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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Folk-Speech of Cumberland and Some Districts Adjacent - Being Short Stories and Rhymes in the Dialects of the West - Border Counties - -Author: Alexander Craig Gibson - -Release Date: June 11, 2020 [EBook #62370] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOLK-SPEECH OF CUMBERLAND *** - - - - -Produced by MFR, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. - -The footnotes are located at the end of the sections that refer to them. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - -In the original, many of the chapters have decorative borders above the -title. These have not been indicated. - - - - - THE - - Folk-Speech of Cumberland - - AND SOME DISTRICTS ADJACENT; - - BEING - - SHORT STORIES AND RHYMES - - IN THE DIALECTS OF THE WEST - BORDER COUNTIES. - - BY - - ALEXANDER CRAIG GIBSON, F.S.A. - - What hempen Home-spuns have we swaggering here. - - _A Midsummer Night’s Dream._ - - Speech, manners, morals, all without disguise. - - _The Excursion._ - - LONDON: JOHN RUSSELL SMITH; - CARLISLE: GEO. COWARD. - MDCCCLXIX. - - - - - TO - - WILLIAM DICKINSON, - - OF NORTH MOSSES AND THORNCROFT, - - F. L. S., - - Author of “A Glossary of Cumberland Words and Phrases,” - “Lamplugh Club,” “A Prize Essay on the Agriculture - of West Cumberland,” “The Botany of - Cumberland,” &c., &c., &c., - - THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, - - IN CORDIAL RECOGNITION OF THE PRE-EMINENT - INDUSTRY AND SKILL DISPLAYED IN HIS ELUCIDATIONS - OF THE HOMELY SPEECH - OF OUR NATIVE COUNTY, AND IN GRATEFUL - ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE UNFAILING SYMPATHY - AND THE KINDLY HELP WITH WHICH HE - HAS BRIGHTENED A FRIENDSHIP - OF MANY YEARS. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -One or two of the Cumberland stories included in this volume, as well -as some of the pieces in rhyme, have already been circulated very -largely in newspapers, pamphlets, and collections. Their reappearance, -along with many hitherto unpublished additions, in this aggregated -form, is due mainly to the popularity attained by them separately. -Whether they may be as popular in this more pretentious guise as in -their humbler, and perhaps, more appropriate form, remains to be tried. - -I claim superiority over most of the earlier workers in the same -philological ground in respect of the greater purity of my dialect. The -Cumberland speech as written herein is pure Cumbrian, as the speech of -the Scottish pieces, introduced for variety’s sake, is pure Scotch. -Miss Blamire, Stagg, Anderson, Rayson, and others, have all written -their dialect pieces, more or less, in the _Scoto_-Cumbrian which -prevails along the southern side of the west Border. In other respects -my inferiority to those deservedly popular writers is sufficiently -evident. But, as expositions of the folk-speech of those parts of -the County where, and where only, the unadulterated old Norse-rooted -Cumbrian vernacular is spoken, I claim for these Tales and Rhymes the -distinction of surpassing all similar productions, excepting only -the dialect writings of my friend Mr. Dickinson, and perhaps the -_Borrowdale Letter_ of Isaac Ritson, and the _Gwordie and Will_ of -Charles Graham. I should not omit to state, however, that Mr. John -Christian of London, and a writer who assumed the _nom de plume_ of -Jack Todd, have evinced in their contributions to the local press, a -mastery over the dialect of Whitehaven and its vicinity which makes us -wish that their pens had been more prolific. - -For the illustrations I have attempted of the speech of High Furness -and its Westmorland border, I ask no such distinction. The dialect -there, as in the adjacent parts of Cumberland, is vitiated by an -intermixture of that of the County Palatine, of which Furness forms -a portion; and as it is spoken, so, if written at all, should it be -written. These appear here for the reason already assigned for the -introduction of the Rhymes given in the dialect of Dumfriesshire. - -The work rests its claims to favourable consideration entirely on its -value as a faithfully rendered contribution to the dialect literature -of the country. No higher estimate is sought for it. The production -of its various contents has been an occasional amusement indulged in -during some of the intervals of leisure and repose afforded by pursuits -of a more important, more engrossing, and it is hoped, a more useful -character, with which, had it in any wise interfered, it had not been -proceeded with. Its composition has been a relaxation, not a task; a -divertisement, not an occupation; and had its success when published -been deemed incompatible with these conditions, it had not appeared. - - BEBINGTON, - _December 18th, 1868_. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - Joe and the Geologist (Cumberland) 1 - - T’ Reets on’t (Ibid.) 7 - - Bobby Banks’s Bodderment (Ibid.) 17 - - Wise Wiff (Ibid.) 27 - - Lal Dinah Grayson (Ibid.) 37 - - Jwohnny, Git oot! (Ibid.) 40 - - The Runaway Wedding (Ibid.) 43 - - Billy Watson’ Lonning (Ibid.) 46 - - Lone and Weary (Ibid.) 50 - - T’ Clean Ned o’ Kes’ick (Ibid.) 53 - - Ben Wells (Ibid.) 57 - - Sannter Bella (Ibid.) 60 - - Branthet Neùk Boggle (Ibid.) 63 - - Mary Ray and Me (Ibid.) 73 - - The Bannasyde Cairns (High Furness.) 76 - - Betty Yewdale (Ibid.) 82 - - The Skulls of Calgarth (Westmorland.) 89 - - Māp’ment (High Furness.) 101 - - Oxenfell Dobby (Ibid.) 104 - - Meenie Bell (Dumfriesshire.) 113 - - A Lockerbye Lyck (Old Scotch.) 116 - - The Farmers’ Wives o’ Annandale (Dumfriesshire.) 128 - - A Reminiscence of Corrie (Ibid.) 131 - - Reminiscences of Lockerbie (Ibid.) 143 - - Yan o’ t’ Elect (Cumberland.) 151 - - Keàtie Curbison’s Cat (Ibid.) 157 - - Joseph Thompson’s Thumb (Ibid.) 160 - - Cursty Benn (Ibid.) 168 - - Tom Railton’s White Spats (Ibid.) 172 - - A Sneck Possett (Ibid.) 180 - - Remarks on the Cumberland Dialect 183 - - Glossary 189 - - - - -JOE AND THE GEOLOGIST. - - -Ya het foorneun, when we war oa’ gaily thrang at heàm, an oald -gentleman mak’ of a fellow com’ in tul ooar foald an’ said, whyte -nateral, ’at he wantit somebody to gà wid him on’t fells. We oa’ -stopt an’ teuk a gud leuk at him afoor anybody spak; at last fadder -said, middlin’ sharp-like—(he ola’s speaks that way when we’re owte -sa thrang, does fadder)—“We’ve summat else to deu here nor to gà -rakin ower t’fells iv a fine day like this, wid nèabody kens whoa.” -T’gentleman was a queerish like oald chap, wid a sharp leuk oot, grey -hair and a smo’ feàce—drist i’ black, wid a white neckcloth like a -parson, an’ a par of specks on t’top of a gay lang nwose at wasn’t -set varra fair atween t’ e’en on him, sooa ’at when he leuk’t ebbem -at yan through his specks he rayder turn’t his feàce to t’ya side. He -leuk’t that way at fadder, gev a lal chèarful bit of a laugh an’ said, -iv his oan mak’ o’ toke, ’at he dudn’t want to hinder wark, but he wad -give anybody ’at ken’t t’fells weel, a matter o’ five shillin’ to gà -wid him, an’ carry two lāl bags. “’Howay wid tha, Joe,” sez fadder to -me, “it’s a croon mair nor iver thou was wūrth at heàm!” I meàd nèa -words aboot it, but gat me-sel’ a gud lūmp of a stick, an’ away we set, -t’oald lang nwos’t man an’ me, ebbem up t’ deàl. - -As we war’ climmin’ t’fell breist, he geh me two empty bags to carry, -meàd o’ ledder. Thinks I to me-sel’, “I’s gān to eddle me five shillin’ -middlin’ cannily.” I niver thowte he wad finnd owte on t’ fells to full -his lal bags wid, but I was misteàn! - -He turn’t oot to be a far lisher oald chap nor a body wad ha’ thowte, -to leuk at his gray hair and his white hankecher an’ his specks. He -went lowpin owre wet spots an’ gūrt steàns, an’ scrafflin across craggs -an’ screes, tul yan wad ha’ sworn he was sūmmat a kin tul a Herdwick -tip. - -Efter a while he begon leukin’ hard at oa’t steàns an’ craggs we com’ -at, an’ than he teuk till breckan lūmps off them wid a queer lal -hammer he hed wid him, an’ stuffin t’ bits intil t’ bags ’at he geh me -to carry. He fairly cap’t me noo. I dudn’t ken what to mak o’ sec a -customer as t’is! At last I cudn’t help axin him what meàd him cum sèa -far up on t’fell to lait bits o’ steàns when he may’d finnd sèa many -doon i’t deàls? He laugh’t a gay bit, an’ than went on knappin’ away -wid his lal hammer, an’ said he was a jolly jist. Thinks I to me-sel’, -thou’s a jolly jackass, but it maks nèa matter to me if thou no’but -pays me t’ five shillin’ thou promish’t ma. - -Varra weel, he keep’t on at this feckless wark tul gaily leàt at on i’t -efter-neun, an’ be that time o’ day he’d pang’t beàth o’t ledder pwokes -as full as they wad hod wid bits o’ steàn. - -I’ve nit sèa offen hed a harder darrak efter t’ sheep, owther at -clippin time or soavin time, as I hed followin’ that oald grey heidit -chap an’ carryin’ his ledder bags. But hooiver, we gat back tul oor -house afoor neeght. Mūdder gev t’ oald jolly jist, as he co’t his-sel’, -some breid an’ milk, an’ efter he’d teàn that an’ toak’t a lal bit wid -fadder aboot sheep farming an’ sec like, he pait ma me five shillin’ -like a man, an’ than tel’t ma he wad gi’ ma ūdder five shillin’ if I -wad bring his pwokes full o’ steàns doon to Skeàl-hill be nine o’clock -i’t mwornin’. - -He set off to woak to Skeàl-hill just as it was growin’ dark; an’ neist -mwornin’, as seun as I’d gitten me poddish, I teuk t’ seàm rwoad wid -his ledder bags ower me shoolder, thinkin’ tul me-sel’ ’at yan may’d -mak a lal fortune oot o’ thūr jolly jists if a lock mair on them wad -no’but come oor way. - -It was anūdder het mwornin’, an’ I hedn’t woak’t far till I begon to -think that I was as gūrt a feul as t’oald jolly jist to carry brocken -steàns o’ t’ way to Skeàl-hill, when I may’d finnd plenty iv any rwoad -side, clwose to t’ spot I was tackin’ them tul. Sooa I shack’t them oot -o’ t’ pwokes, an’ then stept on a gay bit leeter widout them. - -When I com nār to Skeàl-hill, I fūnd oald Aberram Atchisson sittin on a -steul breckan steàns to mend rwoads wid, an’ I ax’t him if I med full -my ledder pwokes frae his heap. Aberram was varra kaim’ t’ an’ tell’t ma -to tak them ’at wasn’t brocken if I wantit steàns, sooa I tell’t him -hoo it was an’ oa’ aboot it. T’ oald maizlin was like to toytle of his -steul wid laughin’, an’ said me mūdder sud tak gud care on ma, for I -was ower sharp a chap to leeve varra lang i’ this warld; but I’d better -full my pwokes as I liked, an’ mak’ on wid them. - -T’ jolly jist hed just gitten his breakfast when I gat to Skeàl-hill, -an’ they teuk ma intil t’ parlour tul him. He gūrned oa’t feàce ower -when I went in wid his bags, an’ tell’t me to set them doon in a neuk, -an’ than ax’t ma if I wad hev some breakfast. I said I’d gitten me -poddish, but I dudn’t mind; sooa he tell’t them to bring in some mair -coffee, an’ eggs, an’ ham, an’ twoastit breid an’ stuff, an’ I gat sec -a breakfast as I never seed i’ my time, while t’ oald gentleman was -gittin’ his-sel’ rūddy to gang off in a carriage ’at was waitin’ at t’ -dooar for him. - -When he com doon stairs he geh me t’udder five shillin’ an’ pait for my -breakfast an’ what he’d gitten his-sel’. Than he tell’t ma to put t’ -ledder bags wid t’ steàns in them on beside t’ driver’s feet, an’ in he -gat, an’ laugh’t an’ noddit, an’ away he went. - -I niver owder seed nor heard mair of t’ oald jolly jist, but I’ve offen -thowte ther mun be parlish few steàns i’ his country, when he was sooa -pleas’t at gittin’ two lāl ledder bags full for ten shillin’, an’ sec a -breakfast as that an’. It wad be a faymish job if fadder could sell o’ -t’ steàns iv oor fell at five shillin’ a pwokeful—wadn’t it? - - - - - T’ REETS ON’T; - - BEING - - _Another Supplement to “Joe and the Geologist.”_[1] - - BY JOE HIS-SEL’. - - -That Tommy Towman’s a meàst serious leear—an’, like o’ leears, he’s -a desper’t feùl. By jing! if I hed a dog hoaf as daft I wad hang’t, -that wad I! He gits doon aboot Cockerm’uth an’ Wūrki’ton, noo’s an’ -than’s; an’ sūm gentlemen theear, they tak’ him inta t’ Globe or t’ -Green Draggin, an’ jūst for nowte at o’ else but acoase they think he -kens me, they feed him wid drink an’ they hod him i’ toak till he can -hardly tell whedder end on him’s upbank; an’ than they dro’ him on to -tell them o’ mak’s o’ teàls—o’ mak’s but true an’s—aboot me; an’ t’ -pooar lāl gowk hesn’t gumption aneuf to see ’at they’re no’but makin’ -ghem on him. But, loavin’ surs! if he’d hed t’ sense of a gūrse gā’n -gezlin he wad niver ha’ browte oot sec a lafter o’ lees as he’s gitten -yan o’ them Wūrki’ton gentlemen (yan ’at ken’s weel hoo to write doon -oor heàmly toke) to put inta prent; an’ what mak’s yan madder nor o’ t’ -rest,—to put them i’ prent jūst as if I’d tel’t them me-sel’. I’s nūt -t’ chap to try to cum ower an oald jolly jist wid whinin’ oot “Fadder’s -deid!” when ivery body kens ’at fadder’s whicker nor meàst on us. My -sarty! he’s nin o’ t’ deein’ mak’ isn’t fadder. Wes’ hev to wūrry -fadder when his time cūms, for he’ll niver dee of his-sel’ sa lang as -ther’s any wark to hoond yan on tull. An’ I needn’t tell any body ’at -knows _me_, ’at I was niver t’ chap to tak’ in owder a jolly jist or -any udder feùl; an’ if I was, I’s nūt a likely fellow to be freeten’t -for what I’d done. But ther’s m’appen sūm ’at doesn’t; an’ mebbee -ther’s a lock ’at doesn’t know what a leear Tommy Towman is, an’ sooa, -bee t’ way o’ settin’ me-sel’ reet wid beath maks, I’ll tell yé what -_dūd_ gā forret ’atween me an’ t’ jolly jist t’ seckint time he com tul -Skeàl-hill. - -I said afooar ’at I’d niver seen mair o’ t’ oald jolly jist, an’ when I -said that, I hedn’t; but yā donky neet last summer fadder hed been doon -Lorton way, an’ ’t was gaily leàt when he gat heàm. As he was sittin’ -iv his oàn side o’ t’ fire, tryin’ to lowse t’ buttons of his spats, he -says to me, “Joe,” says he, “I co’t at Skeàl-hill i’ my rwoad heàm.” -Mudder was sittin’ knittin’ varra fast at hūr side o’ t’ hārth; she -hedn’t oppen’t her mooth sen fadder co’ heàm,—nay, she hedn’t sa mūch -as leuk’t at him efter t’ ya hard glowre ’at she gev him at t’ fūrst; -but when he said he’d been at Skeàl-hill, she gev a grunt, an’ said, -as if she spak till nèabody but hur-sel’, “Ey! a blinnd body med see -that.” “I was speakin’ till Joe,” says fadder. “Joe,” says he, “I was -at Skeàl-hill”—anudder grunt—“an’ they tel’t me ’at thy oald frind t’ -jolly jist’s back ageàn—I think thu’d better slip doon an’ see if he -wants to buy any mair brocken steàns; oald Aberram has a fine heap or -two liggin aside Kirgat. An’, noo, ’at I’ve gitten them spats off, I’s -away to my bed.” Mudder tok a partin’ shot at him as he stacker’t off. -She said, “It wad be as weel for sūm on us if yé wad bide theear, if yé -mean to carry on i’ t’ way ye’re shappin’!” Noo, this was hardly fair -o’ mudder, for it’s no’but yance iv a way ’at fadder cū’s heàm leàt -an’ stackery; but I wasn’t sworry to see him git a lāl snape, he’s sae -rūddy wid his snapes his-sel’. I ken’t weel aneuf he was no’but mackin’ -ghem o’ me aboot gittin’ mair brass oot o’ t’ oald jolly jist, but I -thowte to me-sel’, thinks I, I’ve deun many a dafter thing nor tak’ him -at his wūrd, whedder he meen’t it or nūt, an’ sooa thowte, sooa deùn; -for neist mwornin’ I woak’t me-sel’ off tull Skeàl-hill. - -When I gat theear, an’ as’t if t’ jolly jist was sturrin’, they yan -snùrtit an’ anudder gurn’t, till I gat rayder maddish; but at last yan -o’ them skipjacks o’ fellows ’at ye see weearin’ a lāl jacket like a -lass’s bedgoon, sed he wad see. He com back laughin’, an’ said, “Cūm -this way, Joe.” Well, I follow’t him till he stopp’t at a room dooar, -an’ he gev a lal knock, an’ than oppen’t it, an’ says, “Joe, sur,” says -he. I wasn’t gā’n to stand that, ye know, an’ says I, “Joe, sur,” says -I, “he’ll ken it’s Joe, sur,” says I, “as seùn as he sees t’ feàce o’ -me;” says I, “an’ if thoo doesn’t git oot o’ that wid thy ‘Joe, sur,’” -says I, “I’ll fetch the’ a clink under t’ lug ’at ’ll mak’ the’ laugh -at t’ wrang side o’ that ugly mug o’ thine, thoo gūrnin yap, thoo!” -Wid that he skipt oot o’ t’ way gaily sharp, an’ I stept whietly into -t’ room. Theear he was, sittin at a teàble writin—t’ grey hair, t’ -specks, t’ lang nwose, t’ white hankecher, an’ t’ black cleàs, o’ just -as if he’d niver owder doff’t his-sel’ or donn’t his-sel’ sen he went -away. But afooar I cūd put oot my hand or say a civil wūrd tull him, he -glentit up at mé throo his specks, iv his oan oald sideways fashion—but -varra feùrce-like—an’ grūntit oot sum’at aboot wūnderin’ hoo I dār’t to -shew my feàce theear. Well! this pot t’ cap on t’ top of o’. I’d chow’t -ower what fadder said, an’ _hoo_ he’d said it i’ my rwoad doon, till I -fūnd me-sel’ gittin rayder mad aboot that. T’ way ’at they snurtit an’ -laugh’t when I com to Skeàl-hill meàd me madder; an’ t’ bedgoon cwoatit -fellow wid his “Joe, sur,” meàd me madder nor iver; but t’ oald jolly -jist, ’at I thowte wad be sa fain to see mé agean, if t’ hed no’but -been for t’ seàk of oor sprogue on t’ fells togidder—wùnderin’ ’at I -dar’t show my feàce theear, fairly dreàv me _rantin’_ mad, an’ I _düd_ -mak a brūst. - -“Show my feàce!” says I, “an’ what sùd I show than?” says I. “If it -cūms to showin’ feàces, I’ve a better feàce to show nor iver belang’t -to yan o’ your breed,” says I, “if t’ rest on them’s owte like t’ -sample they’ve sent us; but if yé mūn know, I’s cūm’t of a stock ’at -niver wad be freetn’t to show a feàce till a king, let aleàn an oald -newdles wid a creùkt nwose, ’at co’s his-sel’ a jolly jist: an’ I defy -t’ feàce o’ clay,” says I, “to say ’at any on us iver dūd owte we need -shām on whoariver we show’t oor feàces. Dār’ to show my feàce, eh?” -says I, “my song! but this is a bonnie welcome to give a fellow ’at’s -cum’t sa far to see yé i’ seckan a mwornin!” I said a gay deal mair -o’ t’ seàm mak’, an’ o’ t’ while I was sayin’ on’t—or, I sūd say, o’ t’ -while I was shootin’ on’t, for I dudn’t spar’ t’ noise—t’ oald divel -laid his-sel’ back iv his girt chair, an’ keept twiddlin’ his thooms -an’ glimin’ ūp at mé, wid a hoaf smūrk iv his feàce, as if he’d gitten -sum’at funny afooar him. Efter a while I stopt, for I’d ron me-sel’ -varra nār oot o’ winnd, an’ I begon rayder to think shām o’ shootin’ -an’ bellerin’ sooa at an oald man, an’ him as whisht as a troot throo -it o’; an’ when I’d poo’t in, he just said as whietly as iver, ’at I -was a natteral cur’osity. I dùdn’t ken weel what this meen’t, but I -thowte it was soace, an’ it hed like to set mé off ageàn, but I beàtt -it doon as weel as I cūd, an’ I said, “Hev yé gitten owte ageān mé?” -says I. “If yé hev, speak it oot like a man, an’ divn’t sit theear -twiddlin yer silly oald thooms an’ coa’in fwoke oot o’ ther neàms i’ -that rwoad!” Than it o’ com oot plain aneuf. O’ this illnater was just -acoase I hedn’t brong him t’ steàns ’at he’d gedder’t on t’ fells that -het day, an’ he said ’at changin’ on them was ayder a varra dūrty trick -or a varra clumsy jwoke. “Trick!” says I. “Jwoke! dud yé say? It was -rayder past a jwoke to expect me to carry a leàd o’ brocken steàns -o’ t’ way here, when ther’ was plenty at t’ spot. I’s nūt sec a feùl as -ye’ve teàn me for.” He tok off his specks, an’ he glower’t at mé adoot -them; an’ than he pot them on ageàn, an’ glower’t at mé wid them; an’ -than he laugh’t an’ ax’t mé if I thowte ther’ cud be nèa difference i’ -steàns. “Whey,” says I, “ye’ll hardly hev t’ feàce to tell me ’at ya -bag o’ steàns isn’t as gud as anudder bag o’ steàns—an’ suer_lye_ to -man, ye’ll niver be sa consaitit as to say yé can break steàns better -nor oald Aberram ’at breaks them for his breid, an’ breaks them o’ day -lang, an’ ivery day?” Wid that he laugh’t agean an’ tel’t mé to sit -doon, an’ than ax’t me what I thowte meàd him tak so mickle trùble -laitin’ bits o’ stean on t’ fells if he cud git what he wantit at t’ -rwoad side. “Well!” says I, “if I mun tell yé t’ truth, I thowte yé -war rayder nick’t i’ t’ heid; but it meàd nea matter what I thowte sa -lang as yé pait mé sa weel for gān wid yé.” As I said this, it com -into my held ’at it’s better to flaitch a feùl nor to feight wid him; -an’ efter o’, ’at ther’ may’d be sum’at i’ t’ oald man likin steans -of his oan breakin’ better nor ūdder fwoke’s. I remember’t t’ fiddle -’at Dan Fisher meàd, an’ thowte was t’ best fiddle ’at iver squeak’t, -for o’ it meàd ivery body else badly to hear’t; an’ wad bray oald Ben -Wales at his dancing scheùl boal acoase Ben wadn’t play t’ heàm meád -fiddle asteed of his oan. We o’ think meàst o’ what we’ve hed a hand in -oorsel’s—it’s no’but natteral; an’ sooa as o’ this ron throo my heid, -I fūnd me-sel’ gitten rayder sworry for t’ oald man, an’ I says, “What -wad yé gi’ me to git yé o’ yer oan bits o’ steàn back ageàn?” He cockt -up his lugs at this, an’ ax’t mé if his speciments, as he co’t them, -was seàf. “Ey,” says I, “they’re seàf aneùf; nèabody hereaboot ’ill -think a lal lock o’ steans worth meddlin’ on, sa lang as they divn’t -lig i’ the’r rwoad.” Wid that he jūmpt ūp an’ said I mud hev sum’at -to drink. Thinks I to me-sel’, “Cūm! we’re gittin’ back to oor oan -menseful way ageàn at t’ lang last, but I willn’t stūr a peg till I ken -what I’s to hev for gittin him his rubbish back, I wad niver hear t’ -last on’t if I went heàm em’ty handit.” He meád it o’ reet hooiver, -as I was tackin’ my drink; an’ he went up t’ stair an’ brong doon t’ -ledder bags I kent sa weel, an’ geh mé them to carry just as if nowte -hed happen’t, an’ off we startit varra like as we dūd afooar. - -T’ Skeàl-hill fwoke o’ gedder’t aboo’t dooar to leùk efter us, as if -we’d been a show. We, nowder on us, mindit for that, hooiver, but -stump’t away togidder as thick as inkle weavers till we gat till t’ -feùt of oor girt meedow, whoar t’ steans was liggin, aside o’ t’ -steel, just as I’d teem’t them oot o’ t’ bags, only rayder grown ower -wid gūrse. As I pick’t them up, yan by yan, and handit them to t’ oald -jolly jist, it dūd my heart gūd to see hoo pleas’t he leùkt, as he -wipet them on his cwoat cūff, an’ wettit them, an’ glower’t at them -throo his specks as if they wer’ sum’at gud to eat, an’ he was varra -hungry—an’ pack’t them away into t’ bags till they wer’ beàth chock -full ageàn. - -Well! t’ bargin was, ’at I sud carry them to Skeàl-hill. Sooa back -we pot—t’ jolly jist watchin’ his bags o’ t’ way as if t’ steans was -guineas, an’ I was a thief. When we gat theear, he meàd me’ tak’ them -reet into t’ parlour; an’ t’ fūrst thing he dūd was to co’ for sum reed -wax an’ a leet, an’ clap a greet splatch of a seal on t’ top of ayder -bag; an’ than he leūkt at me, an’ gev a lal grunt of a laugh, an’ a -smartish wag of his heid, as much as to say, “Dee it agean, if thoo -can, Joe!” But efter that he says, “Here, Joe,” says he, “here five -shillin’ for restworin’ my speciments, an’ here anudder five shillin’ -for showin’ mé a speciment of human natur’ ’at I didn’t believe in till -to-day.” Wid that, we shak’t hands an’ we partit; an’ I went heàm as -pleas’t as a dog wi’ two tails, jinglin’ my mūnny an’ finndin’ sūm way -as if I was hoaf a jolly jist me-sel’—an’ whoa kens but I was? For when -I gat theear, I says to fadder, “Fadder,” says I, “leùk yé here! If o’ -yer jibes turn’t to sec as this, I divn’t mind if ye jibe on till yé’ve -jibed yer-sel’ intul a tip’s whorn;” says I, “but I reckon yé niver -jibed to sec an’ end for yer-sel’ as ye’ve jibed for me this time!” - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] “A supplement to Joe and the Geologist, by another hand,” appeared -some time ago, in the _Whitehaven Herald_, and was afterwards published -as a pamphlet. Joe, considering himself misrepresented in that -production, able as it was, wishes to put himself right. Hence his -re-appearance before his many partial and indulgent friends. - - - - - BOBBY BANKS’ BODDERMENT. - - (_A Sup of Coald Keàl het up ageàn._) - - -She was ola’s a top marketer was ooar Betty, she niver miss’t gittin’ -t’ best price gā’n beàth for butter an’ eggs; an’ she ken’t hoo to -bring t’ ho’pennies heàm! Nūt like t’ meàst o’ fellows’ wives ’at -thinks there’s nèa hūrt i’ warin’ t’ odd brass iv a pictur’ beuk -or gūd stūff for t’ barnes or m’appen sūm’at whyte as needless for -ther’sels,—Betty ola’s brong t’ ho’pennies heàm. - -Cockerm’uth’s ooar reg’lar market—it’s a gay bit t’ bainer—but at t’ -time o’ year when Kes’ick’s full o’ quality ther’s better prices to be -gitten theear; an’ sooa o’ through t’ harvest time, an’ leater on, she -ola’s went to Kes’ick. Last back-end, hooiver, Betty was fashed sadly -wid t’ rheumatics iv her back, an’ yā week she cūd hardly git aboot -at o’, let alean gā to t’ market. For a while she wadn’t mak’ ūp her -mind whedder to send me iv her spot, or ooar eldest dowter, Faith; but -as Faith was hardly fowerteen—stiddy aneuf of her yeàge, but _rayder_ -yūng,—Betty thowte she’d better keep Faith at heàm an’ let me tak’ t’ -marketin’ to Kes’ick. - -Of t’ Setterda’ mwornin’, when it com’, she hed us o’ ūp an’ stūrrin, -seùner nor sūm on us liket; an’ when I’d gitten sūm’at to eat, iv a -hūgger mūgger mak’ of a way, says Betty till me, says she—“Here’s six -an’ twenty pūnd o’ butter,” says she. “If thoo was gud for owte thoo -wad git a shilling a pūnd for’t, ivery slake. Here’s five dozen of -eggs,” says she, “_I_ wadn’t give a skell o’ them mair nor ten for -sixpence,” says she, “but _thoo_ mun git what thoo can,” says she, -“efter thu’s fūnd oot what ūdder fwoke’s axin. When thu’s meàd thy -market,” says Betty, “thu’ll gā to t’ draper’s an’ git me a yard o’ -check for a brat, a knot o’ tape for strings tūl’t, an’ a hank o’ -threed to sowe’t wid—if I’s gud for nowte else, I can _sowe_ yit,” says -she, wid a gurn; “than thoo mūn git hoaf a pūnd o’ tea an’ a quarter -of a steàn o’ sugger—they ken my price at Crosstet’s—an’ hoaf a steàn -o’ soat, an’ a pūnd o’ seàp, an’ hoaf a pūnd o’ starch, an’ a penn’orth -o’ steàn-blue, an’ git me a bottle o’ that stùff to rūb my back wid; -an’ than thoo ma’ git two oonces o’ ’bacca for thysel’. - -If thoo leùks hoaf as sharp as thoo sūd leùk thu’ll be through wid -beàth thy marketin’ an’ thy shoppin’ by twelve o’clock; an’ thoo ma’ -gā an’ git a bit o’ dinner, like ūdder fwoke, at Mistress Boo’s, an’ a -pint o’ yall. Efter that t’ seùner thoo starts for heàm an’ t’ better. -Noo thu’ll mind an’ forgit nowte? Ther’ t’ check, an’ t’ tape, an’ t’ -threed, that’s three things—t’ tea, an’ t’ sugger, an’ t’ soat, an’ t’ -seàp, an’ t’ starch, an’ t’ steàn-blue, an’ t’ rūbbin’ stūff, an’ t’ -’bacca—I’s up-ho’d the’ nūt to forgit that!—elebben. Ten things for me, -an’ yan for thysel’! I _think_ I’ve meàd o’ plain aneùf; an’ noo, if -thoo misses owte I’ll say thoo’s a bigger clot-heid nor I’ve teàn the’ -for—an’ that ’ill be sayin’ nèa lal!” - -Many a fellow wad tak t’ ’frunts if his wife spak till him i’ that -way—but bliss yè I leev’t lang aneùf wid Betty to know ’at it’s no’but -a way she hes o’ shewin’ her likin’. When she wants to be t’ kindest -an’ best to yan, yan’s ola’s suer to git t’ warst wūrd iv her belly. - -Well, I set off i’ gŭd fettle for Kes’ick, gat theear i’ gradely time, -an’ pot ūp at Mistress Boo’s. I hed a sharpish market, an’ seùn gat -shot o’ my būtter an’ eggs at better prices nor Betty toak’t on. I -bowte o’ t’ things at she wantit, an’ t’ ’bacca for mysel’, an’ gat a -gud dinner at Mistress Boo’s, an’ a pint o’ yall an’ a crack. - -He wad be a cliverish fellow ’at went ta Kes’ick an’ gat oot on’t adoot -rain; an’ suer aneùf, by t’ time ’at I’d finished my pint an’ my crack, -it was cūmmin’ doon as it knows hoo to cūm doon at Kes’ick. - -But when it rains theear, they hev to deù as they deù ūnder Skiddaw, -_let it fo’!_ an’ wet or dry, I hed to git heàm tūll Betty. - -When I was aboot startin’, I begon to think ther’ was sum’at mair to -tak wid me. I coontit t’ things ower i’ my basket hoaf a dozen times. -Theear they o’ warr—ten for Betty, yan for me! Than what the dang-ment -was’t I was forgittin? I was suer it was sūm’at, but for t’ heart on me -I cūdn’t think what it med be. Efter considerin’ for a lang time, an’ -gittin’ anūdder pint to help mé to consider, I set off i’ t’ rain wid -my basket an’ t’ things in’t, anonder my top-sark to keep o’ dry. - -Bee t’ time I gat to Portinskeàl, I’d begon to tire! T’ wedder was -slattery, t’ rwoads was slashy, t’ basket was heavy, an’ t’ top sark -meàd me het; but t’ thowtes o’ hevin’ forgitten sūm’at tew’t mè t’ -warst of o’. I rūstit theear a bit—gat anudder pint, an’ coontit my -things ower and ower, “Ten for Betty!—yan for my-sel.” I cūd mak nowder -mair nor less on them. Cockswūnters!—what hed I forgitten? Or what -was’t ’at meàd mè suer I’d forgitten sūm’at when I’d o’ t’ things wid -mè? - -I teuk t’ rwoad agean mair nor hoaf crazy. - -I stop’t ūnder a tree aside Springbank, an’ Dr. —— com’ ridin’ up -through t’ rain, on his black galloway. “Why, Robert,” says he, “ye -look as if ye’d lost something.” “Nay, doctor,” says I, “here t’ check -an’ t’ tape an’ t’ threed—I’ lost nowte—that’s three. Here t’ soat, an’ -t’ seàp, an’ t’ starch, an’ t’ steàn-blue—that’s sebben—I’ lost nowte, -but I’ forgitten sum’at. Here t’ tea, an’ t’ sugger, an’ t’ rūbbin’ -bottle—that’s ten; an’ here t’ ’bacca—that’s elebben.—Ten for Betty, -an’ yan for me! Ten for Betty, an’ yan for me!! Doctor, doctor,” says -I, “fwoke say ye ken oa things—what _hev_ I forgitten?” “I’ll tell ye -what ye haven’t forgotten,” says he, “ye haven’t forgotten the ale at -Keswick. Get home, Robert, get home,” says he, “and go to bed and sleep -it off.” I believe he thowte I was drūnk; but I wasn’t—I was no’but -maizelt wid tryin’ to finnd oot what I’d forgitten. - -As I com nār to t’ Swan wid two Necks I fell in wid greet Gweordie -Howe, and says I, “Gweordie, my lad,” says I, “I’s straddelt,” says I, -“I’s fairly maiz’t,” says I. “I left sūm’at ahint me at Kes’ick, an’ -I’ve thowte aboot it till my heid’s gā’n like a job-jūrnal,” says I, -“an’ what it is _I_ cannot tell.” “Can t’e nūt?” says Gweordie. “Can -t’e nūt? Whey, than, cūm in an’ see if a pint o’ yall ’ll help thé’.” -Well, I steud pints, an’ Gweordie steud pints, an’ I steud pints ageàn. -Anūdder time I wad ha’ been thinkin’ aboot what Betty wad say till o’ -this pintin’, but I was gittin’ despert aboot what I’d forgitten at -Kes’ick, an’ I cūd think o’ nowte else. - -T’ yall was gud aneùf, but it dùdn’t kest a morsel o’ leet on what was -bodderin’ on ma sa sair, an’ I teuk t’ rwoad ageàn finndin’ as if I was -farder off’t nor iver. - -T’ rain keep’t cūmmin’ doon—t’ rwoad gat softer an’ softer—t’ basket -gat heavier an’ heavier—t’ top sark hetter an’ hetter, an’ my heid -queerer an’ queerer. If I stopt anonder ya tree i’ t’ wūd, I stopt -anonder twenty, an’ coontit ower t’ things i’ t’ basket till they begon -to shap’ theirsels intil o’ mak’s o’ barnish sangs i’ my heid, and I -fūnd mysel’ creunin’ away at sec bits of rhymes as thūrr— - - Ten things an’ yan, Bobby, - Ten things an’ yan; - Here five an’ five for Betty Banks, - An’ yan for Betty’s man. - -“Lord preserve oor wits—sec as they ūrr,” says I. “I mūn be gā’n wrang -i’ my heid when I’ve teàn till mackin’ sangs!” But t’ queerest break -was ’at I dūddn’t mak’ them—they meàd thersel’s—an’ they meàd me sing -them an’ o’, whedder I wad or nūt—an’ off I went ageàn till a different -teùn— - - Says Betty—says she; says Betty till me— - “If owte thou contrives to forgit, - “I’ll reckon thè’ daizter an’ dafter,” says she, - “Nor iver I’ve reckon’t thè’ yit.” - I’s daizter an’ dafter nor iver, she’ll say, - An’ marry, she willn’t say wrang! - But scold as she will, ey, an’ gūrn as she may, - I’ll sing her a bonnie lāl sang, lāl sang, - I’ll sing her a bonnie lāl sang. - -“Well! It hes cūm’t till whoa wad hae thowte it,” says I, “if I cannot -stop mysel’ frae mackin’ sangs an’ singin’ them of a wet day i’ Widdup -Wūd; I’ll coont t’ things ower ageàn,” says I, “an’ see if that’ll stop -ma.” Ye ma’ believe ma or nūt, as ye like, but iv anūdder tick-tack -there was I coontin’ t’ things ower iv a sang:— - - Here t’ check an’ t’ tape an’ t’ threed, oald lad! - Here t’ soat an’ t’ sugger an’ t’ tea— - Seàp, starch, steàn-blue, an’ t’ bottle to rub, - An’ t’ ’bacca by ’tsel’ on’t for me, - Here t’ ’bacca by ’tsel’ on’t for me, me, me, - Here t’ ’bacca by ’tsel’ on’t for me. - I’ll niver git heàm while Bobby’s my neàm, - But maffle an’ sing till I dee, dee, dee, - But maffle an’ sing till I dee! - -“Weel, weel,” says I, “If I _is_ oot o’ my senses—I IS oot o’ my -senses, an’ that’s oa’ aboot it,—but - - Loavins what’ll Betty think, Betty think, Betty think, - Loavins what’ll Betty think if Bobby bide away? - She’ll sweer he’s warin’ t’ brass i’ drink, t’ brass i’ drink, - t’ brass i’ drink, - She’ll sweer he’s warin’ t’ brass i’ drink this varra market-day. - She’s thrimlin’ for her būtter-brass, her būtter-brass, her - būtter-brass, - She’s thrimlin’ for her būtter brass, but willn’t thrimle lang. - For Bobby lad thū’s hūr to feàce, thū’s hūr to feàce, thū’s hūr to - feàce, - For Bobby lad, thū’s hūr to feàce; she’ll m’appen change thy sang. - -Sang or nèa sang, t’ thowtes o’ hevin’ “hūr to feàce,” an’ that gaily -seùn, rayder brong me to my oan oald sel’ ageàn. I set off yance mair, -an’ this time, I dūdn’t stop while I gat fairly into t’ foald. Faith -seed me cūmmin’, an’ met me oot side o’ t’ hoose dooar, an’ says -Faith, “Whoar t’ meear an’ t’ car, fadder?” I dropp’t my basket, an’ I -geàp’t at her! Lal Jacop com runnin oot, an’ says Jacop, “Fadder, whoar -t’ meear an’ t’ car?” I swattit mysel’ doon on t’ stean binch, an’ I -glower’t at them—furst at yan an’ than at t’ tudder on them. Betty com -limpin’ by t’ God-speed, an’ says Betty, “What hes t’e meàd o’ t’ car -an’ t’ meear, thoo maizlin?” I gat my speech ageàn when Betty spak’, -an’, hoaf crazet an’ hoaf cryin’, I shootit oot, “’Od’s wūns an’ deeth, -that’s what I’s forgitten!” That was what _I_ said. What _Betty_ said I -think I willn’t tell yè.” - - - - - WISE WIFF. - - -It was a fine job for Wilfrid Wankelthet ’at his fadder was bworn -afooar him. If he’d cùm’t into t’ warld pooar, he wad ha’ bidden pooar, -an’ geàn pooarer an’ pooarer still, till he’d finish’t on t’ parish. - -He was yan o’ t’ hafe-rock’t mack, was Wiffy, varra lāl in him but what -was putten in wid a speùn, an’ that hed run a gay deal mair to body nor -brains. - -For o’ that he wasn’t a bad fellow, an’ he wasn’t badly thowte on. Many -a body said ’at Wise Wiff, if he hedn’t mūch in him, t’ lāl he hed in -him wasn’t of a bad pattren; an’ es for his manishment, if he’d nò’but -stuck till his fadder’ advice, he needn’t ha’ gitten sa varra far -wrang. - -T’ way he gat his fadder’ advice was this. When t’ oald man fund ’at -he was gà’n whoar he cūdn’t carry his land an’ his morgidges, an’ his -mūnney, an’ his moiderment alang wid him—whoar they wadn’t dee him -mickle gūd if he cūd—he sent for Jobby Jinkison, o’ Jūrtinsyke, a smo’ -farmer of his ’at hed deùn a gūd deal o’ bisness for him at fairs, -an’ markets, an’ seàles, an’ sec like, efter he’d growne ower frail -to git fray heàm his-sel; an’, says he, “Jobby, I’s leavin’t o’,” he -says, “I’ve meàd a fair scraffle, Jobby,” says he, “an’ I’ve gedder’t -a gay bit togidder, but I can’t tack it wid me, Jobby, an’ I’s wantin -to speak till thé’ aboot that pooar lad o’ mine, ’at it o’ hes to cūm -till. Nèabody kens better nor thee what he’s shwort on—nèabody kens -so weel hoo I’ve triet to git a bit o’ edication drūven intūl him, -an’ hoo lāl we’ve meàd on’t. Ya scheùlmaister said he was shwort o’ -apprehension; anūdder, ’at he wantit ability; an’ a thūrd, ’at he hed -nèa capacity. If thúr hed been things ’at mūnny wad ha’ bowte, he sūd -hed them o’, but they warn’t. What God’s left oot we cannot o’ put -in, thoo knows, an’ we mūn sūbmit—we mūn sūbmit, Jobby,” says he, -“an’ mack t’ best o’ things as they ūrr. But I cūd súbmit better—I cūd -dee easier if thoo wad promish to leùk efter things for him when I’s -geàn. I divn’t want him to be idle o’ togidder, an’ sooa I wad wish -him to keep t’ Booin-leys iv his oan hand—it’ll give him sūm’at to -think aboot, an’ mack fwoke leùk up till him mair nor if he was deùin -nowte at o’; an’ I fancy ’at if thoo wad agree to deù o’ his buyin an’ -sellin for him, an’ seàv him fray bein teán in an’ laugh’t at, I cūd -be happier noo. _Wil_’tè?” Jobby wasn’t a man o’ many wūrds, but he -said “I will, maister! I’ll dee o’ for him t’ seám as if ye wer heear -to worder it yersel’ an’ see it deùn. Wid t’ farms o’ weel set—wid t’ -Booin-leys liggin i’ girse, an’ wid me to leùk efter his barg’ins, -I wad like to see t’ fellow ’at wad laugh at ooar Wiff.” “I believe -the’, Jobby—I believe the’, my lad,” says t’ deein man, “I leùk’t for -nēa less at thy hand. Fetch him in here, an’ I’ll tell him afooar the’ -what I wis him to deù when I’s geàn. Wiffy, my lad,” says he, as his -son com in, leùken, as he thowte, mair sackless nor iver. “Wiffy, my -pooar lad, thy oald fadder’s gā’n to leave thee. Whey, whey, gūd lad! -it’s reet aneùf thoo sūd be sworry to lwoase sec a fadder, but divn’t -gowl i’ that way,” for Wiff hed brassen oot wid a meàst terrable rooar. -“I say I hev to leave thee, an’ that afooar lang. Hod thy noise, thoo -bellerin coaf, an’ hear what I’ve to say,” says t’ fadder, as he got -oot o’ patience at Wiff’s gowlin, an’ went back tūll his oald hard way -o’ speakin til him. “Stop thy beelin, I say, an’ lissen to me. I’ve hed -Jobby here browte ower, ebben o’ pûrpose, to mack him promish ’at he’ll -leùk efter thee when I’s away. Hod t’ noise on the’, wil’té! I’s leavin -the’ weel providit for, an’ o’ t’ land mūn be let but t’ Booin-leys; -thoo mūn keep them i’ thy oan hand—thūrty yacre o’ gûd grūnd. Ey,” -says he, hoaf till hissel, “t’ best land ’at iver laid oot o’ dooars. -Whativer way ye gang fray’t ye warsen! Thoo’ll hod them i’ thy oan -hand, for t’ seàk o’ hevin sūm’at to deù. Thoo’ll hev to leùk efter t’ -fences, an’ t’ yatts, an’ t’ water-coorses. Keep _them_ i’ order; an’ -keep t’ plew oot o’ t’ land; it ’ill give t’ meàst liggin t’ green side -ūp. Jobby ’ill deù thy tradin’ for the’. Dūnnot thee mell wid buyin or -sellin. Leave o’ that to Jobby, an’ pay him whativer he charges for his -trūble. He’ll deù what’s reet, will Jobby. An’ noo I’s aboot deùn. Gi’ -me yer hands, beàth on yé, an’ say ye’ll deù what I tell yè. Wilfrid! -thoo’ll be advised by Jobby. Jobby! thoo’ll be true frind to my pooar -lad, as if I was theear to see. Promish!” - -This was a langish noration for a body wid t’ breath leavin him, an’ -when it was done he laid back on his pilliver, an’ leùk’t at them varra -wistful-like, till they promish’t, an’ it was a bit afooar they cūd, -for by this time they war beáth on them yewlin, t’ yan ower t’ ùdder, -whedder to yewl t’ hardest. - -When t’ oald man was bury’t oot o’ geàt, Wilfrid an’ Jobby wūrk’t away -togidder varra cannily. Job bowte stock for t’ Booin-leys, an’ selt -them as they fatten’t off, an’ enter’t o’ iv a big beùk ’at Wiff niver -so mūch as leùk’t atween t’ backs on. He’d his fadder’s last wūrds for -Jobby deein what was reet, an’ they war aneùf. - -Nowte com to put owder on them oot of his way, till Wiff gat a wife—or -mebbe I wad be narder t’ truth if I said, a wife gat Wiff—for when -ivery body seed ’at he went on i’ sec a stiddy soort of a way—gittin -heavy incomins i’ rent, an’ interest, an’ shares, an’ néabody kent -what; an’ makin varra leet ootgangins, it was plain aneùf ’at he wad -seùn be yan o’ t’ yablest men i’ thur parts, an’ t’ lasses begon to -cock ther caps at him of o’ sides—’specially them ’at thowte a man -isn’t wūrth hevin if he hesn’t gitten a bit o’ t’ feàce o’ t’ yūrth; -an’ efter a while yan o’ that mack fassen’t Wiffy. - -She meàd him a fairish wife, as wives gang, an’ if she’d no’but been -wise aneùf ta tack him as he was, an’ let things gā on as they hed -deùn, o’ wad been weel; but she cūdn’t bide t’ thowtes of oanin’, -owder till hersel or ūdder fwoke, ’at she’d weddit a Tommy Moakison -for t’ seàk of his brass; an’ sooa she keept eggin him on to dee his -oan tūrns, an’ let fwoke see ’at he wasn’t sec a natteral as he was -co’t. It was this whim-wham o’ t’ wife’s ’at gat him t’ nick-neām of -Wise Wiff, an’ it com tūl him i’ this geàt. Amang t’ stock ga’n on t’ -Booin-leys ya year there happen’t to be hoaf a scwore of as bonnie -Galloway Scots as iver hed yār o’ t’ ootside on them. Jobby hed bowte -them i’ t’ spring o’ t’ year at a gūddish price, acoase he seed ther -was mūnny to be gitten oot on them efter a sūmmer’s rūn iv a gūd -pastur’. Jūst as they war rūddy for a cūstomer, an’ Wiff was thinkin o’ -gā’n doon to Jobby to toke aboot sellin on them, t’ wife says, “Ther’s -a butcher cūmmin fray Cockerm’uth to-day aboot buyin them Scots.” -“Whey than,” says Wilfrid, “I’s just step doon to Jobby, an’ tell him -to cūm up an’ meet t’ butcher.” “Thoo’ll dee nowte o’ t’ mack,” says -t’ mistress, “Thoo’ll set to wark, as a gentleman sūd dee, an’ let -Jobby Jinkison, an’ ivery body else, see ’at thoo wants néabody to cūm -atween thee an’ thy oan bisness.” “Well, but,” says Wiff, “I promish’t -fadder on his deith-bed ’at Jobby sūd dee o’ t’ buyin’ an’ sellin.” -“Niver thee mind that,” says she, “fadder willn’t cūm back to claim -thee promish, an’ if he dūd, I wad tell him ’at if a promish isn’t reet -it’s wrang to keep it. Thoo’ll dee as I tell thee.” “Well, but,” says -pooar Wiffy ageàn, “fadder meàd me varra nār sweear tul’t.” “Shaff o’ -thee fadder!” says she, “What sense is ther i’ flingin a deid fadder -iv a leevin wife’s feàce i’ this ugly fashin. Does t’e know what t’ -scriptur’ says aboot it?—’at a man mūn leave his fadder and mudder, an’ -stick till his wife! I say ageàn, sell thee oan gūds thee oan sel’, an’ -mack t’ best thoo can on them.” “But hoo’s I to ken what price to ex?” -says he. “Whey,” says she, “cannot thoo leuk into t’ beuk ’at Jobby -writes o’ doon in, an’ finnd t’ price he pait for them? That ’ill be a -guide for the’. But I wad rayder loase a pūnd or two, if I was thee, -nor be meàd a barne on any lang-er.” Like many a cliverer fellow, pooar -Wiff fūnd ther was nowte for’t but lettin his wife hev her way; an’ -when t’ butcher com, he went reet ower wid him to t’ fields whoar t’ -bullocks was gā’n, an’ sel’t them tūll him oot o’ hand. - -Iv his rwoad heàm he went roond by Jūrtinsyke to tell Jobby of his -mwornin’s wark. Jobby leuk’t rayder strūcken iv a heap when he hārd -it; but efter considerin a lāl bit, he said, “Weel, maister,” (he -oalas spack respectful-like to pooar Wilfrid, dūd Jobby hissel, an’ he -wadn’t let any body else dee udder ways when he was theear.) “Weel, -maister,” says Jobby, “I willn’t oalas be here to mannish for yé, an’ -yé may as weel begin noo as efter I’s geàn to try yer fist at tradin. -But what gat yé for t’ Scots?” “I dūd bravely, lad,” says Wiff, “I dūd -bravely. I gat nine pūnd ten a heid for them.” “Nine pūnd ten!” Jobby -shootit, “Whey, that’s what I geh for them, mair nor five mūnth sen!” -“I ken that,” says Wiff, “I teùk a peep into t’ girt beùk, an’ fūnd -theear what thu’d gi’én for them.” “An yé jūst gat what they cost i’ t’ -spring?” says Jobby. “I think if yé carry on a trade like that owte sa -lang, yé’ll be mackin’ t’ oald maister’s mūnny bags leùk gaily wankle.” -“Mūnny bags,” says Wiff, “What’s t’ use o’ toakin aboot mūnny bags? -T’ mūnny bags is seàf aneùf sa lang as I git as mūch for beasts as I -_gi’_ for them. I think I’ve meàd a varra fair trade, whativer thoo may -think.” “Aih dear! aih dear!” says Job, “it wad mack t’ oald maister -git up oot o’ his grave, if he cūd hear this. Whoar’s t’ rent o’ t’ -land to cūm fray wid yer fair trade?” “T’ rent o’ t’ land, thoo oald -neudles,” says Wiff, “t’ rent o’ what land? T’ land’s my oan!” - -Sooa Mistress Wanklethet fūnd ’at her fadder-in-lo’, kent his sūn -better nor she dūd her man; an’ o’ ’at com of her middlin was to git -her husband a nickneàm an’ mack him a by-wūrd; for iver sen, when any -body theear aboots macks a queerish bargin, somebody else is suer to -say, “T’ land’s my oan, says Wise Wiff!” - - - - - LAL DINAH GRAYSON. - - - Lal Dinah Grayson’s fresh, fewsome, an’ free, - Wid a lilt iv her step an’ a glent iv her e’e; - She glowers ebbem at mé whativer I say - An’ meàstly mak’s answer wid “M’appen I may!” - “M’appen I may,” she says, “m’appen I may; - Thou thinks I believe the’, an’ m’appen I may!” - - Gay offen, when Dinah I mannish to meet - O’ Mūndays, i’ t’ market i’ Cockerm’uth street, - I whisper “Thou’s nicer nor owte here to day,” - An’ she cocks up her chin an’ says, “M’appen I may! - M’appen I may, my lad, m’appen I may; - There’s nowte here to crack on, an’ m’appen I may!” - - She’s smart oot o’ dooars—she’s tidy i’ t’ hoose; - Snod as a mowdy-warp—sleek as a moose. - I’ blue goon, i’ black goon, i’ green goon or grey, - I tell her she’s reeght, an’ git “M’appen I may!” - “M’appen I may,” she’ll say, “m’appen I may, - Thou kens lal aboot it, but m’appen I may!” - - There’s nūt mickle on her,—we ken ’at gud stuff - Laps up i’ lal bundles, an’ she’s lal aneuf; - There’s nowte aboot Dinah were better away - But her comical[2] ower-wūrd “M’appen I may.” - “M’appen I may,” it’s still, “m’appen I may.” - Whativer yan wants yan gits “m’appen I may!” - - An’ it shaps to be smittal; whoariver I gang, - I can’t tell a stwory—I can’t sing a sang— - I can’t hod a crack, nay!—I can’t read nor pray - Widout bringin’ in her dang’t “M’appen I may.” - “M’appen I may,” it cūms, “m’appen I may;” - Asteed of Amen, I say “m’appen I may.” - - But she met me ya neeght aside Pards’aw Lea yatt— - I tock her seàf heàm, but I keep’t her oot leàt, - An’ offen I said i’ my oan canny way, - “Will t’é like me a lal bit?”—“Whey,—M’appen I may! - M’appen I may, Harry—m’appen I may; - Thou’s rayder a hoaf-thick, but m’appen I may!” - - I prist her to wed mé—I said I was pooar, - But eddlin aneuf to keep hung-er frayt’ dooar. - She leuk’t i’ my feàce, an’ than, hoaf turn’t away, - She hung doon her heid an’ said “M’appen I may! - M’appen I may”—(low doon)—“m’appen I may, - I think thou means fairly, an’ m’appen I may.” - - We’re hingin’ i’ t’ bell reàps[3]—to t’ parson I’ve toak’t, - An’ I gev him a hint as he maffelt an’ jwoak’t, - To mind when she sud say “love, honour, OBEY,” - ’At she doesn’t slip through wid her “M’appen I may.” - M’appen I may, may be—m’appen I may, - But we moont put up than wid a “m’appen I may.” - -FOOTNOTES: - -[2] Comical, used thus, means _Pert_, in central Cumberland. - -[3] During the period required for the publication of banns, a couple -are said, figuratively, to be “hinging in t’ bell ropes.” - - - - - JWOHNNY, GIT OOT! - - - “Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny, thou’s no’but a fash; - Thou’ll come till thou raises a desperat clash;[4] - Thou’s here ivery day just to put yan aboot, - An’ thou moiders yan terrably—Jwohnny, git oot! - - What says t’e? I’s bonnie? Whey! That’s nowte ’at’s new. - Thou’s wantin’ a sweetheart?—Thou’s hed a gay few! - An’ thou’s cheatit them, yan efter t’ t’udder, nèa doubt; - But I’s nūt to be cheatit sèa—Jwohnny, git oot! - - There’s plenty o’ lads i’ beàth Lamplugh an’ Dean - As yabble as thee, an’ as weel to be seen; - An’ I med tak’ my pick amang o’ there aboot— - Does t’é think I’d ha’e thee, than? Hut, Jwohnny, git oot! - - What? Nūt yan amang them ’at likes mé sa weel? - Whey, min—there’s Dick Walker an’ Jonathan Peel - Foorsettin’ mé ola’s i’ t’ lonnins aboot, - Beàth wantin’ to sweetheart mé—Jwohnny, git oot! - - What?—Thou will hev a kiss?—Ah, but tak’t if thou dar! - I tell the’, I’ll squeel, if thou tries to cŭ’ nār. - Tak’ care o’ my collar—Thou byspel, I’ll shoot. - Nay, thou sha’n’t hev anudder—Noo Jwhonny, git oot! - - Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny—Thou’s tew’t me reet sair; - Thou’s brocken my comb, an’ thou’s toozelt my hair. - I willn’t be kiss’t, thou unmannerly loot! - Was t’ere iver sec impidence! Jwohnny, git oot! - - Git oot wid the’, Jwohnny—I tell the’, be deùn. - Does t’e think I’ll tak’ up wid Ann Dixon’s oald sheùn? - Thou ma’ gā till Ann Dixon, an’ pu’ hur aboot, - But thou s’alln’t pu’ me, sèa—Jwohnny, git oot! - - Well! That’s sent him off, an’ I’s sworry it hes; - He med ken a lass niver means hoaf ’at she says. - He’s a reet canny fellow, howiver I floot, - An’ it’s growin o’ wark to say Jwohnny, git oot!” - -FOOTNOTES: -[4] Clash—_Scandal_. - - - - - THE RUNAWAY WEDDING. - - - My fadder said “Nay”—an’ my mudder said “Niver!” - When Willie furst telt them we wantit to wed; - We mud part—they said, beàth—part at yance an’ for iver, - An’ they deavet me to deeth aboot foats ’at he hed. - A sailor was Will, forret, free-tonguet, an’ funny, - An’ gi’en till o’ manner o’ teulment was he; - Rayder lowce i’ religion, an’ careless o’ money, - But dear was my wild, thowtless Willie to me. - - His life seemed meàd up of arrivin’s an’ sailin’s— - Rough hardship at sea, an’ fair daftness at heàm. - I cry’t ow’r his danger—I pray’t ow’r his failin’s, - An’ offen forgev what I cudn’t but bleàm. - An’ many a frind, an’ relation, an’ neighbour - Brong hints an’ queer teàls aboot Will to poor me; - But neighbours an’ frinds gat the’r pains for the’r labour, - For t’mair they misco’t him t’mair thowte on was he. - - An’ t’ upshot of o’ the’r fine hints an’ advices - Was ’at, ya neet, weel happ’t i’ Will’s greet sailor cwoat, - We dreàv, afoor dayleet, to Foster Penrice’s, - An’ slip’t ow’r till Annan i’ t’ Skinburneese bwoat. - An’ theer we wer’ weddit, i’ their way o’ weddin’;— - I dudn’t hafe like’t, but they said it wad dee; - An’ I dār-say it may’d—for a lass ’at was bred in - Their ways—but it wasn’t like weddin’ to me. - - An’ when Will brong me back, varra shām-feàcet an’ freetent, - Ower t’ sin an’ disgrace on’t my mūdder went wild.— - Sair, sair dud my heart sink, but bravely it leeten’t - When Will prist me close up beside him, an’ smil’d. - My fadder said lāl, no’but whishtit my mudder, - An’ pettit an’ blest me wid tears iv his e’e; - Till beàth on us ru’t what hed gi’en him sec bodder, - An’ shām’t of our darrak steud Willie an’ me. - - Eigh—for loave, he was kind! an’ he wad hev us weddit, - As t’ rest of his barns hed been—menseful an’ reet— - He leuk’t at oor Scotch weddin’-writin’ an’ read it, - But went up to t’ Priest’s aboot t’ license that neet. - An’ he keep’t me at heàm, though we hed a hoose riddy. - He said he mud hev me, while Will follow’t t’ sea. - An’ Will! weddin’ meàd him douce, careful, an’ stiddy, - An’ he’s hoddenly been a gud husband to me. - - He seun hed a ship of his oan, an’ meàd money, - An’ seàv’t it, what he reckoned harder by far; - An’, ola’s weel-natur’t, free-heartit an’ funny, - He meàd his-sel frinds wid whativer com’ nār. - An’ es for my mūdder, ’at thowte me so silly, - An’ lang nowte but bad i’ poor Willie wad see, - I’s thenkful she leevet to say—“Bless thee _son_ Willie, - “Many cūmforts we’ve hed but meàst cūmfort i’ thee.” - - - - - BILLY WATSON’ LONNING. - - - O for Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght! - When t’ stars come few an’ flaytely, efter weerin’ oot day-leeght— - When t’ black-kite blossom shews itsel’ i’ hafe-seen gliffs o’ grey, - An’ t’ honey-suckle’s scentit mair nor iver it is i’ t’ day. - An’ nūt a shadow, shap’ or soond, or seeght, or sign ’at tells - ’At owte ’at’s wick comes santerin’ theer but you, yer oan two sel’s. - Ther’ cannot be anudder spot so private an’ so sweet, - As Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght! - - T’ Hempgarth Broo’s a cheersome pleàce when t’ whins bloom full o’ - flooar— - Green Hecklebank turns greener when it’s watter’t wid a shooar— - There’s bonnie neuks about Beckside, Stocks-hill, an’ Greystone - Green— - High Woker Broo gi’es sec a view as isn’t offen seen— - It’s glorious doon ont’ Sandy-beds when t’ sun’s just gān to set— - An’ t’ Clay-Dubs isn’t far aslew when t’ wedder isn’t wet; - But nin was meàd o’ pūrpose theer a bonnie lass to meet - Like Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght. - - Yan likes to trail ow’r t’ Sealand-fields an’ watch for - t’ comin’ tide, - Or slare whoar t’ Green hes t’ Ropery an’ t’ Shore of ayder side— - T’ Weddriggs road’s a lāl-used road, an’ reeght for coortin toke— - An’ Lowca’ lonnin’s reeght for them ’at like a langsome woke— - Yan’s reeght aneuf up t’ Lime-road, or t’ Waggon-way, or t’ Ghyll, - An’ reeght for ram’lin’s Cūnning-wood or Scattermascot hill. - Ther’s many spots ’at’s reeght aneuf, but nin o’ ways so reeght - As Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght. - - Sec thowtes as thur com’ thick lang sen to yan, a lonterin’ lad, - Wid varra lal to brag on but a sperrit niver sad, - When he went strowlin’ far an’ free aboot his sea-side heàm, - An’ stamp’t a mark upon his heart of ivery frind-like neàm;— - A mark ’at seems as time drees on to deepen mair an’ mair— - A mark ’at ola’s breeghtens meàst i’ t’ gloom o’ comin’ care; - But nowte upon his heart has left a mark ’at hods so breeght - As Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght! - - Oor young days may’d be wastet days, but dār their mem’ry’s dear! - And what wad yan not part wid noo ageàn to hev them here? - Whativer trubles fash’t us than, though nayder leet nor few, - They niver fash’t us hafe so lang as less an’s fash us noo; - If want o’ thowte brong bodderment, it pass’t for want o’ luck, - An’ what cared we for Fortun’s bats, hooiver feurce she struck? - It mud be t’ time o’ life ’at meàd oor happiness complete - I’ Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght! - - - - - LONE AND WEARY. - - - Deid winter’s nūt sa dark to me - As t’ lang leet days o’ t’ spring;— - I hate to see a swallow flee, - Or hear a throssle sing; - I greàn at t’ fresh green leaves on t’ trees; - I turn frae t’ flooers o’ May, - For t’ croft was white wid dog-daisies - When Jwohn was teàn away. - - We coortit lang, dud Jwohn an’ me— - We waitit lang an’ sair— - He thowte oor weddin’ mūdn’t be - While beàth war poor an’ bare; - An’ sep’rat’, I gat past my prime, - Jwohn barrow-back’t an’ grey;— - Reet sair I grudg’t that wastit time, - When Jwohn was teàn away. - - Jwohn pinch’t an’ spar’t, an’ tew’t an’ streàv, - Till t’ heart wid-in him brak’— - Still aimin’ brass aneuf to seàv, - Some lal bit farm to tak’: - An’ when he’d gitten t’ farm an’ me, - ’Twas plain he mūdn’t stay;— - He dwined through t’ winter dark an’ dree— - I’ t’ spring was teàn away. - - We may’d hed many a happy year, - If thowte to t’ winds we’d flung, - An’ join’t oor strength life’s leàd to beear, - When beàth war lish an’ yūng: - But widdert was oor flooer o’ life - Afoor oor weddin’ day; - An’ I’d nūt been ya year a wife - When Jwohn was teàn away. - - Sooa t’ spring o’ life na sūmmer browte, - To my poor man or me; - An’ t’ spring o’ t’ year noo brings me nowte - But t’ mind o’ misery. - I can’t see what anudder sees - I’ t’ fields an’ t’ flooers o’ May, - For t’ croft was white wid dog-daisies - When Jwohn was teàn away. - - - - - T’ CLEAN NED O’ KES’ICK. - - This phrase is proverbial in central Cumberland, and is generally used - in a negative sense; thus, of a person whose character for upright - conduct will not bear the full light of day, it is said, “He’s nūt t’ - clean Ned o’ Kes’ick.” - - - Lang an’ leàt we ma’ lait throo fray Fiend’s-fell[5] to Fles’ick,[6] - Afooar we’ll finnd mair ner yā fellow or two - Yan can fairly an’ freely co’ t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick; - Oald Cūm’erlan’ t’sel’ on’t hods no’but a few! - An’ hoo mūn us tell when we div happen on them? - Whey, that, just off-hand, isn’t easy to say! - But sūm of o’ yages hev marks plain upon them - Showin’ they’re nin o’ t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick—nūt they! - - We ma’ leet on a barne wid t’ leùk of ill-natur’ - An’ spite glowerin’ oot of a widderful feàce; - A lean, discontentit, slee, gyversome creetur’, - ’At kens hoo to mak’ its-sel’ t’ maister o’ t’ pleàce— - ’At yowls when it wants owte, an’ glumps when it gits it, - Till o’ but it’s mūdder wad droon’t iv a kit; - ’An’ t’ mair ’at she dantles, an’ pampers, an’ pets it, - T’ less like to growe t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick growes it. - - Or mayhap, a lāl lad ’at tells teàls of his brudders, - An’ cocks his-sel’ up, an’ example to t’ rest— - ’At seàvs his oan laikins an’ laiks wid anudder’s, - An’ geaps for owte gud like a gorb iv a nest; - ’At boggles at lowpy-back, rack-ups, or shinny, - An’ keeps his-sel’ ootside o’ t’ ruck at foot-bo’;— - They ma’ praise him ’at hes him—I’d lay my last guinea - He s’ niver be t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick for o’. - - Or a rovin’ yūng chap ’at ga’s hard efter t’ lasses, - An’ stuffs them wid o’ maks o’ flaitchment an’ lees; - Ol’a’s smùrkin’ an’ smilin’ an’ fair to the’r feàces, - But skiftin’ his mattie as fancy ma’ please— - Tackin’ up at t’ lang last, efter feùlin a duzzen, - Wid sūmbody’s dowter he thinks weel to dee;— - A taggelt like that sūd be hatit like puzzen— - He’ll niver be t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick, nūt he! - - Or a man ’at likes brass, an’ cheats o’ maks o’ ways for’t, - An’ clowks at advantage whoariver he can; - An’ taks drink gaily free when anudder chap pays for’t, - But wi’n’t stand his share iv a shot like a man: - ’At ol’a’s for sūm dūrty profit ligs watchin’; - ’At keeps o’ he cares for anonder ya hat; - An’ pays what he owes fwok wid phraisin’ or fratchin’— - He munnet be t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick—moon’t that! - - Or a swaddlin’ oald sneak, wid a snowk an’ a snivel, - ’At kests up his e’en when he hears a rūff jwoke; - Co’in’ sangs an’ queer stwories o’ ’ticements o’ t’ divel— - An’ snirrups his nwose ūp at t’ praise o’ poor fwok: - ’At grùnts ageàn wrusslin’s, fairs, hoond-trails an’ reàces, - An’ sec-like divarsions, as sinful an’ vain, - Winkin’ hard at t’ seàm time at wār sins i’ hee pleàces— - He niver was t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick—that’s plain. - - Nay! for be what it may be—his yeàge, steàt or station, - A man hollow heartit, unfrindly, unfair, - Makin’ mair nor reet use of a lofe or occasion,— - Grippin’ hard by his oan, ah, still grankin’ for mair; - ’At can toak like a bishop, an’ hod back his meanin’, - But can’t wid his neighbours or kinsfwoke agree; - Keepin’ bleàmin’ an’ backbitin’, grudgin’ an’ pleenin’— - He cannot be t’ clean Ned o’ Kes’ick—can’t he. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[5] Fiend’s-fell, an old name for Cross-fell, on the eastern verge of -the county. - -[6] The beautiful secluded bay which divides the two Heads of St. Bees, -the most westerly points of Cumberland, is called Fleswick. - - - - - BEN WELLS. - - - Kersmas is hardly Kersmas noo!— - Nowte’s left like what it used to be— - T’ yall’s nūt what they used to brew— - An’ t’ fūn’s nūt what we used to see— - T’ lasses irn’t hoaf sa smart, - For o’ the’r fallal hats an’ veils, - An’ music niver stūrs yan’s heart - Like “T’ Hūnt’s Up” played by oald Ben Wales. - - - “T’ Hūnt’s Up” of a Kersmas mworn, - When stars war breet an’ frost was keen, - Wad roose us like a hunter’s whorn, - Whativer hakes ower neet we’d seen. - An’ dar! ’twas nice to snūg i’ bed, - An’ lissen oot that brave oald lilt, - An’ hear, at ivery stave they played, - Gud wishes shootin’ t’ chorus till ’t. - - Ben Wales’s fiddle, many a neet, - Gev weel oiled springs to t’ heaviest heels, - For few cud whyet hod the’r feet - When Ben strack up his heartenin’ reels. - Wid elbow room an’ rozel’t weel, - Swinge! how he’d mak’ fwoke keàv an’ prance; - An’ nowte cud match t’ sly fiddle-squeal - ’At signall’d kiss i’ t’ cushion dance. - - Noo poor Ben Wales is deid an’ geàn— - His marrow willn’t seùn be seen; - But rare top dancers many a yan, - He’s left to keep his memory green. - Nèa mair at ball or oald-fwoke’s-neet - We’ll see his gud reet elbow jog; - An’ when they laid Ben oot o’ seet, - T’ oald cushion dance went oot o’ vogue. - - Fwoke’s ways turn different, t’ langer t’ mair, - An’ what, lang sen, was reet ’s grown wrang; - We’re, meàst on us, owre fine to care - For heàmly dance, teùn, teàl, or sang. - An’ nowte ’s meàd varra lastin’ here, - T’ best bow-hand growes oald an’ fails, - An’ t’ lishest legs git num’ an’ queer; - Few last sa weel as oald Ben Wales! - - -NOTE. - - The late Benjamin Wells was, for about half a century, the best - known and most popular of all the dancing-masters who have plied - their vocation amongst the country people of West Cumberland; and, - as a teacher of the old-fashioned style of dancing, in which vigour, - activity, and precision are, rather than gracefulness, the main - _desiderata_, he has never been surpassed. As a violin player his - performance was remarkably correct, distinct, and strongly marked as - to time—in fact, the best possible fiddling to dance to. The last time - I met with him was about twenty years ago, in the bar-parlour of an - inn in the southern part of the Lake district, which was somewhat out - of his ordinary beat, and where the strains of his fiddle, produced at - my request, caused such excitement that a general and very uproarious - dance (of males only) set in, and was kept up with such energy that, - the space being confined, the furniture was seriously damaged, and - Ben was at last ejected by the landlady as the readiest, indeed the - only method of putting a stop to the riot. He was light, muscular, - and springy, and, in his earlier years, wonderfully swift of foot, so - much so that the late Dr. Johnstone, of Cockermouth, told me that he - once (at Scale Hill) saw him, without any assistance, run down and - capture a wild rabbit—a proof of activity rarely paralleled. Poor old - Ben! It will be long ere his erect, compact little figure, his bright, - cheery expression, his sprightly address, and his quick firm step are - altogether forgotten in the western dales and seaward parishes of - Cumberland. REQUIESCAT! - - - - - SANNTER, BELLA! - - - Sannter, Bella!—Bliss the’, sannter, - Th’u’ll be seun aneuf at heàm; - Gā’n frae t’ chūrch at sec a cannter, - Fwoke ’ll sweer th’u’s thinkin’ shām’— - Shām’ ’at I sud woak aside the’! - Does t’e, Bella, shām’ o’ me? - Whey than, bide the’, dar it, bide the’!— - Few’s sa leet o’ t’ feut as thee. - - Si’s t’e, Bella, nay but, si’s t’e, - Hoo th’u’s makin’ t’ ne’bours laugh; - Th’u’s a taistrel fair ’at is t’e, - But I like thee weel——Hŭt, shaff!— - Whoa can tell his stwory rūnnin?— - Whoa can coort an’ win a reàce?— - If th’u’s flay’t I’s foase, or fūnnin’, - Stop, an’ leuk me fair i’ t’ feàce! - - Leuk, an’ see if I wad cheat the’— - Leuk, I tell the’, glimes wont dee! - Whativer wrang’t the’, I wad reet the’, - Whoa-iver fails the’, trust i’ me. - Wait! Nay, tak’ mair time, I pray the’— - Shūttin’ frae yan like a dart— - Nowte for nowte I’s axin’ frae the’— - Nowte for nowte, but heart for heart. - - Sannter, than! Nay, Bella, sannter! - I’ll nūt say ya wūrd ’at’s wrang, - But th’u’s a wannter!—I’s a wannter! - An’ nowder sud be wannters lang. - Thoo kens what sec a heàm I’ve gitten— - Ken’s o’ ’s reet, an’ straight, an’ square— - Ken’s o’ wad fit the’ like a mitten; - What the hangment wad t’e mair? - - Sannter! sannter!! sannter, Bella!!! - Gi’ me time to tell my teàl; - ’Tis n’t kind to mak’ a fellow - T’ laughin-stock of hoaf o’ t’ deàl. - Does t’e think o’ ’s nūt fairation? - Hes t’e any foat to finnd? - Nay! Whey than, ther’s nèa ’casion— - Hŭh—By jing, I’s oot o’ wind! - - ’Beàt thy speed! Dar sonn, I’ll ho’d the’! - Ho’d the’ till I’ve said my say— - Till my heart’s ya wish I’ve shew’d the’, - Gittin’ back for ’t ey or nay. - Wil’ t’e than, say, wil’ t’e wed me? - Ah! Thou wadn’t still say—no! - Faith! a bonnie dance th’u’s led me, - But that lāl squeeze mak’s up for o’!— - - T’ squeeze frae thy smo’ fing-ers, Bella! - Trimlin’ here i’ my rough hand; - It’s queer a touch sa leet can tell a - Teàl sa plain to understand; - It’s queerer thoo sūd be sa freeten’t,— - Flay’t when nowte at o’ ’s amiss. - Loavin! How thy feàce has breeten’t, - Reedenin’ up at t’ furst fair kiss. - - - - - BRANTHET NEUK BOGGLE. - - (A TEAL FOR A WINTER NEEGHT.) - - - ’At Marron Beck’s a bonnie beck, what mazelin wad deny? - An’ what compares wi’ Branthet Neùk ’at Marron Beck gā’s by? - Wid hoozes white, an’ worchets green, an’ Marron runnin’ clear, - Eigh! Branthet Neùk’s a heartsome spot i’ t’ sūnny time o’ year! - - But loave! it is a dowly pleàce when winter neeghts growe lang; - For t’ lwoan ligs dark atween it’s banks,—- a flaysome rwoad to gang - When t’ wind rwoars wild in t’ trees abeùn, an’ Marron rwoars below,— - An’ Branthet Neuk’s a hantit spot, as I’ve some reeght to know. - - They say a heidless woman woaks at sartin neeghts o’ t’ year, - An’ greàns an’ yewls at sec a rate as freeghtens fwoke to hear; - I wadn’t mind sec teàls, but yance I gat a freeght me-sel’ - I’ Branthet Neùk, an’ hoo it was, just lissen an’ I’ll tell. - - Yā neeght, lang sen, at Cursmass time, wid Cursmass mak’ o’ wedder, - A lock on us at Branthet met, to hev a glass togidder; - We crack’t, an’ jwok’t, an’ drank, an’ smeuk’t, while hoaf - o’ t’ neeght went by, - For Isbel Simon’ drink was gud, an’ we war rayder dry! - - ’Twas lownd an’ leàt—past yan o’clock—wid nūt a spark o’ moon: - An’ like a clood o’ cardit woo’, thick snow keep’t sinkin’ doon, - When reeght up t’ Neùk three Jwohn’s an’ me went wādin’ heàm through - t’ snow— - Jwohn Suntan, an’ Jwohn Bell o’ t’ Rayes, an’ Jwohn o’ Craypless Ho’. - - We’d gitten hoaf o’ t’ way up t’ lwoan,—nār Edward Beeby’ yat, - An’ theear we stopp’t, for marcy me! a parlish freeght we gat, - Lood greàns we heard—lang hollow beels, ’at shak’t oor varra beàns, - “For God-seàk, lads, mak on,” sez yan, “them’s t’ heidless woman’ - greàns!” - - “But nay,” sez I, “if wantin’ t’ heid, she raises sec a rout, - I’d like to see what way she taks to fetch sec haybays oot; - They say yan stops a woman’s noise when yan taks off her heid, - But this, by gock! wad mak yan sweer they’re noisy whick or deid.” - - It’s Burns ’at sez Jwohn Barleycworn can mak yan bold as brass; - An’ Isbel’ drink meàd me quite keen this greànin’ thing to feàce. - We shootit Edward Beeby up an’ meàd ’im git a leeght— - He grummel’t sair to be disturb’t at sec a time o’ neeght, - - But brong yan oot;—an’, led bee t’ lugs, we follow’t efter t’ soond, - While clwose t’ swine-hull dooar we com, an’ stopt, an’ gedder’t - roond. - “By gockers, lads!” Jwohn Suntan said, “It’s no’but Edward’ swine!” - “Nay, nay,” sez Edward, “mine’s i’ soat—it’s nèa pig o’ mine!” - - “Well, I’ll gā in, an’ see,” sez I. O’ t’ rest steud leukin on - As in I creept wid t’ leeght, an’ fund greit lang Joe Nicholson - Hoaf cover’t up wid mucky strea,—soond asleep,—and _snworin’_, - As if o’ t’ bulls o’ Dean war theear, an’ ivery bull was rwoarin’. - - We trail’t him oot, an’ prop’t him up ageàn t’ oald swine-hull wo’— - An’ dazet wid coald he glower’t aboot, an’ dadder’t like to fo’— - We help’t ’im in, an’ hap’t ’im weel, on t’ squab aback o’ t’ dooar, - He said his wife had barr’t ’im oot, as oft she’d deun afooar. - - Sez Jwohn o’ t’ Rayes, “If iv’ry neeght he maks sa gurt a din, - It’s rayder queer a wife like his sud iver let ’im in; - It’s varra weel we hārd ’im though, he med ha’ dee’t o’ coald! - Come, let’s git yam!”—an’ laughin’ loud, we lonter’t oot o’ t’ foald. - - Jwohn Suntan’s rwoad left oor’s gay seun, an’ sooa dud Jwohn Bell’s, - An’ Jwohn o’ Craypless Ho’ an’ me went poapin’ on oorsells, - An’ no’but slow, for t’ snow was thick, an’ meàd it bad to woke, - Sooa mid-leg deep we striddel’t on, but offen steud to toke. - - Jwohn hed a faymish crack in ’im,—his fadder hed afooar ’im,— - At teàls an’ sangs, an’ sec like fun not many cud cum ower ’im; - An’ theàr an’ than, dud Jwohn set on, at t’ furst gud rist we teuk, - To tell me hoo ther com to be a ghost i’ Branthet Neùk. - - Sez Jwohn, sez he, “I’ Branthet Neùk, as varra weel thoo knows, - ’Tween t’ beck an’ Edward Beeby’ hoose ther stands some brocken wo’s; - Lang sen, when they hed roofs on them, yance, leàtish on i’ t’ year, - Some tinkler fwoke gat leave fray t’ lword, an’ com to winter theear. - - “Two oald fwoke, wid a scrowe o’ barns, an’ yā son, jūst a man,— - A handy chap to shap’ a speun, or cloot a pot or pan,— - An’ this chap hed a bonnie wife, ’at dūdn’t leuk like t’ rest, - But fair, clean-skinn’t, an’ leàdy-like, an’ ol’as nicely drest. - - ‘An’ hoo she com to be wid them was niver reeghtly known, - But nebbers so’ she wasn’t used as if she’d been ther oan; - For t’ oald fwoke soas’t her neet an’ day,—her man—a dūrty tike!— - Wad bray her wid a besom-stick, a thyvel, or sec like; - - “Tull yance a nebber teùk her in, when t’ tinklers flang her oot, - An’ she let fo’ a wūrd or two ’at brong a change aboot; - She telt o’ sūm stown geese an’ sheep, an’ whoar they hed them - hidden; - Of mutton up on t’ sleeping loft, an’ skins anonder t’ midden. - - “It wasn’t many wūrds she said,—but wūrds she said anew - To bring t’ oald tinkler and her man tull what was weel ther due; - For lang i’ Cārel jail they laid, an’ when t’ assize com on, - T’ Jūdge let t’ oald waistrel lowce ageàn, but hang’t his whopeful - son. - - “An’ back frae Cārel t’ tinkler com, to Branthet reeght away, - An’ ’ticet t’ poor lass frae t’ nebber’s hoose whoar she’d beep fain - to stay; - He promish’t fair to treat her weel, and dūd while t’ seckint neeght, - An’ than, (reeght pleas’t was Branthet fwok,) he meàd a moonleeght - fleeght. - - “An’ days went by an’ neàbody went nār to t’ tinkler’s dooar, - At last some barns peep’t in an’ so’ some huller’t bleùd on t’ flooar, - An’ than t’ hoose dooar was drūven in, an’ sec a seeght was theer, - ’At sūm ’at so ’t went reid wid reàge, an’ sūm went white wid fear. - - “Squeez’t up intull a dūrty neùk, an’ bleùdy, stark, an’ deid, - They fūnd that nice young lass’s corp, bit niver fūnd her heid; - T’ oald tinkler hoond hed hagg’t it off afooar he meàd a fleeght - on ’t, - An’ teàn it wid him, fwoke suppwos’t, to gud his-sel’ wid t’ seet - on’t. - - “An’ nin o’ t’ clan at efter that i’ t’ country side was seen. - But iver sen a hantit spot hes that Neùk-lonning been, - For t’ mūrder’t woman wokes aboot, an’ greàns, for o’ she’s deid, - As lood as what we hārd to-neeght,—_they say she laits her heid_!” - - “Wey, weel deùn, Jwohn!” to Jwohn sez I, “an’ thenks ta for thy teàl, - It’s meàd me hoaf forgit hoo t’ snow maks o’ my teeàs geàl; - Th’u’s just at heàm,—gud neeght, my lad, but fūrst hear this fray me, - If iv’ry teàl ’at’s telt be true, thy stwory’s neà lee!” - - - - - MARY RAY AN’ ME. - - - Bonnie Mary Ray an’ me - Wer’ barnish sweethearts lang, - But I was wild an’ yūng, an’ she - Was niver reetly strang; - Sooa frinds o’ beàth sides threep’t it sair - ’At partit we sud be— - An’ life was darken’t t’ lang-er t’ mair - To Mary Ray an’ me. - - But yance lāl Mary Ray an’ me - Met oot on Woker Broo, - When t’ clouds burn’t reid far oot at sea, - An’ t’ sūn com’ bleezin’ through, - An’ sent ya lang-droan glissenin’ ray - Across that dowly sea, - Like t’ promish of a happier day - To Mary Ray an’ me. - - An’ “Sees t’e, Mary Ray,” I says, - “That lang low line o’ leet;— - It cūms to say oor leàter days - May yit be fair an’ breet, - An’ t’ cloods ’at darken owre us noo - May rive like yon we see, - An’ t’ sūn o’ love cūm glentin through, - To shine on thee an’ me.” - - But Mary lean’t her sinkin heid - Ageàn my heavin’ breist - “Tūrn roond,” she said, “an’ say asteed, - What reads t’e here i’ t’ East; - For t’ East’s mair sure to guide us reet, - If dark an’ coald it be; - It’s liker life—nor that reid leet— - To Mary Ray an’ thee.” - - I turn’t an’ leùk’t wid bodeful glooar, - Whoar o’ was coald an’ gray, - An’ like a ghost reàse t’ white church tooar, - To freeten whope away; - An’ Woker’s shadow heap’t a gloom - Owre beck, an’ field, an’ tree, - ’At said far darker days mud cūm - To Mary Ray an’ me. - - An’ niver mair on Woker Broo - I strowl’t wid Mary Ray; - They partit us that winter through— - An’ than I went away. - An’ Mary in her grave they’d laid - When I com’ back frae t’ sea;— - ’Twas true what Woker’s shadow said - To Mary Ray an’ me. - - - - - THE BANNASYDE “CAIRNS.” - - (IN THE DIALECT OF HIGH FURNESS.) - - -I’ yer jornas ooer Wa’na Scar to Seeathet ye’ll offen aneeuf ha -nooatish’t a lot o’ round heeaps o’ steeans strinklet heear an’ theear -ooer t’ feeace o’ Bannasyde mooer: an’ if ye leuk inta them fine maps -’at t’ gūverment’s putten owt ye’ll see ’at t’ pleeace ’at’s meeant -for Bannasyde has _cairns, cairns, cairns_ dottit o’ ooer ’t. They wor -sharp fellows wor t’ surveyors ’at went ooer t’ grund ùt meeak thor -maps. Yā lot o’ them com’ efter anudder for iver so many years, sūm wi’ -reed cooats an’ sūm wi’out; an’ they teeuk for iver o’ pains wi’ the’r -wark. Why, when t’ doctor gat a lile lūmp off àld Geoordie Flimming’ -field ùt meeak his-sel’ a bit of a gardin, efter they’d survey’t an’ -mizzer’t it, they went o’ ooer t’ grūnd a-fresh, just ùt put it in; an’ -theear it is i’ t’ maps, as plain as t’ field its-sel’. - -Bit about thor cairns. I mun tell yé ’at when I furst hard o’ them, I -cùdn’t meeak end nor side o’ what they cud be, an’ I went tull Rodger -Forness ut ex about them. Rodger kna’s meear about sike things nor a -deeal o’ fooak; sooa I went tull him, an’ he telt mé ’at cairns was -heeaps o’ lilely steeans ’at hed been rais’t ooer t’ graves o’ girt men -lang sen, afooer ther was any kirk-garths ut bury t’em in—’at Dunmal -Raise is t’ biggest cairn i’ t’ country, an’ ’at it was pilet up ooer a -king ’at was kil’t theear. Rodger an’ me hed a gūd laugh togidder ooer -t’ Bannasyde cairns, for we beeath kna’t gaily weel how _they_ com to -be theear, but we said t’ yan til’ t’ tudder, “Let’s hear, an’ see, an’ -say nowte.” - -Bit howiver, when them ’cute ordnance chaps, as they co’t thersel’s, -was teean in wi’ thor heeaps, it’s lile wūnder ’at a gentleman ’at -leev’t here—yan Mr. Rowlins, sud ha’ meead his-sel’ cock suer ’at they -wor nowder meear nor less nor sooa many lile Dunmal Raises, an’ thowte -he wod like ut see what they hed in belā’ t’em; an’ as it wodn’t be -like a gentleman ut keep o’ t’ fun till his-sel’, he ex’t a lot of -udder gentlemen, frinds o’ his, mainly what parsons, fray about Ooston, -ut come an’ see t’ cairns oppen’t, an’ t’ grūnd under t’em groven up, -ut finnd out what they cūver’t. - -Well! they o’ torn’t up true to t’ day. Ald Billy Bamthet, Tommy -Thackra, an’ yan or two meear Cunniston chaps hed been hired ut due t’ -wark, an’ away they o’ went, out on Bannasyde, an’ at it they set. - -O’ t’ fun ’at they gat, howiver, was a bit of a laugh noos an’ thans at -āld Bamthet. He was a queer āld dog was Bamthet, an’ he keep’t exin’ on -them o’ manner o’ questions about what they wor laitin on. At ya time -he wod say till a parson varra seriously “Irr yé expectin’ ut finnd -a Bishop?” at anudder he wod ex t’em if they thowte Moses was buriet -theear. Bit nowte’s nowte, whativer may be laitit for! an’ suer aneuf -ther’ was nowte ut be fūnd under t’ heeaps o’ steeans. - -It was a cāld, sleety, slattery sooart of a day o’ through, but they -steeak tull the’r wark like Britons, tull it was turnin’ sooa dark ’at -āld Bamthet says “Irr we ut hod at it any lang-er, Mr. Rowlins? Tommy -Thackra’s gittin’ terrable teer’t, an’ it’s growan sooa dark ’at we’ll -seeùn nit be yable ut say whedder what we may finnd be t’ beeans of a -bishop or t’ beeans of a billy-gooat, wi’out ther’s some amang ye ’at -knā’s beeans by greeapin’ at ’em.” - -Well, they o’ thowte they mud give it up for a bad job. They’d torn’t -ooer meear nor a scooer o’ t’ steean heeaps, an’ they hedn’t fūnd sa -mich as t’ shin beean of a cracket ut egg ’em on any farder. Sooa Mr. -Rowlins tel’t his men ut gidder up the’r hacks an’ the’r speeads an’ -things, an’ git away heeam. - -As they wor o’ trailin away varra slā’ an’ varra whishtly, down Willy -Garnett girt intak’, āld Bamthet sidelt up till amang t’ gentlemen, -an’ says, “Now, Mr. Rowlins,” says he, “just tell us what ye thowte -was to be fūnd i’ t’ clearin’s o’ t’ Bracken-beds.” “What do you call -clearin’s of Bracken-beds, William?” Mr. Rowlins ex’t. “Why! dunnot yè -knā,” says Bamthet, “dunnot yè knā ’at t’ farmers mā’s t’ brackens i’ -t’ back-end, ut bed the’r beeas’s wi’?” “Of course I know that,” says -Mr. Rowlins, “but what has mowing brackens to do with these cairns?” -“Due wi’ them?” says t’ tudder, “why, ivery thing ut due wi’ them! How -d’yè think the’r leys wad cūm on if t’ cobble steeans wor left liggin -howe-strowe amang t’ brackens when they com ut mā’ t’em? They gidder -’em off, to be suer, an’ pile ’em up into t’ heeaps ’at we’ve been -wrowkin’ amang o’ t’ day, an’ yee co’ cairns. I reckon cairns is t’ -genteel wūrd for t’ clearin’s o’ t’ bracken-beds, bit I niver heer’t -’em co’t cairns afooer, an’ I’ll niver co’ t’em cairns ageean—t’ āld -neeam’s reet aneeuf for fellows like me!” - -Well, when they heer’t t’is, t’ parsons leeuk’t at t’ gentlemen, an’ -t’ gentlemen leeuk’t at t’ parsons, an’ than they leeuk’t t’ yan at t’ -tudder o’ round as they steeud, an’ than they brast out wi’ a laugh -loud aneeuf ut raise o’ t’ ravens on t’ Bell Crag an’ o’ t’ gleads i’ -Buckbarrow. Efter they’d whyeten’t down a bit, Mr. Rowlins says, “Well -but, William, why didn’t you tell us this before?” “Nay, nay,” says t’ -āld thief, “I wosn’t gā’n ut spoil yer day’s spooart i’ that fashi’n, -when ye’d browte yer frinds sa far ut see’t. That wodn’t ha’ been -manners!” An’ away down t’ intak’ he went sneeakin an’ sniggerin till -Tommy Thackra an’ t’ rist o’ them. But Tommy an’ t’ rist o’ them didn’t -snigger back ageean. They o’ growl’t at him, an’ yan o’ them said, -“It’s an āld tūrkey! What for cudn’t it hod t’āld tūng on’t till we’d -gitten anudder gud day’s weeage or two, an’ plenty ut itt an’ drink -wi’t, out o’ t’ clearin’s o’ t’ bracken-beds? T’er’s anew o’ t’em left -too ha’ keep’t us gā’n for a week!” - - - - - BETTY YEWDALE. - - (_Extract from a Lecture on “The People of the English Lake Country, - in their Humorous Aspect.”_) - - -Still harping upon married life, I wish to draw your attention to one -of the finest passages in Wordsworth’s greatest poem—_The Excursion_, -which abounds in fine passages. In that I refer to, the poet gives a -very charming account of the daily life of a humble couple in Little -Langdale, on whose hospitality he describes himself, or his hero, as -being thrown, when benighted and lost in that narrow vale, where, -as _I_ have found occasionally, the closely encircling belt of high -mountains makes a dark night very black indeed. The poet says— - - “Dark on my road the autumnal evening fell, - And night succeeded with unusual gloom, - So that my feet and hands at length became - Guides better than mine eyes—until a light - High in the gloom appeared, too high, methought, - For human habitation.” - -Climbing the heights, however, he finds that the light proceeds from -a lantern, held out by a woman to guide her husband homewards from -the distant slate quarry. The poet proceeds to tell of his hospitable -reception, the husband’s arrival, and the unusual beauty of the -good-man’s face, adding— - - “From a fount - Lost, thought I, in the obscurities of time, - But honoured once, those features and that mien - May have descended, though I see them here. - In such a man, so gentle and subdued, - Withal so graceful in his gentleness, - A race illustrious for heroic deeds, - Humbled, but not degraded, may expire.” - -Thus much for Jonathan Yewdale. His wife, Betty, is made to speak for -herself—but to speak in language very different from that she really -used, as may be seen in a still more remarkable work than that I quote -from—_The Doctor_, namely, by Robert Southey, wherein Betty Yewdale, -in her “oan mak’ o’ toke,” relates “The true story of the terrible -knitters of Dent.” In _The Excursion_, however, she is made to speak -thus— - - “‘Three dark mid-winter months - Pass,’ said the Matron, ‘and I never see, - Save when the sabbath brings its kind release, - My helpmate’s face by light of day. He quits - His door in darkness, nor till dusk returns. - And through Heaven’s blessing, thus we gain the bread - For which we pray; and for the wants provide - Of sickness, accident, and helpless age. - Companions have I many; many friends, - Dependants, comforters—my wheel, my fire, - All day the house-clock ticking in mine ear, - The cackling hen, the tender chicken brood, - And the wild birds that gather round my porch. - This honest sheep-dog’s countenance I read; - With him can talk; nor seldom waste a word - On creatures less intelligent and shrewd. - And if the blustering wind that drives the clouds - Care not for me, he lingers round my door, - And makes me pastime when our tempers suit;— - But, above all, my thoughts are my support.’” - -This, no doubt is, as I have said, a very charming picture of humble -house life in a lonely home; but the picture is drawn by a poet, and, -in _his_ words—certainly not in those of the worthy dame from whose -lips they are made thus melodiously to flow. - -I have conversed with many elderly people who knew this couple -familiarly, and several have told me of the almost seraphic beauty of -the old man’s features, lowered, as it was, by a lack of expression, -denoting a weakness of mind and character, which, in the opinion of -neighbours, perfectly justified Betty in maintaining full domestic -supremacy and undisputed rule. - -Of the manner in which she sometimes asserted that supremacy, and -brought her husband back to his allegiance, when, as was rare, he -happened to stray from it, an amusing instance was told to me by a -respectable widow, who for many years occupied the farm of Oxenfell, -a lonely spot, amid the wild craggy uplands on the Lancashire side of -Little Langdale, and nearly opposite to Hackett, where the Yewdales -resided. Were it only to show how differently great poets and ordinary -people regard the same subject, this is worthy of preservation, and I -give it, very nearly, in my informant’s own phraseology. - -“Ther’ hed been a funeral fray about t’ Ho’garth, an’ varry nār o’ t’ -men fooak about hed geean wi’ ’t till Cūnniston. Nixt fooarneeun, Betty -Yewdale com’ through fray Hackett, an’ says she till me, ‘Hes yower -meeaster gitten back fray t’ funeral?’ ‘Nay,’ says I, ‘he hesn’t!’ ‘An’ -irrn’t ye gān ut lait him?’ says Betty. ‘Lait him!’ says I, ‘I wodn’t -lait him if he didn’t cù heeam for a week.’ ‘Why, why!’ says she, ‘yee -ma’ due as ye like, but I mun bring mine heeam, an’ I _will_!’ An’ off -she set i’ t’ rooad till Cūnniston. On i’ t’ efterneeun, she co’ back, -driving Jonathan afooer her wi’ a lang hezle stick—an’ he sartly was -a sairy object. His Sūnda’ cleeas leeūk’t as if he’d been sleepin i’ -them on t’ top of a durty fluer. T’ tye of his neckcloth hed wūrk’t -round till belā’ t’ ya lug, an’ t’ lang ends on’t hung ooer ahint his -shoulder. His hat hed gitten bulged in at t’ side, an’ t’ flipe on ’t -was cock’t up beeath back an’ frūnt. O’ togidder, it wod ha’ been a -queerly woman body ’at wod ha’ teean a fancy till Jonathan that day. - -“Says I till Betty, ‘What, ye _hev_ fūnd him than?’ ‘Fūnd him!’ says -she, ‘ey, I’ fūnd him! I knā’t whār ut lait him! I fūnd him at t’ Black -Bull, wi’ yower meeaster, an’ a lock meear o’ t’ seeam sooart. They -wor just gān ut git the’r dinner, wi’ a girt pan o’ beef-steeaks set -on t’ middle o’ t’ teeable. I meead t’ frying pan an’ t’ beef-steeaks -flee gaily murrily out o’ t’ duer, an’ I set on an’ geh them o’ sike a -blackin’ as they willn’t seeun forgit. Than I hail’t Jonathan out fray -amang them; bit when I’d gitten him out wi’ mè, I shām’t ut be seen on -t’ rooads wi’ him. Dud iver yè see sike a pictur’?’ ‘Why, nay! nit sa -offen, indeed,’ says I. ‘Well,’ says Betty, ‘as I wodn’t be seen i’ -t’ rooads wi’ him, we hed to teeak t’ fields for’t, an’, as it wosn’t -seeaf ut let him climm t’ wo’s, I meead him creep t’ hog-hooals.[7] I -meead him creep t’ hog-hooals,’ says Betty, ‘an’ when I gat him wi’ his -heead in an’ his legs out, I dūd switch him.’” - -This true story shows Wordsworth’s humble heroine in not quite so -romantic a light as he throws round her in the passages I have quoted; -but I don’t see that it need lower her in our esteem. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[7] Hog-holes are small apertures left in the dry stone fences, to -allow the sheep, or _hogs_, to get through from one pasture to another. - - - - - THE SKULLS OF CALGARTH. - - _A Reminiscence of Windermere._ - - (CHIEFLY IN THE DIALECT OF WESTMORLAND.) - - - Green verged, glancing Wynander, first, fairest of our meres, - How potent was its fairy charm—how perfect was the spell - That bound me to its beauty once in youth’s untrammel’d years - And held me lingering, lingering at its Ferry’s famed Hotel. - - ’Twas ere the railway whistle ’woke the echoes of the hills, - And Arnold[8] the vivacious perch’d as yet behind the mail, - And that fine old English autocratic Boniface, Ben Bills,[8] - Ruled with a wholesome despotism the Ferry and Hotel. - - And Benjamin’s chief ferryman was stalwart old John Long, - A veteran of the wrestling ring, (its records hold his name,) - Who yet in life’s late autumn, was a wiry wight and strong, - Though grizzly were his elf-locks wild and bow’d his giant frame. - - Cool Michaelmas its summer brought, serene, and soft, and gray; - The high steep wood of Harrowslack all yellow grew and sere, - And shower’d its faded raiment o’er the Ferry’s gloom-girt bay— - The deepest, darkest, dreamiest nook of bay-fringed Windermere. - - And listlessly and idly as the lazy mists that rest, - Or cling with loving closeness, after summer’s heats are gone, - And autumn’s breezes over, to Wynander’s placid breast— - The latest guest the Ferry held, I loitered there alone. - - And there upon its calm-still’d wave, throughout the shortening day, - And oft when daylight waned apace, and stars be-gemm’d the sky, - By rocky nab or islet green, by slumb’ring pool or bay, - We glided through the peacefulness—stark old John Long and I. - - Yes; though John Long was worn and wan, he still was stark and strong, - And he plied his bending “rooers” with a boatman’s manly pride, - As crashing past the islands, through the reed stalk, crisp and long, - He stretch’d away far northward, where the lake spread fair and wide. - - “Now rest upon your oars, John Long,” one evening still said I, - When shadows deepened o’er the mere from Latter-barrow Fell; - For far beyond broad Weatherlam the sun sank in the sky, - And bright his levell’d radiance lit the heights around Hillbell. - - “And tell me an old story,” thus I further spoke, “John Long, - Some mournful tale or legend, of the far departed time; - The scene is all too solemn here for lightsome lay or song, - So tell, and, in your plain strong words, I’ll weave it into rhyme.” - - Then old John Long revolved his quid, and gaunt he look’d and grim— - For darker still athwart the lake spread Latter-barrow’s shade— - And pointing o’er the waters broad to fields and woodlands dim, - He soberly and slowly spake, and this was what he said. - - “A house ligs lā’ an’ leànsome theear, doon in that oomer dark, - Wi’ wide, heigh-risin’ chimla-heeads, lā’ roof, an’ crum’lin’ wo’, - O’ wedder-gnā’n an’ weed-be-grown—for time hes setten t’ mark - O’ scooers an’ scooers o’ weearin’ years on hantit Co’garth Ho’. - - “T’ āld Philipson’s o’ Windermer’ lang, lang hed theer the’r heeam;[9] - An’ far an’ wide the’r manors spread ooer forest, field, an’ fell; - But now ther’s nit i’ t’ cūntryside a steeatsman o’ their neeam— - Ther’s Philipsons, but o’ work hard for breead like me mysel’. - - “For niver thinkin’ they’d aneeuf, and strivin’ still for meear, - They wantit ivery scrap o’ land the’r nebbers held aboot; - An’ many a pooer man’s grund they gat, by meeans nit ol’a’s fair— - An’ lang o’ that grund-greed o’ their’s, this teeal o’ mine fell out. - - “An’ āld-ly man nār Burthet leev’t, his neeam was Kraster Cook, - An’ whyetly his life hed ron wi’ Dorot’y his deeam. - A conny lile bit farm was theirs, a lown an’ sunny neeuk, - An’ t’ house ’at’s theear upon it still keeps up āld Kraster’ neeam. - - “Myles Philipson wad often toak wi’ Kraster Cook an’ t’ wife, - An’ priss them hard the’r bit o’ land ut swap wi’ him or sell; - But beeath o’ t’em at last spak’ oot—they’d rayder part wi’ life - Ner sell or swap a single yird of infield land or fell. - - “‘Ye s’ part wi’ ’t than,’ said Philipson, as rantin’ mad he rooar’d, - ‘I’ll hev that bit o’ land o’ yours, sud yee be ’live or deead.’ - An’ Kraster fūnd ’at efter that as if ther was a sooard - ’At hed to fo’ when t’ time co’ round, still hingin’ ooer his heead. - - “Bit nowte com on’t till t’ Kersmas time, an’ than till āld Co’garth - They went wi’ t’ tudder nebbors, kindly ex’t to t’ Kersmas feeast; - An’ t’ best o’ t’ seeats at t’ sūpper booard, an’ warmest neeuk at t’ hearth - Wer’ theirs, for t’ squire hed ooerder’t ’at they sud be that mitch - greac’t. - - “Bit seeun they fūnd that Kersmas treeat mud cost ’em parlish dear, - For Philipson pertendit ’at they’d stown a silver cūp, - An’ Cook’s house was ratch’t through an’ through, an’ t’ silver cup - fund theear, - Heead theear, girt like, o’ purpose—an’ t’ āld cūpple wer’ teean up. - - “An’ for the’r lives they triet ’em beeath, an’ beeath condemn’t to - dee. - Myles Philipson was theear, an’ Dolly glooer’t him hard i’ t’ feeace, - As meear ner plowmb she rais’t hersel’, an’, terrable ut see, - She spak’ thir wūrds i’ seccan a skrike as rung through t’ justice - pleeace:— - - “‘Ey, gūd thysel’, Myles Philipson—thou thinks th’u’s mannish’t grand; - Thou thinks th’u’s hooal’t our lile bit grund, and gitten’t o’ for - nowte, - Bit, harks te’ here, Myles Philipson—that teenie lump o’ land - Is t’ dearest grūnd a Philipson hès ayder stown or bowte; - - “‘For yee sall prosper niver meear, yersel’, nor yan o’ t’ breed; - Whativer schemes yee set a geeat ’ill widder i’ yer hand, - Whativer side yee tak’ ’ill lwose; an’, spite of o’ yer greed, - A time ’ill come when t’ Philipson’s wi’ n’t awn an inch o’ land. - - “An’, while Co’garth’s strang wo’s sall stand, we’ll hā’nt it neet - an’ day, - Ye s’ niver mair git shot on us, whativer way yè tak’; - Whativer plan or geeat yè try, ut banish us away, - Ye’ll hardly knā’ we irr away afooer ye see us back.’ - - “An’ suer aneeuf, neist Kersmas, when they’d nit been twelvemonth - deead, - (They’d buriet t’ pooer āld fooak wi’ lime, whār the’ wor putten doon,) - Two skulls steead in a hooel i’ t’ wo’, aside o’ t’ wide stair heead, - At āld Co’garth, an’ theear they gurn’t, a warnin’ fray aboon. - - “An’, ivery mak’ o’ pains they teeuk ut git ’em druven away— - They buriet them, they born’t them weel, they bray’t them till they - brak’, - They sunk ’em full’t wi’ leed i’ t’ lake, they pash’t ’em deep - i’ clay, - But just as Dolly said they wod, they still co’ gurnin’ back. - - “An’ theear they’ve gurn’t an’ gurn’t ageean, for many a hundert - year. - An’ scòoars o’ fooak ha’ seen ’em theear—it’s neea lees I tell— - Till t’ Bishop[10] wo’t ’em up i’ t’ hooal, bit still they’re - gurnin’ theear, - For just afooar he wo’t ’em up, I seed them theear mysel’. - - “An’ t’ Philipsons went doon an’ doon, the’r schemin’ o’ went wrang, - Though offen for a sinkin’ coase they meead a gallant stand; - Fray t’ steeat rowls about Windermer’ the’r neeam hes vanish’t lang, - _I_ divn’t knā’ a Philipson ’at hods an inch o’ land.” - -FOOTNOTES: - -[8] Landlords of the Ferry—the first named having been previously the -well known guard of the coach that traversed the Lake district. - -[9] In a foot-note to _West’s Guide to the Lakes_, published first -about 1770—its 5th edition being dated 1793—the author or editor -suggests certain other modes of accounting for the presence of -the famous skulls of Calgarth, but fails in offering anything so -satisfactory as the popular version here done into rhyme. The writer of -the note appears to have seen them himself, and I have known more than -one old person, besides John Long, who averred that in their youth, -they had seen the said remains occupying their immemorial position. The -misfortunes of the Philipsons of Calgarth and Crook are matter of local -history, and with some of their recorded exploits, make them, perhaps, -the most interesting family of the two counties. - -[10] Dr. Watson, the celebrated Bishop of Llandaff, who purchased the -estate of Calgarth, and long resided upon it, but not at the old Hall. -He is always spoken of by the old people who remember him as “T’ -Bishop.” - - - - - MAP’MENT. - - (IN THE DIALECT OF HIGH FURNESS.) - - - Māp’ment—Martha—māp’ment! - Thow knā’sn’t what thow says— - An’ thow fair torments my heart owt - Wi’ thy lile contrairy ways— - It’s oa’ a heeap o’ māp’ment - Ut say ’at this or that, - Sūd meeak us put it off ageean— - Thow toaks thow knā’sn’t what! - - We irrn’t rich, an’ mayn’t be; - What than!—wi’ time an’ keear, - An’ pu’in’ weel togidder, - We may meeak our little meear. - We s’ niver, I’s insuer us, - Be neeàk’t or clemm’d or cāld - But spār’ a ho’penny or two - Ut cheer us when we’re āld. - - Let’s feeace, Martha, feeace it, - Whativer cūms behint! - God niver sends a mowth wi’owt - A sūm’at ut put in’t. - We s’, happen, hev a mowth or two - Ut feed besides owr ā’n, - What matter—they s’ be welcome o’ - Ut share whativer’s gā’n! - - We s’ ol’a’s hing togidder weel, - An’ beeath du what we can— - A borden ’s leeter shared by two, - Nor when it’s borne by yan. - But if we’s plagued wi’ trūbble, - (An’ whā’s fray trūbble free?) - I’ s’ try ut lig thy share tull mine, - An’ kep it oa’ fray thee. - - An’ if we’s pooer, we s’ sham’ nin, - For rich fooak’s no’but fooak; - An’ whā can tell, we s’ happen drā - Sūm’ prize fray fortun’s pooak. - But wrowte-for punds gā’s farder far - Nor hundreds ’s gi’en or fūnd; - An’ sūm’ may be to t’ fooer for t’ barnes - When we gā ūnder t’ grūnd. - - Cūm let’s hev neā meear māp’ment, - But gradely feeace owr chance; - I ’s off ut put owr exin’s in, - An’ git it deeun at yance. - Cūm! gi’ ’s a kiss o’ t’ heead on ’t, - An’ meeak na meear ut du; - My hand ’s here, wi’ my heart in ’t, - Tak’ them beeath—thou s’ niver rue! - - - - - OXENFELL DOBBY. - - _A Reminiscence of Langdale._ - - -Accompanied by the holder of a small farm in the dales, I was once -riding up Yewdale sometime beyond the middle of a winter night. The -fields on our right and the slopes and ledges of the screes and fells -to the left and in front were shrouded in a vestment of frozen snow, -which glared under the starlight with a brilliancy of reflection -that rendered the absence of the moon unnoticed and uncared for. -But the scattered groves and coppices to the eastern side, and the -perpendicular craggs elsewhere, on neither of which the snow could -rest as it fell, stood out black and dismal—blotches sable on a field -argent—(queer heraldry this, but fair description) —with an intensity -of gloom, a weird dreariness of aspect, which may hardly be realized -by those who have looked upon Yewdale only when arrayed in the light -verdure of spring, the matured leafiness of summer, or the marvellous -variegation of autumn, under any one of which conditions that fair vale -may fairly claim pre-eminence in beauty over all other minor dales of -the Lake country. - -On the occasion I tell of, the solemn desolation of the scenery, -and the oppressive silence, broken only by the quick tramp of our -ponies’ feet on the crisp snow, combined to discourage all thought -of conversation or remark; and we traversed the whole length of the -vale without the interchange of sentence or word. When, however, we -had reached the point where the road to Tilberthwaite and Langdale -Head diverges from that to Skelwith, and I was about to follow the -latter, my companion laid his hand upon my rein, and said, in a rather -peremptory tone, “We s’ teeak t’ tudder rooad, if yee pleease;” and on -my objecting to quit the smoother and shorter road for the longer and -rougher, he persisted—“It may bee as yee say, beeath t’ better an’ t’ -bainer, bit nowte wad hire me to teeak t’ rooad ooer Oxenfell at this -hour o’ t’ neet, an’ that’s o’ about it.” “But why?” I remonstrated, -disinclined to yield in a matter of such importance to reasoning like -this. “I s’ tell yee why,” he replied, “when we’s seeaf at my awn -fireside, if ye sud ha’e time ut lissen.” “Is it a story?” I asked with -some interest. “It’s nowte mitch of a stooary,” said he, “bit what -ther’s on’t ’s true, an’ that’s meear ner can be said for many a better -stooary. Bit cūm on, an’ ye s’ happen hear.” I resisted no longer, -and we pursued our journey through Tilberthwaite, where the piebald -dreariness of the scenery was even more marked and more depressing -than in Yewdale. We reached our destination without disaster, but not -without danger. The broad, deep ford in the stream, which there divides -the two counties, and which we had to cross, was edged on either bank -by a high, abrupt shelf of strong ice, very dangerous to slidder off -and very difficult to scramble up on. Indeed, my fellow traveller, -with his rough, clumsy little steed, more accustomed to the _stangs_ -of muck-cart or peat sledge than to saddle work, had a roll on the -farther side—luckily rolling towards the land, and not into the water. -But my sagacious old “Targus,” who, as I was wont in those days to -boast, could carry me over any ground on which a mountain goat or a -Herdwick sheep could find a foot-hold, after testing the strength of -each slippery ledge by a heavy paw or two, traversed the dangerous -passage with the same steadiness with which I had known him pace over -others where a slip or a stumble would have had much more serious -results. - -Seated comfortably at the grateless peat fire of my travelling -companion, now my host, and assured of the probability of leisure to -hear his story out, I reminded him of the condition under which he had -induced me to take the longer and less practicable way to his fell-girt -house; and after some coy deprecation, which sat awkwardly enough upon -his homely features and dale nurtured manner, he began. - -“Jūst about ten year syne, of jūst sec anudder neet as t’is, only -t’ snā’ wasn’t frozzen, I was out efter t’ yārs.” “Poaching?” I -interpolated. “Co’t as yè like,” said he, in a tone of indifference. -“I was out efter t’ yārs. I’d gitten a yār or two ooer about Holme -grūnd way, an’ I was meeakin’ heeam alang t’ rooad atween Hodge Clooas -an’ Oxenfell, when I thowte I was gā’n ut meet sūm fellows I cud heear -toakin’, bit cudn’t see. Ye knā’, t’ rooad’s o’ heets an’ hooals theear -about, an’, for that reeason, I dudn’t think mitch o’ nit seein’ ’em; -bit whoaiver they med be, I dudn’t want them ut see _me_. Sooa I gat -ooer t’ steean fence wi’ t’ gun an’ t’ yārs, an’ croodel’t doon aback -on’t ut let ’em git whyetly by. Well, they com on, an’, as I cūd hear, -they wor fratchin cruelly o’ t’ way as t’ey com. Ther’ was two on ’em, -plain aneeuf, for sùm’times yan spak’, an’ sùm’times anudder, an’, -gaily oft, they beeath spak’ at yance. As they co’ narder till whār I -was hidin, t’ fratch gat feurcer an’ louder ner iver, an’ they shoutit, -t’ yan ooer t’ tudder, whedder ut shout t’ harder; bit for o’ that, I -cudn’t meeak out a wūrd ’at they said. When they gat ebben fornenst me, -yan o’ them let out a meeast terrable skrike, an’ I lowpt back ooer t’ -wo’ ut seeav life. _Ther’ was neàbody theear!_ They wor rooarin’ an’ -screeamin’ wi’in six yirds o’ mè, as I streetent mysel’ up ut lowp -t’ wo’, an’ when I gat to me feet o’ t’ tudder side ther’ was nowte! -An’ meear ner that, ther’ wasn’t a feeut-mark i’ t’ snā’ bit my awn, -an’ they co’ t’ tudder way. How I gat heeam wi’ my gun an’ my yārs -I knà’n’t, an’ I niver mun knā’—bit when I wācken’t i’ t’ mooernin’ -theear was t’ gun an’ yārs atop o’ t’ teeable, an’ theear was I i’ my -bed. - -“An’ now I’ve telt yé t’ reeason ’at I wodn’t cū’ heeam by Oxenfell -Cross. I niver hev been, ’cept i’ dayleet, on t’ rooad whār them -fellows woaks, an’ I niver will, sa lang as I can git anudder ’at’s -less nor a scooer o’ miles about.” - -“Then is that road said to be haunted?” I enquired. “_Said_ to be -hā’ntit!” he exclaimed, in a tone of wonder and contempt. “Whār ha’e -yee been o’ yer life, if yé hevn’t hard o’ Oxenfell Dobby?” “Has it -been seen by any one besides you?” “Ey,” replied he, “by hunderts o’ -fooak! Why, bliss yé! āld Ben Grave gat seckan a torn as he was cūmin’ -heeam yance leeat frae Hāks’ed fair, ’at he dūd na meear gūd. He niver -wod tell what it was, bit ivery body was suer ’at it was flayin’ o’ sūm -mak’, an’ a varry sairious mak’ tue, for, as I said, āld Ben niver dūd -no meear gūd efter that neet—bit dwinet away an’ deet.” - -“Is it known,” I asked, “how the place came to be haunted?” “Why! It -_is_—partly. It’s knā’n an’ it isn’t knā’n as a body may say—bit I -can tell yé o’ ’at’s knā’n about it, if yé like ut hear.” “Tell away -then,” said I, “I like to hear.” “Well!” he again began, “Ya Kersmas, -afooer I can mind, ther’ was a hake about Clappersgeeat, an’ ther’ was -a stranger at it ’at varry few knà’t owte about—bit it seeun gat out -’at he was a new Scotch gardener ’at hed just cūm’t tull Rydal Ho’. As -t’ neet went ooer fooak nooatisht ’at he was girtly teean up wi’ lile -Betty Briggs—a lively, rooesy-cheek’t bit of a winch ’at com’ frae -Tilberthet. Betty hed an’ āld sweetheart theear ’at they co’t Jack -Slipe; bit she was sa pleeas’t wi’ t’ new an’ ’at she wodn’t hev owte -ut say tull Jack. It was plain aneeuf tull o’ theear ’at he dudn’t hoaf -like’t; an when t’ Scotchman kiss’t Betty i’ t’ cushion dance, t’ fooak -aside o’ Jack cūd hear his teeth crack as he grūnd ’em togidder. - -“When t’ dance brak’ ūp t’ gardener wod see Betty heeam, an’ as Betty -bed nowte ut say ageean it, they set off togidder up t’ rooad alang t’ -Brathay—an’ Jack Slipe follow’t by his-sel’ a gay bit behint ’em. - -“T’ Scotch gardener niver co’ back tull Rydal Ho’. He was niver -seen ageean wi’ neàbody. He partit wi’ Betty at her fadder duer i’ -Tilberthet—she said—an’ that was t’ last on him!” “And was nothing ever -heard of him?” I enquired. “Why! nowte ’at was owte. Theear was a hoaf -silly lass about Chapel-Steel ’at said she’d hed t’ Scotchman’ heead iv -her brat ya meeunleet neet—bit when she was teean up an’ quees’t about -it, they cūd meeak nowte out on her, an’ they let her lowce. It _was_ -said ’at Jooahn Tūrner, ’at hed t’ Oxenfell farm afooar Grave fooak, -fund t’ beeans of a Christian yance when he was cūttin’ a drain iv his -pastur’, bit it was niver leuk’t intull, an’ Jooahn said lile about it.” - -“And what about Jack Slipe?” “Well! queerly aneeuf, he weddit t’ lass -’at dūd o’ t’ mischief, ān’ dee’t afooar he was an āld man, leeavin’ -Betty wi’ a yūng family. He was niver knà’n ut smile or teeak part iv -any spooart. He ol’a’s hed a wild scār’tly leeuk: as he woak’t alang -a rooad he keept glimin’ fūrst ooer t’ ya shou’der an’ than ooer -t’ tudder, an’ he niver durst bide by his-sel’ efter t’ darkenin’. -He leev’t sarvant for a while wi’ āld Jooasep Tyson of Yakrow, an’ -wheniver āld Joo’ep seed any o’ them signs of a bad conscience, he wod -say, ‘Cūm! Dyne the’, Jack, thou med as gūd confess. Thou knā’s thou -dud it!’ Bit whedder Jack dud it or nit neàbody can tell for suer. An’ -that’s t’ way it mun rist!” - - - - - MEENIE BELL. - - - Wull ye meet me, Meenie Bell? Wull ye tryste yince mair wi’ me? - Where the sauchs half hide the burnie as it wimples on its way? - When the sinking sun comes glentin’ through the feathery birken tree, - Till ye’d trow a thousand fairy fires wer’ flichterin’ on the brae. - - Wull ye meet me, Meenie Bell? Wull ye say ye’ll meet me there? - An’ come afore the gloamin’ fa’s to hear what I’ve to tell? - For I’m gaun away the morn, an’ I’ll weary lang an’ sair - ’Or I see ye’re bonnie face again—sae meet me, Meenie Bell! - - I’ll be far away frae Middlebie for monie an’ monie a day; - An’ I want ae curl o’ gowden hair to treasure evermore. - I’ve a keepsake braw for you, an’ I’ve something mair to say— - Aye! a hantle mair to tell ye than I’ve ever tell’t afore. - - Thus I fleech’t wee Meenie Bell till her heart grew soft and kin’ - An’ she met me near the burnie as the simmer gloamin fell; - We pairtit or ’twas day, an’ o’ a’ the nichts I min’ - The brichtest in my mem’ry is that nicht wi’ Meenie Bell. - - I thocht her heart was troth-fast, but my image faded oot, - An’ a stranger took the place in’t that she said she’d keep for me; - For time gaed creeping on, an’ her hopes changed into doobt - An’ doobt to caul’ mistrustin’, while I toilt ayont the sea. - - I’ve warselt wi’ the worl’ weel—I’ve run a wunnin’ race, - But, aih! I’m of’en wushin’ when I maunder by mysel’, - An’ a’ my weary strivin’s through lang lanesome years I trace, - I had bidden puir i’ Middlebie and mairiet Meenie Bell. - - - - - “A LOCKERBYE LYCKE.”[11] - - (MODERN ANTIQUE.) - - - Ye’ve aiblins heard o’ Wullye Smyth, - Ane hosteler wychte was he; - Quha wonn’t at the sygne o’ the bonnie Black Bull, - I’ the toon o’ Lockerbye. - - For Wullye, he drawyt the best o’ wyne, - An’ brewyt the best o’ yelle, - An’ mixyt the best o’ brandye punch, - As neebour Lairds coulde telle. - - For aft the neebour Lairds conveent - At Wullye’s to drynke theyre wyne, - An’ hech! quhan they yokyt the brandye punch, - They raysyt ane unco schyne. - - An’ ance, on the nychte o’ a huntan’ tryste, - A blythesome companye - There lychtyt doon i’ the Black Bull closse, - Wychte Wullye’s wyne to pree. - - An’ there war Johnstones an’ Jardines routh - Amang that rattlan’ crewe, - Wi’ Herbert Herryes o’ fayre Ha’ Dykes,[12] - An’ his buirdlye byllye Hughe; - - An’ gallaunte Wullye o’ Becks was there, - Wi’ Wullye o’ Kyrtletoone:[13] - Sae they byrl’t awaye at the reid, reid wyne, - As the toasts gaed roun’ an’ roun’. - - Whyle up an’ spak wylde Wullye o’ Becks, - An’ there fusionless toasts he curst, - “We’ll toom a glasse tylle ilk man’s lasse, - An’ Ha’ Dykes maun name his first!” - - Than up gatte the Laird o’ bonnie Ha’ Dykes— - “Weel! rayther nor marre fayre myrthe, - Here’s wynsome Jean o’ the Wylye Hole, - The flower o’ Tundergayrthe; - - “An’ he quha wunna drynke fayre to thatte - Maun quytte thysse companye; - An’ he quha lychtlyes thatte sweet lasse, - Maun answer it weel tylle me.” - - Than up spak’ Wullye o’ Kyrtletoone, - (A sleekye deevil I trowe,) - “Folke say, up the Water o’ Mylke, that she lykes - Ye’re byllye farre better nor yowe!” - - The reid marke brunt on the Herryes his bree, - An’ wow but he lookyt grymme: - “Can ye thynke that the flower o’ the Mylke suld bloom - For a beggarlye loon lyke hymme? - - “Can ye thynke that ane haughtye dame lyke her - Coulde looke wi’ a kyndlye e’e - On ane quha for everye placke that he spens, - Or wastes, maun sorn on me?” - - “An’ div ye thynke,” cryet the wrathfu’ Hughe, - “It’s noo my turne to speer— - That ever a leal heartyt lassie could lo’e - A sumph for the sake o’ his gear? - - “An’ div ye thynke”—mayre scornfu’ wordes - Younge Hughe essayet to speake, - But his brither’s rychte han’ rase high in wrathe, - An’ fell on his lowan’ cheeke. - - Than doon at that wanbritherly strayke - Dyd Hughe the Herryes fa’, - An’ for to redde this fearsome fraye, - Uppe lappe the gentles a’: - - An’ auld Wullye Smyth cam toytlan’ benne— - “Quhat’s wrang amang ye noo? - It’s a wonnerfu’ thynge that ’sponsible menne - Maun fechte or they weel be fou.” - - Fu’ slawlye did Hughe Herryes ryse, - An’ the never a worde he sayde, - But he gloom’t an’ he tore his gluve wi’ his teeth, - As furthe frae the room he gaed. - - He muntyt his gude grey meare i’ the closse, - An’ he gallopyt aff lyke wudde. - “Eh, sirs!” quo auld Wullye Smyth, “Eh, sirs! - This never maun come tille gude; - For quhan ever a Herryes he chows his gluve, - It’s ane earnest o’ deidlye feud!” - - * * * * * - - That myrthsome band they tynte theyre myrthe, - The gude wyne tynte its power, - An’ ilke man glower’t at his neebour’s face - Wi’ a glum an’ eerye glower. - - The Herryes he lootyt his heid to the board, - I’ sorrowe but an’ shame; - The lawin’ was ca’t—ilk took tille his horse, - An’ sochte his ain gate hame. - - Kynde Wullye o’ Becks sayde lowne tille his frien’, - We maun ryde Ha’ Dykes his way; - But the Herryes owreheard, an’ shook his heid, - An’ doolfu’ did he saye— - - “Alane! alane! I maun dree my weirde - For the deede this nychte saw dune; - But O that the palsye had wuther’t my han’, - Or it strooke my fayther’s sonne!” - - * * * * * - - Atweest Ha’ Dykes an’ the Water o’ Mylke - Rosebanke lies half-waye doone, - An’ Chayrlye Herryes laye there that nychte, - An’ he was sleepyn’ soune. - - Quhyle he was rousyt i’ the howe o’ the nychte - Wi’ a dynne at his wundow board, - For his youngest bryther was dunneran there - Wi’ the hylte o’ a sheenless sworde. - - Sayan’, “Chayrlye, I’ve mayde ye a Laird the nychte, - An’ I maunna be here the morne, - My blade is barken’t wi’ Herbert’s blude, - An’ he lyes at Hurkelle Burne.” - - He muntyt his meare i’ the fayre muinlychte, - An’ he pryckyt out owre the greene, - But never agayne in Annandale - Was blythe Hughe Herryes seene. - - Na! never agayne i’ Dry’s’al’ Kyrke, - Norre ever atte Lockerbye fayre, - The lasses quha lo’ed the blynke o’ his e’e, - Saw that blythe e’e-blynke mayre. - - There was some folke sayde that his wynsome corse - I’ the fathomless sea was sunke; - Some sayde he was slayne i’ the German wars— - An’ some that he deet a monke. - - * * * * * - - Quhanne Chayrlye Herryes had ca’t his menne, - I’ dool but an’ i’ frychte; - He boun’t him awaye to Hurkelle Burne, - An’ saw ane awfu’ sychte. - - For there the chief o’ his aunciente house - I’ waesome plychte did lye, - Wi’ his heid on the banke, his feet i’ the burne, - An’ his face to the sternye skye. - - Ane hastye batte wrochte unco chaynge; - Younge Chayrlye noo was Lairde, - An’ Herbert layde i’ the Herryeses aysle, - I’ Dry’s’al’ auld Kirk-yayrde. - - But fearfu’ sychtes hae beene seene sinsyne, - An’ monye a late-gaune wychte - Quhan stayveran’ hame by Hurkelle Burne, - Hes gotten a lyfe-lang frychte. - - A voyce ilke year as that nychte comes roun’, - Yells a’ the plantyns throo— - “_There never was Herryes that dreet a strayke, - But he garr’t the smyter rue_.” - - An’ what has been seen I downa telle, - But this I ken fu’ weel - That rayther nor cross that burne at e’en, - There’s monye wad face the deil. - - An’ ance quhan I was a smayke at the schule, - I was late on Lockerbye Hylle, - An’ sure o’ a flyte quhan I ance wan hame, - I gaed wi’ lyttle gude wylle; - - But thynkinge on monye a fayre excuse, - Juste aung-er awaye to turne, - I’d got a rychte feasible storye framyt, - As I loupit owre Hurkelle Burn. - - Quhan somethynge rase wi’ ane eldrytche skrayche, - An’ a deevylyshe dynne it mayde, - As doon the burn whyrre! whyrre! whyrroo! - Lyke a flaughte o’ fyre it gaede. - - My hayre lyftit up my cap frae my heide, - Cauld sweite ran owre my bree, - The strengthe was reft frae my trummelan’ lymbs, - An’ I cower’t upo’ my knee. - ’Twas ane horryble thochte to forgayther wi’ ghaysts, - Quhan I’d just been coynan’ a lee. - - But awaye belyve like a troute frae a gedde, - Or a maukyn frae yammeran’ tykes, - I fledde nor styntyt to breathe or looke backe, - Quhyle I wan to the bonnie Ha’ Dykes. - - My tale was tauld. They leuche, an’ quo’ they, - “A frychtyt pheasaunte spryngs - Wi’ a skraich an’ a whyrre;”—but I threepyt them doone, - That I kenn’t it was nae sic thyngs, - For quhatte could pit me i’ sic mortal dreide - That flees upo’ mortal wyngs? - - The gyrse growes greene about bonnie Ha’ Dykes, - On meadowe, brae an’ lea; - The corn waves wyde on its weel wrochte rygges, - An’ its wuddes are fayre to see. - - Its auld Ha’ house ’mang the chestnut trees - In statelye beautye stan’s; - But I wadna gaen backe by the burne that nychte - For Ha’ Dykes an’ a’ its lan’s. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[11] This phrase is generally applied to a heavy back-handed blow. -It is said to have originated at the battle of Dryfe-sands, which -was fought near to Lockerbie in 1593, between the Nithsdale and the -Annandale clans, the former being defeated with terrible slaughter. -It was found after the battle that many of the slain had been killed -by a slashing sword cut across the face, from a blow peculiar to the -Johnstones, and hence called the “Lockerbye lycke.” - -[12] Halldykes, in the parish of Dryfesdale, Dumfriesshire, where the -writer passed some years of his boyhood, was formerly the seat of a -branch of the Herries family; and, with three or four adjacent farms, -formed almost the last remnant of their large border estates held by -the descendants of that anciently powerful and noble house; one member -of which is immortalized as the builder of the Tower of Repentance, -and another as Queen Mary’s “loyal and brave Lord Herries!” Sir -Robert Herries, founder of the great London banking house of Herries, -Farquhar, and Co., and the Right Hon. J. C. Herries, once Chancellor -of the Exchequer, were both scions of the old stock of Halldykes. -Like most old family seats in the same district, Halldykes possesses, -numerically speaking, a highly respectable corps of bogles (as the -writer knew to his great and frequent tribulation); the origin and mode -of developement of one of the most prominent of which is related pretty -faithfully, according to local tradition, in the preceding rhyme. - -[13] Friends of the author introduced anachronically, as also is Wullie -Smyth, who flourished at Lockerbie during the author’s “school-day -time.” - - - - - “THE FARMERS’ WIVES O’ ANNANDALE.” - - Being shown, at Lockerbie, a printed programme of after-dinner - proceedings at the celebration there of Mr. R. Jardine’s marriage, - the writer noticed in the list the sentence that heads this page, and - enquired if it were a toast or a song. When told it was the former, he - said it deserved to be a song; and, acting on his own hint, crooned - out the following verses on his homeward journey by rail. - - - The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale! - Gude haud them bein an’ braw; - Ilk rules within her foothy hame, - Like leddy in her ha’. - Ilk yearns to guide her ain gudeman - Wi’ love that downa fail;— - They irr the wale o’ woman-kind— - The wives o’ Annandale! - - The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale! - I’ve kent their gates fu’ lang; - They’re worthy weel the wine cup’s grace— - Weel worthy o’ a sang. - But ne’er to read their worth aricht, - May toast or sang avail; - They far transcend a’ rhymin’ skill— - The wives o’ Annandale! - - The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale - Shew fine at kirk an’ fair; - But see them at their ain firesides— - They shine the brichtest there. - Wi’ gracious smiles an’ winsome words - The stranger guest they hail;— - They’re angels in a hamely sphere— - The wives o’ Annandale! - - The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale! - They strive frae morn till nicht, - Without, within, through but an’ ben, - To hand a’ rowin’ richt; - To keep contentit their gudemen, - Their bairnies feal an’ hale, - Till baith rise up an’ ca’ them blest— - The wives o’ Annandale. - - The chiel’ that hes in Annandale - A weel-waled farm an’ wife, - Has drawn twae glorious prizes frae - The lucky-bag o’ life. - An’ may they prosper, stock an’ store, - In ever hichtinin’ scale, - Whae treasure in their hames an’ hearts - The wives o’ Annandale. - - - - - A REMINISCENCE OF CORRIE. - - - Of a’ the streams o’ Annandale - Wi’ names embalm’t i’ sang or story, - Gin Mylke, for beauty, beer the bell, - I think I’d gi’e the mell to Corrie. - - It’s “up by Corrie—doon by Dryfe,” - (Gin a coortin’ ye wad toddle) - “That’s the gate to seek a wife”— - (Hoo daft aul’ rhymes bide in yin’s noddle!) - - But sud ye take ye’re way by Corrie, - Till ye come gey near to Borelan’, - Ye’ll aye see muir an’ bent afore ye— - Scarce ochte a’ roon’ but bent an’ muirlan’. - - “There’s Corrie Lea an’ Corrie Law— - Corrie Mains—an’ mowdies hork” there— - “Corrie Hill an’ Corrie Ha’— - Corrie Common, Corrie Kirk” there. - - But Corrie Kirk’s nae kirk ava— - Corrie Hill’s nae hill to roam on— - Snell’s the blast on Corrie Law— - Scant the gerse on Corrie Common. - - They tell me Corrie’s alter’t now; - It’s drain’t, they say, an’ fenced an’ plantit; - But as I min’ ’t, lang syne, I trow, - Drain, fence, an’ biel war sairly wantit. - - Than what is’t gars me ply my pen - I’ scribblin’ doon this rhymin’ clatter? - An’ what is’t mak’s me aye sae fain - To hear or read o’ Corrie water? - - Atweel it is a simple thing - As ever dreamer wastit time on; - Scarce worth the while to say or sing— - For this is what I’m boun’ to rhyme on:— - - The mem’ry o’ a denty quean, - I couldna draw a plain-spak’ word frae; - Scarce heard ava—no fairly seen— - An’ never efter seen or heard frae. - - A’ day we’d stey’t at Corrie Common, - Drinkin’, thrawin’ quoits, an’ jeerin’; - An’ doon to Stidriggs, or the gloamin’, - Five wil’ chiel’s we gaed careerin’. - - (Jock Porteous, An’ro Hen’erson, - Wull Fergyson, me, Wullie Beaty. - Twae, like mysel’, may yet leeve on— - The ither twae—Aih me, the pity!) - - But passin’ by a wee cot-house, - Wi’ riggin’ laigh, an’ gable suety, - Yin cries oot sae baul’ an’ croose, - “Come, boys, c’ way in, an’ licht the cutty!” - - I’d maist ill tricks a lad can ha’e— - An’ _some I hadna neebors spak’ o’_— - But naither frien’ nor foe could say - I ever cared to blaw tobacco. - - An’ in they gaed; but I stood there - Before the door, a tentless sentry, - Till startled by a vision fair - Gaun jookin’ ben across the entry. - - Blate—blate an’ backwarts aye I’ve been, - An’ niver forrat-ways nor saucy. - But where’s the guff at bricht nineteen - ’At wadna chace a fleein’ lassie? - - Sae ben I slinkit—hat i’ han’— - An’ there, beside the wee bit wunnock, - I saw a peerless maiden stan’, - Just pantin’ like a hare i’ panic. - - Wi’ shapely form i’ braw black silk— - Lang curls as black’s the silk, an’ blacker— - A changefu’ cheek—a throat like milk. - An’ lown an’ pawkily I spak’ her. - - I pled for my companions rouch— - I trow’t they couldna mean to fley her: - But only heard her breath’s quick souch, - For fient a word could I get frae her. - - I howp’t she didna think _me_ rude— - Civility I weel intendit; - An’, quit I naither wad nor could, - But pardon—gin I _had_ offendit. - - I ventur’t yince to speir her name— - I offen askit where she cam’ frae— - (That hoosie boodna’ be her hame) - An’ thochte I heard ae word like _Wamphray_. - - But plague licht on thae rantin’ chiel’s, - ’At couldna let yin coort i’ quayet, - But keepit cryin’—bletherin’ de’ils!— - “Hoy! This is no the bit to stey at; - - Co’ way to Stidriggs!”—sae I gaed, - But first the lassie low I herkit, - “I’ll come again?” was what I said— - An’ nae denial I remerkit. - - We wan to Stidriggs Bent—but haith! - Our _bent_ was Stidriggs’ tea an’ toddy; - An’ he that wadna roose them baith, - Maun be a puir wanwauchtie body. - - To Whitcastles I should ha’e gaen, - But weet!—I’ve seldom seen the like o’ ’t— - An’ An’ro swore i’ siccan a rain - He wadna turn a gangrel’s tyke out. - - Twae close box-beds, to five big chiel’s, - Presentit scrimp accommodation; - But, “heids an’ thraws, or necks an’ heels,” - They’d haud by An’ro’s invitation. - - As they begood to think o’ bed, - An opportunity I grippit, - Borrow’t, no askin’, some ane’s plaid, - An’ furth into the rain I slippit. - - An’ though the gate I hardly kent, - I’ trustfu’ love’s instinct confidin’, - I, darklin’, stayvelt owre the bent, - An’ fan’ the cot, but ither guidin’. - - An’ nearin’ that wee hoose at last, - O’ monie a fletherin’ wordie thinkin’, - I saw, what gar’t my heart beat fast, - A licht frae oot it’s window blinkin’. - - I keekit through, but nochte could see; - A claith was there, half drawn, half drappit; - But sure the licht was meen’t for me;— - Upon the glass I lichtly chappit. - - An’ suen I heard the openin’ door; - An’ through it’s chink I saftly glidit; - But turnin’ on the lichted floor, - I saw I’d been sair, sair misguidit— - - I saw what gar’t my heart stan’ still, - An’ set my verra flesh a’ creepin’, - While doon my limbs the sweit draps chill, - Like thowin’ snaw gaed dreepin’, dreepin’. - - I’ place o’ braw black silken goon— - A bed-goon an’ a drogget coatie; - I’ place o’ ringlets clusterin’ doon— - A reekit mutch an’ chaft-locks tawtie; - - I’ place o’ saft lid-droopin’ e’en— - Ae wulcat spark—a winkin’ won’er; - I’ place o’ lips wi’ bliss atween— - Twae gums wad gar a corby scunner; - - I’ place o’ broo an’ throat o’ sna’ - An’ bosom fraucht wi’ sweet emotion— - A face an’ figur’ ’passin’ a’ - The gruesomeness o’ earth or ocean. - - An’ sic a tongue—Gude guide a’ weel!— - She lows’t on me—sic fearfu’ flytin’!— - I’ sic a voice—half craik, half squeel— - Wi’ jeers an’ jibes braid, bitter bitin’. - - “To gie yin fash,” Rob Burns declared, - “An aul’ wife’s tongue’s a feckless matter;” - But honest Robin never heard - That aul’ wife’s tongue i’ Corrie water. - - An’ whan she made a calmer souch, - An’ stey’t a wee her skirlin’ ang-er, - I heard, far ben, a sweet wee lauch, - An’ dowdna thole the ordeal lang-er. - - I flang the carlin fierce aside, - An’ left her up hersel’ to gether; - An’, frae her cot, wi’ wrathfu’ stride, - I fled to face the midnicht w’ather. - - An’ back I took my darksome way, - By gerse-grown dykes an’ resh-rouch heid rigs; - By spretty knowe an’ staney brae, - An’, sair forfowch’en, wan to Stidriggs, - - Where, hingin’ up the borrow’t plaid, - An’ owre my queer mischanter smilin’, - I took my share o’ ae box-bed, - But couldna sleep for thochte’s beguilin’. - - For whae could yon sweet lassie be - That lauch’t at that aul’ carlin’ scaul’in’? - ’Twas plain, I’ve said afore, to see - That cot-hoose couldna be her dwallin’. - - How cam’ she to be wonnin’ there - I’ that aul’ muirlan’ clay-wa’t biggin? - How could a gem sae bricht an’ rare - Be treasur’t ’neath its crazy riggin’? - - It’s mair nor therty year sin syne— - That maiden’s aiblins now a grannie— - But ’mang the folk I like to min’, - I offen see her, skeich an’ bonnie. - - An’ whiles I’ve thochte that bed she gi’en, - An’ keep’t, her word to be sweet-heartit, - Like ither sweethearts, she’d ha’e been - Frae mem’ry’s hauld lang, lang depairtit. - - For weel I wat, fair favours won - Ha’e frae men’s minds aye suener slippit - Nor ochte we’ve set oor hearts upon, - An’ triet to grip—but fail’t to grip it. - - - - - REMINISCENCES OF LOCKERBIE. - - - Aul’ Lockerbie! aul’ Lockerbie! the dear wee toon to me! - Where, never fleyed, a boy I played, an’ roved a younker free, - Wi’ heart sae licht that life was bricht as never mair it shall, - For never mair I’ll ramble where I drank o’ Bessie’s wal’.[14] - - Yes! dear to me is Lockerbie, its houses wee an’ big, - Its “Up the gate,” its “Doon the gate,” its “Cross,” an’ “Through - the brig,” - Its closes mirk,[15] its stumpy kirk, its fu’ an’ thrang kirkyard - Where caul’ an’ deep some dreamless sleep I wish dour death had - spared. - - A hame to me was Lockerbie when half its roofs were theek, - An’ jeests, an’ jaums, an’ gapin’ lums, a’ black-japann’t wi’ reek; - Whan monie were the middens nerr the whunstane-causey’t street; - But cosie aye its hearthstanes lay afore the stranger’s feet. - - Than Lockerbie had sichts to see at race times an’ at fairs, - Wi’ Jocks an’ Jeans, strang chiel’s an’ queans, i’ scores an’ scores - o’ pairs; - An’ gledging oot the roads aboot or the fair had weel begun, - We’d watch the braw, braw lasses a’ pu’ on their hose an’ shune. - - I wadna’ gie aul’ Lockerbie for ony toon I ken, - For kindly were the kimmers there, an’ kindly too the men,— - Atweel the _bouk_ were kindly folk, an’ some were gey an’ queer, - An’ whilk remain an’ whilk are gane I downa bide to spier. - - My thochts oft flee to Lockerbie at midnicht’s waukrife hour, - An’ thickly flock aul’ mem’ries back wi’ heart up-heesing power, - An’ schulemates dear, an’ sweethearts fair, an’ frien’s o’ days lang - fled, - I’ shadowy train appear again like phantoms roun’ my bed. - - There was gude aul’ Jeanie Kennedy, an’ Jimmie Rule, the blin’, - Whase fiddle’s squeal we liket weel though’t had nae tune but yin, - Lizzie Dobie, Winnie Stobie, Nickie Scott an’ puir Jean Hine, - An’ aul’ John Kerr, a lamiter, a pawkie frien’ o’mine. - - Josie Weepers, Geordie Robison, Tam Bell, an’ Cripple Peg, - An’ the puir man nocknamed “Providence,” whae whiles gaed oot to beg. - The Cameronian merchants twae, the wee yin an’ the lang, - An’ Sawney Beck, wi’s aul’ white heck that scarce a fit could gang. - - There was roup-crier Awnro’ Jimmison, whae hirplet in his walk, - An’ Wullie Smith, a carle o’ pith whae squeekit in his talk, - An’ wi’ a pow maist like a lowe the singin’ nailer chiel, - An’ droothy twuns, twae burniewun’s, Bob Johnston an’ Jock Steel. - - Wullie Corrie, Sandy Moray, than a licht amang the Whigs, - An’ hairy-faced Bill Vairy, wi’ his wife gaun sellin’ pigs, - Funny-speakin’ Peggy Meekin wi’ the meetin’ nose an’ chin, - An’ Robie Rule,[16] aul’ noisy tule, whase drum made sic a din. - - There was winkin’ Sandy Linton, makin’ peeries roun’ an’ fine - (Within his doors hoo monie hours o’ merriment I min’), - The pistol-fittit cooper carle whase name was aye a myth, - An’ the twae whase names were bye-words, Wullie White an’ Michael - Smith. - - Wi’ mony mae than I may say, but yin I’d like to name - (Gin I forget to him my debt, I’ll hide my heid for shame,) - Wi’ great respec’, the maister stric’, an’ danglin’ frae his claws, - His badge o’ rule i’ the thrang aul’ schule, the weel-worn cutty - tawse. - - Sweethearts a score I whyles rhyme ow’r—their names, Bell, Barb’ra, - Bess, - Ann, Kirsty, Kate, May, Margaret, Jean, Georgie, Jamesie, Jess, - Johanna, Helen, Hannah, Agnes, Maries twae or three, - An’ a pauchtie dame I’m sweir to name, the dearest yince to me. - - But monie a day has passed away, ay, monie a lang dark year, - Sin I’d the chance o’ smile or glance frae them lang syne sae dear, - An’ hoo they’ve fared, whase lots they’ve shared, or where the hames - they’ve blest, - May sometime be revealed to me—but noo it’s just a mist. - - My schulemates! hoo _they’re_ squander’t noo, I haena words to say, - Some east away, some wast away, they a’ gaed far away— - But what-for say they’re wide away, or sunder’t far abreed? - When, weel I wat, it’s waur be that, the feck hae lang been deid. - - Aih me! aih me! aul’ Lockerbie, my heart sinks cauld an’ wae - At the doolfu’ thocht o’ changes wrocht sin I speel’t Mount Ulzie’s - brae; - But aye I’m fain to see’t again, an’ aye I hope an’ pray - To rest a wee at Lockerbie afore I’m ca’t away. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[14] Bessie’s Well was not far from the foot of “Cuddie’s Lane.” -The writer has been informed that the well was drained or filled -up by operations connected with the formation of the railway. This -ancient fountain, the destruction of which is to be deplored, had the -traditional reputation of attaching all who drank of it with a lasting -affection to the town of Lockerbie. - -[15] The existence of “closes mirk” in Lockerbie may be disputed; but -the writer holds one or two in his recollection well suited to the -taste of those who love the darkness rather than the light. - -[16] The town drummer and bellman, one of whose functions was to parade -the streets, drumming the lieges of Lockerbie to bed at ten p.m., and -out of bed at six a.m.—a custom which some thought “more honoured in -the breach than the observance.” - - - - - YAN O’ T’ ELECT. - - -About five or six years ago a gentleman entered a station on one of our -local railways, and found the worthy station master (whose original -occupation was that of a small Cumberland farmer,) in a state of great -excitement. He inquired the cause, and received a reply of which -the following is a verbatim report, committed to paper immediately -afterwards. We must premise that Dr. —— was a well known amateur -preacher,—a really benevolent man, who did good in his way, but had -no charity for the opinions of others, and was ever intruding his -views and advice on all who came in contact with him, and believed all -who differed from him destined to perdition. The extreme Calvinistic -doctrine of election and reprobation was a perfect mania with him. On -this occasion he was accompanied by his servant, a man of sleek aspect, -who distributed tracts, etc., for his master. - -“What’s t’ matter wi’ mé? Wey, theear matter plenty! That Dr. —— com’ -here aboot hoaf an oor sen to tak’ t’ train. I was stan’in’ at t’ time -aback o’ t’ ticket wole, an’ what d’yé think he says;—he says, says -he, ‘Isaac, you are a very wicked old man, and will most certainly -be damned; you are worse than Cass (then under sentence of death in -Carlisle gaol)—you are worse than a murderer.’ Says I, ‘Me war’ ner -a murderer! What the sham’ an’ hangment d’yé mean be that?’ Says he, -‘I mean this, old man; it has been elected from the beginning that -certain men shall be saved, and certain shall be lost. You are among -the latter, and you will most certainly be damned.’ Says I, ‘An’ what -’ill come o’ you?’ Says he, ‘Oh, Christ elected me many years ago.’ -Then, says I, ‘I think he meàd a varra feckless choice; but if it be -sooa, I wad like to know what I’ve deùn ’at I’s to be damned! I’ve -been weddit abeun forty year, an’ I’ve hed twelve barns, an’ I browte -them o’ up weel, an’ I edicated them weel, an’ they’ve o’ turn’t oot -weel; I’ve wrowte hard o’ me life, an’ I niver wrang’t a man oot of -a ho’penny—what mair can a man deu?’ Says he, ‘Isaac, you might do -much more, you might follow the teaching of the Bible; you might sell -all you have and give it to the poor.’ Says I, ‘Sell o’ ’at I hev an’ -give ’t to t’ poor! Is I to sell t’ bed fray anonder me wife ’at she’s -sleept on for forty year? Is I to sell t’ chair fray anonder her ’at -she’s sitten on for forty year, an’ turn her oot intil a dike gutter? -What kind o’ religion is ther’ i’ that? Says he, ‘Oh, the Lord would -provide for you.’ Says I, ‘The Lord provide for mé! Wad t’ Lord finnd -mé wid a new bed an’ a new chair?—an’ if he dud, I wad likely hev to -sell them ower ageàn! Sell o’ ’at I hev an’ gi’ ’t to t’ poor! Do _you_ -sell o’ ’at _you_ hev an’ gi’ ’t to t’ poor? I niver hard tell o’ yé -sellin’ o’ ’at you hev an’ gi’in’ ’t to t’ poor! They tell me you hev -atween fowrteen an’ fifteen hundert a year,—an’ mebbee yé may, for -owte I know, gi’e away—we’ll say, a hunder’t a year, an’ that’ll be t’ -ootside be a gay bit.— Do you co’ that sellin’ o’ ’at _you_ hev an’ -gi’n’ to t’ poor. I tell yè, you’re a rich man, an’ I’s no’but a poor -an’, wi’ a loosey ten shillin’ a week to leeve on; bit, accordin’ to -what I hev, I consider mysel’ to be beàth a nowbler an’ a generouser -fella ner you irr! Noo, theear a poor Irish family ’at leeves nar oor -hoose, an’ ivery week end we send them o’ t’ scraps o’ meat an’ ’taties -’at we ha’e left, forby udder things;—that’s far mair, accordin’ to -what I’ve gitten, ner your hunder’t a ’ear! You talk aboot me bein’ -damned. Noo, I’s neea scholar, bit I’ve read t’ Bible for o’ that, an’ -I’ve read ’at theear two mak’ o’ fwok ’at ’ill be damned—yan’s leears, -an’ t’ tudder’s hypocrites. Noo, I’ll preùv ’at you’re beàth. You’re -a leear for sayin’ ’at I was war’ ner a murderer i’ Carlisle gaol, -an’ you’re a hypocrite for sayin’ seea when you knew you were leein’! -I know hoo you mak’ o’ fwok argies—you reùt t’ Scriptur’ through an’ -through to finnd owte ’at suits yé, an’ than ye throw o’ t’ tudder -owerbword. An’ I tell you what, Mr. ——, theear anudder thing ’at I’ve -read in t’ Scriptur’s—I’ve read ’at theear to be a day o’ judgment. -Noo, you chaps say ’at it’s o’ settl’t afoorhan’ what’s to cum on us, -whoa’s to be seàv’t an’ whoa’s to be damned. You say you’re to be -seàv’t an’ I’s to damned. Noo, what’s t’ use of a day o’ judgment if -it’s o’ settl’t afoorhan! Ther’ ’ill be nowte to judge aboot! I’ll tell -yé what, Mr. ——, theear _will_ be a day o’ judgment, an’ beàth you an’ -me ’ill ha’e to mak’ oor appearance; an’ I doon’t know bit upon the -whol’ I’ll stan’ full oot t’ better chance o’ t’ two! An’ what’s t’ -use, I wad like to know, o’ you ga’n an’ preachin’ i’ that girt leàth -o’ yours of a Sūnday neet till a parshal o’ taggelts, if it’s o’ fix’t -what’s to come on them?’ Says he, ‘Old man, I perceive you are a child -of the devil.’ Says I, ‘Wey, mebbee! Bit I’ll tell you what, Mr. ——, t’ -divvel hesn’t two better frin’s in o’ Cummerlan’ ner you an’ that man -o’ yours—an’ which on yé ’s t’ bigger kneàv I’s sure I can’t tak upon -mysel’ to say.’ Just than t’ train com’ up, an’ my gentleman slipes. -Theear was a kind of a country chap stan’in’ ootside, an’ when t’ train -hed gone, he com’ intil t’ stashun hoose, an’ says, says he, ‘Is that -yan o’ thūr Methody chaps?’ ‘No,’ says I, ‘_it’s yan o’ t’ Elect_!’” - - -NOTE. - - The above was most kindly sent to me by a gentleman well known in west - Cumberland who has, from boyhood, been a keen and judicious observer - of the peculiarities of thought and speech prevailing amongst his - unsophisticated and unlettered neighbours; and who has also favoured - me with extensive contributions to my stock of anecdotes illustrating - the humorous side of rustic life in our common county. This remarkable - piece possesses a higher value than any of _my_ dialect productions, - amongst which it appears, as being the veritable words used by one - speaking the Cumberland vernacular and nothing else; and also as an - exposition and powerful expression of the opinions on the doctrine - referred to that prevails amongst his class, who are generally very - matter-of-fact, and impatient of anything that transcends their power - of apprehension or that goes beyond the grasp of their every-day - sense. The old man’s self-laudation, when put upon his mettle, is - perhaps the most characteristic point in the sketch. - - - - - KEATY CURBISON’S CAT. - - AN OALD, OALD STWORY. - - - Keàty Cūrbison’ cat hed a whudderin’ waow, - A waow like a yowl, fit to freeten a man; - An’ t’ leet iv it’ e’e was a green glentin’ lowe— - Iv it’ _e’e_, we may say, for it no’but hed yan. - T’ ya lūg hed been rovven an’ hung like a cloot, - While t’ tudder stack ūp like t’ cockad’ iv a hat; - Lang whiskers like brūssles spread o’ roond it’ snoot— - It wosn’t a beauty—Keàte Cūrbison’ cat! - - Keàty Cūrbison’ cat was a terror to t’ toon— - Till butt’ry an’ pantry it may’d hed a kay. - Intil ivery hoose, ayder up t’ geàt or doon, - By air-wole or chimla it wūmmelt it’ way. - For thievin’ an’ reàvin’ ’twas war’ nor a fox, - Ther’ wasn’t a hen-hoose it hedn’t been at; - Young chickens, an’ geslins, an’ pigeons, an’ ducks - Wer’ “ghem, gā ’way tul’t” to Keàte Cūrbison’ cat. - - Keàty Cūrbison’ cat like a tiger wad feight;— - When it’ back was weel up an’ o’ ruddy for war - It wad lick a cur dog mair nor ten times it’ weight, - An’ mongrels an’ messans they dursn’t cū nār. - It hed leet of a trap, an’ ya feùt was teàn off, - An’ it’ tail bed been dock’t—but it dūdn’t mind that, - It wad flee at owte whick ’at wad give it a lofe— - A hero, i’ hair, was Keàte Cūrbison’ cat. - - Keàty Cūrbison’ cat hed of lives a lang lot— - Yè ma’ toak aboot nine—it hed ninety an’ mair; - It was preùf ageàn puzzen or pooder an’ shot— - They hed buriet it yance, but it still dudn’t care. - It was tiet iv a meal-bag an’ flung into t’ beck, - But t’ bag it brong heàm for it’ mistress a brat, - Limpin’, trailin’ ’t ahint it wi’ t’ string round it’ neck— - T’ beck cūdn’t droon Keàty Cūrbison’ cat. - - Keàty Cūrbison’ cat browte oald Keàty to grief— - Pooar body! she nowder was cūmly nor rich— - An’ t’ neybors aboot settlet doon to t’ belief - ’At her cat was a divil an’ she was a witch. - An’ they said, “Let us swum her i’ t’ tarn,” an’ they dud; - She swom a lāl bit, an’ than droon’t like a rat, - An’ t’ cat aboot t’ spot swom as lang as it cūd; - An’ finish’t at last was Keàte Cūrbison’ cat. - - -NOTE. - - I remember reading somewhere the story of one of the many old women - so treated, in the wisdom of our ancestors, who was drowned while - undergoing the common ordeal of being bound and thrown into deep - water—and her cat, supposed to be her familiar spirit, swimming in - circles over the place where she sank till it became exhausted and - was also drowned. A story which made a lasting impression on my young - imagination. - - - - - JOSEPH THOMPSON’S THUMB. - - AN OLD HARRINGTON STORY. - - - Jwosep’ Thompson leev’t lang up at Harrin’ton toon,[17] - An’ a weel to dee, throughly oald marrow was Joe, - Wid a neive like a neàf, an’ a feàce like a moon, - An’ a shap’, standin’ ūp, like a tee-tak-up-o’. - - Jwosep’ Thompson hed ola’s been hearty an’ stoot, - But trūbble o’ sūm mak’s gay sarten to cūm, - An’ when threescwore an’ two he hed jūst coontit oot, - He was terrably tyl’t wid a gedderin’ thūmb. - - For it feister’t an’ wark’t wid sa beàdless a stoon, - ’At rist he gat nin for’t by neet nor by day; - But he rantit aboot, or he reàv’t ūp an’ doon, - Fairly greànin’ his life an’ fwokes patience away. - - Ther’ wer’ pokey oald wives aboot Harrin’ton than, - An’ a varst of advice, o’ free gratis, he gat; - But he gat nèa ’mends, dudn’t pooar oāld man, - An’ he fail’t varra sair iv his leùks an’ his fat. - - He seeken’t at meat,—nay, he’d bowk at a speùn! - An’ his beùrd he let growe like a Turk or a gwoat, - An’ he squeak’t iv his toak like a fiddle oot o’ teùn, - An’ like bags full o’ nowte hung his britches an’ cwoat. - - But o’ things they telt him Joe triet tūll his thūmb— - Sec as cerat’, an’ yal-grūnds, an’ turmets an’ skarn, - Screàp’t taties, an’ ’bacca, an’ pooder wid rūm, - An’ reūts ’at they raik’t oot o’ t’ boddom o’ t’ tarn. - - An’ fegs, an’ bog-unnion, an’ blackberry buds, - An’ carrots, an’ pūppies, an’ teàdsteùls, an’ sneels, - An’ soave meàd wid rozzle an’ meal boil’t i’ sūds, - An’ t’ fat rwoastit oot o’ beàth hag-wūrms an’ eels. - - An’ strang reisty bakin, an’ boil’t cabbish skrūnt, - An’ broon seàp an’ sugger, an’ typstic, an’ tar, - An’ he keept an’ oald pūltess of o’ mak’s upon’t,[18] - Till Joe an’ his thūmb warn’t nice to cū’ nār. - - It was o’ nèa use-nūt a crūmb dūd he mend! - An’ t’ parson co’ tūll him to pray an’ to read, - An’ whisper, “I say, Jwosep’! think o’ thy end”— - But he wadn’t—he thowte of a doctor asteed. - - An’ tul’ t’ doctor he dreàv iv his car—thumb an’ o’— - An’ t’ doctor said, “Well, my lad—off this mūn cūm!” - An’ he haggelt an’ cot at his pultess-bleach’t po’, - Till Joe was weel shot of his mūrderin’ thumb. - - T’ doctor lapt ūp his hand varra fewsome an’ reet, - An’ Joe, like a man, pait him weel for his job, - An’, creùnin’, “I’s m’appen git sūm rist to-neet,” - Joggelt heàm, pleased as Punch, wid his thumb in his fob. - - An’ to t’ wife says he, “Tak’ ’t to t’ churchyard oot o’ geàt, - An’ bury ’t whoar I’ll lig mysel’ when I dee.” - An’ she went wid a trooin an’ lantern, leàt, - An’ left it i’ t’ spot whoar Joe said it mud be. - - Jwosep’ to’k till his meat, for his hand mendit weel— - (He hed gud healin’ flesh, an’ fine natur’, hed Joe,)[19] - He screàp’t off his beùrd—he gev ow’r wid his squeel, - An’ was gittin’ as pūbble an’ roond as a bo’. - - But jūst when he thowte o’ his trūbble was geàn, - A pain com’ ageàn, wār nor iver he’d fund, - An’ theear it keept burnin’ an’ bworin’ i’ t’ beàn - O’ t’ thumb ’at was buriet an’ coald under t’ grūnd.[20] - - Jwosep’ went back to t’ doctor, an’ t’ oald wicket teul - H’ard his teàl, an’ says he, wid a snūrt an’ a gūrn, - “If thy thumb’s i’ t’ churchyard, thoo pooar priest-bodder’t feùl, - Thoo ma’ mak’ thysel’ suer while it bides it ’ill būrn.” - - He laid him sūm plaisters o’ soav on his po’, - An’ gev him sūm stuff to lig on tūl’t at heàm; - But nowte putten on tul’t gev easement tūll Joe, - For t’ būrnin’ an’ bworin’ wer’ iverly t’ seàm. - - An’ it keept on sa bad, he tūrn’t maffelt an’ maiz’t, - An’ sa wankle an’ wake ’at he to’k tull his bed, - Whoar, liggin’ hoaf deid, ey, an’ mair nor hoaf craiz’t, - He cūd think aboot nowte but what t’ doctor hed said. - - He triet nūt to speak on’t—He knew ’twasn’t reet, - But it ola’s beàd by him—his uppermor’ thowte; - An’ he yammer’t at t’ wife tull she went back at neet - To dig ūp t’ oald thūmb, an’ brong’t heàm iv a cloot. - - They laid it i’ t’ gardin, an’ hoo ’t com’ aboot - Nowder t’ mistress nor t’ parson cūd under-cum-stand, - But sarten it was, fray that varra time oot, - Sairy Jwosep’ was bodder’t na mair wid his hand. - - But Jwosep’ was niver ageàn his oald sel’. - An’ a questi’n com’ ūp still whativer he tried, - “If a thùmb i’ t’ churchyard was sa bad, whoa cūd tell - What a corp’ pùtten in’t o’togidder mūd bide!” - - This he maddel’t aboot ebben endways away— - As lang as he breath’t it was ola’s his drone; - An’ t’ wife hed na peace till he gat her to say - He sud lig by his-sel’ iv a field o’ the’r oan. - - An’ Joe tiet her up till her wūrd iv his will, - For theear suer aneuf when he dee’t it was fūnd - ’At he’d left o’ tull hūr, no’but if she’d fulfil - His craze ageàn liggin’ i’ consecrate grūnd. - - An’ Joe hed his way, for a square roughish steàn[21] - By t’ dike, i’ t’ Sco’-lonnin’, at this varra day, - Tell’s whoar Jwosep’ Thompson ligs whyet an’ leàn— - Keep us weel fray sec doctors as Jwosep’s, I pray! - - An’ keep us, I pray, fray o’ wild wicket toak, - Bringan’ bodder an’ fashment tull oald an’ tull yūng. - Jwosep’ Thompson wad ristit wid Christian fwoke, - If t’ doctor he went tull hed hodden his tūng! - - -[17] Harrington Town, the ancient village about half a mile inland, -is so called in distinction from Harrington Harbour, the small -sea-port, which is modern. The heiress of the family which took its -name and title from Harrington was mother of the Lord Bonville and -Harrington, brother-in-law to the king-making Earl of Warwick. The -manor was forfeited by the attainder of Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, -great-grandson of the said Lord Bonville, and father of Lady Jane Grey, -and given by the Queen (Mary), to the Curwens of Workington, who still -hold it. - -[18] Should this compendium of topical applications seem at all -overcharged, I would state that it consists of well known popular -remedies, mostly of _some_ use, and falls far short, whether in -variety, extravagance, or repulsiveness of the multifarious nostra -recommended by amateurs of the healing art in Cumberland and the -adjacent counties. The “poultice of o’ maks” is not, as its name seems -to imply, a compound, but a simple substance, which it is unnecessary -to indicate more distinctly than to mention that it was generally -turned to when pleasanter applications had failed. I have frequently -heard old people extol its virtues as a promoter of suppuration, but -I trust its use may now be classed with the “many precious rites and -customs of our rural forefathers,” which, as Wordsworth has said, “are -gone or stealing from us.“ - -[19] This alludes to the popular belief, not altogether unfounded, that -readiness in healing is connected with an easy disposition. - -[20] A delusion common enough after amputation. - -[21] The stone stood—I believe stands—behind the hedge which on the -western side fences the lane called Scaw-lonning, near High Harrington. -When I last saw it—many years ago—the subjoined inscription was quite -distinct upon it—plainer, indeed, than any of similar date in the -churchyard:— - - ”JOSEPH THOMPSON may here be found - Who would not lie in consecrated ground - Died May 13th 1745 - Aged 63 when he was alive” - -With the traditional account of the circumstances that caused this -fancy of Joseph Thompson’s, the details given in the rhyme coincide as -closely as my recollection of a tale heard in boyhood enables me to -make them. - -Since the first appearance of this, however, another version of the -matter has been reported to me by old friends near the spot—but -inasmuch as it does not account so perfectly as the old story for -Joseph’s objection to ALL consecrated ground, I feel bound to abide -by my first choice. The, to me, new story tells that Joseph Thompson -annoyed the clerk in the church so seriously by repeating the responses -in a voice that quite drowned his, that at length the said functionary -exclaimed during service—“Is thoo t’ clark, or is I t’ clark? If thoo’s -t’ clark, cūm up hèar, an’ I’ll cūm doon thèar!“—and, on Joseph’s -paying no attention to his appeal, supplemented it by assaulting him. -The clergyman taking his clerk’s side in the quarrel, Joseph Thompson -declared he would never come near the church again, dead or alive, and -kept his word. - -I take leave to think that my version is the better, whichever may be -the truer tale. I have further been told that the stone formerly stood -in the centre of the field—and on the land coming into the possession -of Mr. John Christian Curwen, the farmer waited upon that distinguished -agriculturist to obtain permission to remove it to the hedge-side, and -to plough the field. When he was told the history of the monument, and -its inscription was recited to him, Mr. Curwen exclaimed, _more suo_, -”_Would not lie in consecrated ground!_ Then, plough him up! D—— him, -plough him up!” - - - - - CURSTY BENN. - - - Cūrsty Benn of Under-Skiddaw - Leev’t on t’ land whoar he was bworn; - Eight-ty yacre, lea and meedow— - Forty, green-crop, seeds an’ cworn. - Cūrsty’ wife, a fewsome body, - Brong him barnes, some nine or ten, - Menseful, meat-heàl, fat an’ ruddy;— - “Whoar’s their like?” said Cūrsty Benn. - - Cūrsty hed ya mortal failin’— - Whoa may say they’ve less nor that?— - Rayder fond was he o’ trailin’ - Off frae heàm an’ bidin’ leàt. - Fray Kes’ick Kit was ola’s leàtish; - Hoo that com’ t’ wife gat to ken, - When i’ t’ market neets she’d nwotish - Signs o’ drink i’ Cūrsty Benn. - - Cūrsty’ wife was kind an’ canny, - Nowder gi’en to flyte nor fret; - “Weel aneùf,” she said, “I ken he - Mayn’t be cured by sulks an’ pet; - But I moon’t sit by an’ see him, - Gear an’ grun’ spang-hew an’ spen’, - I mūn gang till Kes’ick wi’ him!” - Nowte ageàn’t said Cursty Benn. - - When they dadg’t away togidder, - O’ row’t reet a canny bit; - Cūrsty, pleas’t to market wid her, - Tiped his pints, but dūdn’t sit. - No’but for a bit it lastit— - Sooa ’t’s been afoor an’ sen! - When fwoke thowte she’d wiled him past it, - Tull’t ageàn went Cūrsty Benn.— - - Tull’t ageàn i’ t’ public-hooses, - Whilk an’ Cūrsty dūdn’t care; - Adam Gill’s, or Mistress Boose’s, - T’ Yak, t’ Queen’s Heed, or t’ Hoonds an’ Hare. - Through them o’ t’ wife whiles went laitin’— - Whiles, for hours an’ hours an’ en’, - In their shandry sat she waitin’, - Coald on t’ street, for Cūrsty Benn. - - Ya’ fine neet when leàt she gat him— - Fairly forced to flyte, t’ poor deàm - Lowsed her tongue reet freely at him, - While t’ oald yoad went stammerin’ heàm. - Whietly Kit bore her clatter, - Nea back-wūrd he’d gi’en her, when - T’ mèar pu’t up aside some watter;— - “Drink, gūd lass!” says Cūrsty Benn. - - Lang she dronk, an’ lood she grūntit, - Till a gay gud drain she’d hed; - Than as t’ rwoad yance mair she frūntit, - Cūrsty’ wife tūll Cūrsty said— - “Sees t’e, min! that pooar oald mèar, - When she’s full, she’s t’ sense to ken; - Can’t thoo tak’ a pattren bee her— - _Drink an deùn wi’t_, Cūrsty Benn?” - - “Whey!” says Kit, “but tūrn that watter - Intill yāll, wid udder yoads - Sittin’ roond it—hoddin’ at her— - Tellin’ her t’ time mak’s na odds— - Shootin’ oot, ‘Here’s te the’, Cūrsty!— - (Mèars is mèars—men’s nowte but men!)— - But I dūrst lay a pūnd ’at dūrst Ee, - _She_’d sit on—like Cūrsty Benn!” - -NOTE. - - Of this anecdote different versions are current, and various - localities are assigned to it—Scotch as well as English. I take leave - to think however that the Cumberland version, as given here, is the - best of all that have been given. - - - - - TOM RAILTON’S WHITE SPATS. - - -“Spats!” said Tom, “Nay! I niver hed a par o’ spats i’ my life; but -yance I’d as nār as a toucher gitten two par; an’ I’s tell ye hoo it -com’ aboot ’at I dudn’t. - -“Nūt varra lang efter we wer’ weddit, an oald uncle o’ t’ wife’s com’ -ower t’ fell frae Ireby to see us an’ stop wid us a bit. Ya ebenin’ -when we wer’ sittin’ crackin’ away roond t’ fire, some way or udder, -oor toak happen’t to tūrn on men-fwoke’s driss, t’ change o’ fashions, -an’ sec like; an’ oald uncle Geordie begon to brag ’at they used to -driss far better when he was yūng nor they dūd than; an’ by way o’ -clinchin’ his teàl, he says, ‘Can ye finnd me a smo’ steàtsman’s sūn -noo-a-days ’at ’ll worder six par o’ white corduroy knee britches o’ -at yance!’ ‘Six par o’ corduroy britches?’ says I. ‘Ey,’ says he, -‘corduroy britches, as white as drip!’ ‘Whey, no!’ says I, ‘I wadn’t -ken whoar to leuk for a fellow ’at wad git six par o’ britches of any -mak’ o’ at yance?’ ‘Well than,’ says he, ‘jūst rūb yer een clear, -an’ leùk hard to this side o’ yer oan fire,’ says he, an’ ye’ll see -a fellow ’at beath wad an’ dud git them! When I furst begon to ride -efter t’ hoonds,’ says he, ‘I gat six par o’ white cword britches, an’ -two par o’ top beùts. T’ beùts was worn oot many a year sen, but I’ve -t’ six par o’ britches yit, laid bye, an’ for owte I know, they’re as -white as iver.’ Wid that our wife spak up—she thowte a vast mair aboot -my leùks than nor she does noo—an’ she says, ‘Uncle George,’ says she, -‘will ye iver weear yer white britches agean?’ ‘Nay, my lass,’ says -he, ‘I think my white britches days is gaily weel ower, but what o’ -that?’ ‘O, nowte,’ says she, ‘but I’ve a nwotion ’at Tom here wadn’t -misbecome white britches an’ top beùts, when he’s ridin’ aboot, an’ as -they’re o’ nea use till yersel’ noo, ye’d better send them ower till -him.’ ‘Whe—e—ey!’ says he, iv a dronin’ soort of a way, ‘Whey! Whey! -but m’appen they willn’t gang on him,’ says he. ‘O!’ says she, ‘but -ye know we med mebbe let them oot a bit, an’ mak’ them gang on him.’ -‘Well, well,’ says her uncle, ‘I’ll send him ya par on them to try, -an’ if they fit, an’ he likes them, he may hev mair efter.’ An’ sure -aneuf, when he went back heam ageàn, he sent a par on them ower, as he -said, as white as drip; an’ we beàth thowte he mud ha’ been a parlish -oald buck if he hed o’ udder things to match when he gat sec a stock -o’ white britches. Nowte wad sarra t’ wife, when we’d leukt at them, -but I mud try them on theear an’ than, an’ see hoo they fittit. We gat -a terrible begonk when we fund ’at they wadn’t gang on at o’. He was -rayder a wizzent oald fellow than, an’ he’d been a wizzent fellow when -he’d geàn sproguein’ aboot iv his white corduroys mebbe thurty year -afoor, for t’ knees on them, wid o’ t’ buttons lowse, wadn’t come ower -t’ bo’s o’ my legs, an’, what was warse nor o’ t’ tudder, ther was -nowte left o’ t’ seam to let them oot wid. Sooa they wer laid bye be -theirsel’s at oor hoose, just as t’ tudder five par on them wer liggin’ -laid bye togidder at Ireby. - -A gay while efter that, when I’d forgitten o’ aboot t’ white britches, -an oald crony o’ mine chanced to be iv oor part, an’ co’t to see us, -an’ stopt o’ neet. We nwotish’t ’at he hed shoes on, an’ t’ bonniest -spats we’d ever owder on us seen; for they fittit roond his ancles -an’ ower his shoe tops widoot ayder a lirk or a lowse spot, an’ I -said, ‘Charley,’ says I, ‘whoariver did tè manish to git sec fitters -as them?’ ‘O!’ says he, ‘I hed t’ pattren on them frae Scotland, an’ -my sister maks them for me as I want them.’ ‘Thy sister maks them!’ -says I, ‘Whey, I wad ha’ sworn thoo’d been to t’ varra heid tailior -i’ Whitehebben for them!’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘t’ pattren’s sa plain an’ -simple ’at she cuts them oot by it, an’ mak’s them quite easy; an’, as -ye say, they fit as weel as if t’ best tailior i’ t’ land hed been at -t’ makin’ on them. But if ye like, I’ll send ye t’ pattren by post, an’ -Mistress Railton may try her hand at them for thee.’ - -“Well, t’ pattren o’ t’ spats com, as Charley promish’t it sud, an’ -efter she’ leùk’t it weel ower, an’ fittit it on my feùt, t’ wife -clap’t her hands an’ shootit, ‘I can dee’t, Tom! I can dee’t! an’ thoo -sall hev a par of _white_ spats. There’s nowte maks a man leùk sa like -a gentleman as clean white spats! Did t’e iver see Dr. Dick Ringer o’ -Cockermouth? Well, what was’t ’at meàd him ola’s leùk cleaner, an’ -breeter, an’ fresher, an’ better-like nor anybody theear? Whey, nowte -at o’ else but t’ white spats ’at he used to weear ivery day! I’ll mak -thee a par o’ spats oot o’ pooar oald uncle Geordie’s corduroys ’at -wadn’t gang on the’, an’ I’ll mak them i’ time for the’ to put on when -thoo gangs to Peerith nixt market day!’ I so’ it was nea use sayin’ -she sudn’t, if I’d been that way inclined, an’ I wasn’t; sooa she set -to wark off hand, an’ ripp’t doon t’ white breeks, an’ pin’t Charley’s -pattren on t’ cleàth, an’ cot it up by ’t; an’ as her heart was set on -t’ job, she hed t’ spats finish’t lang afoor t’ time she said. When we -com to try them on, yan on them was a varra decent fit, but t’ tudder -wasn’t: it seem’t to stand off whoar it sud sit clwose, an’ to sit -clwose whoar it sudn’t, an’ it was a gay while afooar we fund oot t’ -reason on’t. But I happn’t, at last, to glime up at hūr, an’ ther was -mair trūbble iv her feàce ner I’d iver seen afooar. ‘Bliss thy heart, -Mary!’ says I, ‘whativer’s t’ matter wid the’? Thoo leuks as if thy -poddish was welsh!’ ‘Doesn’t thoo see?’ she says. ‘Can tè nūt see ’at -I’ve meàd them beàth for t’ seàm feùt? Whoar’s thy eyes, thoo mafflin?’ -says she, tackin’ it oot o’ me acoase she was mad at hersel’, ‘Whoar’s -t’ een on the’, I wūnder, ’at thoo doesn’t see t’ buttons is at t’ -inside o’ t’ ya feùt, an’ t’ ootside o’ t’ tudder?’ ‘By jing,’ says I, -‘an’ seea they urr! Thoo _hes_ meàd a fist on’t! Thoo _hes_ tailior’t -till a bonnie end! If this be thy tailiorin’, I think thoo’d better -stick till thy hoose-keepin’ wark for t’ rist o’ thy life!’ But I so’ -t’ watter gedderin’ iv her eyes, an’ I so’ ’at it no’but wantit anudder -wūrd or two to mak’ her blurt reet oot, an’ seea I said nea mair. O’ at -yance she breeten’t up ageàn, an’ pot her arm roond my neck an’ ga’e -me a kiss, an’ said, ‘Niver fret aboot it, Tom lad,’ says she, ‘ther’s -aneùf left o’ t’ oald britches to mak anudder par o’ spats. Thoo’s -gitten two for t’ reet feùt, an’ thoo sall hev two for t’ left, an’ -than thoo need niver gang frae heàm adoot white spats to thy feet, for -t’ ya par ’ill wesh t’ tudder thoo sees!’ - -“I thowte I _was_ gā’n to be set up wi’ spats for sure, for she went at -t’ oald corduroy ageàn feùrcer nor iver, an’ hed two mair meàd afoor I -ken’t whoar I was. She hed them o’ wesh’t an’ iron’t, an’ straps putten -on them, ruddy for gā’n to chūrch o’ t’ Sunday mwornin’; but loavin’ -bliss us o’ weel! if she hedn’t geàn an’ meàd o’ t’ fower for t’ reet -feùt, an’ left me just as far off hevin’ spats to my feet as iver. Mad -as we war, we beàth brast oot laughin’, an’ laugh’t tull hūr laugh hed -rayder less of a cry in’t nor it hed at t’ fūrst, an’ than says I, -‘What’s to be deùn noo, Mally?’ I says, ‘Urr we to send till Ireby for -anudder par o’ t’ drip white corduroys, an’ hev fower par o’ spats? I -is gā’n to be weel spattit i’ t’ lang run!’ ‘Nay,’ says she, ‘I’ll spat -the’ na mair spats; I’ll lig thur i’ my oan top-dro’er, an’ wheniver I -see them they’ll be a warnin’ to me nūt to mell wi’ wark at I hevn’t -been browte up till. Fwoke says it taks nine tailiors to mak’ a man, -but I divn’t think anybody hes tell’t us hoo many women it may tak’ to -mak’ a tailior; but whedder it tak’s many or few, thoo may mak’ thysel’ -seàf an’ suer ’at thy wife willn’t be yan o’ them.’ An’ that was t’ way -I was deùn oot o’ my chance o’ gittin’ two par o’ spats.” - - - - - A SNECK POSSET. - - - Niver ageàn, Eddy! Niver ageàn! - If I moo’n’t hev a lad ’at ’ill coort me my leàn, - ’At ’ill hod by ya sweetheart, an’ me be that yan, - I mūn bide as I is till I dee. - Thū’s coddel’t Keàt Crosstet, Ann Atchin, Jane Blair, - ’Becca Rudd, Mary Mo’son, Ruth Lytle, an’ mair; - Thoo says it’s o’ fūn, an’ sec fūn ma’ be fair, - But it doesn’t seem jannic to me. - - I favour’t the’, ey! abeùn o’ t’ lads aboot; - I thowte, like a feùl, ’at thū’d sing-elt me oot - Frae t’ tūdders, an’ I’ve been reet sarra’t, na doobt, - To trust sec a taistrel as thee. - Reet sarra’t? Ey, mess! I was warn’t gaily weel,— - I was tel’t hoo thū’d feùl’t an’ than left Greàcy Peile; - An’ what reet hed I to believe thoo wad deal - Ayder fairer or fonter wi’ me? - - Fwoke tel’t mé thoo com of a slape, sneeky breed;— - ’At a tungue sec as thine seldom hung iv a heid;— - ’At twice i’ three times when thoo said owte, thoo leed; - But I fanciet that hardly cūd be. - For ’Speàtry, I kent, was a hard-spocken pleàce, - An’ I thowte ’at, may-hap, thū’d been wrang’t aboot Greàce;— - God help mé!—I thowte I read t’ truth i’ thy feàce, - When thoo swore thoo cared only for me. - - We’re silly, us lasses—We’re maizlins, I know!— - We’re t’ meàst teàn wi’ them ’at oor frinds meàst misco’; - An’ when we’re teàn in, we’ve to shear what we sow, - An’ to rue sec mistaks till we dee. - But leet com’ i’ time, an’ it o’ com’ at yance, - I so’t fair aneùf, but, to give thee ya chance, - I went by mysel’ to Jane Loncaster’s dance, - Just to see if thoo dūd care for me. - - Theear, hoaf oot o’ seet, a bye corner I teùk, - An’ thoo dūdn’t cū’ nār; nūt a smile nor a leùk - Dūd té kest to poor me, as I dark’t i’ my neùk, - An’ wūnder’t I’d trustit i’ thee. - Thoo stack till Bess Bruff like a cockelty būr; - An’ she cūtter’t wi’ thee jūst to greg Harry Scūrr;— - When t’ cūshi’n com’ in thoo teùk t’ cūshi’n tull hur, - An’ thoo glimed, when thoo kiss’t her, at me. - - But Harry an’ Bess meàd it up iv a crack; - An’ noo, ’at thū’s hed a begonk, thoo cū’s back; - But if _thū’s_ fūnd oot _thine_, I’ve fūnd oot _my_ mistak’, - An’, I’ll ho’d mysel’ heart-heàl an’ free. - Sooa Neddy, gud lad, dro’ thy steàk, an’ be gā’n; - Amang thy oald chances thū’s m’appen finnd yan - Ma’ be fain, though thū’s snaip’t her, to hev the’ ageàn, - But, Eddy! that yan isn’t me. - - - - - REMARKS ON THE CUMBERLAND DIALECT. - - -The dialect of Cumberland, spoken in its purity only in the central -parts of the county, may be admitted to be deficient in rhythm; and -remarkable as it is for force and expression, its harshness of cadence -renders it scarcely available for any poetry except the humorous or -descriptive. By those unaccustomed or unattached to it, it may probably -be considered hard and coarse even in prose compositions. - -Its principal peculiarity is to be found in its vowel and diphthongal -sounds, which, for the most part, are made either broader or deeper -than in ordinary pronunciation; and this may be indicated with -sufficient ease and distinctness, by means of phonetic spelling, when -written or printed, to enable any reader with a little practice and -care to pronounce broad Cumbrian with tolerable correctness. - -The most important instance of this vowel peculiarity exists in the -pronunciation of the long A and the short U, the former of which -is sounded generally _yah_ and the latter _uh_; thus to secure the -Cumbrian pronunciation—ale must be spelled _yahl_ and ace, _yahss_, -lame is made _lyahm_, name _nyahm_, etc., etc., all monosyllabic, -or, to prevent the accent being laid upon the Y, and so making two -syllables, these words might be written _leahm_, _neahm_. As regards -the U, the first syllable of cunning is in Cumberland lengthened out -exactly to the sound of the German _kuhn_, and come is made _kuhm_. -These sounds can only be conveyed by the interposition of the H. When I -first scribbled in the folk-speech of Cumberland I wrote it after this -fashion, and the efficacy of the method was proved by the fact that -intelligent or painstaking readers, knowing nothing of the dialect as -spoken, were able to repeat the verses called “Branthet Neuk Boggle” -in a style that might have satisfied even an exigeant professor of our -Cumbrian philology. - -The Cumberland dialect so written, however, had a remarkably ugly and -uncouth appearance when printed, and the remonstrances of my present -provincial publisher induced me to abandon the H orthography, and -endeavour to secure the proper pronunciations by means of accent marks, -spelling the words instanced above _leàm_, _neàm_, _cūnning_, _cūm_, et -similia similiter. - -The broad O and Oa are in our Cumberland speech altered into _eà_, with -the sound of _yah_, home becoming _heàm_, broad _breàd_, etc. There -are exceptions to this as to most other rules, for lane is rendered -as _lwoan_ or _lonnin’_, choke as _chowk_, croak as _crowk_, road as -_rwoad_, and more as _mair_, while shore has its ordinary sound. Almost -in reversal of these changes the broad A as in ball, a dance, Al, as -in walk, Aw, as in awful, are sounded like the broad O or Oa, thus -_boall_, _woak_, _oaful_, etc.; but the L is preserved in _oala’s_, for -always, scalp is pronounced _scowpe_, and ball, a plaything, is _bo’_, -all, _oa’_, call, _co’_, hall, _ho’_, etc., etc. - -Ea gets the pronunciation properly given to it in veal and mead; so -that bread is _breed_, head, _heed_, dead, _deed_, etc., etc.; but -when this diphthong precedes R, as in bear, wear, etc., it becomes -dissyllabic like fear, as commonly pronounced, and mare too becomes -_mee-ar_. - -Ei becomes _ay_, either and neither becoming _ayder_ and _nayder_, -sometimes _owder_ and _nowder_. - -The broad I in bite, write, etc., the Cumbrians deepen almost as is -done by well educated people in the southern counties, with notable -exceptions however, the first personal pronoun being made Ah; Igh, -shortened and gutturalized by the Scotch, being sounded like _Ee_, -night being _neet_, light, _leet_, etc., and find and bind pronounced -like wind, viz.—_finnd_, _binnd_. - -The double O is generally pronounced _eù_, or more exactly _yuh_ -shortly, fool being _feùl_, school, _scheùl_, etc., in one short -syllable. Do and too are often pronounced according to this rule, -but almost equally often are made into _dee_ and _tee_, while the -preposition to is for the most part changed into _till_ or _tull_. - -With Ou and Ow Cumberland speakers are somewhat capricious, round being -made _roond_, town, _toon_, etc., but found and bound become _fūnd_ and -_būnd_, ought, _owte_, nought, _nowte_, etc. - -O with the sound of the short U is treated in a very arbitrary -manner—one being called _yan_, none, _nin_, and oven, _yubben_. - -Qu is generally softened into _wh_, aspirated distinctly—quick being -pronounced w_hick_, and quite, _white_, and Quaker, with old people, is -_Whaker_. - -Y is sometimes converted into G, as in _garth_ for yard, _garn_ for -yarn; and again that habit is sometimes reversed, as in _yatt_ for gate. - -The corruptions or variations of consonants are not so marked as those -of vowels. The most notable are the hardening of Th into Dd, making -father, _fadder_, mother, _mūdder_, etc.; and the dropping of the two -last of the three letters in the definite article, well illustrated -by the Whitehaven boy’s reply to an enquiry as to what ships had come -in:—“_T’_ ’Enry, an’ _t’_ ’Ebe, an’ _t’_ Ant, an’ _t’_ Atlas, an’ _t’_ -Aurora;” i.e. the Henry, the Hebe, the Ant, the Atlas, and the Aurora. -Then we may notice the discarding of the final letter from all words -ending in ing, and changing that syllable in all present participles to -_an_, the participle of pass being in Cumberland more like the French -pass_ant_ than the English pass_ing_; also the final age being made -_ish_, as in _cabbish_ for cabbage, _manish_ for manage, etc.; the -final ous too undergoing the same change, as in _faymish_ for famous, -_parlish_ for parlous, etc.; also idge as in _poddish_ for porridge, or -primarily, potage. - -V is often converted into B or Bb—evening, eleven, Whitehaven being -called _ebenin’_, _elebben_, _Whitehebben_, etc. - -These corruptions and deviations comprise nearly all the points -wherein the dialect of Cumberland differs in sound and pronunciation -from ordinary English speech; and set forth roughly, as they are, -(abbreviations explaining themselves, and archaic words being given -in a concise glossary) they may, with a little attention, enable the -uninitiated reader to understand all the Cumbrian pieces contained in -this volume. - -Some irregular verbs, as well as some not commonly classed as -irregular, are curiously varied in Cumbrian conjugations. I give a few -of these, written down as they rise in recollection, and arranged a la -Lindley Murray. - - _Present._ _Past._ _Past Participle._ - Break Brack Brocken - Bring Brong, and Brang Browte - Brust (burst) Brast Brossen - Cleed (clothe) Cleàd Cled - Clim’ Clam Clim’t and Clum - Cūm (come) Com Cum’t - Cut Cot and Cuttit Cutten - Drink Drunk Drucken and Drocken - Drive Dreàv Druvven - Fling Flang Flung - Git (get) Gat Gitten - Gi’e (give) Gev Gi’en - Ga and Gang (go) Went Geàn - Greet (weep) Grat Grūtten - Hit Hat and Hot Hitten - Ho’d (hold) Hodit Hodden - Let Let Letten - Kest (cast) Kest Kessen - Knead Knod Knodden - May May’d or Med - Mun (must) Mūd - Put Pot Putten - Rive Reàv Ruvven - Run Ron Run - Rise Reùz Ruzzen - Stick Stack Stuck and Stucken - Set Set Setten - Tak Tok and Teùk Tocken - Thrust Thrustit Throssen - -Minced or modified oaths are remarkably numerous in Cumberland, and -in very common use. Most of them have descended from the old Roman -Catholic times when, as Dr. Newman in speaking of Roman Catholic -populations of the present day, avers, habitual swearing indicated -piety and reverence for things sacred, and not profaneness. As heard -now in Cumberland, these ancient expletives are as void of piety as -of profanity, being used without any knowledge of their original -signification, and merely to add force to asseveration, and to express, -as varied in tone, surprise, disgust, pleasure, or indeed almost -any feeling or emotion whatever. I append a few of these with their -probable, often obvious, etyma:— - - ’Scush or Skerse God’s curse - Goy, and Goy Sonn God, and God’s Son - Gock, and Gock Sonn Ibid. Ibid. - ’Od’s wuns an’ deeth God’s wounds and death - Loavin’ days Loving Jesus - ’Od’s wintry wuns God’s sundry, or wondrous, wounds - ’Od’s wyte leet on thee God’s blame fall on you - ’Od rot, ’Od sink, etc., etc. See _Dickinson’s_ Glossary - ’ Marry By Mary - ’ Mess By the Mass - Dār, Dy, and Dyne Damn - Faix, and Faikins Faith - Cock’s wunters God’s wonders - Loze Lord - My song My soul - Deil bin Devil be in - -The peculiarities of the Scottish dialect have been explained by many -writers, much more ably, as well as more at length, than may be done by -me. Therefore the only assistance towards the understanding my Scots -rhymes that I offer the reader is to intermingle, in the glossary -appended, such Scottish words as I have used, with those proper to -Cumberland and those common to both sides the Border. - -The brief glossary here given consists, then, only of the words used -in Scotland or Cumberland, or both, which appear in the foregoing -_Tales and Rhymes_; corruptions and abbreviations being omitted. -The significations I alone am answerable for, having, in nearly all -instances, adopted the sense I can recollect the words being used in -by the people speaking them in their daily talk. The quotations are -intended to make these significations more intelligible, and also, -by showing the manner in which the words so illustrated are used by -others, to prove that the meanings I have so adopted are generally -correct. - - - - - A GLOSSARY - - OF - - SCOTCH AND CUMBRIAN WORDS - - OCCURRING IN THE RHYMES AND TALES CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME. - -C signifies that the word it follows is Cumbrian. S that it is Scotch. -S and C that it is common to both dialects. - - -A. - -Addle, or Eddle, C, earn. - - “What, I mun tak’ my flale wimma, antres I git a job er two a - threyshin, Ise _addle_ summat be’t.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Aiblins, S, perhaps. - - “But _aiblins_ neighbour ye have not the heart, - An’ downa eithly wi’ the cunzie part.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - -Aneuf, C, enough in quantity. - -Anew, C, enough in number. - - “We’ve _anew_ o’ sec as thee, an’ _aneuf_ o’ what thou brings wid - thee.”—Said to a Hawker. - -Aslew, C, amiss, out of course. - - “There’s nowte sa far _aslew_ but gud manishment med set it - streight.”—Proverb. - -Atweel, S, I wot well. Used to strengthen either affirmation or denial. - - “Are they a’ Johnie’s? - Eh! _atweel_ na; - Twa o’ them were born - When Johnie was awa.” - Song—We’re a’ Noddin’. - - -B. - -Back-end, C, late autumn. - - “T’ _back-end’s_ ola’s t’ bare-end.”—Proverb. - -Bain, C, near, convenient. Used in most of the northern counties. - - “I swin’d my ways t’ _bainest_ geeat ower t’ fell into Sleddle.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Bairn, S, a child; Barne, C. - - “Maidens’ _bairns_ are aye weel bred.”—Proverb. - - “They hed _barnes_ an’ bits o’ flesh persirv’d i’ bottles as fwok does - berries.”—_Ritson._ The Borrowdale Letter. - -Barken’t, S and C, encrusted. - - “For God-seak put that barne in t’ dolly-tūb an’ scrūb’t: it’s fairly - _barken’t_ ower wid mūck.”—Said of a rarely washed infant. - -Barrow-back’t, C, bent by heavy work, such as wheeling loaded _barrows_. - - “He’s gitten bow’t an’ _barrow-back’t_, an’ wizzent sair o’ t’ - feàce.”—Heard at Ullock. - -Batt, S and C, - - “At ya _batt_ he fell’t me flat, - ’Od dye! he’ll be a darter.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Baul’, S, bold, fierce. - - “The first fuff o’ a fat haggis is aye the _baul’est_.”—Proverb. - -Beàdless, C. This adjective is used to signify intolerable in -suffering, and also impatient of pain—thus - - “He says t’ pain’s _beàdless_, but than he’s a _beàdless_ body.” - Said to a Doctor. - -Beck, C, a rivulet. - - “Change is leetsome, if it’s no’but oot o’ bed intil t’ _beck_.” - Proverb. - -Beel, C, to bellow like a bull. - - “Summet tha caw’t roworgins began a _beelin’_ like a hundred mad - bulls, an’ as many lal lads i’ ther sarks began a screamin’ murder, I - think, for ivery _beel_ was like thunner.” - _Ritson._ The Borrowdale Letter. - -Begonk, Old S and C, a disappointment, “a sell.” - - “Now Cromwell’s gane to Nick; an’ ane ca’d Monk - Has played the Rumple a richt slee _begunk_.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - -Begood, S, began. - - “The baronne he _begood_ to bob, - No longer colde he stande.” - _Hogg._ Lyttil Pynkie. - -Beild, S and C, shelter. - - “Better a wee buss than nae _beild_.”—Proverb. _Burns’_ Motto. - - “Weal _beealt_ frae t’ fell wind by some heeh crags.” - _Rev. T Clarke._ T’ Reysh-bearin’. - -Bein, S, snug, comfortable. - - “Were your _bein_ rooms as thinly stocked as mine, - Less ye wad lose, and less wad ye repine.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - -Belyve, S and C, by and bye. - - “_Belyve_, the elder bairns come drapping in.” - _Burns._ Cotter’s Saturday Night. - -Ben, S, the inner part of a house. - - “It’s ill bringing but what’s no _ben_.”—Proverb. - -Bent, S, a coarse hard grass; applied also to the sterile land where -bent grows. - - “Gin ye’ll consent to scour the _bent_ - Wi’ me, a rantin’ Hielandman.” - _Hamilton._ Song. - -Billie, S, brother. - - “Be of gude cheir, now, Archie lad! - Be of gude cheir, now, dear _billie_.” - Ballad—Archie o’ Ca’field. - -Bink, S, a bench for sitting upon. - - “For faut o’ wise fouk feuls sit on _binks_.”—Proverb. - -Birl, S, to drink in conviviality; also to spend money in drinking. - - “When they were at the supper set - An’ _birlin’_ at the wine.” - Ballad—Young Huntin. - “She took me in, she set me doon, - An’ hecht to keep me lawin’ free; - But, cunning carlin’ that she was, - She gar’t me _birl_ my bawbee.” - Song—Andro’ wi’ his cutty gun. - - In the Lake Country the attendants who serve the drink round at - sheep-shearings, etc., are called _burlers_. - -Birkie, S, a brisk forward fellow. - - “See yon _birkie_ ca’d a lord.” - _Burns._ For a’ that. - -Black-kites, C, bramble berries; in some parts called brummel-kites, in -others black-bums. - - “I wantit grog—she brong mé _black-kite_ wine.” - Heard at Harrington. - -Blate, S and C, bashful. - - “A _blate_ cat maks a proud mouse.”—Proverb. - - “I’ve wonder’t oft o’ leàte - What made thee leùk sea skar an’ seem sea _bleàte_.” - _Graham._ Gwordie and Will. - -Bleeze, S and C, flame. - - “In winter when he toils through wind and rain, - A _bleezin’_ ingle and a clean hearth-stane.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - -Blether, S and C, noisy silly talk, loquacity. - - “A lawyer neist, wi’ _bletherin’_ gab, - Wha speeches wove like onie wab.” - Old Song—Jenny’s Bawbee. - “Chaps like these, like butterflees, - Win owte wi’ pride an’ _blether_.” - _Anderson._ Laird Johnie. - -Blink, S, glance. - - “The evening sun was ne’er sae sweet - As was the _blink_ o’ Phemie’s e’e.” - _Burns._ Blythe was she. - -Blurt, C; Blirt, S, sudden burst of weeping, etc. - - “The lassie lost her silken snood, - Whilk cost her monie a _blirt_ an’ bleer e’e.” - Song. - -Blythe, S, cheerful, happy. - - “A _blythe_ heart mak’s a blooming look.”—Proverb. - -Bood, S, behoved to. - - “Weel leese me o’ you, Souter Jock, - For tricks ye _bood_ be tryin’.” - _Ferguson._ The Election. - -Boune, Old S, to journey or go. - - “Win up! win up, now, Hynde Etin, - Win up, an’ _boune_ wi’ me.” - Ballad—Hynde Etin. - -Bowk, S and C, to retch. - - “For aye ye sup the brose at e’en - Ye _bowk_ at in the morn, lassie.” - Song—Ye ha’e lain wrang, lassie. - -Brae, S, bank of a stream, brow. - - “’Neath the brae the burnie jooks.” - _Tannahill._ Gloomy Winter. - -Brackin’, C; Breckan, S, the common fern (_Pteris Aquilina_). - - A lady near Hawkshead having bought a small fern plant at a flower - show, a neighbour exclaimed, “Three and sixpence for a lile _brackin_! - I’d ha’ browte her a leeàd o’ them for’t!” - - “Round the sylvan fairy nooks - Feathery _breckans_ fringe the rocks.” - _Tannahill._ Gloomy Winter. - -Brant, C, steep. - - “Old Man! Old Man! your sides are _brant_.” - The Old Man. - -Brat, S and C, apron; (used frequently for clothing in general.) - - “To get them _brats_, then, ye maun toil an’ spin.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - “To see her whol’d stockings, her _brat_, an’ her gown.” - _Anderson._ Our Sukey. - -Braw, S, fine, handsomely attired. - - “Upon the banks o’ flowing Clyde - The lasses busk them _braw_.” - _Burns._ Of a’ the Airts. - -Break, C, a joke, a bit of fun. - - “Joe Tyson teem’t a pint o’ yall doon Danny Towson’ back. Wasn’t that - a _break_?”—Heard at Dean. - -Buirdly, S, stout, strongly made. - - “They say ill ale has been the deid - O’ monie a _buirdly_ loon.” - _Ferguson._ Leith Races. - -Burn, S, a brook. - - “Beside that brig, out owre that _burn_, - Where water bickereth bright and sheen.” - Ballad—Thomas the Rhymer. - -Burnewin, S, a blacksmith (burn the wind). - - “An’ _burnewin_ comes on like death - At every chaup.” - _Burns._ Scotch Drink. - -But, S, the outer apartment of a house. - - “The auld wife cried _but_ the house, ‘Jenny, come ben!’” - Song—The Yellow Hair’d Laddie. - -But, S, without (probably from _be out_). - - “Beauty _but_ bounty’s but bauch.”—Proverb. - -But and, Old S, also, likewise. - - “Adieu madame, my mother dear, - _But and_ my sisters three.” - Ballad—Lord Maxwell’s Good Night. - -Byspel, C, a mischievous person. - - “It’s a fair _byspel_ ’at is’t. It breaks o’ ’at cūms iv it geàt.” - - -C. - -Cabbish-skrunt, C; Kail-runt, S, the stalk of a cabbage. - - “_Cabbish-skrunt_ pultess is grand for biles.” - Said by a rustic Doctor. - -Canny, C, (Connie in Furness, etc.) nice, attractive, pleasant. - - “God speed ye weel! a _cannier_ pair - Ne’er kneel’d afore a priest.” - _Miss Blamire._ The Sailor Lad. - -Canny, S, gentle, careful. - - “Be _cannie_ wi’ the cream.“—A common legend on tea-ware. - -Canty, S, happy, cheerful. - - ”_Canty_ war we ower yere kail, - Toddy jugs an’ draps o’ ale.” - _Hogg._ The Laird o’ Lamington. - -Carle, S, a vulgar man. - - “Auld gudeman ye’re a drucken _carle_, a drucken _carle_.” - _Sir A. Boswell._ Song. - -Carlin, S, a coarse old woman; feminine of Carle. - - On being told that the wives of the Scottish Judges claimed the title - of “My Lady,” their husbands being “My Lord,” King James exclaimed: “I - made the carles lords, but wha the deil made the _carlins_ leddies?” - -Chafts, S and C, the jaws. - - “On Seaton crafts they buff’t their _chafts_, - An’ garrt them rin like daft, man.” - _Skirvin._ Tranent Muir. - “At time when nowte but teeth was gawn, - An’ aw by th’ _chafts_ was tether’t.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Chap, S, rap, strike or stroke. - - “An’ quhan he cam’ to Barnard’s Ha’ - Would neither _chap_ nor ca’.” - Ballad—Gilmorice. - -Chiel’, S, a man; generally applied to young men. - - “Weel we lo’e the _chiel’_ we think - Can get us tick or gi’e us drink.” - _Ferguson._ My Aul’ Breeks. - -Clash, C and S, scandal, gossip. - - “The king, the laws, the reets o’ man, - The parish _clash_, the empire’s ban.” - _Stagg._ New Year’s Epistle. - -Clatter, S and C, superfluous, rapid or noisy talk. - - “He that talks till himsel’ _clatters_ till a feul.”—Proverb. - -Clink, C, a sounding blow. - - “An’ brong Fisher Jemmy a _clink_ i’ the lug.” - _Anderson._ Burgh Reaces. - -Clippin’, C, sheep-shearing. A great festival on the larger dale farms. -For a description see “The Old Man,” first edition. - -Clemm’d, C, starved with hunger. A Lancashire and Cheshire word. - - Nixon, the Cheshire prophet, said he was “going to London to be - _clemm’d_,” and was accidentally shut up in a closet without food, and - there found dead—so fulfilling his prophecy. - -Clot-heed, C, blockhead. - - “I is gà’n to be a _clot-heed_—I’s leavin’ nin for mysel’!” - Anthony Gasgarth, carving a goose at a hunt dinner. - -Clowk, C, clutch or grasp greedily. - - “He meàd a _clowk_ at my neckcloth and missed it.” - Said after a fight. - -Cobbles, C, stones rounded by water-wear. - - “Smith Lytle fell oot wi’ the _cobbles_, - An’ peel’d o’ the bark off his shins. - _Anderson._ The Codbeck Wedding. - -Coddle, C, Cuddle, S, embrace. - - “I trimlin’ steud an’ dursn’t speak, - But fain wad _coddled_ Peggy Penn.” - _Anderson._ Peggy Penn. - “I’ve seen the day ye butter’t my brose, - An’ _cuddlet_ me late an’ early.” - Old Song—The Deuk’s dang owre wi’ my Daidie. - -Corbie, S, the carrion crow. - - “It’s kittle shootin’ at _corbies_ or clergy.”—Proverb. - -Crack, S and C, converse; also boast. - - “They _crack’t_ away like bourtree guns.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - - “Keep out o’ his company that _cracks_ o’ his cheatrie.” - Proverb. - -Croodle, or Cruddle, S and C, crouch or shrink. - - “My bonnie wee _croodlin’_ doo.” - Old Song. - - “We sat doon an’ grat under a hedge or a wo’, o’ _cruddlea_ - togidder.”—_Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - -Crouse, S, brisk, bold, “bumptious.” - - “A cock’s aye _crouse_ on its ain midden-heed.”—Proverb. - -Cushion dance, C, the finishing dance at a rural ball or merry-night. - - A young man, carrying a cushion, paces round the room in time to the - appropriate tune, selects a girl, lays the cushion at her feet, and - both kneel upon it and kiss, the fiddler making an extraordinary - squeal during the operation. The girl then takes the cushion to - another young man, who kisses her as before, and eaves her free to - “link” with the first, and march round the room. This is repeated till - the whole party is brought in, when they all form a circle, and “kiss - out” in the same manner, sometimes varying it by the kissers sitting - on two chairs, back to back, in the middle of the ring, and kissing - over their shoulders—a trying process to bashful youth of either sex. - -Cuttie, S, any thing short—as a spoon, pipe, etc. - - “Better sup wi’ a cuttie nor want a speun.” - Proverb. - - “Aul’ Simon sat luntin’ his _cuttie_, - An’ lowsin’ his buttons for bed.” - _Andrew Scott._ Simon and Janet. - - -D. - -Dadder, C, (Dodder in Furness, etc.) tremble, shiver. - - I once heard a Cumberland youth, at a supper table, say, indicating a - “shape” of jelly, “I’ll tak sūm o’ that _dadderin’_ stuff.” - -Dadge, C, to plod along heavily. - - “Then _dadged_ we to the bog owre meedows dree, - To plet a sword and seevy cap for thee.” - _Relph._ Cursty and Peggy. - -Daft, S and C, foolish, silly. - - “Glower’t at me as he’d been _daft_.” - Song—The carle cam ower the craft. - - “Ses I, ‘A was niver larnt sec _daftness_.’” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Daized, C, stupified, benumbed. - - “Theer war we stannin’, dodderin’ an’ _daiz’t_ wi’ cauld, as neer - deead as macks nea matter.” - _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - -Dark, C, to lurk, keep unseen. - - “On her leànly bed she toss’d her, - _Darkin’_ till the tempest ceas’d.” - _Stagg._ The Return. - -Darrak, C, day’s-work. - - “An’ as for a _darrak_ in barn or in meedow, - Whee match’d me when just i’ my prime.” - _Anderson._ Twee auld Men. - -Dicht, S, wipe, or cleanse. - - “An’ aye she _dichtit_ her father’s bluidy wounds, - When the blude ran reid as wine.” - Ballad—The Douglas Tragedy. - -Doff, C, (do off, Old English) undress, strip. - - “The bridesmaids o’ wi’ fusslin care - The bride, hauf-yieldin’, _doff’t_.” - _Stagg._ The Bridewain. - -Don, C, (do on, old English) to dress. - - “And up he rose, and he _donn’d_ on his clothes, - And he d’upp’d the chamber door.” - Hamlet. - “He’s nicer in his war-day duds - Nor udders _don’t_ i’ aw their best.” - _Anderson._ Geordie Gill. - -Donk, C, damp. - - “It _donks_ an’ dazzles an’ does, but niver cūms iv any girt pell.” - A Boatman, on the Ullswater weather. - -Dool, S, sadness. - - “Lang may I weep in _dool_ an’ sorrow.” - _Hamilton._ The Braes o’ Yarrow. - -Douce, S and C, respectable, well-behaved. - - “An’ now I’m grown sae cursed _douce_, - I pray and ponder but the house.” - _Burns._ - - “The _douce_ dapper lanleady criet ‘Eat, an’ be welcome.’” - _Anderson._ The Bleckell Murry-Neet. - -Doucht, S, could; Dowe in the past tense. - - “They held the nose an’ crook’t the mou’, - An’ _doucht_ na bide the smell.” - _Hogg._ The Witch o’ Fife. - -Dour, S, hard, stern. - - “I’ll set her up on yon crab-tree, - It’s sour an’ _dour_, an’ so is she.” - Old Rhyme. - -Dow, S, can, is able. - - “Gin we canna do as we wad, we maun do as we _dowe_.” - Proverb. - -Dowly, C, melancholy, dismal. - - “When we turn’t round Windermere Watter heead, t’ waves blash’t seea - _dowly_ ’at we war fairly heart-brossen.” - _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - -Dree, S, suffer; C, slow, lingering, also to move slowly. - - “_Dree_ out the inch when ye’ve tholed the span.”—Proverb. - - “Six _dree_ year hed Susan languish’d - Sen her Walter went away.” - _Stagg._ The Return. - -Drook, S, drench. - - “An’ aye she took the tither sook - To _drook_ the stoury tow.” - Song—The weary pun’ o’ tow. - -Drouthy, S, thirsty. - - “The well o’ life is dribbling dry, - An’ _drouthy, drouthy’s_ kimmer an’ I.” - Song—My Kimmer and I. - - -E. - -Eerie, S, fearful, or calculated to cause superstitious fear or awe. - - “Gloomy, gloomy was the nicht, - An’ _eerie_ was the way.” - Old Ballad—Young Tamlane. - -Egg, or Egg on, C, incite, urge. - - “He was a rare _egg_-battle.”—_Dickinson._ Lamplugh Club. - -Eldritch, S, unearthly. - - “Quhan words he found, their _eldritch_ sound - Was like the norlan’ blast.” - _Dr. Jamieson._ The Water Kelpie. - - -F. - -Fash, S and C, trouble, annoy, bother (noun and verb). - - “Ye’re sair _fashed_ haudin’ naething together.”—Proverb. - - “Oald clish ma clash, thou’s nowt but _fash_— - Ga heam to bed, ’Od dye thee!” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Feal, S, comfortable. - - “Frae tap to tae that cleeds me weel, - An’ haps me _feal_ an’ warm at e’en.” - _Burns._ My Spinning Wheel. - -Feck, S, a considerable quantity or number, most part. - - “Wae sucks for him that has nae _feck_ o’ ’t.” - _Ferguson._ Gude Braid Claith. - -Feckless, S and C, feeble, useless. - - “_Feckless_ fowk are aye fain.”—Proverb. - - “A thowte A sud no’but meeak a varra _feckless_ fend, if A was witch’d - seck a parlish lang way fray heeam.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Fells, C, hills. - - “If there were nea _fells_ there wad be nea deals.”—Proverb. - -Few, C. This word is hardly translatable, but means to set about a task -in a manner likely to accomplish it. - - “I’ t’ chimla neùk some gay gud han’s, - An’ gaily ill to slocken, - Set tea wi’ porringers an’ pans, - An’ _few’t_ weel to get drucken.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Fewsome, C, capable-looking, workman-like. - - “She warm’d him up some keàl, - An’ Ralph dud mak a varra _fewsome_ meàl.” - _Graham._ Gwordie and Will. - -Flaitch, C, Fleech, S, coax. Sometimes used as a noun, thus— - - “He’s a fair _flaitch_ when he wants owte.”—Said of me. - - “She _fleech’t_ him fairly to his bed - By ca’in’ him her burdie.” - Christ’s Kirk on the Green. - -Flaucht, S, flash. - - “Ae fire-_flaucht_ darted through the rain, - Where a’ was dark afore.” - _Kirkpatrick Sharp._ Murder of Carlaverock. - -Flay, C, Fley, S, to frighten. - - “_Fleying_ a bird’s no the gate to grip it.”—Proverb. - - This word has its substantive form in _flayan_— - - A blue-devilled fellow at Coniston said he could not stay in his house - because there was _flayan_ in it. “Ey,” said his mother, “If there - isn’t there will be—there ’ill be empty cupboards, ther needn’t be wār - _flayan_ nor that!” - -Fletherin, S, Flattering. - - “_Fletherin_ fowk’s maistly fause fowk.“—Proverb. - -Flipe, C, a hat rim. - - A retired sea-captain at Whitehaven used to be called ”_Flipy_ - Fisher,” on account of his broad brim. - -Flyte, S and C, scold. - - “An’ gin she tak’ the thing amiss, - E’en let her _flyte_ her fill, Jo.” - Song—Steer her up. - -Font, C, fond, foolishly attached, “spooney.” - - “Whey, Gworge, thou’s owder feul or _font_, - To think o’ sec a frow.” - _Anderson._ Betty Brown. - -Foorsett, C, to get in front of and face, to intercept. - - A ghost used to haunt the “Crossgates” in Lamplugh, of which it was - said, “Whativer way folk turns it _foorsetts_ them.” - -Footh and Foothy, S and C, abundance, well provided, plentifully -stocked. - - “He’s brought _footh_ o’ foreign trash, - An’ dibbled it in our yairdie.” - Song—The wee wee German Lairdie. - - “It’s a _foothy_ hoose is Betty Turnbull’s.” - Said by old Cuddy Wilson at Workington. - -Foregather, S, meet. - - “To bear the milk-bowie nae pain was to me, - When I at the buchtin’ _foregathered_ wi’ thee.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - -Forfouchten, S, over fatigued, exhausted. - - “I’m but like a _forfouchten_ hound - Has been fechtin’ in a dirty syke.” - Ballad.—Hobbie Noble. - -Fratch, C, quarrel. - - “He’s just a _fratchin_’, feightin’ feul.” - _Anderson._ Dick Watters. - -Fusionless, S, pithless, insipid. - - “God! the aul’ doited body’s as _fusionless_ as a docken!” - _Michael Scott._ Tom Cringle’s Log. - - -G. - -Ga, C; Gang, S and C, go. - - “I’ll _gang_ nae mair to yon toon.” - _Burns._ Song. - -Gangrel, S, vagrant. - - “A merry core - O’ randy _gangrel_ bodies.” - _Burns._ The Jolly Beggars. - -Gar, S, make, compel. - - “The first Scots kirk that they cam’ to - They _garr’t_ the bells be rung; - The next Scots kirk that they cam’ to - They _garr’t_ the mass be sung.” - Ballad—The Gay Goss-hawk. - -Gay, C; Gey, S, (adverb form, Gaily) tolerable, considerable. - - “Here’s a _gay_ canny mwornin’.”—A common salutation. - - “No verra, but _gey_.”—By-saying. - - “Hoo irr ye preuvin?” “_Gaily, gaily_, gangin’ aboot!” - A common salutation and reply. - -Geàl, C, split, rend, ache severely as from cold. - - “I’ve an oald teuth, when t’ coald gits tull’t, it maks o’ _geàl_ - ageàn.”—Said to a Doctor. - -Gear, S and C, wealth, substance. - - “A gleib o’ lan’—a claut o’ _gear_ - Was left me by my auntie, Tam.” - _Burns._ Ane an’ twenty, Tam. - “Bruff-side lairds bang’t aw the rest - For braggin’ o’ their _gear_.” - _Anderson._ Bleckell Murry-Neet. - -Ged, S, the pike. - - “Now safe the stately saumon sail, - An’ trouts bedropp’d wi’ crimson hail, - An’ eels weel kenn’d for souple tail, - An’ _geds_ for greed.” - _Burns._ Tam Samson. - -Gezlin, C and S, goslin, young goose. - - “Peat’ lass, wid her yallow muffs, - Steud kaakin like a _gezlin_.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - - “If I canna keep geese I’ll keep _gezlins_.”—Proverb. - -Ghem, ga way tull’t, C, game, go to it; a hunting phrase; used -proverbially to signify any attractive fun or quarreling. - - “There was a fine see howe—an’ _ghem ga way tull’t_.” - -Gin, S, if. - - “_Gin_ a body meet a body.” - Song—Coming through the Rye. - -Gledge, S, look slyly. - - “Mr. Forret, alias _Gledgin_ Gibbie, had borne the brunt of incensed - kirk-sessions before that time.” - _Hogg._ Tibbie Hyslop. - -Glent, S and C, gleam. - - “Where flowers an’ gowans wont to _glent_ - I’ bonnie blinks beside the bent.” - _Ferguson._ Auld Reekie. - -Gliff, C and S, glimpse. - - “Here, here it was (a wae leet on the pleace) - ’At furst I gat a _gliff_ o’ Betty’s feace.” - _Relph._ Harvest. - -Glime, C, look sideways. - - “’Twad mak a deid man laugh to see - Them _glime_ at yen anudder.” - _Anderson._ The Village Gang. - -Gloamin’, S, twilight. - - “The _gloamin_’ grey out owre the welkin keeks.” - _Ferguson._ The Farmer’s Ingle. - -Gloom, S, frown. - - “Still away his heid was shyin’, - _Gloomin’_ like a boxing bull.” - _John Johnston._ Dear Meal Johnnie. - -Glower, S and C, stare. - - “He _glower’t_ at the mune till he fell i’ the midden.”—Proverb. - - “What’s t’e _glowerin_’ at? Does t’e see any cat’ horns?” - Sauce. - -Glump, C, sulk. - - “Neist time we met he _glumpt_ and glower’t - An’ leukt anudder way.” - _Anderson._ The lass abeun thirty. - -God Speed, C, a small wooden partition or screen placed within the -house door, when it opens directly upon the sitting room. It has -probably been called so from departing guests being wished “God Speed” -beside it. I first heard the word at Harrington, from a humourist who -asked a group of neighbours if they’d seen Tommy Wilson, who lived next -door to him, adding, “If ye sud see him, tell him ’at his barns an’ -mine hev been feightin’ till they’ve knock’d t’ _God-speed_ doon.” The -fun of this lay in the well known fact that both were childless. - -Gorb, C, an unfledged bird. - - “Geàp, _gorbie_, an’ thou’ll git a wūrm.”—Proverb. - -Gowk, S and C, cuckoo, fool. - - “Ye breed o’ the _gowk_, ye’ve nae rhyme but ane.”—Proverb. - - “’Bout kings and councils _gowks_ may fratch.” - _Anderson._ Gud strang yell. - -Gowl, C, to weep vociferously, to howl. - - “It greànt, an’ it _gowl’t_, an’ it freetent fwoke sair.” - _Dickinson._ Scallow-Beck Boggle. - -Gradely, C, a Lancashire and Cheshire word, often used in Cumberland, -signifying proper or correct. I have overheard myself, in contravention -of the proverb, spoken of as “a varra _gradely_ man” in the lake -district. - -Grank, C, to covet querulously. - - “Hout man! what signifies repinin’, - Or _grankin’_, snifterin’, twistin’, twinin’.” - _Stagg._ New Year’s Epistle. - -Greet, S and C, weep. - - “It’s nae mair to see a woman _greet_ than to see a goose gang - barefit.”—Proverb. - - “When we’d hed our belly full o’ _greetin_’ we gat up, an’ feel’t - better for’t.” - _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - -Greg, C, tantalize. - - “It does _greg_ yan to hear a hunt yan cannot see.” - Said by a veteran hunter whose sight was failing. - -Gruesome, S, making the flesh creep with disgust or horror. - - “An’ though she wore a human face, - It was a _gruesome_ sight to see.” - _Hogg._ The Spirit of the Glen. - -Gud his-sel’, C, felicitate, or gratify himself. - - “Gi’e me anudder kiss.” “Nay, thou mun _gud thysel’_ wid what thou’s -gitten!—thou’s git nea mair to-neet.” - An over-heard conversation. - -Guff, S and C, a silly fellow. - - “When sec-like guffs leame decent fwoke, - It’s time some laws sud alter.” - _Anderson._ The Village Gang. - -Gumption, C, tact, cleverness. - - “Hed I thy _gumption_ or thy gift o’ gob.” - _Graham._ Geordie and Will. - -Gyversome, C, voracious, ravenous. - - “T’ mair ye give till greedy fwoke t’ mair _gyversome_ they - growe.”—Proverb. - - -H. - -Hag, C, to cut with an axe. - - “He was seun back, wid his axe ower his shooder, an’ begon to _hag_ - his way through t’ deurr.” - _Dickinson._ Lamplugh Club. - -Hag-worm, C, the viper. - - “Theear was beears, an’ lions, an’ tigers ... an’ girt yedtheran - _hag-werms_, fower or five yerds lang.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Hake, C, a riotous festivity, tumult. - - “They drank the yell up ivery drop, - Wid nowder _hake_ nor quarrel.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Ham-sam, C, mingled promiscuously. - - “Five or six gat on to t’ bed, - An’ sat _ham-sam_ togidder.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Hank, S and C, skein of thread or yarn; also a loop. - - “O though thy hair were _hanks_ o’ gowd, - An’ thy lips were droppin’ hinnie.” - Song—The Waukrife Minnie. - “And when the worsted hanks she wound, - Her skill was further proved.” - _S. Bamford._ My Wynder. - -Hantle, S and C, a considerable number or quantity. - - Part of the Rev. Walter Dunlop’s congregation at Dumfries having - joined the Baptists, he alluded to the circumstance in the pulpit, - thus—“I thocht till ha’e gethered ye under my wings, as a hen - gethereth her chickens, but a _hantle_ o’ ye ha’e turn’t oot to be - deuks, an’ ta’en to the water.” - - “I’ve been a sad deevil, an’ spent gowd i’ gowpens, - But still I’ve a _hantle_ left yet.” - _Anderson._ Twee Auld Men. - -Hap, S and C, cover. - - “Ance as gude - As ever _happit_ flesh an’ blude.” - _Ferguson._ My Aul’ Breeks. - -Haver, (pron. Havver) C, oats, oaten. - - “Our Ellik likes fat bacon weel, - A _haver_ bannock pleases Dick.” - _Anderson._ Gud strang Yell. - -Hay-bay, C, uproar. - - “Wi’ whiskey they weetit their wizzens, - An’ seun a sad _hay-bay_ began.” - _Anderson._ The Clay Daubin’. - -Heartsome, S and C, cheerful, pleasant. - - “Let’s creep ower the _heartsome_ turf ingle, - An’ laugh the wild winter away.” - _Anderson._ The days that are gane. - -Heeze, S, hoist, elevate. - - “Thae bonnie bairn time Heaven has sent - Still higher may it _heeze_ ye.” - _Burns._ A Dream. - -Heids an’ thraws, S, lying in irregular positions in bed or elsewhere. - - “Lie _heids an’ thraws_ like Jock an’ his mither.”—Proverb. - -Herdwick, C, probably formed like bailiwick, etc., and first applied to -the portion of hill-pasture assigned to the herds of each dale farm; -now used to distinguish the hardy, active breed of sheep grazed upon -the _herdwicks_. - - “He breaks bands like a _herdwick_ tip” is a proverbial saying I have - heard applied to a rustic scape-grace. - -Herk, S, whisper. - - “When a Scotchman wants you to listen he says ‘speak,’ and when he - wants yon to whisper he says ‘_herk_.’”—_Anon._ - -Hirple, S and C, limp, walk lamely. - - “The hares were _hirplin_ doon the furs.” - _Burns._ The Holy Fair. - “Jack Mar, the _hirplin_ pipers son, - Can bang them o’ at leein’.” - _Anderson._ The Village Gang. - -Hoaf-thick, C, half-wit, thick-head. - - “Than Watty Ferguson, provwok’t - To hear this _hoaf-thick_ rattle.” - _Stagg._ The Bridewain. - -Hoddingly, C, persistently. - - “Does your pain come and go?” “It nayder cūms ner ga’s; it’s theear - _hoddingly_.”—Said to a Doctor. - -Hooal’t, or Whoal’t, C, holed, “bagged,” applied to anything being -secured, thus— - - At a school treat in High Furness I was “scrambling” comfits, and - having filled a paper packet with gravel, and thrown it up, it was - caught by a great hulking fellow, who thrust it into his pocket, - exclaiming, “I’ve _hooal’t_ that an’.” His face, when his attention - was directed to the contents of his prize, was a sight. - -Hosteler, Old S, keeper of an inn or hostel. - - “Syne pay him on a gantree, - As _hosteler_ wives should do.” - Old Song—The Maltman. - -Hork, S, to burrow. - - “The mouse is a wee merrie beastie; - The mowdie _horks_ wantin’ the een.” - Old Song—Brose and Butter. - -Hound-trail, or Dog trail, C, a drag hunt. - - “Whist’s as much afooar lant (loo) as a fox-hunt’s afooar a - _dog-trail_.”—Heard at a Merry-Night. - -How, S and C, hollow, empty. - - “A house looks _how_ without a wife.” - _Anderson._ Tib and her Maister. - -Howk, S and C, excavate. - - “She has _howkit_ a hole baith deep and wide, - She has putten them in baith side by side.” - Old Ballad—The Cruel Mother. - -How-strowe, C, in confusion. - - “Thy plew gear’s liggin’ _how-strowe_, - An’ somebody’s stown thee thy cou’ter.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ Johnnie. - -Hugger-mugger, C, huddled up, out of order or system. - - “Thus in _hugger-mugger_ make a marriage.” - _Shakspeare._ - - Most philologists hold that this word signifies private or - surreptitious; but in Cumberland, where it is still in common use, the - sense is as above. - -Huller’t, C, coagulated or clotted—applied to blood. - - I have heard of an up and down fight in a public-house, where “T’ - _huller’t_ bleud laid an inch thick on t’ flooer.” - - -I. - -Ilka, or Ilk, S, each. - - “_Ilka_ blade o’ grass keps its ain drop o’ dew.” - Proverb, and Song by _J. Ballantyne_. - -Intak, C, a piece of land taken in from the common. - - “T’ _intak’s_ t’ best o’ t’ grund,”—Said by a Dale-farmer. - -Iverly, C, everly, continuously. - - “How often do you take your ale?” “Yall? I’ tak it _iverly_!“ - ”_Iverly?_” “Ey, ebben endways away!” - Part of a professional conversation. - -J. - -Jannic, C, a Lancashire word, signifying fair or honest. - - “Thoo hes ower mickle jaw to be _jannic_.” - Said to a voluble Auctioneer. - -Jink, S, to escape suddenly, a rapid evasion. - - “Our billie’s gi’en us a’ the _jink_, - An’ owre the sea.” - _Burns._ - -Job-jurnal, C, a toy on the principle of a humming top, but made with a -shouldered stick passed through a perforated nut-shell and an apple, or -failing that, a potato stuck upon the lower end, to be spun by pulling -a string wrapped upon the shaft within the shell. In Furness this name -is applied to the pig-nut, which in central Cumberland is called a -_yowie-yorlin_, and in Dumfriesshire a _hornick_. - -Joggle, C, to shake sharply, or violently. - - “He dreàv us ower rwoads ’at varra nār _joggled_ us to bits.” - Said by an old lady at Loweswater. - -Jook, S, to shrink, or dip the head to elude observation or missile. - - “It’s past _jooking_ when the heid’s off.”—Proverb. - - -K. - -Kail, S; Keàl, C, broth—so called from a frequent ingredient. - - “He gat his _kail_ in a riven dish.”—Proverb. - - “Swoaps o’ drink an’ gud lythe _keàle_ - Cheer up each day.” - _Stagg._ The New Year’s Epistle. - -Kaim’t, C, literally crooked, but used to signify cross, or peevish. - - “Aa boddert my brain thinkan some on them ower, - An’ than set to wark an’ wreàtt doon three or fower - O’ t’ _kaymtest_ an’ t’ creuktest, like ‘garrak’ an’ ‘dyke-stower,’ - Sek like as we use in oald Cummerlan’.” - _Dickinson._ The words of oald Cummerlan’. - -Keàv, C, to dance awkwardly. - - “That barn, says Hyne, i’ Palmer’ toft, - ’Ill dea reet weel to _keàv_ in.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Keek, S and C, to peep. - - “He that _keeks_ through a keyhole may see what will vex him.”—Proverb. - - “She conquers mair nor Bonnypart - Whene’er she _keeks_ aroun’”. - _Anderson._ The Thursby Witch. - -Ken, S and C, know. - - “_Ken_ yersel and yere neighbours ’ill no mis-_ken_ ye.” - Proverb. - -Kirk-garth, C, church-yard. - - “They tak meear pastime e what they see i’ th’ _kirk-garth_ nor what - they hear i’ th’ kirk.”—_Mrs. Wheeler._ Dialogues. - -Kit, C, a small tub or bucket. - - “A riddlin’—a riddlin’, an oald wife striddlin’, - An’ a _kit_ full o’ cunning things in a coald morning.” - An ancient conundrum. - -Kimmer, S, a familiar designation for woman—something like gossip. The -young women who assist at christenings are called “maiden _kimmers_.” - - “How do ye, kimmer? - An’ how do ye thrive— - A how monie bairns ha’e ye? - _Kimmer!_ I ha’e five.” - Song—A’ Noddin’. - -Knowe, S, knoll, hillock. - - “His gear may buy him glens an’ _knowes_.” - _Burns._ To Daunton me. - - -L. - -Lafter, C, a brood of chickens, etc.; also a setting of eggs. - - “I hevn’t a ne’bour ’ill lend me a _lafter_ of eggs.” - Said by a farmer’s wife. - -Laik, C, play. - - “But _laiks_ at wate-not-whats within - O’ Sunday efterneun.” - _Relph._ After Horace. - -Laikins, C, playthings, toys. - - “Here’s babby-_laikins_—rowth o’ spice, - On sto’s an’ stands extended.” - _Stagg._ Rosley Fair. - -Lait, C, seek. - - “Lads i’ t’ dark meade rampin’ wark - Or cloaks an’ clogs were _laitit_.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Lal, C, (in the northern and southern parts, Lile) little. - - “I _lal_ thowte fasts sec fearful things to bide.” - _Relph._ St. Agnes’ Fast. - -Lap, C, wrap. - - “_Lap’t_ my cranky neckcloth round his heid.” - _Graham._ Gwordie and Will. - -Lave, S, the rest, remainder. - - “When a’ the _lave_ gang to their bed, - I wander dowie up the glen.” - Song—Heelan’ Harry. - -Lawin, S, a public house reckoning. - - “Gude wife, count the _lawin_, - An’ bring a drappie mair.” - _Burns._ Song. - -Leal, or Leil, S, true, pure, loyal. - - “O gi’e me a token o’ love, sweet May— - A _leil_ love-token true.” - _A. Cunningham._ The Mermaid. - -Leàne, your leàne, his leàne, etc., S and C, lone, solitary. - - “An’ when, sweet lassie, you’re ye’re _leàne_, - This heart o’ mine wad joy to know.” - _Miss Blamire._ The Toiling Day. - -Leàth, C, a barn. - - “Why ne had thou put the capel in the _lathe_.” - _Chaucer._ The Reeve’s Tale. - -Ley, C, a scythe. - - “Clogs, splinter new, bass-boddom’d chairs, - An’ _lea_-stanes for new _lea_ses.” - _Stagg._ Rosley Fair. - -Lichtly, S, to make light of. - - “The lass that _lichtlies_ may lament.”—Proverb. - -Lilt, S and C, a lively tune or song; or, as a verb, to sing merrily. - - “Now haste ye turn King David ower, - An’ _lilt_ wi’ holy clangour.” - _Burns._ - -It means also to rise on the toes in walking. Diomed’s walk had a -_lilt_ in it, as described by Ulysses, thus— - - “I ken the manner of his gait, - He rises on the toe: that spirit of his - In aspiration lifts him from the earth.” - _Shakspeare._ Troilus and Cressida. - -Lippen, S, to trust. - - “Ye’ll deceive nane but them that _lippen_ to ye.”—Proverb. - -Lirk, S and C, a wrinkle or fold. - - “Sup sūm poddish, an’ tak’ t’ _lirks_ oot o’ thy skin.” - Said to a rustic convalescent. - -Lish, C, active. - - “When I was a _lish_ laughing lass o’ sixteen.” - _Anderson._ Auld Robby Miller. - -Loan, S; Lonning, C, lane. - - “The kye stood rowtin’ in the _loan_.” - _Burns._ The Twa Dogs. - “The lads an’ the lasses i’ t’ _lonning_ - Wer’ pairin’ like sparrows i’ t’ spring.” - _Anon._ Raffles Merry-Neet. - -Lock, C, a number or quantity. - - “A gay _lock_ o’ fwoke hed gedder’t up i’ time to gang tillt’ kurk, - an’ away they struttit.” - _Dickinson._ Lamplugh Club. - -Lofe, C, a chance of anything, an opportunity. - - “Yance I hed t’ _lofe_ an’ I’d luck to say no, an’ I niver hed t’ - _lofe_ ageàn.“—Said by an elderly spinster. - -Lonter, C, lounge, or loiter. - - ”_Lonterin’_ fwoke’s ola’s lazy fwoke.”—Proverb. - -Loon, S, rogue. - - “I tint my curch an’ baith my shoon; - Ah! Duncan, ye’re an unco _loon_.” - Duncan Gray—Old Version. - -Loot, S, stoop. - - “He _lootit_ doon her lips to kiss, - O kiss foreboding woe.” - _C. K. Sharpe._ The Murder of Carlaverock. - -Lowe, S and C, a flame. - - “To touch the glass her hand hes touch’d - It sets them in a _lowe_.” - _Anderson._ The Thursby Witch. - -Lown, or Lownd, S and C, calm, still. - - “Your chamber’s very dark, fair maid, - The nichte is wondrous _lown_.” - Ballad—Sir Roland. - -Lowp, S and C, leap. - - “_Lowp_ off the steed, says false Sir John, - Yere bridal bed ye see.” - Ballad—May Colean. - “My heart keeps such a rout, - It _lowps_ an’ _lowps_ as if it wad _lowp_ out.” - _Ewan Clark._ Costard’s Complaint. - -Lowpy-back, C, leap-frog. - - “Ye’ve been laikin at _lowpy-back_ o’ t’ rwoad heàm.” - Part of a scolding. - -Lugs, S and C, ears. - - “I’ll lay my _lugs_ in Pindus’ spring, - And invocate Apollo.” - _Ramsay._ - “Kursty, souple gammerstang, - Ned Wilson brong his _lug_ a whang.” - _Anderson._ The Worton Wedding. - -Lum, S, chimney. - - “Sic reek as is therein maun come out at the _lum’s_ top.” - Proverb. - -Laigh, S, low. - - “She lookit hiche to the bodynge hill, - An’ _laighe_ to the darklynge deane.” - _Telfer._ The Gloamin’ Bucht. - - -M. - -Maddle, or Maffle, C, to talk or act in a silly manner. - - “O, _mafflin_ Gwordie, t’ou’s been feulish lang.” - _Graham._ Gwordie and Will. - -Maizelt, or Maiz’t, C, stupified. - - “We war fairly _maizel’t_ wi’ t’ cāld.” - _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - - “Whyte _maiz’d_ wi’ loungin’ on i’ th’ neuk.” - _Stagg._ Auld Lang Syne. - -Maizlin, C, a simpleton. - - “Banton lads grew parfet guffs, - An’ Thursby lasses _maizlins_.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Mak, C, sort, kind. - - “It taks o’ _maks_ to mak ivery mak.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Māp’ment, C, imbecility; compounded of mope and ment, like manage-ment, -etc. - - “He toked for iver sa lang, but he toked a deal o’ _maapment_.”—_Ibid._ - -Mattie, C, the mark at quoits or pitch and toss. _Skifting his mattie_ -is proverbially used for shifting position or changing policy or course. - -Maukin, S, the hare. - - “The fuddlin’ bodies nowadays - Rin _maukin_-mad i’ Bacchus’ praise.” - _Ferguson._ Caller Water. - -Maunder, S and C, to think, talk, or act dreamily. - - “Aw wish this wanderin’ wark were o’er, - This _maunderin_’ to and fro.” - _Edwin Waugh._ Sweetheartin’ Gate. - -Meat-heàl, C, very able to eat. - - “He’s beàth _meat-heàl_ an’ drink-heàl. Ther’ can’t be mickle t’ - matter wid him.”—Said of a Hypochondriac. - -Mell, C, meddle. - - “Gangin’ frae house to house hearin’ news an’ _mellin_ e ther - nebbors.”—_Mrs. Wheeler._ Dialogues. - -Mell, S, a mallet; the prize that used to be given to the last in a -race. “Winning the _Mell_” in any contest is figuratively equivalent to -taking the wooden spoon at the Cambridge examinations for honours. - -Mense, S and C, propriety, creditable behaviour. - - “I’ve seàv’t beàth my meat an’ my _mense_.” - Proverb, used when proffered hospitality is declined. - -Messan, S and C, a small dog of indefinite breed. - - “We hounds slew the hare, quo’ the bleer’d _messan_.” - Proverb. - - “A little black _messet_ danced sae like old Jenny.” - _Miss Blamire._ Sec a Durdum. - -Mirk, S, dark. - - “It fell about the Martinmas, - When nichts were lang an’ _mirk_.” - Old Ballad—The Wife of Usher’s Well. - -Mischanter, S and C, misadventure. - - “Thou’rt welcome, wean, _mischanter_ fa’ me.” - _Burns._ - -Mittens, S and C, gloves. - - “He coft me a rokelay o’ blue, - An’ a pair o’ _mittens_ o’ green.” - _Macneil._ I lo’e ne’er a laddie but ane. - “Twee yards o’ red ribbon to wear for his seake, - Forbye ledder _mittens_ he bowte me.” - _Anderson._ First Luive. - -Mowdie, S; Mowdie-warp, C, the mole. - - “The _mowdie_ powler’t oot o’ the yirth, - An’ kyss’t the synger’s feet.” - _Telfer._ The Gloaming Bucht. - - “An’ teeak us intil lile hooals under t’ grūnd, ameeast like - _mowdie-warps_.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Mūd, C, the past tense of must. - - “He thowte ’at he _mūd_ treat ye.” - _Miss Blamire._ The Meeting. - -Mutch, S, a woman’s cap. - - “She aff wi’ her apron, put on a silk goon, - A _mutch_ wi’ reed ribbons, an’ cam’ awa’ doon.” - _Lady Nairne._ The Laird o’ Cockpen. - - -N. - -Nab, C, a promontory in a lake. - - “It’s o’ _nabs_ an’ neuks is Windermer’ Watter.” - Said by a Coniston Man. - -Neb, S and C, nose, beak. - - “Gae tak this bonnie _neb_ o’ mine, - That picks amang the corn, - An’ gi’e’t to the Duke o’ Hamilton, - To be a touting horn.” - Old Song—Robin Redbreast’s Testament. - -Neàf, C, the nave of a wheel. - - “T’ fells spreead oot fray a centre like t’ spooaks of a wheel fray t’ - _neàf_.”—A Langdale Statesman. - -Neif, or Neive, S and C, the hand, or fist. - - “Sweet knight I kiss thy _neif_.” - _Shakspeare._ King Henry IV. - - “What’s a gowpen o’ glaur? It’s just twa _neive_ fu’s o’ - clarts!”—_Wilson._ Noctes Ambrosianæ. - -Nick’t i’ t’ heid, C, non compos mentis. - - “Toakin sike mafflement! Ye mun be _nick’t i’ t’ heead_.” - A Coniston landlady to a chattering guest. - -No’but, C, nothing but, only. - - “He’s but a simplish sooart of a body, - ’At thinks there’s _no’but_ ya kind o’ shoddy.” - _W. Bowness._ Brough Hill Fair. - -Nowte ’at dowe, C, nothing of ability, fit for nothing. - - “In o’ her flegmagaries donn’d, - What is she?—_nowte ’at dowe_!” - _Anderson._ Betty Brown. - - -O. - -Oomer, C, shade. - - “Howay wi’ the’, an’ lig down i’ t’ _owmer_ o’ t’ trees till I’ve time - ùt tak’ the’ afooar Mr. Machell.” - Said by a farmer at Colton to an idle servant. - -Oald-folk’s neet, C, an assembly for feasting, dancing, and -card-playing, held at the rural public houses; once, probably, confined -to married people, but now open to, and attended by, young and old. - - -P. - -Paddock rud, or rid, or ridding, C, frog spawn. - - “Auld Grizzy the witch, as some fwoke say, - Maks _paddock-rud_ ointment for sair e’en.” - _Anderson._ The Witch Wife. - -Pang, C and S, to cram. - - “An’ some there wer could scarcely speak, - Their thropples wer sae _pang’t_.” - _Stagg._ The Bridewain. - “It kindles wit, it waukens lair, - It _pangs_ us fu’ o’ knowledge.” - _Burns._ The Holy Fair. - -Parlish, C, remarkable, worth speaking of. - - “An’ _parlish_ pranks ’mang Silloth banks - They hed as they were comin’.” - _Stagg._ The Bridewain. - “A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone, - A _parlous_ knock.” - _Shakspeare._ Romeo and Juliet. - - Said to be a corruption of _perilous_, which is certainly not its - meaning in Cumberland. - -Pash, C, to dash or thrust down forcibly. - - “Barne! I _pash’t_ them doon.“—Said by Wm. Jackson to a neighbour’s - daughter after his first victory at the Flan wrestling. - -Pauchtie, S, proud, supercilious. - - ”_Pauchtie_ damsels, bred at courts, - Wha thraw the mou’ an’ tak’ the dorts.” - _Ferguson._ The Gowdspink. - -Pawkie, S, sly. - - “A thief sae _pawkie_ is my Jean.” - _Burns._ - -Peerie, S, a peg-top. In Cumberland called a Cas’ley. - - “He sleeps as soon’ as onie _peerie_.”—Common saying. - -Phraise, S, smooth or fondling talk. - - “He’s ta’en her in his armes twa, - Wi monie a kiss an’ _phraise_.” - Ballad—Young Huntin. - -Pigs, S, pots, crockery. - - “Where the _pig’s_ brocken there let the sherds lie.” - Proverb. - -Plack, S, the smallest coin of the old Scottish currency. - - “He’ll never mak his _plack_ a bawbee.”—Proverb. - -Pleen, C, complain. - - “Thou’s spoil’t for o’ manner o’ wark, - Thou no’but sits peghan an’ _pleenan_.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ Love in Cumberland. - -Plumb, C, (in Furness, etc., pron. Plowmb) perpendicular. - - The old landlady at the boat house on Ennerdale water said of a - neighbouring doctor who had visited her, and who carries his head well - back, “He was mair nor _plumb_!” - -Poap, C, to walk aimlessly. - - “Sūm _poapan_ aboot as if they’d be hoaf dazed.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ T’ Reysh Beearin’. - -Powe, S, head, poll. - - “There’s little wit within his _powe_ - That lichts a candle at the lowe.” - Proverb. - -Pree, S, to taste. - - “An’ aye he _preed_ the lassie’s mou’ - As he gaed but an’ ben, O.” - Old Song. - - “I _preed_ her mou’.” The Scotch think this phrase a poetical way of - saying “I kissed her.” Its literal translation into common English, “I - tasted her mouth,” doesn’t sound like poetry; while its Cumbrian form, - “I teàstit her feàce” sounds like anything rather _than_ poetry; and - their different versions of the same phrase illustrate rather happily - the difference of character on the two sides of the Border. - -Proddle, C, poke, or stir up. - - “_Proddlin’_ up the smudderin’ embers.” - _Stagg._ - -Pubble, C, plump. - - “At Michaelmas a _pubble_ goose—at Kersmas, standin’ pie.” - Old Saying. - -Putten down, C, put to death. - - “That nane may ken that ye are clerks, - Till ye be _putten doon_.” - Ballad—The Clerk’s Twa Sons. - -Puzzen, C, poison. - - “The doctor he’s a parfit plague, - An’ hauf the parish _puzzens_.” - _Anderson._ The Village Gang. - - -R. - -Rackups, C, a game at marbles where the loser has to place his knuckles -on one side of a hole to be “fired” at with the taws of the winners. -“He mun stand his _rackups_” is a proverb implying the necessity of -accepting the consequences of misconduct, defeat, or miscarriage of -plans. - -Rakin, C, wandering far or wildly. - - “They ga rakin aboot widoot ayder errand or aim.” - Said of pedestrian tourists by a dalesman. - -Rantin’, Ranty, S and C, wild, riotous. - - “The _rantin’_ dog the daidie o’ ’t.” - _Burns._ Song. - -Ratch, C, to search vigorously, to ransack. - - “_Ratch_ as ye will, ye’ll mak nowte out.” - Said to hunters in a wood. - -Reek, S, smoke. - - “The death o’ deevils, smoor’d in brimstone _reek_.” - _Burns._ The Twa Brigs. - -Riggin’, S, the roof (probably from Ridging primarily). - - “Ane may like the kirk weel aneuch without aye riding on the _riggin’_ - o’ ’t.”—Proverb. - -Rooers, C, (or rather Furness and Westmorland) oars. - - “Why do you call them _rooers_?” “’Coase they irr _rooers_.” “They - call them oars elsewhere.” “They may co’ them what they will, but if - they _roo_ wi’ them, they’re _rooers_.” - Conversation on Esthwaite lake. - -Roose, S, praise, exalt. - - ”_Roose_ the ford as ye find it.”—Proverb. - -Rowp, S, auction; Rowp-crier, auctioneer. - - “I canna pay’t an’ ye _rowp_ me at the cross.” - Said by a hopeless debtor. - -Rowth, S, abundance. - - “Rich fouk ha’e _rowth_ o’ frien’s.”—Proverb. - -Rowe, S, roll. - - “Where Cart rins _rowin’_ to the sea.” - _Burns._ The Gallant Weaver. - - -S. - -Sackless, C, silly (originally, innocent). - - “Our parson sweers a bonnie stick - Amang thur _sackless_ asses.” - _Anderson._ The Village Gang. - -Sairy, C, sorry. - - “A _sairy_ wife I trowe she’d mak - ’At cudn’t muck a byre.” - _Ibid._ Betty Brown. - -Sark, C and S, shirt (male or female). - - “She won’t mend a _sark_, but reads novels, proud brat.” - _Ibid._ Elizabeth’s Burthday. - - “Our women are nowadays a’ grown sae braw, - Ilk maun ha’e a _sark_, an’ some maun ha’e twa.” - _Ross._ The wee pickle tow. - -Sarra, C, serve. - - “The witch wife begg’d i’ our back-side, - An’ went _unsarra’d_ away i’ the pet.” - _Anderson._ The Witch Wife. - -Sauch, S, willow. - - “Whereby the glancing waves o’ Clyde - Through _sauchs_ an’ hangin’ hazels glide.” - Old Song—Bothwell Bank. - -Scraffle, C, scramble. - - “We _scraffelt_ on i’ this fashion, an’ it was quite dark afooar we - gat till Ammelside yatt.” - _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - -Screes, C, sloping banks of fragmentary stone under precipices. - - “Whoariver there’s _screes_ - There’s mair steàns nor trees.” - Old Rhymes. - -Scrimp, S, pinch, reduce. - - “For lack o’ thee I _scrimp_ my glass.” - _Burns._ On a Bank Note. - -Scrowe, S and C, a lot of children, etc., rough or numerous. - - “There’s sic a _scrowe_ o’ Irishmen come ower frae Skinburness.”—Said - at Annan. - -Scunner, S, shuddering disgust—noun and verb. - - “An’ yill an’ whiskey ga’e to cairds, - Until they _scunner_.” - _Burns._ Ep. to Smith. - -Sec, C; Sic, S, such. - - “Feegh! _sec_ a yen we’ve hed at Codbeck, - As niver was under the sun.” - _Anderson._ The Codbeck Wedding. - - “_Sic_ as ye gie, _sic_ will ye get.”—Proverb. - -Shap, C, to seem likely, or tend to. - - “They’re _shappin’_ to gang heàm wid empty pockets.” - Said of two losing whist players at a Merry Night. - - Shinny, C; Shinty, S, a rough game played with knobbed or round ended - sticks—called in the south of England, I believe, hocky. - - “_Shinny’s_ weel aneuf if shins wer’ seàf.”—Old saying. - -Sinsyne, S, since then. - - “She charm’d my heart an’ aye _sinsyne_, - I canna think o’ onie ither.” - Song—O’er the Muir. - -Skeich, S, shy, distant. - - “Maggie coost her heid fu’ heich, - Look’d asklent an’ unco _skeich_.” - _Burns._ Duncan Gray. - -Skirl, S, scream. - - “White and bludy puddings rowth - To gar the doctor _skirl_ wi’ drowth.” - _Ferguson._ St Andrews. - -Skreich, S; Skrike, C, shriek. - - “It’s time aneuch to _skreich_ when ye’re strucken.” - Proverb. - -Skurl, C, slide. - - “_Skurl, skurl_ the’ doon—I’ll kep the’, come thy ways, - I’ll leuk ahint me—niver mind thy claes.” - _Ewan Clarke._ - -Slake, C, a light smear as of grease, etc. - - “Let’s tak’ _slake_ an’ _slake_ aboot till it’s done.” - Said in licking out a treacle pot. - -Slape, C, slippery. - - “I mun tell her fadder when I see him—she’s gittin’ varra _slape_,” - old John Howe of Branthwaite Hall called out when he witnessed, by - chance, a meeting of sweethearts on a lonely road. - -Slare, C, to walk slowly. - - “He may be a sharp worker, but he’s a _slarin’_ walker.” - Said by a farmer’s wife of a new come man servant. - -Slashy, C, sloppy. - - “It was beginnin’ to thowe, an’ was varra _slashy_ an’ cāld.” - _Betty Yewdale._ T’ terrible Knitters i’ Dent. - -Slatter, C, slop. - - “Wi’ jaws o’ yell some durty beuts - Pat loft seun in a _slatter_.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Sleekie, or Sleekit, S, sly, smooth. - - “O we were sly, sly! - O, we were sly an’ _sleekit_.” - Song. - -Slipe, C, to slip away, to “hook it.” - - “_Slipe_, my lad, while thou’s weel. _Slipe_, I say, an’ let neàbody - see the’ gang.”—Said to a youth in a row. - -Slocken, S and C, to slake thirst. - - “Ha’e ye any clippin’ drink left?” “No!” “Ha’e ye any common yall? No! - Ha’e ye any smo’ beer? No! Why than, hang it—ha’e ye any pig-stuff? I - mun be _slocken’t_ wi’ summat!”—John Kendall at Hawkshead Hall the day - after the sheep-shearing feast. - -Smaik, S, a small boy, or other small animal. - - “He’s but a _smaik_, but he’s a man at the books.” - Said of a schoolboy. - -Smittal, C, infectious. - - “As _smittal_ as t’ Smo’-pox.” - Said of a successful male animal kept for breeding purposes. - -Snape, C, snub, also blight. - - “Yet tho’ sec bruolliments galwore - Oft _snaip’t_ the whyet of our days.” - _Stagg._ Auld Lang Syne. - -Sneck, C, latch. - - “The Buckabank chaps are reet famous sweethearters, - Their kisses just sound like the _sneck_ of a yett.” - _Anderson._ Bleckell Murry-Neet. - - Sneck-posset, C. When a man has the door shut in his face, - figuratively or literally, he gets a _sneck-posset_. - - “Glooar’d at me a bit, an’ than clyash’t dewar i mi feeace——He g’e ma - a faer _sneck-posset_.” - _Rev. T. Clarke_, Johnny Shippard. - -Snell, S, cold and cutting. - - “There cam’ a wind oot o’ the north, - A sharp wind and a _snell_.” - Ballad—Young Tamlane. - -Snirrup, or Snirp, C, to curl up the nose, etc. - - “As seun as she fund I depended on labour, - She _snirp’t_ up her nose an’ nae mair leuk’t at me.” - _Anderson._ The Lasses o’ Carel. - -Snirt, or Snurl, C, the sound of imperfectly suppressed laughter. - - “But seckan toke! nin could tell what aboot, - I stop’t my lugs for fear o’ _snurtin’_ oot.” - _Graham._ Gwordie and Will. - -Snod, S and C, smooth, neat. - - “Her cockermonie _snoddit_ up fu’ sleek, - Her haffet locks hung wavin’ owre her cheek.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - - “You’re making this road rough!” “Ey, but we’ll mak it _snod_ afoor - we’re deun wi’ ’t.” - Reply of the road surveyor at Hawkshead. - -Snowk, C, to snuffle audibly. - - ”_Snowkin’_ like pigs at a sew.”—Common saying. - -Snug (as a verb), C, to nestle. - - “We _snugg’t_ in togidder.”—Ibid. - -Sonsie, S, comfortable looking, also lucky. - - “Tall and _sonsie_, frank and free, - Lo’ed by a’, an’ dear to me.” - _Lady Nairne._ Kind Robin lo’es me. - - “Whistlin’ maids an’ crawin’ hens are no _sonsie_.“—Proverb. - -Sorn, S, to live on others, to sponge. - - “_Sornan_ frae place to place, - As scrimp o’ mainners as o’ sense or grace.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - -Souch, S, the sound of gentle wind or breath. - - “Hark how the westlin’ win’ _souchs_ through the reeds.” - _Ibid._ - -Spang-hew, S and C, to fling to the winds. - - _Spang-hewing_ is a cruel mode practised by school-boys of putting - birds, frogs, etc., to death. A stick is laid across a block, the - victim placed on one end and the other struck sharply, throwing the - poor animal high into the air, killing, and generally, mutilating it. - -Spats, S and C, abbrev. of spatterdashes—gaiters. - - “Their stumps, erst used to philabegs, - Are dight in _spatterdashes_.” - _Ferguson._ Leith Races. - -Speel, S, climb. - - “Monie a time, - Wi’ you I’ve _speel’d_ the braes o’ rhyme.” - _Ferguson._ My Auld Breeks. - -Speir, S, ask, enquire. - - “A feul may _speir_ mair questions than a doctor can answer.” - Proverb. - -Spretty, S, covered with Sprett, a kind of coarse grass. - - “Till _spretty_ knowes wad rair’t an’ risket - An’ slypet owre.” - _Burns._ The Auld Mare Maggie. - -Sprogue, C, a pleasure ramble. - - “I’ve been to t’ top o’ Knock Murton.” “What took ye there?” “I just - went for a _sprogue_!” - Part of a conversation in Arlecdon. - -Squab, C, a long low seat with a back. - - “Sit on t’ _squab_ till I bring ye summat to sup on.”—Said to me once - when I reached a farm house exhausted from struggling through a snow - storm. - -Stammer, or Stummer, C, to stumble. - - “Oft wittingly I _stummer’t_, oft I fell.” - _Relph._ Kursty and Peggy. - -’Statesman, C, landed proprietor—Estatesman. - - “It is a bonnie job, if gentlemen an’ gentlemen’s servants is to - ower-ride us _steàts fooak_.” - Said by an old lady at Coniston after a vestry meeting. - -Stayvel, or Stayver, S and C, to walk in a listless manner. - - “Ther was hundreds o’ fwoke _stayvelan_ aboot.” - _Ritson._ The Borrowdale Letter. - -Stoore, S and C, dust. - - “This day the kirk kicks up a _stoore_.” - _Burns._ The Ordination. - “The Bible ligs _stoory_ abeun the door heid.” - _Anderson._ Caleb Crosby. - -Stound, S and C, ache or pang. - - “An’ aye the _stound_, the deidly wound. - Cam frae her e’en sae lovely blue.” - _Burns._ A waefu’ gate yestreen. - “It _stoundit_ sare, an’ sare it swell’d.” - _Relph._ After Theocritus. - -Straddel’t, C, brought to a stand. - - “I think oald P—— was varra nār _straddel’t_ iv his sarmon.” - Heard at the door of a Wesleyan chapel after service. - -Sumph, S and C, a fool. - - “An’ onie _sumph_ that keeps up spite, - In conscience I abhor him.” - _Rev. J. Skinner._ Tullochgorum. - “I sit like a _sumph_, nea mair mysel’.” - _Anderson._ Barbary Bell. - -Swap, S and C, exchange. - - “I trowe we _swappit_ for the worse, - Ga’e the boot an’ better horse.” - Song—Carle an’ the King come. - “Lal Sim’s geane an’ _swapp’d_ the black cowt.” - _Anderson._ Nichol the Newsmonger. - -Swat, C, sit down, squat. - - “Come, Cuddy, _swat_ an’ tak’ a whiff.” - _Anderson._ The Cram. - -Sweir, S, loath, unwilling. - - “Forsooth they cried, anither gill. - For _sweir_ we’re aye to gang awa’.” - _Mac Phail._ Song. - - -T. - -Taggelt, C, a scamp. - - “He mud know they wor o’ arrant _taggelts_ an’ taistrels.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Taistrel, C, a good for nothing. - - “Yae son proved a _taistrel_ an’ brak up i’ Lunnon.” - _Anderson._ The Twee Auld Men. - -Taws, S, a strap of thick leather slit into several tails; an implement -of punishment in Scottish schools. - - “Never use the _taws_ when a gloom ’ill do the turn.” - Proverb. - -Tawtie, or Tawtit, S, roughly matted (applied to hair or wool). - - “Nae _tautit_ tyke, though ne’er sae duddy.” - _Burns._ The Twa Dogs. - -Teem, C; Toom, S, empty, pour out. - - “About her lank and all o’er-_teemed_ loins.” - Hamlet. - “And there _toom_ thy brock skin bag.” - Ballad—The Fray of Suport. - -Teul, C and S, a bad one (probably from devil). - - “Let women deu what gud they can, - Thur wicked _teùls_ ’ill lee.” - Jwohnny and Jenny. - -Tew, C, harass, fatigue. - - “An’ while they skew’t an’ _tew’t_ an’ swet, - Wi’ monie a weary sidle.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Theek, S, thatch. - - “An’ wi’ a lock o’ his yellow hair, - We’ll _theek_ our nest when it blows bare.” - Ballad—The Twa Corbies. - -Thir, S; Thur, C, these. - - “An’ sad an’ silent was the nicht - That was atween _thir_ twa.” - Ballad—Clark Saunders. - “_Thur_ taxes! _thur_ taxes! Lord help us, Amen!” - _Ewan Clark._ Ballad. - -Thole, S, endure. - - “He that has gude crops may _thole_ some thistles.”—Proverb. - -Thowless, S and C, soft, inapt. - - “Fortune aye favours the active an’ bauld, - But ruins the wooer that’s _thowless_ an’ cauld.” - _Ramsay._ The Widow. - -Threep, S and C, to aver, or argue, insistingly. - - “An’ fowk wad _threep_ that she did green - For what wad gar her skirl - An’ skreich some day.” - _Ramsay._ Christ’s Kirk on the Green. - “Some _threep_ ’at the times ’ill get better.” - _Anderson._ Carel Fair. - -Throssle, C, the thrush. - - “The _throssle_, when cauld winter’s geane, - Aye in our worchet welcomes spring.” - _Anderson._ The Lass abeun Thirty. - -Throughly, C, corpulent. - - “_Throughly?_ ey, a gud yard through an’ mair!” - Said of Hannah Page, who sold toffy in Whitehaven. - -Thyvel, C, a porridge stick. - - “She’ll lick a lean _thyvel_ ’at weds you.” - Said to a poor Schoolmaster at Workington. - -Tine, S, lose; Tint, lost. - - “_Tine_ thimble, _tine_ thrift.”—Proverb. - - “O have ye _tint_ at tournament - Your sword or yet your spear?” - Ballad—The Gay Goss Hawk. - -Tip, S and C, a ram. - - “She was nae get o’ muirlan’ _tips_, - Wi’ tawtit ket an’ hairy hips.” - _Burns._ Puir Maillie. - -Tipe, C, to drink off. - - “_Tipe_ it up an’ hev anudder.”—Common fuddling invitation. - -Toozle, S and C, to rub up, to ruffle or make untidy. - - “I ance was abused i’ the kirk - For _toozling_ a lass i’ my daffin.” - _Burns._ The Jolly Beggars. - -Top-sark, C, an over-shirt, generally made of coarse woollen cloth. - - “We cannot bed ye o’, but we can lend ye _top-sarks_.”—Said to a - weather-bound party at Cockley Beck in Seathwaite. - -Towp, C, capsize. - - “The leevin surs! she _towp’t_ her ower - Or yen cud say, ’Od bliss her.” - _Mark Lonsdale._ The Upshot. - -Toytle, C and S, totter. - - “Tak care thou doesn’t _toytle_ intil t’ beck.” - Said to a top-heavy neighbour at Branthwaite. - -Tryste, S, an appointed meeting, also to appoint a meeting. - - “Crack _tryste_, crack credit.”—Proverb. - - “I daurna _tryste_ wi’ you, Willie, I daurna _tryste_ ye here, - But I’ll meet wi’ you in heaven Willie, i’ the spring-time o’ the - year.” - _Aytoun._ Annie’s Tryste. - -Tyle, C, to distress, as with pain or fatigue. - - “I’s _tyled_ to deeth wid this kurn. I’ve been kurning iver sen - mwornin’, an’ I seem as far off butter as iver.” - A farmer’s wife. - - -U. - -Unco, S; Unket, C, strange, remarkable. - - “A hungry care’s an _unco_ care.”—Proverb. - - “What, is there owte _unket_ i’ your country side?” - _Anderson._ Bruff Reaces. - -Up-bank, C, upwards. - - “Till watters run _upbank_ an’ trees they grow down-bank, - We niver can leuk on his marrow agean.” - _Anderson._ Kit Craffet. - - -W. - -Waistrel, C, an unthrift, a useless fellow. - - The late Sergeant Wilkins, in reply to the Court, once defined - _waistrel_, not very accurately, as “something spoiled in the - manufacture, and sold at half price in the Lowther Arcade.” - -Wale, S, choose, choice. - - “For sake o’ gear - Ane _wales_ a wife as he wad buy a mear.” - _Ramsay._ The Gentle Shepherd. - “The king o’ gude fellows an’ _wale_ o’ auld men.” - Song—Auld Rob Morris. - -Wankle, C, weakly, flaccid. - - “As _wankle_ as a wet seck.”—Common saying. - -Wanter, C, one wanting a wife or husband. - - “He leeves aw his leane, but he’s seerly to bleame, - When a _wanter_ like me’s to be hed sa near heame.” - _Anderson._ Auld Robbie Miller. - -Wanwauchtie, S, unable to drink freely (wan, un, and waucht a hearty -draught.) - - “He’s unco _wanwauchtie_ that scunners at whey.”—Proverb. - -War-day, C, work-day—so distinguished from the day of rest. - - “She cheerfu’ wrowte her _warday_ wark, - Than sat down at her wheel.” - _Rayson._ Ann o’ Hethersgill. - -Ware, S and C, spend. - - “Jockey and Jenny they went to the fair, - Jockey gave Jenny a penny to _ware_.” - Children’s Rhyme. - -Wat, S, know. - - “She’s a wise wife that _wats_ her ain weird.”—Proverb. - -Waukrife, S, wakeful, or preventing sleep. - - “Fleas and a girnin’ wife are _waukrife_ bedfellows.” - Proverb. - -Weird, S, fate, destiny. - - “After word comes _weird_, fair fa’ they that ca’ me madam.” - Proverb. - -Welch, C, saltless, insipid. - - “What foats may poddish hev? They may be sooar, seùty, sodden, an’ - savvorless, soat, _welsh_, brocken, an’ lumpy!” - Common Saying. - -Whang, C and S, a strip of leather, a piece cut off anything. - - “The mergh o’ his shin bane has run down on his spur leather _whang_.” - The Fray of Suport. - - “Wi’ sweet milk cheese i’ monie a _whang_.” - _Burns._ The Holy Fair. - -Whick, C, alive, quick. - - “Sec fashions I’ll not follow while I’s _whick_, - Lang as plain grogram and thur locks please Dick.” - _Ewan Clark._ The Faithful Pair. - -Whiles, S, sometimes. - - “Wha does the utmost that he can - May _whiles_ do mair.” - _Burns._ Ep. to Dr. Blacklock. - -Whins, C; Whuns, S, furze, gorse. - - “When t’ _whins_ is oot o’ blossom kissing’s oot o’ fashion.” - Proverb. - -Whunstane, S, a kind of hard dark stone. - - “Wha’s ragin’ flame an’ scorchin’ heat - Wad melt the hardest _whun-stane_.” - _Burns._ The Holy Fair. - -Whuddering, S and C, shuddering or tremulous in sound. - - “_Whudder_ awa’ thou bitter, biting blast.” - _Mactaggart._ Mary Lee’s Lament. - -Widderful, C, looking withered or unthriven. - - “That barne leuks as _widderful_ as if it was its oan - gran’-fadder.”—Said of an unhealthy child. - -Wimple, S, to curl and wheel as running water. - - “But I’ll big a bower on yon green bank sae bonnie, - That’s laved by the waters o’ Tay _wimplin’_ clear.” - Song—Bonnie Dundee. - -Win, S, to make way, to get to. - - “Ye maunna think to _win_ through the world on a feather bed.”—Proverb. - -Winnock, S, diminutive of window. - - “At yon farmer’s _winnock_, nichtly, - Still he taks his eerie stan’.” - _John Johnstone._ Bodkin Ben. - -Winsome, S, winning, attractive. - - “She is a _winsome_ wee thing, - That sweet wee wife o’ mine.” - _Burns._ Song. - -Wizzent, C, withered, shrunk. - - “He keeps a lad’s heart in his _wizzent_ āld skin.” - _Stanyan Bigg._ Granfadder Jones. - -Won, S, to exist, to dwell. - - “Kissing has _wonn’d_ i’ the world - Sin ever there were twa.” - Old Song. - -Worchet, C, orchard. - - “Our meadow sud be a girt _worchet_, - An’ growe nowte at o’ but big plums.” - _Anderson._ King Roger. - -Wrowke, C, to disturb roughly, or stir up. - - “I ola’s liked John, but I cared sa lāl for Grace ’at I cūd ha’ teàn - her an’ _wrowk’t_ t’ fire wid her.” - A Cumberland lady, about her children. - -Wudde, S, mad. - - “I’ve ridden a horse baith wild an’ _wudde_.” - Ballad—Kinmont Willie. - -Wummel, C, to enter in a sinuous manner, as an auger bores. - - “He’ll _wummel_ his-sel’ intil t’ creuktest rabbit whoal i’ - Siddick.”—Said of a terrier. - - -Y. - -Ya, Yan, C, one; Ae and Yin in Dumfriesshire. - - _Ya_ is used when the noun indicated is named—_yan_, when it is - understood; thus—“How many fwoke was theer?” “_Yan!_” “No’but _yan_?” - “No’but _ya_ man!” _Ae_ and _yin_ are used in the same way. The use of - the first is illustrated in the conversation without consonants which - is said to have come off in a shop in Dumfries—Customer, referring - to some cloth, asks, “A’ ’oo?” Shopman assents, “Ou aye, a’ ’oo!” - Customer again, “A’ _ae_ ’oo?” Shopman, “Ou aye, a’ _ae_ ’oo!” That - is, “All wool?” “O yes, all wool!” “All one (or the same) wool?” “O - yes, all one wool!” - -Yabble, C, wealthy (literally, able). - - “A varra _yabble_ man i’ heeh life was wantan ta simma.” - _Rev. T. Clarke._ Johnny Shippard. - -Yammer, S and C, to articulate quickly and indistinctly from any -feeling. - - “Fareweel to the bodies that _yammer_ and prowm.” - Song—Bide ye yet. - “There’s been a lang _yammer_ in t’ papers last week.” - _Dickinson._ Scallow Beck Boggle. - -Yewl, C, to weep. - - “A lāl thing mak’s a barne _yewl_, an’ a lāl thing mak’s it - laugh.”—Proverb. - -Yoad and Yad, S and C, a mare. - - “Frae Tindal-fell twelve pecks she’d bring— - She was a _yad_ fit for a king.” - _Anderson._ My bonnie black meer’s deed. - -Yoke, S and C, to engage with, to set to, to put a horse to a vehicle, -etc. - - “At length we had a hearty _yokin_ - At sang about.” - _Burns._ Ep. to Lapraik. - - “An’ they _yoak’t_ it ageàn an’ laid at it wi’ t’ whup.” - - _Dickinson._ The Ore Carter’s Wife. - -Yowl, S and C, to howl. - - “A dog winna _yowl_ an’ ye hit him wi’ a bane.”—Proverb. - - - GEO: COWARD, PRINTER, 75, SCOTCH STREET, CARLISLE. - - - - - A LIST OF BOOKS - - PUBLISHED BY - - _GEO: COWARD, CARLISLE_. - - - THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND, to which are added Dialect and - other Poems; with Biographical Sketches, Notes, and Glossary. Edited - by Sidney Gilpin. With Portrait of Miss Blamire. Small Crown 8vo. - Price 7s. - - (_A New Edition in preparation._) - -One of the most interesting collections of poetry which have been -lately published is the “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland.” How many -people know anything of Miss Blamire? Yet she was the author of that -most beautiful and pathetic of ballads beginning, “And ye shall walk -in silk attire.” Every one will, therefore, thank the editor for the -conscientious way in which he has issued her pieces, and given us some -account of her life. It was she, too, who wrote that other beautiful -ballad, worthy of Lady Anne Lindsay, “What ails this heart o’ mine?” -which, in our opinion, is poetry full of truth and tenderness. Indeed, -we should be disposed to look upon it as a critical touchstone, and -to say that those who did not like it could not possibly appreciate -true poetry.... We can only advise the reader to buy the book, -and we feel sure that he, like ourselves, will be thankful to the -editor.—_Westminster Review._ - -We like the Cumberland Songs a good deal better than the Lancashire -ones which we reviewed a fortnight back. There is more go and more -variety in them; the hill-air makes them fresher, and we do not wonder -that Mr. Gilpin feels—now he has got “tem put in prent”— - - Aw England cannot bang them. - -We certainly cannot recollect a better collection.... While the author -of “Joe and the Geologist” lives, we shall rest assured that the -Cumberland dialect will be well represented in verse as well as prose, -though we suppose he cannot love to describe the roaring scenes at -weddings and the like that his predecessors witnessed.... The dialect -is rich in reduplicated words—in good forms—in old English words; -and the volume altogether is one that should find a place on the -shelf of every reader of poetry and student of manners, customs, and -language.—_The Reader._ - -The truly Cumbrian minstrel towards the close of the last century seems -to have approached the Scotch in his pictures of rural courtship, and -to have been still greater in his descriptions of weddings, as of some -other festivities of a more peculiar character. He had a healthy and -robust standard of feminine beauty, and his most riotous mirth was -more athletic and less purely alcoholic than that which flourished in -Burns’s native soil.—_The Spectator._ - -These Cumberland lyrics—till now scattered—are on the whole well -worth the pains spent on their collection. In some cases, as in those -of Relph and Miss Blamire, there is evidence of real genius for the -ballad or the eclogue; and with respect to other writers, if the -poetic feeling be less deep, humour and keen observation are displayed -in dealing with the people and customs of a district which, in its -lingering primitiveness and time-honored traditions, is richer in -materials for fancy and character than regions which lie nearer the -metropolis.—_The Athenæum._ - -It is seldom that a book compiled on the local principle contains -so much good matter as this collection of the “Songs and Ballads of -Cumberland.” In the pathetic vein, Miss Blamire is a host in herself; -and the humorous and “character sketches,” as we may call them, by -various hands, are more vigorous and picturesque, and less vulgar or -coarse, than is at all common in the works of local poets. To some -readers the peculiar dialect may be objectionable; but to any one -who can read Burns, it need be no stumbling-block to the enjoyment -of the varied contents of this elegant and well-arranged volume.... -The biographical and other notes are carefully and well written, -judiciously informative, and not too long.—_Scotsman._ - -Cumberland has a goodly store of ballads, the natural offspring of -her hills and lakes, and fells and “forces,” a wealth of ballad -literature, in fact, whereof the Southron in general knows, we fear, -but little. Miss Susanna Blamire is a name of celebrity up North, the -poetess of Cumberland; and Robert Anderson and many others hold almost -equal repute there. Mr. Sidney Gilpin, himself owning a name which -has belonged to more than one Cumberland celebrity, has collected and -edited a volume of the dialect-songs and ballads, and other specimens -of the minstrelsy of his county, and offers it to the appreciation of -the English public. The “Songs and Ballads of Cumberland” ought to be a -welcome volume to all who can relish the home-spun simple language of a -genuine muse of the hills. There is much true and tender poetry in the -book, and much rough, natural vigour.—_Morning Star._ - - -Cumberland has found in Mr. Sidney Gilpin an able and zealous champion; -and the present collection of her Songs and Ballads, though not, -perhaps, absolutely exhaustive, will decidedly extend her poetic fame, -and no doubt surprise many even among the students of this peculiar -lore.—_Church and State Review._ - - -_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d., in neat Cloth binding._ - - MISS BLAMIRE’S SONGS AND POEMS; together with Songs by her friend MISS - GILPIN of Scaleby Castle. With Portrait of Miss Blamire. - -She was an anomaly in literature. She had far too modest an opinion -of herself; an extreme seldom run into, and sometimes, as in this -case, attended like other extremes with disadvantages. We are -inclined, however, to think that if we have lost a great deal by -her ultra-modesty, we have gained something. Without it, it is -questionable whether she would have abandoned herself so entirely to -her inclination, and left us those exquisite lyrics which derive their -charms from the simple, undisguised thoughts which they contain. The -characteristic of her poetry is its simplicity. It is the simplicity -of genuine pathos. It enters into all her compositions, and is perhaps -pre-eminent in her Scottish songs. - _Carlisle Journal, 1842._ - -In her songs, whether in pure English, or in the Cumbrian or Scottish -dialect, she is animated, simple, and tender, often touching a chord -which thrills a sympathetic string deep in the reader’s bosom. It may, -indeed, be confidently predicted of several of these lyrics, that they -will live with the best productions of their age, and longer than many -that were at first allowed to rank more highly.—_Chambers’ Journal, -1842._ - - -_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s., in neat Cloth binding._ - - ROBERT ANDERSON’S CUMBERLAND BALLADS. - -As a portrayer of rustic manners—as a relator of homely incident—as -a hander down of ancient customs, and of ways of life fast wearing or -worn out—as an exponent of the feelings, tastes, habits, and language -of the most interesting class in a most interesting district, and -in some other respects, we hold Anderson to be unequalled, not in -Cumberland only, but in England. As a description of a long, rapid, -and varied succession of scenes—every one a photograph—occurring at a -gathering of country people intent upon enjoying themselves in their -own uncouth roystering fashion, given in rattling, jingling, regularly -irregular rhymes, with a chorus that is of itself a concentration of -uproarious fun and revelry, we have never read or heard anything like -Anderson’s “Worton Wedding.”—_Whitehaven Herald._ - - -_Just Published, F. Cap 8vo. Price 5s._ - - POEMS BY MRS. WILSON TWENTYMAN, of EVENING HILL. Dedicated, by - permission, to H. W. LONGFELLOW. - -_From the ILLUSTRATED TIMES, November 7th, 1868._ - -Her verses are occasionally poetical, and always dictated by some -fine genuine feeling, which must come home to an honest reader. She -does not write about “Men and Women,” as Mrs. Browning calls two of -her most beautiful volumes, but about human nature—i.e., our hopes, -fears, loves, aspirations, etc., are never personified and put into -the dramatic form. The volume consists of short pieces, and the whole -domestic morality of them will be fairly appreciated in houses where -Longfellow is looked upon as the one poet. - -_From the CARLISLE EXPRESS, January 8th, 1869._ - -A spirit of piety and domestic affection permeates all Mrs. Twentyman’s -pieces, but she has not yet attained the full power of her art which -is to inspire as Nature inspires, by reproducing that which charms the -mind. In all probability she has not made this her aim, her poems being -the simple and unaffected outflow of pure womanly thought and feeling: -the apparent aim of the volume being religious rather than literary.... -Mrs. Twentyman’s best efforts are those in which her own experience as -a wife and mother have helped her most. There she rises into the region -of true poetry, drawing from Life and Nature. “Love’s Inspiration,” -in which she evidently speaks of her own wedded life, is an example. -“Our Ain Bonnie Bessie” is another flowing from the same fount—sweet, -maternal love evidently inspiring the heart of the writer.... We give -her a hearty “God-speed,” feeling that all local talent should have -its just honour and encouragement. The proper encouragement of local -literature generally improves it, and there are cases in which it -has eventually called forth gifts of no ordinary power and compass. -Sympathy and interest are the special needs of the poet who often -cannot sing at all unless prompted to faith in his own powers by some -sympathetic friend. - - -_Crown 8vo. Price 2s. in extra Cloth binding; or 1s. in neat Paper -Cover._ - - OLD CASTLES: Including Sketches of CARLISLE, CORBY, and LINSTOCK - CASTLES; with a Poem on Carlisle. By M.S., Author of an Essay on - Shakspeare, &c. - -_From the CARLISLE EXPRESS._ - -M. S., by her many thoughtful and eloquent contributions to our local -literature, has long since become favourably known to a wide circle -of readers; and the little volume before us, in which her talents are -employed on congenial themes, cannot fail to maintain and extend her -reputation. The stirring historical events connected with the ancient -Border strongholds she has selected for treatment require something -more than the dry details which are all that are presented to us in the -ordinary run of guide books to make them properly understood. Adhering -strictly to historical truth, she has clothed the dry bones of the past -with life; and the various notable actors who have played their part in -the old castles, she so well delineates, seem to live and move before -us as we read her account of them. Nor do the natural beauties which -surround most of our ancient Border keeps lose anything of their rare -charm in her hands. Her picture of Corby is, indeed, a prose poem of -much beauty. But the gem of the book is the poem on Carlisle—worthily -holding the place of honour.... We must now take our leave of this -interesting little work. It is one which should be in the hands of -every intelligent Cumbrian who cares for the honour of his native -county; and the reader who desires to improve these glorious summer -days by visiting any of the scenes it so well describes, could find no -better companion to take with him. - - - CARLISLE: GEO. COWARD. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Folk-Speech of Cumberland and Some -Districts Adjacent, by Alexander Craig Gibson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOLK-SPEECH OF CUMBERLAND *** - -***** This file should be named 62370-0.txt or 62370-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/3/7/62370/ - -Produced by MFR, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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