' turn't eaut when th' time coome to walk
to th' station. A full moon were shinin breet as day, showin hill
an' fielt fast bund wi frost an' dusted o'er wi a thin scattherin o'
snow, like sugar on a curran cake, lookin o together moore like
midneet nor facthry time. Hurryin folk filled every sthreet when
aw started off, but as six o' t' clock turn't they vanished like
magic, levin a greight stillness behinnd 'em. Aw stood a minute
i' th' owd church yard, lookin at th' quiet teawn slantin up to th'
curve o' white-jacketed hills, everything i' seet showin hard an'
clear undher t' steelish-blue moon, an' thought to mysel there were
little need to lev worn a-seechin pratty bits o' counthry, for owd
Rachda, ill as we co'n it, takken at th' reet time an' place, con
howd it own wi mony a spot 'at gets a dyel moore credit.

Aw fund mi mates on th' station platform, up to th' necks i'
fiddle boxes an' luggage. There were six young fellahs, o on 'em
players an' singers, lookin i' rare fettle, an' runnin o'er wi cheerful-
ness. Aw knew most on 'em ov owd, an' soon geet thick wi 'em
o — Bass, Tenor, Fiddler, Vamper, Comic, an' Rosin.

"It looks to me 'at yo're gooin a buskin," aw said, as we
squoze into a carriage, fillin th' hat shelves wi big an' little fiddles.
"Where's yor guns an' gam-bags?" We were beaun a shootin
for owt aw knew."

35 8 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" You will find plenty of sport," says Bass, " rabbit hunting,
rat catching, diver shooting — any amount of fun, and a country
beautiful enough to satisfy any lover of nature."

" That's reet," aw said. " Aw could ne'er undherston what
sport there were i' murdherin poor things, just becose they're less
nor us, but yo'll happen teighch me neaw. Done yo charm
th' rabbits eaut o' their holes wi th' fiddles, or what ? "

Comic twinkl't at me eaut ov his merry black een, chirped
tuthri tag-ends o' music-hall songs, an' then towd me they were o
givin a concert that neet to build a Wesleyan chapel wi, an' iv aw
behaved mysel aw could get in for nowt, to yer him act humorist,
Fiddler shine on th' first fiddle, Rosin wrostle his 'cello, Tenor an'
Bass sing like layrocks, an' see Vamper wortchin hard o neet
to help 'em eaut.

Brastin wi joy at th' prospect o' sich a thrate as that, aw sattl't
deawn whol we geet to Bury an' picked up a Philosopher —
th' last mon o' th' crew. So neaw, o complete, we sail't away for
Bowton station, that dismal dividin gate at' mun be passed to chet
fro smooke an' darkness into th' breet north counthry ; an' away
again toard Preston. Th' sun were getherin peawer bi that time,
sendin wide shoots o' leet o'er Rivington Pike an' across miles
o' level lond to th' west, an' settin th' glee singers off wi " Hail,
smilin morn." A grand mornin, signs o' comin spring showin i'
th' meadows, sweet choruses o' brid-music ringin fro every hedge.

Six lively tongues chatther't away i' th' carriage, shortenin
th' journey to some pitch. Philosopher an' me said little, becose
he's thoughtsome an' aw'm gettin owd, but Comic moore nor
made up for two quiet uns. He'd a grand diamond ring 'at 'd
cost him as mich as fivepence once, an' a pipe wi a yead like
a hollow butcher's block ; so between these, tuthri score o' comic
songs an bits ov actin, he kept us wick enough. There was no
gettin him to keep still in his corner, so we were just thinkin
ov axin Tenor, th' heaviest chap among us, to sit on him a while,
when whuzz ! we shot into Fleetwood station, an' jumped onto th'
platform, makin a pile o' fiddles as iv Halle's band had com'n.

We made for th' Wyre edge, where Bass pointed to a hondful
ov heauses across th' river, tellin us that were Knot End, th' shop
we wanted to get at. We slutther't into a ferry boat, up sail,
an' crossed th' brode river, soon londin on th' Knot an' makin up
a flagged footroad toard th' village. Afore us miles o' level farmin
lond sthretched green, to th' lift bare snow-peckl't sonds ran eaut
into Morecambe Bay, to th' reet Wyre Dock were thick wi mast
an' funnel, creawded near th' greight grain elevathor; fur up
th' river a cleaud o' white reech blew fro some sautworks, an' wide
o' that a wyntmill were turnin summersets on Preesall broo — th'
only hillock at th' Fylde has to swagger wi.

A WINTHER JAUNT. 359

A wind blew fro th' say 'at made us fair dither, makin us
o feel sharp-set for some breakfast, so we left a retired pirate,
donned in a fustian shirt wi long-sleeved shoon an' a billycock wi
a kneb at th' back, to bring th' luggage afther us, an' bowled for
th' lodgins.

Philosopher an' me walked up together, bein bwoth serious
chaps, th' musicians runnin on at th' front.

" This is a wonderful place," he said, as we shiver't up th' road
wi a dyel o' nose-wipin. " Whatever part of the year you may
choose for coming here, the district is full of beauty. In summer
fields and hedges are thick with flowers, in autumn you have the
harvesting, in spring all the charms of budding vegetation, in
winter "

" That's enough," aw said. " There's no need to tell me what
it's like i' winther — aw con bwoth feel an' see it. A kest-iron boiler
met be fain to ston' here i' this wynt."

He laughed, sayin aw should get brokken in to th' climate
afore long, an' aw thought he met be reet iv aw didn't get brokken
deawn first. Tuthri fishermen an' boat-chaps were hangin abeaut
waitin for some wark to seech 'em, an' two farmers were busy
fillin a cart wi big stones off th' sonds.

" That seems to be hard rock," Philosopher said as we passed.

" Nane ower-heeat, nither," one o' th' chaps says, battin his
arms wi a grin.

" That's Yokshire," aw thought to mysel. " What next ? "

Breakfast were next, as it happen't, an' a rare good meal we
made, wi some jokin o'er it. They gav us no seal-oil, whale-fat,
nor reindeer meight, as met ha bin expected i' sich arctic regions ;
fresh eggs, new-catched fluke, brids, beef, an' mutton satisfied 'em,
an' we felt satisfied too afther hawve an heaur's steady peckin.

" Now, boys," says Bass when we'd done, " how many for diver
shooting ? "

Fiddler an' Comic volunteered in a crack — they'd bin at th'
job afore.

" What mak o' sport is it ? " Rosin axed, dhrawin a bow across
his big fiddle, for his fingers were olez itchin to feel t' ratchin
sthrengs. " Done we goo on 't wayther to catch 'em."

" Out in a boat," Comic towd him, as he danced a fling on th'
harstone. " The pirate supplies boat and guns, shoots us out well
into the bay, and we shoot the divers as they come up. Does
any gentleman want to buy a diamond ring ?"

" O reet," says Rosin. " Just let me finish this symphony an'
aw'm ready. Will yo goo, Weigh ver ?"

" Nay, lad ! Aw've no grudge again th' brids. Beside it's
cowd enough upo dhry lond for me."

Dither, shiver.

360 WORKS OP JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Hear, hear," Philosopher said. " Let these reckless youths
risk their lives ; you and I will walk gently round the village and
meditate. An acre of land's worth a mile of water."

" I'll try the boat," Vamper said, puttin his fancy Scotch cap
on : "a pianist more or less doesn't matter much. What do you
say, Tenor ? The sea-air will clear your voice."

" Oh ! aw'll make one," Tenor says, smilin o reaund his good-
humour't face. " Aw'm insured, iv owt happens."

" We had better not get drowned before the concert," Fiddler
put in. " But the pirate is careful and an accomplished mariner,
so we may hope for the best."

" Iv yo getten upset lay howd ov his boots," aw said. "They'll
sink noane, yon wain't, whether he does or not. T' puzzle is heaw
he ever gets into 'em."

So away they o went, Comic givin words o' command an'
marchin 'em off like a dhrill-sergeant, takkin his big pipe chance
they wanted a life-buoy ; an' Philosopher took me eaut for a walk.

A glorious mornin, hard, breet, an' cuttin as a swordblade.
We walked deawn to th' Knot, seed eaur merry gang o' mates
settin sail i' th' pirate's boat, an' then turn't up th' Wyre side toard
Shard Bridge. It' a bonny walk up that river edge, an' i' summer
time it mun be summat to see an' remember. We wandhered up
a good piece, past some fishermen's cottages, stonnin close to t'
wayther, turnin off afther a while into a narrow lone filled wi owd .
ship timbers.

" Look you now," Philosopher said, stoppin to think a bit.
" Here is a specimen of man's handiwork ! These worn and
rotting deck beams have done hard service in their day, if ap-
pearances go for anything. They have carried many a valuable
load and precious life, swum through many a storm, simple and
worthless as they look now. If they could speak we might listen
a day or two before all the story was told."

" That's right, masther," a voice said at his elbow. A tall
farmer-lookin chap had com'n across th' fields, gettin close to us
afore we seed him. " A mournsome tale, too, these owd baulks
could make on it, if we could nobbut hear. She was a big ship,
you'll see bi th' lumber. We broke her up to clear th' oyster
beds down below yon."

" You will have seen many wrecks on this rough coast ? "

" Sure I have. And the least of 'em all gave us most trouble
in these parts."

"How was that?"

" It'll be so long come Whissun Tuesday, for it happened at
Whissuntime. Six stout chaps an' a young woman belongin Knot
End set out across t' bay to Lancster. Nobbut one mon ever
coome back alive. At dayshine they started, as it met be fro yon
point, wi leet hearts enough, thinkin nowt. Afore lond had weel

A WINTHER JAUNT. 361

dhropped at their backs a wave coome — sich a wave it's said as
our fisherlads never seed up to that day, an' down their boat went
like a hanchor sinkin. Poor bodies ! One just conthrove to swim
hissen clear — he's a neighbour o' mine to-day — I live again him —
an' 'twas all he could do. Twice he gav up, I've oft heerd him
tell, but some bit o' life coome to him again an' again. Then,
when he dudn't mak lond, he felt all were ower, lettin hissen drift
wi th' swell, but thoughts of his wife an' bairns left faytherless
coome to him, an' he made one sthroke moore. As goo' luck ud
ha't, a farmer wi his son had com'n out to pluff bi daysthrike that
mornin, an' seein yon bedrowned lookin thing tossin like among
t' yesty watther they gat at him wi a rope. Eh ! but it were days
an' weeks afore he'd ony grip o' life again."

" Were the other bodies recovered ? "

" All on 'em, masther. Yes — every one comes out wi' time.
Six souls gone at a clash, as one met say. We're not mony folk
at Knot End, you'll see, so at th' funeral it looked as everybody
theere had lost a relation among them six. Eh dear ! 'Twere
a sad day on Wyreside ! "

" Sad indeed," Philosopher said. " And yet theese accidents
are common to our lot —

' All that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.'"

" That's but a cowd-blooded way to look at it, friend," th'
farmer says, rayther sharp. " Mebbe where you come fro folk are
plentifuller, for it taks long years i' th' grave to kill a mon at Knot
End. It's not just t' carcase, you'll see — it's what a said an' dud
when a lived. His wife an' friends '11 see him smile an' hear him
talk long afther th' worms finish wi him. Sure we mun die —
that's beknown ; but all t' betther part on us stops outside th'
grave."

" Give us thi neighve, owd cock," aw said. " Aw like to
yer thee talk some weel."

He gav me a gripe 'at made me soory aw'd axed him, an' we
talked a bit abeaut odd things whol he towd us there'd bin twelve
theausan peaund worth ov oysthers takken eaut o' th' river t' year
afore, an' that made us so hungry we bowled sthraight worn to see
iv th' dinner were ready.

II.

We fund o th' say-voyagers londed safe back when we geet to
th' lodgins. They'd kil't a brid among 'em — which on 'em had
shot it nobry seemed just to know, nobbut they were o sure it
weren't th' pirate ; heawever th' diver were theere, plain enough to
be sin, wi white fithers an' bleedin throat, so that were o at'
matther't owt.

362 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Dinner were sided off middlin soon, for there's no bother
wi gettin' appetites into fettle up i' thoose parts, an' th' bowd
sportsmen sattl't to goo rabbit shootin next, for a change. As aw
fund by sperrin 'at this excitin gam nobbut myent walkin across
tuthri fields an lones, aw went wi 'em, makin a bargain wi Comic
'at he mut keep weel at th' front whol he carried a gun, as aw'd no
fancy for gainin weight bi gettin two barrelful o' lead dhriven into
mi back.

Th' pirate were waitin for us, wi his boots on, his short
clay brunnin, an' his face as weel weshed as usal wi londside
mariners. It turn't eaut he did a bit o' quiet poachin neaw an'
again, when th' black flag were lapped up, an' we took him to be
one of thoose experienced owd honds 'at could olez be depended
on for findin summat to shoot as long as there were ony game left
i' t' counthry. A middlin owd hond we fund him too.

We'd two double-barrels for artillery, so Vamper an' Comic
were thrusted wi 'em first, Philosopher an' me gettin weel to
th' back, eaut o' danger. In a while we stopped at a hedge,
th' pirate poo'd a ferret eaut ov his boots or somewheere an' sent
it deawn a rabbit-hole, th' gun carriers stood ready for blowin owt
'at met come into maprags, an' we o gether't reaund watchin
wi greight excitement.

When we'd stood happen twenty minutes or hawve-an-heaur
th' excitement dwindlt. It began to look deaubtful whether ony
rabbits were for comin or not, an' we hardly felt as comfortable i'
that cowd fielt as we should ha done bi th' hob-end on a bakin
day.

" Are yo sure there's ony rabbits inside, Pirate ? " Tenor axed,
fair jaded wi stonnin theere doin nowt. " We're noane shappin
mich like th' lad 'at mended ov his skennin yet."

" Heaw were that, Tenor ? " aw axed him.

" Why, he were a lad up Cronkeyshay Road somewheere.
1 Mother,' he says, ' aw am mendin o' mi skennin neaw ! Aw con
see two things where there nobbut used to be one.' What says ta
Pirate ? Is there ony rabbits ? "

"Happen not," th' buccaneer says, sthrikin a match on his
boots, leetin his pipe, shovin his honds into his pockets, an' rearin
hissel again th' wynt for another heaur's watchin. "Th' ground's
very hard, an' there's no tellin which run we may find 'em in."

" Try another one, then," Philosopher said. " By degrees we
may get round them all."

Comic thried to make a joke summat abeaut ten degrees
below Nero, but nobry reckon't to yer him.

Th' idea o' shiftin suited everybody's taste, but we'd to wait a
while longer for th' ferret comin eaut. He'd fo'n asleep, aw think,

Skennin, squinting.

A WINTHER JAUNT. 363

findin it warmer inside th' run nor eaut, an' there were no knockin
him up. At last he showed his sharp wedge ov a nose (nearly
gettin his yead blown off, for Vamper thought he were a rabbit
stirrin), th' pirate sammed howd on him bi th' neck, an' we started
for a likelier spot.

Afther walkin fifteen mile or so we coome to another hedge,
an' th' same gam were played o'er again.

" This is noane good enough," Rosin says, stampin to warm
his frozzen toes. " Aw met have had a good practice on th' 'cello
whol we'n bin loisin time here. Come on Fiddler ; let's go worn
an' thry a duet."

" I should like to get a rabbit or two first. Come, Pirate ; are
we likely to find any or not ? "

"Couldn't say," t' freeboother towd him. "We met or we
metn't."

"There were rabbits enough here last year," Bass says, what-
ever there may be now."

" We'n hit th' wrong time again," Tenor said. " It were olez
so wi me. But th' question's noane so mich what they had last
year as what they han neaw. Han yo ony rabbits left, Pirate ;
that's what aw want to know ? "

Th' buccaneer wiped his meauth wi th' back ov his hond
an' started explainin things a bit. Th' greaund were hard, he
towd us again (as iv we hadn't fund that eaut afther t' miles we'd
thrail't afther thoose boots ov his), an' that went again chances o'
sport ; then, t' rabbits had bin very thick on a while back, but
a fairish lot o' crack shots had com'n o'er middlin oft an' thinned
'em eaut; then, as iv new leet had sthricken him, he finished up
bi sayin we'd just thry Whiteley's farm, an' off he set on another
long-distance sprint at two mile i' th' heaur.

" Look here, mates," aw said, dhroppin to th' back wi Tenor
an' Philosopher, " aw've had enough o' this — aw'm satisfied. Aw
wain't say a word again good owd English sport ; but it's nowt i'
my road, as t' thram engine said when it ran up Rush Hill.
Aw'm beaun !"

"Same here !" says Tenor. "It's a capper to me heaw they
con sell rabbits so chep i' Rachda market, when it taks nine chaps,
two guns, an' a ferret hawve a day to miss catchin one."

Philosopher thought he'd had enough too, an' said it looked
to him Pirate knew where th' rabbits were, but wanted to keep us
eaut o' th' road on' em, so we struck across to th' say, followin it
reaund whol we geet worn again. T' last we seed o' th' sportsmen,
they were settin a tin can on a rail to shoot at, as they could leet
o' nowt wick.

When they geet back Comic towd us he'd com'n very near
havin a good shot at th' finish. Just as he were gettin into
th' village he seed a little brid pyerched on a three within ten

364 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

yard on him, so he cocked his gun, took short aim, an' were just
beaun to bang off when an owd woman ran eaut ov a cottage
across, skrikin,

" Let a gun off theere iv tha dar, tha young good-for-nowt,
close to wheere folk are livin, an' happen wi childher playin 'em
somewheere i' that plantin ! For shame o' thi face ! an' iv we'd a
policeman here aw'd have thee locked up, grinnin an' laughin
so when tha met do murdher ; an' a dyel tha'd care abeaut that aw
darsay, so be off wi thee ! "

An' off he'd to goo wi his tail between his legs, not even
venthurin to ax iv he could sell her a diamond ring. Tenor said,
happen that were th' only brid they had abeaut theere, so folk
were noane likely to want it shootin. Heawever, sport were o'er
wi for that day, an' music set in for th' neet. There were practisin
to be done, faces to wesh, Sunday clooas to don, white ties to
festen, baggin to swallow ; an then off we rowlt in a wagonette to
Pilling village, four miles off bi crow-fly, six bi th' heeroad ; for as
there's no hills theere to climb up an' deawn, th' roads are
cut a bit longer reaund nor need be, partly to make up.

Eh ! what a do that concert were ! A reawmful o' chaps an'
women 'at 'd ne'er yerd ony music afore, two or three o' th' quality
on a front bench cricketisin everything, a greight squire i' th'
cheer, my mates playin an' singin as hard as they could, an'
me hutched into a nook, takkin stock ov o 'at stirred an' sayin
nowt. O th' pieces met ha bin done twice o'er, iv t' performers
had takken ony notice o' th' clappin ; an' as for Comic, iv he'd
sung o neet some o' th' folk wouldn't ha bin weary.

Th' Squire were so takken up wi th' music 'at he invited us o
in a rook to co at his heause next neet, sayin he'd give us summat
t'eight an' thry to make us comfortable ; so we agreed, an' afore
long were off back undher a breet moon. Most o' th' young chaps
walked, reckonin nowt o' being crommed into a close carriage
i' sich weather as that ; so Philosopher an' me had reawm enough
inside, and fiddles moore nor enough to tak care on.

Th' moon, as near full as made no matther, swam in a deep
peawdher-blue sky. I' th' west Jupither shin't wi never a twinkle.
A while afore we'd sin Venus keepin company wi him, but that
shy queen had bowled, levin her mate to blaze away bi hissel.
Th owd Bear were clawin his road up to t' north star, never gettin
mich nearer for o his theausans o years' wark ; th' Pleiads shim-
mer't an' dither't like a double hondful o' tinsel shavins ; a greight
jewell't sickle marked where th' Lion took his neet's preawl ; an'
lower deawn, a clear blue spark, th' Virgin showed her bonny face,
keepin hersel weel to hersel, as dacent young women should.

We'd no paved nor levelled road to bother us. Th' owd
shanthrydan rowl't away o'er stone or dirt, just as they coome,
wortin to one side or t'other, as it happen't, an' leetin back

A WINTHER JAUNT. 365

wi a bump upo th' four wheels at once. Thorn hedges shut us in,
followin every turn an' wind o' lh' lonely road, t' flat counthry
lookin to start back fro us as we rode forrad. What a glorious
seet were that level lond, lyin still an' misty undher t' sailin moon !
Church spire an' wyntmill creawn, oak-branch an' cottage-window,
frosted meadow an' snow-chalked dyke — o touched wi silver leet
'at made no difference for quality or heestonnin, but flooded every-
thing alike, throwin off narrow lines o' black shadow fro t' depth
ov it own breetness.

An' what a stillness ! When we clatther't an' clanked through
a bit ov a roadside village there were no seaund, no spark o' cham-
ber leet, to show wick folk were near ; as we clunther't an' jowted
o'er th' hard road o th' world looked empty reaund us. To me,
used every day to rattlin machinery, that unbrokken stillness had
summat awesome in it — but restful, too, an' sweet to th' sense as
De Jong Glory roses brunt i' July sun-blaze. Aw began to feel
like brastin into poethry, or doin summat else foolish, so hee aw
seemed set aboon wark an' throuble.

" Eh, Philosopher ! " aw said. " Iv one could jowt an' rowl
through life at this comfortable bat, heaw grand it'd be ! Aw be-
lieve aw mun nobbut ha bin hawve-rocked whol a babby, th'
moon's olez sich a peawer o'er me ; or its happen ridin wi fiddles
'at's puttin me i' sich rare tune. Aw could just like to ride on so
whol th' moon sets."

" You would only get a profound back-ache," he said, laughin
at mi foolish talk. " This machine is too cramped for long jour-
neys of the sort you are dreaming of, and stiffened limbs would
take the place of sentiment in less than an hour. Learn to break
off enjoyment at its height if you would remain happy."

" Ah, to be sure ! There's human nathur i' t' road again," aw
said ; but aw felt he were reet enough, an' argeyed no moore
abeaut it.

There'd bin some talk o' gettin up next mornin to shoot divers
afore breakfast time, an' th' pirate had promised to be ready wi' his
boat ; but th' bowd sportsmen were fast asleep long afther t' time
set, wearied eaut wi their hard wark th' day afore.

At hawve-past seven Tenor, weshed an' donned, walked into
th' bedreawm where Comic an' Fiddler lee together, dhremin their
happy hours away, poo'd every rag o' bed clooas off 'em, an' walked
quietly deawn th' stairs, sayin nowt. Up beaunced Comic an'
Fiddler, swearin chromatic vengeance i' seven flats, donned their
breeches, rowl't their shirt-sleeves up, an' set off to kill Tenor whol
he dee'd. They fund him smookin bi th' front-reawm fire, pyched
in like two stage villains, towd him to get ready for th' worst
happenin, an' then laid into him wi o their weight ; so Tenor geet
howd on 'em, one i' ayther arm, cobbed 'em eaut into th' lobby,

366 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

put his cap on, an' went a walkin whol th' breakfast were getten
ready, levin his murdherers to pyke theirsel up as best they could.

A snowstorm coome on that mornin, givin me time to sit
restin a bit, findin th' musicians a chance to practise, an' Comic a
good oppenin for singin tuthri dozen funny songs, hawkin his
jewellery, an' showin off his big pipe. As noon turned we'd fair
weather again, so makin short wark wi dinner-shiftin we o made
for th' fresh air. Most o' th' lads started for th' pirate's boat again,
to see iv they could murdher some moore brids ; but Philosopher,
Bass, an' me felt moore i' th' walkin line, an' made for Preesall
hill to get a look reaund th' white counthry.

Yo con see o reaund th' Fylde fro that hillock, an' a bit fur be-
side, for Morecambe bay's i' full seet, ringed reaund wi big meaun-
tains fro Scawfell to Ingleborough. A cleaud o' smooke showed
where Barrow furnaces were blazin away, but we were little
intheristed i' that, as we'n soot enough awom. Philosopher
showed me Sundherland Point, where cotton were first londed,
sayin he were noane just sure yet whether we shouldn't ha bin
betther off beaut nor wi, for it looked to him there'd bin nowt but
bother sin'. Then, turnin toard th' west, we'd Blackpool i' full
seet, wi mony another place o' greight fame ; an' Fleetwood lee
just undher us, lookin as big as a city ; for we'd catched th' teawn
brodeside on, an' it's as fair a definition o' length beaut breadth as
ever Euclid fund.

We gawped abeaut whol th' snow-cover't lond gav us o th' e'e-
wartch, an' then, findin we were close to th' wyntmill, set off to
look at that curious buildin. Preesall's one o' thoose little villages
'at looken as iv every chap theere had built his heause to shuit
hissel. Th' cottages are dotted abeaut o roads up th' hill side,
pointin i' ony direction 'at they met happen to leet in ; so followin
th' road 'at winds through yo see heause fronts, sides, backs an'
edges, o at once, jumbl't together like a worted box o' childher's
buildin breek. There's two big aleheauses (one wi a stone yead
as big as a prize cabbitch stuck o'er th' dur), a church, a butcher's
shop (wi th' window barred like a jail, as iv th' beef had bin
locked up an' hanged for misbehaving itsel), a joiner's yard wheer
they maken a breed o' wheelbarrows beaut legs, a blacksmith's
forge, a fine heause for t' docthor, an' a pump. Thoose are o
cobbed together i' one hondful, as iv they'd bin shutther't fro a
cart on th' hilltop, an' stonnin a piece off there's a saut works an'
th' wyntmill we'd bin makin for. When th1 hedges are crommed
wi summer fleawers, an' one con walk reaund beaut havin to wipe
his frozzen nose every ten yard, Preesall wain't be hawve a bad
shop.

A WINTHER JAUNT. 367

III.

Aw've had scant experience o' wyntmills, an were olez inclin't
to rayther look deawn on 'em. To be sure, wi their reaunt shaft
ov a buildin an' whizzin sails, they cutten a poor figure again a
new spinnin facthry wi its hundherds ov e'en an' greight byem
engines; for o they used to swagger so mich afore styem were teed
deawn an' gated sich a stir to get loase again.

Middlin o' wynt were blowin across th' hill, an' as we coome
near to th' long sweepin arms aw were capped to find what turnin
peawer they were makin. One cleaut fro one o' thoose swingin
timbers 'd be enough to sattle a footbo dispute, an' that's sayin
middlin.

As we geet up to th' bottom dur a chap looked eaut, so aw
said to him,

" Yo'n thirty or forty horse peawer rivin away here, maisther.
Whatever con yo do wi o that ?"

" We want it often enough when all the stones are running,"
he said, smilin at us. " There's a good deal of machinery in this
place."

Aw looked at th' buildin, taperin up like a chimbley, thinkin to
mysel their machinery took little enough reawm to ston in at that
rate ; but he took us in, showin us o through fro top to bottom,
an' aw've thought betther o' wyntmills ever sin'.

A vertical shaft runs through th' mill, like a spindle through a
cop, turnin o their tackle bi cog wheels an counther-shafts. Sich
gearin yo never seed ! There's no inch o' reawm to waste, an' it's
fair laughable to see heaw sthraps an' pulleys are dodged into
nooks an' cracks, fixed slantin or sthraight, yead up or yead deawn,
reet-honded or keigh-wusk, just as they'll best fit.

They'd three pair o' stones runnin when we co'd, an' th' shoots
were teemin eaut fleaur, meighl, an oats in a steady sthrem, a
fattenin, dusty, wholsome flavvour hangin abeaut 'em. To be
sure th' miller an' his men were noane fat, happen becose they'd
no reawm to groo inside theere, but they'd o a rare healthy look
abeaut 'em, an' th' miller hissel were a sthrong, limber sample, as
fit to run, wrostle, jump, or feight, as ony chap ever aw seed.

We climbed up five stories, crawlin up steps set nearly
sthraight on end, findin every chamber crom-full o' summat — bins,
fans, hoppers, seeks, stones, runnin gear, thrap-durs, an' whatnot —
looked into a big dhryin chamber, where th' grain's baked afore
grindin, an' slipped through a little dur onto a platform 'at runs o
reaund th' eautside, a grand view o' lond an' say brastin on us
sudden as gunshot.

Keigh-wusk, left-handed.

368 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Well, miller," aw said, " tha's getten us up reel enough,
whether we s' get deawn again wick or not. Thoose stairs wanten
fettlin some ill."

" Do they ?" he says, unconsarn't. " I never noticed it."

Aw don't believe he ever had, noather, for aw'd watched him
swing hissel up an' deawn his steep laddhers bi th' hond-rope,
nobbut touchin abeaut one step i' four ; but they're shockin bad
pairs o' stairs for o that. He showed us heaw th' sails wortched,
wi an owd-fashion't dodge for steadyin th' wynt, whistl't, laughed,
an' looked as leet-hearted as ony miller could do.

Philosopher whisper't to us, "This miller seems of different
stamp from that selfish old curmudgeon on the Dee, who cared
for nobody and wanted nobody to care for him. To hear Bass
sing that lilting song anybody would think the morality of it sound
enough, but if you start analysing the rubbish —

"Gently!" Bass says. "How many popular songs will bear
analysis. You had better not meddle with that subject."

Gather this chance talk abeaut songs or summat else set a bit
ov a rhyme buzzin through mi yead, an' made me wondher heaw
th' miller hissel felt abeaut his wark. Aw took stock on him, wi
his brode back, thin flank, comely face, an' fringe o' black curls
creepin fro undher his dusty cap ; an' tuthri days afther tinker't up
this ditty, wi a dictionary, two pipes o' bacca, an' a dyel o yead-
rubbin. That's heaw most extempore verses are petched up, aw
darsay.

THE MILLER.

Preesall miller stands high to view

Meadow and breaking wave,
Far uplifted above the crew
Wandering flat and valley through,

And cheerfully sings a stave —

" Blow, wind ! Sails, swing round !
Here's the Fylde harvest come to be ground ! "

Gather, winds, over the bay,

Whirling the sails about !
Landward breezes, strive as ye may,
Mill and miller this many a day

Have welcomed your rebel rout !

" Blow, wind ! Sails, swing round !

Here's the Fylde harvest come to be ground ! "

Shoot flowing and hopper filled,

Steadily turns the stone ;
Miller and men, to the labour skilled,
Know right well the hard grain is milled

By diligent toil alone.

" Blow, wind ! Sails, swing round !

Here's the Fylde harvest come to be ground ! "

Fettlin, repairing.

A WINTHER JAUNT. 369

Flowery fields beneath are spread,

Birds sweet choruses make ;
Soon as shines the sun o'erhead,
Corn's a-grinding to give us bread,

Millers are early awake.

" Blow, wind ! Sails, swing round !
Here's the Fylde harvest come to be ground ! "

Long, miller, toil and rest,

Driving thy wholesome trade ;
Travel, sun, from east to west !
Drop, rain, on the earth's warm breast,

Fostering ear and blade !

" Blow, wind ! Sails, swing round !
Many's the harvest yet to be ground ! "

We geet scrambl't deawn beaut ony neck-breighkin, lost i'
wondher to see what quantities o' stuff could be fitted into sich a
smo-lookin buildin, said good-day to th' friendly corn squeezer, an'
wandher't off toard th' saut-mine.

We fund a borin theere like a coalpit shaft, two hundherd an'
fifty yard deep, an' hawve road deawn we could see brine runnin
reaund a metal tank. Fro theere it's pumped into a lodge
eautside, an' made into saut afore it knows what's happenin to it.
We watched two sthrong chaps go deawn in a bucket, their leeted
candles dwindlin to sparks, but felt no fancy for followin, thinkin
we should be shoved undhergreaund soon enough beaut gooin o'
purpose. Then, as baggin time were gettin close, we turn't toard
worn again.

As we coome near to th' village we seed a procession walkin
deawn a cross-lone fro th' river side. Hawve a dozen chaps
marched one behinnd another as iv they were playin at red
Indians, some carryin guns, some wi bags, o on 'em wi their yeads
hangin deawn an' teeth set.

" What unfortunate men are these?" Philosopher axed, stoppin
to wait for th' miserable objects comin up. " Some great calamity
appears to have" befallen them. There must have been a wreck
on the coast."

" There is something strangely familiar in the aspect of yonder
mournful crew," Bass said, starin. " They can hardly be our

friends wandering over the country in that fashion, and yet

Do mine eyes deceive me, or are those the pirate's boots I
behold?"

" There's no deaubt abeaut it," aw said. " They're eaur lads,
an' a bonny mess they'n getten into bi th' look on 'em. They'n
bin dhreawn't or summat."

Th' pirate coome up, marchin past beaut a word, gun o'er his
shooldher, pipe i' meauth, soppin weet fro yead to foot, th' long
boots brim full o' wayther. Comic towd me afther 'at when th'
chap geet worn he thried to poo his boots off just to empty th'

370 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

weet eaut ; but that couldn't be done, as he'd worn t' things day
an' neet for mony a month, an' his feet had groon into 'em ; so he
were forced to ston on his yead an' dhrain 'em eaut that road.

Poor Comic ! He coome next i' th' row, wi desperate little
jokin abeaut him, his merry black e'en deawnkest, his yure eaut o'
curl, too far gwone to oather grin or wink, to say nowt ov offerin
his diamond, as he passed. Tenor followed, thryin to howd his
weet breeches off his legs as he walked ; Fiddler were next,
steppin eaut bowdly wi his gun as iv he ail't nowt, thinkin moore
ov other folk nor hissel, as usal ; Rosin an' Vamper coome crawlin
at th' tail end, like two o' Pharaoh's sodiers just poo'd eaut o' th'
Red Say. Not a chirp, not a whistle among 'em, they shiver't on
through th' keen wynt, aimin at nowt but gettin worn an' weel shut
o' their weet clooas.

Th' tale coome eaut at baggin time when th' lads had getten
dhried an' warmed again. No moore diver shootin for them —
that were sattl't ! They'd let on a gale, had th' boat hawve full,
an as near as a toucher done some divin theirsel. Th' pirate
hissel had bin freeten't, an' had to run two mile up th' river afore
he durst lond.

Heawever, things met ha bin wur, an' it geet time to think
abeaut shappin toard th' Squire's iv we myent gooin, for we'd a
five-mile ride to face. Th' owd wagonette turn't up afore long,
an' we went beawlin away deawn th' frosty road as lively as
crickets. Comic had getten his spirits up again, an' there were no
end to his talk an' gam. His tongue hardly ever stopped whol we
londed at th' greight heause, an' were bundl't eaut into a cowd
garden.

We were noane cowd long. Iv onybody's a betther notion o'
makin folk feel awom nor yon Squire, aw want to be knowin where
that body is. First we were turn't into a comfortable reawm to get
warm, then some ribs o' beef were set afore us, an' afther that we
were ta'en forrad to make friends wi a lot moore visithors. We
fund th' Squire had getten up a greight party, axin a lot ov his
neighbours to meet us distinguished music artistes; an' a tidy
meetin we made on it among us.

Aw never let across a bigger breed o' chaps nor th' Fylde
farmers. Wi say-wayther at one elbow an' rich lond at t'other
they're likely to be healthy, an' one look at 'em satisfies onybody
'at they are so. Tenor's a steaut, sthrong, chap, but he dwindl't
again thoose red-faced giants, wi their big limbs as hard as iv th'
flesh had bin fair hommer't on. An' th' young women ! Eh, bless
their bonny faces ! They danced, they played th' piano, they
chatther't like robins, they sit still lookin pratty, an' they made me
feel young again i' tuthri minutes.

In a crack there were quadhrilles gooin' i' one pahlour an'
music in another, an' a warm nook were fund in a third reawm for

A WINTHER JAUNT. 371

quiet chaps to smooke or talk in. Philosopher an' me were
among that lot, but t'other lads were friskin abeaut i' o directions.
Aw should think iv Tenor sung one song he sung twenty, fillin his
time up wi dancin. Bass an' Comic sung an' danced too, Fiddler
an' Rosin played solos on their weel-tuned sthrings, an' Vamper
were kept busy helpin 'em o eaut.

Fiddler i' particlar were just in his glory, an' did wark enough
for hawve-a-dozen. Beside playin, singin, an' dancin, he were like
a maisther o' ceremonies, an' wapped abeaut as wick as a scopperil,
keepin th' gam go'oin, smoothin awkwart corners off, weel plez't
hissel, an' plczin everybody he coome near.

It's a bonny heause, crommed wi curiosities gether't fro very
near every part o' th' world. Every reawm's full o' neck-nacks,
picthers woth scores o' peaunds hangin on th' woles, an' bits o'
things woth a dyel o' gowd scatther't o'er shelves an' tables. What
a lot o' dustin an' clenin they mun want. Aw wondher if th'
Squire's ony moore comfortable among his grand things nor aw
am i' mi nook at th' hob-end awom. Heawever, that's no business
o' mine. It were enough for me to find 'at he'd no set on him
becose ov his brass, an' to see him bring two poor owd widows in
to get their share o' th' good things, mixin 'em a glass o' summat
warm wi his own honds.

Midneet coome afore we knew what ailed us, an' then we'd
splutther enough packin fiddles up, seein th' young women worn,
gearin th' wagonette, an' gettin fairly started off; but we shapped
to get back to bed at last, th' breet moon shinin at us as wakken
as ever, an' next mornin thravell't back to Rachda once again.

Ah well ! Breet days, sadly too short an' rayther o'er cowd,
yo're gwone like a dhrem ! Among t' clattherin looms aw con
yer a cluntherin seaund o' wagonette wheels on a frozzen road, or
sometimes th' grindin rub o' mill-stones, an' mony a sweet song an'
tune catched fro thoose lively music chaps hangs i' mi ears yet.
Nobbut two short days ! Heaw these little halidays gilden th'
dark edges ov every day wark, levin a glint 'at shows for mony a
year ! Aw've met Comic sin' we geet back. He put a dismal look
on, an said,

" I left my pipe at the Squire's,"

"What pipe?" aw said. "That o'er-groon thing wi a yead
big enough for a stew-mug ?"

" Yes. You saw it at Knot End."

" Seed it ! Aw should think so ! Who could miss seein it ?
But ne'er mind, lad, it'll come in useful theere."

" How so ?"

" They'll upend it for a garden stoo."

" Perhaps so, but the matter shall Knot End there," he says.
Aw sthretched eaut mi hond to throttle him, but he'd bowted,

" And like the baseless fabric of a vision
Left not a wrack behind."

CALDER VALLEY.

i.

AS frost-bitten May crawl't shiverin past an' June coome smilin
(a coolish smile) o'er th' hill tops, scatherin a bratful o'
fleawers across th' green meadows, an' touchin up t' winther-
worn scenery wi lines o' gowd sunleet, aw bethought me 'aw'd
promised th' poet to goo a-seein him i' Spring. Aw wrote axin
him iv he were wick, an iv he thought it woth while waitin for
Spring ony longer afore he invited me, an' geet a letther back in a
snift tellin me to start bi t' next thrain. That were rayther too
sudden, so aw'd to put him off a bit, takkin time to sattle things
so 'at th' teawn could spare me for a day or two. Aw'm so little used
to levin worn an' mi wife behinnd me, 'at bwoth th' owd woman
an' me felt as mich put abeaut as iv it were a Merica thrip aw were
framin for. Th' owd dame seed me off at th' station one Friday
mornin, givin me moore advice nor aw could reckon to think on ;
an' long aw looked at her cheerful face as th' rapid wheels rowl't
me away, whol t' loveleet fro her fadin e'en were shinin through
mi heart, as it has done for moore years nor con soon be reckon't
up.

At Smithybridge a pratty rosy young woman climbed into th'
carriage, a thin tallish chap carryin a concertina box jumped in
afther her, an' we were off again.

" Arta sure thoose tickets are safe, Tommy ?" 't lass co'd eaut,
makin a greight fuss wi a parasol, cloak, an' a little sthraw basket.
" It'll be a bonny job iv tha's lost 'em !"

" They're reel enough," t' young chap says quietly, leighnin
back in his corner an' startin to whistle.

"Do give o'er whisllin !" t' lass said in a minute or two.
" Tha'rt like never reel beaut makin some din or another. Eh !
aw wish we were weel through this tunnel ! Heaw mony mile long
is it, dost say ?"

" Less nor forty," th' whistler said, lookin at her an' then at me
wi a sly twinkle in his restless e'en.

Aw knew that twinkle in a crack, an' th' twinkler too, for o his
new billycock, Sunday clooas, an' smart tie.

" Aw've sin thee afore, somewheere," aw said, starin at him.

" Aw darsay yo han," he says. " Aw'm middlin weel known
through dhrivin abeaut so mich wi mi emporium. It wouldn't
be at a brid show, would it ?"

CALDER VALLEY. 373

"Nowe; tha were grindin sithers up Bury Road, pyerch't on
thi emporium, as tha co's it. Aw know thee neaw. Done they
co thee Scowcroft awom ?"

" Oh ! yo known him ; that's plain enough," his lass broke in.
11 He'd be makin some mak ov a foo ov hissel when yo seed him,
aw expect."

" Goo on !" Scowcroft said, quietly. " Aw'll let thee talk ony
road tha's a mind to-day."

" Is this thi wife ?" aw axed him.

" Hoo will be in another heaur or two," he said, an' t' young
woman flushed like a fire-back. " Hoo's like swaggerin o'er mi to-
day, done yo see ? Yo mun think nowt on her talkin so fast ; it's
nobbut excitement. Hoo's noane used to bein wed yet."

" What ! yo're beaun a gettin wed are yo ? Heaw the hang-
ment hasta shapped to make time for that arrand ? Is thrade
slacker nor it were?"

" It isn't so !" he co'd eaut. " Nowe ; it's bin a job gettin off
for a whol hawve day, aw con tell yo that. Why, mon, iv aw'd as
mony honds an' feet as a eddycrop aw could ne'er catch up to mi
wark neaw."

" What done yo think ?" t' lass axed me, jumpin as we went
wi a whush into th' tunnel. " He acshally wanted t' weddin to
come off at Smobridge, so as he could get some gardenin done
afther it. He'll teaw hissel to t' dyeath wi wark. But aw'll stop
some o' this scrattin, lad ! "

" Tha knows weel enough heaw backart aw've getten wi th'
sallet beds," Scowcroft said. " It's nobbut cobbin time an' brass
away goin to Tormorden ; iv we'd getten teed up awom aw could
just ha slipped mi jacket on, weshed mi honds, an' bin ready, an'
then ha' shifted some wark afore baggin time. Aw've lost a dyel
o' time latly wi cwortin, beaut loisin moore neaw when aw'm
takkin another meauth to keep. We s' do weel iv we con piece a
livin together, aw'll tell thee. That just puts me i' mind ! Aw
mun slip up to Shore i' t' mornin wi yon bottle o' leeches."

" What's t' concertina for ?" aw axed, to get th' poor fellah's
mind off his throubles. " Arta for serenadin thi wife afther yo're
teed together, or tha'rt for gooin reaund t' sthreets singin for thi
expenses."

"Nay, come ! he's noane as poor as that, shuzheaw !" t' lass
frapped eaut. " We'll come noane a-beggin off yo when we wanten
summat."

" Be quiet witha," Scowcroft laughed. " Yo moan't cob jokes
at her maisther ; hoo con ne'er see 'em. Aw'm takkin mi music-
box to play th' Weddin March on."

" Tha never says ! Aw should ha' thought tha'd enough i' thi
mind beaut that."

Eddycrop, spider. Teaw, to toil hard.

374 WORKS OP JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" It will be a bit awkart, aw deaubt," he said, thinkin o'er it.
" Aw could ha' brought a mate to play for me, but he's like nobbut
a one-finger player — yo'n yerd sich like, aw darsay — reet hond
grindin th' tune eaut one finger at once, whol th' lift gwoes tee,
pum pum ! tee, pum pum ! o through. That's noane good enough
for a weddin, is it ?"

" Hardly, for sure. Tha met a letten him ston wi th' young
woman, put t' ring on an' sich ; waitin thisel, ready to sthrike up."

" Hoo'd happen ha' bin t'other chap's wife, then ! That'll do
noane ! Iv aw miss this chance aw s' ne'er find time enough to
start again. Shall aw, Sarah ?"

" Talk sense !" hoo snapped, lookin as iv hoo thought us bwoth
idiots.

" It's a bit botherin, done yo see," Scowcroft went on. " A
concertina's hardly a reet thing in a church, is it ? Aw'd betther
get to th' dur ; or happen eautside on th' steps ud be t' best. We s'
see heaw it leets. Aw ne'er larn't to play th' orgin, or else it met
ha bin betther snapped."

" It's abeaut th' only job tha missed larnin, aw think. Here's
Walsden."

" Ah ! Sthraight up an' deawn, like a coalpit shaft. There's
no wondher at folk bein born claw-footed in a hole like this."

" What makes 'em claw-footed ?"

" It's wi havin so mony broos to climb, mon. They getten
fitted to their surreaundin, as Professor Huxley says, — "

" What ! arta thick wi him too ? "

" Aw yerd him lecthur once, that's o. He's reet enough, too.
Han yo ne'er noticed heaw croot necked folk getten wi suppin
brewery ale an' eightin shop loaf ? "

" Nowe ; that's news."

" Why, yo mun be blint ! It's nowt but evolution, that isn't.
This ud be a rare shop for tobogganin iv they'd plane their broos
smooth."

" It's moore nor that abeaut it," aw said. " Comin deawn th'
side o' yon big hill there's one o' th' bonniest cloughs to be fund
onywheere upo these moors. Iv tha wants to sit dhremin hawve
a day or so, make for Ramsden Wood, an' tha'll be reet."

" Ah, but I don't," Scowcroft said. " Aw've no time for that
mak o' wark, an' there's gawpyeads enoo moonin reaund beaut me
startin. Dhremin, say'n yo ! Why, mon, aw'd sooner goo catchin
bull-joans or jack-sharps nor idle mi time away otogether."

" Aw darsay tha'rt reet."

" Be hanged to dhremin ov o' maks ! There's ne'er nowt
nobbut lies an' bother at th' end on't. Con aw sell yo a ticket for
a cut fleawer show; aw'm howdin one i' three week. They're

Broos, hills. Bull-joans, tadpoles.

CALDER VALLEY. 375

nobbut sixpence apiece, an' everybody's a chance o' winnin a cop-
per kettle, two chimbly orniments, or a lecthro-plated gardenin
threawel. Come iv yo con — it'll be a good do."

" For shame o' thysel, Tom," his lass said, colourin up. " Let
th' owd chap a-be, an' think moore abeaut what we han agate."

" Nay ! it's too lat for that," Scowcroft says, pocketin his
tickets wi a deep sigh ; " aw'm fairly londed. Aw deaubt we
shan't get back afore dark." He looked eaut o' th' -window wi a
long face, fell to whistlin again, an' then jumped on his feet, starin
hard up th' hillside.

" Well, aw'll be hanged !" he co'd eaut.

" Whatever's to do, Tom ? " t' young woman axed him.

"What's to do!" grunted Scowcroft, wi a disgusted face.
" This is a bonny come off, this is !"

"What is?" aw said, lookin hard up th' brooside, but seein
nowt. "What complaint hasta catched, o ov a sudden?"

"Look theere!" he says, pointin ; "cawn't yo see thoose
heauses? Yo ne'er seed a row o' cottages built in a stone-pit
afore, did yo?"

" Nowe ; not 'at aw know on. But there's nowt abeaut that to
get mad o'er."

" Aw wouldn't be so soft iv aw were thee," t' lass put in.

" Aw ne'er could abide sich idleness as yon sin' aw're wick,"
he went on. "Iv it isn't a slap i' t' chops for a hard-wortchin
fellah like me happen yo'll mention one. Takkin th' heauses to
th' quarry, becose they're too idle to shift their stone when they'n
getten it ! Iv that's ony credit to Walsden it's a licker to me ! "

He sattl't hissel back on th' shet as iv he were fair knocked o'er
bi sich shockin carryins on, but his twinklin e'en belied his talk.

We soon dhrew up at Tormorden, where th' happy couple
geet eaut, wishin me a good day.

"Same to yo," aw said. "Let's hope yo'll ne'er repent o' this
business, but live happy an' rear a big family."

" Howd on !" Scowcroft says. " Don't be i' sich a hurry, owd
brid!"

" Next time tha gwoes to Rachda look into th' Baum Chapel
grave-yard. There's a stone theere tells ov a woman 'at 'd twenty-
five childher i' less nor twelve year."

Scowcroft were just gettin eaut, an' when he yerd that he nearly
fell off th' step.

"That's a flogger !" he said, turnin reaund wi a freeten't face.
" There'd ha bin no weddin to-day iv aw'd known so mich afore.
Childher com'n rayther too expensive for my fancy, an' look what
time there is wasted botherin wi 'em."

" Tha'll want hawve-a-dozen lads, shuzheaw 'tis when thi busi-
ness comes to be divided. There'll be a joiner, sithers grindher,
brid fancier, quack docthor, gardener, an' barber to find fro
somewhere."

376 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" An' what shall aw be doin mysel at that time ? "

"Tha'll be i' t' warkheause," aw said. "Tha lives middlin
hondy, so there'll be no greight expense i' cartin thee theere ; an'
tha'll be like to start dhremin then whether tha wants or not."

" By gum, Sally ! he's noane fur wrong," th' happy bridegroom
said, festenin me in an' talkin to me through t" window. " Yo're
off neaw, owd scholar. Co in an' see us at Smobridge. There's
a glint i' yor e'en aw like to watch, an' yo'll be welcome to a bite
an' sup as long's we con afford it. Come soon, or aw s' happen
ha' brokken."

He looked at me wi th' owd sly grin as aw rowl't away, an' set
off wi th' concertina box undher his arm, a dyel betther plez't wi
his job nor he wanted to make eaut, aw felt sure. Aw thought to
mysel he'd getten a reel sort ov a wife ; one 'at 'd tak care on him,
stop his restless mind fro wearin him away, an' save him fro
hardenin into a scrattin miser when he geet owd, as left to hissel
he'd be sure to do wi his love for wark and want o' confidence i'
time to come. Which are most to be pitied, too-careful folk or
too-earless ? An' heaw is it we're o just careful enough i' eaur own
opinion, an' just otogether wrong i' everybody else's ?

But aw were i' no shop for moralisin. He would be a dismal
chap 'at couldn't feel breet an' hopeful whol rowlin through this
grand valley, wi th' steep-slantin hills risin i' rich-wooded shelves
to reet an' lift, sweepin forrad i' bowd lines — cool green again th'
breet blue sky — to melt far off into th' greight Vale o' York. We
left Tormorden lyin in th' oppen meauth o' Burnley twitch, an'
coome to Eastwood, hud away in it quiet shady corner. T' little
river Calder had bin runnin bi th' line side awhile, mindin it own
business as weel-behaved rivers should, but here it fund itsel sadly
i' th' road. For o it's sich ancient reets to th' valley, nobbut just
wide enough here for a river 'at likes to keep itsel respectable, it's
bin shoved o' one side, elbowed into nooks, an' used shameful, to
make reawm for a main road, a canel, an' a railway ; an' neaw th'
owd waytherstid dhribbles on, like a worneaut fayther among
groon-up sons, blushin a deep rich blue-black wi th' sulks.

T' Calder's wur used nor th' Roch, an' that's bad enough.
Aw've sin 'em bwoth gush i' breet jets fro their moss an' yeth
cover't springs on Blacksnedge an' Cliviger, rompin deawn th'
moor sides in a hurry to come eaut i' th' world, one thryin th'
east road to fortin, one takkin it chance to'ard th' west, an' watched
'em bwoth come to th' same sad slutchy end ; so aw'm like to feel
for 'em a bit, an' dhrop a sympathisin hanketcherful ov e'e-weet
into their unweshed floods.

We went on again, through widenin views o' wood an' hill, past
Hebden Bridge, an' undher t' brode green sweep o' Skip Hill an'
Erringden. "Royd! Royd !" t' porthers bawlt, wakkenin me up,
an' aw geet eautside, nearly fo'in o'er John, stonnin ready for me
on th' platform. .

C ALDER VALLEY. 377

II.

Aw guess iv we'd bin Frenchmen we should ha sammed howd
o' one another reaund th' neck, sthruck some attitudes on th'
station flags, an' happen bin foos enough to kuss one another ; iv
we'd bin Italians we met ha griped neighves, hopped reaund o'
one leg, an' jabber't like ducks eightin gravel; or iv we'd bin
browt up Garmany road on happen we should nobbut ha grunted
an' kept bwoth honds hud in eaur pockets. As it were we rubbed
neighves an' John said,

" How are you ? A fine day, isn't it ?"

Aw towd him aw were o reet, an' t' day were reel too, axed
him heaw he felt, fund he wore no wur for his winther's keep, an'
away we went beaut ony moore fuss through th' owd-fashion't
village, past ancient stone-slated heauses built long afore cellars
were fund eaut, judgin bi t' quantity o' coalholes kept eautside,
an' on bi th' Elfin brook.

"Hello!" aw co'd eaut, pooin up to hearken some clock
chimes just sthrikin. "There's sombry knows aw'm here. Yer
thee!"

"What's the matter?"

" Yon chimes. Yo'n stown them fro th' Rachda Teawn Ho.
It's just th' very same jingle, nobbut wi less bells."

" You have more likely borrowed ours. I suspect this church
clock has chimed for more years than your Town Hall has stood."

" An' will do afther it's fo'n deawn, happen, for it taks as mich
proppin up as a wambly haystack."

As we walked aw towd him abeaut Scowcroft gooin to be wed,
an' when he yerd o' th' concertina he nearly dhropped wi laughin.
Aw'd to ston waitin awhile whol he geet his fit o'er, an' he kept
brastin eaut every neaw an' again o afthernoon wi thoughts o' th'
Smobridger playin away at th' church dur. We wandhered forrad
a good way, levin th' teawn behinnd us, meetin nobry but a little
owd chap wrostlin wi a bad coughin fit.

" You sound bad to-day, Simon," John says, stoppin to have a
word wi him.

" It's this yesterly wind, ye knaw," th' owd fellah gasped when
he geet a bit ov his own wind again. " It gets intul mi bronsical
tubes, like, in a way, as 'twere. It's well to be yet sir."

" Don't be envious, Simon. ' Passion accursed ! ' says the
dramatist. How is your wife ?"

" Shoe's varra well — varra well. Ah dean't knaw as shoo could
be in a geysomer rooad than shoo is noo."

"What mak o' lingo's that, lad?" aw axed, as we walked
forrad. " Aw s' begin thinkin yo'n some dialect abeaut here soon."

Wambly, shaky.

3?8 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"The old man comes from the Bradford neighbourhood —
Eccleshill, Baildon, Apperley Bridge, Esholt, Gomersal, were the
scenes of his youth. Did you ever hear of the Gomersal poet,
Herbert Knowles ?"

" Nowe, aw think not."

" He died at nineteen years of age, or you would have heard
of him before now. Southey thought highly of his ability, and
sent him ^30, subscribed by himself, Sam Rogers, and Lord
Spencer, to help forward the lad's education. He would have
made a high position, but time was denied him."

" Poor lad ! Nobbut nineteen, tha says ? Why, th' world ud
just be oppenin afore his sect then ! It looks a greight pity."

" A pity indeed. The ' inevitable hour ' came and he passed
into

' The shadows of eve that encompass the gloom,
The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb,'

as he himself wrote in Richmond Churchyard."

We kept thrailin forrad, getting fur an' fur eaut o' th' teawn, whol
at last aw gated wondherin wherever t' chap were takkin me to.

"Heaw mich fur, John?" aw axed him. "Hast flitted fro
Mytholmroyd, or heaw?"

"No, we shall be at home in a minute. We live in the
suburbs, you see."

"Tha lives i' t' counthry, moore like," aw said. "There's
moore rhuburb nor suburb abeaut this as fur as aw con tell. We
s' be up at Turvin i' hawve a crack."

" Not quite. You know the way to Turvin then, it appears."

" Know it ! Aw've bin here long afore ever aw knew thee lad.
It's soon i' th' year yet to see things at their best, particlar wi this
backart spring, or we met ha thrail't up th' clough."

" Come over again at the fall of summer and you will find the
glen in all its beauty. The trees will be full of foliage, touched by
autumn's scorching finger, the undergrowth of ferns and wild-
flowers at its highest point of luxuriance. At that season old
Blackstone-edge puts on his gayest apparel, filling the background
with scented beds of purple heath, grouse whirr and cackle up the
hillsides, and the plover's melancholy cry adds a peculiar effect of
desolation to the silent valley. It is a beautiful place at any season,
though."

" It is that ! Aw've followed t' brook deawn mony a time fro
wheere th' first ribbin o' weet runs across th' moor top, getherin as
it fo's, whol it leets dashin an' grumblin among th' moss-groon
stones undher t' Crag, in t' bonniest little nook o' th' sort ever aw
clapped e'en on. Cotton an' woollen han spoilt so mony o' these
dingles for us 'at we may weel be fain to find sich a grand sample
left."

CALDER VALLEY. 379

In a bit we coome to a heause stonnin bi itsel again th' hill-
side, wi threes abeaut it an' fleawer beds i' th' front.

John oppen't th' garden gate, an' in wi went, marchin up th'
carriage dhrive like five hundherd a year chaps. T' front dur stood
oppen, so we went sthraight forrad through a big enthrance lobby
into th' sittin-reawm, where we fund a pratty young woman playin
wi two little lasses. John said he mut inthrojuce me to his wife,
so hoo coome up to shake honds, an' we'd a good look at one
another.

" Yo'n a rare bonny face o' yor own, missis," aw said. " Iv
yo're owt like as good as pratty yor husbant's getten a wife summat
like he desarves. Yo'll be Yokshire bred, aw darsay."

" Yes, I am," hoo says, laughin a bit at mi plain talk. " I was
born within sight of the wolds, and have hardly ever been outside
the county since."

" Nay, sure ! That's quare, wi so mony chep thrips as we han
neaw. Arta fyert o' loisin her, John, iv hoo levs worn ? "

" Not in the least. Although we are old married folks she has
enough affection left to bring her back. The fact is we are so
comfortable here that we never think of going anywhere else."

" An' these two pratty childher ? Are these yors ? "

" These are my twin daughters," John said. " They are
christened Emmeline and Flora (you can distinguish Flora by that
curl over the left ear), but are commonly known in the family as
Judy and Bridget ; they are three years old, have healthy appetites,
and generally constitute themselves one of the greatest plagues of
my existence."

T' little lasses an' t' mother laughed as iv they were used to
yerin him talk nonsense that road.

" Dar aw sit deawn o' these grand velvet cheers ! " aw axed next.
" Hard wood uns are o aw've been used to."

" Sit down by all means," t' missis said, " and I will get you a
mug of beer after your walk."

" A mug ! " aw co'd eaut, jumpin up an' starin at her. " Well,
yo're a smart un, jokin at me that road ! Somebdy mun ha towel
yo aw like ale."

" Nobody at all," hoo says, " and I am not joking in the least,
as you shall very soon see."

Away hoo went, comin back dhirectly wi a pitcher an' some
chancy pots. "Now," hoo says, "here is your mug; tell me where
the joke is."

" Oh, that's what yo co'n a mug, is it ? " aw splutther't eaut,
fair brastin wi laughin. " We co'n them gill pots i' Rachda, an' t'
lessest ov eaur mugs ud howd four or five gallon. Con yo see th'
joke neaw?"

Hoo seed it wi a wap, an' worted o'er on th' fine sofy, howdin
her sides an' laughin whol tears rowl't deawn her cheeks. We geet

380 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

o'er it i' time, an' t' missis went off to shap some dinner ; so aw
geet thick wi th' childer, settin their busy little tongues waggin like
bell-hommers. They were as mich alike as two pins, an' fair puzzl't
me to sort 'em eaut. At last aw teed Judy a bit o' ribbin reaund
her arm, like a warp ticket, an' that sattl't o t' bother.

John showed me reaund his garden an' green heauses, fillin mi
yead full o' long Latin names an' makin me wondher heawever
mony sorts o' plants there could be i' t' counthry. Last ov o we
geet among sallet an' gooseberry beds, an' th' show were o'er, so
we set off back to see iv th' dinner were ready.

" I am proud of my flowers," John said as we went. " Don't
you think the collection a good one ? "

" It's reet enough," aw said, " iv they'd nobbut bin kessen't
gradely. Thoose long jawcrackin names takken o'th'^'scent'eaut
on 'em. But tha's getten thi two bonniest buds betther labell't nor
t'other, shuzheaw."

" I don't understand."

" These two rare blossoms," aw said, lookin up at his childher,
pyerch't on mi shooldhers, stickin on bi mi yure, makin o' th'
garden ring wi their merry sheauts. " These are th' finest plants
aw've sin to-day, an' they'll tak some careful rearin. Mind that
ribbin, my love ! Iv it slips off tha'll be lost."

He said aw were reet, an' when we geet inside towd his wife
what aw'd bin sayin. It shuited her, aw could see, an' hoo took as
mich care on me an' waited on me afther as iv aw'd bin a member
o' parliament, or some other sort ov helpless chap. Thoose little
bonny things would sit on mi knees they reckon't, but aw could
have etten nought wi 'em theere; heawever one climb't up, an'
that made t'other ston cryin becose it were left eaut, so deawn
jumped th' climber to wipe it sisther's e'en wi it little pinny an' kiss
her betther. Then nowt ud do but they mut have their cheers
next to mine, makin me t' centhrepiece ov a new design o' Beauty
an' Ugliness, an' slat mi jacket sleeves weel wi gravy.

" Tha's a grand shop on it here, John" aw said. " Doesta
wortch for thi livin, or heaw ? It mun tak middlin to keep this
heause up."

" I am a bank clerk," he says, " and am well paid. I make
money by music, too ; and then my writings "

" Ah ! what abeaut thi writins ? Conta make brass bi them ?"

"Certainly they have not been very profitable yet. I can
wait."

"You can worry, and lose sleep, and fret yourself into ill-
nesses," t' missis put in. " That's about all the good your writing
will ever do."

" Hit him again ! " aw said. " Poets are fair gam for ony-
body to shoot at, though I hardly expected to find bullets flyin
in his own heause. Give him t'other barrel !"

CALDER VALLEY. 381

They bwoth laughed, an' t' wife colour't a bit.

" Don't misunderstand her," John said. " She would like to
see me taking life easily, getting through my necessary work and
troubling myself no further. The advice is sensible enough, too,
and springs from love; but it will never alter my deep-rooted vices,
so you will have to put up with 'em, my dear."

"You mun encourage him to goo forrad, missis," aw said.
" A bit o' yeadwartch neaw an' again wain't hurt him, an' he'll
happen turn eaut summat good yet. Beside, writin keeps folk
eaut o' mischief."

" And gets them into it many a time," John laughed.

"Well, there's summat i' that, lad, as aw've fund eaut mysel.
But aw reckon tha'll nobbut do thi own road, shuz what onybody
says to thee. Arta writin for fame, or brass, or what?"

" I don't know. I should keep on making verses even if I
knew that nobody beside myself would ever read them, so it can't
be the money-making instinct that impels me. A desire for fame
may be permitted to a man of real greatness, but in me would be
nothing more than childish vanity. That is not the reason of my
absurd practices. I can't give a satisfactory reason, nor explain
how it happens that I plod along with never-tiring diligence at this
business, although anything but a plodding man by nature.

' I only sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets.' "

"Keep on, lad," aw towd him. "It plezes thee an' hurts
nobry, an' tha'll happen get to be appreciated in a bit. Talkin ov
appreciation reminds me o' Jimmy Dyson. Did aw ever tell thee
abeaut Jimmy?"

" I don't remember."

"Well, tha knows, Jimmy were owd Spanker bookkeeper.
He'd had th' shop nearly twenty year, an' getten on very weel wi
his maisther obbut for a bit ov a frappin-up neaw an' again, for
Spanker were olez very short-lemper't. Heawever, one day they
geet across, some road, an' Jimmy geet a fortnit's notice. He
finished his time up, an' then, afore he left, went into t' maisther's
private office to ax for a testimonial. As soon as he'd getten his
yead in Spanker looked up fro his writin an co'd eaut, ' Neaw,
Jimmy, it isn't a bit o' use thee comin beggin on again ! Aw've
had enough.'

' Me too,' Jimmy says. ' Aw'm just beaun ; but yo're noane
for turnin me off beaut a charicther, are yo, afther o these years ?
Heaw am aw to get another shop at that speed?'

' Nay, aw'll gi thee a line or so,' Spanker said ; an' afther fingerin
his yead a bit he wrote tuthri lines, axin Jimmy iv he thought that
'ddo.

' Aw think it will,' Jimmy says, lookin t' papper o'er. 'It seems

382 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

yo'n greight reliance in me, an' thinken me honest, intelligent,
punctual, obligin, an' perfect maisther o" mi job. Oh, ah ! this
should do.'

' Does it say o that, lad ? ' Spanker axed him, lookin at th'
papper again, rayther curious. ' Dal it ! aw didn't know aw'd a
chap on t' greaund as good as that. What the hangment am I
seckin thee for ! '

' Nay that's where aw'm fast.'

' Aw cawn't afford to loise a sarvant wi o thoose good qualities,'
t' maisther said, rippin his testimonial up. ' Aw ne'er knew tha
were so cliver afore. Come o' Monday mornin as usal, an' get
on wi thi wark.'

1 Well but, howd a bit ! ' Jimmy says, very solid. ' Aw
shouldn't think o' takkin a shop at less nor two peaund a week wi
a charicther like that, an' yo're nobbut payin me thirty shillin.'

'Come, aw'm done this time!' Spanker laughed. 'Aws'be
like to gi thee thirty-five neaw, aw reckon.'

'Thank yo,' Jimmy says. 'Its ta'en me a good while to get
appreciated, but aw s' know i' futhur to get secked when aw want
to mend mysel.'

Neaw, it's summat t' same road wi yo rhymin chaps, John.
Yo're a long while i' gettin fund eaut, an' han to push yorsel
forrad middlin afore yo con be fairly reckon't up."

"And how do you recommend me to push myself?"

" Aw con see nowt for it but deein, an' that gam isn't woth
playin at."

John poo'd a bit o' papper eaut — he's olez his pockets full o'
scraps ready to cob at folk — an' read up :

" I have no visions of enduring fame,
And care not that remote posterity
Should make a treasure of my humble name,
Give me, dead, the honour I would see
While yet alive to bear it. Let me have
In this our age sufficient room to sing,
And when you lay me, friends, in the deep grave,
Stir not my rest with idle murmuring.
I fain would have a little circle now
Of cordial hearts, to mark my simple note,
And give a fitting meed of honest praise ;
Reserve your laurel for a worthier brow,
Let me in bony dust forgotten rot,
While other singers chant in other days."

" Well," aw said, " iv that's o tha wants t' job's done. There's
olez tuthri folk to sympathise wi what a chap writes, an' as mony
moore to co him a foo. Known or unknown t' merit o' thi wark's
just t' same, an' iv thi books han owt good in 'em they'll find
friends somewheere, whether tha yers abeaut it or not. That's o

Seckin, discharging.

CALDER VALLEY. 383

th' fame 'at 's woth owt, too ; for edithors nobbut run afther a chap
when they con make brass by him, an' th' public i' general don't
care twopence abeaut poets, wick or dyead. Keep on scrattin,
lad!"

" You may depend upon my doing so. Whether at some time
my works may burst upon an astonished public in full-blown
stream, as the Aire springs from Malham Cliff, run deliberately
away from the sea of popular favour, to reach it only after cir-
cuitous and aimless wanderings, like the Derwent, or dribble un-
noticed into the river of literature, as the hundred rills of Craven
fall into Swale and Wharfe, we must wait to discover, with such
patience and philosophy as belong to us."

We went back into th' sittin reawm to smooke, rest us, an'
play wi th' childher a bit, an' then John said iv aw felt willin we
met walk as fur as Sowerby owd teawn, promisin to show me some
good views an' intherestin sects.

III.

Aw towd him that were partly what aw'd com'n for, an' offer't
to follow him onywheere, little thinkin what mak ov a job we had
afore us. Iv aw'd had ony wit aw met ha known there'd be no
stirrin in a counthry like that beaut climbin ; but aw ne'er had no
wit, an' were too blint to see what were comin. Aw gated findin
eaut when we'd walked abeaut forty mile (as it looked) up an'
deawn broos, but mostly up ; an' stopped, pantin for wynt, lookin
deawn th' long valley where th' railway, t' river Calder, Halifax
road, an' th' canel were hutched together side bi side, wi hardly
lond enough to keep 'em apart.

Owd Daniel De Foe crossed this valley a hundherd an' eighty
year sin', an' this is what he says abeaut it. " The nearer we came
to Halifax we found the houses thicker, and the villages greater in
every bottom, and not only so, but the sides of the hills, which
were very steep every way, were spread with houses. In short,
after we had mounted the third hill we found the country one
continued village, though every way mountainous, hardly a house
standing out of a speaking distance from another ; and as the day
cleared up we could see at every house a tenter, and on almost
every tenter a piece of cloth, or kersie, or shalloon, which are the
three articles of this country's labour. These, by their whiteness,
reflecting the bright rays of the sun that played upon them, formed,
I thought, the most agreeable sight I ever saw ; the hills rising and
falling so thick, and the valleys opening so differently, that some-
times we could see two or three miles this way, sometimes as far
another. Though we met few people without doors, yet within we
saw the houses full of lusty fellows, some at the dye-fat, some at

384 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

the loom, others dressing the cloths; the women and children
carding or spinning; all employed from the youngest to the
oldest ; scarce anything above four years old but its hands were
sufficient for its own support. Not a beggar to be seen, not an
idle person, except here and there in an almshouse, built for those
that are ancient and past working. The people in general live
long ; they enjoy a good air, and under such circumstances hard
labour is naturally attended with the double blessing both of health
and riches."

Daniel doesn't tell us what made him lev sich a grand shop as
that, but he did lev it for some rezon or another. There's a cadger
or two up th' valley neaw, but aw've ne'er sin four year owd babbies
wortchin to keep theirsel.

" Nay, John !" aw said, when aw'd partly getten mi wynt again;
" aw didn't sarve thee eaut this road when tha coome a seein me.
It's noane fair ; an' me fast gettin an owd chap."

" I can't help it ; the country is in fault. You have no such
hills as these near Rochdale."

" Nowe ; an' we don't want 'em noather. Aw con feel neaw
for that counthryman o' thine 'at 'd to climb a big hill to his wark
every mornin. ' Aw undherston,' he said to a mate once, wipin
sweat off his yead, ' at this lumpy cut ov a world were mixed,
carded, spun, an' wovven i' six days. Iv it 'd bin me aw'd a ta'en
a fortnit, an' put a level face on t' cloth.' What lies o'er yon
shockin steep broo across theere ? "

" Halifax. Come, we have the worst over now. See yonder
is Sowerby old church in full sight."

" Ah ! is yon it ? T' folk 'at built that had a fancy for bein
hee up, shuz who they were. It doesn't look a very owd shop,
yon."

" No. An old church stood on the same site before this one.
With what majesty it stands there, commanding Calder vale ! The
architect who chose this lofty perch for his building must have
had a fine eye for effect."

" He cared very little for th' cost o' cartin. But there's
summat grand abeaut it, aw mun say. We'll thry to crawl up
to th' top an' have a gradely look."

We went on past farm an' meadow (for these hills are cultivated
to th' very top), petches o' garden greaund, cottages o' th' owd
seldom-fund pattheran, tuthri ancient ho's where once hawks flew
an' swords flashed, risin olez, whol we coome into Sowerby teawn
an' went back to th' Civil War time at a jump. There's little
fancy needed i' Sowerby sthreets to see Rupert an' Cromwell, King
Charley an' Praisegod Barfoot, wi their gangs o' silk singlets an'
leather jerkins, chargin up an deawn th' broo-sides, lettin off
their saucer-meauthed pop-guns, or havin a desperate set-to reaund
th' church gates to sattle who mun get howd o' th' horses stabl't

CALDER VALLEY. 385

inside. These are th' very windows wheere freeten't creawds o'
short-frocked, bare-armed women peeped through at th' dyeadly
business eautside, skrikin an' ditherin as th' shiftin gam went first
to one side, then to t'other. Generations o' lusty yeomen han bin
bred here, an' scores o' bonny reet-hearted English lasses, livin
simple lives on this wild hill, like young eagles in a neest, as happy
as kings an' queens wi their palaces an' gangs o' slavverin lackeys.

Th' owd teawn's here yet, little awther't, an' there's pratty lasses
beside, but where are thoose yeomen neaw ? These chaps gardenin
among th' graves are little like 'em. They're pale, reaunt-backed,
thin i' flank an' shank, up to nought, no road.

" Cotton again," aw whisper't to John, an' he nodded.

" Fine day, maisther," aw said to one o' th' gardeners.

" Fine deigh, very," he says, lookin up, an' stoppin his threawel
a minute.

" What mak o' artchitecthur done yo co this church o' yors ?
It looks rayther like a jail toard th' top wi thoose little square-
quarrelled windows an' th' battlement. It's a quare un ! "

" It's hard to seigh what style it's either," says th' gardener.
"There wor a gentleman here one deigh talked abaat mixed
Italian an' sooa, but it were nowt to me."

" Done yo wortch i' th' cotton ?"

" Ah do. Ah'm a wayver daan to t' Bridge."

" Aw'm another o' th' same breed deawn bi a Lancashire bridge.
Shake honds brother cop-seauker ! We'n gien o'er foin eaut abeaut
th' colour o' roses neaw, but iv we con chet one another i' th' cattle
or cotton markets we will do."

"That's reight!" he said, laughin. "Ye're a straight-gooin
man, ah'll paand it ! "

"Well, aw hope yo're reet. Han yo somebry akin buried
here?"

"Mi youngest lad, onnly. T' last beighby. We leighd him
daan here three month come Sunda."

" Han yo mony ov a family ? "

"Seven living, lads an' lasses. But we could ill spare t'
beighby, ye knaw ?"

"Childher are ill spared at ony time; but iv they mun goo it's
betther young nor owd. Tha wain't ha th' agony o' seein him dee
afther he's groon into a young chap, and groon so into thi heart
'at it's like rivin body fro soul to loise him. That punishment's
fo'n upo me once, an' aw ne'er want to yer ov onybody else sufferin
t' same road."

" Sheighk hands, friend," th' gardener said ; " an' if ye'll stop
for a cup o' tea wi us ye're both welcome."

" Be careful," John laughed. " We may not be deserving
characters."

AA

386 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Ah'll chance that !" says th' Yokshireman. " Look through
t' church an' then come hooam wi me. Yo'll be welcome as flaars
i' Meigh."

But John begged off, sayin his wife expected us back to eaur
baggins, so we left th' hospitable gardener an' walked through t'
graveyard, lookin weel abeaut us. Heaw long they'n bin plantin
folk theere aw don't know, but we fund one stone dated 1683, laid
o'er " John Dearden, gentleman, of Wood Lane," an' another put
deawn i' 1679 °'er Jos- °"e Sourbie, armiger.

There's a lot o' gravestone poethry lyin abeaut, most on it ov
a common sort. Tuthri o' th' verses han bin used o'er an' o'er
again, makin one fancy th' owd stonecutthers mun ha kept samples
by 'em same as printhers done neawadays, an' when customers
coome axed 'em iv they'd have " Affliction sore," " Weep not for
me," or " This lovely bud," carved undher th' inscriptions. This
is on a stone on t' north side :

" While pity prompts the rising sigh

Within each tender breast,
O may this truth, I too must die,

Most deeply be impressed."

A bit fur on there's these verses o'er th' grave o' Tabitha Whiteley,
deed February yth, 1833 :

" A loving wife, a tender parent dear,
Who lived to God in holiness and fear ;
To peace, goodwill, to all mankind a friend,
Her death tho' sudden yet in joy did end.
She loved her children fondly and in truth,
But near was Thomas, born to her in youth,
Who in return lov'd her — this tribute paid,
His own expense, to her dear memory laid."

" I feel more respect for Thomas's grief than his grammar,"
John said when he'd spelt it eaut. " There is more feeling in the
lines than in many more artistic pieces though."

" It's very tidy, aw think. There's nowt to grumble at. Aw
should ha liked it betther beaut that bit o' brag abeaut his own
expense, but it's a matther o' taste. Sithee ! Honest Tom's put
his name at th' bottom, ' Thomas Whiteley, owner,' to make sure
nobody '11 walk off wi his stone in a mistake."

But as we looked fur we fund that fashion very common, an'
thought no moore on it.

We'd walked reaund th' church fro reaunt east end to square
west teawer, admirin th' fine bottom row o' windows, wi orniments
like bits o' stairs hondrails cut into th' woles undher 'em, when it
sthruck me o at once there were no durs to th' buildin. Aw seed
a sort ov a cubbort at th' teawer-foot, where th' sexton kept his
spades an' tackle, but nowt else beside woles an' windows. Heaw-
ever, when aw were beginnin to wondher iv we should ha to climb

CALDER VALLEY. 387

a laddher an' get through t' slate, John oppen't a little dur at th'
seauth-west corner, just for o th' world like a common heause dur,
an' we geet into a sort ov enthrance lobby, an' then through double
durs into th' church.

A young chap were busy weshin a marble statue i' th' nook, wi
a young woman to help him, but beside them we'd th' place
to eaursel. It's a grand church ! Yo feel hushed an' serious,
an' talk i' whispers, as yo look toard th' east, catchin th' full width
an' height o' th' buildin. Fourteen big columns, seven on a side,
rise majestic to th' hee top, howdin it up middlin safe, an' helpin
to carry a gallery 'at runs reaund three sides. Th' chancel's dome-
topped, finishin t' sthraight wole-lines off in a welcome curve, an'
blazes wi a wondherful stained window, showin Christ crucified, wi
priests, women, an' sodiers, creawdin reaund. For that matther
there's fine painted glass in o' th' windows, an' th' sunleet creeps
cool and dim through it, lying abeaut on pews an' floor like bits o'
brokken-up rainbows. O th' place is decked eaut wi veined an'
tinted marble ; sthrips on it run up th' aisles, th' pulpit's inlaid wi
it, a dwarf wole between chancel an' nave 's solid marble, an' i' th'
chancel itsel there's pillars an' slips o' th' same honsome stuff.

What are yon two shot-ripped, faded banners hangin at th'
west end ? Here's a marble slab on t' north wole to tell us. It's
set theere bi public subscription, " To the memory of those brave
men from the township of Sowerby who laid down their lives at
Sebastopol, Alma, Balaclava, and Inkerman."

Opposite to it there's another, put up i' honour o' no common
mon iv th' writin tells thrue. " To the memory of Robert John-
ston Stansfield, of Field House, late Captain in Her Majesty's
Service. He served with distinction in the Crimean War and
through the Indian Mutiny. A brave soldier, true and loyal,
gentle, patient, full of faith and full of charity.

' The eternal God is thy refuge,

and underneath are the

everlasting arms.'"

John began rootin in his pockets, pooin bits o papper fro o
sorts o' corners. In a bit he fund what he wanted, oppen't it eaut,
an' read me these rhymes very soft an' solemn.

THE SOLDIER.

The billow streams about us here,

No coming foe we dread,
While the bold tar his part can bear

Upon the wave ;
But when afar our standard flies,

There, in his coat of red,
The soldier burns, and dares, and dies,

His land to save.

388 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Look we upon our quiet plains,

The soldier lies below ;
Our vales are steeped with sacred stains

That cannot fade ;
His bones are burnt in torrid sands,

Congealed in northern snow ;
On mountain peaks, in desert lands,

His grave is made.

See monument and column reared

To warriors of old,
Who made our island valour feared

By countless hordes ;
Have we not more inherited

From hearts so staunch and bold,
Than tombs and trinkets of the dead,

And rusting swords?

Fear not, strong souls, to meet the death,

Your glorious trade may bring !
This mortal frame must lose its breath,

And turn to clay ;
But while men live this side the grave

Your deeds they'll speak and sing,
And hold the memory of the brave

Till the last day.

Yet soon the widening stream of peace

Shall quench the fires of war,
And man his brother man release

From bonds of hate ;
Grind up the metal of your guns,

O nations near and far !
Forge ploughs and hammers for your sons

And you'll be great !

Aw were a bit freeten't John ud be thinkin o' thryin th' orgin
next, for mi wynt were nearly gwone wi climbin. Heawever, he
mutther't summat abeaut t' thing bein too little an' badly chawked
up wi dust, so aw geet off th' blowin business that time reaund,
sayin aw quite agreed wi him an' car't nowt abeaut orgins o' less
nor a theausan spindles, an' noane so mich for them if they weren't
dhriven bi styem peawer.

Bi this time t' young chap had finished rubbin his marble
figure, an' were slattin it o'er wi potfuls o' wayther fro th' font.
We fund it to be a likeness ov Archbishop Tillotson, born some-
wheere near, it seems. Th' owd brid looked quite breet an' shinin
afther his bath ; ready again for one o' th' long religious argeyments
he used to be so fond on ; but he'll argey no moore, look as he
will.

Aw were crackin a bit ov a joke wi th' young chap abeaut th'
Archbishop wantin his collar weshin so long afther he're buried,
when aw yerd th' poet start sniffin an' coughin at mi elbow, an'
turn't reaund to catch him wipin his e'en.

CALDER VALLEY. 389

" Aw've bin expectin this, John," aw said. " We'n ne'er com'n
eaut together yet but tha's had to yeawl at summat. What's to do ?"

He said nowt, but pointed to a long inscription near us, copied
deawn here word for word : —

®o it)t tjommvefc ntentoctj of

the Family of Stansfield of Sowerby, particularly of the branch thereof

resident at Field House, some of whose remains were removed from

the site of the old church and deposited in a vault under this new

church ;

AND ABOVE ALL

To the revered memory of his most loving and beloved wife, MARY,
daughter of Mr. James Lord, of Todmorden, who died on the 25th
day of February, and was buried in the family vault on the 5th day
of March, 1799.

GEORGE STANSFIELD, ESQ.,

her most afflicted husband, has placed this inscription in testimony of
his gratitude to her, and of his most tender and affectionate love for
her.

Possessed of all female excellencies, she employed them diligently
in the well-ordering of her family, in acts of Charity to the Poor, and
in making her dear Husband one of the happiest men upon earth.
During a severe illness of three months, convinced of her approaching
dissolution, she was thoroughly prepared for it and perfectly resigned.
Her only thoughts about this world were her cares for the happiness
of her dear husband during the Remainder of his Days. Upon this
mournful subject she gave him Counsel with Composure, whilst he
listened with Sorrow and Amazement, and when at the last she
desired him to be buried in the same grave with her, he, overwhelmed
with Grief, made her that Promise, and will order it to be strictly
fulfilled, and he hopes through the mercies of his Creator and Re-
deemer to have the blessing of being united with her in the Mansions
of Everlasting Happiness.

IV.

We walked quietly away fro that spot, made sacred bi so mich
love an' sorrow, turnin deawn a lone 'at ran across th' hilltop an'
cornin very soon to a greight heause, long, low, pieced together at
different times, belongin like o t' neighbourhood to th' parliament
wartime, wantin nowt but tuthri paycocks an' a knot o' silk-donned
cavaliers on th' graseplot to make everything complete.

" Field House," says John.

Aw nodded, an' beaut another word we walked deawn th' hill
into a little village, where my mate, shappin as iv he knew his road
abeaut, made for a heause wi a sign up, "Triangle Inn." Aw
didn't like to see him gooin toard aleheauses i' that style, but said
nowt as aw were sthrange ; so he took me into a reawm where they
keepen a piano stoo four foot long, co'd for summat to sup, an' we
sattl't deawn for hawve-an-heaur. Th' lonlort towd us that used

39° WORKS Of JOHK TRAFFORD CLEGG.

to be a busy postin heause once ov a day, usin a whol row o'
cottages for stablin, an' olez keepin somebry eaut o' bed. They're
noane bother't wi mich o' that sort neaw, aw should judge.

There were two natives chattherin a curious mixup ov hashed
English 'at onswers for dialect i' these parts, wi a dyel ov " Ea for
sewer," "rooad," "baan," "peigh" an " weigh " abeaut it. One
on 'em axed us iv we'd com'n deawn th' Steep Loine, an aw
thought iv we hadn't it were a pity, afther o th' steep lones we'd
climb't an' slurred deawn that day ; but we could noather on us
tell him.

Then we went to Sowerby Bridge, John maundherin o t' road
abeaut th' times when coaches rowl't thick through that quiet
counthry, speculatin on th' changes fro th' folk 'at rode in 'em to
modhern railway thravellers ; but when aw mention't th' piano stoo
he'd ne'er so mich as sin it. That shows what these poets are.

Sowerby Bridge is a miserable slutchy hole, wur nor Rachda.
We hadn't long to wait, bi good luck, afore they slurred us off past
Luddenden Foot — a dyel betther known us " T' Fooit " — back to
Mytholmroyd, where we spent a very sociable neet awom, tellin
John's missis o we'd sin an' yerd. Hoo kept botherin me to read
some Lancashire dialect to her, reckonin hoo'd be sure to like an'
undherston it iv aw would ; so aw were like to do as hoo wanted,
givin her fair warnin first what a fine elocutionist aw were. They
kept theirsel very quiet whol aw slutted through these rhymes.

DEATH AN' T' PHILOSOPHER.

There were a greight philosopher,

'At scribbl't, read, an' thought ;
He'd potther't reaund for seventy year

Beaut ever ailin aught ;

For he'd ne'er ta'en a gill too mich,

Nor smooked, nor stopped eaut lat,
Nor danced, nor played at whist an' sich

Time-shortenin gams as that.

He'd never wortched hissel too hard,

His honds he'd ne'er to deet,
He thrimmed his byert to hawve a yard,

An' olez weshed his feet.

So when his wynt began to fail

He thought it middlin sthrange ;
He'd swum so long wi steady sail

'At he'd ne'er looked for change.

But when he fund hissel i' bed,

Sthretched helpless on his back,
T' thought crept into his fawse owd yead

He're on another tack.

Slurred, slid. Deet, to make dirty.

CALDER VALLEY. 39!

" And yet," he says, " there surely must

Be some mistake in this ;
'Twill never do to lose i' th' dust

A man whom all will miss.

It seems to me that I was planned

For special work below ;
And really I've too much on hand

To die and leave things so."

He yerd a chuckle fro th' bed-foot,

An' seed a shadowy lump,
Donned up i' clooas black as soot,

Meaunt th' hond-rail wi a jump.

Cross-legged it pyerch't afore his e'en,

Pantin wi labourin breath,
An' coughin said, " Aw'm here, yo seen ;

Get ready — aw'm owd Dyeath."

" Nay, nay !" t' philosopher made shift

To whisper, fleyed some ill ;
" You're but a shadow, with no gift

To summon or to kill.

No man in reason could expect

To hear Death's dreaded tongue
Talking the Rochdale dialect ;

Come, come, good ghost ! you're wrong."

" Dost say so?" th' shade axed wi a wink,

" Tha'rt talkin middlin bowd,
But aw should know mysel, aw think,

For o aw'm gettin owd.

O dialects an' tongues aw talk,

Beaut stuttin, plain an' clear ;
Shuz wheere aw goo aw copy t' folk

'At's used to livin theere.

Tha'd soon ha' grumbl't iv aw'd set

Agate i' hawve-breek Dutch,
Black-leaded French, or — what's wur yet —

Chinese an' sichlike slutch.

Aw'm th' same owd mowin chap 'at stood

Shivin at human grase,
I' wayther-sodden swathe, when t' Flood

Weshed th' world it dirty face.

It's me 'at sattl't th' lords o' Rome,

Wi mony a ancient chief,
Beaut fuss ; but neaw shuz when aw come

Folk skriken past belief.

Aw shifted Wellinton an' Co.,

Owd Nelson an' that crew ;
An' it's bother't me sin' then, aw know,

To get enough to do.

392 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Aw sided Nap, a felleyin thing

Noane mich o'er five foot hee ;
Aw miss him, too, for whol on th' fling

He made some wark for me.

Aw'd mony a hit ov o'ertime then,

An' tuthri nawpins made ;
But neaw for jobs aw've oft to sken

Through t' fo'in-off i' thrade."

Some weel t' philosopher could tell

'At th' ghost were o it said,
An' yet he couldn't think hissel

So near to bein dyead.

" Good Death," he says, " some error lies

About this sudden call ;
To leave the world as you advise

Would never do at all.

Reflect upon my many schemes

To benefit the race ;
They never can be more than dreams

Unless I live a space."

" Heaw mich is that ?" axed Dyeath ; "heaw long

Dost think thi plans '11 tak ?"
An' wi a grin his legs he swung,

Shiftin to yez his back.

"Some twenty years, perhaps, or so,

If matters go all right ;
One thing with certainty we know —

I can't be spared to-night."

" Th' owd tale !" said th' shadow, grinnin wide ;

" An' yet aw didn't look
For this fro thee, becose tha's thried,

Wi mony a speech and book,

To show folk what poor things they are,

Heaw little missed they'll be ;
An' towd 'em 'at it's betther far

Nor sufferin wick to dee."

" That's true enough, but yet I feel

Some difference is here ;
Death surely all our griefs should heal,

But he may come too near.

Somehow my maxims don't apply

To such a case as this."
" Nowe !" Dyeath said, " an' aw'll tell thee why ;

Tha'rt fleyed — that's wheere it is.

For o tha's gawped o'er th' grave so long,

Squintin at th' world behinnd ;
For o tha's studied deep an' shtrong,

An' th' back o' Knowledge skinned ;

CALDER VALLEY. 393

For o tha's lived full seventy year

Beaut pain o' limb or heart,
Thinkin tha'rt a philosopher

An' moore nor common smart ;

There's lots o' folk at ne'er could read

Nor think woth co'in owt,
Wi hawe this gruntin would ha' deed,

Levin me loase to bowt.

Aw've tuthri jobs toard Asia yet ;

Aw's ha to stir mi feet ;
It sthrikes me 'at aw'm beaun to sweat

Afore aw've done for th' neet.

So get thee ready, let's be off,

Or betther wark aw 's miss ;
An' Rachda never shnits mi cough —

It's a cowd hole is this ! "

" Go, gentle shade ; I'll gladly stay

For future calls from thee."
" Aw've cobbed*too mich good time away,"

Says Dyeath, "come on wi me.

Just sattle deawn — tha'll ne'er be missed ;

There's a foot-race to-morn ;
Thi pappers '11 be ta'en fro th' kist

An' brunt, as sure's tha'rt born.

Tha's noather friend nor nowt akin

To yeawl o'er th' coffin lid ;
There's nobry livin cares a pin

For owt tha ever did.

Tha's shut thisel fro th' world away,

Dhremin o' things to come,
Missin good chances every day

O' doin good to some.

Tha'rt fawse enough, but larnin hee

Ne'er counts on th' grave's sharp brink ;
Aw've sattl't betther folk nor thee,

An' shall again, aw think."

Th' philosopher began to shake

Whol sweat rowl't off his yead ;
" Say what you will there's some mistake ;

'Tis hard to die ! " he said.

" Tha'rt wrong again," says Dyeath ; " tha'll see

It's yezzy wark enough ;
Through practice it's no moore to me

Nor turnin gas-taps off."

Then eaut he sthretched his fingers cowd,

An' t' little job were done ;
I' hawve a crack bwoth him an' th' owd

Philosopher were gwone.

394 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Thank you, very much," John's wife said ; th' usal parrot talk,
myenin owt or nowt. John hissel looked onywheere between six
an' twelve, oather fain or skain, just as aw liked to tak it. Aw felt
mad enough to set him off recitin, eaut o' vengeance, but spared
him as he's nobbut young. We sattl't to have a look reaund
t'other side o' th' valley next day, an' afore so long shapped off to
bed, where aw fell asleep wi th' moor-sweepin wynt rushin deawn
reaund us fro Soyland tops, an' th' Elfin brook singin i' mi ears.

V.

Next mornin aw woke eaut ov a dhrem abeaut bein catched in
a cardin engine ; an' no wondher, for th' little twin lasses, lookin
some pratty i' their white neet-geawns, were pyercht on th' bed
rivin at mi toppin an' whiskers, one on ayther side. Aw stopped
that gam middlin sharp, rowlin 'em o'er among th' clooas whol
they reaused o th' heause up wi their sheauts o' laughin. When
th' breakfast were o'er aw took th' little dots eaut a bit, chirpin like
linnets, showin me bridneests, favourite corners an' so on, an' then
John an' me shapped for business again.

He took me through t' village, across th' Calder, an' set off full
speed toard Hebden Bridge.

" Heaw mony mile to-day ? " aw said, thinkin it as weel to
have a gradely undherstondin wi sich a reckless walker as he were
showin hissel to be.

" Just as many as you please," he says. " I want to take you
through the Hebden valley, past Hardcastle rocks, and once
there the world is all before us. We can go forward along the
valley to Colne, or stop at Widdup to climb Boulsworth hill, turn-
ing off there to Holme, Burnley, Haworth, Keighley, or Halifax ;
or we can return over the heights of Heptonstall, if your wind will
carry you up the ascent. If not we can wander ignominiously
back over our own footsteps to the point we started from."

" Tha seems to have it o off, lad. Heaw will it be to slutther up
as fur as Hardcastle an' then sattle what's to be t' next ? "

He thought that 'd be as good a plan as ony, so we poted away
deawn th' hee road, through Hebden Bridge (where th' new teawn's
terraced up a hillside, wi gowd laburnum tassels, rhodydendhrons,
an' red an' white blossomed thorn showin again th' grey stone
walls), into th' valley road, an' so deawn onto th' little Hebden
bonks, wi th' greight steep ov Heptonstall teawerin to th' sky above
us, creawned wi th' hondful o' stone buildins an' th' honsome
church, keepin steady watch o'er miles o' t' low counthry reaund
abeaut. We'd getten into fairylond this time, an' no bother abeaut
it. That brode windin valley looked to run on for miles afore us,

To pote, to point or pvish at with the toe, to walk.

CALDER VALLEY. 395

cover't up it steep hee sides wi close-hutched shafts o' timber, every
one topped bi spreadin curly ringlets o' pale and dark green, red
gowd, or silver white. Oak an' willow, fir an' beech, aldher an'
ash, o cuddl't toard one another, a happy family, mixin their deli-
cate colours i' thremblin sheets o' glistenin beauty ; theausands o'
fither't singers swung on t' thick-crommed branches, turnin eaut
sich exercises i' harmony as were ne'er yerd at th' musical colleges,
keepin time to th' rockin wynt; an' th' little river prattl't away
deawn i' th' bottom, lendin a last touch, as it sparkl't undher t'
mornin sun, to th' comeliness o' that rare spot o' greaund.

John seed aw were suppin deep o' satisfaction, an' started thryin
to plague me. " We are too early in the season," he said ; " or,
to be more correct, the season is late. Delightful as the place is
now it is but as the first sketch to the finished picture in com-
parison with what I have seen it. When the undergrowth is
matured, when the heather sweeps in purple sheets along the hill-
sides, when the banks are thick with honeysuckle, saxifrage,
anemone, harebell, sanicle, loosestrife, speedwell, and many a
rarely tinted flower, then you would indeed think it a spot of
celestial fashion, and unbend your spirit in ecstacy."

" It's good enough for me, neaw," aw towd him. " Tha may
teem colour an' scent reaund abeaut as tha's a mind, deck th'
eautline or fill up thi foregreaund as tha will. It's good enough
as it is."

We stopped a bit to look back toard th' teawn, wondherin iv
so mony heauses were built four story hee becose folk theere are
so used to hill-climbin 'at they cawn't sleep beaut gooin a good
way up to bed. As we stood, a dyel o' picnicers began getherin
abeaut us, mostly wortchin folk bi their looks, but o clen-weshed,
weel-donned an' cheerful. They'd o little baskets o' summat t'
eight wi 'em, an' aw seed a bottle neck stickin eaut here an' theere,
or thought aw did. Knots o' childher ran up an' deawn th' green
bankin, an' flutther't away bi th' brook side, colourin o th' view wi
their red an' yollow ribbins.

It fair made me hutch! "John, lad!" aw brasted eaut, "iv
these Sethurday holidays arn't summat to be thankful for aw
should like to know what is ! To look at these creawds o' folk an'
childher, gettin bwoth health an' pleasur i' this bonny nook, an' to
think o' th' time when aw were young, gies me some glee. We
thought nowt o' wortchin fifteen or sixteen heaurs a day then, for
little wage. There were no hawve holidays, no chep thrips, no
fine clooas, no brass to spare, then, for common folk. Sithee at
'em neaw ! They'n o dhropped care into th' Calder as they coome
o'er it (neaw I bethink me, that's happen what makes t' river so
black), an' there'll be nowt but leet hearts an' nimble feet deawn
i' this paradise, tha'll see I"

396 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"But I have heard these holidays objected to, on moral
grounds."

" Moral fiddlestick ! " aw were startin, but a sheaut stopped me.
"Neaw, owd pottato!" a rough fley-babby sort ov a voice co'd
eaut, an', turnin, aw seed a wagonette full o' Rachda chaps an'
women, wi Ben Simpson, a neighbour o' mine, stonnin up waggin
his arm at me.

Aw waved mi cap an' smil't at 'em as they passed, mony a
friendly face shinin back.

"It is him, bi gum!" Ben co'd eaut when he seed mi face.
" Wheere next ? Howd on, dhriver ! Stop thi menagerie a minute,
an' let me ger eaut. Aw'll walk deawn to th' brig an' catch yo up
in a bit."

He coome up to us, so we wagged neighves an' walked forrad
afther t' carriage.

"Aw thought it mut be thee when aw seed thee liverin a
sarmon eaut to thi mate," Ben says. " Aw yerd last neet tha were
off somewheere, but aw ne'er lippen't on meetin wi thee this road."

" An' heaw are they o i' th' fowt ? It looks a good while sin'
aw left 'em."

" They're o as reet as bobbins."

" Tha doesn't seaund reet thysel. Hasta getten a sore throat,
or what?"

" Ah ! it's this in-flew-hen-so 'at's bin botherin me, an' i' flyin
eaut again so it left tuthri fithers stickin. Aw'm nobbut a bit
roopy. Who's thi mate ?"

" He's a poet, so tak a good look at him."

John laughed, but he colour't up a bit, an' fidgeted undher his
thin skin.

"Aw see nowt amiss wi him," Ben says when he'd looked.
"What's a poet?"

" A chap 'at's foo enough to tell o he thinks, for other folk to
laugh at."

"Oh! that's it? Aw thought it met happen be some new
preparation for throstle frames — there's like so mony maks o' new
things comin eaut."

" Nay ; throstles are poets ready made. Co him John, an 'it'll
be reet."

" Well, reel's reet an' raght's raght, said Isaac o' Turn's, when
they fined him hawve-a-creawn damage an' fifteen shillin costs.
Aw guess there's o maks o' folk i' Yokshire."

" We have plenty of variety," John said. " You have perhaps
heard the old rhyme,

' Birstal for ringers,
Ileckmondwike for singers,
Dewsbury for peddlers,
Cleckheaton for sheddlers.'"

Lippen't, expected.

CALDER VALLEY. 397

" Not aw, lad ! Aw ne'er knew no rhymes, nobbut ' Betty
Wood's com'n back,' or 'Up yon laddher, deawn yon hole,' an'
sich like. Aw were olez too mich ov a battherlash for that job.
Eh ! what a grand shop this is ! It's makin me feel as pyert as a
bullspink, an' as leet i' th' anclif as a gruand ! Iv we could blange
this an' Cronkeyshay together, owd brid, there'd be betther seets
i' Rachda."

" Tha'rt reel, Ben. We were talkin when tha coome up abeaut
this holiday business, 'at gies us a chance o' comin here eaut o' th'
smooke. What dost think abeaut it?"

"Think abeaut it?" Ben axed, starin wi his meauth wide oppen.

"Ah ! Some folk thinken it's wrong, tha knows."

"What mak o' craythers are they?" Ben grunted in his hoarse
voice, stoppin a minute, an' howdin up his shut reel neighve ready
to dhrop into th' lift. " What mak o' lennock faffnecutes an'
ricklin bandyhewits are they? Tell me some sthrong words,
Weighver ; aw've noane 'at con do justice to sich heighvy-keighvy
pickhawms ! " Deawn coome his neighve.

" Tha'rt noane doin amiss for that," aw towd him. " Get on
wi thi tale ; but talk betther English iv tha wants John to make
sense on 't."

" Why, where has t' lad bin brought up ever ? What ! When
we'n bin their beetneeds for generations, fayther afther son, wi
noather rest nor nawpins, yerin 'em hanch an' arre at us bi way o'
thanks, oyned an' harrished whol life were a ruebargain, an' a poor
mon wanted his jobberknow weel lythin to ston it ov ony shap,
are they for turnin on us again, bokin their fingers an bulshin their
chops at us, thryin to clart us o'er wi wark whol we're fair clagged
fast like flees in a sow-box? Tell me that?" An' deawn coome
his neighve wi a leaud clap.

" Hear, hear !" aw said.

"I quite agree with your sentiments," John says, "but your
meaning is completely beyond me."

" Talk English, Ben," aw said. " Tha'rt twenty year too fur
back."

"Nay, indeed aw, noather!" Howd thi din an' hearken!
Aw've had to punce one chap to-day, an' don't want to feight
again iv it con be helped."

"What have you been fighting about," John axed, grinnin.
" You are as mordacious as this other Lancastrian, I can hear."

"What's that tha'rt co'in me? It were nobbut a chap 'at
coome botherin as we started i' th' carryvan this mornin. He

Anclif, ankle. Gruand, greyhound. Blange, blend.

Faffnecutes, hypocrites. Bandyhewits, small crooked -legged dogs.

Heighvy-keifjhvy, unsteady. Pickhawms, the handle of a pick or hammer.

Beetneeds, helpers in emergencies.

Jobberknow, the head. Bokin, pointing. Bulshin, bulging.
Clart, to scatter dirt, to smear.

398 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

says, ' Ben, had aw betther slip reaund bi th' Teawn Ho when
yo're gwone?' Aw axed him what for, an' he says 'Well, t'
policemen met as weel have hawve a day as there's so mony
spinners gooin eaut o' th' teawn.' So aw punced him, an' doubl't
him up like o smith's bermskin."

" It's to be hoped he's noane kilt ?"

" He made too mich noise for a dyead un, aw think. Neaw,
abeaut these folk we were talkin o'er when yo put yor motties in
beaut laithin," an' up went his neighve again. " Iv there's ony on
'em yet 'at grudgen hard-wortchin craythers their bit o' Sethurday
they desarven to have a taugh clooas line halshed reaund their
throttles, an' be rovven up to a saplin branch ; or to get a good
weltin wi a stanchel. Iv that wouldn't act aw'd 'tice 'em to th'
cut side, baz 'em in, an' keep 'em soakin theere whol they crimbl't.
That'd sarve t' britchel papper-bags reet, wouldn't it?" Deawn
went his neighve.

John said, "These punishments sound so awful that I should
hesitate to condemn any fellow-creature to such a fate. Be more
merciful."

"Tha mun alleaw 'at young folk run wild an' getten into mis-
chief wi havin too mich time o' their honds," aw said.

" Aw'll alleaw nought o' th' sort !" Ben co'd eaut. " What the
hangment ! There's olez time fund for mischief, isn't there? Are
o th' desarvin folk, same as us, to be grund deawn becose there's
tuthri divleskins i' th' world? It's noane woth talkin abeaut,
becose we'n getten th' halidays an' he'd be a bowd chap 'at meddl't
wi us, but iv tha wants to argey aw'll argey — Sethurdays, weshin
or wortchin days, Boxharry or Wakes week, Fag Pie to Bowlegged
Sunday, or ony time 'at 's hondylike ; so will that do for thee?"

"Ah ! that sattles th' job. Th'art too far larn't for us to have
ony chance, so we'll dhrop it."

We walked on past a facthry stonnin bi th' river edge, an'
sthruck deeper into th' still woods, soon loisin sect ov every sign
o' mon's \\ark. Th' owd sun pept at us through t' clustherin
branches, dapplin us wi brokken gowd ; th' childher's sweet voices
set o th' valley ringin, an' sent deein echoes up th' hill sides;
owdher folk wandhered quietly under t' green shade, hearkenin to
th' singin wayther ; e'en glisten't breet, tongues hung loase, hearts
were dancin, everybody felt gradely wick.

Bermskin, leather apron. Motties, mottoes, muttered talk.

Laithin, inviting. Halahed, noosed or looped.

Stanchel, iron bar or stanchion. Britchel, brittle.

Boxharry week, the blank week between pay-weeks, when the workmen lived

on credit or starved.

Bowlegged Sunday, a corruption of Bmcl-egg Sunday ; Easter Sunday, when

hard-boiled eggs are boicled in the fields for amusement.

Fag pie, a pie of figs ; a simnel.

CALDER VALLEY. 399

" These railways ban made some awtheration sin' we were lads,
owd mon," Ben said.

" They han so ! "

" Aw remember walkin here fro Rachda once, thirty year sin'.
That were a job ! Aw'm fast heaw we geet back, but we shapped
it some road bi thrampin o' neet."

" It's too fur for walkers like us."

" Oh, ah ! but aw were young then, an' as full o' gam as a pin-
deawler. T' first time aw seed a railway thrain aw ran worn
yeawlin an' towd mi mother aw'd sin Owd Nick bowtin off wi a
row o' cottages."

" Ger off !" aw said, an' John brasted eaut laughin.

" It's reet, aw tell thee. Hello ! there's my mates planted yon,
sithee, an' t' missis lookin for me. Yo'll be gooin forrad, belike ?"

" We will go on to the Crags," John said ; " then we had
better go round by Heptonstall, as a short cut back."

" What, up theere ? " Ben axed, pointin to th' greight hill
behinnd us.

John nodded ; Ben whistl't an' looked at me ; aw wagged mi
yead.

" Isn't there wayther enough i' th' brook for yo ?" Ben says.

" What do you mean by that ?" John axed, laughin.

" What do aw myen ! Why, iv yo're weary o' life dhreawnin's
as chep a shuttance as ony. That's what aw myen. Weighver,
iv tha gets up that meauntain tha'll ne'er come deawn again.
Yo'd best tak a poor chap's advice, come an' have a bit o' dinner
wi us, an' larn fro this runnin wayther to keep deawn i' th' bottom."

" Nonsense ! The climb will do us good, and give us an
appetite. You had better come up with us."

" Not iv aw know it ! Aw admire yor pluck, as t' doffer said
when two policemen ran him in, but aw s' ne'er see yo again.
Good day to yo, maisther. So long, owd brid ! Aw'll tell thi
wife wheere tha were last sin."

" Do ! " aw said. " An' get some linseed, or neats'-foot oil, or
summat for that throat o' thine. Tha seaunds like a muzzl't
tarrier worryin a rough edge o' moonleet."

" Howd off ! " Ben says, grinnin. " We'n some red wusted
for baggin-time, an' that's t' best ov owt aw know for shiftin a
hawst."

" What does he mean by red worsted ?" John axed, laughin, as
Ben turn't off to wheere his party were pyerch't in a shady nook.

" What ! hast ne'er yerd o' that afore ? But aw'm forgettin
tha'rt a foreigner. Red wusted's owd Jamaica ; they're for havin
what we co'n a rum-an'-tay baggin."

Pindeawler, the woman who falls in love with and courts a man

is said to be his pindowler.

Hawst, cough.

400 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

VI.

We looked to be walkin neaw through a carefully planted an'
weel-kept park, but we werenot. No gardeners had ever bin
wanted to fill thoose slopes an' cliffs wi close-packed timber,
smother o' t' bonks wi bluebells, an' rear sich sweeps an' bundles
o' fithery fyern. Willows, wi their delicate ribbins, were mixed wi
dark firs, just puttin eaut new shoots an' thimbles, an' young sap-
lins showed their tendher tints again polished poplar levs an'
climbin thrails ov ivy.

What a spot that is for threes ! Big an' little, owd an' young,
dark an' leet, o maks were theere, set as close together as cops
in a skip, coverin every point th' e'e could rest on. O'eryead
branches met, spreadin to reel an' lift thick an' threefowd ; below
us th' deep clough were fair chawked up wi sheets o' quiverin levs,
huddin th' busy little river 'at we could yer singin away at it wark
far underneighth ; opposite, a straight-up wole o' rock sthretched
away seeminly beaut end, crommed wi plants an' timber 'at
shapped to find root-howd somewheere, but heaw we couldn't tell ;
afore us long lines o' stem an' branch oppen't eaut on th' hill,
joined up to windin rows creepin on th' valley side, o on 'em
getherin far away into one mazy swirl o' green fithers.

We coome to th' Crags at last — two big hillocks o' rock an' dirt
stonnin in a glen shadowed bi tuthri tall fine owd threes, an' sit us
deawn a bit to do Robin Hood an' Little John whol we'd a wood
hondy. Then wi went forrad, findin th' valley wildher as we geet
toard th' top end, but bonnier nor ever, an' poted away whol we
yerd a cuckoo laughin at us, an' thought that seaunded as iv it
were time to turn back. So far we'd bin walkin up t' north side,
hee above th' wooded valley, but neaw we crossed t' wayther an'
fund a road deawn i' th' bottom, where clustherin branches screened
us an' we could see th' windin river, clear as glass, weshin past big
reaunt boudhers, slippin o'er greight square flags, fo'in deawn self-
worn back-lashes, sattlin i' breadths o' still wayther; olez busy
chattherin, grumblin, laughin to itsel as it ran. We could see th'
banks neaw — straight -cut cliffs o' solid rock, crommed wi plant an'
three, an' risin forty or fifty feet on bwoth sides. Here an' theere
little shoots o' wayther fo yead first deawn th' hee woles ; undher-
foot yo walk on velvet, for th' greaund's thick wi levs mouldherin
theere for mony a score o' years. Th' air's cool an' still, an'
there's no seaund yerd but what belongs bi reet to th' place. Yo
con see th' sun glintin through t' livin curtain hee above, an' fancy
it's warm eautside ; but there's no danger o' sunsthroke here.
There's nowt here to throuble onybody, an' aw catch mysel
wondherin iv aw 's ever be sich a foo as to go back to Rachda.
Fleawers peep at us as we pass, brids fly twittherin at arm's length,

CALDER VALLEY. 401

a soft wind shakes t' three tops, an' gwoes whisperin saycrets o'er-
yead in a long-dhrawn orgin note. Oh nowe ! we con shift noane
fro a shop like this to be bother't wi cops an' knockin-off rods.
We'n knocked off for good, an' wark's dyead an' buried. Aw've
no fancy for sturrin mi tent a yard nearer worn. Noane at o !
For this is just t' feelin aw've olez looked forrad to catchin sin' aw
were a little earless lad — this is peace, an' rest, an' liberty. Here's

" A bower rounded for us and a sleep."

Oh ! Life, owd breek ! slutther on an' say nowt ! Let me a-be !
Aw'll ne'er bother nobry no moore, nor shift a foot fro this brokken
bit fo'n fro heaven —

" What are you dreaming about, old friend?" John axed, wak-
kenin me up wi a clap on th' back ; so aw towd him aw felt like
playin th' hermit, rootin abeaut for a cave an' stoppin theere for
good. Heawever, he persuaded me to go back wi him for that
once, so we sleauched forrad deawn th' clough an' sthruck up th'
hillside toard Heptonstall, feelin rayther hungry, as scenery's
poorish stuff to feed off.

What a hill that is ! We'd getten it on th' yezzy side, as things
happen't, an' crawl't up some road o i' one piece ; but it's a broo
an' no mistake ! John reckons folk livin up theere an' wortchin i'
Hebden Bridge gwone up an' deawn to their dinners every day.
Th' hill's as steep as a coal-shoot on that side, but aw darsay he's
reel. Folk 'at con live up theere t' year reaund con do owt very
like — obbut dee. They'll ne'er do that whol t' last end.

We geet sich a view o' th' Hebden valley off th' top 'at we
could do nowt but gasp an' gawp at it for a bit. When we'd done
we made for th' ancient teawn an' wandher't o reaund it lookin for
t' main sthreet. We didn't find one, but we let on a narrow
twitch, summat like a loom alley set up o' one end, where th' chief
hotels an' th' branch store were, an' that satisfied us. We didn't
notice ony coffee-heauses or temperance shops near, so we crept
quietly into th' Cross Inn, geet some ale, an' ordher't some dinner.
We were waited on bi a sociable young chap, wi cheeks ov a deep
wholsome red an' shanks as nimble as iv he'd bin brought up on
t' threadmill ; an' we fund afther at these cheeks an' shanks
marked o th' sattlers on that bowd meauntain. Seein we were
sthrange he talked to us a bit for company, gav us bits o' news
abeaut th' place, an' showed us a squozzen cat, hard as brazzil an'
flat as a fluke, 'at 'd bin fund i' th' owd church ruins.

They'd a little picther hangin up 'at took John's fancy, a
cliver paintin ov an owd bare-yeaded chap leighnin forrad on a
thick stick.

" That's a fine piece of work," he said. " Who painted it ?"

Brazzil, a comparative term for hardness.

BB

402 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Dr. Mitchell," t' young chap says. " It's a good likeness of
old Bill Holt, a well-known Heptonstall man."

" He looks a long-yeaded owd cock," aw said. " What were
he?"

" A horse dealer, carrier, and what-not ; long-headed enough,
as you would have found by trying to bargain with him. I have
known old Bill more than once set off with a broken-winded nag
worth a pound or thirty shillings, and come back with half-a-dozen
colts and horses, and very likely a couple of sovereigns in his
pocket besides. He was well known at all the fairs for miles
round — you will find people in Rochdale and Bury who can
remember him, I'll warrant. He never wore a hat."

" He'd happen a fancy for caps, then, like plenty moore
sensible folk."

" No ! neither hat nor cap would do for William. He wore
nothing but that dusky shock of hair you see in the picture,
though he often walked four or five score miles through all
weathers. He never missed Brough Hill fair, for instance, a
good eighty miles from here."

" But yo don't myen to say he walked o th' road ?"

" Every yard of it, there and back. It used to be a five days'
job for him."

" Heaw dost feel afther that, John ? " aw axed th' poet. " Bank
clerkin seaunds a yezzy thrade at t' side o' this."

" You are right. At least one original has sprung from this
hill evidently."

" Oh, yes ! original enough," th' young chap went on. " An
attempt was once made up here to put the Church Acts into
operation, compelling everybody to attend the Sunday services.
Among others Bill was called upon."

" An' what then ? He'd set off on t' thramp, happen ? "

11 Not at all. He went to church obediently enough."

" Well ? " aw said, scentin a joke somewheere, for th' young
fellah were grinnin o reaund his face.

11 He was not troubled to go a second time. You see, the old
man, by way of economising labour and helping his dinner for-
ward, took a basket of potatoes under his arm, and worked steadily
at peeling them through the whole service."

We geet a good dinner an' then turn't eaut to explore th'
neighbourhood. It's t' quarest hole ever aw were in. We groped
in an' eaut o' narrow, windin sthreets, between rickety stone
heauses, mostly blint o' one e'e, propped up wi baulks an' stangs
at th' gable ends, creawn't wi some o' th' wildest lookin chimblies
ever sin eaut ov a neetmare, th' woles pointin every road obbut
sthraight. Some o' th' rows looken as iv they'd bin set o in a line
once ov a day, an' then every heause had turn't part reaund to see
what were gooin on at t'other side — some turnin fur nor other-

CALDER VALLEY. 403

some, part on 'em twistin hawve road back again, some screwin
their necks reaund, some swaggin at th' knees, an' so on. Aw
ne'er seed sich a collection o' property ! We began to feel mazy
among sich unprincipled woles and slates, so we bowled off to th
churchyard whol we felt safe.

There's two churches i' that yard — a weel-fed church an' a
skeleton. Th' first is a snug honsome buildin, consecrated i'
1854, big enough to howd o th' folk livin on th' hilltop, fitted up
i' comfortable modhern style, an' likely to satisfy everybody ;
though it's rayther a pity they couldn't ha fund reawm for o th'
twelve apostles in th' east window, astid o' levin two on 'em
shiverin i' th' windy west.

Churches o' this sort are common, bwoth up hills an' deawn
holes, but there's noane mony like th' starved-eaut deserted owd
pile o' stone-wark stonnin near it. Nowe ! We mun go back six
hundherd year or moore to match that. It savvours sthrong o' th'
Norman conquest. Even Oliver Cromwell's eaut o' this job ;
though he coome afther, to be sure, for it were a matther o' principle
wi him to climb every broo he coome across an' dhrop tuthri can-
non shot onto somebry's hencote.

Six hundherd year ! These time-batther't woles, that cracked
tottherin west teawer, han gwone through summat sin' they were
first reared on their hee pyerch. Through these gapin window
slits generations o' monkish e'en han looked ; in these bare-ribbed
aisles, oppen to th' sky, long processions han throdden wi chant
an' incense — here, across these gravestones, we con see their very
footmarks, where they'n worn th' deep-cut inscriptions away on
one side, levin 'em plain to read on t'other. Bit-bats an' ulyets
fly here neaw, an' th' stone floor, once carpeted wi rushes, lies
green wi grase, ivy, an' getherin weed. Th' owd nave rears it
crumblin arches yet ; thransept an' chancel, sthripped to th' bwon,
ston wi o their owd majesty. Con we read these chisell't stones
we're walkin o'er ? " Here resteth the boddey," says one. Well,
spellin's nowt but a new-fangl't habit at best ; th' owd Saxon below
has slept no wur for that slip o' th' mason's tool. Another's dated
1613, a bit afore we coome preawlin into th' world, an' twenty
year afore th' Plague swept deawn Calder Vale, killin off victims
bi scores an' hundherds, an' shiftin whol families off this hill as th'
gravestones show ; an' here are three parsons laid weel to th' east,
showin between 'em proof ov howdin this livin nearly a hundherd
an' forty year.

" They rest quietly enough now," John said, moore to hissel
nor me. " At peace they lie, and their works do follow them.
Through all the dark years of England's captivity these walls have
stood ; they stand yet in the days of freedom. Can the coming
six hundred years show such advances as the last ?"

Ulyets, owlets.

404 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

"Aw'll give that puzzle up," aw said, as we walked quietly
through t' graveyard. " We s' be noane here to see, an' there's
no 'casion to bother abeaut it. Thoose meddlin Frenchmen met
ha left us this bit ov a hillock, shuzheaw. They were like middlin
sharpset for conquerin when they climb't up here."

We noticed 'at th' buryin-greaund were very close packed, as
iv lond were scarce, an' looked reaund for gravestone verses beaut
fmdin owt o' consequence — it's too windy for poethry up theere.

" Here lies a murdered man," John said, pointin to a stone
near us. Aw turned an' read, " In memory of Samuel Sutcliffe,
of Hebden Hay in Hepstonstall, who died February 7, 1817, aged
eighty-one years."

" Murdhered !" aw co'd eaut. " An owd chap like him ! He'd
ha deed ov hissel afore so long iv they'd letten him a-be."

" He was murdered by Mike Pickles of Northwell, assisted by
a weaver called John Greenwood, better known as Joan."

" A weighver ! Nay, come ! Be careful what tha says."

"A weaver, without doubt. Mike himself wove sometimes,
but oftener turned his mind to gardening, dry-walling, bee-stealing,
clandestine cow-milking, and other secret methods of making a
living. He was left-handed, knock-kneed, and double-jointed ;
and was notoriously by far the strongest man in this neighbour-
hood, or anywhere near it. He was of a very religious turn, too ;
a member of Birchcliffe Chapel, and very fond of holding forth
and arguing about the doctrines of the Christian faith. He often
spent his evenings with old Sutcliffe, and the pair were supposed
to be great friends."

" He'd some reet marks ov a villain abeaut him, that mon,"
aw said. " Let's sit us deawn a bit, an' then tha con tell me th'
tale comfortably."

So we sit us deawn on a tombstone, an' John went on : —

" At midnight on the 6th of February, Pickles and Greenwood
went to old Sutcliffe's cottage, broke into it, stole some money in
silver and notes, some cloth pieces, warps, and other things. The
old man woke with the noise they made, sat up in bed, and cried
' William ! William ! William ! ' three times, to rouse his next
neighbour. The neighbour heard him call, but thought the sound
was caused by the wind, which was blowing that night with fury.
Mike Pickles grasped the old man's throat to stop his cries, and
stopped them so effectually that Sutcliffe never stirred again. The
thieves got clear with their booty, and for some days no clue could
be found to them. Nevertheless they were discovered in due
time, and in a simple but remarkable way, as you shall hear."

CALDER VALLEY. 405

VII.

" Aw'll tell thee what it is, lad," aw said ; "this is a bonny sort
ov a tale tha'rt thryin to freeten me wi. It's sendin cowd ditherins
o deawn mi back."

" I will warm your blood again by explaining how the murderers
were caught and hanged. You must understand that Joan Green-
wood was a man of very small intellect "

" What, a gawmless weighver ! Nay ; make me believe that iv
tha con !"

" He had plenty of cunning, at any rate, and in the division of
the stolen money contrived to slip a one-pound note into his
pocket unseen by his confederate. The remaining plunder was
then equally divided, and amounted to about thirty shillings each
for their hard night's work. Not a very large profit, perhaps, con-
sidering the risky and speculative character of the business."

" It's noane enough. Aw wouldn't start throttlin owd chaps
for less nor five peaund apiece."

" Observe now ! The one-pound note slily pocketed by Green-
wood was issued by the Mytholm bank, was unsigned, but num-
bered, and was known to have been in the murdered man's
possession the day before his death. If crafty Mike had seen this
note he would at once have realised the risk of keeping it ; but
his simple partner in crime apparently saw no danger, for he
parted with the note in a few days to a namesake, Thomas Green-
wood, of Birchcliffe, in payment for a clock. Thomas paid it to a
Betty Wadsworth in exchange for a chest of drawers, but Betty
found some difficulty in parting with the unsigned paper, and con-
sequently returned it to him. Now this Thomas Greenwood
could not read, and was uncertain whether he had received that
particular note from honest Joan or from Mr. John Sutcliffe, of
The Lee. For once in a way the national neglect of education
was of use. If Thomas could have read the note he would have
recognised it, and returned it to his namesake, Joan, who, simple
though he was, would hardly have been fool enough to attempt to
pass it a second time. Probably he would have destroyed it, and
saved his neck. But Thomas Greenwood, a sufferer by the tardy
institution of school boards, did not recognise the note. He took
it to Mr. Sutcliffe, of The Lee, who knew it at once as part of the
murdered man's property. Simple Joan was at once arrested, and
foolishly declared before magistrate Horton that he had received
the fatal paper from Mike Pickles. Mike was hurriedly enquired
for, but had gone off seeking employment, his various occupations
presumably not being enough to fill up his time. He was found
on the following Sunday at Blackshaw Head, taken before the
magistrate next day, and confronted with Joan, whose accusation
he naturally and vigorously denied. Simple Joan bungled in his

406 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

statements, failed to sustain his lying story, and Mike was set at
liberty. Soon after, Joan, seeing that all the punishment was
likely to fall upon himself, made a clean breast of the whole
business. A constable was sent to fetch crafty Mike back to the
court, found him walking calmly towards home, eating parkin, and
recaptured him. Having heard Joan's confession Mike thought it
his turn to confess, and did so, the pair very cleverly succeeding
in proving each other guilty, and before the Ides of March were
well past the murderers were hanged by the neck and delivered to
the surgeons for dissection. How likest thou the tale ? "

" Very little," aw said. " Aw'm noane mich i' th' blood-
curdlin line. Iv they hanged 'em it's reet, an' there's no need to
say no moore abeaut th' job. Aw guess t' poor owd chap's ghost
walks up an' deawn his heause yet ? "

" I have not heard of it ; but the murder is well remembered
and often talked about in the valley."

" We mun have moore imagination i' Lancashire. There'd ha
bin a boggart afther a job like that, iv it'd happen't wi us."

There were a pale, thin young chap dodgin reaund among th'
tombstones as iv he wanted some thruck wi us, so aw put mysel in
his road in a bit, saying it were a grand day.

" A beautiful day," he says. " Truly a beautiful day. In
these delightfully widesome scenes, under the influence of this
bright sun and balmy air, the inner soul of the lover of nature
expands with joy. A beautiful day, indeed ? "

He'd leet weshy blue e'en, stickin eaut of his yead like marbles,
a fleaur-scawp nose, womanish meauth, an' no chin.

" Heaw mony souls dost keep ?" aw axed him. " It seems thi
inside un gets ratchin reawm, an' tha'rt noane so fur through fro
front to back. Arta fitted wi lastic sides ? "

John grinned, but t'other mon didn't. He went on :

" How fit — how appropriate — is this calm enclosure for the
purposes of meditation ! Away from the hugesomely crowded
haunts of men, free from the servile and sordid drudgery of every-
day existence, it is sweet to roam here at peace, holding commune
with the spirit of past ages. I was employed in shaping a few
rhythmical couplets when you arrived. You have probably heard
my name — here is my card."

He gave me a narrow bit o' thin card, just big enough to make
a cop tube, wi this on it :

MR. RUDOLF CLINTON,

LYRIC AUTHOR.
Euterpe Villa, Triangle.

CALDER VALLEY. 407

John were noane to be done. He poo'd a card eaut too, wi
" John Istram " on it, plain an' simple. Clinton read it an' looked
at me next.

" Nay, lad ! " aw said. " Yo're gettin above my level neaw.
Aw've no cards, an' no name woth mentionin. Aw'm a weighver
fro Rachda, an' this is mi thrade mark," showin him a scrattin-up
comm 'at happen't to be i' mi singlet pocket. " What dost myen
bi havin ' Triangle ' on thi papper ? Dost play one in a band or
summat?"

John brasted off laughin, but Clinton ne'er so mich as winked.

" It is the name of a secluded village near Sowerby," he says.
" My native place."

" Oh ! that's it, is it ! Why, John, were that th' shop we co'd
at yestherday ?"

" The same."

" Well, that's summat ! Han yo sin that piano-stoo i' th' ale-
heause theere ? " aw axed Clinton.

" I do not frequent public-houses," he said, as solid as a breek.

"You compose lyrics, sir?" John axed him.

" Yes, I do a little in that way, when I succeed in catching an
inspiration."

"Heaw dost catch 'em — wi a net or saut?"

" It has been said that I resemble the portraits of Chaucer to
some extent. Perhaps you have already noticed it ? "

" It did not occur to me before," John says, " but now you
mention it What do you think, weaver?"

" Aw'll give it up," aw said, shappin to keep a sthraight face
some road. " Aw ne'er seed owd Jeff hissel, an' that picther on
him wi a dishcleaut hangin across his yead's nowt to go by. Aw've
read some ov his scrattins. He were like a tidy poet, maisther,
weren't he?"

" Very fair indeed," Clinton says. " Of course, at that time
the art was undeveloped, and he could not be expected to produce
work equal to that springing from the definitive comprehensibility
of present-day writers. But he was very fair, on the whole. He
had at least correct ideas of the true basis of poetry, id est the
presentation of ordinary subjects with decidedness in new and
enhanced lights ; differing in that from Pope, Byron, Scott, and
other failures of the so-called romantic school."

Aw nipped John to keep him quiet, feelin sure he were itchin
to have a word, an' axed t' bowstheryead iv he'd yerd ov a chap
co'd Milton.

" Indubitably," he says. " Milton's name, by lapse of time,
has become widely known in literature ; although, judging from
the small price paid for his chief poem, his works were not much
in request outsidedly in his own day. He has occasional fine

408 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORt) CLEGG.

lines, but on the whole is rather jejune. Of course, his subjects
are purely abstract and consequently false in art."

Aw could keep John quiet no longer afther that.

" Perhaps you will oblige us with a sample of your own com-
positions," he said, very polite an' serious, as he generally is when
full o' mischief. " What are your chief works ?"

" My best pieces hitherto — those, I mean, which blend thought
and experience in their most concentrated and attractive form —
appear in a small volume entitled ' Captive Starbeams, by Rudolf
Clinton.' You will have viewed or heard of it, no doubt."

" Not at all."

" Nor me noather," aw said, " though we yer'n o maks i' eaur
facthry. Has it getten abeaut mich?"

" Very fairly ; very fairly indeed. Several papers have noticed
the work with favourableness, and many libraries have taken
copies !"

" And paid for them ?" that cruel John axed.

"Oh no !" says Clinton, colourin up. "It is not usual to make
a charge for complimentary copies."

" Heaw mony theausan hast sowd ?"

" The actual sales have not been colossally large, outside my
immediate cenacle of friends. It is hardly a work that appeals to
the masses ; but when the cognoscenti become acquainted with it,
and fairly realise my new departure, pecuniarable success is
assured."

" It should be if you can improve upon Chaucer and Milton,"
John says. "Oblige us with a sample of your new style — the
couplets you have just written, say, or any characteristic trifle you
may have."

" With great pleasure. Here are some recent stanzas in which
you will perceive three qualities — selection of common topics,
vivid colouring, correlation of sound and sense. The title is

THE SWEETNESS OF NATURE:

Lines composed upon the lofty summit of Heptonstall hill, on a
charming afternoon in the summer solstice."

"Between ten minutes an' a quather-past three," aw said.
" Tha'd betther put that in."

Clinton studied a minute, but said he thought he wouldn't,
considherin everything; then he started reading his gibberidge,
givin it eaut like play-actin.

" Green chickweed by the ditches springs,

The brick wall blushes red ;
The sparrow hops about and sings,
The trees thick foliage spread.

CALDER VALLEY. 409

There you have a landscape outlined with graphicalness by a
few touches. The chief beauty of the lines, as you will have
perceived, dwells in the accurate description of common things."

" They're common enough, lad ; there's no gettin o'er that.
Is there ony moore o' th' stuff?"

" Oh yes !

From pole to pole the telegraph

Its shining threads extends ;
The sun slides down the sky to quaff

Such moisture as ascends."

" Th' sun '11 be olez on t' fizz, then, like a boilin kettle. But
goo on."

" The varied grasses of the fields

The languid cattle crop ;

Short blades like spears, with clocks for shields,
Long stalks with feathered top."

" Excuse me, sir," John put in, very solid, " but there seems a
slight vagueness about that stanza. Do you intend to state that
the varied grasses crop the cattle, or simply that the cattle crop
the grasses ? "

Clinton looked at him wi pity in his bulgin e'en. " Surely
that little commonish inversion of the sentence should be under-
standable by any thinking man. You must allow us poets to
indulge in a trifling license occasionally ; especially if it is one
that common sense can easily elucidate."

"To be sure!" aw said. " It'd be a dhry world beaut
licenses. Whatever arta thinkin abeaut, John ? "

" Well, I can only beg your pardon, gentlemen, and promise
to reflect in future before speaking."

" My pardon is easily gained," Clinton said, lookin moore like
Chaucer nor ever, " knowing as I do how necessary exactful
possession of the true poetic instinct and acquaintance with
technical workmanship must be for due appreciation of any
thoughtful artistic productions. The stanza you call vague con-
tains one of my boldest and most striking similitudes :

' Short blades like spears, with docks for shields.'

If you had the genuine critical instinct — unfortunately rare — that
warlike line would strike home to you with a vivified shock of
pleasure."

"The passage certainly seems striking, even to me," John
towd him. " Very striking, indeed ! "

" It comes worn to me like a cleaut on th' earhole," aw said.
" Iv tha could make a line or two abeaut cow-horns seaundin, or
yon jackass blowin his thrumpet, it 'd be moore warlike again."

410 WORKS OF JOHN TR AFFORD CLEGG.

Clinton snigger*!. " It is a wise rule in elevated writing that
an author should avoid overloading his pictures. Experience
alone, joined of course to my — that is, to natural sensibility, can
decide how far to proceed without passing artistic limits and
falling into ornate amorphousness. The additions you suggest,
however good as abstract imaginative ideas, would weaken my
composition instead of enriching it."

" Dost think so ? Lev 'em eaut, then, bi o myens, for it'd be
a greight pity to waken sich a peawerful epic as that."

" You missaply the term epic," Clinton says, makin me fair
wondher heaw a chap could live wi so little sense o' humour in
him. " An epic poem is properly one which narrates with
adequate dignity events of high importance or heroic character."

Aw thanked him for his explanation, an' John reckon't to
make a note on't, sayin that sort o' knowledge were noane to be
piked up every day.

" Do you find any similarity between my style and that of any
other writer," Clinton axed.

" Tha'rt a bit i' t' Wordsworth line," aw said ; " but richer iv
owt. There's a very womly, satisfyin ring abeaut thi lines."

" I have thought myself there was some little similarity between
us. But Wordsworth, though a fair writer on the whole, with
perception of correct methods, has several objectionable man-
nerisms. He is also far too much addicted to commonplaces and
monosyllables."

John were abeaut at th' end ov his patience at yerin o his
favouryte authors run deawn bi sich a putty-brain as Clinton.

" What fault have you to find with monosyllabic writing ? "

" I have Pope's authority for objecting to it."

"Yet Pope himself knew the value of monosyllables better
than you appear to do, and used them freely. Bunyan, whose
admirable style charms every capable critic, hardly uses a long
word in all his books. And what about Goldsmith ? Was he
given to using short words or not ? "

" Haw ! Really ! " Clinton stutted, starin at John like a new
wakken't ulyet. " You appear to have some preciseful acquaint-
ance with literature. Dear me !"

"Preciseful!" aw put in. "Tha myens a bucketful moore
like."

" I have, sir," John went on, " but my reading has not so far
induced me to speak of work by men of commanding intellect as
' very fair.' Let me give you an instance of a four-line stanza
containing nothing but monosyllables, and yet of such excellence
as to defy improvement."

Clinton wagged his yead, and mutther't summat abeaut that
bein " definitely impossible."

CALDER VALLEY. 4! I

" Not at all, sir," John said. " The lines I speak of are from
a well-known hymn.

' And some have found the world is vain,
Yet from the world they break not free ;
And some have friends who give them pain,
Yet have not sought a friend in Thee !' "

Clinton slutted eaut, " Yes ! very curious, really ! Never
noticed it before with so much exactitude. Very fair lines ; very
fair indeed ! Oh yes ! "

"I agree with you, sir. They are very fair, and something
more. Allow me to wish you a very good day, and to beg that,
before indulging in further criticisms of men beside whom you are
as a sand-grain to a mountain, you will cultivate to some extent
the poetic instinct and technical knowledge of which you chatter
so glibly."

" An' think on to look at yon piano-stoo when tha gets back,"
aw said. " It's a greight curiosity, an' weel woth writin a preciseful
poem abeaut."

So we bowled off, levin t' lillle foo wi his meaulh wide oppen,
an' slutther't forrad, chucklin bwoth deep an' long.

VIII.

We went deawn a lone to another side o' th' hill, an' geel a
grand view o' Mylholm valley. We slood on a solid wall o' jagged
rock, dhroppin slhraighl as a plumbline into whal a lad 'at slood
near smookin a penny cigar towd us were co'd " T' Hell Hoile,"
mony a yard below. Further deawn lee Mytholm village, an'
lower yet owd Calder, i' lh' road again, had gellen hissel leed in a
knol wi lh' canel an' railway. Across lh' river, Erringden lifted
il bonny wood-coverl broo, sweepin reaund bi Stoodley Pike, an'
so on toard Lancashire, wi mony a bowd moor an' hillock for com-
pany ; an' lo lh' easl were Sowerby heights, like giants sthrelchin
eaut greight arms toard th' brode table-lond belween ihem an'
York. Aw began ihinkin lhat counly, big as it were, met be
likely to cover moore greaund iv ever it geel fairly spread eaul, an'
ihried lo plague lh' poel a bil becose his nalive counlhry were o
lumps an' holes, bul lhal were a failure.

" Lumps and holes ! " he co'd eaul. " Avaunt, prejudiced
Lancastrian ! Show me finer hill-ranges and dales than ours in
ihis counly, or for ever hold your peace ! Consider ihe mag-
nificent river courses — ihe dislricts watered by the Swale, the Ure,
the Nidd, the \Vharfe, the Calder, the Aire, Ihe Don, all Ihese
slreams flowing inlo Ihe great main drain of Yorkshire, the Ouse,
to be carried by it to the tidal Humber, and so into the North

412 WORKS OF JOHN tRAFFORD CLEGG.

Sea — consider all these converging valleys of exquisite and varied
beauty, and you will understand our pride in the lumps and holes
you profess to scoff at."

" O reet," aw said. " Poo thi stilts off an' we'll be gettin deawn
this broo. We con show yo for slutch whol th' Roch an' Beal
keepen runnin, un' Know' Hill's a fair-sized hillock."

So we started off, findin it rayther yezzier thravellin deawn nor
up. On th' hillside we coome to a chapel, where two lones
crossed, an' th' poet poo'd me up, axin iv aw wanted a lecthur
abeaut th' Civil War. Aw towd him aw thought he'd talked enough
for one day, but iv he didn't care aw didn't ; so he brasted off
schoomaistherin.

" The year 1643 was a stirring time in the Calder and Hebden
valleys, and even the peaceable colony perched in this steep eyrie
could not escape from the general disturbance. In fact, they
rushed into it ; for, being ardent believers in Charles the Martyr,
and objecting to Halifax being occupied by Parliament men underSir
Francis Mackworth, they dropped from their lofty rock and sought
the diversion of battle. On Saturday, the 2ist of October —
apparently half-holidays where not observed in those days — these
bold Yorkshiremen marched to Sowerby, and indulged in several
skirmishes with the roundheads, capturing arms and horses, and
taking some prisoners. For a week or more these amusements
continued, and Mackworth grew tired. On the first November,
he left Halifax at four o'clock in the morning with eight hundred
horse and foot, with the intention of making things lively for the
Heptonstall garrison, climbed the hill while the defenders slept,
and attempted to surround the town, a very sagacious step con-
sidering the nature of the place.

Rise now, brave lads of York ! A mighty storm sweeps hill
and forest, the rivers are in flood, the enemy is at your gates ! An
alarm is given, and flashes round the awaking hamlet. Swiftly the
royalists mass their ranks and press to the front, and soon the
besiegers fly before them, scattering down the hillsides, many fall-
ing in their blind haste over crag and cliff to certain death below.

Mackworth escaped, probably turning in his flight to ' shake his
gauntlet at the towers,' and swear a little."

" He'd wish he'd stopped i' bed whol breakfast-time," aw
darsay.

" No doubt. Well, after this surprise Heptonstall was let
alone for over a year, when Sir Francis came to try his skill
again, bringing with him two thousand men and a new idea. In-
stead of struggling up the pass as before he set cannon on the top
of Gunhill, above Burlees yonder, across the valley, making so
warlike a show that the royalists quietly and sensibly marched
down into Calder Vale and bolted, leaving only their empty build-
ings for Mackworth to make a bonfire of."

CALDER VALLEY. 413

" Hast finished wi thi schoo books, neaw ?" aw said, gapin.

" Somewhere about," John laughed. " There is little en-
couragement to proceed further with so indifferent a pupil."

We slutther't deawn toard th' bottom, crossed a curious owd
humpbacked bridge 'at makes yo feel like walkin reaund a cart-
wheel, an' made for th' White Lion to rest a bit. They gav us
good steaut i' stone bottles, an' we desarved it afther o th' hard
wark we'd done.

There were tuthri weel-donned chaps i' th' reawm, lookin at
a loase end an' makin theirsel comfortable. One on 'em were
grumblin in a jokin way abeaut time runnin on so fast.

" Here we are," he laughed, " nearly at the end of the century !
I have lived to tire of counting decades, but the year 1 900 will be
upon us directly."

" Sooner than you think, perhaps," says a chap sittin between
him an' me — a thin-faced mon wi very wake e'en, an' a river o'
snuff runnin deawn his singlet.

" How so ? "

" It is by no means generally known that the accepted dates
are all wrong," thin-face said. " The fact is that when Dionysius
Exiguns instituted the present system of reckoning he fixed the
birth of Christ, either from ignorance or by accident, four years
later than the true date. Consequently the present year of Our
Lord should be eighteen hundred and ninety-five; and the world's
age, according to the Mosaic record, four thousand years more."

We o took wynt at once afther he'd done, an' sit quiet a bit,
wondherin. At last one ov his mates said,

" You have certainly a remarkable store of information, True-
by. How in the world do you remember all these curious odds
and ends ? "

" It is a natural gift of mine," Trueby says, lookin very weel
satisfied wi hissel. " I can remember anything I hear or read,
and may venture to claim some acquaintance with most subjects
under the sun. It is a gift — a very unusual gift."

John whisper't to me, " I fear this learned man is a con-
ceited bore, like so many of his kidney." Then he axed thin-face
what his authority were for sayin th' dates had getten wrong.

" I can refer you to Anderson, the historian," Trueby towd
him. " He quotes the statement as a well-established fact ; and,
indeed, there is no reason to doubt the matter. You are, of
course, aware that until anno domini 516 the early Christians
contented themselves with the Roman style of keeping time ? "

" I admit my utter want of knowledge at once," John said.
" This is all new to me."

Th' antiquary looked at him wi a pityin sort ov a smile, as iv
what he'd towd us were nowt to what he could do iv he wanted.

414 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" By the way, Trueby, while I think of it," one o' th' chaps
said, " what is the derivation of the word Yorkshire ? I offered to
bet five pounds last week that you could tell all about it."

" Oh, yes ! that is very simple. The old Celtic name was
Eurauc. In Saxon it became Eborach, and in Latin Eboracum.
All these words mean the same thing, that is, the ' auc ' or ' ach '
on the river Ure. An ' ach,' of course, is a small hill or mound."

" But York happens to be on the Ouse," t'other chap put in.
11 What has the Ure to do with it ? "

" The word Ouse was applied later, I think, in allusion to the
sluggish flow of the current. The Ure is really the main river of
the county, as you will see in a moment if you look at a map.
Then 'shire,' as you most likely know, comes from the Anglo-
Saxon 'scyran,' to cut, in common with scissors, schism, schist,
and many other words. The shire, being cut out, was itself cut
or sub-divided into Trithings, or Ridings, as we now call them,
and Wapentakes."

" An' what the hangment's that ? "

Th' antiquary ruffl't up like a bantam to find hissel i' sich
greight demand, thrated hissel to a pinch o' snuff, an' towd us.

" The word comes from the old custom of vassals touching the
spear of their feudal lord, as a sign of their obligation to bear arms
in his service. Hence weapon-take, since altered in the spelling."

" What a lot yo mun know ! " aw said, feelin rayther i' th'
humour for mischief. "Aw guess a poor chap like me could
hardly ax yo owt but yo could tell him o abeaut it."

He looked at me a minute in a rayther consayted road, an'
said, " Probably your education has not been extensive, as you
appear to be a working-man. If you will avoid technical trade
matters I can very well answer any enquiries you choose to make."

" Con yo tell me what mak o' wood clog soles are made on ? "

That floor't him, first shot. He slutted, coughed, an' splutther't,
but he were fast, do as he would. Yo should ha yerd t'other chaps
laugh !

" I think myself justified in calling that a technical question,"
Trueby said at last. " You can't expect me to be up in all the
details of the clogging trade. Perhaps it is your business ? "

" Nay, indeed it ! You know as mich abeaut th' job as me,
though aw've worn clogs o mi life. It were hardly a fair question,
happen, but aw wanted to show yo heaw foolish a chap is to reckon
he knows everything."

" I never claimed any such knowledge," Trueby said, rayther
deawn i' t' meauth, " and certainly cannot pretend to be ac-
quainted with every minute detail of business. Indeed my re-
searches have chiefly been confined to the past, perhaps somewhat
to the neglect of present-day matters."

CALDER VALLEY. 415

" Then yo'll ha yerd heaw they coome to build Rachda church
on th' hill top?"

" I seem to have some dim recollections concerning it," he
said, wur potther't nor ever. " The advantages of an elevated site
would have weight, 'of course. Let me see," rubbin his foryead
an' thryin to look fawse; "was it not erected in pre-Norman
times ? "

" It were erected i' Rachda parish," aw said, " an' it's plain
enough yo known nought abeaut it. " Yo'll know there is sich a
place as Rachda aw reckon ? "

" Certainly."

" Well, th tale is, accordin to my researches, 'at th' owd
buildhers wanted to set their church bi th' river edge; but as
fast as they laid th' feaundations bi day a rook a boggarts coome
bi neet, shiftin every stone onto th' hill where they're planted
neaw. Th' architect scrat his yead an' studied a bit, but could
see no road o' makin t' woles ston up beaut feaundations, so like
a wise chap he sattl't to rear his buildin where th' boggarts wanted
it. Is there owt else aw con insense yo abeaut ?"

" Boggarts ! " the antiquary sneer't. " Corruption of bog-
guard, I presume. When shall we hear the end of these foolish
superstitions ? "

" When fancy's dyead, an' imagination buried undher t' brass
yeps we keepen pilin up o through England. Not a minute afore.
Th end o' superstition '11 be th' beginnin o' summat a dyel wur.
Are yo for tellin me yo don't believe i' boggarts."

" I have no belief in them whatever."

" Yo'n ne'er sin Jinny Greenteeth then ? "

" Never," t' chap laughed. " I have not even heard of the
lady."

" Aw've getten into a very ignorant part o' t' counthry, it looks
to me," aw said. "Onybody 'at's bin waythercress getherin or
catchin loaches knows Jinny Greenteeth. But aw'm forgettin
heaw fur aw am fro worn. Happen yo don't encourage boggarts
i' Yokshire. We're happen as fond on 'em i' Lancashire as t'
Roman sodiers were o' scallions."

" What's that ? " th' antiquary co'd eaut. " Fond of scallions !
Where on earth have you picked that up ? "

" Con yo deny it, wi o yo'r rootin among owd lumber ? "

" No, hang me if I can ! Scallions ! Hum ! Ha ! Yes !
Certainly chives were plentifully cultivated by the Roman settlers,
as can yet be proved. Hum ! Yes ! Scallions ! Dear me !
Where did you learn that ? "

" Oh ! we're middlin weel up i' Rachda. There were plenty
o' Romans theere, one while, an' tuthri folk afore 'em. Han yo
yerd o' Bacup dykes ? "

Scallions, Spring onions.

416 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

IX.

" Yes, and seen the place," th' antiquary said, rubbin his honds
an' grinnin. " You are getting upon my legitimate ground now,
and touching a subject upon which I am well informed. The
dyke is a fine sample of a Saxon earthwork ; a third of a mile in
length, and well trenched. Oh, yes ! I have been there."

" Come ! we're gettin on. There'd be scallions groon theere
at that time ; but no Romans, aw think."

" No, the Romans came later. Anlaf, the Dane, was defeated
there by a mixed gang of English, Scotch, and Welsh, making
common cause against an invading force, and probably headed by
Athelstane. The three countries have been quarrelling among
themselves ever since for want of worse enemies."

" Oh ah ! yo known o abeaut it aw yer. Th' Irwell rises up
theere, doesn't it ? "

" Yes, I have traced it from its springs down through Rossen-
dale forest to Manchester. Foulest and busiest of streams, it
shows well the spirit of this sordid age."

" It shows a middlin jump fro th' Saxon dyke at one end to
th' fire-proof facthries at t'other," aw said. " They used to build
to save life ; we builden to make brass."

" Do you consider that we are worse off on that account ? "

" Nay ! aw didn't say that. Aw'd as soon bi poison't wi
smooke as get a length o' cowd iron sent through my ribs, an'
liefer sleep on a flock bed nor a damp broo. We're noane badly
off neaw, iv we hadn't been born a hundherd year too soon. Yo'n
plenty o' thoose owd feightin shops — dykes, hillocks, an' what not
— i' Yokshire, aw reckon ? "

" Certainly we have abundance of everything in Yorkshire. If
you want to see a model Danish earthwork go to Flamborough,
and observe how cleverly the old sea-dogs have defended a pass
there. You will find a carved oak sixteenth century roodloft in
the church, and other things well worth seeing."

" No deaubt," aw said, " but aw'm noane mich intherested i'
roodlofts, though aw happen met be iv aw knew what they were.
Iv aw went to Flamborough it 'd be to look at thoose wondherful
caves they keepen, find th' spot where Paul Jones had his greight
say-battle bi moonleet, when he walloped Pearson an' Percy i' full
sect o' theausans o' natives stonnin on th' cliff-tops, or sit watchin
th' cleauds o' brids sattlin on th' Point."

" Of course, these things are obvious enough, but some of us
like to look a little deeper. All that coast is well studded with
ancient works and full of interest. Follow the sea northward;
passing Filey Brig, over which departing spirits are supposed
to go—

' To the brig of dread thou com'st at last,
And Christ receive thy soul !' —

CALDER VALLEY. 417

Skirting the vale of Pickering, once a huge lake, and at every step
you tread upon buried history."

" He's fairly off now," John whisper't to me.

" Let him goo on, lad," aw said, fillin mi pipe. " He's used to
savin other folk t' throuble o' talkin."

" There is hardly a village in that district but has some interest-
ing link with the past. Folkton, for instance, where members
of the Ombler family have been buried during seven hundred
years, and where the old house of refuge stood, to protect
travellers from the wold wolves."

" That'll be a bit sin'."

" Naturally, since John o' Gaunt killed the last English wolf at
Rothwell, five hundred years ago. The house was built in the
tenth century, by a Flixton lord. Then you come to Seamer, an
old Saxon settlement of importance. A religious rising occurred
there in Edward the Sixth's time, led by the parish clerk. Three
thousand people collected, fixed a beacon on Staxton Wold,
took a Mr. White, with the York sheriff and others, killed them,
and left their bodies exposed on the hillside. Brompton is near,
where John, Abbot of Jervaulx, was born, and Wordsworth
married; Ebberston, where King Alfred received the wound of
which he died at Driffield next day ; Hackness, where the
monks forged iron in the last century, and where are to be seen
stone crosses inscribed with Ogham characters, which even anti-
quaries cannot read ; Lastingham, where Bishop Cedd founded a
monastery in 648 — nine years before Hilda's was established at
Whitby ; further north is Staithes, where Captain Cook, while an
apprentice, stole a shilling and ran away to sea ; Lofthouse, where
Scaw, a Yorkshire giant, killed the dragon; and many another
place of renown."

" Han yo finished neaw ? "

" By no means ! It would take a week to mention half the
county history and tradition known to me."

" For heaven's sake don't begin, then ! " John co'd eaut, " for
we can't stop here much longer."

T'other chaps had pyched quietly eaut whol th' rigmarole were
gooin on, so there were nobbut me an' th' poet left to keep th'
antiquary company. Aw said to him,

" Yo'n put some rubbish into that yead o' yor's, an' no mistake !
It's like a broker's yard, crommed wi scrap iron, stone lumps,
brokken timber, rags, bwons, an' o maks. There's no good in it,
yo known ! "

" Do you think so ? " Trueby axed, wi his superior look.

" Aw'm sure on't ! A chap's no need for a greight rook o'
larnin to sweigh his yead deawn, particlar neaw 'at we'n so mony
reference books ov o sorts. What he wants is th' gift o' thinkin,

cc

418 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

an' as mich knowledge of hissel as he con get. Wi that an' th'
knack o' readin, writin, and doin sums, he'll ne'er be fast, an'
ne'er be so fur wrong in his reckonin noather."

Trueby curl't his nose. " I had no idea we had a lecturer on
ethics present. It is quite a treat, really."

" It's a bad habit aw've getten, an' yo mun thry to look o'er it.
Iv aw'd ony wit aw should stick to mi weighvin an' keep mi
meauth shut. Yo munnot be insulted bi owt aw've said, maisther ;
aw'm willin to own up 'at yo chaps are useful enough i' yor road."

" I won't be insulted in the least," Trueby says, droppin his
sneerin look an' laughin reel eaut like a mon. " It is refreshing to
hear straightforward talk for once in a way. I should like to shake
hands with you, my friend ; but excuse me for saying that you are
the strangest weaver I ever came across."

" Say what yo'n a mind," aw said squeezin his hond. " It's
nobbut fair yor turn should come neaw. Co me ! "

" No, don't ! " John said. " Let us have no more Tower of
Babel business."

Trueby pricked his ears in a crack, an' axed, " What is your
conception of the Tower of Babel, sir ? "

" Conception ! " John brasted eaut. " I have none. It never
occurred to me to conceive anything about the matter."

" Weren't it summat like a greight facthry chimbley, wi a
slantin shive chopped off th' top end an' a lot o' black cleauds
olez lapped reaund it ? "

" Not in the least like that," Trueby says. " It was more like
a pile of several chimneys of diminishing circumference, or the
extended joints of a telescope, terraced round at intervals, and
ascended by a winding staircase. It was carried to a height of
two hundred yards from the ground, and became of great use as
an observatory."

" Come, we live an' larn ! " aw said. " They met ha done wur
nor spend their time i' star-gawpin, for t' moore we keepen eaur
e'en aboon an' t' moore likely we are to get brode views."

" Come along," John says, lookin at his watch. " Let's be off.
We have been here quite long enough."

" Quite, lad," aw said ; " but we cawn't drop across antiquaries
every day. We mun say good-neet to yo, maisther. Aw'd as soon
meet yo as two pynots."

" What on earth are pynots ? " Trueby co'd eaut, jumpin in his
cheer wi curiosity.

" Husht, mon ! don't show yo'r want o' larnin to everybody.
Pynots are magpies, as everybody knows. Han yo ne'er yerd th'
owd rhyme abeaut meetin pynots,

' One for crying, two for mirth,
Three for a weddin, four for dearth ? ' "

CALDER VALLEY. 419

" That's new to me," th' antiquary said, scrattin it deawn in his
pocket-book. " I begin to think you know something."

" Think what yo'n a mind, but when yo meeten four pynots be
sure to twirl reaund three times an' sign a cross on t' floor wi' th'
point o' yor lift toe. Iv yo dunnot summat '11 happen."

" Sign of the cross, eh ? Ha ! Hum ! That may point to
considerable antiquity in your superstition, for the cross dates from
very early times indeed. Probably the primitive idea of it was a
couple of crossed wands directed towards the four quarters of the
compass ; but however that may have been, the sign is common
on old heathen monuments. The great pagoda at Benares is of
equilateral cruciform design — "

" Yo're off again," aw said, breighkin in to stop him ; " but we
mun be gooin. Yo keepen brastin eaut i' so mony fresh shops 'at
we s' be no nar iv we stoppen o neet, an' yo'n towd us moore neaw
nor we con ever carry away wi us. We s' happen meet again
some day."

" Possibly," he said, " before death or after. Take care to be
buried in the good old Yorkshire way, with a bottle of wine to
strengthen you, a candle to light you, and a penny for the ferry-
man, and we may come together again yet."

Aw towd him aw'd thry to think on, an' we started on t' road
again, gettin safe back to Mytholmroyd bi baggin time.

John ud fain ha' persuaded me to stop o'er Sunday, but aw
wanted to be gettin back worn an' begged off.

"Tha'll be busy wi thi orgin playin to-morn," aw towd him,
" an' aw reckon nowt o' thravellin abeaut on a Sunday. Nowe !
aw'll get toard Rachda afore bedtime, an' sattle mi wife's mind.
Hoo'd sleep noane last neet, aw expect, wi me away fro worn."

Mrs. John laughed, sayin hoo thought me owd enough to be
thrusted bi mysel, an' hoo hoped aw should stop another day wi
'em ; an' t' little lasses coome daubin mi whiskers wi butther an'
crumbs, cuddlin me wi pratty babby-talk to see iv they couldn't
change mi mind ; but aw'm like a very determint chap when aw
set that road. Goo aw would, shuz what happen't.

" Perhaps you are right, if your wife will be uneasy," Mrs. John
said at last, when who seed 'at noather

" Prayers nor tears
Could shake that fixed soul."

" She is fortunate in having so thoughtful a husband."

" Eh, bless yo, missis ! We're like new sweethearts, th' owd
woman an' me. We con noather on us sattle long eaut o' one
another's sect. Darby an' Joan were nowt to us. Iv aw don't
make for worn Stoodley Pike '11 be fo'in deawn again, or some
lumber, same as it did when th' Russia war broke eaut. We mun
be shappin toard th' station. Aw'm soory to lev yo, missis, an'

420 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

these childher, too, bless their little hearts ! but weighvers cawn't
be choosers."

" I am sorry you must go," hoo said ; " for somehow, although
we never met before, you are like an old long-known friend."

" Aw shook her hond, kissed t' babbies, an' bowled wi John at
mi heels. He seed me safe into t' thrain, pressin me to come again
afore long, an' squoze mi neighve hard.

"Tak care o' thisel, neaw," aw towd him through t' carriage
window. " Tha'rt like one o' mi own lads, nearly, an' aw think a
dyel on thee ; so be careful an' let's yer fro thee neaw an' again."

11 I'll do my best, thank you," he said, turnin away. Then he
coome back an' whisper't, "Remember the penny for the ferry-
man."

" Oh ah ! an' t' bottle too. But there's no hurry abeaut that
job."

Then they rowl't me off, levin th' poet stonnin lookin afther us
wi a faint smile on his thoughtful face, an' i' tuthri minutes aw
were inside t' limits o' mi native Lancashire again, wi' t' Calder's
black wayther runnin far behinnd.

CLOQDEN SING.

I.

WALKIN through Clogden clough, where th' little river
Clog comes breighkin deawn it stony channel, yo'll see a
breek-built chapel stonnin weel up th' moor-side, an'
yo'll gate wondherin iv there's ever ony congregation to be fund
inside it. To be sure there's hawve-a-dozen cottages sprinkl't
abeaut, peepin fro clumps o' thorn an' willow, an' it's noane so fur
across th' hill to Smobridge, but it looks a quare, eaut-o'-th' road
shop to stick a chapel in.

It's said John Wesley once preighched on this hill-side, hund-
herds o' still folk ringed reaund hearkenin his sweet tenor an'
watchin his shinin face, his dappl't mare croppin quietly undher t'
wole, waitin whol he were ready to throt off to his next co'in spot ;
so this chapel coome to be planted where his sthraight-walkin feet
had stood, an' theere it is, a lastin testimonial to a gradely English-
man an' a credit to English art ; for it's a genuine worn-made
design — four sthraight lines an' a chimbley.

There's one day in a year when that chapel's full, eaut-o'-th'
road or not ; an' that's on th' singin day. Owd friends turn up
then fro every compass-point; scholars, long gwone, come again
to see th' owd schoo where they went as childher, bringin their
own childher wi 'em neaw; past chapel members turn up fro
places mony a mile off, to sit once moore i' th' gallery an' walk
through t' fleawer painted graveyard where fayther or mother were
laid deawn wi ne'er-forgetten pangs ; couples owd an' young come
year afther year, wandherin bi th' brookside or through t' lev-hung
glens where first they whisper't love together ; an' moore nor one
creeps soft an' tearful to th' spot where th' husband's monly frame,
or th' wife's tendher heart, lies deep i' th' clay. O these an' moore
t' little chapel's sthrong magnet dhraws ; beside o t' childer gooin
to th' schoo neaw, wi o their relations to watch t' little things
swaggerin i' white frocks an' new jackets, an' present members wi
a friend or two apiece com'n to their baggins ; so there's nowt to
wondher at iv t' buildin gets a bit crommed.

Iv everybody could come 'at wanted th' clough itsel wouldn't
howd 'em, say nowt abeaut th' chapel. Mony a score o' folk slavin
i' Merica ud give a hundherd peaund to see this quiet nook again.
Sthrange heaw recollections o' young days stick i' folks' minds !
Jack Smethurst were a lad here, an' when he deed feightin i' th'

422 WORKS Of JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Indies wi his regiment his last word were, as his mate lifted him
fro t' thrench, " Aw could ha liked to see th' owd chapel again."

Sam Wheeler too ! Nobry could do ony good wi Sam. Rest-
less i' sarmon time, runnin off fro th' schoo, olez i' mischief,
brimmin o'er wi life an' gam whol there were no howdin him ! He
ran off to th' say an' news coome 'at he were dhreawn't in a ship-
wreck. In his last minutes — when he stood cool an' steady,
grippin a rope wi his sthrong hond, lookin dyeath i' t' face wi
clear grey e'en, whol some panted, skriked an' turn't crazy — when
a fine lady passenger coome up to him sobbin, " Oh, sir ! let me
hold your hand ; your courage and calmness will strengthen me,"
an' he lapped a steaut arm reaund her waist, cheerin her wi
comfortin talk — when th' captain's little lass, 'at 'd played wi him
for heaurs an' loved him like o childher did, clung to his knees
an' wouldn't stir fro him — what thought were i' Sam's mind ?
" Aw con never tell th' Clogden parson 'at aw broke that window."
An' deawn they went in a hundherd fathom.

Yet it's nobbut a plain little breek buildin 'at plays o this
magic ; an' it never awthers whol singin-days come an' goo, nobbut
when it gets a slate or two off, or fo's a bit ricketty i' durs an'
windows ; an' it cares nowt at o for Jimmy Layrock's care-worn
mind, though Jimmy's t' choirmaisther, th' anniversary's nobbut
three week off, an' there's nowt done. But Jimmy cares, aboon a
bit, an' he's throuble enough to bother him.

To start wi, he's com'n worn to his baggin beaut hymn pappers,
o through t' Rachda printin chaps. Jimmy's a packin-case maker
at one o' th' machine shops theere, an' he'd slipped into t'
printher's i' th' breakfast hawve-heaur to lev his ordher, knowin it'd
nobbut be an heaur or so ov a job iv they'd ony shift abeaut 'em,
an' tellin 'em to be sure an' have everything ready for him at
hawve-past five. They were behinnd, as usal, though he'd gien
'em o day to do th' job.

" This is a bonny mess, shuzheaw ! " Layrock bawl't to a lad i'
th' shop. " What am aw to do neaw, dost think ? "

Iv he could wait whol toard nine o' t' clock they could happen
show him a proof, t' lad said, lookin as unconsarn't as iv his livin
were getten.

" Proof be hanged ! " says Jimmy, as mad as a squozzen ration.
" Gi mi tuthri pappers to be gooin on wi an' get t' proof afther.
Aw guess tha doesn't know Flyin Jud's comin to th' practice wi
his hobye ? "

" No, sir ; don't know him. It really could not be done, sir ;
we must have more time."

" Aw'll start ordherin t' things a year i' advance," Jimmy said,
disgusted. " Fot me them books aw brought ; aw s' ha to shap
beaut pappers some road."

CLOGDEN SING. 423

It were a rainy neet, to mend things, an' as t' thram were full
inside he'd to pyerch on th' top, gettin weet through an' runnin a
greight risk o' spoilin his alto voice. Otogether, he geet worn in
a temper, an' geet weel laughed at bi his wife, a good-humoured
lass.

" Tha's ocean's o' time yet," hoo said. " Give o'er frettin
thysel an' get thi baggin."

" Th' anniversary's i' three week, isn't it ? Aw've bwoth chorus
an' band to teighch, an' rough an' ready wark wain't do for hee-
class anthems like we han to sing. There's noane hawve time
enough ; say nowt o' bein left beaut hymn-pappers."

" Tha should ha ordher't 'em sooner. What hast dhriven it
whol t' last day for ? "

" They should ha six months' notice to be reet, an' then they'd
come messin wi a proof or some mak o' lumber 'at nobry wants.
It's nobbut tuthri minutes ov a job, mon, to turn three sarvices
ov hymns eaut. They'n just to cob their type together, balance it
o' one end, daub some blackenin o'er it, slur it onto a sheet o'
papper, an' o t' job's done. There's nowt i' that !"

He finished his meal, weshed hissel an' set off to th' chapel,
grumblin o th' road.

Jud were theere afore him, talkin to Bunker, th' fiddler ; Owd
Rafe, 'at 'd wrostl't his double-bass at every sing for thirty year,
were just pooin t' green jacket off his lumberin machine ; Jabez
Meadows sit runnin up an' deawn scales on his silver flute, an' there
were some big an' little fiddles, a clarionet, thrumpets, an' sichlike,
scrapin an' yeawlin theirsel into tune. O these band chaps were
pyerch't on forms i' th' chapel gallery, close to th' orgin, an' o th'
gallery pews were full o' singers, mostly schoo childher, but not
otogether. For th' choir were among 'em, a score o' clear-voiced
lads an' lasses, gam to sing owt their own weight i' th' teawnship.

First, lapped reaund wi majesty, best an' bonniest theere,
smiles Rose Ellen Marcroft, as sweet a thribble as ever chirped.
Close at her elbow, comely an' steaut, sits Betty Kenyon, a fine
sauty alto singer, wi bottom notes like a cornet an' top uns keen
as a fife. Next, sthrokin his long moustache, pyerches Joe Buck-
ley, a silver-throttl't tenor. We o known tenors are scarce an'
precious. Joe knows, too. He lets his yure hang deawn his
jacket collar, usin wot irons to make it curl an' wave like Sims
Reeves. He con sing a top B nathural, con Joe, reet fro his lungs
or somewheere as deep; he's a sthrong contempt for falsetto
dodgers 'at con dhraw notes fro their yeads or noses ; he con
blend his registhers, yo mun bear i' mind (there's three registhers,
yo known — thick, thin, an' kitchen) ; an' he once took a prize at
a Belle Vue contest. That should be good enough to tell yo what
Joe con do. Last mon i' th' front pew comes Levi Greenhalgh, a
gradely tombstone bass. He con fairly rowl it eaut, con Levi.

424 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Talk abeaut a feaundation ! Th' orginist happens to be a lamer,
an' he plays bi Levi ; nippin his foot off a threddle middlin sharp
iv it doesn't chime in wi th' singer's deep-rootin notes.

Neaw that's summat like a quartet. They con ony on 'em
oppen their meauths above two inches, howd their wynt for six
bars o' funeral music, stick eaut a lump i' their throats as big as a
monkey-nut, an' tackle oather tonic ale, Sol. Fah, or P.C. staff
system, up or deawn, just as it leets.

O this talent has to be engineer'! bi Jimmy Layrock. Jimmy's
noane hawve a bad singer hissel, an' he con read owt at first seet
i' o maks o' cliffs up to as mony as five sharps. Oh ah ! He taks
his ston neaw on th' parson's platform where everybody con see
him, an' co's his band an' chorus to ordher. A band chap's notion
ov ordher is to start tunin as hard as he con ; so they o starten, t'
conducthor waitin wi patience. At last there's nobbut th' clarionet
left whinin o'er it throubles.

11 What's up wi that gaspipe o' thine, Nudger ? " axes Jimmy.
41 Is there summat wrong wi it inside ? "

Nudger stops, dhrawin t' back ov his hond across his meauth.

14 O ready neaw ! " Jimmy co's eaut, heighvin his stick.

"Where's th' hobye part?" Jud axes, lookin quietly reaund.
44 Aw con play noane fro this empty music stond, con aw ? "

Jimmy flushes up, roots abeaut an' finds th' owd chap his
papper. " Neaw are yo o ready ? A fiddle skrikes, one o' th'
young uns lettin his bow slip on th' bant. Jimmy glares at him.
Nowt stirs for a minute. " Anthem, 4 Praise the Lord.' First
movement alleygro. This speed — one, two, three, one, two, three,
an' so on. Watch mi stick neaw ! "

Band an' chorus brast off together wi dyeafenin tumult, one e'e
on th' waggin stick, t'other on their books, but Jimmy poos 'em
up dhirectly. " This is wur nor a pig-killin. Isaac, tha doesn't
come in reel wi thi thrombone, some road. Hasta getten thi reel
part?"

Isaac's a bit dyeaf, so he's noticed nowt amiss wi th' music.
He looks up, an' says 44 Wha ?"

44 What part hasta getten ? " Jimmy sheauts.

11 Th' Alleyloolya chorus," Isaac tells him. " That's what yo
towd us, weren't it ? "

Somebry sets him reet, an' another start's made wi betther luck.
They getten through this time, an' Jimmy says they'n done
middlin, but he wants moore leet an' shade.

44 Yo mun watch me," he says. 44 When aw go so," bringin his
arms deawn gently, " play an' sing as soft as ever yo con ; but
when aw go so," dhroppin his arms wi a sweep, 4< play little Owd-
ham." So they'n another do, shappin betther this time.

44 Second movement, quartet, 4 Pray for the peace.' Adaygio.
Flute an' sthrengs nobbut."

CLOGDEN SING 425

Rose Ellen's breet soprano rises i' long-dhrawn sweetness,
Buckley stops pooin his moustache to join in, Betty follows, an'
Greenhalgh starts like muffl't thunner. Th' amateur fiddlers
keepen their quaverin sthrengs i' tidy tune, helped on bi sich rare
singers, an' th' quartet gwoes off weel.

But what's t' conducthor pooin his face at ? " Jud, yo're
playin th' air wi Rose Ellen. It's noane i' yor part, is it ? "

" Nowe ; but it's mostly thought to mend a solo when there's
a hobye gooin. That is wi good judges, tha knows."

" We'll do beaut it, iv yo'n a mind. It's noane i' th' part."

" My fayther played a horse-leg aboon forty year," Jud said,
" an' aw've a owd sarpent i' th' cellar yon yet 'at belonged mi
gronfayther. Aw've been up to th' neck i' music mysel ever sin'
aw were a lad ; an' aw s' be sixty-nine come Tormorden wakes
Monday. Aw should know iv onybody does."

" We'll lev it eaut. Sir John Goss 'd ha marked it in iv he'd
wanted it."

" Goss ! " grumbl't Jud, sattlin into his shet again. Iv his
opinion's to be put again mine aw've done. Aw'll bet a hawpny
he ne'er seauked a hobye reed in his life."

They geet th' anthem sawed off i' time, startin wi another 'at
gav th' orginist a chance. He were a young player, very fond o'
what he co'd " pictorial effects." He were very hondy wi his reed
stops when fire or thunnerbowts happen't to be stirrin, an' greight
at freezin ice an' snow wi his cowd flute. He could set brids
whistlin i' three-tops, delve clough holes eaut ov his hollow
diapason, send his music a mile off wi th' shut swell, grin like
a dog, an' run abeaut through Wuerdle an' Wardle. Oh ah ! a
cliver lad, very. This piece 'at gav him a chance were abeaut
t' childher ov Israel crossin t' brook. He made t' wayther rowl
back to some tune, bi settin his feet across t' threddles an' puttin
six on 'em deawn at once, makin o th' gallery rock.

" What's that ? " Jimmy co'd eaut when he could make hissel
yerd through t' clamour. " Is there summat stickin again, Abel ? "
' Oh nowe ! " says Abel, turnin reaund wi a satisfied smile.

It

s nobbut a bit ov effect — dividin t' flood like."

' Tha's getten it divided, neaw, hasta ? "

' Aw guess so."

' Keep it so, then," Jimmy said, " an' chen it fast. Iv tha lets
that hullabaloo loase on th' singin day aw'll divide thee, so tha
knows. Play t' sympathy o'er an' let's have a fresh start."

Wi sichlike bits ov happenins th' practice went on an geet
itsel o'er wi, Jimmy tellin his performers they'd done very weel
for a start.

As Rose Ellen crossed th' yard on her road eaut, Buckley
crept up to her.

" It's a fine neet, lass ; mun aw tak thee for a walk ? "

426 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Not to-neet."

" Aw'm thinkin o' keepin company wi thee, Rose Ellen. We'll
start neaw iv tha's a mind."

" Ger off wi thi nonsense."

" It's noane nonsense," says Buckley, sthrokin his moustache.
" Aw like thee weel, an' aw'm willin to chance it."

" Dost think me good enough to wed a tenor ? " th' lass axed
him, smilin. " Aw should ha thought tha'd ha wanted some hee-
bred woman bi t' road tha talks mostly. Tha'rt nobbut makin a
foo on me aw think."

"There's no deaubt plenty o' weel-to-do women ud jump at
me," Joe said, sayrious as a judge. " There's noane mony chaps
con sing up like me, an' aw should ha bin on th' opera stage afore
neaw but for bein rayther knock-kneed. Aw wondher iv there's
ony road o' curin knock-knees ? "

" Run a wot flat-iron o'er 'em ; that'll happen tak th' curl eaut."

"Well, tha'll think abeaut what aw've said. Let me know
afore th' singin day."

"Aw'll tell thee when th' day comes," Rose Ellen says, her
breet e'en glintin wi mischief. " That'll lev me time to study th'
job a bit."

Hoo left him an' went forrad toard worn, catchin up wi Levi
afore hoo'd gwone so fur.

" Aw began to think tha were ne'er comin," he said to her in
his deep bass. " Aw've bin waitin to have a word wi thee."

"Aw stopped wi Buckley tuthri minutes. What is it tha
wants ? "

" Aw'm beaun to come hangin mi cap up at yor heause. We're
just a reet couple for gettin wed ; so t' sooner an' t' betther. When
mun it be ? "

" We s' be like to lev it o'er whol mornin, shuzheaw, for o th'
parsons '11 be gwone to bed bi this."

" Aw'll get a licence to-morn then, an' we'll be wed o' Sethur-
day."

" Tha's ne'er axed whether aw'd have thee or not yet. Heaw
will it be iv aw happen to fancy another chap ? "

" It's noane Joe Buckley, is it ? A chap 'at cawn't groo a
byert woth a hep, an' wi a voice like a throttl't kittlin ! Tha
knows, lass, there isn't a chap o reaund these broos con sing a
bottom D same as aw con."

" Thi voice is otogether too big to live wi," says Rose Ellen,
laughin at him. " Aw should be dyeafen't in a week."

" Well, aw'll whisper, iv that's o tha'rt freeten't on. Come !
what dost say?"

"Aw'll tell thee on th' singin day;" an' off hoo danced,
thinkin to hersel, "Yon chap's wur nor t'other. Aw s' ne'er
catch up wi Jabez neaw."

CLOGDEN SING. 427

But summat mut ha bin keepin Jabez, for hoo o'ertook him
a piece further on, walkin bi th' brookside wi his flute box undher
his arm.

"Eh, Jabez! is that thee?" hoo said. "Aw thought tha'd
be awom long sin'."

"Aw've bin hearkenin to th' brook," says Jabez. "It's a
singin voice nearly as sweet as thine, an' aw've sin it glint i' th'
sun sometimes as breet as iv it 'd thy e'en in it yead."

" For shame o' thisel ! We met be cwortin."

" We're noane cwortin," he said, stoppin an' facin her a

minute. " We're noane cwortin, but " He stopped, studied,

an' walked forrad again, th' lass followin. "Yer thee at that
throstle, Rose Ellen; it's sayin it prayers on that hee branch,
dark again th' moon. Tha'rt a good singer, but tha cawn't come
up to that little bunch o' Miners, no bigger nor thi hond. It wants
three week to th' chapel singin day, doesn't it?"

" Aw believe so."

" Neaw what iv some young chap were to ax thee that neet
to wed him ; some young chap 'at's long bin hankerin for thee,
but dursen't speighk, knowin he were noane hawve good enough
for sich a lass, an' expectin somebry betther 'd be showin hissel ;
some young chap 'at feels iv he could nobbut get thee for his
wife he'd be th' happiest mon ever sin i' this world, an' make it
his whol study to tent an' care for thee, an' make thee happy.
What would ta say?"

" There's no tellin. Tha mun send him to ax again i' three
week. It'll partly depend on his looks. Is he honsome ? "

" Aw cawn't tell justly," Jabez said, wi his e'en on th' floor.
" Aw ne'er yerd on him takkin a prize in a beauty show, but
there's feawer chaps grinned through a horse collar afore neaw."

" Con he sing ony ? Aw should have a husband aw con prac-
tise duets wi, tha knows."

" He's no moore chirp in him nor a meautin sparrow. There
ne'er were one ov his breed could sing. He reckons to blow a
flute, but he's nowt at that where a good player comes."

" Then iv aw wed him it mun be eaut o' pity ? "

" Nay ! " Jabez said, throwin his yead back ; " he's noane
dhropped so low as that ! He's plain, an' simple, wi little set on
him ; but he con addle his livin wi th' best, an' give thee a warmer
heart nor ony. He'll have respect an' love fro th' woman he weds,
too, or else dee single."

" Well, we mun see," Rose Ellen said, smilin, lookin him o'er
wi o' touch o' tendherness. " Three week '11 sattle it."

So they parted.

428 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

II.

Th' greight day coome reaund at last, bringin stirrin times at
Clogden. After a sheawer or two soon on i' th' mornin t' weather
took up, shappin for sattlin into a fine breet day, an' bi hawve-past
ten th' owd chapel were crommed full fro end to side. Plenty o'
folk stopped eaut i' th' sunshine, wandherin abeaut near ; an' as
o th' chapel windows an' durs were set wide oppen th' sarvice
could be yerd as weel eautside as in.

O th' singers an' band-chaps had footed up i' good time.
Fifty little lasses i' white frocks an' blue ribbins sit on a stage put
up o' purpose for 'em, howdin their hymn-pappers (for t' printher
had condescended to do 'em at last) o ready to begin ; choir-
singers were o ranged i' their shops, th' soloists feelin a bit narvous
an' wishin they'd nobbut to join in wi th' chorus, whol o' th' chorus
folk envied 'em, wishin they were soloists theirsels ; th' band had
gethert itsel together, some comin wi fiddles tucked undher their
jackets — or as mich undher as could be shapped, some swaggerin
wi green bags, some — preaudher again — bringin leather boxes, an'
one coome carryin a big dhrum nak'd as it were born, wi noather
cleaut nor leather for coverin.

Afore th' first hymn were o'er everybody i' th' crommed chapel
were sweatin like a roastin joint, but they o sang, blew, or scraped
away wi lusty goodwill, wipin their glistenin faces neaw an' again,
an' smilin through it o.

In a bit th' anthem coome off, an' then Rose Ellen gav 'em a
bit of Handel — " How beautiful are the feet " — givin Jabez a
chance wi his flute an' Jud wi his hobye. Jud seaunded very weel,
too, owd as he were, but Jabez were th' mon. Ah ! Talk abeaut
puttin pathos in ! He made it fair dither, fottin weet tears fro one
or two, an' howdin his wind whol he went as red i' th' face as a
butcher's wesh-beawl. Oh, ah ! that were th' mak, everybody said.
Jud myent weel, an' so did owd Rafe an' Bunker, but Jabez put
his sowl into his wark, an' he were a very dacent young chap be-
side, were Jabez — few betther.

Then it coome to th' preighcher's turn. He were weel-known
to most folk theere, as he'd long been parson o' that very chapel,
though neaw shifted mony a score o' mile fur seauth, an' he'd
little throuble to find some intherestin talk abeaut owd times to
dhraw a tear or smile fro his congregation. He wouldn't keep 'em
long, he said, smilin o reaund his good-humour't face, becose th'
buildin were very warm an' they'd a good dyel o' singin to get
through yet ; an' then off he set an' talked a full heaur bi th'
gallery clock, ne'er seein 'at t' childher were gettin restless, women
loasin their bonnet-sthrengs, and chaps slackenin their singlet
buttons. But he myent weel. Oh, ah ! An' then it were th'
singin-day, weren't it ? To be sure.

CLOGDEN SING. 429

So they'd another anthem, a collection, a hymn to finish wi,
an' then everybody knocked off for dinner time.

Th' owd parson were carried off bi th' richest chapel member
— a chap 'at bought an' sowd cotton waste, an' were a six-day
sinner an' one-day saint ; folk livin near bowted off worn, most on
'em takkin a friend or two to share their meight ; an' th' band made
for Clogden aleheause, where a special dinner were ordher't for 'em.

" That's one part o'er ! " Layrock said to his wife. " It'll soon
be off mi crop for another year, an' a good job too. Bring that
worn-brewed this road."

" Aw thought tha geet a bit eaut o' tune this mornin," Betty
said to Rose Ellen as they walked toard worn together. " Is thi
voice breighkin a bit, dost think ? "

" Aw shouldn't wondher."

" They say'n these thribble voices getten worn soonest ov ony.
For my part aw'm noane so fond o' sich hee pitched singin — it's
betther to keep nar th' middle for gradely music. Not but what
thy singin's reel enough, tha knows."

" Just so," says Rose Ellen wi twinklin e'en. " It's a mistake
havin these solos. Aw want noane on 'em."

" Nor me noather, aw'm sure," Betty said. " Though some
road a good alto piece breetens a sarvice up. But iv they'd axed
me to sing aw shouldn't ha' promised."

Whol th' band chaps were o busy at their dinners owd Jud
slipped eaut, sayin he'd be back in a minute, popped across to th'
chapel an' rommed a cork weel into Jabez flute.

" Let's see iv he'll play betther nor me neaw," th' owd brid
chuckl't, an off he scutther't back to his cheer at th' feedin table.

" Come, Jud, yor meight '11 be cowd," th' lonlady said.
" Bring him some warm stuff, yo waithers-on ! VVe'n noane bin
up sin' four this mornin to put folk off wi cowd dinners. Make
yorsel awom, o on yo — it's nobbut once in a way yo com'n, an'
yo're a good piece off shiftin th' bakin-day yet."

Hoo laughed, rubbin her fat honds together, an' makin every-
body as welcome as looks could do.

" We'll see afther eaursel, lass," says owd Rafe. " Aw've bin
oft enough to know mi road abeaut."

" Ah ! tha'li ha bin comin a good score o' year neaw," th' lon-
lady said. " Tha ne'er yerd a betther sarvice nor we'n had this
mornin, noather."

" It's bin betther nor last year, shuzheaw," Bunker said. "Some
o' th' lads stoole o th' fiddle bant, an' we'd to petch up wi th'
parson's fishin tackle or owt we could catch."

"There's too mony fiddles bi th' hawve today," t' big
dhrummer grunted. " Aw've had to peighl away like a nowman
to make mysel yerd at o, an' ne'er had a chance o' puttin leet an'
shade in. Dhrummin's nowt iv yo cawn't show a bit ov art."

430 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

When Nudger, th' clarionet player coome to a finish wi his
dinner he cheted eaut an' made for th' chapel. There were nobdy
inside, so he shut th' durs, poo'd some soft papper eaut of his
pocket, an' i' less nor five minutes rommed th' hobye an' flute so
full o' packin 'at noather on 'em were likely to chirp again for a bit.

" Na, then ! " he mutther't through his teeth. " There'll
happen be a chance for me neaw. Aw'm weary o' sittin hearkenin
these greight players — one pipin like a cowd wynt through a knot-
hole, an' t'other myeawin away wur nor a papper-cover't kemmin-
comm ! Iv Layrock had ony wit he'd give gradely insthruments a
turn neaw an' again."

Creawds o' fresh folk turn't up i' time for th' second sarvice,
an' th' place were packed full again in a twinkle. One mon were
gruntin abeaut havin com'n mony a mile, an' sayin he'd gi five
shillin for a shet, when Levi yerd him.

" Show thi brass," th' bass singer says. " Aw'll find thee a
shet middlin soon."

Heawever, th' chap 'd pay noane aforehond, so Levi took him
sthraight into th' singin pew, set him deawn next hissel, gav him
a music-book, an' axed iv that 'd do.

" Firstrate ! " th' chap says, oppenin his book. " Do, re, mi,
sol, foldherdiddle. Am aw to sing bi notes ? "

" Plez thysel," Levi said, " but turn thi book reel side up, or
tha'll get thi notes wrong end first."

Th' band were deawn to play what Layrock co'd th' " Pastorial
Sympathy," for a overture.

" O ready neaw," Jimmy whisper't, heighvin his stick. " Very
slow, an' as soothin as yo con."

Jabez finger't his flute wi a flourish an' set his meauth for
blowin ; owd Jud took his hobye reed between his teeth, an'
waited wi th' corner o' one e'e on Jabez; th' clarionet chap
grinned at 'em bwoth fro his nook, an' geet ready for starrin as
a solo player. Deawn coome th' conductin stick, an' off brasted
part o' th' band wi fine effect. T' big dhrummer, carin nowt for
Handel, started 'em wi four soft bangs, as he were used to doin wi
th' brass band he played in, an' gav 'em a thump or two in a bar,
just to keep th' time reel ; Bunker sit back on his form, ne'er
lookin at his papper, turn't his e'en up, an' dhrew it eaut ov his
fiddle long an' sweet ; th' clarionet chap, between excitement an'
his guilty conscience, geet across in his time, blundher't on for
tuthri bars an' then deed eaut ; Jud an' Jabez puffed an' blew, but
could make no seaund, so they gav o'er playin an' started pooin
lumps o' squozzen papper eaut o' their pipes; th' bassoon, wi
nobbut a fiddle or two to cover it, showed off rarely, jumpin fro
sweet fluty top notes to jackass scrapins toard th' bottom ; so what
wi one thing an' another everybody geet enough afore t' " sym-
pathy " were done.

CLOGDEN SING. 431

When th' singin started Levi's new pupil soon made hissel yerd.
Chants, hymn tunes, or anthems o coome alike to him. He sang
'em o through eaut ov a " Cheetham's Psalmody," composin his
music as he went on an' doin beaut words ; layin into it wi sich
yearnest 'at even Levi's big notes couldn't smother him, an' makin
Layrock mad enough to hit him wi th' conductin stick.

There were a bonny row when th' sarvice were o'er. Flyin
Jud said iv he were to be insulted like that, say nowt o' bein made
a foo on afore folk, he'd set some law agate, an' soon too ; an'
Jabez swore he'd ne'er play i' th' band again.

Nobry had done it — that were t' quare thing abeaut th' job.
Layrock offer't to punce th' chap honsomely iv he could nobbut
lond his feet on him, an' bwoth Jud an' Nudger agreed that'd sarve
him reel ; but th' rogue ne'er showed hissel, so things had to
quieten deawn as they could.

Rose Ellen had takken care to slip off quietly, fyerd some ov
her sweethearts 'd be afther her, an' fast what to say to 'em.
Summat mut be said at neet, hoo knew, but what? Hoo liked
Jabez best o' t' three, iv he'd nobbut bin a singer. Th' tenor
were a bit consayted, happen, but there were no gettin o'er his
sweet silvery top notes, an' nobry could match her in a duet like
he could. Then Levi were a gradely sthraightforrad chap wi
voice enough for two, weel fit to tak care ov ony woman he
fancied for his wife. Otogether, choosin coome awkart, an' th'
lass began thinkin hoo'd be like to put 'em o off again — happen
whol another singin day.

Baggin time coome an' went, an' th' evenin sarvice started —
last an' best o' th' day. It were for this sarvice Layrock had
picked his chief anthem, " Praise the Lord," so bwoth him and
his choir were on their mettle neaw.

Everybody were i' good spirits, for so far things had gwone
off weel, an' th' collections had fot a dyel o' brass ; so neaw it
wanted nowt but a good finish to creawn th' wark, an' set this
anniversary on a level wi th' best ov o 'at 'd gwone afore it.

Th' orginist distinguished hissel bi playin sich a voluntary as 'd
ne'er bin yerd at Clogden afore. One minute his feet ud be gooin
o'er t' threddles like a hornpipe dancer's, his fingers whuzzin up
an' deawn moore like forty nor ten ; then he'd oppen a sweet
ditherin stop tuthri hundherd yard off, wi long slow chords 'at fair
made hearkenin folk curl their e'en up an' feel like risin through
t' slate ; finishin wi a shake on a little soft pipe like a whisper,
deein away to nowt. It were sich a fine performance 'at th' lad
geet his wage raised next time he axed ; so that shows.

Abeaut hawve-road through th' sarvice a young chap crept up
into th' creawded gallery, stonnin quietly at th' stairs top, as he
could get no fur in. A steaut-set young chap, wi bowd e'en, breet
yure, sthrong limbs, an' breawn skin.

432 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" God bless these breaks an' morthar ! " he whisper't to hissel.
" Slates an' flags, glass an' joinerin wark, o 'at makes up this
buildin ; God bless 'em o ! It's just as aw left it three year sin'.
There's t' grasy mark here on th' paint where aw rubbed Bill
Ashley yead becose he'd so mich scented hairoil on ; that's th'
corner where aw used to sit watchin Rose Ellen, an' hoo's yon
hersel, bonnier nor ever. Eh, bless thee! There's owd Rafe
wrostlin his eight-day clock as usal ; an' yon's Jimmy Geslin 'at
cleauted me for tellin him Saul an' Jonathan were two apostles 'at
propped Josha's arm up i' th' big feight. God bless thee, Jimmy!"

He brushed his hond across his e'en, an' hearken't th' singin a
minute. " Peace be within thy walls, and plenteousness within
thy palaces." Breet thribble, full alto, mellow tenor, an' rowlin
bass blended sweet an' rich, sthrikin deep into th' young sthranger's
heart. He bent his yead, whisper't a word or two, an' crept
quietly eaut. As he stood wi one sthrong hond on th' stair-rail,
just turnin to goo, th' owd bass fiddler happen't to look reaund
an' seed him. Rafe's e'en welly coome eaut ov his yead. He part
geet up, dhropped into his shet again, an' said to hissel,

" It's Sam, bi th' mon ! " Somebry else had sin t' sthranger,
too. Rose Ellen had just finished her part i' th' quartet when
hoo fell back in her place, white as a sheet, howdin her sides, an'
pantin. Layrock had his stick up ready for th' next chorus, but
when he seed her he stopped, sthretched hissel forrad, an' axed
what were to do.

" Aw've sin a boggart," th' soprano towd him. " Goo on beaut
me — my singin's o'er for to-neet."

So Jimmy went on wi his music, an' hoo sit white an' thremblin
whol th' sarvice were finished. Then Buckley, Levi, an' Jabez
were o at her at once, wantin to know what were up an' offerin
help. Hoo made for th' dur, sayin little to 'em, an' th' owd parson
gav her his arm deawn th' stairs, seein hoo were fit to dhrop. So
they geet eaut into th' yard like a little procession, an' theere stood
t' sthrange chap waitin for 'em, wi owd Rafe dancin abeaut him.

Rose Ellen skriked to see him, shrinkin back.

" It's Sam Wheeler's ghost ! " hoo said. " He's com'n to stop
onybody else fro cwortin me. Aw'll ne'er get wed, Sam, iv tha
doesn't want me to do."

" But aw do want thee," Sam said, " an' soon too ! Give o'er
ramblin abeaut thi ghosts, an' get howd on me. Tha'll find aw
weigh too mich for a boggart."

He took her in his arms, kissed her, an' planted her yead on
his shooldher, where hoo could cry i' comfort.

" Hello, parson ! " Sam went on, when he'd time to look
reaund. " Aw'm fain yo're here to-day. Aw owe yo for a brokken
window."

CLOGDEN SING. 433

"You shall break every window in the place, Sam, if it will
give you any satisfaction," th' good owd parson said. " We all
believed you to be drowned."

" Who towd yo so ? " Sam axed, kissin Rose Ellen again.
" Tha knows weel enough, lass, iv aw'd bin kilt aw should ha
com'n a tellin thee. Did tha believe me dyead ? "

" What else could aw do, when o th' news were i' th' pappers,
an' a chap 'at thought hissel th' only one saved wrote to us abeaut
thee bein so cool an' bowd when th' ship sank ? "

" Ne'er tak no notice o' th' pappers," Sam said. " Aw'm a bad
un to kill ; though it were a toss-up wi me that time, reet enough,
an' as bad as deein to be forced to lev th' little lass. Aw'd ha
gwone to th' bottom wi her but for thee."

Bi this time th' yard were crommed wi folk, an' there were sich
hurrayin, yeawlin, an' carryin on as never. Everybody i' th' neigh-
bourhood knew Sam — that earless good-for-nowt — an' as th' news
spread o t' counthry-side were stirred.

" This is gettin rayther warm," th' sailor said. " Come aw'll
tak thee worn, lass, iv tha'rt feelin betther. Aw guess tha'll have
me again for thi sweetheart ; or mun aw goo an' get gradely
dhreawn't, an' make reawm for a betther mon ? "

" There's bin another axin for her," Levi grunted in his heavy
bass. "Aw think, bein away so long, tha should let her plez
hersel."

" Hear, hear ! " Jabez says. " That's my opinion."

" What's tha getten to do wi't ? " Levi axed, starin at him very
savage. " Thee stick to thi whistlin an' mind thi own business."

" Plez hersel ! " Sam said, puttin his lass away, squarin his
wide chest an' settin his big limbs like a wrestler. " What dost
tak me for, Levi ? Am aw stonnin in her leet, dost think ? Does
tha want her, or ony o' these t'other chaps ? Speighk up, lass !
Choose for thysel, an' aw'll ston by it, an' ne'er wish thee nowt but
long life an' happy."

Sam felt his voice shakin a bit theere, so he coughed an' thried
to look as unconsarn't as he could. As Rose Ellen said nowt, he
started again.

" Tak a day or two to think o'er it. Aw've freeten't thi wi
comin back so sudden, an' forgetten 'at tha's noane bin ceauntin
minutes an' days this last tuthri year same as me, pinin for th'
time when aw could have another sect o' thi bonny face. Think
it o'er — there's no hurry."

Rose Ellen waited no longer, an' cared nowt no moore for th'
gawpin creawd. " There's nowt to wait for," hoo said, puttin her
arm through his. " Tak me worn."

434 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Aw shouldn't want o that fuss makin o' me," Betty said to
Buckley. " These thribble singers are olez made moore on nor
they needen to be."

" They are, Betty, they are ! " Buckley said. " Iv they'd nob-
but just think once heaw mony registhers they han, happen they'd
be less consayted. Arta gooin ? Aw've bin shoved abeaut i' this
creawd long enough. Come on."

" It's hee time somebry wed her," Betty went on, as they
walked deawn th' lone. " Her voice is breighkin fast, an' hoo's
gettin to look worn. Hoo's three year owdher nor me."

" Is hoo for sure ! " says Buckley, lookin at Bet's rosy cheeks
an' plump figure, thinkin he'd ne'er sin her lookin so weel. " Heaw
is it tha's ne'er started cwortin, Betty ? "

Hoo laughed an' towd him hoo'd ne'er thought nowt abeaut
it, but didn't think it beseemed a young woman to have a lot o'
chaps danglin abeaut her.

" Nowe, nowe ! " Buckley said. " That's reet enough, but one
dacent chap met be looked o'er. What saysta neaw ? Tha'rt a
nice lass an' a good singer for a alto, an' we cawn't o be tenors.
Aw'm weel off, tha knows, an' con keep thee wi comfort. What
saysta iv we getten wed ? "

" Eh ! aw cawn't say ! " Betty laughed. " Aw've ne'er bother't
mi yead abeaut sich things."

" Put this on thi finger," Buckley said, pooin a fine pearl ring
eaut ov his pocket. " It'll just fit thee, aw'll bet. Theere ! Aw
towd thee so ! Gi me a buss ; we'll start keepin company fro
to-neet."

" Tha'll be like to have thi own road as tha'rt so maistherful,"
Betty says. Tha's just guessed th' size o' mi finger."

Iv hoo'd known Buckley had bought t' thing for Rose Ellen,
hoo met have had a wur opinion of his guessin peawer ; but that
wouldn't ha stopped her fro weddin him whol hoo'd th' chance.
Nowe ! That is, aw think not, yo undherstond.

Heawever, that's th' end o' Clogden Sing.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS.

i.

WE used to co Hollinoth a weighvers' sayport, but we con
fairly turn that name o'er to Blackpool neaw. What
wi these hawve-day an' week-end thrips, we're gettin to
think little moore o' gooin to th' sayside nor slippin into th'
market, an' Atlantic saut's so chep an' soon reigched 'at we con o
get weel pickl't tuthri times a year at smo expense.

Aw geet mi first sect o' th' owd ocean at Blackpool, an' recol-
lect yet mi feelin o' wondher to see wayther pil't up like a moor-
side as t' thrain geet near th' owd station. Th' railway company
didn't tak us i' two heaurs i' thoose days, nor put theirsel abeaut
mich to make us comfortable, noather.

Aw've looked o'er th' island edge fro mony a cliff an' sondy
point sin' then, but nowheere fund a finer sthretch o' say, nor
wrostl't wi moore life-sthrengthenin wynt nor met me i' thoose
young days, when mi e'en were clear to see an' mi brethin-pipes
less chawked wi soot an' cotton nor they are neaw.

Aw'm towd Blackpool's noane a fashionable shop, an' happen
that's one rezon for me likin it so weel ; for, to let yo into a
saycret, aw've a deep-rooted belief 'at iv we'd less fashion an'
moore wit we could scramble through life a dyel betther nor we
shappen to do wi th' present system.

Aw were theere one holiday time latly wi mi owd mate Ben
Simpson. For tuthri year aw'd missed gettin to th' west shore, so
aw looked forrad wi satisfaction to th' chance o' seein some o' mi
favouryte nooks again. Ben went at my invitation, reckonin very
little on it, for he stuck to it there were nowt at Blackpool woth
gooin for. Aw felt rayther capped to yer him talk that road, for
there's nowt fashionable abeaut Ben ; so aw sperred a bit to see
what he were dhrivin at.

" Nowt theere, saysta ? There's wayther enough, isn't there ?"

" Oh, ah ! Plenty."

" Well, that's summat. What is it they're short on ? "

" There's no scenery for one thing. T' counthry's as bare as
th' back of a pigeon-flyer's neck."

"That's summat fresh. What should pigeon-flyers ha bare
necks for ? "

" Becose they rubben o th' yure off wi gawpin into th' sky so
mich, don't they ? "

436 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Th'art mista'en abeaut yon counthry," aw said. " Come wi
me an' aw'll show thi scenery enough. But there's moore things
i' life nor londscapes. What else hasta to find faurt wi ? "

" There's olez too mony folk theere. It's wur nor th' Hey-
brook chap an' th' commandments."

" An' heaw were that ? "

"Oh, tha's yerd th' tale oft enough, aw expect. It were
nobbut a spinner 'at took it into his yead to be confirmed at forty
year owd. A parson catechised him to see if knew enough Gospel
to pass, an' then sent him worn to read up. On his road th'
spinner met a schoo lad he knew, an' axed him,

' Heaw mony commandments is there ? '

I Why, ten ! '

' Nay, that'll do noane,' th' spinner says. ' Aw guessed forty,
an' that were noane enoo for th' parson. There's too mony on
'em for me.'

So he's ne'er been confirmed yet. Nowe ! aw like to be quiet
when aw'm off."

" Aw'll find thee places close to Blackpool quiet enough for ony
hermit. Tha'd look weel in a cave, wi thi yure rubbed wild, a
fortnit's dirt on thi neck, an' donned up in a pottato seek teed
reaund th' middle wi a clooas line. Aw'm capped at thee objectin
to a creawd."

" There's weighvers enoo awom," says Ben.

" Thee keep thisel mixed up among plenty o' folk iv tha'd keep
thi wits breet," aw said. " There's nowt rubs a chap into shape
betther nor bein squozzen among rib-ends an' elbows. It's a bad
sign in a mon when he skulks away bi hissel, freeten't ov his com-
fort bein disturbed bi common folk, wrong enough in his yead to
set polish above honesty. Tha'rt gettin stuck up i' thi owd age,
Ben."

" Get forrad with thi lecthurin," Ben says. " Tha's olez plenty
o' faytherly advice to cob away, but there's nowt at Blackpool when
tha's done."

" What dost think so mony theausan folk gwone theere for
every year ? "

" Eh, there's no tellin. Th' habits catchin, same as steighlin
budgets. Aw'll go wi thee for tuthri days, as tha makes a point on
it, but there's nowt to be sin."

We started off i' good time on a Monday mornin, londed in bi
breakfast time, an' kest abeaut for lodgins. Th' first shop we
thried didn't shuit us so weel. It looked reet enough eautside, an'
th' lonlady looked reet enough too. Hoo showed us into a front
reawm whol we sattl't abeaut th' terms, an' promised to send us
some breakfast in a twinkle.

II What con yo give us ? " says Ben.

" Everything in season, sir. What would you prefer ? "

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 437

" Nay, we're noane particlar, missis. Bring us summat good,
an' plenty on it."

Hoo simper't, scutther't off, an' i' rayther less nor an heaur
sent us tuthri slices o' shop loaf, some ronk tub butther, a red
yerrin apiece, three bits o' curran moufin, two biscuits, a fine silver-
plated cruet stond, some taythings, an' nowt else i' th' world to
feed two full-groon hungry chaps.

" We're done, Ben !" aw said, as th' cruets showed theirsel.
" This shop wain't do."

Ben looked hard at th' scant stock ov eightables, divided 'em
as weel as he could whol aw tem'd th' wake tay eaut, an' i' ten
minutes we'd sided everything i' sect.

" This mak '11 never shuit," Ben says. " We cawn't live a week
at this racket. Aw seed a coffee stall a bit lower deawn t' sthreet,
let's goo an' get summat t' eight."

" We'll pay up first," aw said. " Ring that bell."

Th' lonlady coome up smilin, hopin we'd made a good break-
fast ; so Ben said hoo met see bi th' empty plates we'd bin weel
satisfied, an' axed her to show us th' bedreawms.

" Certainly, gentlemen ; come this way," hoo said, takkin us
upstairs. " We have splendid accommodation."

Hoo'd some fair reawms, as it turned eaut, an' we began to
think we met do wur nor stop theere to sleep, gettin some dacent
meight eautside ; but afther choosin tuthri chambers nobbut to find
they were takken oready, we fund there were nowt left for us but
a miserable little garret, two cubborts, an' a chill's crib in a nook
o' th' londin.

" Yo're rayther full just neaw," aw said. " We mun thry some-
wheere else."

"Yo could do wi a reaunt bed," says Ben, "where a rook o'
chaps could lie wi their feet to th' middle, like spokes in a cart-
wheel."

" Plenty of room, gentlemen. I have often had thirty people
sleeping in the house, and never put more than seven in a bed.
We shall make you comfortable somewhere. The parlour table
holds five — three long way and two across — if that should be full
we can make you quite snug on the floor. Last summer we were
rather pushed, so I fitted a board over the scullery sink for two
young men to sleep on, and swung a hammock in the cellar steps
with a breadth of carpet and the clothes line."

" There'd be good ventilation theere," aw said.

"Yes. It was the coolest place in the house, so I charged
sixpence extra for it."

" We'll look a bit fur," Ben says, edgin off. " Yo met have to
put us on th' cornish, or hang us up in a rowler-teawel iv we
stopped."

438 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Th' woman thried hard to persuade us, but we'd ha noane.
We paid for th' crumbs we'd etten, went eaut an' geet a good
breakfast at th' coffee-stall, an' looked abeaut us again wondherin
where to find some dacent folk to tak us in.

A plump little body stood at a dur across watchin us feed, an'
there were summat in her smilin face aw liked to see. A card
hung i' th' window wi " Apartments " written on it, so aw nudged
Ben an' we walked across.

" Good morning, gentlemen," hoo said, wi sich a pleasant
honest look 'at we bwoth fell i' love wi her sthraight off. " Are
you wanting rooms ? "

" Yo'n just guessed," Ben said. " Con yo find us a good slop-
stone bed, or a sizable candle-box, or make us a bed up on th'
slate, at a rezonable price ? "

Hoo looked at him, puzzl't, so aw said, " Never heed him,
missis; he's nobbut jokin. Con we have a dacent bedreawm
whol Sethurday, an' ony mak o wholsome meight ? "

" Come in and see," hoo said. We went, fund just th' reawm
we wanted at a price little enough, an' took it in a snift.

Ben felt a bit suspicious yet, an' axed th' lonlady iv hoo bought
shop loaves. Bi way ov onswer hoo took us into th' kitchen,
where a thrim sarvant lass were gettin ready for bakin, an' showed
us sich a collection o' good things as made us bwoth hungry again.
Ben apologised at that, tellin heaw t'other woman had cheted us,
so th' lonlady undherstood heaw things were wi us.

" We are not all rogues here," hoo said, " although the lives
we lead are hardly worth having. You may say our business is
made up every year of three months' hard labour and nine
months' solitary confinement. Now that the season is on, sleep
is out of the question for us. Some lodgers will keep us up late,
and others are stirring soon after four in a morning. I little
thought to be forced to this for a living."

"Yo'n bin betther brought up nor most on us," aw said,
noticin hoo talked very weel an' showed good manners ; so hoo
towd us her histhory in a simple nathural way, as iv to owd
friends, wipin a tear or two as hoo talked. Born o' weel-to-do
parents — brought up at a boardin-schoo — wed young sodier —
fayther lost his brass — husbant kilt i' Egypt — forced to buckle
to for brass to keep hersel an' babby — Eh dear ! heaw these
pitiful tales keepen comin across us. Who could ha thought
that cheerful, obligin little woman had gwone through sich agony
as that?

We left her wi feelins o' respect, an' slutther't off to see iv
there were owt or nowt i' th' teawn. A glorious, soot-shiftin, soul-
liftin gush o' pure sauty west wynt met us as we turn't deawn a
cross-sthreet onto th' promenade, makin us sniff wi pleasur.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 439

" Dost co this nowt?" aw axed Ben.

" Oh yigh ! " th' owd breek said, settin oppen his sunken chest
for th' breeze to fill. "We mun alleaw there's good wynt here —
aw ne'er denied that. Why, mon, aw've gwone back afore neaw
fair wartchin through th' air bein so sthrong ! It's rare wynt —
nobry con gainsay that ! "

" Has ta ever yerd o' that chap fro Bluepits 'at went worn
afther spendin a fortnit here so stiff in his shooldhers 'at he
couldn't poo his own jacket off? He started swaggerin o'er it —
an' no wondher ! ' Talk abeaut gettin sthrength,' he said, ' aw
con believe there's summat in it when aw feel th' change this
road ! As soon as th' wartchin an' stiffness wears off aw s' be as
reet as a mail coach ! Aw'll go to Blackpool again afore long.'
But some road his pains didn't wear off. They geet him on his
back i' bed afore long, makin him feel sure th' turn were comin,
an' he'd soon be dancin reaund like a young chap again. His wife
had some deaubts abeaut that, so hoo slipped off for t' docthor.
' Aw want no physic,' th' chap says. c It's nobbut a matther o'
time. Aw ail nowt nobbut Blackpool air.' T' docthor groped his
muscles and shooldher blades weel o'er, makin him skrike, an' said,
1 Blackpool air, is it ? Physicians call the complaint by another
name.' ' What's that ?' ' Chronic rheumatism.' ' Bi th' mass,
an' aw believe yo're reet ! ' th' sick mon says. ' Aw've olez said
Blackpool air were too sthrong bi th' hawve, an' iv onybody be-
longin me talks o' gooin theere again aw'll make a row i' th' hole!' "

" It wain't do, owd mon," Ben said, grinnin at me. "Tha's made
that up thisel. Neaw aw'll tell thi one 'at is thrue, for aw seed
it happen. Yon thramcar just puts me i' mind on it. Last time
aw were here a gang o' folk fro eaur neighbourhood coome deawn
th' station road just afore me, an' at th' bottom fund one o' these
'lecthric cars slurrin away, purrin like a big tomcat, beaut oather
horse or engine. One o' th' women nearly had a fit. ' Eh, what's
that ? ' hoo skriked. ' It's off again ! Eh, it's makin this road
on ! It's a witch ! Run, Sam !' Off hoo bowted back to th'
station, took a thrain toard worn, an' hoo'll ne'er be sin i' Black-
pool no moore."

" Howd on, Ben!" aw said. " Iv we're beaun to stick to-
gether for a week we mun have a bargain abeaut this tale-tellin.
Aw'll give o'er iv tha will."

" O reet. Tha started it thisel, think on."

We walked on deawn th' promenade, creawded wi good-
humour't holiday makers, seein so mony Rachda faces 'at we
met ha bin awom.

440 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

II

" Dost see owt yet, Ben ? " aw axed as we wandhered on toard
th' seauth."

" Nowt no moore nor common," he said.

Aw looked reaund me, thinkin th' sects were good enough,
common or not. We stood between th' piers, facin t' wayther,
an' took stock o' t' creawded sthreet runnin bi th' say-brim for a
good mile to reet hond an' lift. Behinnd us were th' long sweep
o' fine-fronted heauses curvin away fro th' owd Star Inn, stonnin
off independent among it sondhills, to th' risin greaund at t' north
end. Hundherds o' folk shoved us abeaut, thram cars slurred
past, 'busses, carts, an' carriages rattl't up an' deawn, toffy, fleawer,
an' papper sellers sheauted, dogs yelped, seaunds o' music floated
fro different bands — o were life an' din. Bwoth piers were
crommed, breet wi colour fro th' women's fancy frocks, full o'
stir and bustle. On one th' fashionables swagger't to an' again,
thryin to look as iv they'd never sarved at a shop counther, nor
gwone late to th' beef market buyin up chep cuts ; on t'other
were th' gradely folk, lookin like what they were, an' dancin as
hard as they could. Styemers rocked at th' jetty ends as t' breawn
wayther coome tumblin in, little cockboats an' yachts dodgin
abeaut like wick things close to lond, tuthri big dignified ships
showin their brode sails fur back, where th' Welsh hills were peepin
above th' wayther-line. Th' sonds were scatther't o'er wi knots
o' folk, delvin childher, bathin boxes, toddlin jackasses, nigger
minsthrels, cocoa-nut merchants, photographers, Punch an' Judy
artists, parasols, boatmen lost i' their shoon, oysther stalls, Sal-
vationists, fish-hawkers, babby-carriages, an' Carman bands.

" Iv tha co's this nowt tha'rt ill to plez, Ben," aw said, afther a
while, as wi stood bi th' promenade railins lookin wide an' far o'er
sonds an' rowlin say. " There's summat here to fit o tastes,
surelee."

" There's racketin enough, iv that's what tha wants," Ben says,
busy watchin a phrenologist chatterin away wi a big creawd reaund
him, just undher us. " Aw say, weighver, what makes so mony
folk want their scawps gropin when they com'n here ? They'd
ne'er think at it awom."

Aw towd him aw hadn't gwone theere to be bother't wi riddles,
so we squeezed forrad across a sthretch o' sond to th' Star Inn,
rested hawve-an-heaur, an' then made toard th' lodgins for some
dinner, feelin i' rare thrim for it.

Feedin done we made north, to see iv owt were stirrin i' that
direction, gettin up to Uncle Tom's Cabin, bi yezzy stages. We
fund a collection o' shows an' shootin galleries theere, summat like

Scawps, scalps or heads.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 441

we getten on eaur own fairgreaund awom, wi a greight rook o'
thraps, carriages, an' wagonettes, blockin th' aleheause up.

Tuthri year moore an' it's likely that heause mun oather be
shifted fur back or weshed away. Yon's a rough nook when th'
west wynt blows, an' there's little but soft dirt i' th' cliffs to ston
again th' say's force when it gets mad an' starts puncin. A mile
fro lond, just above Uncle Tom's, there's what they co'n th' Penny
Stone, a big rock nobbut to be sin at low tide. A road ran past
theere once ov a day, we're towd, an' horsemen festen't their
bridles to that stone whol they geet penny gills at a heause close
to, long sin' wayther-buried. Stonnin neaw on th' hill edge to see
wi heaw wide an' sthrong a sweep th' owd ocean comes snarlin up,
we con soon believe 'at th' lond wain't be toein it present mark so
very long.

" Hutch up ! " Neptune looks to say, shakin his ruffl't white
yure at th' sulkin wole o' lond. " Aw'll tak some o' thi consayt
eaut on thi in a bit ! "

Then th' owd rogue fo's back for a run, an' comes wutherin an'
peighlin up, lettin fly wi bwoth feet, thryin to do o th' damage he
con. Wi th' speed he's gooin at it's nobbut a matther o' time
afore he gets to Rachda, savin us t' throuble an' expense o' payin
for railway tickets when we wanten to see his face ; so somebry's
childher may live to find th' Teawn Ho a mile eaut to say yet,
where it should ha bin planted to start wi.

" Let's go back," Ben said, gapin. " There's nowt here nobbut
what wi con see i' th Newgate."

We were just passin a little reaunt wood hut as he spoke, edgin
through a laughin creawd 'at stood hearkenin a chap talkin very
fast an' leaud fro th' durhole. He were a steautish middle-sized
mon, as wakken as a weasel, runnin o'er wi gam. He'd poo'd his
jacket off, rowl't his shirt sleeves up, an' were gooin at it wi every
muscle in him.

11 Hinside, ladies and gents ! Always in time ! Always in
time ! The only genuine cameron obscurer, from the British
Museum and Tower o' London, himported regardless of expense.
Halways ready to begin ! Step inside, all you lovely young ladies
in the front row — the young men '11 be sure to foller. The honly
genuine show in the kingdom, giving clear and huninterrhupted
views of the British Hislands round by Novey Scotia and the
Hisle of Wight ! "

Here he seed us grinnin at him, so he winked, rowl't his shirt-
sleeves a bit fur up, an' set off again at full rattle.

"You may think I'm lying, gen'lmen, but that's himpossible
to a man of my constitution, and considering my bringing up.
Come inside ! Come in your thousands (his rabbit-hutch met

Hutch up, move up.

442 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

have had reawm in it for a dozen folk wi tight squeezin), and tell
hall the surrounding natives what you think about the show as
you heemerge ! One penny for a full view of the American shores
and the Mediterrhanean hocean ! Silver preferred, and the show-
man open to receive tips. Not that I want your money, ladies !
Bless you, no ! I've made two fortunes and made 'em away
again. Money's nothing to me ! It's your society I want, ladies,
and the privilege of looking at such charming features as I now
see around me. Come inside ! Never mind the money — Fll do
that. One penny only for a bird's heye view of the Atlantic and
the Polar Circle ! One penny for the greatest hintellectual treat
of the present hage ! Mention it among your relations, and put
my name down in your wills for any amount you like. One penny !"

Th' show were full in a crack when he'd done, for nobry could
help givin way to sich cheerful impidence.

" Dost co that nowt, Ben ? " aw said, as we turned away.

" He's a reel mon for his job," Ben says, chucklin. " Iv he'd
gwone on abeaut ten minutes moore we should ha bin reaund th'
world an' back, beaut ever stirrin."

Baggin time were dhrawin near when we geet back into th'
teawn, an' when that business were sattl't we went to th' pier yead
to smooke, hearken th' band, watch th' styemers come in fro
Morecambe, Llandudno, Barrow, an' wheerenot, an' feel as preaud
as we could shap to have th' chance o' mixin among folk o' sich
hee quality an' breedin as we fund stirrin reaund us.

Th' boats o' coome safe in an' th' bustle o' passengers quieten't
deawn, th' sun sank in a glory o' black an' gowd, th' band finished
for th' neet, th' creawd o' walkers melted away, whol at last Ben
an* me were nearly bi eaursel. As it fell dark a long line ov
electhric lamps were set blazin on th' promenade, showin grandly
again th' gaslet teawn, sendin a sthrong bluish leet o'er th' incomin
waves for a good way, fadin then into a dull shimmer fro moon an'
stars. A seauth wynt blew soft an' warm, hardly rufflin th' shiftin
wayther 'at coome wi idle swing, lappin an' ploppin among th' pier
ironwark undher us, so we sit chatterin theere whol bedtime afore
we made toard th' endless line o' yollow leets 'at marked th' long
sthretch o' buildins, where th' day's hurry an' clatther were sattlin
deawn for th' neet.

" What sort ov a day han we had, Ben ? " aw axed my mate as
we crept into bed. " Arta enjoyin thisel ? "

" Nowt exthra. Aw believe aw'm hungry yet — an' aw've had a
good supper, too."

" This shop licks Mitchell Hey, doesn't it ? "

" It may do," Ben grunted, determin't to alleaw no moore nor
he were forced. " There's wynt an' wayther theere, same as here.
It's a matther o' taste."

" An' smell," aw said.

BLACKPOOL NOWtS. 443

" Why," th' owd brid chuckl't, " it is happen rayther iv oather
sootier deawn th' Roch. But soot's wholsome."

" Well, fo asleep," aw said, " an' we'll see iv tha'rt ony betther
temper't to-morn."

We slept weel, geet up i' good time, slutther't deawn to th'
shore, took a bathin-box apiece, an' walked part road to America,
nobbut turnin back when we couldn't feel greaund beaut sinkin
o'eryead. Then a two-mile ramble up an' deawn th' promenade
set us i' reet fettle for some breakfast. Ben said iv he didn't get
some provan soon it wouldn't be safe for folk to go near him. Th'
lonlady, among other good things, brought on a thick curran
moufin, shape an' size ov a barrow wheel.

" Do you know what this is, gentlemen ? "

" Curran loave," we said, bwoth at once.

" This is throdkin, the famous Blackpool delicacy. I can
strongly recommend it. If you would enjoy a green old age eat
throdkin. It is valuable alike for young and old, and an excellent
article for a pic-nic."

" It looks reet enough," Ben says, cuttin a wedge off an' tastin.
" Aw've noane mich ov a sweet tooth. So this is nobbut to be
had i' Blackpool?"

" I never heard of it anywhere else," th' little widow said,
laughin. " I ask all visitors to taste my throdkin, for, like the
Arab's bread and salt, it stands as an emblem of friendship and
fair dealing."

Hoo cut a piece for me, an' aw swallowed it thinkin it met be
as weel to carry a slice to th' lodgin-heause we'd co'd at first, iv
there were ony charm ov honesty abeaut it.

Weel refreshed and ready for business we were soon eautside
again wi a notion o' walkin to Lytham across th' sondhills.
Sthrikin seauth we left th' busy teawn behinnd us, gettin into a
quiet region again, wi flat green fields o' one side an' th' say close
to on t'other.

Heaw long has it takken to pile up o thoose sond-hillocks on
that low shore ? T' wayther's had to wortch a middlin while to
rowl so mony cartful o' stuff up an' lodge it, stampin it own like-
ness on th' weet lond, an' then fo'in weel back to look at th' effect
ov it wark. We passed wave afther wave o' this say desert, grase-
groon, decked wi fleawerin weeds, tunnel't i' o directions bi rabbits,
feelin as iv we walked through a solid ocean, comin afore long to
St. Annes, at th' Kibble meauth. It's a weel-laid-eaut little place,
wi honsome sthreets an' heauses, an' a fine promenade. Noane
so long sin', they say'n, there were nobbut tuthri fishermen lived
here at what they co'n th' Heyheauses ; neaw it's so fashionable 'at
fishermen hardly dar show their faces theere, freeten't o' shockin
th' young aristocrats at th' Ladies' College an' th' Grammar Schoo.

Provan, provender.

444 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Yet there are times even i' select an' refined St. Annes when
wark needs to be done, an' wark, too, ov a sort 'at needs very un-
fashionable folk to do it. When th' west wynt comes flyin again
this sunken sond-yep't coast, rearin steep woles o' solid-lookin
wayther to breighk an' dash wi th' weight an' fury ov a shiver*!
meauntain, whuzzin helpless ships abeaut among th' dangerous
shiftin sondy banks eautside, th' aristocrats putten their gloves
an' top-cowts on, takkin t' next thrain worn ; or else wi slippers,
warm fires, close-shut reawms, smo talk an' smother't terror,
keepen theirsel snug whol th' storm's past.

At these times sayfarin chaps dar show theirsel — nay ! iv they
didn't happen to come bi their own choice, they'd soon be sent
for. Sthrong honds an' taugh hearts are wanted then, an' fine-
weather buttherflees are o' little account.

What's this fine monument stonnin here on th' promenade ?
A tall column o' rough rock creawned bi a life-like stone figure.
An' what a figure ! Look weel at it an' bethink yo what a tale o'
pathos an' bravery that stirless shape con tell. Steaut an' nathural
it stons, a thrue likeness ov a common Englishman in th' full set
prime o' life. His sthrong reet hond, lifted shooldher-height,
howds a coil't life-line on his back ; his lift hond, hangin at his
side, rests on a life-buoy. A cork jacket's sthrapped reaund his
lusty ribs, rough leather knee-boots showin undher coarse breeches
cover his limbs, tarpaulin yeadgear roofs him in ; he stares across
th' brode ocean as iv his e'en were fixed on some wreck far away,
wi sich a blended look o' courage an' tendherness on his monly
face as one con hardly believe cowd chisel could fix on dyead
stone. A lifeboatman !

What should we don heroes in ? Mun they have boiler-plates
hung reaund 'em, or be twitched into silk singlets, afore they con
ston forrad i' th' front rank ? Would that little spitfire ov a Nelson
ha bin ony different iv a ragg'd jacket had cover't his uniform an'
medals, or would Freedom ha shrieked ony less for Kosciusko iv
nowt but a shirt had defended his bowd heart ?

Come here, yo sluttherin romance-writing folk, 'at cawn't dhraw
a charicther beaut lappin him i' fine clooas an' fillin his pockets wi
gowd — come here, takkin yor een off ancient histhory a minute to
look what's undher yor noses, an, tell me iv this rough, everyday,
sublime shape hasn't as mich peawer an' poethry abeaut it as o yor
fanciful pitctures o' Dick Lionheart an' sichlike " heroes," wi gangs
a cut-throats at their heels !

But there's summat moore here nor peawer or poethry, summat
romance-makers takken little notice on when they're sthrivin for
grand effects, an' that's simple fact. This wondherful carvin's bin
set up i' memory o' th' lifeboat crews lost that terrible neet six

Sond-yep't, sand-heaped. Don, dress.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 445

year sin' last December. Some writin on a smoothed panel tells

us so, an' shows a long list o' names — every name stonnin for a

lost life.

" Ben," aw said, " dost co that nowt."

He wiped off a tear (he did — aw seed him, let him deny it as

oft as he dar !) an' said, forgettin to conthradict me for once, " It's

grand ! It is so ! Aw say, weighver ! "
"Well?"

" Let's root somebry up 'at con tell us abeaut this job."
" That's a good thought. We'll thry, shuzheaw."
A chap in a sailor's uniform stood near, so we sperred off him

iv there were onybody to be fund connected wi th' lost boatmen.

He directed us in a minute an' when we londed at th' cottage he'd

sent us to — not in a fashionable sthreet — we fund th' chap we

wanted delvin in his garden.

III.

He looked up wi clear steady e'en 'at seemed as iv they'd bin
starin danger eaut o' countenance for some thirty year, so we
passed th' time o' day, an' Ben axed him iv he were a fisherman.

" Yes," he said, i' very good English, " the sea is my money-
box."

" It's weel filled too," Ben says ; " but noane olez yezzy to
oppen. We'n just bin lookin at yon grand statue on th'
promenade. Were ony o' yon dhreawn't chaps mates o' thine ?"

" One of them was my father. But for a piece of ill-luck I
should have been in the boat instead of him."

That made us stare, but he were quiet an' cool as iv he'd said
nowt.

" Ill-luck were it," aw said. " It were happen a good job for
thee, my lad."

" Maybe," he says, unstirred bi ony sich selfish considherations
as that. " Every hand in the ' Laura Janet ' was lost. But we
think in these parts 'tis the duty of young men to go first when the
work is risky. I was inshore that night, and we lamed a horse in
trying to get back when we heard the signals. That hindered me
a full hour, though I ran hard for it, too ; and when I came onto
the beach yonder the boat was launched."

" Tell us abeaut it," aw said, so he coome up to th' low wole,
rested his arms on it as we were doin, an' started.

" You mean about the storm ? There's nothing much to tell."

" That's quare," aw said, "an' o thoose lives lost."

" You see, when these rough blows are on a man's busy at his
work ; and when all's over he doesn't feel like talking much."

" Well, talk a bit, then," Ben says. " It were a greight storm,
weren't it, that neet ? "

446 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" It blew heavy," th' young chap said, throwin his mind back,
as we could tell bi th' settin ov his firm e'en. " The gale was sou'-
west, blowing against the tide with a trend across the banks.
When it blows here at St. Annes it blows, and blows heavy. The
foreshore was flooded deep enough to bathe in — or drown in, for
the matter of that — and the streets were full of flying sand and
spray. The ship was an iron barque called the ' Mexico.' She
struck on the Horse Bank, between here and Southport, and there
she was with the gale tearing at her showing her lights. Our boat
was soon off — so was the Lytham, and the Southport was little if
any behind us. Never a soul of our crew came back alive to tell
us the tale of that trip. The Southport boat got on the banks, was
tossed over by a big green wave just on the break, and never
righted herself. The crew were under her a long while, battered
about in the heavy seas, dropping off one after another as their
strength went, and only two of 'em got back to shore."

" Then they couldn't find th' ship at o ? " Ben said. " Poor
things ! Their lives were clen cobbed away."

" Aye ! It looks hard, don't it ? But at such times as that,
when the work's waiting, and lives of men, or maybe women and
children depend on speed, we don't stop to think. 'Twas sad
enough, but we're ready for such chances when the boats are
afloat ; and as we dropped the last dust over our mates we knew
well enough our turns might come next, and well for us if we got
dry soil to sleep in. The Lytham boat was luckier — she found the
ship, and saved all hands."

" Then thi fayther were lost ? " Ben axed.

" He was drowned. Aye, aye ! "

Aw seed his breet e'en turn dim, an' felt for him.

" Tha were fond o' thi fayther," aw said.

" You are not fishers, or you wouldn't ask that. Many's the
rough night I have weathered out with the old man among these
shoals. Many's the net we have hauled and cast together on this
coast — aye ! and many a stout fish we have caught and sold for
bread. Afloat together in the smack, alone — or maybe with a
couple more hands at times — sailing mates ever since I was big
enough to climb gun'le or splice rope yarn, there's no wonder I
was fond of him. When the Lytham boat came in at noon next
day to bring us the bad news we had a terrible business with the
women. Their screams were dreadful. Thousands of people had
been on the beach all night hoping for news, and once they had
seen a light as if the ' Laura ' was making for port ; but she never
came, and all hopes had died away before morning. The bodies
were recovered in a day or two, the boat was picked off the banks
and brought in ; and I hope 'tis the last time we may have such
business to go through in this town. When our cox'n was carried
ashore his old mother fell over in a faint, and was many a day in

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 447

coming to. 'Twas the third son the sea had stolen from her, and
she had no more. Then my father's turn came, and the mother
and sisters came screaming round us. I looked in his face. He
was dead. He had done his duty."

Aw felt summat catch i' mi throat as aw thried to say they mut
ha fund their loss greight.

" Many families were worse left than ours, for that storm made
a vast of orphans, and some had no bread-earner left. Between
me and a brother, what with shrimping and fishing, we have made
enough to live on till now."

" It's plenty bad enough," Ben said. " This sayfarin's a
rough job."

" It's man's work," said th' young fisherman. " There's a
passage in the Psalms I often say over out in the boats :

' They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters ;

These see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.

For He commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up
the waves thereof.

They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths :
their soul is melted because of trouble.

They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at
their wits' end.

Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them
out of their distresses.

He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

Then are they glad because they be quiet ; so He bringeth them unto
their desired haven.'

If the writer of that had been a sailor in this bay he couldn't
have described our trade better."

" It's a grand psalm," Ben says, " an' aw like rarely to yer a
bit o' th' Owd Book, though aw don't read it as oft as aw should
do. But thi fayther missed reighchin th' harbour tha sees."

" His days were filled, and he died. He was a good fisher, an
honest man, and a faithful follower of the good Wesley. He sank
to the Lord."

Th' young chap stopped, an' we waited his time, feelin a dyel
but not likin to speighk. Afther a minute he said iv we'd goo
into th' heause he'd show us a printed account ov heaw th'
" Mexico " crew were saved bi th' Lytham lifeboat.

We followed him into a comfortable kitchen, plain furnished
but warm an' snug enough. An owd woman, wi a face wrinkl't
like th' pile o' netwark in a nook near her, sit rockin at th' hobend.
Some breet brass candlesticks twinkl't on th' cornish, an' in th'
window bottom were a hawve-cut model ov a boat lyin again a
hondful o' boil't crabs.

Th' owd dame smiled an' nodded at us, but said nowt.

448 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" My mother is very deaf," th' young chap towd us. He bent
to her ear, raisin his voice. " Two gentlemen asking about the
wreck, mother."

Hoo nodded at us again, wi less breetness in her face, layin a
shrivell't hond on her son's neighve as iv hoo loved to touch him.
He brought us some newspappers eaut, so we dhrew cheers up to
a square table, an' undher that humble fisherman's roof we read a
tale of heroic wark done bi sich as hissel — his mates and neigh-
bours— done an' towd in th' same simple monful style, as iv among
these noble souls sich things were nobbut matthers ov everyday
chance. There's no need to set o deawn again here, for th' tale's
weel known ; but to get a clear knowledge ov o that sad mishap
we'll look for a minute at some evidence gien at th' Board o'
Thrade inquiry, chiefly by that brave mon Thomas Clarkson, cox-
swain o' th' Lytham lifeboat.

It coome eaut 'at th' "Mexico" were bund fro Liverpool to
Guayaquil, but could make no yeadway again th' furious wynt.
Hoo dhrifted abeaut for hawve a day, sthrikin on th' Horse Bank
between nine an' ten at neet. Danger leets were set brunnin,
were sin fro Lytham pier, an' th' lifeboat were off i' less nor twenty
minutes, undher sail, feightin a terrible wynt dyed again it. Two
heaurs thoose bowd sailors fowl their road inch by inch, when
pop ! th' ship leets went eaut an' they were fast which road to
steer. It never seemed to sthrike ony on 'em to turn back,
though not a soul among 'em knew wheere they were makin for
nor what they'd find at th' end o' their journey.

Another hawve heaur they rived an' struggl't forrad, whol
guided bi sheauts fro th' wrecked crew they fund th' ship, fast
stuck, masts brokken short off, th' say makin a clen sweep o'er her.

Hearken neaw that cool hond ov a coxswain tell his tale.

EVIDENCE OF THOMAS CLARKSON.

As we approached the wreck the water broke, and four or five times
the boat was full. I called out to the men to take the masts and sails
down. As soon as this was done the sea gave us a lurch and we broke
three or four oars. The boat got partly on her beam ends. I told them
to keep her head to the sea, and she made for the ship with her shoulder
to the waves. When we got to the " Mexico" the captain threw a black
box about a foot square to the lifeboat, but it went into the water.
He said, " That is the ship's papers."
I said, " You are done — you can't get them now."
One of the crew caught hold of the rope to lower himself, when the
ship settled a bit, so he got nervous and slipped down the side ; but we
caught hold of him and lugged him in head first. Then a couple came
down safe enough, but the next man broke the rope, and we had to whistle
and wait till they rigged another. The next two men got down together
safe on one rope, but the next man hurt his leg on the rudder. We got
'em all off. The captain lowered himself last with a rope made fast round
him, and we swung him right into the middle of the boat. He was an
elderly man. I said to him,

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 449

" Have you seen any other boats before we came ?"

He said, " No — yours is the first."

We could see a big crowd gathered on shore, burning lights. The
next thing was, what were we going to do in a sea like that ? We had to
get the boat round some way, so I said to the men,

" Go ashore with her ; it will be best."

We let her drift towards the shore, but she did not do exactly to my
liking, so I turned her round. We put her on the port tack, and a
tremendous sea came smack over us. The captain said, " You have a
very good boat." When we had gone about a hundred yards we were
knocked into a hollow space. The sea was not so heavy now. As we
passed Southport pier I said to the captain,

" Will you go ashore here, or will you come with us ?"

He said, " Where you go, I will go."

So we made straight for Lytham, and got home about half-past three
in the morning, all in the boat wet through and half-drowned.

" What mak o' folk are we readin abeaut ? " Ben axed, takkin
some sthrides across th' kitchen floor, his toppin stickin up i'
bristles. " Are they giants or gradely chaps, talkin an' carryin on
so unconsarn't wi Dyeath gawpin oppen-meauthed to swallow 'em.
1 Knocked into a hollow space,' he says ! Aw con see yo theere, too,
yo dardevil beggars, sweighin hard on yor oars, wi th' wynt ravin
aboon an' greight wayther-hillocks wortin abeaut o reaund. Good
Lord ! An' when yo coome to Seauthport yo wouldn't condescend
to get eaut, hardly bein dhreawn't enough to satisfy yo — nowt ud
do but sailin across th' river again ! Oh, behanged to that mak o'
wark ! Dhry lond's good enough for me. Surelee they're noane
common sailors 'at con o'er-ride th' ocean's crazy fits that road ? "

" They are just such men as myself," th' young chap said,
smilin at Ben's excitement. " We are all mates together."

" Tha'll ha bin eaut thisel mony a time ? " aw said.

" Many a time, and hope to be again."

" Is it sich a pleasant job, then, makes yo o seem so anxious
to be among it ? "

" No, not very pleasant, but 'tis expected we shall be ready to
go out when wanted ; and so, of course, we always are ready, you
see."

" Oh, ah, aw con see ! Well, iv ever aw'm shipwrecked, aw
hope Tommy Clarkson may be somewheere abeaut wi his rope.
Aw dun hnow what mak ov a fairweather friend he makes, but
he's a clinker in a storm."

We shapped for off, as time showed no signs o' waitin for us,
an' we'd plenty to do. We shook honds wi th' owd dame an' her
son, offerin him some brass for his throuble, but he put it away wi
a laugh an' went back to his delvin, as cool as if he'd ne'er done
owt in his life but eight an' sleep.

Toppin, the hair on the forehead.

EE

450 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

When we'd getten a piece on th' road beaut speighkin, aw
turn't to mi mate.

" Neaw, Benjamin Simpson, Esquire, is that owt ? "

" Give o'er, do," he mutther't. " Never ax me that foolish
question no moore. Yen's a fine lad — a very fine lad ! We cawn't
breed that mak i' facthries."

" Nowe ! " aw said. " It taks years o' wark an' danger, wi
nowt solid undherfoot an' nobbut th' stark-nak'd sky aboon, to
shape a charicther like yon. He makes me feel some little, aw
con tell thee."

" Me too. Ah, we'n fund summat at last — but we're noane i'
Blackpool neaw, think on."

IV.

Th' road kept us among sond-hills yet, runnin past hawve-
cleared plots for new sthreets, past th' Rachda childhers' cottage,
past t' Manchesther lads campin-greaund, on to Lytham, one o'
th' bonniest little shops i' o Lancashire. Timber con groo theere,
an' it's encouraged to do, for threes are planted in every sthreet,
lookin some pratty wi their ruffl't yeads o1 leet or dark green, an'
offerin wholsome shade or shelther to everybody. Fleawers thrive
at Lytham, an' bi th' look o' things gardeners are plentiful. Fro
th' owd dark red ivy-cover't church to th' new bandstand on th'
pier, there's hardly a feaw buildin or ugly sect onywheere abeaut ;
but every point an' corner shows some beauty or another for th'
satisfied e'e to rest on. Then fro th' promenade there's grand
views o' th' weel-wooded Ribble coast toard Preston, an' fair
opposite there's Hesketh Bank an' Seauthport, wi th' dyeadly
Horse Bank runnin eaut it long tongue o' sond. Fur reaund to
th' reet some Welsh hills peep o'er t' wayther edge, lookin to nod
an' wink at us across th' shiftin waves.

There's a greight park at Lytham belongin th' Clifton family,
an' somewheere inside it there's a mansion heause. We didn't get
fur enough in to find that, but were takken up wi th' wide-spreadin
acres o' green, wi clumps o' timber scatther't abeaut for orniments,
an' tuthri cattle for use.

We geet eaut through a fine carriage road bordher't wi honey-
suckle, laburnum, an' rhodidendhron, o i' full bloom, wi' a backin
o' green fir, beech, poplar, an' willow. O'er th' enthrance gate
there's a bent stone arm, brokken short off aboon th' elbow joint,
boiler-plated, th' hond gripin a dagger, an' scrawl't undher we
spelt eaut a Latin motto myenin 'at th' Clifton breed were gam to
win or dee ; but aw hardly think there'll be mich feightin to fill
their time up neaw, an' cawn't see what use their motto con be.
Iv they'd hang a sign up,

" VISITORS REQUESTED TO EXPLORE THE GROUNDS,
FREE TEAS AT THE HALL,"

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 451

their park met soon be betther used nor it's i' th' habit o* bein,
an' th' fine say-promenade wouldn't be as bare o' folk as it is i'
general.

We walked reaund th' churchyard, too, findin it as pratty a
place to be laid deawn in as a body need wish for. Aw've a wake-
ness for graveyards, an' olez feel content wi dyead folk reaund me.
They're good to talk to, for one thing, never speighkin eaut o'
their turn, starin, nor makin remarks abeaut folk, never weary o'
hearkenin th' longest tales, never conthradictin nor gettin eaut
o' temper. Some o' th' stones are i' very bad fettle, for they're
cut eaut ov a britchel slaty sort o' stuff wi no lastin qualities
abeaut it, so they'n getten cracked an' chipped o roads.

Th' finest piece o' monumental wark theere's a memorial to
th' lost lifeboat crews, showin 'em busy at their wark in a storm ;
an' th' simplest is this, chisell't on a plain square flag : —

EDWARD

C R O O K—

—ALL. A.D.

1714.

Edward lies as quiet in his crack as iv he'd a whol stoneful o'
flattherin twaddle written o'er him. We left him theere among
his mates, o takkin long an' deep rest i' their bonny garden ; for a
garden it is, fair shut in wi green branches, jewelled wi mony a
tinted fleawer, hung reaund wi th' gowd laburnum tassels shinin
up an' deawn every sthreet an' plot i' Lytham teawn.

Abeaut this time Ben started grumblin o'er bein hungry again,
sayin he couldn't tell what were comin o'er him, as he were ne'er
bother't that road awom ; so we hunted up summat t' eight, an'
looked up a thrain to carry us back to Blackpool.

Aw've said now abeaut t'other lodgers yet. We'd a heauseful
otogether, an' geet on in a sociable friendly way when we met at
mealtimes or in th' common sittin reawm. Aw've no need to
spend time thryin to describe 'em — yo known what they are, an'
heaw mich alike folk con be when they're off i' lodgins. There's
olez th' woman 'at brings her tay an' sugar, comm an' brush, an'
feels a terror o' being cheted ; there's th' chap 'at grumbles hard,
ne'er thanks onybody for takkin pains to plez him, knocks a
shillin off his bill, an' levs nowt for th' sarvant ; there's th' very
genteel body 'at wears mittens an' slippers, talks very fine, feels a
bit moore select nor th' common stock, an' sits bi hersel i' some
frozzen nook whol other folk are warmin their hearts wi general
chat an' joke ; there's th' hard-vvortchin mother o' thirteen 'at taks
every chance o' teemin long tales ov her childher into th' refined

452 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

body's dyeaf ears, never dhremin her talk's noane welcome ; an'
mostly there's a comic, wi a yead full o' nonsense, to keep every-
body wakken an' plenty o' gam gooin.

We sit talkin awhile to a Preston chap co'd Firth, a retired
grocer wi good manners an' plenty o' common sense, shappin off
to bed o together, as we slept next reawms to one another.

Aw slept seaund enough whol three o' t' clock next mornin,
wakkenin up then to find th' grey mornin peepin at me, an' a
curious scent hangin abeaut. Ben wakken't up too an' started
sniffin.

" It's ham an' eggs, as aw'm a sinner ! " he co'd eaut next
minute, jumpin on to th' floor an' gettin inside his clooas. " Aw
cawn't ston this ? Aw ne'er felt so hungry in o mi life."

"There's nowt here to make onybody hungry, is there?" aw
said, donnin misel, feelin ready enough for a good breakfast, soon
as it were. "Tha'd best start bringin a lump o' throdkin to bed."

Ben nobbut grunted an' set off wi me at his heels. Comin to
th' kitchen who should we find but Firth busy cookin in his shirt
sleeves.

" Good morning," he said, quite unconsarn't, as we went in.
" Are you always up so early ? "

" Nay ! " aw said. " It's like rayther sooner nor common wi
us. Are yo olez up i' th' middle o' th' neet playin wi that fryin-
pon ?"

" Very often ! " he towd mi wi a deep sigh. " It's very seldom
I can rest long in bed."

" What's to do wi yo ? " Ben axed him. " Han yo some inside
complaint ? "

" Inside ? Yes, you have it. I have such a confounded
appetite that I never get any peace for it."

" Aw'm gettin a bit th' same road misel," says Ben. " Aw
could eight a sheep just neaw, aw do believe. Put some moore
collops on whol aw find a kettle an' th' coffee pot."

We o set too an' snapped a breakfast i' quicksticks, sittin deawn
i' th' pale mornin leet, like three boggarts just finishin wark for
th' neet.

" I signed the pledge a bit since," Firth towd us, when th'
pangs ov his hunger sattl't deawn. " My wife said I drank too much,
so I reformed. At that time I could drink a glass of whisky
at bedtime and sleep like a top all night ; now I save the cost of
spirits, lose my natural rest, and am obliged to spend so much
money on food every week that I have been seriously wondering
whether it would be possible to reduce the holding capacity of my
stomach in some way, as fire-grates are lessened in width by
having a brick slipped in at each end. This business is awful !
I feel virtuous, certainly, but half the pleasure of living is gone."

Gam, game, sport.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 453

We did nowt but laugh at him, so he helped hissel to another
collop an' went on.

" It's always been my luck to suffer for moral principles, some-
how or other. When I was quite a lad our folks drove a lot of
diabolical aphorisms into my system, and my natural conscientious-
ness forced me to live — or rather to obstruct my life — by these
wise saws. I consider that Benjamin Franklin and such miserable
humbugs have done incalculable harm to the human race."

" Heaw so ? " aw said. " Aw thought Ben were a philosopher
like his namesake here."

" So he was," Firth said, his jolly red face ratchin wi a brode
grin. " Philosophers are the biggest nuisances I have to deal
with. ' Early to bed and early to rise,' eh ? 'A penny saved is a
penny gained,' isn't it ? You know the sort of rubbish these idiots
talk. I made the mistake of following their advice, and now, after
sticking to business for thirty years, I have no pleasure away from
it. I call it fairly open to question whether these eternal lectures
on thrift do most harm or good. They turn out plenty of selfish
and miserly people, but no amount of preaching seems to cure a
spendthrift. You behold in me a ruined man. I have got money
and can't enjoy it ; whereas, but for the moralising humbugs who
profess to teach us, I should have enjoyed myself going along and
had money enough too."

" That's reet," aw said. " Have a saup moore coffee an' start
again."

He passed his cup to be filled, but said he wouldn't sarmonize
ony moore, as he could plainly see his wisdom were nobbut wasted
on such leatheryeads as us.

In a bit wi finished donnin eaursel an' turn't eaut for a walk on
th' beach.

" This reminds me o' Cheesden," Ben chuckl't as we walked on.

" Heaw so ? "

" Why, there's no clocks theere, dost see ! As their greight
local poet sings,

' They eighten when they're hungry,

They dhrinken when they're dhry,
They gwone to bed at dark,

An' getten up wi th' wakkenin sky.'

Iv we aren't just carryin on abeaut th' same speed aw'm noane
here."

It were abeaut four o' t' clock ov a dull cleaudy mornin, an'
th' air whistl't past us keen an' sauty. Far to th' east a dim shine
showed 'at th' sun had getten up an' were busy mixin dayleet some-
wheere behinnd his cleaudy curtains, but he didn't shap to show
his bare nose. What a stillness were reaund us ! Tuthri heaurs
afore we'd yerd racket enough on that shore, tuthri heaurs moore

Ratchin, stretching.

454 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

an' th' dyeafenin tumult ud be i' full swing again ; yet for owt we
could see there metn't ha bin a wick soul for ten mile reaund.
Th' very bathin vans had a ghostly look, a thin mist hangin
reaund 'em ; an' th' concert buildins on th' pier end looked like
fairy pavilions just breighkin through enchanted white smooke
mony a mile off. Th' say row'lt snarlin up, showin it while rows
o' teeth in a sulky fashion, but wi little hint o' what it were capable
on when one ov it mad higs took it ; an' aw thought once again
o' that fine stone in Lytham churchyard, carved on one side wi a
picther ov a lifeboat crew eaut in a storm, letther't in another place
wi th' litany verse,

" In all time of our tribulation,
In the hour of death
And in the day of judgment,
Good Lord deliver us."

Soon afther five th' teawn started wakkenin up. A dog ran
deawn th' promenade, tuthri gulls flew swirlin reaund th' pier-ends,
milk-carts coome rattlin in fro Marlon, Singleton, an' t'other
farmin villages reaund abeaut, chimbleys began to smooke, blinds
to rise, chamber windows to fly oppen.

Afore so long Firth an' Ben were grumblin o'er bein hungry
again, an' aw felt a tidy yammerin i' mi own cubbort but dursen't
mention it.

" It's no use ! " Firth says. " This confounded Blackpool air
will drive me to the workhouse before long. I can't afford to go
on at this rate. There is nothing for it but taking to drink again
in self-defence."

" Nay, aw wouldn't do so," Ben says. " Stick it eaut neaw
yo'n started. It is a sickenin wholsome shop is this — mi singlet's
gettin tight bi neaw, an' aw feel as iv mi face had bin rubbed o'er
wi a soft breek."

Aw kept me meauth shut an' we plodded on toard some break-
fast, feelin a dyel betther afther it.

Ben an' me spent most o' th' day in a sail to Morecambe an'
back, findin plenty o' fine sects an' havin gam enough on th'
creawded boat. We walked o'er th' little toy waytherin-place, wi
it fine bed o' slutch, looked an' longed at Grange across th' sondy
bay, rode as far as bonny Heysham, co'd to see Longmire, th' ex-
champion wrostler, an' then had to bustle back.

Ben had ne'er sin Longmire afore, so he took stock ov o th'
belts an' cups hangin up in a glass case, starin wi wonder at th'
feightin mon's greight limbs, moore like baulks ov oak nor
common legs, an' talked a good bit abeaut him as we sailed back.

Aw towd him heaw aw once went to Grasmere sports, wheere
Longmire — his wrostlin fayver o'er — sits neaw as umpire. Their
greaund's weel picked for th' job, risin above th' ring so as to
make good seein, wi th' Silver How for a backset. T' weather's

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 455

noane quite as suitable, for it's rained every sports day in th' last
theausan year or theereabeauts, so folk ban long sin' gien o'er
expectin it to keep fine.

Ah ! but there were giants on th' floor that day ! Aw watched
th' heavy weights rive at one another for heaurs, an' could feel th'
close-packed creawd sweigh wi excitement as th' slow gam were
played eaut. Two champions kept deawnin mon afther mon,
winnin every desperate tussle reet afore 'em, an' aw began to
wondher what 'd happen when they met. Time brought 'em
together, every mon beside licked an' cobbed eaut o' their road,
an' they faced up as iv their wark were nobbut just beginnin, o
their hard strugglin afore gooin for nowt. Big among th' biggest
were these two ; yet one took t'other to his wide breast, lapped him
reaund wi giant arms, an' turn't him o'er helpless in hawve-an-
heaur.

" Steadman ! Steadman ! " everybody yelled.

" What's his name ? " aw axed a chap next me, an' whol aw
live aw con ne'er forget his stare o' wondherin scorn as he grunted,

" Ye daft loon ! What dean't ye knaw oor Jarge ? "

" Nowe," aw said, " to mi shame be it spokken, aw've ne'er
yerd on him afore ; but there's one thing sure — aw s' ne'er forget
him again whol aw'm crawlin."

So Jarge stood up i' th' mizzlin rain whol th' champion's belt
were put into his fleaurscawp ov a bond, his honest whisker-fringed
face as quiet an' simple as iv he knew nowt abeaut bein t'
sthrongest an' best wrostler in o brode England ; an' aw went
away, weet through, but content.

V.

Thursday we spent i' Blackpool, gooin to most o' th' shows an'
concert reawms. What a grand shop that Winther Garden is, to
be sure ! Even Ben were forced to alleaw that were summat,
when we'd stood undher th' hee dome, walked reaund th' fernery,
fleawery halls an' eautside plots, an' fund upo what a grand
scale folk were cared for. Yo con find everything theere fro
beawlin greens to beefsteaks, an' go to a music hall, theaythre, an'
skatin rink o at once.

Talkin abeaut th' music hall reminds me 'at th' stage dhrop-
curtain were deawn when we geet inside, an' a card were hangin
up, " Interval of Fifteen Minutes." We took a walk reaund th'
dinin reawms for hawve an heaur or so, comin back to find th'
same notice hangin.

" They're slow-motion't here," aw said to a chap near us.
" Heaw long is this intherval to last yet ? "

Fleaurscaivp, flour scoop.

456 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Oh ! " he says, " the lady gymnasts have just gone off. You
have only missed them by a minute."

So we went into th' shootin gallery thryin to hit slurrin ducks,
but didn't shine at that job. When we geet back to th' concert
hall we seed another intherval gooin on, th' same colour as t'other
two, so we gav th' business up an' slutther't off.

There's a rare band at th' Gardens, rayther different fro that
playin for dances just inside t' seauth pier enthrance. That's
made up — or were that day — ov a clarionet, three fiddles, a double
bass, an' a cornet. Th' performers han no meal-time alleawed, as
gangs o' fresh dancers keepen comin t' day through, so they gwone
in their turns to feed ; but goo when yo will th' clarionet player's
theere. Heaw he shaps it aw could never tell, but theere he is.

Fiddles may come, fiddles may go,
But he blows on for ever.

Once, an' nobbut once, he were known to stop. Th' fiddles had
slipped up to th' refreshment bar for some ale, th' cornet were off
gettin his dinner, so th' bass an' clarionet were left wi o th' responsi-
bility on their shooldhers o' keepin th' music gooin. At this
important an' anxious minute, th' clarionet blower felt in his say-
cret mind he were beaun to sneeze. Throttlin his inclination
nobbut made things wur, an' th' sneeze more terrible when it
coome. He sneezed fourteen times as fast as he could, hopin to
petch up again beaut hindherin th' dancers, but his hopes were
idle. Th' bass, left bi itsel, grunted helpless to mark time for so
mony busy feet, an' th' dancers, awesthruck at th' stoppage o' their
favourite pipe — a thing never known or dhrem't on afore — poo'd
up wi one consent whol th' familiar notes seaunded again wi fresh
energy, an' th' world started turnin reaund again. It's said th'
vexed performer sent a challenge to th' first fiddler for levin him
beaut band that road, but aw ne'er believed th' tale misel, not
seein heaw th' clarionet could spare time for a duel, an' knowin
fiddlers are desperate bad to shoot.

We went to Raikes Hall, too. That's a fine spot, full o' variety
an' dodges for passin time o'er. Th' gardens theere are very pratty,
an' there's a lake beside, happen delved eaut becose there's sich a
scarcity o' wayther i' th' neighbourhood.

We stood a while bi th' dancin stage watchin merry couples
spin reaund, an' aw were reminded o' mi own experiences i' th'
dancin line, for little as yo met think it, aw once took lessons i'
that fine art. They were noane very fashionable lessons to be
sure ; for t' maisther were a facthry hond, th' academy were a
cottage garret, th' enthrance fee were nobbut twopence, th' pupils
were o lads, an' th' band were made up o' one tin whistle an' a

Slurrin, sliding.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 457

comm lapped wi papper. We made th' music i' turns, for onybody
could play ; becose iv th' time were marked we cared nowt abeaut
tunes, an' he is a numb-customer 'at cawn't count six-eights or two-
fours in a bar when he's plenty o' rattlin clogs to keep him steady.
Aw'd to give th' job up for want o' memory. Reaunt dances were
weel enough, but when it coome to th' first set or th' Caledonians
aw geet gravell't middlin soon. Between times th' professor gav
us exhibitions o' figure dancin, his scholars sittin reaund oppen-
meauthed, gawpin at his twinklin feet, an' lookin wi despair at
their own cumbersome clogs. It were said he used to punce his
wife wi thoose nimble toes ov his ; but we cawn't believe o th'
tales we yer flyin abeaut i' th' world, an' iv he did show us a fiery
temper sometimes there's no need to wondher, considherin what
rough members we were to manage.

Bi baggin time we'd had enough seet-seein, an' wondher't what
to finish th' day wi. Aw mention't a good stage play advertised
for that neet, but Ben said that were nowt — he could see sich
things awom. He were too weary for ony moore walkin, sittin on
th' pier were nowt, gooin to th' swimmin bath performance were
nowt, th' singin reawms were nowt — otogether th' owd brid were
in a nowty humour.

"Come ! " aw said, " there's like no plezin thee to-neet. Wilta
go wi me a seein Sam Laycock ? "

" Why, does he live here ? Aw ne'er knew that afore."

" Oh ah ! Sam's nobbut had bad health, so he coome here
nearly five-an'-twenty year sin' to thry iv th' saybreeze could mend
him. Beside, he finds it a dyel yezzier writin poethry at th' say-
side nor wheere he's nobbut dirt reaund him."

" Well, aw've often thought aw could like to see th' chap 'at
wrote 'Welcome, bonny brid,' an' 'Quality Row.' An' dost myen
to say tha con find him here?"

"Aw think so. Put thi cap on an' we'll look."

We went to Sam's heause an' axed for him. His wife said
he'd gwone to th' barber's an' wouldn't be mony minutes ; so we
waited, an' th' poet coome in dhirectly, sthrokin his long grey
byert.

" Well, well ! " he said, wi a little dhrawl 'at marks his talk,
takkin us in wi one glint ov his sharp brid-like e'en. "Are yo
com'n at last ? Aw expected yo before this. Josef sent me word
yo were comin. Is this a friend ? "

"One o' mi owdest. Ben's nowt mich to look at, an he's
noane gifted wi a Roman nose same as us, but his friendship
stons wear betther nor Rachda flannel or rope beltin."

" Well, well ! Aw conna swagger mich abeaut beauty misel.
Come up stairs, do, an' let's have a crack. Heaw is Josef ? "

Punce, kick. Byert, beard.

458 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" He's ill. Th' poor fellah forgeet to wind his blind deawn
t'other neet, so he's getten a bad cowd an' a cough — summat he's
noane bin used to."

" Yo dunna tell me so ! One would ha thowt, neaw, there were
hardly enough for a cowd to festen on. Well, well ! "

We followed th' poet upstairs into his snug sittin-reawm, hung
reaund wi picthers presented to him bi his Owdham friends, two
good porthraits ov hissel, a copy o' th' " Village Weddin," a framed
addhress fro his Stalybridge admirers, a likeness o' Ned Waugh,
an' so on. There's a fine photograph on th' mantelpiece, showin
Laycock an' Ben Brierley sittin at a table wi th' say at their backs;
an' for once i' mi life aw felt tempted to steighl when aw seed it.
A writin desk stons i' th' floor middle, a weel-filled stond o' book-
shelves an' a piano tak up nooks lift an' reet o' th' fireplace ; so
Sam's writin, readin, an' music tackle ready to his honds just as
he wants 'em.

" Aw've just bin gettin powed," Sam went on. " Sit yo deawn
an' smooke a cigarette wi me. Yo'll get nowt to sup, becose aw'm
a teetotaller."

Ben's face lengthen'! a bit at that, but he sattl't hissel deawn,
sayin nowt.

" Yo'n noane bin o'er to Rachda latly," aw said.

" Nowe, nowe ! Aw have bin o'er at times to give readins, yo
know, but not lately. Nowe ! One readin's to pay for yet beside."

"Nay, yo don't myen that!" says Ben. " Why, that's a stonnin
disgrace to th' teawn ! Aren't yo a Stalybridge chap ? "

"Aw were born at Marsden."

" What, Marsden i' Yokshire ? Well, aw'll be hanged ! Heaw
con yo for shame to write Lancashire dialect ? "

"Aw conna tell," Sam laughed; "aw'm sure aw conna. But
it's late to start blamin me for that crime."

"There's no blame abeaut it," Ben says. "Yo'n done honour
to th' owd lingo. Why, bless yor heart, Misther Laycock, aw've
had some o' yor songs i' mi yead above thirty year ! "

" Well, it may be so. Aw havena mich opinion misel o' mi
writins, but someway they done seem to stick."

" Aw should think so ! Heawever mony poems han yo made
i' yor time ? "

"Abeaut four hundherd moore or less," Sam said, makin Ben's
meauth fly oppen wi wondher. Then th' poet oppen't his desk,
took eaut two pen-an'-ink dhrawins, an' said,

" These are views o' Marsden, an' this is my birthplace."

" Is it stonnin yet ? " aw axed, as we looked wi intherist at th'
weel-finished sketches.

"It is, aw believe, but aw dunna think it's tenanted neaw.
What would yo think sthruck me most abeaut that cottage th' last
time aw went to see it ? "

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 459

We could noather on us guess.

" What would yo think neaw ? "

" Nay ! " Ben says, " there's no reckonin yo poets up. Yo con
see things where there is nowt."

"What done yo say to th' owd reausty dur-sneck? When aw
set mi thumb on it to oppen th' cottage dur, that sneck brought
mony a tendher thowt into mi mind. Aw could see misel again a
toddlin lad, reachin up above mi yead to press that bit o' reausty
metal. Aw could see th' empty kitchen fill again wi th' forms o'
thoose aw loved. Aw kneel't again at mi mother's knee to say mi
simple prayers, lookin up into her face shinin i' th' fireleet like th'
face ov an angel, an' o mi childish fancies coome creawdin back.
Well, well ! Aw brought th' owd sneck away, an' wrote some lines
abeaut it, an' yo conna buy it for what it weighs i' gowd."

Ben coughed an' blew his nose, muttherin summat abeaut
bacca-smooke gettin into his e'en.

" Aw'm fain to yer 'at yo're comfortably off i' yor owd days,
Sam," aw said. " Yo'n done betther nor most poets."

" Aw'm very thankful, very ! Aw've had rough sailin i' mi
time, had a deal o' sickness to feight, an' known what poverty
means sadly too weel. But mi wants were awlus little, yo know,
an' so we've weathered th' storm an' anchored here in a safe an'
shelthered harbour. There's few happier folks nor me, friends.
Aw sit here in mi quiet room mony an heaur a day, readin mi
books, or just thinkin to misel ; turnin eaut for a walk when aw
feel to want a change. Then i' summertime aw thravel a deal —
into Wales, or among th' lakes, an' aw conna see what moore th'
richest mon alive could buy."

" Happen a contented mind's summat to do wi it," aw said.

" Well, that may be so."

" Aw guess yo keepen writin yet ? " Ben axed.

"Just a bit, just a bit. Sometimes a thowt comes into mi
mind, makin me restless till it's put into shape. But that's seldom
neaw — seldom. One o' these days aw'm thinkin to improve some
o' mi early pieces."

" What ! Yo wain't awther 'em, will yo ? " Ben axed.

" Well, well ! One con see certain things i' lookin back.
There's ' Bowton's Yard,' neaw, for one. Tak that verse abeaut
th' owd cobbler : —

' At number nine th' owd cobbler lives — th' owd chap 'at mends mi shoon,
He's gettin very weak an' done — he'll ha to leave us soon ;
He reads his Bible every day, an' sings just like a lark ;
He says he's practisin for heaven — he's welly done his wark.'

Neaw it seems to me there's a break in th' sense i' that last line —
Dur-sneck, door latch.

460 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

it hardly flows as aw should like it. There's that word ' welly,' too,
It's very owd-fashion't, yo know, an' doesna seaund so weel."

" Let it a-be, do ! " Ben says. " Aw've recited that piece mony
a time, an' wouldn't have it awther't for nowt."

" Aw may change mi mind yet," Sam said studyin. " Aw've
hardly decided what to do." He turned to me. " What would
yo advise ? "

" Same as Ben. Let yor wark ston — no petchin up con mend
it. Beside, it's public property, yo known ; an' yo may depend on
it th' owd words '11 last, heawever mich yo may awther 'em."

" Aw conna just satisfy misel. But aw'll think o' what yo've
said, an' may very likely tak yor advice yet."

" Yo'll make a mistake iv yo dunnot," aw said. " Aw con
quite undherstond 'at yor fine ear's never satisfied wi yor lines, but
very few folk are so sensitive. Yor fame's made an' sattl't — let it
rest. Yo'll keep everybody's honour an' respect whol yo're alive,
an' afther yo're dyead — may that be mony a long year off — aw con
tell yo what'll happen, iv yo'll let me awther some o' yor own
verses.

Creawds o' friends, 'at 's long loved thee so dear,

To that spot where tha'rt buried will throng ;
An' they'll say wi sad looks, ' Th' owd poet lies here,
Let's sing him a nice little song.'

Then they'll deck thi green grave wi wild fleawrs,

Pat it closer to keep thee reel warm :
An' they'll say as they leave thee alone a few heawrs,

1 Bless th' owd fellow, he's takkin no harm.'"

" Yo have it o planned aw hear," Sam said, wi his oppen smile.
" But aw'm i' no great hurry to be patted close, yet. Nowe,
nowe ! Life's a precious gift, an' not to be thrown heedless away.
Yo remind me neaw o' Shirley's poem abeaut death. Aw'll read
it for yo."

He geet a little book off his shelf an' read these fine verses in
a clear voice, givin expression to every point an' shade o' feelin.

" The glories of our blood and state

Are shadows — not substantial things ;
There is no armour against fate ;
Death lays his icy hand on kings :
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade :

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ;
But their strong nerves at last may yield ;
They tame but one another still :
Early or late
They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 461

The garlands wither on your brow ;

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ;
Upon Death's purple altar now

See where the victor-victim bleeds :
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb ;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust."

VI.

Aw darsay that's very grand," Ben says, gapin. " Heaw is it
these greight poets are olez thinkin abeaut their latther ends ?
Just read us one o' yor own, Misther Laycock, afore we gwone.
Aw con undherston yor wark, shuzheaw. Heaw did yo larn to
write poethry ? "

" Yo're axin me summat neaw," Sam said. " As far as aw con
bring to mind mi first lines were scribbl't on a cop-ticket some-
wheere about th' year 1850. Then aw wrote a little bit o' both
sides, an' kept on practisin when th' humour took me."

He read us two or three pieces. One began,

" Thank God for o these bonny fleawers

At groo abeaut one's feet !
For th' silv'ry moon an' th' million stars

'At shoine aboon at neet !
For rain an' dew, for sun an' shade,

An' th' stormy winds 'at blow !
For rays o' hope, an' snacks o' bliss,

An' drops o' grief an' o."

Another were a humorous piece, blowin th' Atlantic up for
misbehavin itsel an' weshin barrowfuls o' shingle onto Sam's dur-
step, startin off i' this style :

" Aw tell thee what, friend, tha's bin carryin on strangely ;
Tha's bin on for a bit of a marlock, aw think,
An' tha seems eaut o humour wi summat or other ;
What's to do wi thee, loike ? Hast bin havin some drink ? "

Another were aimed at a parson 'at'd preighched a sarmon to
show th' influenza were sent as a judgment. Sam sets abeaut his
ribs i' fine style, knocks o his notions to smithereens, an' finishes
up so:

" God is'nt a fiend, inventin pains ;
A tyrant, bindin slaves i' chains ;
Nor castin blight i' fertile plains,

Becose He's vex't ;

No ! ' God is good ;' we see His peawers
I' woods an' streams, i' fields an' fleawrs ;
This pratty world we live in's eawrs,

An' so is th' next."

" Yo don't seaund to have mich opinion o' parsons," Ben said,
wi a laugh. " Yo're as bad as me."

462 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" They want watchin. Yo see they're under-worked an' o'er-
paid, an' that's dangerous. Aw meet wi very few fit to howd th'
places they fill."

" Aw could find yo one," aw said. " What qualities done yo
look for in a good parson ? "

" Nay, that needs thought ! He should have clear judgment,
brode views, an' a warm heart, middlin o' scholarship wi wit
enough to use it reet ; he should be gam to buckle to at hard
practical wark, an' a personal friend ov everybody in his parish ;
his hond should olez be oppen when charity's wanted, so he should
have a good wage an' spend it weel. Wi thoose points a chap met
pass."

" They're good enough points," aw said, " though few folk 'at
thried to follow 'em close could live mony year, an' it's noane fair
to set that standhard up as th' average. But aw know one 'at
onswers to everything yo mention, an' moore. He left a big wage
for a less, an' gies most o' that away. He's a fine scholar, but
con use his brains just as iv he'd no larnin to sweigh 'em deawn.
Aw've known him set forty bigwigs at defiance, knockin 'em into
two score cocked-hats wi one sweep ov his pen, an' yerd him
apologise to a little dirty arrand-lad becose he'd kept th' young imp
waitin five minutes. One day he stons preighchin, i' London or
Oxford, to congregations o' brains, brass, an' breedin ; another
time yo'll see him hurryin through slutch an' stink to visit some
clemmin or sickly mon or woman in a leausy cellar hole. He
keeps his heause for other folk to use, an' feeds everybody 'at
comes. He cuts his creed to suit Christ's religion, lookin clear-
e'ed into th' soul o' things, an' never dhrems o' squeezin th' life
eaut o' religion to make it fit th' narrow coffin ov a creed. He
talks to full-groon folk or little babbies wi th' same yez, an' every-
body 'at yers him once wants to goo again. He couldn't tell a lie
iv he wanted "

" Give o'er ! Give o'er ! " Sam co'd eaut, breighkin my cata-
logue off. " Iv there is sich a parson livin — an' aw'm forced to
deaubt it — he mun have everybody's good word 'at comes near
him."

" Nay, not he ! some folk reckon nowt mich on him."

" That's sthrange ! "

" Happen so ; but it's simple enough to undherston, an'
nathural enough too. Short-seeted folk 'at cawn't look across
his wide-reighchin mind are like to be blynt to his greight aims.
Never dhremin on what a wide an' deep feaundation o' thruth an'
sense he's buildin up his church, they'll blame him for not co'in to
see 'em once a week, for bein to busy to cackle smo talk wi 'em,
for gettin too thick wi chapel-goers, for havin his pews too
creawded, for neglectin important jobs to chatther science or
classics wi his scholars, an' plenty moore sich rags an' scraps o'

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 463

faurt-findin — as iv he didn't know hissel what's important an' what
isn't. It matthers not a button, Sam, heaw noble a mon's mind is
nor heaw blameless his life — fleas '11 bite him ! What happen't to
St. Paul when he started preighchin brode religion an' sensible
ways o' livin ? "

" He geet stones cobbed at him," Sam said, quietly.

" Well, stone-throwin's against th' law just neaw ; but ony bowd
an' thrue mon aimin to blend th' little differences o' religious feelin
into some rezonable agreement con very soon make plenty ov
enemies yet ; an' iv wi summat ov a poet's e'e he looks twenty year
afore him, sthrivin to give th' world a shove forrad, he'll find hissel
i' wur throuble again."

"This is very dhry talk," Ben says. " There's nowt in it, an'
time's gettin on too. Surelee tha's lecthur't us enough for one
neet. We mun be shappin for off."

"We mun for sure," aw said, smoothin mi ruffl't fithers,
laughin at misel to find heaw warm aw'd getten o'er mi talk ;
so we jumped up, bid good neet to Sam, an' made off worn,
managin to sleep whol dayleet beaut havin to get up to feed.

Next mornin were very wet, wi signs o' thunner, but we started
off for a walk, an' londed i' Poulton toard noon, afther ramblin
through a lot o' green lones an' fields.

Neaw in that owd-fashion't little teawn aw've a friend co'd
Stephen Crossley 'at used to be a schoomaisther, an' so knows
a lot. We rooted him up, fund him smookin an' readin i' what he
co's his study, following th' fashion these college chaps han o'
kessenin their play-reawms, an' tempted him eautside to show us
reaund a bit.

Th' fresh air made him cough, for he seldom stirs eaut, likin
betther to ceawer in his arm-cheer wi a mouldy book undher his
nose; but afther practisin a bit he geet used to th' wynt, an'
shapped to seauk it in beaut damage.

Stephen's a long gawky chap wi a pimpl't face ; an' like tuthri
moore of his thrade he knows plenty o' facts, but shows little
knack o' gettin use or plezur eaut ov his knowledge. He were a
good while lookin for his e'eglasses an' glooves afore he'd start, an'
it sthruck me as quare he should want sich tackle to turn eaut in
when he didn't use it a worn ; but wi time an' patience we geet him
across th' durstep, past th' owd Bull aleheause, into th' cobble-
paved market square.

We looked at th' stocks, stone column an' whippin-stoop,
admired th' ancient heause fronts, sniffed th' owd-world cobwebby
savvour 'at feels to hang abeaut theere, an' then turned off for a
walk through t' counthry, to get a squint reaund th' neighbour-
hood.

We'd to make back afore long, freeten't ov a sthrong sheawer,
for th' sky put a very black sulky look on an' some big dhrops o'
weet fell.

464 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLECG.

" Aw thought it'd oather rain or brast in a bit," Ben says.
" Phew ! it's warm ! Wi this flat lond o' reaund us we're like
geese dancin on a wot oon-plate."

" Ha, ha ! " Stephen laughed in a dignified cackle. " A most
remarkable simile, upon my word ! I think no such figure of
speech would ever have occurred to me."

" Aw don't think it would," Ben says, very dhry, for he'd soon
fund eaut Stephen were noane oTer-weighted wi noather fancy nor
humour. " Does it occur to yo 'at a good aleheause met be useful
for hawve-an-heaur whol this thunner blows o'er?"

Crossley took th' hint an' soon londed us in one o' th'
comicalest shops ever aw seed. It stons near th' church, an'
looks like a divin-bell reared again a pigeon-cote, a thick coverin
o' thatch roofin o in. We geet inside wi some bendin an' dodgin
undher bare byems, t' schoomaisther's silk hat showin itsel badly
i' th' road, an' fund two reawms like ship cabins, wi a kitchen
tacked on behinnd.

Aw sperred off th' lonlord iv he wouldn't rayther have a good
slate o'er his yead, nor a bundle o' sodden sthraw.

" No," he says. " I wouldn't like to disturb th' old thatch.
It's been taken care on bi my family for four generations, an' we
wont put it out o' t' rooad now. It's cool i' summer an' warm i'
winter, an' satisfies us well, though it comes expensive to keep
right and sound."

There's olez summat comfortable abeaut these owd-fashion't
heauses. Whether it's becose th' woles are built so thick, or owin
to th' air bein charged wi some exthract fro long years o' good
livin an' leet-hearted fun, or becose yo mostly find dacent folk
keepin sich places an' bringin eaut good meight an' dhrink, aw
don't reckon to sattle ; but th' fact is so, past a deaubt.

Rain fell fast eautside, swillin again th' steaut woles 'at shel-
thered us, but little we cared for rain or wynt. We'd no fear o'
gettin weet, packed inside that solid masonwark. Pipes coome
eaut, ale were co'd for, an heaur flew afore we'd time to miss it.

We yerd 'at one o' th' church ringers lived theere, so we axed
for him, fund him a sociable young chap, an' persuaded him to
borrow th' church keigh an' show us reaund when t' weather
cleared up. That happened afore long. Th' heavy rain stopped,
t' thunner-shocks rowlt away fur north, owd Sol showed his breet
face again, like a policeman peepin eaut afther a row's o'er.

We walked across to th' church, a little grey-stone, square-
teawer't buildin. This teawer seems owdher nor t'other part, an'
it's noane finished stonnin yet, for th' woles are good four feet
thick. Ben said somebry mut ha rear't it soon afther t' Flood, an'
wanted to make sure it wouldn't be swilled away ; but another
Rachda chap 'at's bin preawlin abeaut that neighbourhood, an'

Oon-plate, oven-plate.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 465

con talk wi moore authority nor Ben, puts it nearer th' Civil War
time. He's shown us some samples o' th' churchwardens' accounts,
too — sichlike as these :

s. d.

1764, July 8. — To a bottle of wine to a strange parson 2 6

1765,001. 20. — Mr. Loxham, for a prayer o 2

Dec. 25. — Spent receiving parson I 6

I774> Juty 4- — Spent on Parson Eccleston and another
strange parson — one read prayers and

the other preached 3 6

1805, June 9. — To expenses to Church Town, when John
Santer, clerk, convicted himself in get-
ting drunk, and Timothy Swarbrick for
making him drunk (when they were
fined each 55. ) I 6

John should ha minded betther nor so ; but it were happen a
dhry summer, an' it's evident Timothy were havin a marlock at th'
clerk's expense.

Parsons were chep a hundherd year sin, seeminly, when folk
could get two at once for 1/9 apiece ; an' prayers at twopence con
hardly be reckoned dear. Prices han gwone up sin' thoose days.

We turned in at th' belfry dur an' climbed up some dark
windin steps, where we felt like midges crawlin up a narrow cork-
screw. There's six bells, packed together into very little reawm,
lookin wi their wood wheels like a lot ov hond spinnin jennies.

We hearken't a short lecthur on bell-ringin, wi a separate
histhory ov every bell theere ; then, climbin tuthri moore steps,
we geet eautside onto th' flat teawer top, an' fund o' th' Fylde lyin
undher us level an' pralty. Fro Fleetwood to Preston, fro Black-
pool to Bleasdale Moors, wondherin e'en con range, findin beauty
on o sides ; for iv this flat counthry's less romantic an' brokken
nor some it's noane wantin i' good looks ov it own, an' aw'll
guarantee it to be betther for walkin o'er nor havin so mony broos
to climb.

Aw wondher iv Milton ever crawl't up to that church top. Iv
he didn't where did he see this ? —

" Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
While the landscape round it measures ;
Russet lawns, and fallows grey,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest,
Meadows trim, with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide."

Broo, brow, a steep slope.

FF

466 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

VII.

u Iv we'd nobbut a telescope we could see o' t' road worn, aw do
believe ! " Ben said. " Sithee at owd Wyre, here, wandherin o'er
th' sond as unconsarn't as iv nowt were ! Aw ne'er felt so stuck
up i' mi life ! "

Th' air were clear an' fresh afther t' storm, an' a warm, damp
smell rose fro th' weet swilled meadows, shinin clen an' breet.

" Pilling Moss lies over here," Stephen said, sthretchin his long
arm toard t' north. " Seagulls breed there in immense numbers.
Yonder is Weeton, with its Roman road and British cairns ; and
Kirkham, where the Thirty Sworn Men used to sit in council.
Over here, more to the south, is Wrea Green, where the Kibble
can be forded to Hesketh Bank. They have a free school at
Wrea Green, endowed by a working tailor."

" He were betther off nor most journeymen," aw said.

" Tradition says his wages were fourpence a day in addition to
food."

" Then he mun ha bin a teetotaller," Ben says, " an' th' first
ever aw yerd on among tailors. But o honour to him, whatever
he were. Larnin's a good linin for ony mak o' yeads."

" Many old customs linger in these villages," t' schoomaisther
went on, happen fain to air his knowledge a bit. " The inhabi-
tants are a primitive race of people, not above believing in ghosts
or practising magic on All Hallows night. Here in Poulton, even,
we still ring the curfew bell."

" The dickens yo done ! " aw co'd eaut, capped for once i' mi
life at ony rate. " That's a corker ! Why that custom mun be
eight hundherd year owd."

" Yes. William the Conqueror instituted it, and he ascended
the throne in 1066, at the age of thirty-eight, dying in 1087."

Aw turned to th' ringer, axin heaw this curfew were rung, an'
he towd us as weel as he could.

" We ring it on the tenor bell. First we raise it and then lower
it, if you know enough of ringing to understand that."

" Nay ! " aw said, " ringin talk's o Chinese to me, an' likely to
stop so. Aw know too mony languages neaw, an' aw'll spend what
tuthri year aw may have left i' thryin to larn wit."

He set too, then, explainin heaw th' bell swung in it frame,
heaw sometimes it went " Tong ! " an' othersome " Tingle-ingle ! "
but aw couldn't gawm it.

" As it happens aw've bin readin o'er Conquerin Billy this last
week or two," Ben said to th' schoomaisther. "Aw've fund him
eaut. Tell us what yo known abeaut him."

So Crossley set to, givin us a long list o' names, dates, an' facts,
wi no moore feelin or imagination abeaut 'em nor could be
crommed into a nutshell.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 467

" Ah ! " Ben gaped when th' lesson were o'er. " Yo known a
lot, but yor talk's very dhry."

" You will find my statements accurate."

" Oh ! aw don't dispute that. Yo're particlar to a shade,
different to Sim o' th' Brook when he whiteweshed his garden
rails becose he were eaut o' green paint. Aw'm noane to a year
or so misel, nor o'er anxious to measure things up to th' sixteent
ov an inch, but aw could paint a wicker likeness o' Billy nor yo're
shappin to do."

" Proceed then, by all means," Crossley said, lookin as iv he
expected havin some sport. " But endeavour to be correct in
your statements."

So we sit deawn on th' battlements like three bantams on a
rail, an' Ben started yardin off.

" Neaw," he says, " what mak ov a brid were this greight
sodier-king ? Aw con tell yo, an' bowdly. He were a short, fat,
pompious chap, wi plenty o' muscle ; so snappy-temper't 'at nobry
durst speighk to him hardly, so ill-marred as to want everything
he seed, so thoughtless ov other folk 'at he desarved dhreawnin.
He hadn't even law-reel to his fayther's name, though it's hardly
fair to blame him for that — an' it's abeaut th' only thing connected
wi him 'at aw cawn't find faurt wi."

"Come, tha'rt gooin it!" aw put in, as he stopped to fot breath.
" Aw s' begin thinkin tha'rt noane so fond on him afore long."

" Noane so fond on him ! Fond ov a mon 'at could use folk
as he did ? It were Billy 'at passed th' forest laws, doomin a
chap to have his e'en plucked eaut for deer steighlin. Another
time some ov his own rapscallions rose against him, so he cut 'em
a foot apiece off. Then he bored a hole slap through another
chap wi a wotyel. What mak o' wark's that ? "

" You must consider the habits of those barbarous days."

" Habits be hanged ! Iv it'd bin yor foot yo'd a wanted to
keep it on, iv it'd bin as thick wi corns as nicks in a thimble, shuz
what time o' th' day it happen't to be. There's no scuse for a chap
carryin on so. Why ! weren't it th' same vagabond 'at laid o Yok-
shire bare wi red steel an' blazin faggot ? An' heaw abeaut that
New Forest job — sweepin every bit o' property into rack an' ruin
fro Winchesther to th' sayside ? Aw tell yo th' fayberry-e'ed scamp
cared for nowt but gam-presarvin an' gettin everything into his
fingers ! Look when he dee'd — that shows ! He'd to lie ever so
long afore onybody'd pike him up — so fond they were on him !
Like o sich bullyraggers he mostly geet his own road whol he
were livin, an' cost no tears when he gave o'er."

" Why, Ben ! " aw said, chucklin at him, " tha'rt gettin thisel
into a rare tanthrum abeaut nowt."

" Nowt ? " Ben axed, disgusted. " Dost co that nowt ? "

Wotyel, an iron rod or spindle made red-hot.

468 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" Nowt at o ! Billy's dyead, an' it matthers not a button to us
what he did — we should ha bin weighvers onyheaw."

" Well, it's summat iv that's nowt," Ben grunted. " Aw'm
loath to think it ov an owd friend, but aw raylee deaubt tha'rt loisin
intherist i' greight questions. Let's be gettin toard worn again iv
tha'rt for makin thisel disagreeable. Iv tha'd happen't to live
i' one o' th' cottages Billy's sodiers brunt — londin worn i' th'
dinner-heaur, happen, to find thi thatch blazin, thi wife an' childher
yeawlin i' th' croft, o' thi bits o' pots an' sticks mashed up — tha'd
ha thought it summat, aw'll bet ! What say'n yo, schoomaisther?"

" You appear to have a somewhat vivid conception of history.
These facts have not presented themselves to my mind before in
precisely the same way. I must inform you, however, that imagin-
ation is a dangerous faculty to indulge, very often running away
with our more solid reasoning and calculating powers."

" Ne'er mind abeaut that," Ben said. " It's noane likely to
run away \\\yo, that's one comfort — yo're rayther too solid for owt
o' that mak. What art studyin o'er, owd oysther ? "

He fot me a slap on th' back, so aw said,

" Aw were nobbut just thinkin heaw yezzy it is to blacken a
chap's charicther ; speshly when he's dyead an' cawn't talk back.
Iv Billy could speighk for hissel he'd soon put a different look on
these things tha'rt 'busin him for."

" Aw could happen plez misel whether aw believed him or not,"
Ben mutther't. " He'd have his finger to weet afore aw took his
word for mich."

" Well, there's two things he desarves credit for, an' iv he'd
ne'er done nowt else woth mentionin thoose two should be enough
to keep him i' memory. He made a registher ov o th' lond in
his kingdom, an' it's a theausan pities thoose 'at coome afther him
didn't follow that good example."

" There's a lot o' young turnies i' Rachda 'at wain't agree wi'
that," Ben says. " Tha'rt for takkin th' biggest slice o' their livins
off 'em at a slap. But aw s' ne'er believe Billy had wit enough to
think o' that cliver dodge hissel. Somebry towd him."

" We're sure it couldn't be done beaut his knowledge an' con-
sent, shuzheaw ; so let him have his share o' th' credit."

"And what other creditable act do you attribute to him?"
Crossley axed, ready to dhrop heavy on mi corns iv aw made a
slip, an' feelin, no deaubt, iv we'd nobbut his stores o' fact we met
talk."

" He invented magistrates."

" What credit is there abeaut that ? " Ben axed, laughin. " Set
three cotton maisthers to judge a doffer, an' see what'll happen."

'Ruxin, abusing.

Do/er, lad employed in a cotton mill to doff or remove the full bobbins
from the throstle frame and replace them by empty ones.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 469

" Set three doffers to settle a cotton maisther," aw said, " an'
see what'll happen then. Aw tell thee King Billy did weel to
invent thoose useful self-actin mindhers, an' little as he thought it
were plannin for th' comfort o' thee an' me to-day. So heaw neaw,
Misther Benjamin."

" Give o'er, do ! " Ben said. " Iv we gwone on at this rate
tha'll be thracin policemen back to th' Conquest, or some sich
twaddle."

" There'd be little throuble abeaut that. Billy invented
Justices — Justices patented watchmen — policemen are nobbut
watchmen pipeclayed an' polished. Crossley here con give thee
facts an' dates in a crack to show th' connection."

"Unquestionably I can," says Crossley, jumpin at sich a
chance o' showin off his larnin, plappin away for twenty minutes
abeaut Sir Robert Peel, Magna Charta, Common Pleas, Court
Leets, an' o' maks. He'd very likely ha bin gooin on yet iv we'd
letten him, but Ben broke him off."

" Yo're weel up, maisther," he says, " but con yo tell me heaw
thoose courts coome to be co'd leet when th' officers are olez sich
steaut heavy weel-fed chaps ? "

T' schoomaisther stared, lost t' thread of his tale, an' gav it
up, just what Ben had wanted him to do, so we scrambl't deawn
th windin stairs again, looked reaund th' church, fund eaut 'at th'
organist were blint Renshaw fro Rachda teawn, an' then went back
to th' divin bell for some baggin.

They brought us ham an' eggs wi sallet thrimmins, an' wi made
shift wi that for once, as th' turtle an' venison were off.

" Eh ! " Ben says, when his appetite slacken'! a bit, " this pig-
flesh reminds me ov a tale abeaut some stown bacon."

" Howd on ! " aw said. " No tales ! We made a bargain,
recollect ! "

" Aw mun just tell yo this — it's nobbut a little un, an' we're
beaun worn to-morn."

" By all means let us have the story," Stephen put in.

" Well," aw said, " have thi own stupid road, Ben ; but think
on it's at thi own responsibility this conthract's brokken, an' tha
mun ston o law charges, hereditaments, an' consequences o' that
mak."

" Gullook ! Well, this happen't i' Lower Shore a good while
sin'. There used to be a barber theere 'at dabbl't i' magic, an'
were reckon't a bit ov a witch. Aw forget his name — co him
Lother. One o' th' neighbours had a side o' bacon stown, so th'
barber were applied to for help.

' Heaw long had this bacon bin cured ? ' he axed, when he'd
yerd th' case laid deawn, so th' neighbour towd him they'd nobbut
just getten it eaut o' th' saut.

1 Which side o' th' kitchen were it hung on — lift or reel ? '

470 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

' Why,' th' neighbour said, considherin, ' that like depends
which road yo're stonnin. Iv yo stood facin th' fire it'd be on th'
reet side.'

' Ah ! Hum ! Just so ! ' th' wizart says, wi a finger to his
foryead. 'Yo happen didn't notice what angle it made bi th'
north star?'

' Not aw indeed. We just hung th' flitch up an' left it. Aw
know nowt abeaut angles, an' aw'm fast what pigs han to do wi th'
stars.'

1 Ah ! Oh ! Quite so ! ' th' wizart says, lookin as fawse as he
could. ' Aw'll consult mi magic glass.'

This were a square o' lookin glass he kept to carry on his
dodgin thricks ; so he looked, but could see nowt nobbut hissel.

' Yo mun co again in abeaut an heaur an' thirteen minutes,' he
said. 'Th' spirits are noane just ready, an' aw'd betther have a
private conference wi 'em.'

So th' neighbour went off. Just as he geet to th' dur Lother
co'd afther him in a very unconsarn't style,

'Who doesta suspect?'

' Nay !' th' chap says; 'aw coome here a-larnin that for owt as
aw knew.'

' Oh ! Um ! Ah ! ' th' barber said. ' There's summat i' that.
Co again ! Co again ! '

Afther a while th' neighbour co'd, an' Lother said he'd fund t'
thief. He dursen't tell his name, but th' scamp should brun
afore midneet shuz who he were.

Well, this were o reaund th' village in hawve-an-heaur, for
plenty were waitin to know what th' conjuror met say. T' thief
yerd th' news among t' other folk, an' started itchin first thing.
He were an owd chap on th' moorend, an' were thinkin o' gettin
his wife to fry a collop o' th' stown pig for their suppers. His
itchin geet wur, an' he broke into a cowd sweat.

' It mun be a rash comin eaut,' he said to his wife. ' Aw ne'er
felt this road afore.'

'Eh, iv it should be thrue tha'rt witched !' th' owd woman said.
' Tha did tak th' bacon, tha knows.'

' Aw darn't chance it,' th' rogue says, thremblin, turnin up his
sleeve an' findin his arm grooin red. 'Tak th' bacon worn again,
Mary, for it's nobbut nine o' t' clock, an' aw'm wottenin bi neaw.' "

Stephen didn't see th' joke, an' we ne'er bother't explainin it to
him. We kept him company a while an' then slipped back to
Blackpool bi thrain, finishin th' holiday up wi a quiet neet awom.

Firth went back to Preston that neet, wur eaut o' love wi
teetotalism nor ever, makin us laugh to see a chap so discontented
becose he were doin weel.

Wottenin, growing hotter and hotter.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 471

"I can't stand this any longer," he said at partin. "I'm
determined to start in business again if it costs me every penny I
have. But for the invention of printing, Ben Franklin's wise saws,
and this confoundedly appetising climate I should have been a
happy man. As it is I am a wreck."

We wished him weel, thinkin he looked i' tidy fettle, wrecked
or not, an' seed no moore on him.

VIII.

When we geet up next mornin Ben brasted two buttons off his
singlet wi thryin to festen it.

"Come!" aw said, "It's as weel we're beaun worn again, or
tha'd want some tucks lettin eaut o' thi clooas. Dost feel ony
betther for thi holiday ? "

" Well, aw think there's happen some improvement on th' whol,
but aw wish this skin wouldn't keep pillin off mi nose. Aw'm
brunt to th' colour ov owd mahogany very near."

" Ne'er mind," aw said. " Tha'll soon be white again when we
getten to Rachda. We s' noather get sunbrunt nor o'er-groon
theere. Aw believe we'n gained abeaut hawve-a-stone weight
apiece this week ; so whether there's owt here or nowt we're takkin
moore back wi us nor we brought."

Ben looked at me rayther sheepish as he thried to make his
jacket meet reaund his middle, but he'd to give it up — th' button
wouldn't catch bi hawve-an-inch.

" Lev it loase," aw said. " Tha'll festen it yezzy enough in a
day or two. Arta feelin as hungry as ever?"

" Aw could eight a three-legged stoo very near. Let's see iv
yon breakfast's ready yet."

So we went deawn, fund a weel-filled table, an left it as bare as
Mother Hubbart's shelf.

" We'll just slip deawn an' have a word wi yon gipsies afore we
gwone worn, Ben," aw said when th' breakfast were ended. " It'll
put time on as weel as owt."

"Nay!" Ben grunted, "there's nowt woth gooin for. They're
nobbut a lot ov idle, dirty scamps 'at'll pay noather rent nor taxes.
Dost want thi fortin tellin or summat?"

" Nowe ; mine's towd long sin. Tha knows nowt abeaut these
wandherin folk, aw yer, or tha'd have moore respect for their wit.
Idle or not, they'n sense enough to live undher th' oppen sky, shap
beaut docthors, an' keep theirsel wick whol they getten to be a
hundherd year owd. Tha's never studied their lingo aw reckon?"

" Aw raylee wondher what tha'll ax me next," Ben said, fillin
his pipe. " Iv aw haven't enough wark to addle a livin it's a pity,
beaut makin mi yead mazy wi sich gibberidge as that."

" Dost know John Bunyan were a gipsy?"

"Geroff!"

472 WORKS OF JOHN tRAFFORD CLEGG.

" He said hissel, ' My father's house was of that rank which is
meanest and most despised of all the families of the land.' What
con that myen but gipsies ? Beside, he were a tinker, and that's
enough to sattle it."

" Give o'er !" Ben co'd eaut. "Tha's olez some mak o' foolish-
ness i' thi yead. Talk abeaut summat else."

" Come thee on," aw said. " Aw'm curious to see iv this gang's
what it reckons to be or nobbut a makeshift. Come an' yer me
talk Romany to 'em — it'll make thi yure curl."

" Tha con talk Smobridge to 'em happen. Iv tha con make
thisel undherstood bi these folk i' their own cackle aw'll gallantee
to buy thee "

" Be careful, neaw ! "

" To buy thee — to buy — well ! say hawve-an-eaunce o' funeral
bacca."

" Done ! " aw said, clappin him on th' back. " It's a bargain !
Iv yon are gradely gipsies aw'll enchant thi ears wi discourse, an'
like a fairy make thee twirl abeaut yon sondy green. Why, mon !
aw could olez patther tinker's shelta an' slang ov Egypt fro mi
youth up. It'll be five-an'-twenty year sin' aw read George
Sorrow's quare books, but they're fast fixed i' mi yead yet. Aw
con see his wild scholar muttherin Sanscrit on London Bridge or
sittin at his baggin i' th' dingle when he'd knocked th' big tinker's
e'en up an' stown his sweetheart. See him ! Ah ! As plain as iv
aw'd met him yestherday. There's no moore life-like figures to be
fund i' English writins nor owd George's."

" Well, it may be as tha reckons," says Ben ; " but be it so or
be it sonot aw carenot a button shank. Come on, iv tha'rt for
gooin."

We started for t' Seauth Shore, londed among th' sond hills,
an' ploughed forrad to th' gipsy camp. We passed a chap wi
summat ov a rovin look abeaut him, playin wi a dog, an' Ben gav
me a nudge.

" This is one on 'em," he whisper't. " Have a shot at him."

So aw stopped an' said, " Sar shan ?" to th' fellah.

"Eh !" he says, lookin up.

" That seems a tidy jookal. He's a cooshko yok."

Th' chap geet mad abeaut summat o in a minute. " I'll tell
you what it is, old party," says he, puttin a doubl't fist close to mi
nose-end; "if you give me any more of this bloomin kid I'll
bloomin well knock your bloomin head off!"

He turned away wi th' dog at his heels, levin Ben brastin wi
laughin, an' me feelin potther't a bit, thinkin to misel they were
noane o Egyptians 'at could be fund on gipsy greaund.

"Ne'er mind, owd brid !" Ben said, hardenin me on to make
a bigger foo o' misel. "There's a lass comin neaw 'at's gipsy
enough. Look at her fine eardhrops an' gowd rings! Thry again."

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 473

" Let me tell your fortunes, pretty gentlemen," th' young woman
said, comin up to us, lookin as fine as a queen in her green silk
frock an' breet-colour't shawl. " I can read the past, present and
future by a look at your hands."

" Pookker the tatchipen, Romany chye " (tell the truth, gipsy
girl), aw said, fairly on mi mettle neaw, an' gam to talk owt fro
Hebrew to Hopscotch. "Heaw mich for a booty barvellopen ? "
(rich fortune).

Hoo stared an' said "Aye!" in a wondherin road, turnin on
her heel as iv inclined to bowt.

"Here's a shokorry," aw said, howdin a sixpence eaut. "Will
that buy cooshto bok (good luck) or tha wants moore ?"

"Aye !" hoo said again, showin two rows o' white teeth. "You
know !" an' wi a wave o' th' hond hoo were gwone, levin us gawpin
at one another.

" Aw'll tell thee what," Ben says, "tha'll freeten some o' these
folk eaut o' their wits wi thi jabber afore we getten back into
English again. But aw believe yon jade knows what tha myent."

Aw believed so misel, an' began thinkin th' gipsies were noane
forced to tell o they knew to every chance comer. We walked on
through th' camp, seein nowt very wondherful, went as far as owd
Ned's tent, an' were turnin back again when a dashin young horse-
man throtted up. He were smartly donned in a black velveteen
jacket, wi ribbed breeches fittin his shanks like a skin; a bunch o'
black curls hung on his breawn foryead, sthragglin fro undher his
soft wide-flanged billycock; his e'en were black, restless, just
abeaut t' thirty-second part ov a line eaut o' plumb ; his nose big
an; sthraight, his jaw square, his top-lip full, his teeth white an'
seaund ; he sit his roan mare like some figure dhropped eaut ov a
picther, as honsome an' good temper't a mon as needs to be met.

In a twinkle he'd jumped deawn, teed his horse to th' rails,
poo'd th' saddle off, an' were makin toard Ned's tent when aw
spoke to him.

"Sar shan, Romany dial?" (How are you, gipsy man?)

" Cooshko divvus, pal " (good day, brother), he said, stoppin to
look at us. " Who taught you to rokker Romany ?"

" Aw've had plenty o' teighchers — Leland, Borrow, Simson, an'
plenty moore beside."

" Maybe you're a lavengro ? " (word master), th' gipsy said.

" Hardly that."

" At any rate you're a kairengro (house-dweller), by the look of
your skin."

" That's thrue, an' a loomengro beside, iv tha knows what that
is. Tha'll not belong to this thribe, aw think ?"

" Kekker (no), gorgio."

" Which then ? Boswell or Taylor, Heren or Lovell?"

474 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

" I am Lemuel Heren."

He said that like a mon sure his name nobbut needed to be
yerd to be known.

" Aw've met Herens afore neaw in Yokshire dingles," aw said,
" an' fund three grase-knots planted i' mony a windin lone. Tha'll
be fro th' big county thisel, happen ?"

" Awer (yes). I have galloped from Strensall on my cooshto
grye (good horse) there, to visit Romany Ned by the boro-pani
(great water). Now there's a grye, gorgios ! There's a yok (eye)
for the wind and a foot for the rom (road) ! "

" It's a pratty horse, for sure," says Ben, takkin o in, " an'
would be shuz what tha co'd it. ' Grye,' is it, weighver ? Aw
con think on o' that ? Aw'm larnin — aw'm larnin ! "

" Buy her ! " says young Heren, th' hope ov a bargain leetin
his dark e'en. "Thirty pounds for her as she stands, and we'll
spend a color (guinea) for luck-penny."

" Aw feel i' no thradin humour this mornin," aw said. " Beside,
my stable's abeaut full. Happen mi mate here con accommodate
thee. Yov's a posh-horry undher his woodrus." (He's a half-
penny under his bed.)

" Aw never reckon to buy nowt nobbut thoroughbreds," Ben
said, very solidly.

Heren laughed, sayin we were noane sich pappeneys (geese) as
we looked, rayther a lift-honded mak ov a compliment, an' went
his road, seein there were no business to be done.

" What abeaut that bacca, Ben ? " aw said.

" Oh ! tha's won it fair enough. Some neet when we'n time
aw'll tak a lesson off thee i' this gibberidge, for iv ever there were
a language fit to cure toothwartch this is it."

That Romany gang seems to make a profitable job eaut o'
fortin tellin, fishin, knife-grindin, tinkerin, an' sichlike thraditional
gipsy roads ov addlin a livin. Th' owd greenwood days are o'er
for 'em, th' ancient rovin habits at an end, an' t' gronchildher o'
this generation '11 be civilised ratepayers very likely. For nearly
four hundherd year these dark-skinned folk han travell't up an'
deawn England, but they'n never larn't th' English habit o' makin
slaves o' theirsel for brass. Gettin th' best o' summer weather,
lyin close through winther time, doin just wark enough to keep
theirsel wick, never bother't bi rents, taxes, nor physic, it looks to
me a question iv we're as mich wiser nor gipsy folk as we reckon
to be. Iv they're noane book-larn't they could put scholars up to
a wrinkle or two; iv their property's little their care's less; iv they
leven no gowd for their childher they hond deawn to 'em full reet
an' liberty to wandher as they will through t' length an' breadth o'
this bonny island, together wi bodies ov iron an' leather warranted
not to wear eaut i' mich less nor ninety year.

BLACKPOOL NOWTS. 475

We left th' camp, walking past a choice collection o' pop-bottle
stonnins, dog kennels an' chicken cotes, pushin forrad bi th razzle-
dazzle to mix wi white folk again on th' promenade ; an mi spirits
dhropped as they will do on th' last day ov a holiday. Happen
young Lemuel had summat to do wi it, for aw couldn't help thinkin
ov his bowd figure flyin across moor an' common on his beauncin
grye, -a hawve-tamed jookal barkin at his heels, nowt but shustys
or groovnys (rabbits or cattle) to disturb him, th' world his own, a
boro-rye (gentleman) hissel, an' his wife — iv he had one — a rawnee
(lady); an' accordin to my notions, Rachda sthreets an' facthries
made a poor picther compar't wi that sunleet view.

"Come on, Ben," aw said. "It's time to be shappin toard
worn, for aw'm gettin deawn i' t' meauth."

" Tha'll get up again," says Ben. " Aw feel rayther soory we're
gooin back so soon — I'm like just gettin brokken in to th' spot."

Heawever, back we went soon on i' th' afthernoon, nowt no
moore happenin to us. Th' lonlady gav us a cake o' throdkin
apiece, nicely lapped i' papper an' lookin just like two tambourines,
for a partin present ; an' we shook honds wi th' cheerful honest
little woman, promisin to come again.

Th' journey back were middlin short, but met ha bin moore
comfortable ; becose we'd six childher, four tin boxes, thirteen
papper parcels an' a long-hondled fishin net i' th' carriage wi us,
beside seven groon-up folk; an' bwoth Ben an' me took moor
reawm up nor we should ha done a week afore. We londed safe
enough, climbed up to Cronkeyshay once again, an' theere we
parted.

" Neaw Ben," aw said, " afore aw lev thee there's one very
sayrious question aw mun ax, an' aw press thee on th' credit ov a
gradely mon to pookker tatchipen."

"Pookker be hanged!" he said. "What is it tha wants to
know?"

" Is there owt at Blackpool or nowt?"

" Nowt particlar. Heaw mony times mun aw tell thee yet ! "

" Well, neaw, tha cross-grain't owd turmit, just reckon up o thi
chep thrips, an' tell me heaw mony tha's liked betther nor this?"

Ben stared at me, scrat his yead a minute, thinkin forty picks
to th' inch.

" Bi th' mass, tha'rt reel ! Aw ne'er had a less taydious little
eaut i' mi life ! But there's nowt i' Blackpool."

M

OWD JOSEPH.

I godfayther had getten owd

When first aw seed his face ;
His yure were white, his blood ran cowd,
He're stowin i' life's race.

Tall, thin, his cheeks weel-dhried an' shrunk

He stood up like a dart,
Wi thoughtsome foryead, een deep-sunk,

An' kindness in his heart.

He slubbed at Cherrick's, paid his road,

Lived happy wi his wife,
Wi sthraight-set feet he olez throde

I' th' clenest thracks o' life.

He'd ne'er no childher, so aw geet

O th' love he'd saved an' kept,
For whol mi kessen't yead were weet

Into his heart aw crept.

A year-owd chilt, aw totther't reaund,

His finger i' mi grip,
An' through his bit o' garden-greaund

Soon larn't to run an' skip.

Theere daisies red an' white he grew,

Wi ladslove clumped between,
Pyert marigowds an' lupins blue,

An' sallet tendher-green.

Theere oft he's ta'en me on his knees,

Tellin me nursery tales ;
Larn't me to catch gowd butterflees,

An' heaw to freeten snails.

Neaw breek-built woles ston thick an' hee
Where once that garden smil't,

But th' fleawery plot's as plain to me
As when aw were a chilt.

What pride aw felt when first sent eaut

To tak his breakfast deawn !
Wi shinin can an' teed-up cleaut

Aw swagger't o through th' teawn.

OWD JOSEPH.

OWD JOSEPH. 477

What thrills o' bliss shot through me when

On th' billy aw'd a ride !
Sich thrills as aw've ne'er known again,

Though swifther wheels aw've thried.

That facthory's stopped an' empty neaw,

Aw pass it every day !
Through woles an' windows, dark an' feaw,

Keen memory makes a way.

Th' owd wayther-wheel sets off full wap,

Th' owd oily smell's unspent,
An' olez stons that good owd chap

Above his slubbins bent.

At four year owd aw'd fatten't eaut,

Mi yure hung straight an' snod,
An' rainbow-like aw frisked abeaut

I' frock o' Heelan plod.

So fine aw looked, owd Joseph geet

Mi picther ta'en i' th' teawn ;
An' neaw, shuz wheere aw shift mi feet,

Wi me that picther's beaun.

It shows an owd good-lookin mon,

Wi sunken cheek an' e'e ;
An' fast asleep, wi th' frock new on,

Aw'm cradl't on his knee.

When th' fine owd chap that likeness bought,

Mi plods an' beef to show,
Aw guess it never sthruck his thought

He'd ta'en hissel an' o.

So weel he liked mi childish ways

Together we mut be ;
An' when his wife deed, full o' days,

He'd nobry nobbut me.

Some stock o' Sethurdays we went

For counthry walk or ride,
Some Sundays in his heause aw've spent,

Some dinners helped to side.

So for awhile through th' world we passed,

Samples o' young an' owd,
An' then poor Joseph coome to th' last,

So they laid him eaut o' th' cowd.

Snod, smooth.

478 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Dyeath freetn't noane ov him, he geet

His weary bwons to bed ;
He smil't an talked to us at neet,

I' th' mornin he were dyead.

Friendship like eaurs con ston some wear,
It's taugh an" thick i' th' crust ;

On one side thoughtful love an' care,
On t'other simple thrust.

It's like to last my time, shuzheaw,
For that first, long-lost friend

Howds lodgins i' mi yeadpiece neaw,
An' frames to do whol th' end.

Iv ever we should meet up yon,
Th' owd chap '11 feel some sad ;

He waint be awther't, but, bi th1 mon,
He'll never know his lad !

This scanty yure — these whiskers grey —
Eh dear ! heaw time flies reaund !

Is this th' fat chilt 'at used to play
In th' square o' garden greaund.

Yet there's no deaubt we're bund to be
Friends whol we'n peawer to feel ;

For Joseph olez did like me,
An' aw've loved him some weel.

A SARMON FOR DICK.

MY youngest lad coome cryin in,
Makin a miserable din,

At baggin-time last neet ;
" What's up, mi little mon ?" aw said,
But Dicky nobbut wagged his yead,
An' fro his skyblue dayleets shed

Big dhrops o' blindin weet.

" Fayther," he says when th' sobs were still,
" Aw've sin a sect 'at's made me crill ;

Aw wish yo'd just bin reaund !
Some lads were cobbin stones, an' knocked
A swallow neest, wi young uns stocked,
Fro th' gable end— reet deawn it socked,
Bang onto th' stony greaund !

T' brids had no fithers on — they rovvl't
Abeaut fro side to side, an' yeawl't

Becose they couldn't fly ;
Then t' lads set to an' punced 'em weel,
As iv th' poor skrikers couldn't feel,
Threighdin 'em deawn wi red clog-heel,

An' that's what made me cry.

They grund an' rubbed "em into th' greaund,
Whol nobbut blood an' nast lee reaund

Where th' brokken neest had fo'n ;
Then off they scutther't at full speed,
An' soon on t' yezin-throff aw seed
Th' owd swallows dhrop, wi worms to feed

Their childher dyead an' gwone.

Aw'd watched thoose swallows mony a day
Buildin their neest wi slutch an' hay,

An' yerd 'em twitther sweet
When th' heause were done an' stuck to th' wole,
Weel stuffed wi cotton wool they stole,
Wi just one little window hole

To let 'em in at neet.

They twitther't, looked o reaund, an' clung
To th' breeks where t' little neest had hung,

Then deawn to th' greaund they flew,
Chirpin wi sich heart-wartchin din
Reaund th' spot wheere, daubed an' throdden in
Th' red slutch, some bits o' wool an' skin

Showed what had bin to do.

Yezin-throff, easing or rain trough.

480 WORKS OF JOHN TRAFFORD CLEGG.

Aw watched whol aw could ston no moore,
So theere aw left 'em bwoth on th' floor,

An' theere they'll stop an' fret ;
Aw know thoose lads — they live deawn t' sthreet ;
Let's tell th' policeman on that beat ;
He'll lock 'em up, an' sarve 'em reel ;

They'll o be hanged aw'll bet !"

" Steady, mi bonny Dick ! " aw said ;
" Don't get sich notions i' thi yead,

But let this murdher teighch
Thi tendher heart what badness lies
I' th' mind o' mon, shuz heaw he thries
Above his slippy thoughts to rise,

An' act as weel as preighch.

This taste for blood's fast deein eaut ;
Somebry may see it end, no deaubt,

But that wain't be to-day ;
Afore thi vengeance gets so hee,
Think on, for o their cruelty,
God made yon lads as weel as thee,

An' eaut o' th' same soft clay.

Tha reckons nowt o' killin flees ;
I' bottlin jacksharps wick tha sees

No sort ov harm or ill ;
Aw've sin thee lame a frog or two,
An' neaw tha wants a hangin do,
Cravin this nowty murdherin crew

O in a rook to kill.

It's th' world's owd fashion't way at t' sthrong
To waker subjects '11 do wrong !

Iv tha'rt too good for sich,
Reckon thisel wi t' betther end,
But thry to make wur fellahs mend
Bi dyelin wi 'em like a friend ;

Throttlin wain't help 'em mich.

Thee set th' example, takkin care
Thisel o livin things to spare ;

That's o tha needs to shap ;
Love o 'at crawls or flies, an' see
Heaw love '11 come again to thee ;
There's One aboon 'at keeps His e'e

On every cruel chap."

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

ABBEY, Philip, West Heslerton, Yorks.

ADDISON, W. H., A.C.P., Earn Cottage, Mount
Florida, Glasgow.

ALLEN, E. G., Henrietta Street, London, W.C.
ASH WORTH, Charles, 9, Fenton St., Rochdale.
ASHWORTH, Miles, Roche Cottage, Rochdale.

ASHVVORTH, Thomas, Providence Mills,
Milnrow.

ASHWORTH, William Henry, 90, Moss Street,
Rochdale.

BACUP CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY,
(per J. L. Woolfenden).

BARLOW, C., Clement Royds Street, Rochdale.
BARLOW, Mrs. James, Drake-St., Rochdale.

BARNES, Harold A., B.A., Summerfleld,
Great Lever, Bolton.

BEAVER, James, 62, Yorkshire St., Rochdale.
BENTLEY, M., 44, Drake Street, Rochdale.
BEST, W. H., Yorkshire Street, Rochdale.
BETHELL, W., Derwent Bank, Malton.

BIRKENHEAD FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY,
(per William May, Librarian).

BOLTON, H. Hargreaves, Newchurch-in-
Rossendale.

BOLTON SUBSCRIPTION LIBRARY.
BRACKEN, J., 31, Spotland Road, Rochdale.
BREARLEY, James, 26, Sussex St., Rochdale.

BRIERLEY, Abraham, Broadfield Stile,
Rochdale.

BRIERLEY, R. B., Park Hill, Rochdale.
BRIERLEY, W., 116, Milnrow Road, Rochdale.
BRIERLEY, Wm., Holly Bank, Rochdale.
BRIERLEY, William, 3, Bond Street, Leeds.
BRIGHT, John A., One Ash, Rochdale.
BRINDLE, James, Drummers House, Wigan.
BRINDLE, John, East Street, Rochdale.
BROOKS, William, 14, Sussex-St., Rochdale.
BROOME, Joseph, Sunny Hill, Llandudno.

BUCKMASTER, Lucy O., Mill Hill Park,
Acton, London, W.

BURTON, James, 3, Dane Street, Rochdale.
BURTON, John, 68, Yorkshire St., Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, Albert, " Observer " Office,
Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, E., St. Mary's Gate,
Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, Isaac, 15, Drake Street,
Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, J., Lord Street, Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, James, 37, Ash Terrace,
Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, John, 21, Boundary Street,
Rochdale.

BUTTERWORTH, Wm. W., 6, Stanley Place,
Rochdale.

CADE, G. H., Star Inn, Rochdale.
CADE, J. H., Midway Hotel, Levenshulme.

CALVERT, Washington, 2, South Parade,
Rochdale.

CARTER, Thomas, 354, Bury Road, Rochdale.
CHADWICK, J., 8, Drake Street, Rochdale.
CHADWICK, Samuel, Buersil, Rochdale.

CHADWICK, T., Clifton Villa, Bury Road,
Rochdale.

CHAMPNESS, Chas., "Joyful News" Mission,
Hankow, China.

CHEETHAM, Jas., J.P., Park Hill, Rochdale.

CHORLTON, Thomas, 32, Brazennose Street,
Manchester.

CLEGG, Emanuel, Bilson House, Milnrew.
CLEGG, James, "The Aldine Press," Rochdale

CLEGG, James Wild, J.P., Mumps House
Oldham.

CLEGG, John, 113, Drake Street, Rochdale,
CLEGG, John, 17, Fenton Street, Rochdale
CLEGG, John, 15, Trafford Street, Rochdale.
CLEGG, John, 77, Whitworth Road, Rochdale.

CLEGG, Rev. J. E., St. Malo, Princess Road,
Bournemouth.

484

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

CLEGG. Joseph Nelson, 400, Bun' Road,
Rochdale.

CLEGO, Levi, 50, Yorkshire Street, Rochdale.
CLEGG, R., Griffin Inn, Lord Street, Rochdale.
CLEGG, W. E., 30, Market Place, Oldham.
CLEGG, W. S., Wilmslow.

CLOSE, R. S., Tunnicliffe House, Healey,
Rochdale.

CLOUGH, Miss Lilly, Sussex Street, Rochdale.
COATES, J., Stationers' Entry, Rochdale.
COCKCROFT, William, The Butts, Rochdale.
COLLINGE, J., 183, Spotland Road, Rochdale.

COLLING E, William, 424, Edenfleld Road,
Cutgate, Rochdale.

COLLINGWOOD, C. E., 86, Manchester Road,
Bury.

COLLINGWOOD, R. L., H, Sussex Street,
Rochdale.

CRABTREE, A., Drake Street, Rochdale.

CRABTREE, Samuel, 92, Spotland Road,
Rochdale.

CROSS Robert, Drake Street, Rochdale.
CUNLIFFE, J. H., 23, Broadfield, Rochdale.

DEARDEN, Grindrod, Whitworth.
DICKIN, Mrs. Rowland, Lewishara, Kent.
DODDS, R., 422, Bury Road, Rochdale.
DOWDALL, J. B., Hanging Ditch, Manchester.
DOWELL, Mrs., 21, St. Albans-St., Rochdale.

DRONSFIELD, Joseph S., J.P., Alexandra
Park, Oldham.

DUCKWORTH, James, J.P., C.C., Castlefield,
Rochdale.

DUNKERLEY, Mrs. Eliza, 6, Nicholson Street,
Milkstone Road, Rochdale.

DYSON, George, Argyle Street, Marsden, near
Huddersfleld.

EARNSHAW, James, Tong End, Whitworth.
EDWARDS, J. B., Greengate, Salford.
ELLSEY, John, Cross Street, Radcliffe.

EMBLETON, T. W., M.E., The Cedars,
Methley, Leeds.

EVANS, George, Park Road, Hamer, Rochdale.

EVANS, Thomas, 54, Camden Square,
London, N.W.

FAIRBANK, Christopher, Milnrow.
FAULKNER, J., Drake Street, Rochdale.

FENTON, Richard, Wood Villa, Newhey.

FIELDING, E., Surgeon, Church Stile,
Rochdale.

FIELDEN, J. Petrie, 196, Drake St., Rochdale.
FIRTH, John W., Architect, Oldham.
FITTON, James, Thorn Bank, Royton.
FITTON, R., 43, George Street, Rochdale.

FLETCHER, Jacob, 61, Fishwick Street,
Rochdale.

FLETCHER, Lambert, 7, Richard Burch St.,
Bury.

FLINTON, R., Vryburg, South Africa.
FLINTON, William, Staxton, Yorkshire.
FRITH, W. E., Bryn Ceiriog, Chirk, Ruabon.

GALLOWAY, F. C., Greenfield House, West
Bowling, Bradford.

GALLOWAY, George, J.P., Ashton-on-Ribble.
GARSIDE, Benjamin, The Walk, Rochdale.
GEE, William, 42, Manchester Road, Oldham.
GIBBONS, W., Milkstone Road, Rochdale.
CLEAVE, J. R., 74, Church Street, Rochdale.

GODBY, Robert, West Bank, Bury Road,
Rochdale.

GOODACRE, Rev. Edward E., Edgeworth,
near Bolton.

GRANTHAM, John, 2, Rothsay Place, Old
Trafford, Manchester.

GREEN, John, 21, Bath Street, Oldham.
GREEN, John A., Hind Hill Street, Heywood.
GREY, John, 12, Church View, Norden.
GREY, R. R., 32, William Street, Rochdale.

H

HADFIELD, George, J.P., Hollywood,
Pendleton.

HAIGH, J. W., The Oaks, Ledsham, near
Chester.

HAINSWORTH, E., 120, Bowling Old Lane,
Bradford.

HALL, Joshua, Rolgate, Shaw.

HALL, Robert, 108, Lloyd Street, Greenheys,
Manchester.

HANSON, Geo., 178, Ramsay -St., Rochdale.
HANSON, J., Lomond House, Rochdale.
HA RDM AN, William, Fair View, Rochdale.
HARRISON, Robert, Wet Rake, Rochdale.
HARROP, C., Mount Street, Manchester.
HARTLEY, J. R., Roche Mount, Rochdale.
HARTLEY, J. W., Whitworth Road, Rochdale.
HARTLEY, R., 243, Entwisle Road, Rochdale.

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

485

HASLAM, J. W., 25, Callender Street,
Ramsbottom.

HAWKSWORTH, Thomas, 45, Miller Street,
Rochdale.

HAYLE, Dr. T. H., 154, Drake Street, Rochdale.

HAZARD, The Hon. Rowland Gibson, Peace-
Dale, Rhode Island, U.S.A.

HEAP, Mrs. Alice, Dunster, Rochdale.
HEAP, Charles, Caldershaw, Rochdale.
HEAP, Mrs. James, Cliffe House, Milnrow.
HEAPE, Benjn., Northwood, Prestwich.
HEPWORTH, James, Hyde Lane, Hyde.

HEPWORTH, John Stafford, 9, Church Gate,
Loughborough .

HEY, Albert, Yorkshire Street, Rochdale.
HEYWOOD CO-OPERATIVE SOCIETY.
HEYWOOD, John, Deansgate, Manchester.

HIGHLEY, William, 54, Drake Street,
Rochdale.

HILL, James, Whitworth.
HILTON, James, 5, Albert Street, Milnrow.
HODGSON, Dr., Drake Street, Rochdale.
HOLDEN, J. E., Shawclough, Rochdale.
HOLROYD, John, North View, Whitworth.
HOLT, George, 21, Water Street, Liverpool.

HOLT, Hugh E., Wellington Terrace, Drake
Street, Rochdale.

HOLT, Thos., 31, Todmorden Road, Littleboro'.
HOLT, William, 346, Bury Road, Rochdale.
HOLT, William, Milnrow.

HOPVVOOD, E. R. G., Hopwood Hall,
Middleton.

HORROCKS, James, Broad Oak Park, Worsley.

HOULDSWORTH WORKING MEN'S CLUB,
Reddish (per H. Lees, Secretary).

HOWARTH, David, Bull's Head Inn, Buersill,
Rochdale.

HOWARTH, James, Leavengreave.
HOWARTH, J. H., 1, Milnrow-Rd., Rochdale.
HOYLE, Charles, 77, Drake Street, Rochdale.

HOYLE, Edward T., 108, Milkstone Road,

Rochdale.
HOYLE, James, Albion House, Spotland Road,

Rochdale.

HUDSON, James A., The Butts, Rochdale.
HUDSON, John C., Chapel Hill, Littleborough.

IDLE, Fred, 30, Mount Street, Leeds Road,
Harrogate.

IRLAM, Mrs. Alice, 15, Toad Lane, Rochdale.

ISHERWOOD, J. H., Entwisle Road,
Rochdale.

JACKSON, Alfred, High Street, Rochdale.
JACKSON, Edward, J.P., Wheelton, Chorley.
JACKSON, Frederick, Spring Bank, Crumpsall.

JACKSON, H., 251, Whitworth Road,
Rochdale.

JACKSON, Thomas, Great Ducie Street,
Manchester.

JOHNSON, John, Woodstock, Higher
Crumpsall, Manchester.

JONES, J. W., Park Hill, Rochdale.

JONES & EVANS, 77, Queen-St., Cheapside,
London, B.C.

K

KABERRY, John, Holly Bank, Milnrow.

KAY, John, Birchin Terrace, Milnrow Road,
Rochdale. '

KAYE, S., 267, Whitworth Road, Rochdale.
KEMP, L. P., Beechwood, Rochdale.
KENYON, Thomas T., Broadfleld, Rochdale.
KERFOOT, Peter, 20, Eastgate-St., Rochdale.
KERSHAW, Henry, Regent Street, Rochdale.
KERSHAW, Win., 106, Drake-St., Rochdale.
KIERNAN, J. E., Buckley Cottages, Rochdale

KIRKHAM, William, Lome House, Regent-St.,
Chorley Old Road, Bolton.

LATHAM, James, 168, Bolton Old Road,

Atherton.

LAW, Ervine, 84, Buckley Lane, Rochdale.
LAW, William, Littleborough.

LAWSON, Mrs., Lunesdale House, 15, Alex-
andra Road, London, N.W.

LAWTON, David, Spring Grove, Greenfield.
LAWTON, Mrs., The Park, Rochdale.
LAWTON, Joseph, Drake Street, Rochdale.
LAYCOCK, Mrs. S., Foxhall Road, Blackpool.
LEACH, E., 14, Sykes Street, Rochdale.
LEACH, J. T., 21, Baron Street, Rochdale.
LEACH, R. A., Townhead, Rochdale.
LEE, Ezra, 93, Ramsay Street, Rochdale.
LEE, Peter, 26, Freehold Street, Rochdale.
LEES, James, 53, Milnrow Road, Rochdale.
LEES, Joseph, 40, Chelmsford Street, Oldham.
LEIGH, Arthur G., F.R.S.L., Chorley.

LEWIS, Charles Edward, Brace Terrace,
Tweedale Street, Rochdale.

LITTLE, T. W., Mickley Square, Stocksfield-

on-Tyne.
LLOYD, J., Sheriff Street, Rochdale.

486

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

LOMAX, William, 10, Meanley Street,
Tyldesley.

LOOKER, William, (J2, Drake Street, Rochdale.
LORD, A., Tonge House, Mitidleton.
LORD, Richard, Grove Terrace, Whitworth.
LORD, T. B., Townhead, Rochdale.
LYE, F., Fieldhouse, Rochdale.

M

MACK, J., Crosslees, Syke, Rochdale.

MC. KILL, William, 386, Bury Road, Rochdale.

Mc.INTYRE, Peter, White House, Blackstone
Edge.

MANFIELD, Sir Philip, Northampton.
MARCH, Owen, Lord Street, Rochdale.
MARSHALL, J., 19, Oldham Road, Rochdale.

MATTHEW, John M., 15, Tatham Street,
Rochdale.

MATTLEY, Robert D., Kilner Deyne Terrace,
Rochdale.

METCALFE, James, 2, Mosley Street,
Barnoldswick.

MILLER, W. S., South Shore, Blackpool.

MILLER, I-aurie Mc.C., Watson Lane, South
Shore, Blackpool.

MILLS, Allan L., The Walk, Rochdale.
MILNE, Edward, 11, Pilling Street, Rochdale.

MOLESWORTH, Alexander, South Parade,

Rochdale.
MOORE, W. J., Somerset Road, Teddington,

Middlesex.

MORGAN, Charles, Merefield, Rochdale.

MOSSLEY INDUSTRIAL COOPERATIVE
SOCIETY, (per Edward Jackson).

N

NASH, William, 23, Queen's Road, Oldham.
NICHOL, John, 33, Cheetham Street, Rochdale.
NUTTALL, Richard, Hallfold, Whitworth.

ODDY, Robert W., F.I.C., F.C.S., Toad Lane,
Rochdale.

OGDEN, E., Fenton Street, Rochdale.
OGDEN, James, 7, The Park, Rochdale.
OGDEN, John T., South Parade, Rochdale.

OLDHAM EQUITABLE CO-OPERATIVE
SOCIETY (Educational Department).

OLDHAM FREE LIBRARIES, Union Street,
OLDHAM, John, Meanwood Brow, Rochdale.
OLDHAM, Thomas, 33, Mere Street, Rochdale.

O'NEILL, Victor, Oaklands, Castleton, near
Manchester.

ORMEROD, James P., Cowm Top, Castleton,
near Manchester.

ORMEROD, John, Fern Bank, Castleton, near
Manchester.

PADWICK, F. G., M.A., Downham House,
Rochdale.

PARKER, C., 20, Manchester Road, Rochdale.
PARKER, John, Walker Street, Rochdale.

PARLANE, James, J.P., Rusholme,
Manchester.

PEARSE, Harvey, Yorkshire Street, Rochdale
PEARSON, James, Milnrow.

PEARSON, T. Arthur, Birchcliffe, Hebden
Bridge.

PEEL, Martin, 606, Stockport Road, Longsight,
Manchester.

PILKINGTON, Win., Dinting Vale.
PILLING, Lomax, Manchester Road, Rochdale.
PL ATT, James E., J.P., Brentwood, Cheadle.
PLATT, John, J.P., Clifton Lodge, Llandudno.

PORRITT, C. J., Beechfield, Bamford, near
Rochdale.

PORRITT, William John, Tor Side, Helmshore.
POTTS, Mrs. John, King-St. South, Rochdale.

RAWSTRON, Ralph, North View, Whitworth.
RENSHAW, I., 87, Drake Street, Rochdale.
RILEY, J. A., New Inn, Whitworth.
RIPLEY, James N., The Butts, Rochdale.
ROBERTS, T. L., Syke, Rochdale.

ROCHDALE EQUITABLE PIONEERS SOC.,
(per E. Barnish).

ROCHDALE FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY,

(per George Hanson).

ROCHDALE POST OFFICE LIBRARY.

ROTHWELL, E., Assoc. M. Inst. C.E., Spring-
field Cottage, Marland, Rochdale.

ROTHWELL, H., South Street, Rochdale.

ROTHWELL, J., Denbigh Terrace,
Levenshulme, Manchester.

ROYDS, C. M., M.P., Greenhill, Rochdale.

SANDIFORD, Thos., 32, Liley-St., Rochdale.
SAXBY, G. H., Station Villa, Mai ton.
SAXON, Sam, 17, Broadfield, Rochdale.
SCHOFIELD, Benjamin, Harefield, Rochdale.
SCHOFIELD, Edwin, Yorkshire-St., Rochdale.

SCHOFIELD, James, 106, Molesworth Street,
Rochdale.

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

487

SCHOFIELD, J., Yorkshire Street, Rochdale.

SCHOFIELD, W. H., South Terrace, Oldham
Road, Rochdale.

SCHOLFIELD, J. H., J.P., North View,

Whit worth.

SEDDON, W., 11, Fitton Street, Rochdale.
SETTLE, W. E., 29, Hope Street, Rochdale.
SHEPHERD, Wm., 123, Drake-St., Rochdale.
SHORE, Arthur, 53, South Street, Rochdale.
SMITH, James, The Crescent, Rochdale.
SMITH, James, 36, South Street, Rochdale.
SMITH, John, 6, Freehold Street, Rochdale.
SMITH, Joseph, Church Stile, Rochdale.
SMITH, Thomas, 132, Yorkshire Street,

Rochdale.

SMITHIES, John J., Walker-St., Rochdale
SPARKES, Mrs., Whiteknight's House,

Eastern Avenue, Reading.
STEELE, John, 37, Church Stile, Rochdale.
STENHOUSE, T., 8, West Street, Rochdale.
STEVENS, Allan, Williams Deacon and Man

Chester & Salford Bank Ltd., Rochdale.

STOCK, Elliot, 62, Paternoster Row, London.
STOTT, Charles, 276, Oldham Road, Rochdale.

STOTT, Ebenezer, 167, Sussex Street, Lower
Broughton, Manchester.

STOTT, Edward, Castle Inn, Drake Street,
Rochdale.

STOTT, John, 209, Drake Street, Rochdale.
STOTT, John, Springfield Lodge, Haslingden.

STOTT, John, 72, St. Andrews Road South,
St. Annes-on-the-Sea,

STOTT, John William, 249, Hurdsfleld Road,
Macclesfleld.

STOTT, Samuel L., 21, Whitman Street,
Lawrence, Mass., U.S.A.

S., R., Falinge, Rochdale.

STUTTARD, B. F., Burnedge Villa, Whitworth

SUTCLIFFE, Arthur E., Beech House, Bacup.

SUTCLIFFE, Rev. Thomas, M.A., J.P., Royds
House, Heptonstall.

SUTHERS, (Sam) 112, Yorkshire Street,
Rochdale.

SWIFT, William, The Butts, Rochdale.

SWINDELLS, George H., Heaton Moor,
Stockport.

SWIRE, J. L., 67, King's Road, Rochdale.
SYKES, J., Poltimore, Exeter.

TATHAM, Roger, Wellington Terrace,
Rochdale.

TATHAM, William, Park House, Drake Street,
Rochdale.

TAYLOR, E. Lyon, Falinge Road, Rochdale.

TAYLOR, John, Drake Street, Rochdale.

TAYLOR, Rev. W. H., Waimington Rectory,
Banbury.

TAYLOR, Robert, Albert Street, Rochdale.
TAYLOR, S., 267, Milnrow Road, Rochdale.
TAYLOR, William, 10, West Street, Rochdale.

THOMAS, Edward, 24, Yorkshire Street,
Rochdale.

THOMAS, William, Blackthorne, Bacup.

THORLEY, Thomas E., 19, Entwisle Road,
Rochdale.

THORNTON, Harry, 416, Bury-Rd., Rochdale.
TONGE, John, Henry Street, Rochdale.

TRIPPEAR, Frank, Cheetham Street,
Rochdale.

TURNER, James, 19, Slade Grove, Longsight,
Manchester.

TWEEDALE, John, The Moorlands, Dewsbury.

TWEEDALE, Joseph, Mayfleld, Marland, near
Heywood.

W

WADE, T., Beever Street School, Oldham.

WALDIE, Rev. F. E., Ashworth Vicarage,
Rochdale.

WALKER, Thomas C., 66, Leyland Road,
Southport.

WALLWORK, A., 77, Chapel Road, Sale.

WARBURTON, Samuel, 10, Wilton Polygon,
Cheethaui Hill, Manchester.

WAREING, Thomas, Dodgson St., Rochdale.
WEBB, Henry, J.P., Brentwood, Bury.

WHATMOUGH, Mrs. 29, Whatmough Street,
Rochdale.

WHATMOUGH, W. T., 120, Yorkshire Street,
Rochdale.

WHEELER, G. H., Clerk to School Board,
Rochdale.

VVHIPP, John, The Elms, Rochdale.
WHITEHEAD, S., 25, Wilfrid-St., Rochdale.

WHITEHEAD, William, 58, Yorkshire Street,
Rochdale.

WHITTAKER, J., Auctioneer, Heywood.
WHITTAKER, Samuel, Bank Terrace, Bacup.
WHITWORTH, A., South Street, Rochdale.

WHITWORTH, H. W., 25, William Street,
Rochdale.

WHITWORTH, J. B., Heathfield,
Littleborough.

WHITWORTH, Wm., 12a, Blenheim Terrace,
South Street, Rochdale.

WIGLEY, G. E., Editor, Heywood Advertiser.
WILD, S. E., 28, Yorkshire Street, Rochdale.
WILD, T. W., 75, Boundary Street, Rochdale.

WILKINSON, T. R., The Polygon, Ardwick,
Manchester.

488

LIST OF SUHSCRIBERS.

WILKINSON, Thomas, Richard Street,
Rochdale.

WILLETT, C. W., St. Alban's Inn, Rochdale.

WILLIAMS, T. H., 186, Drake Street,
Rofhdale.

WILLIAMSON, J. R., Woodbine House,
Darwen.

WILSON, Venerable Archdeacon, M.A., The
Vicarage, Rochdale.

WINTERBURN, George, 65, Deansgate,
Bolton.

WOLSTENHOLME, W. Henry, 95, Manchester
Old Road, Middleton.

WOLSTENHOLME, William, Middleton.
WOOD, William, 83, Newhey Road, Milnrow.

WOOLFENDEN, Thomas, 24, Royds Street.
Rochdale.

WORRALL, Robert, Post Office, Rochdale.
WORTH, J. T., Oakenrod Hill, Rochdale.
WORTHINGTON, E., 5, Rodney Street, Wipin.

WRIGHT, Richard D'Aubney, 18, John Daltoii
Street, Manchester.

WRIGLEY, E., Kilner Deyne Terrace,
Rochdale.

WRIGLEY, Robert, 25, Drake St., Rochdale.

YATES, T., 3, Stationers' Entry, Rochdale.

PRINTED BY JAMES CLEOG " THE ALPINE PRESS," ROCHDALE.

Date Due

•V.,'-.: '.
, ! - -••"- •

mmSR i

PRINTED IN U.S.

CAT. NO. 24 161

A 000 686 062