insult to Young M.-Whose a hold woman! Don't hadd hingery, young fellah. You seem to think you can push folks about just as you like, 'cause you've a black coat on, which very likely is not paid for yet. It's my little baby, bless it. Whisht doy; you've gone and urt it, you ave. It won't stop crying for a week. There-there-bless it. Whish -lovely S.-Well, aw-werry sworry aw-all that sort of thing aw -werry sworry aw-if I've hurt, aw-the poor cweatcher. Young M.-What's a cretur? Who's a cretur? Keep your remarks to yourself or else talk Hinglish. A cretur, indeed! it's a little hangel it is, yes it is; bless it; [kisses it] bless it's little nosey-posey, it's going to ride in a coachy-pochy and have some picey-nicey. Go away wi yeh, yer enif to scare ony body's bairn out ov its wits, wi yer fancy shurt neck and mustach and ginger whiskers. Por. By leave, please, by leave; is this your portmanteau, sir? Oh, all right, by leave. Look! mind that child; whose is it? Country Woman.--Johnny, come eere; if yo keep going so near them there carriages, I'll give yo a good hideing. Lad (crying).-I want to see t'puffer. there's a puf C. W.—Well, wait a bit, lad, an' you'll see it; fer there, or summot ot sort, it looks a queer thing. I say young man, is that a railway or a thrashing machine? they can hardly tell which is which now-a-days. Young Gent.-I don't know I'm sure; I'm a stranger here. Lad.-Eh! eh! eh! see yer, mother, mother! see yer, there's a puffing-billy. Eh! well! horah! Are we going to ride on this puffing-billy, mother? C. W.-Noa, lad it isn't for us, it's a luggage. Lad (crying).—I want to ride on this puffer. I want to ride on't puffer. C. W.-Well, well; wait a bit, lad, an' aar puffer el be coming in a bit. Boy.-Manchester Examiner, Manchester Guardian, &c. Irishman.-Is this the train for ould Ireland, now? Por.--No, it's for old England, this one. Where are you going to, Paterick? NNNN* Irish.-Shure an' they call me Patherick O'Flanigan, an' I'm going to ould Ireland, if it plase the pigs. Por.-What have you got out here for, then? Irish.-Och, thunder an' turf now, I was told to get out now. Says oi to the gentleman as gives the bits of paper thro' the pidgeon hole, says oi, oi want a ticket for ould Ireland, says oi. For what now? says he. For ould Ireland, says oi. Where's that? says he. Where do you want to go to? says he. What's that to you? says oi, It's Dublin I'm afther going to, says oi, and isn't Ireland the capital of Dublin, you ignorant spalpeen? says oi.. Who are you talking to? says he. To you, says oi, which is the train that goes to Dublin without changing carriages, says oi. This here one, says he, take your sate. Och, bad luck to him, now, I've had to change already. Por.-All change, here! all change! Old Dame.-I say, have we to change for Howarth? Old D.-I say, porter, have we to change for Por. All change, here! Old D.-I say, d'ye hear, have we to change? Por.--Don't I say all change, here; bless me life! a man may call for a week and be no better. Old D.-Well, you can be civil, can't you; it doesn't cost much ben civil. Give a civil question when you're axed a civil answer, and don't be so snappy. Old Man.-Yo'll hev to mind here, it's varry orkward getting aght. Old D.-Nah then, where hev we to go to nah. [Looking around for something.] A deer! a deer! a wheel! a wheel, What iver sal I do! Por.-What's to do, missis? Old D.-A deer! I've been an' gone an' done it nah! Old D.-Ney, it's war ner that; oh deer! oh deer! I've goan an' left me humbrella it train. Ah deer a me! I suddan't care a rap, but it belongs to somebody at's dead. Gate Keeper.-Tickets, please! tickets, please! tickets ́ready! all right. [Pause.] Come, missis, look sharp. Old D.-Nay, ye mun wait a bit, mister. Bless my life, where hev I put it. Nay, I thout I hed it e my glove. It's here; nay, it isn't, that's me thimble. Oh deer me, I'm so pottered. G. K.-Come, missis, we're all waiting for you. These women, these women, there's more bother with them than if you can't look sharp, look as sharp as you can. Old D.-If yo'd nobbut hod yer din I could find it a deal sooner. I'm sewer I gat one, 'cause ar James' wife's father were getting one at t'same time. Yo woddn't happen knaw ahr James' wife's father, wod you, mister? 'cause yo could ax him if he didn't see me get one. G. K.-We shall require your fare-fourteen pence, please. Old D.-Nay, I shannot, I shannot, pay again; go on, it's all right. The idea; it's worse nor highway robbery; it's daan right steyling; you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I don't knaw ha yo can for shame to take it. But I'm sewer I gat one. Nay I didn't; yes I did; it's here; nay it isn't. Well, I'll be felled if it isn't here, croppen dahn into me umbrella. Nah did iver ony body see ought like that, it mud hey gotten in there a purpose to plague me. · G. K.—I say, Jack, did you see what that old woman turned out of her pocket when she was looking for her ticket? Very near a cart load of stuff; she'd two pocket handkerchiefs, and a thimble, three bobbins and a knife, a pair of spectacles, a lot of mint lozenges, and humbugs, and a gallas button, a happle, a nutmeg, a bit of ginger, three or four biscuits, a porken pie, a lash comb and a snuff box. Sport. I say, porter, is that clock right? Por. Yes, sir, for anything I know. S—Ahm, I'm a quarter of a minute behind. Porter, I think your clock is wrong. Stand back Boy. Manchester Examiner, Manchester Guardian, &c. Por.-Leeds train in front. Bradford behind. there, please, stand back. Right guard? G. K-Right. [Whistle.] Various voices.-Good-bye. God bless you. Take care of yourself. Write soon. Remember me to uncle John, aunt Sarah, cousin Polly. We'll all come at Christmas. Good-bye. A MOTHER'S DIARY. Morning! Baby on the floor, All the spools upset and gone, Noon! A tangled, silken floss, Aprons that will not keep clean, One blue shoe untied, and one Chairs gone mad, and blocks and toys, Well as they are able; Baby in a high chair, too, Yelling for his dinner, Spoon in mouth; I think-don't you Baby "is a sinner"? Night! Chairs all set back again, Blocks and spools in order; One blue shoe beneath a mat, Tells of a marauder; Apron folded on the chair, Plaid dress torn and wrinkled, In his crib, and conquered, too, Now I surely think-don't you- OLD HULDAH.-E. NORMAN GUNNISON. A BALLAD OF MARBLEHEAD. The fisherman stood all day by the beachStood where the breakers thundered in, And heard the sound of the sea-bird's screech, And dash of waves on the rocks of Lynn. "The storm is fierce," said the fisher old; "And the wind is wild," the fisher said; "The rocks are sharp, and the shore is bold, Where the p'int makes out from Marblehead," "And ev'ry ship that is now at sea, Bound in to Lynn or to Marblehead, Must keep the light three p'ints on the lee, Or be wrecked." So the fisher said. But not a pilot ventured out The storm was fierce and the wind was wild, And the daring pilot, swart and stout, Still thought of home and his wife and child Thought of them both as the wind made moan, The wind made moan to the breaker's shock; For the world is hard to the left-alone Harder than any New England rock. So the fisher waited by the shore, Staysails set and her courses furled, Plain no longer, for mountain waves Up spoke Huldah, the fisher's wife; Is saved if he keeps his post." "There is no pilot at sea to-night," Said Abner Jackson, the skipper's son, "Heavens! They are fetching past the land- Came a crash and a rending shock. "Man the life-boat!" No man stirred. Over the din of wind and wave, Over the tempest's strife was heard "Save!" but no human hand could save. |