Part 9 (1/2)

His mind was not of thine, 'tis plain; He dreamt of wonders, thou of gain; But thou thy object didst attain For which another sought in vain- E'en thy own brother.

Thou cunningly didst keep thy pace, While he joined in the wild-goose chase; Thou'rt now the great one of this place, While he hath lost his phantom race- Thy wretched brother!

I see a form amongst the crowd, With stricken heart, and head that's bowed; I hear a voice, both deep and loud- A voice of one that wanted food- It is thy brother.

The meanest wretch that ever trod, The smallest insect 'neath the sod, Are creatures of an All-seeing G.o.d, Who may have smitten with his rod Thy foolish brother.

He careth not for wealth or show, But dares thee to neglect, e'en now, That unmanned wretch, so poor and low, Else he may deal a heavy blow, E'en for thy brother.

Lund's Excursion to Windermere.

Come hither mi muse, an' lilt me a spring, Tho'daghtless awhile tha's been on the wing; But yet tha mun try to c.u.m up ta t'mark, An' give us sum rhyme for a bit of a lark: An' tho' at thy notes in this sensation age, Wiseacres may giggle an' critics may rage, Thou art my sole hobby there is no mistake, So sing us t'Excursion ta Windermere Lake.

'Twor a fine summer's mornin' as ivver wor seen, All nature wor wearin' her mantle o' green; The birds wor all singin' i' owd c.o.c.kle Wood, As if by their notes they all understood, As weel as the people who com wi' a smile, To see the procession march off i' grand style.

”Owd Rowland,” the bell wi' his gert iron tongue, Proclaim'd to the people both owd an' young, 'Twor high time to rise for each moment wor dear As t'train wod be startin' fer Lake Windermere; An' Rowland, the bell, didn't toll, sir, i' vain, For hunderds wur ready ta start for the train.

But harken what music-grand music is here, Ower maantains, dahn valleys, it's saanding so clear; It's t'Turkey Mill Band wi ther sharps and ther flats, I' ther blue an' green coits an' ther red-toppin'd hats, 'Tis plain whear they're bahn wi' t'long paces they take, An' they'll play wi' some vengeance at Windermere Lake.

But, harken ageean! what's comin' this way?

More music, grand music; hey, hear how they play!

It's t'Fife an' Drum Band fra Throttlepoke Raw, Wi' as strong a big drummer as ivver yah saw, An' both his drum ends must be solid as stone, Fer bi t'way 'at he thumps he macks it fair groan.

The procession moves off in a double quick pace, An' all seem delightful-a smile on ther face, As the music strikes up wi' owd ”Robin a Dair,”

Toan hauf o' t'wimmen scarce knaw what they ail; To see the bands marching it wod yah delight, So ably conducted by owd Jimmy Wright.

The weivers led on by Miss Hob an' Miss Hall, Each dress'd i' ther jackets, new turban, an' fall, An' if you'd o' seen 'em you'd o' thowt they wor fine, Wi' ther nice parasols an' ther gert crinoline; But as they wor marchin' foaks sed at Miss Hob, Wor t'nicest and smartest young woman i' t'job.

T'next section 'at followed wor a section o' rakes, Led on by owd blossom, an' Driver o' Jacques, Wi' Ruddock an' Rufus, an' s...o...b..ll so breet; Along wi' owd Nathan, Bill Rollin an' Wreet; An' Harry O'Bridget, Tom Twist, an' his pals, An' Benger, an' Capper, an' Jonas o Salls.

The lads an' the la.s.ses come marchin' behind, An' rare an' weel suited wor t'youngsters yo mind; For all wor nah waitin' fer t'Fife an' Drum Band, To strike up like thunner ther music so grand; How prahd an' delighted yo might a seen some, When t'drummer wi' vengeance wor thumpin' his drum.

An' who cud hev thowt it?-but let ma go on;- There wor Jacky o' Squires an' Cowin' Heead John, Wi' Corney o' Rushers, but not bi hissen, For there wor Joseph o' Raygills, owd Jess an' owd Ben.

Ye sall seek fer a month, but between nah an' then, I defy ye ta find sitch a pick'd lot o' men.

Tom Nicholl then marched at t'heead of his clan, An' it's said 'at he muster'd his men to a man; There wor Joaney o' Bobs, an' his mates full o' glee, An' that little dark fella 'at comes fra t'Gooise Ee.

All a set o' fine fellas in heighest respect, Weel up i' moustaches an' nicely s.h.i.+rt neckt.

But among the procession at walk'd in his pride, Wor Joey o' Willie's 'at lives at t'Beck Side; An' along wi' Bill Earby wor marchin' his friend, Wun Jemmy o' Roses fra t'Branshaw Moor End.

As we pa.s.s'd dahn t'tahn the foaks did declare 'At t'best lukin' men wor Sam b.u.t.t an' Black Hare.

But t'next at com on an' made t'biggest crack, Wor t'gallant Big-benners led on wi' Bill Shack; An' t'spectators praised 'em an' seem'd i' ther joy, When they saw Johnny Throstle, an' Nolan an' Boy.

Altho' not weel up i' ther armour an mail, Yet these are the lads 'at can tell yu a tale.

Hahsumivver, we push'd an' thrusted thro' t'craad, Wal we landed at t'station an' waited i' t'yard; So we all sattled dahn, for we thowt it t'best plan To wait o' wer orders to get into t'train.

Hahsumivver, after a deal o' yellin' an' screamin' o' t'injuns, Mr. Mann sed all wor reight nah, an' they mud start as sooin as they liked, for ivverybody wor i' t'train at wor bahn, but owd Pally Pickles an' Matty o'

Maude's; an' their Sally cudn't go becos they had a mustard plaister to put on to their Roger's chest; he'd strain'd his lungs wi' eitin'

cahc.u.mbers. Beside, owd Pally cudn't go either, becos shoo'd n.o.body to wait on t'owd fella at wor laid up i' t'merly grubs; an' ivverybody wor so taen on abaght Will Scott not going, for, as owd Betty sed, what wod they do if ther legs gat asleep an' no galvanic battery to shack em reight ageean?