fix theas trifles best,
   Some neet when tha's nowt to do.
Awm net like some at connot feel
   For others, aw assure thi:
Tha's tewd until tha'rt owt but weel;
   An nowt but rest can cure thi.
Soa come hooam sooin an spend a neet,
   Wi me an Jack an Freddy,
They'll think it's ivver sich a treat;
   An aw'll have th' whitewesh ready.

Ther's much Expected.

Life's pathway is full o' deep ruts,
   An we mun tak gooid heed lest we stumble;
Man is made up of "ifs" and of "buts,"
   It seems pairt ov his natur to grumble.

But if we'd all anxiously tak
   To makkin things smooth as we're able,
Ther'd be monny a better clooath'd back,
   An' monny a better spread table.

It's a sad state o' things when a man
   Cannot put ony faith in his brother,
An fancies he'll chait if he can,
   An rejoice ovver th' fall ov another.

An it's sad when yo see some at stand
   High in social position an power,
To know at ther fortuns wor plann'd,
   An built, aght oth' wrecks o' those lower.

It's sad to see luxury rife,
   An fortuns being thowtlessly wasted;
While others are wearin out life,
   With the furst drops o' pleasure untasted.

Some in carriages rollin away,
   To a ball, or a rout, or a revel;
But ther chariots may bear em some day
   Varry near to the gates ov the devil.

Oh! charity surely is rare,
   Or ther'd net be soa monny neglected;
For ther's lots wi enuff an' to spare,
   An from them varry mich is expected.

An tho' in this world they've ther fill
   Of its pleasures, an wilfully blinded,
Let deeath come—an surely it will—
   They'll be then ov ther duties reminded.

An when called on, they, tremblin wi fear,
   Say "The hungry an nak'd we ne'er knew,"
That sentence shall fall o' ther ear—
   "Depart from me; I never knew you."

Then, oh! let us do what we can,
   Nor with this world's goods play the miser;
If it's wise to lend money to man,
   To lend to the Lord must be wiser.

Coortin Days.

Coortin days,—Coortin days,—loved one an lover!
What wod aw give if those days could come ovver?
Weddin is joyous,—its pleasur unstinted;
But coortin is th' sweetest thing ivver invented.
         Walkin an talkin,
      An nursin Love's spark,
         Charmin an warmin
      Tho th' neet may be dark.

Oh! but it's nice when yor way's long and dreary,
To walk wi yor arm raand th' waist ov yor dearie;
Tellin sweet falsehoods, the haars to beguile em,
(If yo tell'd em ith' dayleet they'd put yo ith' sylum.)
      But ivverything's fair
         I' love an i' war,
      But be sewer to act square;—
         An do if yo dar!

Squeezin an kissin an kissin an squeezin,—
Laughin an coughin an ticklin an sneezin,—
But remember,—if maybe, sich knowledge yo lack,
Allus smile in her face, but, sneeze at her back.
      Yo may think, if a fooil,
         Sich a thing nivver mattered,
      But a lass, as a rule,
         Doesn't want to be spattered.

When th' coortin neet comes, tho' yor appetite's ragin,
Dooant fill up wi oonions, wi mar'gum an sage in,
Remember, the darlin, where centred yor bliss is,
Likes to fancy, yor livin on love an her kisses.
      An yor linen, if plain,
         Have all spotless an fresh:
      Then shoo connot complain,
         When shoo has it to wesh.

When Love's flame's been lit, an burst into a glow,
Th' best thing yo can do,—(that's as far as aw know;)
Is to goa to a parson an pay him his price,
An to join yo together he'll put in a splice,
         Then together yo'll face
      This world's battle an bother,
         An if that isn't th' case,
      Yo can feight for each other.

Sweet Mistress Moore.

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife,
   An Johnny is a druffen sot;
He spends th' best portion of his life
   Ith' beershop wi a pipe an pot.
At schooil together John an me
   Set side by side like trusty chums,
An nivver did we disagree
   Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs.
      At John shoo smiled,
      An aw wor riled;
Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me;
      Her bonny e'en
      Aw've seldom seen
Sin that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want,
   For Johnny ofttimes gets oth' spree;
He spends his wages in a rant,
   An leeaves his wife to pine or dee.
An monny a time awve ligged i' bed,
   An cursed my fate for bein poor,
An monny a bitter tear awve shed,
   When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore.
      For shoo's mi life
      Is Johnny's wife,
An tho to love her isn't reet,
      What con aw do,
      When all th' neet throo
Awm dreamin ov her e'en soa breet.

Aw'll goa away an leeave this spot,
   For fear at we should ivver meet,
For if we did, as sure as shot
   Awst throw me daan anent her feet.
Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil,
   To love a woman when shoo's wed,
But sin aw saw her furst at schooil,
   It's been a wretched life aw've led.
      But th' time has come
      To leeave mi hooam,
An th' sea between us sooin shall roar,
      Yet still mi heart
      Will nivver part
Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.

Waivin Mewsic.

Ther's mewsic ith' shuttle, ith' loom, an ith frame,
Ther's melody mingled ith' noise;
For th' active ther's praises, for th' idle ther's blame,
If they'd harken to th' saand of its voice.
An when flaggin a bit, how refreshin to feel
As you pause an look raand on the throng,
At the clank o' the tappet, the hum o' the wheel,
Sing this plain unmistakable song:—
               Nick a ting, nock a ting;
               Wages keep pocketing;
Workin for little is better nor laikin;
               Twist an twine, reel an wind;
               Keep a contented mind;
Troubles are oft ov a body's own makin.

To see workin fowk wi a smile o' ther face
As they labour thear day after day;
An hear th' women's voices float sweetly throo th' place,
As they join i' some favorite lay;
It saands amang th' din, as the violet seems
At peeps aght th' green dockens among,
Diffusing a charm ovver th' rest by its means,
Thus it blends i' that steady old song;
               Nick a ting, nock a ting,
               Wages keep pocketing;
Workin for little is better nor laikin;
               Twist an twine, reel an wind,