Part 10 (1/2)

But, that worn't all t'mistak at wor made; fer Bill Rollins bethowt him at he'd lost summat, but cudn't tell fer his life what it wor. He groped his pockets, luk'd into his carpet beg, an' studied fer aboon an haar; at last he pick'd it aght 'at it wor their Peg 'at he'd lost somewheer up on t'mahntens.

Well, as I wor tellin' yu, we'd promenaded t' gigantic hills an'

beautiful valleys, intermix'd wi' ower-hingin' peaks an' romantic watter-falls which form part o' t'grand Lake scenery of ahr English Switzerland to the delight of ivvery one o' t'excursionists. T'day beginnin' to advance, an' ”back agean” bein' t'word i' ivverybody's maath, yu cud see t'fowk skippin' ower t'Lake (”Home-ward bound,” as t'song says), some in a Indian canoe, some in a Venetian gondolier; owd Ben Rusher wor in a Chinese junk, somebody sed. But, haivver, hunderds mud be seen on board o' t'steam yachts comin' fra Newby Brig an'

Ambleside. Fra t'latter place t'steamer wor fair craaded wi' foak, for i' t'first cla.s.s end ther wor Mr. an' Mrs. Lund an' their ill.u.s.trious friends, Mr. Mann an' staff wi' a parson an' four of his handsome dowters; at t'other end wor a German Band, some n.i.g.g.e.rs, Jimmy Wright, jun., alias Jim o' Peggy's, wi' a matter o' one hunderd Ranters rhaand him. Jim wod hev his lip in; but he's a rare chorus singer, there's nowt abaght that; for, my word, t'strangers did praise him aboon a bit, an'

weel he desarved it, fer he gap'd like a young throstle, wal t'foak wor fair charm'd, an' 'specially t'Germans an' t'n.i.g.g.e.rs 'at wor on deck, fer they'd nivver heeard onny chorus-singin' afoar they heeard Jim strike up-

We're joyously sailin' ower the lake, Bound fer t'opposite sh.o.r.e; An' which o' yu's fooil enuff ta believe We sall nivver see land onny more.

Let the hurrican roar, Sall we ivver land onny more.

The skilful pilot's at the wheel, An' his mate is watchin' near; So the captain shouts ”Cheer up, mi lads, There's n.o.body nowt to fear.”

Then let the hurrican roar, We sall reitch the opposite sh.o.r.e.

An' summat abaght ”the evergreen sh.o.r.e” he sang. But what wi'

t'beautiful landscapes on both sides o' t'Lake, an' t'recollections o'

Wordsworth, Wilson, Mrs. Hemans, Harriet Martineau, an' other famous poets, painters, an' authors, it threw one of our party into a kind o'

poetical mood-

For wal he stood upon the deck, He oft wor heeard to say, ”I'd raither oomo to Windermere, Nor go to Morecambe Bay; An' though I've been to Malsis Hall, Where it is fearful grand, It's nowt at all compared wi' this- The nicest place i' t'land.

For, O how splendid is the Lake, Wi' scenery like this!

If I cud n.o.bbut stop a week, It wod be nowt amiss; A resolution nah I'll mack, T'next summer what to do;- Asteead o' comin' for a day, I'll stop a week or two.”

But nah we land at Bowness Pier, Then sooin we jump ash.o.r.e, An' back to t'Station we did steer, For rare an' pleased we wor: So into t'train for back agean, Owd friends once more to meet; An' in a crack we're landed back- Bi ten o'clock at neet.

All join i' praise to Mr. Mann, For t'management he made; An' praise the gallant Turkey Band, For t'music 'at they play'd: An' praise is due fra ivvery one 'At shared i' this diversion; All praise an' thanks to Mr. Lund, Who gav this grand Excursion.

The Tartan Plaid.

In Auld Lang Syne I've heard 'em say My granny then she wore A bonnie Scottish Tartan Plaid In them good days o' yore; An' weel I ken when I was young Some happy days we had, When ladies they were dress'd so gay In Scottish Tartan Plaid.

Me thinks I see my father now Sat working at his loom- I see my mother at the wheel- In our dear village home; The swinging-stick I hear again, Its buzzin' makes me sad, To think those happy days are gone When weaving Tartan Plaid.

It is not in a clannish view, For clans are naught to me, But 'tis our ancient Tartan Plaid I dearly love to see.

'Tis something grand ye will agree To see a Highland lad, Donn'd in his Celtic native garb, The grand old Tartan Plaid.

Our Soldier lads in tartan kilts Outs.h.i.+ne our warriors bold (Who dress in scarlet, green, and blue, Decked off with s.h.i.+ning gold); Just see our kilted lads so brave, It makes my heart feel glad, And 'minds me of my boyish days When dress'd in Tartan Plaid.

”O wad some power” the hint we give Our Sovereign Lady Queen, To dress herself and lady maids In bonnie tartan sheen.

Then treadles, shuttles, warp, and weft- (For trade would not be bad)- Would rattle as in days of yore, When weaving Tartan Plaid.