chap 'at can't
remember iver makkin a fooil ov hissen, aw shall expect to hear tell
on' him bein ta'en to th' blue slates directly. Poor Richard says,
"Experience is a dear schooil, but fooils will leearn i' noa other;"
an' who is ther 'at hasn't had to leearn i' that schooil? Its a hard
maister, an' we're apt to think, when we're under him, 'at he's war
wi' us nor onybody else; but when we've getten th' lessen off by heart
we find th' advantage on it. But ov all th' fooils it has been my
luck to meet wi,' them chaps 'at knows all are th' biggest. There's
some fowk think they're born wi' all th' wit i'th world, an' noabody
can taich 'em owt; whativer yo tell' em, they've allus "known that
long enuff sin'," or else they've "just been think in soa." Aw once
knew one o' that Sooart--one 'at had allus been thinkin soa. One day
some mates o' mine an' me thowt we cud like a marlock wi' him, an soa
we gooas up to him an says, "A'a Jooanas! whativer does ta think?"
"Nay," he says, "whativer will yo say? What's up?" "Why," aw says,
"Jim Hyn's dunkey's swallow'd th' grinelstooan." "Well, if aw hadn't
just been thinkin soa," says Jooanas. "Well, but tha thowt wrang, owd
boy, this time," aw says, "for it hasn't." "Why," he said, "aw hardly
thowt it had." Soa he had us at booath ends. They say it taks a wise
man to mak a fooil, but aw think ther's enuff withaat makkin ony moor,
an aw niver knew a fooil i' my life at didn't think ivery body else a
little bit war cracked nor hissen.

Policeman's Scrape

Tawkin abaat policemen reminds me ov a mess one on 'em gate into a
while sin. Aw shalln't tell awther his name or his number, becoss it's
net my wish to get ony body into trouble. It's enuff for me to say
he's a gooid-lukkin chap, an' if he isn't wed his wife is. He wor on
neet duty, an' at one o' th' haases he had to pass, lived a fine buxom
sarvent. Policemen have allus been nooated for havin a fancy for
sarvents, an' this wor like th' rest, an' befoor long they grew soa
friendly 'at shoo used to invite him in after th' maister an' th'
mistress had gooan to bed. One neet he'd crept in, an' they wor
whisperin varry lovinly together, when shoo tell'd him ther wor noa
cold mait o' ony sooart. "Awm glad on it," he sed, "for awm stoled o'
cold stuff. That luks a bit o' nice bacon at's hung up, does ta think
tha could do me a bit anent th' fire, aw think ther's as mich heeat
as'll cook it?"

"Well, Robert," shoo sed, "if yo