Th’ story wor towd, an’ for ever
   It wor noa gurt shakes what might befall;
Nowt but deeath, these two hearts could sever,
   An’ that nobbut partly, net awl: 
For love like one’s soul is immortal,
   If its love, it wont vanish away—­
Its birth wor inside o’ th’ breet portal
   Ov Eden, it knows noa decay.

Sin’ then it has lived on, while th’ ages
   Has rowled on wi’ uniform flow,
As young, an as fresh, as when sages
   Towd ther sweethearts it cent’ries ago—­
An’ chaps ‘ll be tellin th’ story,
   Th’ breet, owd, owd story ov love,
When time, an’ love, fade inter th’ glory
   ‘At streams thro’ th’ manshuns above.

Jim Nation’s Fish-shop.

Sammywell Grimes an his wife, Mally, wor set anent th’ foir,—­Sammywell seemingly varry mich interested ith’ newspaper, an Mally, showin signs ov impatience, wor darnin stockins.  All wor silent except for th’ tickin oth’ clock, wi nah an then a long-drawn-aght sigh throo Mally an an occasional grunt throo Grimes.  At last Mally couldn’t stand it onny longer, an shoo pitched th’ stockins on th’ table an sed,—­

“Dost know, its just cloise on an haar an a hawf sin tha set daan wi that paper, an tha’s nivver oppened thi lips to me durin that time?  Aw remember when things wor different.  Ther wor a time when tha tuk a delight i’ tellin me all th’ news, but latterly tha tells me nowt, an if it worn’t for Hepsabah an some oth’ naybors aw shouldn’t know whether th’ world wor gooin on as usual, or it had come to an end.”

“Why, lass,—­th’ fact oth’ matter is ther’s nowt to tell.  Aw nivver saw th’ like.  Aw dooant know what papers are gooin into, for ther isn’t a bit o’ news in em.  Aw’ve just glanced ovver this an aw can find nowt worth readin.”

“It doesen’t tak thee an haar an a hawf to find that aght.  Is ther owt in abaat th’ war?”

“Oh, war!  Aw believe it does say summat abaat th’ war.  It’s still gooin on, an one chap has sprained his ankle an another has had a narrow escape an De Wet is expected to be captured as sooin as they get hold on him, an a lot moor sich tales, but they arn’t worth thinkin abaat coss they’ll all be contradicted ith’ mornin.”

“An does it say nowt abaat that butcher at’s run away an left his wife?  Awr Hepsabah wor sayin shoo believed they’d catched him.”

“Hi!  They’ve catched him, an he wor browt up at th’ Taan Hall this mornin an he pleaded ‘guilty,’ soa th’ magistrate sed as he’d allus borne a gooid character he’d give him his choice, an he could awther goa back hooam an live wi his wife or goa to quod for three months wi hard labour.”

“They’ve let him off easier nor he desarved, but aw should think his wife’s gien him a bit ov her mind.”

“Nay, net shoo!  Shoo’s nivver had th’ chonce, for he tuk three months.  Shoo’s a tartar aw believe.”

“Shoo must be if that’s th’ case.  A’a, Sammywell,—­a chap at’s blessed wi a gooid wife owt to goa daan on his knees i’ gratitude for they’re varry scarce.”