too far on i'th' day
for ony moor sperits to be sent for, for th' mediums had another meeting to
attend that neet, soa he read aght another hymn, an' we tried to sing it to
th' tune ov "Sweet spirit, hear mi prayer," but we couldn't, for Cinnamon
wor too mich for us all--he wor a deal better brayer nor prayer, an' after
one or two moor tries, th' cheerman sed "'at unless that gentleman (lukkin
at Cinnamon) wod awther swallow a scaarin--stooan an' a pund o' sweet sooap
to clear his voice, or else keep his maath shut, we should have to leave
singin aght o'th' question altogether." But Cinnamon worn't to be put
daan; an' he tell'd th' cheerman 'at if he didn't know what singin wor he
did, an' when he wor in Horstraly (A voice--"What does ta know abaat
Horstraly, tupheead, tha niver went noa farther ner Burtonheead i' all thi
life"). This ryled Cim, an' he up wi' a stooil an' whew'd it slap at th'
cheerman. Aw saw ther wor likely to be a row, for whativer other sperit
wor thear, aw could see plain enuff 'at th' sperit o' mischief wor i' some
on 'em, soa aw crept up beside th' door an' pop'd aght, an' left 'em
to settle it as they could.

Aw met Cinnamon th' next mornin, an' aw saw 'at he'd a gurt plaister ov
his nooas, an' aw couldn't help thinkin what a blessin it wod ha been to
some fowk if it had been stuck ovver his maath asteead.

Ther's a Mule I' th' Garden.

(This expression is one that I have often heard used in Yorkshire to
some unpleasantness being afoot.)

A Christmas Story.

Hark thi lass, what a wind! it's a long time sin we had sich a storm.
Folk ought to be thankful 'at's getten a warm hearthstooan to put ther
feet on, sich weather as this:--unless it alters it'll be a dree
Kursmiss-day. If ony poor body has to cross this moor to neet, they'll
be lost, as sure as sure con be.

It's a fearful neet reight enuff, lad, an' it maks me creep cloiser to
th' range,--but it's th' sooart o' weather we mun expect at this time o'
th' year. It's a rare gooid job tha gate them peats in, for we stand i'
need ov a bit o' fire nah. Does ta mean to sit up all th' neet same as
usual?

Eea, aw think ther's nowt like keep in up th' owd customs, an' we've
niver missed watchin Kursmiss in sin we wor wed, an' that'll be nearly
forty year sin; weant it? Shift that canel, sithee' ha it sweals!
Does'nt to think tha'd better ligg summat to th' dooar bottom? Hark thi
what a wind! Aw niver heeard th' likes; it maks th'