Sam wod promise to be up directly, an he’d put a net into his coit pocket, an a two-o-three breead crumbs in a bit o’ paper, an a rat, ommost as big as a kittlin, but withaat a tooith in its heead, into his inside brast pocket, an then he’d set off.  When he gate thear all th’ sarvent lasses ud cluther raand him an tell him whear th’ rat had been seen an all particulars.  “Well, they’re a nasty thing to have abaat a haase, an a varry dangerous thing; but awl do mi best to catch it if yo’ll give me a sup o’ ale if yo have it, an if net, pooarter’ll do.  Aw want it to mix up summat to tice it aght.”  They seldom browt less nor a quairt, an after takkin abaat a thimbleful to mix up his breead crumbs, he swallow’d t’other for fear on it bein wasted.  Then he’d tak a cannel an goa to whear th’ rat had been last seen, an all th’ lasses followin at a distance.  After puttin his bait on th’ floor an th’ cannel ith far corner, he’d begin chirpin an huntin under th’ barrels an all abaat to see if ther wor a rat, but as he seldom fan one, when he thowt he’d carried it on long enuff, he’d set up a gurt shaat, “It’s here! it’s here!” an pawse th’ cannel ovver with his fooit, an as they couldn’t tell where it might be they all flew off skrikin, leavin’ Sam to quietly pool his “owd forrester,” as he called him, aght ov his pocket an lap it up ith net an come aght holdin’ it at arms’ length.  Then away went th’ haasekeeper to tell th’ mistress, an th’ mistress to tell th’ maister, an in a varry few minits ivverybody abaat th’ place wor ith kitchen, standin in a ring wi Sam an th’ rat ith middle.  Sam wor a hero just then, but to luk at his face yo’d fancy he hadn’t sense enuff to know it.  Ov coorse ther wor nowt to gooid for Sam after that, an he’d allus as mich to ait an drink as he could tuck into him an a hauf-a-craan beside.  Aw dooant know hah monny times he catched that rat, but aw do know ‘at he catched it three times i’ one haase, an he tell’d me he made as mich brass on it as monnya chap could mak wi a horse an cart.  He’d a deeal more queer tricks, but as he gate older he gave it up, for he said it wor all vanity; an as he wanted to settle daan an leead a quiet life, he tuk a beershop, an nah he amuses hiss en an his customers wi sittin’ at th’ end oth langsettle an tellin’ his experience, an if one hawf o’ what he says is true, when he dees he owt to be put under a glass shade an stuck ith Halifax museum.

Owd Moorcock.

It’s monny a long year sin what awm gooin to tell tuk place, but aw remember it as weel as if it wor yesterday.  He wor a queer sooart ov a chap, wor owd Drake, an although some laft at him, an considered him an oddity, ther wor a gooid deeal moor ’at believed him to be a born genius.  He wor a cobbler bi trade, an a varry gooid cobbler too, tho’ he’d nivver sarved his time to it; an altho’ he’d had two or three gooid chonces o’ startin’ business ith’ taan, yet he allus shook his heead, an sed he’d rayther goa on