it to tak hooam wi’ em’ to show ther mother; an’ ther grandfayther smiles when he sees it, for it whispers a bit o’ comfort to him, an’ tells him to cheer up! for th’ time o’th’ year’s comin’ when he’ll be able to goa aat o’th’ door an’ sit o’th green grass, an’ hear th’ burds sing, an’ let th’ sun shine on his face, an’ he willn’t be feeard o’ bringin’ th’ rhumatic back wi’ him; an’ takkin it altogether it’s one o’ th’ mooast pleasin’ things i’ th’ year is findin’ a daisy i’ March.  It’s strange ha folk alter in a few years time.  Luk at a child when its abaat five or six years owd—­see ha delighted it is wi’ a gurt bunch ov innocent lukkin’ buttercups an’ daisies.  Noatice th’ same child when he’s getten fourteen or fifteen years owd.  He couldn’t fashion to be seen carryin’ a bunch.  See him agean when he’s a man.  He’s noa time for daisies then.  What’s th’ reason?  Daisies are as bonny nah as iver they wor.  Ther is a difference somewhear, but it isn’t i’th’ daisies.

April Fooils

Niver try to mak a fooil ov onybody this month; ther’s fooils enuff i’th world already.  It’s oft struck me what a varry slight difference ther is between a wise man and a fooil; one aims at summat an’ hits it—­tother aims at summat an’ misses it; an’ aw have known th’ time when th’ chap ’at’s missed has been worth a dozen sich like as him ‘at’s hit.  But th’ world generally sets ’em daan to be wise men ’at happen to be lucky men, an’ get hold o’ lots o’ brass.  An’ ha monny brains a chap has, if he can’t spooart a pair o’ kid gloves an’ a daycent hat, he mun niver hope for owt better nor to tak his place amang th’ fooils.  Aw’ve monny a time thowt when aw’ve heared fowk settin a chap daan as a fooil;—­talk prattley—­may be if he wor weighed up he’s a better man nor yo this minit; yo connot tell all ’at he may have had to struggle wi’—­

      Circumstances alter cases,
      Th’ same as nooases alter faces.

An’ it’s as weel to exercise a bit ov charity towards them ’at’s set daan to be fooils.  “Young fowk think old fowk fooils, an’ old fowk’s sure young uns is.”  An aw believe th’ old fowk are oft varry near th’ mark,—­for th’ experience of a life time is little moor nor livin to know what fooils we’ve been; an’ if iver aw meet wi’ a chap ’at can’t remember iver makkin a fooil ov hissen, aw shall expect to hear tell on’ him bein ta’en to th’ blue slates directly.  Poor Richard says, “Experience is a dear schooil, but fooils will leearn i’ noa other;” an’ who is ther ‘at hasn’t had to leearn i’ that schooil?  Its a hard maister, an’ we’re apt to think, when we’re under him, ’at he’s war wi’ us nor onybody else; but when we’ve getten th’ lessen off by heart we find th’ advantage on it.  But ov all th’ fooils it has been my luck to meet wi,’ them chaps ‘at knows all are th’ biggest.  There’s some fowk think they’re born wi’ all th’ wit i’th world, an’ noabody can taich