o sing or tawk
Shoo tells 'em, "hold yor din!"
An if they all sit mum, shoo says,
"It railly is a sin
To think ha shoo's to sit an mope,
All th' time at they're away,
An when they're hooam they sit like stoops
Withaat a word to say."

If feelin cold they creep near th' fire,
They'll varry sooin get floored;
Then shoo'll oppen th' door an winder
Declarin shoo's fair smoored.
When its soa swelterin an hot
They can hardly get ther breeath,
Shoo'll pile on coils an shut all cloise,
An sware shoo's starved to deeath.

Whativver's wrang when they're abaat,
Is their fault for bein thear;
An if owt's wrang when they're away,
It's coss they wornt near.
To keep 'em all i' misery,
Is th' only joy shoo knows;
An then shoo blames her husband,
For bein allus makkin rows.

Poor chap he's wearin fast away,--
He'll leeav us before long;
A castiron man wod have noa chonce
Wi' sich a woman's tongue.
An then shoo'll freeat and sigh, an try
His virtues to extol;
But th' mourner, mooast sincere will be
That chap 'at next weds Poll.

The Old Bachelor's Story.

It was an humble cottage,
Snug in a rustic lane,
Geraniums and fuschias peep'd
From every window-pane;

The dark-leaved ivy dressed its walls,
Houseleek adorned the thatch;
The door was standing open wide,--
They had no need of latch.

And close besides the corner
There stood an old stone well,
Which caught a mimic waterfall,
That warbled as it fell.

The cat, crouched on the well-worn steps,
Was blinking in the sun;
The birds sang out a welcome
To the morning just begun.

An air of peace and happiness
Pervaded all the scene;
The tall trees formed a back ground
Of rich and varied green;

And all was steeped in quietness,
Save nature's music wild,
When all at once, methought I heard
The sobbing of a child.

I listened, and the sound again
Smote clearly on my ear:
"Can there,"--I wondering asked myself--
"Can there be sorrow here?"--

I looked within, and on the floor
Was sat a little boy,
Striving to soothe his sister's grief
By giving her a toy.

"Why weeps your sister thus?" I asked;
"What is her cause of grief?
Come tell me, little man," I said,
"Come tell me, and be brief."

Clasping his sister closer still,
He kissed her tear-stained face,
And thus, in homely Yorkshire phrase,
He told their mournful case.

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