" I heard of one
beerhouse, the owner of which had only drawn ls. 6d. during a whole
week. His children were all factory operatives, and all out of work.
They were very badly off, and would have been very glad of a few
soup tickets; but, as the man said, "Who'd believe me if aw were to
go an' ax for relief?" I was told of two young fellows, unemployed
factory hands, meeting one day, when one said to the other, "Thae
favvurs hungry, Jone." "Nay, aw's do yet, for that," replied Jone.
"Well," continued the other; "keep thi heart eawt of thi clogs, iv
thi breeches dun eawt-thrive thi carcass a bit, owd lad." "Aye,"
said Jone, "but what mun I do when my clogs gi'n way?" "Whaw, thae
mun go to th' Guardians; they'n gi tho a pair in a minute." "Nay, by
__," replied Jone, "aw'll dee furst!"
In the evening, I ran down to the beautiful suburb called
Pleasington, in the hope of meeting a friend of mine there; not
finding him, I came away by the eight o'clock train. The evening was
splendid, and it was cheering to see the old bounty of nature
gushing forth again in such unusual profusion and beauty, as if in
pitiful charity for the troubles of mankind.
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