XVI.

That was the first time, too, that ever I thought of death. There lay the sweet little body that never had drawn a

breath.

I had not wept, little Annie, not since I had been a wife; But I wept like a child that day, for the babe had fought for his life.

XVII.

His dear little face was troubled, as if with anger or pain: I look'd at the still little body-his trouble had all been in vain.

For Willy I cannot weep, I shall see him another morn: But I wept like a child for the child that was dead before he was born.

XVIII.

But he cheer'd me, my good man, for he seldom said me

nay:

Kind, like a man, was he; like a man, too, would have his

way:

Never jealous-not he: we had many a happy year;

And he died, and I could not weep my own time seem'd

so near.

XIX.

But I wish'd it had been God's will that I, too, then could

have died:

I began to be tired a little, and fain had slept at his side. And that was ten years back, or more, if I don't forget: But as to the children, Annie, they 're all about me yet.

XX.

Pattering over the boards, my Annie who left me at two, Patter she goes, my own little Annie, an Annie like you: Pattering over the boards, she comes and goes at her will, While Harry is in the five-acre and Charlie ploughing the hill.

XXI.

And Harry and Charlie, I hear them too

their team:

they sing to

Often they come to the door in a pleasant kind of a dream.
They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed
I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.

XXII.

And yet I know for a truth, there's none of them left alive For Harry went at sixty, your father at sixty-five :

And Willy, my eldest-born, at nigh threescore and ten;
I knew them all as babies, and now they 're elderly men.

XXIII.

For mine is a time of peace, it is not often I grieve;
I am oftener sitting at home in my father's farm at eve:
And the neighbors come and laugh and gossip, and so do I
I find myself often laughing at things that have long gone
by.

XXIV.

To be sure the preacher says, our sins should make us sad: But mine is a time of peace, and there is Grace to be had; And God, not man, is the Judge of us all when life shall

cease;

And in this Book, little Annie, the message is one of Peace.

XXV.

Ind age is a time of peace, so it be free from pain,

And happy has been my life; but I would not live it again. I seem to be tired a little, that 's all, and long for rest; Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.

XXVI.

So Willy as gone, my beauty, my eldest-born, my flower;
But how can i weep for Willy, he has but gone for an hour, —
Gone for a minute, my son, from this room into the next;
V, too, shall go in a minute. What time have I to be vext?

XXVII.

And Willy's wife has written, she never was overwise.
Get re my glasses, Annie: thank God that I keep my eyes.
This but a rifle left you, when I shall have past away.
B. stay with the old woman now: you cannot have long
to stay.

NORTHERN FARMER.

OLD STYLE.

I.

WHEER 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere aloän? Noorse ? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abeän an

agoan:

Says that I moänt 'a naw moor yaäle: but I beänt a fool: Git ma my yaäle, for I beänt a-gooin' to break my rule.

II.

Doctors, they knaws nowt, for a says what 's nawways true.
Naw soort o' koind o' use to saäy the things that a do.
I've 'ed my point o' yaäle ivry noight sin' I beän 'ere,
An' I've 'ed my quart ivry market-noight for foorty year.

III.

Parson's a beän loikewoise, an' a sittin 'ere o' my bed. "The amoighty's a taäkin o' you to 'issén, my friend,” a

said,

An' a towd ma my sins, an 's toithe were due, an' I gied it

in hond;

I done my duty by un, as I 'a done by the lond.

IV.

Larn'd a ma' bea. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn.

But a cost oop, thot a did, 'boot Bessy Marris's barn.
Thof a knaws I hallus voäted wi' Squoire an' choorch an

staäte,

An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raäte.

V.

An' I hallus comed to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wu deäd, An' 'eerd un a bummin' awaäy loike a buzzard-clock * ower

my yead,

An' I niver knaw'd whot a meän'd but I thowt a 'ad sum

mut to saäy,

An I thowt a said whot a owt to 'a said an' I comed awaäy

*Cockchafer.

VI.

Bessy Marris's barn! tha knaws she laäid it to meä.
Mowt 'a beän, mayhap, for she wur a bad un, sheä.
'Siver, I kep un, I kep un, my lass, tha mun understond;
I done my duty by un as I 'a done by the lond.

VII.

But Parson a comes an' a goos, an' a says it easy an' freeä "The amoighty's a taäkin' o' you to 'issén, my friend," says

'eä.

I weänt saäy men be loiars, thof summun said it in 'aäste: But a reads wonn sarmin a weeäk, an' I 'a stubb'd Thornaby

waäste.

VIII.

D'ya moind the waäste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then;

Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eerd un mysen;

Moäst loike a butter-bump, for I 'eerd un aboot an' aboot, But I stubb'd un oop wi' the lot, an' raïved an' rembled un

oot.

IX.

Keaper's it wur; fo' they fun un theer a-laäid on 'is faäce Doon i' the woild 'enemies † afoor I comed to the plaäce. Noäks or Thimbleby - toner 'ed shot un as deäd as a naäil. Naäks wur 'ang'd for it oop at 'soize - but git ma my yaale.

X.

Dubbut look at the waäste: theer warn't not fead for a cow • Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' looäk at it now Warnt worth nowt a haäcre, an' now theer's lots o' feäd, Fourscore yows upon it an' some on it doon in seäd.

XI.

Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'd it at

fall,

Done it ta-year I meän'd, an' runn'd plow thruff it an' all,
If godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let ma aloän,
Meä, wi haäte oonderd haäcre o' Squoire's, an' lond o' my

oän.

XII.

Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taäkin' o' me?
I beänt wonn as saws 'ere a bean an' yonder a peä;
An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all a' dear a' dear!
And I 'a monaged for Squoire come Michaelmas thirty year.

XIII.

A mowt 'a taaken Joänes, as 'ant a 'aäpoth o' sense,
Or a mowt 'a taäken Robins a niver mended a fence:
But godamoighty a moost taäke meä an' taäke ma now
Wi 'auf the cows to cauve an' Thornaby holms to plow!

XIV.

99

Looak 'ow quoloty smoiles when they sees ma a passin' by,
Says to thessén naw doot "what a mon a beä sewer-ly!
For they knaws what I bean to Squoire sin fust a comed to
the 'All;

I done my duty by Squoire an' I done my duty by all.

XV.

Squoire's in Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite, For who's to howd the lond ater mea thot muddles ma

quoit ;

Sartin-sewer I bea, thot a weant niver give it to Joänes, Noither a moänt to Robins — a niver rembles the stoäns.

XVI.

But summun 'ull come ater meä mayhap wi' 'is kittle o'

steam

Huzzin' an' maäzin' the blessed feälds wi' the Divil's oän

team.

Gin I mun doy I mun doy, an' loife they says is sweet,
But gin I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abear to see it

XVII.

What atta stannin' theer for, an' doesn bring ma the yaäle? Doctor's a 'tottler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taäle;

I weänt break rules for Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a

floy;

Git ma my yaäle I tell tha, an' gin I mun doy I mun doy.