"A gooid beginin maks a gooid endin," fowk say, soa let's mak a gooid beginnin o'th year. But aw dooant altogether agree wi' thease old sayins, for aw've known monny a gooid beginnin 'at's come to a fearful bad endin, an' my advice to ony body 'at's startin owt is, niver crow till th' finish. Aw once heeard tell ov a young woman at wor a reglar glaid; one o' them sooart 'at nubdy could do owt wi'; tawk abaat taming a shrew! why, net all th' shrews in Shrewsbury wor a match for her. But a chap 'at lived net far off, thowt shoo wor a varry bonny lass, an' he felt sure he could manage her, soa he went an' made love in his best fashion, an' ivery time shoo call'd him a nasty offald scamp, he sed he lov'd hur moor an' moor; soa at last shoo cooil'd daan, an' all things were made sweet, an' befoor long they gate wed. Ov coorse they'd a few friends to ther drinkin, an' a bit ov a donce at after, an' then a drop o' whisky an' hot water, an' when th' husband had getten a glass or two into him, he began to tell th' cumpany ha he'd tamed hur. 'Why,' he sed, 'aw can do owt aw like wi' her nah, shoo's as gentle as a lamb.' 'If that's thy noation,' shoo says, 'th' sooiner tha gets shut on it an' th' better!' Soa shoo made noa moor to do, but gave him a crack ovver th' nooas wi' her naive, an' in abaat a minit it wor swell'd as big as a cauf blether. He made a gurt din an' quavered abaat a bit, but it wor noa use for shoo wor th' maister on him, an' ivver after that he let her do as shoo liked, for he sed 'nowt suited him as mich as to see her suit hersen.' But ther wor fowk 'at used to wink an say, 'poor beggar!'

Th' next comes Valentine's day, an' 'On Valentine's day will a gooid gooise lay,' is a varry old sayin, an' aw dar say a varry gooid en; an' if all th' geese wod nobbut lay o' that day ther'd be moor chonce o' eggs bein cheap. But it isn't th' geese we think on at th' fourteenth o' this month, it's th' little ducks, an' th' billy dux. A'a aw wish aw'd all th' brass 'at's spent o' valentines for one year; aw wodn't thank th' Queen to be mi aunt. Ther's nubdy sends me valentines nah. Aw've known th' time when they did, but aw'm like a old stage cooach, aw'm aght o' date. Aw'st niver forget th' furst valentine aw had sent; th pooastman browt it afoor aw'd getten aght o' bed, an' it happen'd to be Sunday mornin. Aw read it ovver and ovver agean, an' aw luk'd at th' directions an' th' pooast mark, but aw cudn't mak aght for mi life who'd sent it; but whoiver it wor aw wor detarmined to fall i' love wi her as sooin as aw gate to know. Then aw shov'd it under th' piller an' shut mi een an' tried to fancy what sooart ov a lass shoo must be, an' someha aw fell asleep, an' aw dremt,—but aw will'nt tell yo what aw dremt for fear yo laaf. But when aw wakken'd aw sowt up an' daan, but nowhear could aw find th' valentine. Aw wor ommost heart-broken, an' aw pool'd all th' cloas off th' bed an' aw luk'd under it, an' ovver it, but net a bit on it could aw see, an at last aw began to fancy 'at aw must ha dremt all th' lot, an' 'at aw'd niver had one sent at all; but when aw wor gettin' mi breeches on, blow me! if it worn't stuck fast wi a wafer to mi shirt lap. What her 'at sent it ud a sed if shoo'd seen it, aw can't tell, an' aw wodn't if aw could; but aw know one thing, aw wor niver i' sich a muck sweat afoor sin aw wor born, an when aw went to mi breakfast aw wor soa maddled wol aw couldn't tell which wor th' reight end o'th' porridge spooin, but aw comforted misen at last wi' thinking at aw worn't th' furst at had turned ther back ov a valentine.

Nah, th' vally ov a thing depends oft o'th' use ov a thing; her's an old sayin 'A peck o' March dust is worth a king's ransom,' but aw should think 'at th' vally o'th' ransom owt to depend o'th' vally o'th' king. It's oft capt me ha it is 'at becos one chap is son ov a king, an' another is son ov a cart-driver, 'at one should be soa mich moor thowt on nor tother. Noa daat we should all be sons an' dowters o' kings an' queens if we could, but then ther'd have to be a deal moor kings an' queens, or else they'd niver be able to keep th' stock up. Net 'at awm findin fault wi' awr Queen, net aw marry! shoo's done her best noa daat, an' her childer seem tryin to follow her example. But then, when princes an' princesses get moor plentyful they'll be less thowt on; it'll be th' same wi' them as it wor wi' th' umbrellas at one time, for th' chap 'at had th' furst wor run after wi' ivery body, an' when ther were nobbut two or three, fowk allus ran to th' winder to have a luk at 'em; but whoiver runs to luk at umbrellas nah? It wor th' same wi' steam engines, it's getten th' same wi' velosipeeds, an it'll be th' same wi' princes, princesses, or owt else, as sooin as they get common, unless they've summat moor to depend on nor a grand title, fowk ull tak but little noatice. We cannot all be fine fowk, but we may all be gooid fowk, if we try, an' a gooid cart-driver ull be better nor a bad king at th' finish. Rich fowk ha troubles as weel as poor, but ther's noa need for onybody to be troubled long; for if its summat they can't help its fooilish to freeat, an' if its summat they can help, why the deuce don't they?

Its fooilish to freeat, but fowk will freeat sometimes. Well, nivver heed! 'April shaars bring May flowers,' soa we willn't grumel if we get catched i' one nah an' then an' get a gooid sooaking, for ther's nowt i'th' world bonnier nor flaars, even cauliflaars. Ther's lots o' bonny things i'th' world besides flaars; ther's bonny words, an' if fowk wod nobbut use 'em we should all get on a deeal better. Aw remember once bein in a public haase, an' ther wor two chaps sat quietly suppin ther pints o' fourpenny, when all at once one o' ther wives coom in, an her een fair blazed when shoo saw him. 'O, soa tha'rt here are ta?' shoo began, 'soa this is th' way th' brass gooas is it! tha nasty gooid-for-nowt! Aw could like to smash thi face! sittin thear throo morn to neet sossin like a pig, an' leavin me an' th' childer to do as we con! Ha con ta fashion? Tha desarves teein to a cart tail an' hidin' throo th' streets, tha low-lived villain! All th' time shoo wor talkin shoo wor shakin her neive in his face, an' when he could edge in a word he sed. 'Aw'l tell thee what it is, this is nobbut mi third pint to-day, an' aw wor just commin hooam, but tha can hook it, for aw shall come when aw'm ready, an net before, an' that will'nt be yet a bit.' Just wol they wor fratchin tother chap's wife coom seekin him, an' as sooin as shoo saw him shoo smiled an' sed, 'O, aw've fun thi, come lad, aw want thee at hooam, awr little Jack has getten his new clogs on an' he will'nt let me put him to bed till tha's seen 'em, tha'll be like to come.' 'Howd a minit,' he sed, as he emptied his pint, then he went away wi' her. Tother stopt. Soa mich for kindness.

An' ther's moor ways nor one o' bein kind. Nah, yo've oft heeard fowk say, 'Niver cast a claot till May goas aght.' That's all varry gooid as far as regards top coits an' flannel shirts an sich like. But ther's another thing, its just abaat th' time for fowk to get new clooas an' throw off th' old ens; an' aw've a word or two to say abaat that, for ther's some poor fowk aw see sometimes 'at cannot cast a claot; th' fact is, they've nowt else to put on. Ha monny scoor fowk do we meet as we walk abaat, 'ats hardly a rag to ther back, or aw should say they've nowt but rags, an' that's what prevents 'em havin a chonce to addle brass to buy ony fresh ens. Ha monny have to creep aght o'th' seet, into ony sooart ov a low hoil, mix up wi bad compny,—first pine, then beg, then stail—an' all this becoss they've had th' misfortun to be ragged. If ther's one thing moor nor another 'at fowk mak a mistak in, it's sellin ther old clooas. Some may say they can't affoord to give 'em: Then aw say, wear 'em a bit longer till yo can; ther'll somdy be thankful for 'em after then. Ivery body can affoord to be charitable to a certain extent, an' ther's noa charity does as mich gooid wi as little cost as givin yor old clooas. Luk what comfort yo give a chap; then as sooin as he sees his sen luk respectable, he begins to want to be soa, he feels to have moor pluck, he doesn't hing daan his heead, he's a better chonce to win a honest livin, an' yo may safely think yo've gien a chap a lift on his way, when yo've gien him yor old clooas.

'If the 8th of June is a rainy day, it foretells a wet harvest, so men say,' but whether it does or it doesn't aw cannot tell: if it does we mun mak th' best on it, that's all; but we've one bit o' comfort left even then, for its sure to be fair at Halifax o'th' 24th. It's grand to goa to th' Fair an' see fowk starin at th' pictures; an' its cappin to harken to th' show fowk shaatin an' bawlin an' tellin all sooarts o' tales to draw th' brass aght o' yor pockets. Then ther's th' swingin booats, them's for cooarters: they're a grand institution for young fowk, for if a chap can get his young woman to get in, he's sure of a chonce to get his arm raand her waist, an' give her a bit of a squeeze. Then ther's th' flyin' horses, whear a chap can get made mazy for a penny: wheniver aw see 'em they allus remind me ov a chap aw knew; he stood abaat six foot two in his stockin feet, an' weighed abaat six stooan an' a hauf; an' one day he'd been poorly a bit, soa he thowt he'd ax a friend 'at had a donkey if he'd lend it him. 'Tha can have it an' welcome,' th' chap said, 'but aw'm feeard thi legs is too long.' 'Oh ne'er heed that,' he sed, 'if aw find 'em to trail aw'l hold 'em up.' Soa he gate it, an as he wor varry leet they went on nicely for a bit, but just as he wor comin on Charlestaan, a chap stopt him to ax him what they called that old church, soa he dropt daan his feet on to'th floor and began to explain an' as sooin as he'd done that, th' donkey walked away leavin him thear striddlin like a clooas peg. As sooin as he'd finished he sed 'gie up!' an he thowt o' sittin daan; an' he did, but it wor soa mich lower daan wol he thowt his back wor brokken; when he luk'd raand he saw Neddy trottin up th' Haley Hill. 'Tha's tow't me a lesson,' he sed, 'an' for th' futur, as long as iver aw can do for misen, aw'l niver seek onybody's ass istance.

Ther's nowt like bein independent, an mooast fowk have a chonce if they'll nobbut 'mak hay wol th' sun shines,' an' if yo dooant mak it then yo'll niver be able to mak it at ony other time. If yo want to mak love, yo can mak that when th' mooin shines, but it will'nt do for hay. Aw remember a queer tale 'at they used to tell ov a chap 'at had some strange nooations, an' allus thowt his own way best. An' one day as some chaps were gooin past his farm, they saw him runnin up an' daan i' th' front o' th' lathe, wi' a empty wheelbarro, and then rush in, an' upset it, and aght agean. 'Why,' says one, 'aw'm sure Ike must be crack'd, whativer can he be dooin?' Soa they went to ax him. 'What's up nah Ike?' said one, 'tha'll kill thisen if tha gooas on like that, are ta trainin for a match or summat?' 'Yo dooant know,' sed Ike, 'but aw'l let yo into a saycret; yo see aw'd getten all th' grass cut yesterday, an' aw fancied it wor baan to rain, soa aw haased it just green as it wor, an' nah aw'm wheelin sunshine in to dry it wi.' 'Well, tha'rt a bigger fooil nor aw tuk thi for! Does ta think tha can wheel sunshine into th' lathe, same as horse-muck?' 'Thee mind thi own business,' says Ike, 'aw should think aw've lived long enuff to know what aw'm dooin, an' when aw want taichin aw'll send for thee.' Soa they left him to his wheelin, but ha long he kept at it they didn't know, but in a few days they saw him agean an' axed him ha he fan his system to answer? An' he says 'Why, aw dooant get on varry weel, but it is'nt th' fault o' th' system, th' fact is, aw connot do it till aw get a bigger barro. But he wod'nt give in. An' ther's lots o' th' same sooart.

Perseverance is a grand thing. If it wornt for tewin, an' sewin, an' plowin whear wod th' harvest be? An ther's noa greater blessin nor a gooid harvest. Ther's a deal o' fowk have a harvest abaat this time. Flaar shows reap a benefit if th' weather be fine. Ther's nowt aw like better nor to goa to a flaar show, moor especially sich as th' Haley Hill, Ovenden, Siddal, or Elland, or ony other, whear th' mooast o' th' stuff has been grown bi workin fowk. Th' plants may'nt be as bonny, but they luk bonnier to me, an' they tell a tale 'at yo cannot mistak. Ha monny haars' enjoyment have they gien to th' fowk 'ats growin 'em? An' ha oft have they kept chaps aght o' th' alehaase? An' then see ha praad prize winners are! Aw allus feel sooary 'at they cannot all win th' furst prize, for aw'm sure they desarve it for ther trouble. An' if yo nooatice, yo're sure to see a nice cheerful woman or two, stood cloise aside o'th' plants 'at's wun owt, an' if yo wait a bit yo'll see her ivery nah an' then, touch somdy o'th' elbow as they're gooin past, an' point at th' ticket an' say, 'sithee, them's awr's!' 'What them 'at's won th' prize?' 'Eea.' 'Why they're grand uns!' An' then shoo'l whisper in her ear, 'Ther's nubdy can touch aw'r Simon 'at growin thease, tha sees he understands it.' A'a Simon! shoo's a deeal o' faith i' thee, an' if tha's made muck wi thi clogs sometimes when tha's trailed in withaat wipin thi feet, shoo forgives thi nah. Wimmen's varry soft after all an' its as weel it is soa, for ther's monny a gooid harvest a' happiness been gethered in at wod ha been lost but for a soft word or two.

Another old sayin', 'September blow soft, till the fruit's i'th' loft,' for if strong winds blow nah it'll spoil all th' apples an' stuff, an' it'll be soa mich war for fowk 'at has to addle ther livin for whativer else fowk differ abaat, aw think they're all agreed o' one point, an' that is, ther's noa livin long withaat aitin. But it's hard wark gettin a livin nah days, an' them 'at's comfortably off owt to be thankful. But it's cappin i' what queer ways some fowk do get a livin! Aw knew a chap once 'at stood abaat seven feet, an' he wor soa small he luk'd like a walkin clooas prop. Talk abaat skin and grief! aw niver did see sich a chap, an' his face luk'd to be all teeth an' een. He used to waive a bit at one time, but he gate seck'd becos his maister catched him asleep in a stove pipe. But one day he wor wanderin abaat, an' wonderin ha to get a livin, an' in a bit a chap comes up to him, an' says, 'Does ta want a job?' 'Aw do that, can yo find me one, maister?' he sed. 'Well,' says th' chap, 'tha'rt just th' lad 'at aw want if tha'll goa, for aw keep a druggist's shop at Sowerby Brig, an' if tha'll stand i'th' winder an' flay fowk into fits as they goa past, aw'll gie thee a paand a wick.' 'It's a bargain,' he sed, 'an' he went wi' him, an' aw've been tell'd 'at that druggist made a fortun i' twelve months wi nowt but sellin fit physic. Whether that's true or net aw will'nt say, but aw'm sure ther's some fowk at Sowerby Brig 'at dooant seem altogether reight even yet.

An' its hardly to be wondered at, for one hauf o'th' fowk we meet i'th' streets on a neet, seem to be druffen. Aw hear some queer tales sometimes, but aw dooant tell all aw know. 'Ale sellers shouldn't be tale tellers.' But aw'm sooary to say at th' mooast ale sellers at' aw know are varry fond o' taletellin. Ther's nowt shows a chap's littleness as mich as to be allus talkin abaat his own or somdy else's private affairs; an' ther's nowt likely to produce moor bother nor that system o' tittle tattlin abaat other fowk's consarns. Ther's a deal o' blame ligg'd o' th' wimmen sometimes, for gossipin ovver a sup o' rum an' tea: an' noa daat its true enuff, but aw think some o' th' men hav'nt mich room to talk, for they gossip as mich ovver ther ale as ivver wimmen do ovver ther tea. Little things 'at's sed in a thowtless way sometimes cause noa end o' bother, an' it's as weel to be careful for ther's trouble enuff. A chap an' his wife 'at lived neighbors to me, had a word or two one neet, an' soa shoo went up stairs to sulk; an' when he sat daan to his supper he thowt he'd have her on a bit, soa he cut all th' mait off a booan, an' then he sed to' his oldest lass. 'Here, Mary! Tak this up stairs to thi mother an' tell her 'at thi father has sent her a booan to pick.' Th' lass tuk it up to her mother an' tell'd her 'at her father'd sent it, an' as sooin as shoo saw it, shoo says, 'Tak it him back, an' tell him 'at he isn't thi father, an' that'll be a booan for him to pick.'—An' it wor an' all, an' it's stuck in his throit to this day, soa yo see what bother that's caused.

It's nivver wise to be rackless naythur i' word nor deed, for whativver yo plot an plan agean other fowk it's ommost sewer to roll back on yorsens an' trap yor tooas if it does nowt else; 'Fowk 'at laik wi' fire mun expect a burn.' An soa all yo 'at intend to keep up Gunpaader plot munnot grummel if yo get warmed a bit. But gunpaader plot isn't th' only plot 'at gets browt to a finish this month; ther's lots o' plottin an' planin besides that. Ther's monny a chap 'at's been langin for a year or two to be made a taan caancillor 'at's been havin all his friends to ther supper, an' 'at for th' last month or two has been stoppin fowk 'at he's met, an' shakin hands wi 'em, an' axin all abaat ha ther wives an' childer are gettin on, tho' he's passed th' same fowk monny a hundred times befoor an' nivver spokken to 'em at all. It's all plottin. A'a this little bit o' pride! A'a this desire to be summat thowt on! Aw dooant know ha we should get on withaat it! Ther's a gooid deeal o' califudge i'th' world after all, but aw dooant think it does mich harm, for mooast fowk can see throo it. But it allus maks me smile when aw goa to a ward meetin, an' hear furst one an' then another get up an' thank a caancillor for dooin soa mich for 'em, an' prayin 'at he'll suffer hissen to be re-elected; when at th' same time they know 'at he's ready to fall ov his knees to beg on 'em to send him agean. Well, aw dooant know why a chap shouldn't be thanked for dooin that 'at's a pleasure to hissen an' a benefit to others! It's nobbut th' same as me writin this, it suits me to write it, an' it suits others to read it, yet aw think aw'm entitled to some thanks after all.

But one munnot expect to get all they're entitled to, an' its a jolly gooid job we dooant, for if we did ther'd be a lot on us 'at ud have to be burried at th' public expense. We're nooan on us too gooid, but 'It's niver too late to mend,' an' it's niver too sooin to begin, soa nah 'at we've getten to th' end ov another year, let us carefully reckon up an see ha we stand. Aw fancy we shall all find 'at ther's lots o' room for improvement yet, an' ther's nowt at yo can do 'at's likely to give yo moor satisfaction nor to detarmine to do better for th' future. A chap's allus awther better or war at th' end o'th' year nor what he wor at th' beginnin, an aw'm sure iverybody'll feel pleased to know at they're all o'th' mendin hand. It's a pity to think ivery time Christmas comes raand 'at ther's soa mony fowk 'at will'nt be able to have a merry un. Aw'm sooary it is soa, an' aw wod help it if aw could. Ther's nubdy enjoys a bit ov a spree better nor aw do, but ther's one thing aw dooant like, an that is to be pestered off my life booath at hooam an abroad wi fowk commin an sayin, 'Aw wish yo a merry Christmas an' a happy New Year,' when all th' time aw know weel enuff they wish nowt at sooart, but just come for what they can get. Nah if sich-like wod nobbut come an' say plain aght, 'we come to see what yo'll give us, an' we dooant care a button whether yo've a merry Christmas or net,' why, then yo'd know what to mak on 'em. Ony body at's ony gooid wishes to give, let 'em give 'em, but aw'm blow'd if aw care to buy' em, becoss they arn't genuine at's to sell. Th' price may be low enuff—a glass o' whisky or a shillin, but unless they come free gratis, for nowt, aw'd rather net be bothered wi' 'em. Shoolers, please tak nooatice.