id="id00155">Two childer wor added to th' stock,
   But aw drank, an mi wark went to th' bad;
An awve known em be rooarin for jock,
   Wol awve druffen what they should ha had.

Aw seldom went hooam but to sleep,
   Tho Bessy ne'er offered to chide;
But grief 'at is silent is deep,
   An sorrow's net easy to hide.

If th' childer wod nobbut complain,
   Or Bessy get peevish an tart,
Aw could put up wi th' anguish or pain,
   But ther kindness is braikin mi heart.

Little Emma, poor child, ov a neet
   Does th' neighbours odd jobs nah and then,
An shoo runs hersen off ov her feet,
   For a hawpny, they think for hersen.

An shoo saved em until shoo gat three,
   But this mornin away shoo went aght,
An spent em o' bacca for me,
   'Coss shoo thowt aw luk'd looansum withaat.

It's a lesson awst nivver forget,
   An awve bid a gooid-bye to strong drink;
An theyst hev ther reward yo can bet;—
   Awst be better when spring comes aw think.

An if spendin what's left o' mi life
   For ther sakes can mak up for lost time,
Ther shan't be a happier wife,
   Nor three better loved childer nor mine.

Aw can't help mi een runnin o'er,
   For mi heart does mi conduct condemn;
But awl promise to do soa noa moor,
   If God spares me to Bessy and them.

Bite Bigger.

As aw hurried throo th' taan to mi wark,
   (Aw wur lat, for all th' whistles had gooan,)
Aw happen'd to hear a remark,
   At ud fotch tears throo th' heart ov a stooan.—
It wur raanin, an snawin, an cowd,
   An th' flagstoans wur covered wi muck,
An th' east wind booath whistled an howl'd,
   It saanded like nowt but ill luck;
When two little lads, donn'd i' rags,
   Baght stockins or shoes o' ther feet,
Coom trapesin away ower th' flags,
   Booath on em sodden'd wi th' weet.—
Th' owdest mud happen be ten,
   Th' young en be hauf on't,—noa moor;
As aw luk'd on, aw sed to misen,
   God help fowk this weather at's poor!
Th' big en sam'd summat off th' graand,
   An aw luk'd just to see what 't could be;
'Twur a few wizend flaars he'd faand,
   An they seem'd to ha fill'd him wi glee:
An he sed, "Come on, Billy, may be
   We shall find summat else by an by,
An if net, tha mun share thease wi me
   When we get to some spot where its dry."
Leet-hearted they trotted away,
   An aw follow'd, coss 'twur i' mi rooad;
But aw thowt awd ne'er seen sich a day—
   It worn't fit ta be aght for a tooad.
Sooin th' big en agean slipt away,
   An sam'd summat else aght o'th' muck,
An he cried aght, "Luk here, Bill! to-day
   Arn't we blest wi' a seet o' gooid luck?
Here's a apple! an th' mooast on it's saand:
   What's rotten aw'll throw into th' street—
Worn't it gooid to ligg thear to be faand?
   Nah booath on us con have a treat."
Soa he wiped it, an rubb'd it, an then
   Sed, "Billy, thee bite off a bit;
If tha hasn't been lucky thisen
   Tha shall share wi me sich as aw get."
Soa th' little en bate off a touch,
   T'other's face beemed wi pleasur all throo,
An' he sed, "Nay, tha hasn't taen much,
   Bite agean, an bite bigger; nah do!"

Aw waited to hear nowt noa moor,—
   Thinks aw, thear's a lesson for me!
Tha's a heart i' thi breast, if tha'rt poor:
   Th' world wur richer wi' moor sich as thee!
Tuppince wur all th' brass aw had,
   An awd ment it for ale when coom nooin,
But aw thowt aw'll goa give it yond lad,
   He desarves it for what he's been dooin.
Soa aw sed, "Lad, here's tuppince for thee,
   For thi sen,"—an they stared like two geese;
But he sed, woll th' tear stood in his e'e,
   "Nay, it'll just be a penny a piece."
"God bless thi! do just as tha will,
   An may better days speedily come;
Tho clam'd, an hauf donn'd, mi lad, still
   Tha'rt a deal nearer Heaven nur some."

Second Thowts.

Aw've been walkin up th' loin all ith weet,
   Aw felt sure tha'd be comin that way;
For tha promised tha'd meet me to-neet,
   An answer me "Aye" or else "Nay."
Tho aw hevn't mich fear tha'll refuse,
   Yet awd rayther mi fate tha'd decide,
For this trailin abaat is no use,
   Unless tha'll at last be mi bride.

Aw dooant like keepin thus i' suspense,
   An aw think tha'rt too full o' consait;
If aw get thee tha'll bring me expense,
   To provide thee wi clooas an wi mait.
If tha fancies all th' gain's o' my side
   Tha'rt makkin a sorry mistak,
For when a chap tackles a bride,
   He's an extra looad on his back.

An in fact, when aw study things o'er,
   Awm nooan sorry tha hasn't shown up,
For awm nooan badly off nah awm sure,
   For awve plenty to ait an to sup.
Aw've noa wife to find fault if awm lat,
   Aw've noa childer to feed nor to clam,
An when aw put this thing to that,
   Aw think aw shall stop as aw am.

A Neet when aw've Nowt to do.

Why lad, awm sewer tha'rt ommost done,
   This ovvertime is killin;
'Twor allus soa sin th' world begun,
   They put o' them at's willin.
Tha's ne'er a neet to call thi own,—
   Tha starts furst thing o' Mundy,
An works thi fingers fair to th' booan,
   Booath day an neet wol Sundy.
Aw know tha addles extra pay,—
   We couldn't weel do baght it,
But if tha'rt browt hooam sick some day,
   We'st ha to do withaat it.
Aw seldom get to see thi face,
   Exceptin when tha'rt aitin;
Neet after neet aw caar ith' place
   Wol awm fair sick o' waitin.
An when tha comes, tha'rt off to bed,
   Befoor aw've chonce o' spaikin,
An th' childer luk, aw've ofttimes sed,
   Like orphans when they're laikin.
Come hooam at six o'clock to-morn,
   An let wark goa to hummer,
Thi face is growin white an worn:—
   Tha'll nivver last all summer.
Besides ther's lots o' little jobs,
   At tha can tak a hand in,—
That kist o' drawers has lost two nobs,
   An th' table leg wants mendin.
Ther's th' fixin up oth' winderblind,
   An th' chaymer wants whiteweshin,
Th' wall's filled wi marks o' ivvery kind,—
   (Yond lads desarve a threshin.)
Aw can't shake th' carpet bi misen,
   Nor lig it square an straightly;—
Th' childer mud help me nah an then,
   But they ne'er do nowt reightly.
That bed o' awrs wants shakin up,
   All th' flocks has stuck together,
Tha knows they all want braikin up,
   Or they'll get tough as leather.
An th' coilhoil wants a coit o' lime,
   Then it'll smell mich sweeter,
An th' cellar should be done this time,
   It maks it soa mich leeter.
Ther's lots o' little things beside;—
   All th' childer's clogs want spetchin,
Jack's hurts his toa, tha'll mak em wide,
   Wi varry little stretchin.
Besides, tha raillee wants a rest,
   For a neet, or maybe two,
An tha can