d name, Jim o'th'
Kiers, saw what appeared to him to be the "inimy" on Lees Moor. "Nah,"
thought Jimmy, "we're in for't if we doan't mind;" and he straightway
went down to Keighley and raised the alarm. It was Sunday, and the
soldiers, as luck had it, happened to be on a Church parade. Captain
Ferrand at once gave the command--like any dutiful general would do--"To
arms!" "To arms!" The soldiers thereupon proceeded to the indicated scene
of action; I saw the noble warriors gallop past our house "in arms and
eager for the fray." But upon reaching the spot marked out by Jim o'th'
Kiers, the soldiers were somewhat puzzled and "sore amazed" to find no
enemy--that is to say, nothing to mean aught. Jimmy couldn't understand
it: he rubbed his eyes to see if he was awake, but rubbing made "not a
bit of difference." The nearest thing which they could even twist or
twine into "the inimy" was a poor old man with a pair of "arm-oil"
crutches. Jimmy having been severely questioned as to the sincerity of
his motive in "hevin' t'sowgers aht," the poor old fellow whom they had
fallen upon came in for a turn; but the only explanation he could give
was that they had been holding a Ranters' camp-meeting, and that he, not
being able to get away as rapidly as he could have wished had been left
behind. Now they did make a fool of Jim o'th' Kiers, they did that, and
the soldiers were jeered and scoffed at a good deal by the crowd. I, a
little, wandering, curiosity-seeking specimen of humanity, was among the
latter, and I trow I had as much fun out of the affair as was good for
me.

A REMOVAL

Soon after this skirmishing--you will have to excuse the absence of any
dates, I didn't bethink me to keep a diary--my parents removed from
Hoylus-end, and went to live at a farm called Wheat-head, in Fell-lane,
now known as the Workhouse Farm.

CHARACTER SKETCHES

My stay at Wheat-head Farm, which lasted about ten years, was to me a
very interesting one. I cannot refrain from making a passing allusion to
my acquaintance with a character who created quite a sensation at the
time. This "character" was no other than "Old Three Laps"--an individual
who at his baptism was known as William Sharp. This singularly eccentric
specimen of humanity lived at Whorl's Farm, and, as it will be generally
known took to his bed through being "blighted" in love. He kept to his
bed for about forty years. During the period he was "bed-fast," I often
used to