The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown

Terbil high; and a little skute
Of a waterfall,
Slip-sloppin' from the root
Of an ould kern —
You know the turn
At the Bridge, and the Chapel?
Well, in on the gate,
Behind there, that's the road, like straight
For Druid-a-whapple;
And just you're passin'
The School, and up you go—
A track—a track, you know,
On the side of the brew, criss-crassin',
Till you'll come out on the top like a landin',
And the house standin'
Two fields back—
And all that steep
You can't see the river, not the smallest peep,
Nor the gill, nor nothin'; but lookin' right over
At Snaefell,
By Jove! or
Barrule, or Slieu Core—
'Deed, you'll have to be cayful
With cows and the lek; and no road for a cart
Up yandher place,
But comin' in from another art,
About nor'-wes',
Ballaugh way? Yes.

That's the road they were doin' the haulin'—
Tear the people was goin' a callin'—
Nicholas Tear—that's Nicky-Nick-Nick—
And his wife a Gick of the Ballagick—
Down in Kirk Bride—you know them, what?
And a son and a daughter, that's the lot—
Saul the son, a name he got
From his grandfather on the mother's side—
Rather big people down in Kirk Bride.
But the daughter was Kitty—so, aisy then!

446

That's Kitty of the Sherragh Vane—
Kitty, Kitty—sure enough—
Kitty—Kitty—hould your luff!

Nice-lookin', eh?
Aye, that's your way—
Well, I tell ye, the first time ever I seen her,
She wasn' much more till a baby—
Six years, maybe,
Would have been her
Age; and the little clogs at her,
Clitter-clatter,
And her little hand
In mine, to show me the way, you'll understand,
Down yandher brew,
And me a stranger too,
That was lost on the mountain;
And the little sowl in the house all alone,
And for her to be goin'
The best part of a mile—
Bless the chile!
Till she got me right—
And not a bit shy, not her!
Nor freckened, but talkin' away as purty
As a woman of thirty—
And—“That's the way down to the School,” says she,
“And Saul and me
Is goin' there every day;
You'll aisy find the way”—
And turns, and off like a bird on the wing,
Aw, a bright little thing!

Isn' it that way with these people of the mountain?
No accountin',
But seemin' very fearless though—
Very—not for fightin' no!
Nor tearin', but just the used they are
Of fogs and bogs, and all the war

447

Of winds and clouds, and ghos'es creepin'
Unknownst upon them, and fairies cheepin'
Like birds, you'd think, and big bugganes
In holes in rocks; lek makin' fren's
With the like, that'll work like niggers, they will.
If you'll only let them; and paisible
Uncommon they are; and little scraps,
That's hardly off their mammies' laps
'll walk about there in the night
The same as the day, and all right—
Bless ye! ghos'es! ar'n' they half
Ghos'es themselves? Just hear them laugh,
Or hear them cry,
It's like up in the sky—
Aw, differin'
Total —aye; for the air is thin
And fine up there, and they sucks it in
Very strong,
Very long,
And mixes it with the mould
Of all their body and all their sowl—
So they're often seemin'
Like people dreamin',
And their eyes open like a surt of a trance,
You know, like Balaam, that had plenty of sance,
And knew the will of the Lord, and could spake it clever,
But wolloped his dunkey—but—however—
And come from the mountains too did Balaam,
And freckened, it's lek, the angel would whale him,
And gave in like winkin'—
Rather a rum surt of prophet, I'm thinkin'—
Aye—but these mountain people—well—
That's the surt—like Balaam? no!
Like Balaam! what are ye comin' to?
But the gel—

All right! all right! I never seen her
For years, no, not till she'd grew
A splendid craythur, keener,
You'd see, and bouldher, and bigger,

448

But few
That had such a figure,
Such a face, such a look, right at ye—
Drat ye!
Take it or lave it!
She gave it
From the arch of her eyes
Like a bow, and the fringes
Treminjis—
And—her nose, you'd suppose?
Never mind her nose!
But black hair—
There!
And Saul's sister; and Saul and me
Was mates at sea,
Aboord the Mermaid, Captain Lear,
And axed me theer,
Whenever we'd be home,
For me for to come
From the Lhen,
And see them up at the Sherragh Vane.

Oulder? me?
Sartinly.
Summer-time—so up I goes,
And goodness knows
The fun I had—
With Kitty? Well, no, my lad—
No, no! that wasn' her way,
Rather silent, as you may say,
Silent and thoughtful, and kept you off—
Nothin' soft
About Kitty, nothin' for ye to make bould of,
Nothin' that a chap could get hould of—
Stiffish rather,
And me that might ha' been her father—
Chut! ger out!
What are ye both'rin' about?
Eye to eye
Like sea to sky,

449

Like sun to moon,
That's the tune—
Stared it into ye,
Dared it into ye,
Shoved you back—
Aw, it's a fack —
The eye, of coorse—
My gough! the foorce!
Till you'd had enough—
Splendid stuff
Is eyes like that—
What?
Like a pushy cow?
Well, now,
That's just lek ye—I'm list'nin' to it—
But stow it! stow it!
You'd ha' tried it on with her? ate your puddin'!
No, ye wudn'.
Yes, ye wud? ah, ye didn' know Saul,
It's lek, at all?

Aye—Saul, the brother that was at her?
Jealous? jealous? well, no matter!
Not Kitty—no, no! but gels about,
Of coorse, and plenty of them, stout
And hearty and free, bless ye! turf-cuttin' sayson—
That's the rayson—
And rushes too; and the farmers comin' in carts
From all parts—
And the sarvant gels—
Who else?
And Joan and John,
And coortin' and carryin' on—
And pies and priddhas and cakes and broth,
The best on the No'th,
Up theer,
Like a feer —
Or what is it the quality is callin' it, Mick?
Pick-nick!

450

Just so,
And plenty of it though.

Now a little north of the farm there's a dip,
And some rocks, and a strip
Of plantin' ither side,
And not very wide;
And a sthrame that can just pass
Through the long grass,
Slishin'—just a slock —
You know the thing when a lump of a block
Houlds up the soil, till it'll spread
In a bit of a bed,
Or a lap, and then—
Steeper till ever down the glen.
And in the slock there's ling
And everything—
Shut in—that's it,
Every bit,
Except a slit
To the aesthard —and all these rocks and trees around him—
There's where she found him.

Found who?
Says you—
Don't ate
Your mate
So fast, Hal Rat, wait, wait!
Don't be stretchin' your neck like a gandhar.
Well, for a good many days,
If ye plaise,
We noticed she was over yandhar,
Not once,
Nor twice, but every chance.
As for goin' to the turf—hullo!
One day she wouldn' go.
She was sick, she said,
Pains in her head,

451

Or the lek; and when we come home
In the everin'—the Pope was in Rome!
But Kitty was nowhere; the cows
Was milked, and everything in the house
As comfible, and supper, ye know,
And spoons and basons all in a row—
But Kitty?

Well, I went to bed.
But Saul was watchin', and, nothin' said,
But watchful, jealous, suspicious lek—
That was Saul—he'd ha' twisted the neck
Of a chap that dared to look at the gel,
The fond of her you couldn' tell;
And still that sharp with her, and that glum,
And boosely —it's rum,
Rum enough the way with such—
Lovin' so much,
And for all the lovin', the way they're traitin'
The ones they're lovin', it's more like hatin'.
Couldn' spake, couldn' Kitty, wuss or better,
But there he was growlin' and grumblin' at her.

And that's the way, I'm fancyin',
She tuk to be silent, but never gave in—
Kept her own notions, that's what she done,
Her own notions, that was allis right,
Right, and clear as the sun—
A light
Of truth that was in the craythur, eh?
Truth—not hard, not hard; the day
Is truth—the night
Is nothin': she hadn' no need to hide
A mortal thing; and so this Saul
He hadn' no call.
But that's what made her silent—pride?
No, not pride; she was just the same
Sweet innocent thing, that hadn' no shame
And hadn' no fear,
That everin' many a year

452

Before, when she put her hand in mine,
And led me down the field: it's desthry'n'
All pluck and spirit
In many a soul,
That 'spicion and dirt—
No scope with the rowl
Of the long dead sea.
Out with your cable, and ride her free
Don't look to be wantin' every motion,
And every notion
To be comin' from you.
Is she good? is she true—
Blood and bone?
Then d--- it, lave her alone!

What was I say'n'?
Aye, Saul, this chap, it wasn' cru'l
He was, and he wasn' no fool—
Rather hard to explain—
But expecting lek quite nathral, ye know,
That him and the sisthar'd allis go
Like two clocks, tick—tick;
Lek if he'd be sick, she'd be sick,
And if he'd be well, she'd be well,
And if he'd go a sneezin', she'd go a sneezin',
For no other reason,
Or coughin'—or, it's hard to tell,
There's people that's demandin' —what?
And terbil loving for all that.
And still, to be out
So late, no doubt,
It wasn' surprisin', perhaps, my men,
That the brother'd
Be bothered,
And wond'rin' what was in.
So watch! watch!
And the door on the latch,
And—fire and slaughter!
Caught her!

453

What was betwix' them he didn' tell me,
But wouldn' take rest
Of the thing, but on it and on it,
North and south, east and west,
Boxin' the compass of doubt in his brain.
You've heard of a chap with a bee in his bonnet?
Well, Saul had a wasp in
His, that fierce; there's people can't look
At a saucepan
But the lid must be took
Off at them straight —just curious.
But that wasn' Saul—Saul was furious;
Must know!
Just so.
Must!
And be cussed
To the lot!
Very hot.
Allis
Jallis,
That was it—
Every spit.

Next day was Sunday, and he was up very early,
And watched her through the oats, and watched her through the barley—
Watched her there,
And saw when she was slantin'
Over to this plantin'
I was tellin' you, in the holler
Of the slock, you remember; and didn' foller
At all, not him, but back
To his breakfast, but marked the track,
And knew he harrer,
Whatever there was arrer.

And Kitty come into the house,
Like from the cows,

454

Or the lek, and then—
“Look here,” says Saul,
“I don't know the when
I've been over at the gill,
Or whatever ye call
That slock,” he says.
“Come, Tom, let's ques'
With the dog over yandher, aye;
Come along!” Well, never say die.
Over we went
Immadient.
“Come on!” says he,
Very free.
And him with a gun, and a belt round his waist,
And a marlinspike in it, and—“Make haste! make haste!”
And his brass buttons, and his white ducks—
Aw, reg'lar bucks,
The two of us—
Him fuss.
Ye see,
That's the man,
Spick and span,
Every spar;
And me
To bring up the r'ar.

That's the way, but little I knew
There was another beside, that flew
Like a pewhit there from rock to rock,
Keepin' an eye on him, takin' stock
Of all our actin', like a pewhit 'll do,
When she's freckened that somebody's goin' to discover
Her nest, you know them—pewhit, or plover,
All as one, and wheelin' and wheelin',
And squealin' and squealin',
Like a pessin —
Disthressin'!

It was Kitty that kept us in view,
Slippin' along, with a stop, and a rush

455

From bush to bush,
From stone to stone—
But sound there was none
From Kitty, like pewhits, for pewhits is vi'lent
Rather, but her quite silent—
Silent—and then we come upon him
Quite sudden, lyin' in the middle of the firs,
And a quilt and a blanket on him—
Hers—
From her own bed—yis, yis!
And his head
As claver
On a pillow, ye wouldn' belave, and a shawl
About his neck. “Well, this
Beats all
The cockfightin' I aver!”
Says Saul.

And—“Hullo!” he says, “hullo! hurroo!
Who are you?
Where do you hail from, and what do ye mane
A-trespassin' here on the Sherragh Vane?”
And then a jabber,
Slibber-slabber,
From the craythur—I couldn' tell what,
This or that—
And his throat all gritty.
And then Kitty—
Kitty lek swoops
From the top o' the rock, and scoops
Some water in her hand,
And stoops,
And gives it to the man.

The man? Yes, man,—why, what did ye think?
A monkey? ye donkey—
A man, and got him to drink;
And then he spoke,
But it wasn' no joke

456

That lingo,
To understand it, by Jingo!
Understand it we cudn',
Or wouldn'. “I 'spec'
It's the dialec',”
Says Kitty, “and I'll spake for him.”
“Jean myghin orrim!”
Says Saul,—“You've larnt very quick.”

So then she began,—
And me standin' starin' at the man
With all my eyes,—
And a dacent size
This chap;
But a rap
Of his lingo!—but aw! poor soul!
He looked like death, and no wonder, the cowl'
And the damp,
For all she was feedin' him reggilar,
Like a baby there—
Like a baby, and as thin as a lat',
For, to spake of his body, and that,
He was worse than a tramp—
And a tramp, when he's done,
Is a terbil thing for to look upon
(My gough! the lean!)—
And his face all gray, and grizzled, and green,
And nearly all eyes—and the eyes all glassy,
And glazin' lek, and, Lord, ha' massy!
His jaw was all drabbin',
And slabbin',
Like a man's that's just died,
Afore it's tied
Up with a string,
Or the lek—d'ye see the thing?
And, by gough! I'll swear
The half of him was hair—
There!

457

Wantin' washin' terbil—yis!
'Deed it wouldn' ha' been amiss,
If, besides bringin' his victuals to 'm,
She'd tuk some soap, and a brush and comb,
And titivated him a little—but dar'n',
And 'd thought o' the barn,
But no use—
Stuck to the Slock like the very deuce,
Bein' freckened, you know, for all the kind,
And hardly in his right mind,
With the starved and the hunted—
And a surt of grunted
Somethin' about his freedom, his freedom!
Aye,—so all she cud do was to feed him,
And keep him alive, and just a bit warm,
Till such times as this divil could be persuaded
To come to the farm;
And no harm,
Nor no danger,
Would happen him there, no matter the stranger;
Though it must be conceded
He was a despard sobjec' —
I mane—objec'.

And she'd tried him hard, and Would he go
Over to the farm? and “No, no, no!”
That was all she could get—
And “Let me tell them,”—and him to fret
And carry on, till she had to drop it.
Well, a poppet
He wasn', nor yet a dandy—what?
But the whole of that
She didn' tell us
Just then—no, no! and jealous, jealous—
Saul? aye, Saul—
“This won't do at all,”
He said. “Why didn' ye spake to me
First thing?” he said. “What's this sacresy,

458

This humbuggin' and hidin',
This sliddin' and slidin',
This pin-pannin'
This musco-dannin'?
Who is the fellow?
D--- him yellow
And green and blue!
Has he tould you?
What?
That!
Who is he? what is he? You know, I guess,—
We'll have no saycrets here,” he says,—
“Chapter and vess; —
Out with it! out with it!
I'll have no doubt with it.”

“It is a saycret, then,” says she,
And he's trusted it to me,
And I've promised I'll tell it to nobody.
It's his saycret, not mine.”
“Very fine! very fine!—
Promised?” says Saul—
“And d---it all!
(And blast and blow!)
And a nice craythur to be promised to!”
And—“He couldn't force ye—could he? chat!
A hurdy-gurdy rubbish like that”—
Dyin' too! and promised she had!
Jallis? mad!
Aw, holy Paul!
That was Saul.

But Kitty didn' answer a word,
Only you could aisy see
The sthrong she was in her honesty—

459

In her conscience—stirred, yis, stirred,
And vexed lek enough; but the pure sweet blood
That was in her—stir her the wuss ye could,
And that's the best—
Never no dhrop of bitterness
In yandher gel. So—“Come!” says I,
“We'll have him over to the house, and try
What can we do to clane him a bit,
And see if he's fit
To live with Christian people,” I said,
“Or some haythan naygur forrin-bred,
And nathral dirty—and his hair lookin' frizzy,”
I said; “and ye can't tell well what is he,
Black, or white, or yallow, or green, or blue,
Till he's washed, and a good wash too.”

“Yes,” I says. “All right!” says Saul, and heaves the gun on his shouldher,
Like a souldjher.
Him fuss, then the chap, then me—and away we swings,
And Kitty all around him just like wings—
Stoopin', cowrin', wrappin', shelterin' him,
That was that wake he could hardly stir a limb—
Aye, and studdyin' him, and houldin' him by the arm—
Bless ye! and all the way to the farm,
Yes, from the very minute we come upon him over there,
Who was he lookin' at? at me? at Saul Tear,
Exqueer,
That was shoutin' at him like a bull of Bas'n?
Was it? no, it wasn'!
It was Kitty he was lookin' at—lookin'! what's lookin'? good lord!
Devourin', worshippin' 's more the word.
Like drew to her, like gript to her with graplin's—
This craythur—couldn' take his eye off her—
Not him, like takin' his live or die off her.

And so on through the saplin's,
And the field, and the hedge, till we come on the street,

460

And his feet goin' strooghin' greatly,
And beat complately,
And his poor body all curled in a hump,
And—“D'ye see yandher pump,”
Says Saul,
“Against the wall?
Sthrip!” he says, “and wash!” he says,
“From head to foot,” and heaves him a lump
Of soap—
And Kitty to jump
Like an antelope,
And in on the door—
Well, to be sure!

But the craythur hadn' the strength of a clout;
So—“Get under the spout!”
Says Saul, “and never mind for your rags—
I'll pump,” and pumped till the divil fell flat on the flags.
Then out come Nicky-Nick-Nick,
The father? yes, and as quick as quick—
Aw, a hearty ould chap!
And—“Stap!
Stap!” he says, and lifts the sowl!
Like a shot; and—“Is it washin'?” and—“Bring us a bowl;
I'll wash him,” he says, and turns to
Like a woman with a baby,—and “Ho, ho!”
And “Ha, ha!” and “He, he!
Such a spree!”
Says Nicky; and tervil comfortin'
To the craythur, no doubt; and—“See the skin!”
He says—“Look here—the white!
All right! all right!
He's comin' to! this chap 'll do—
Hurroo! hurroo!”
And rubs and rubs,
And scrubs and scrubs,
Like Waterloo.

“Now then, we're done,”
He says, “my son!

461

And I declare
It's a reg'lar beauty you are!
First-rate! first-rate!
But—mate! mate!”
He roors—
“Come indoors!
Mate! mate! where's the women?”
And his heart was brimmin'
With the joy and the fun, and “Hie-cockalorum!”
And shovin' this poor thing before him,
That was trimblin' very much,
And made a clutch
To see could he keep his trowsis on,
And all but gone—
Aw, dear!

But Misthriss Tear
Met them theer;
And says she, “What's this,
Nicholas?”
She says;—
“Is it dacency?”
Says she:
And surely he might have ast her!
But he made a run, and got past her,
And had the chap on the settle
Close to the big kettle
Afore she could wink;
And him to sink
All of a heap there,
Lek goin' to sleep there,
Or faintin' or somethin'—and Nicky to go
And catch the wife around the wais',
And looks up in her face—
The little monkey—just so—
And smiled and smiled, till she could hardly chose
But smile herself, and slacked the screws
Of her mouth a bit; and then he kissed her,
At laste, missed her,
But done his best, bein' small,

462

And her tall.
And then she said, “No foolishness!”
But—“Let the craythur stay,” she says.

Aw, the joy of Nicky! and caught a gel,
And spun her round till she nearly fell;
But the misthriss frowned—but Nicky looked middlin'
'Larmed; and Kitty with the cups and saucers fiddlin',
And tay for this chap, bein' understood
The best for him, lek it wouldn' be good—
Lek nothing more substantialler
Wouldn' do for the like—aw, they wouldn' dar';
And Kitty fed him, houldin' the cup
Agin his mouth for him to sup,
And moppin' the drabs with a towel at her;
And he tried to spake, but—chitter-chatter!
The teeth and the tongue, and nothin' clear.
So when he was fed, we studdied him theer
Upon his feet;
And out on the sthreet,
And up on the laff
Over the stable, and a tickin' of chaff,
And blankets and piller—
Bless ye! couldn' ha' been comfibiller.

And Nicky head man, and would hardly lave him,
Rejicin', ye know, and Kitty gave him
Her hand to hould for a little bit,
The same's a baby 'll hould his mammy's.
But Saul began with his “blow me's,” and “d—me's”;
And so we quit;
And just on the step
Goin' in says Saul to his mother,
“There 'll be bother
About that chap!”
That was all! that was all!
Just like Saul! just like Saul!

463

“But how about the dialogue—
Dialec' is it? lek a pessin in grog”—
Says Nicky then—
“Lizzen, men!
Wawky, wawk!
Squawky, squawk,
Caw, caw,
Craw, craw—
For all the world like a jackdaw—
And Kitty's understandin' him, eh?
Kitty, Kitty, what does he say?
Here's Saul declarin' you can 'tarprit him clever:
'Tarprit, 'tarprit, Kitty! whoever!”
Aw, Christopher!
Not a word from Kitty, not her.
And the ould chap prittin' and pratin'
And imitatin',
Fit for to frecken the crows,
So, I suppose,
That's the raison ould Nicky was plannin'
For me to spake to him—
Me that was understannin'
Most lingoes, of coorse, and seemin' to take to him
Kind rather—aw, Nicky thought of it
All night, I tell ye, and the how and the what of it,
And nudgin' the misthriss that she couldn' get a wink—
And think and think and think and think.
And—“Tom Baynes,” he says, “Tom Baynes will do 't”—
“Aisy, ye brute!”
Says Misthriss Tear—
Wasn' he tellin' us theer?
Aw, a rum ould boy,
If ever there was, and bound to try;
And up very early, and called me to come
And “have it out with this fee-fo-fum.”

464

But the poor thing was asleep when we come on the laff,
Dead beat,
That's it.
So we waited a bit—
And ould Nicky whisp'rin' agate of his chaff,
But wonderin'
Astonishin'—
“Do ye think he's a Turk?” says Nicky to me,
“Or a Jew? or some surt of a Feejee—
Or a Moabite,
Or a Perizzite—
Look here!” he says,
“Chapthar and vess!”
“He's a Welshman,” says Nick—
“A Welshman! a Welshman! that's the stick!
You're done, Tom, you're done!” he says—
. . . “How's this
It's goin'? aw, Tom, crid nish?
You'll never make out his gibberish—
Welsh, for a shillin'!” Then he woke,
And looked about him, and then I spoke.

“How are ye this mornin'?” says I; says he—
“Wawk, wawk,
Squawk, squawk,
Gimmell, gammell,
Wimmell, wammell”—
Couldn' make out a word, I'll sweer —
“Welsh, for a shillin'!” says Nicky Tear;
“Welsh, for a shillin'!” Then I tried him in French—
“Howee dooee dissee mawnin'?”
But there wasn' no sign; when in comes this wench,
Kitty, you know, like a rose of the dawnin'—
Aw, 'deed she was; and—“Spake to him, Kitty!”
Says the father—
“Mumbo-jumbo! smitty-witty!

465

Is that it, eh? Tom is failin' rather—
He knows a dale, but he don't know enough—
And sailors, you know, is very rough.”

I was middlin' mad; but Kitty stooped
Over the piller, and the craythur scooped
His eyes in scollops—you never saw—
And the two of them they worked the jaw
Like the mischief. English? English, no doubt,
But English turnin' inside out—
My gough! the English! “What is he sayin'?”
Says Nicky. “What, what, what, what? spake plain!”
Aw, you couldn' hould him!
“Spake plain now! 'tarprit!” So she tould him,
But still I suspect
She only told him what she lekt.
Why, here was these two
With their parlee-voo;
And no thanks to you,
And no thanks to me,
They could talk to all eternity—
And nobody knowin' what they were talkin'—
Aw, it was shockin'!
But Nicky didn' care a scrap,
He tuk a notion to the chap—
Aw, bless ye! he was just the sort,
And not heedin' for 't
But Kitty was tellin' him every word—
Good Lord!
“It's a dialec',” says Nicky theer,
“A dialec',” says Nicholas Tear—
“A dialec'—of coorse they will—
These dialec's is terrible.”

466

And rejicin'. And Saul, and the mother—eh?
Well, of coorse, Saul
Was off to say,
And me too; so that's all
You'll get this haul.

Squirt.

Mountain ash.

Hill.

Zigzagging.

Careful.

Point of the compass.

Sail close to the wind: here=take care!

Than.

Which she had.

Frightened.

Prettily.

Making rows.

Because they are accustomed to.

Hobgoblins.

Friends.

Quite.

Sense.

To presume upon.

Tut! get out!

Fact.

Force.

Whom she had.

Potatoes.

On the North side of the Island.

Fair.

Either.

Dip.

Than.

Eastward.

Henry Radcliffe.

Something of the sort.

Beastly=surly.

The reason why.

Took to being.

Did.

Always.

It destroys.

Giving no length of cable.

So exacting.

The brother would.

Going on.

He was so fierce.

Immediately.

Curse them all!

Every bit=exactly.

Making off.

Had her.

At her=whatever she was after.

Quest=hunt.

Rear.

Afraid.

All the same.

Person=human being.

Yes.

Clever=nicely placed.

Ever.

Mean.

Swoops, as it were.

Could not.

Expect.

Manx=Lord, have mercy upon us!

Cold.

Lath.

Good gracious!

Have mercy!

Dripping and slopping.

Indeed.

Dared not.

Although treated with such kindness.

With being so.

Somehow.

Although he was a.

Subject.

And then he began to.

=Unintelligible proceedings. In counting for the tipper at the game of tip or tag, the Manx children chant the following doggerel:

“Wonnery, twoery, dickery, davy,
Hollabo, crackabo, tennery, lavy.
Pin-pan,
Muscodan,
Humblin' bumblin', twenty-one.”

Verse.

Chut=tut.

Jealous.

Worst.

However much you stirred her.

Steadying.

Esquire.

Depending upon her for life or death.

Stroking=trailing.

Stop.

Poor soul.

Meat.

Trousers.

Asked.

Girl.

Alarmed.

As if=on the ground that=because.

Dare.

Against.

Droppings.

Havinga towel.

Steadied.

Pavement at the door of a house.

Loft.

Mattress.

Will.

Person.

Listen.

Onomatopoetic attempts to imitate the “dialec'.”

Interpret.

Expletive of delight: q.d., “Who ever saw such fun?”

St. Christopher, a mere expletive.

Enough to frighten.

Loft.

Intent upon

I can give you chapter and verse for it=I am certain.

What, or how now?

The “dialec' ” very imperfectly represented.

Swear.

Indeed.

Rather angry.

Opened his eyes until they looked as big and as round as the shellfish called the scollop.

You could not restrain his impetuosity.

Interpret.

Liked.

Not observing but that.

People will talk in dialects.

Sea.

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I. PART I