be capt ha easy it’ll be to laup over ony bits o’ trouble ’at yo’ meet wi’.  But alus laup forrard if it’s possible; for if yo try to laup backards yo’ll run th’ risk o’ braikin yo’r neck, an’ noabody pities them ‘at laups aat o’ th’ fryin’ pan into th’ fire, an’ it’s a easy matter to miss it.—­Aa dear o’ me! aw think it is!—­and yo’d think soa if yo’d seen what aw saw once.  A mate o’ mine courted a lass, an’ he’d monny a miss afore he gat throo wi it.  He used to go an’ tawk to her throo a brokken window ‘at ther wor i’ th’ weshhaase, an’ one neet shoo’d promised to meet him thear, an’ he wanted to kuss her as usual, but he started back.  “Nay, Lucy,” he said, “aw’m sure thar’t nooan reight.  Has ta been growin’ a mustash?” Mew! mew! it went; an’ he fan aat he’d kuss’d th’ owd Tom cat.  When th’ neighbours gate to know, they kursened him “Kusscat,” an’ they call him soa yet.  But that worn’t all; for when he went to get wed he wor soa flustered woll he stood i’ th’ wrang place, an’ when th’ time coom for him to put th’ ring on, he put it on th’ woman next to him—­he thowt it didn’t mean, for he cud get it swap’d after, but when it wor ovver they all began to find aat ther’d been a mistak.  “Why, Kusscat,” said one, “what’s ta been doin’?  Tha’ s getten wed to thi mother.”  Th’ parson look’d glum, but he said, “It’s noa use botherin’ nah, its too lat, you should ha’ spokken afoor—­an’ aw think he’s fittest to be wi’ his mother.”  But he roar’d like a bull, an’ begged th’ parson to do it ovver, an’ do it reight; but Lucy said, “He’d noa cashion, for shoo’d live an’ dee an owd maid for iver afoor shoo’d have ony chap second hand.”  But her heart worn’t as hard as shoo thowt, soa, shoo gave in, an’ th’ next time they managed better.

Mysterious Disapperance.

A short time ago Mr. Fitzivitz, of Rank end, was seen to be swimming at a great rate and making a most extensive spread in the river plate.  Several friends cautioned him not to go so far out of his depth, but he was utterly heedless of advice, he dived still deeper, and was observed to sink over head and ears in debt, leaving a large circle of friends to bewail his loss.  His body has since been recovered, but all that could have comforted his anxious friends had fled, alas for ever.

Sam it up.

Ther’s a deal o’ things scattered raand, at if fowk ud tak th’ trouble to pick up might do ’em a paar o’ gooid, an’ my advice is, if yo meet wi’ owt i’ yor way ’at’s likely to mak life better or happier, sam it up, but first mak sure yo’ve a reight to it.  Nah, aw once knew a chap at fan a topcoit, an’ he came to me, an’ says—­“A’a lad! awve fun one o’ th’ grandest topcoits to-day at iver tha clapt thi’ een on.”  “Why, where did ta find it?” aw says.  “Reight o’ th’ top o’ Skurcoit moor.”  “Well, tha’rt a lucky chap,” aw says, “what has ta done wi’ it?” “Aw niver touched it; ’aw left it just whear it wor.”  “Well, tha art a faoil; tha should ha’ brout it hooam.”