WAAIT till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a' sights* to tell.

Eh, but I be maäin glad to seeä tha sa 'arty an' well.

"Cast awaäy on a disolut land wi' a vartical soon!" +

Strange fur to goä fur to think what saäilors a' secan an' a' doon;

"Summat to drink-sa' 'ot ?" I 'a nowt but Adam's wine:

What's the 'eät o' this little 'ill-side to the 'eät o' the line?

II.

"What's i' tha bottle a-stanning theer?" I'll tell tha. Gin.

But if thou wants thy grog, tha mun goä

fur it down to the inn.

Naay-fur I be maäin-glad, but thaw tha was iver sa dry,

Thou gits naw gin fro' the bottle theer, an' I'll tell tha why.

III.

Mea an' thy sister was married, when wur it? back-end o' June,

Ten year sin', and wa 'greed as well as a fiddle i' tune:

The vowels at, pronounced separately, though In the closest conjunction, best render the sound of the long i and y in this dialect. But since such words ascrazia, dazin, whaï, aï, (1), etc., look awkward except in a page of express phonetics, I have thought it better to leave the simple i and y, and to trust that my readers w 11 give them the broader pronunciation. + The on short, as in "w od."

I could fettle and clump owd booöts and shoes wi' the best on 'em all,

As fer as fro' Thursby thurn hup to
Harmsby and Hutterby Hall.
We was busy as beeas i' the bloom an as
'appy as 'art could think,

An' then the babby wur burn, and then I taäkes to the drink.

IV.

An' I weant gaäinsaäy it, my lad, thaw I be hafe shaämed on it now,

We could sing a good song at the Plow, we could sing a good song at the Plow;

Thaw once of a frosty night I slither'd an' hurted my huck, *

An' I coom'd neck-an-crop soometimes slaäpe down i' the squad an' the muck:

An' once I fowt wi' the Taäilor-not hafe ov a man, my lad

Fur he scrawm'd an' scratted my face like a cat, an' it maäde 'er sa mad That Sally she turn'd a tongue banger, ↑ an' raäted ma. "Sottin' thy braäins Guzzlin' an' soäk'n' an' smoäkin' an' haw min' about i' the laänes,

Soä sow-droonk that tha doesn not touch thy 'at to the Squire ;"

An'

I loook'd cock-eyed at my noäse an' I sceäd 'im a-gittin' o' fire;

Hip. Scold. Lounging.

But sin' I wur hallus i' liquor an' hallus

as droonk as a king, Foälks' coostom flitted awaäy like a kite wi' a brokken string.

V.

An' Sally she wesh'd foälks' cloäths to keep the wolf fro' the door,

Eh but the moor she riled me, she druv me to drink the moor,

Fur I fun, when 'er back wur turn'd, wheer Sally's owd stockin' wur 'id, An' I gribb'd the munny she maäde, and I weär'd it o' liquor, I did.

VI..

An' one night I cooms 'oäm like a bull gotten loose at a faäir,

An' she wur a-waäitin' fo'mma, an' cryin' an' teärin' 'er 'aäir,

An' I tummled athurt the craädle an' swear'd as I'd breäk ivry stick

O' furnitur 'ere i' the 'ouse, an' I gied our Sally a kick,

An' I mash'd the taäbles an' chairs, an' she an' the babby beäl'd, *

Fur I knaw'd naw moor what I did nor a mortal beäst o' the feäld.

VII.

An' when I waäked i' the murnin' I seeäd

that our Sally went laämed

An' Sally wur sloomy + an' draggletaäil'd in an owd turn gown,

An' the babby's faäce wurn't wesh'd an' the 'ole 'ouse hupside down.

about the tap."

"Weant tha?" she says, an' mysen I thowt i' mysen "mayhap." "Noa:" an' I started awaäy like a shot, an' down to the Hinn,

An' I browt that tha sees stannin' theer, yon big black bottle o' gin.

XIII.

"That caps owt," says Sally, an' saw she begins to cry,

But I puts it inter 'er 'ands an' I says to 'er, " Sally," says I,

"Stan' 'im theer i' the name o' the Lord an' the power ov 'is Graäce,

Stan' 'im theer, fur I'll looōk my hennemy straït i' the faäce,

Stan' 'im theer i' the winder, an' let ma loook at 'im then,

'E seeäms naw moor nor watter, an' 'e's the Divil's oãn sen."

XIV.

An' I wur down i' tha mouth, couldn't do naw work an' all,

Nasty an' snaggy, an' shaäky an' poonch'd my 'and wi' the hawl, But she wur a power o' coomfut, an' sat

tled 'ersen o' my knee.

An' coäxd an' coodled me oop till agëan I feel'd mysen free.

*I'll uphold it. That's beyond every thing.

XV.

An' Sally she tell'd it about, an' foälk stood a-gawmin' * in,

As thaw it wur summat bewitch'd istead of a quart o' gin;

An' some on 'em said it wur watter-an' I

wur chousin' the wife,

Fur I couldn't 'owd 'ands off gin, wur it nobbut to saave my life;

An' blacksmith 'e strips me the thick ov 'is airm, an' 'e shaws it to me, "Feëal thou this! thou can't graw this upo' watter!" says he.

An' Doctor 'e calls o' Sunday an' just as candles was lit,

"Thou moänt do it," he says, "tha mun

break 'im off bit by bit." "Thou'rt but a Methody-man," says Parson, and laäys down 'is 'at, An' 'e points to the bottle o' gin, "but I

respecks tha fur that;"

An' Squire, his oân very sen, walks down fro' the 'All to see,

An' 'e spanks 'is 'and into mine, "fur I respecks tha," says 'e;

An' coostom ageän draw'd in like a wind fro' far an' wide,

An' browt me the boots to be cobbled fro hafe the coontryside.

XVI.

An' theer'e 'stans an' theer 'e shall stan to my dying daäy;

I 'a gotten to loov 'im ageän in anoother kind of a waäy,

'Ere's our Sally an' Tommy, an' we be a-goin' to dine,

Baacon an' taätes, an' a beslings-puddin' * an' Adam's wine;

'im clean an' bright,

Loovs 'im, an' roobs 'im, an' doosts 'im,

an' puts 'im back i' the light.

Staring vacantly.

fur it down to the Hinn,

Fur I weänt shed a drop on 'is blood, noa, not fur Sally's oän kin,

A pudding made with the first milk of the cow after calving.

ter that.

Now follows Edith echoing Evelyn.

Marvellously like, their voices-and them. selves!

Tho' one is somewhat deeper than the other,

As one is somewhat graver than the other

Edith than Evelyn.

whom

Your good Uncle,

You count the father of your fortune, longs For this alliance: let me ask you then, Which voice most takes you? for I do not doubt

Being a watchful parent, you are taken
With one or other: tho' sometimes I fear
You may be flickering, fluttering in a doubt
Between the two-which must not Le-
which might

Be death to one: they both are beautiful:
Evelyn is gayer, wittier, prettier, says
The common voice, if one may trust it:
she?

No! but the paler and the graver, Edith. Woo her and gain her then: no wavering, boy!

The graver is perhaps the one for you Who jest and laugh so easily and so well. For love will go by contrast, as by likes,

Call'd me to join them; so with these I spent

What seem'd my crowning hour, my day of days.

I woo'd her then, nor unsuccessfully, The worse for her, for me! was I content?

Ay-no, not quite; for now and then I thought

Laziness, vague love-longings, the bright May,

Had made a heated maze to magnify

The charm of Edith-that a man's ideal

Is high in Heaven, and lodged with Plato's God,

Not findable here-content, and not content,

In some such fashion as a man may be

That having had the portrait of his friend Drawn by an artist, looks at it, and says, "Good! very like! not altogether he."

As yet I had not bound myself by words,

Only, believing I loved Edith, made Edith loved me. Then came the day when I,

Flattering myself that all my doubts were fools

Born of the fool this Age that doubts of all

Not I that day of Edith's love or mine-
Had braced my purpose to declare myself:
I stood upon the stairs of Paradise.
The golden gates would open at a word.
I spoke it-told her of my passion, seen
And lost and found again, had got so far,
Had caught her hand, her eyelids fell-I
heard

Wheels, and a noise of welcome at the doors

On a sudden after two Italian years
Had set the blossom of her health again,
The younger sister, Evelyn, enter'd-
there,

There was the face, and altogether she.
The mother fell upon the daughter's neck,
The sisters closed in one another's arms,
Their peopic throng'd about them from
the hall,

And in the thick of question and reply
I fled the house, driven by one angel face,
And all the Furies.