getten sich a shock. As sooin as it wor dayleet he gat up an dressed an
went to his wark, but he couldn't think o' owt else, an ivvery time he
did think, he blushed soa, wol th' foreman sed he wor sewer he'd getten
scarlet fayver, and advised him to goa hooam an get a hot posset.

He's workin steady nah, but he's nivver getten ovver th' scare 'at heed
had that neet, an he nivver gooas to bed withaat his britches, or else
he has a newspaper pinned raand th' hem ov his shirt.

Angelina tells him 'at he maks a deeal o' fuss abaat nowt, but he
considers it a varry serious matter.

Last time 'at Maude Blanche paid 'em a visit, shoo wor wearin a pair o'
green spectacles, an when Angelina axt her what shoo wore 'em for, shoo
sed 'at shoo did it becoss shoo wor feared if shoo lukt at James wi' th'
naked eye 'at it mud send him into a fit.

If th' young chaps whear he worked had getten to know abaat it, they'd
ha plagued his life aght, but they kept it to thersen. It wor Angelina
'at tell'd me abaat it, for shoo sed shoo knew aw could keep a saycret,
an it didn't matter whether aw could or net, for if aw tell'd it, ther'd
nubdy believe it.

Well, aw've tell'd it, an it's true an all.

Th' Owd, Owd Story.

It wor th' owd, owd story he towd her,
Th' story, 'at's owder nor time;
Nowt ivver chap whisper'd wor owder,
Nowt ivver soa grand an sublime.
For man nivver towd ither story,
Soa chock full ov magic as this,
For, it shraaded th' young chaps i' glory,
An' filled her 'at listened wi' bliss.

Th' story had wrought sich a wonder
Noa ither tale ivver has done--
Two hearts, that afooar wor assunder,
Wor knit i' a crack into one.
An' still he kept tellin' her th' story,
Which mooar an' mooar wonderful grew,
(Soa oft its been tell'd its grown hoary,)
But shoo could hav sworn it wor new.

Shoo thowt of th' angels above 'em,
Wor jealous o' her, an' him, then--
For angels has noa chaps to love 'em,
Love's nobbut for wimmin an' men.
But th' love i' her heart ovvercame her,
An' shoo pitied th' whole angel thrang,
Aw know what love is, an' dooant blame her,
An' aw dooant think her pity wor wrang.

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
O