ivvery thowt aw'd had,
Seem'd to ha flown as if they'd wings,
An left me speechless mad.
But when we gate cloise to her door,
Aw stopt an whispered, "Jane,
Aw'd like to walk wi' thee some moor,
When it doesn't chonce to rain."
Shoo smiled an blushed an sed, "For shame!"
But aw tuk courage then.
Aw cared net if all th' world should blame,
Aw meant to pleas misen,
For shoo wor th' grandest lass i'th' schooil
An th' best,--noa matter what;--
Aw should ha been a sackless fooil,
To miss a chonce like that.
Soa oft we met to stroll an tawk,
Noa matter, rain or shine;
An one neet as we tuk a walk,
Aw ax't her to be mine.
Shoo gave consent, an sooin we wed:--
Sin' then we've had full share
Ov rough an smooth, yet still we've led
A life ov little care.
An monny a time aw say to Jane,
If things luk dull an bad;--
Cheer up! tha knows we owe to th' rain
All th' joys o' life we've had.

Awr Lad.

Beautiful babby! Beautiful lad!
Pride o' thi mother and joy o' thi dad!
Full ov sly tricks an sweet winnin ways;--
Two cherry lips whear a smile ivver plays;
Two little een ov heavenly blue,--
Wonderinly starin at ivverything new,
Two little cheeks like leaves of a rooas,--
An planted between em a wee little nooas.
A chin wi' a dimple 'at tempts one to kiss;--
Nivver wor bonnier babby nor this.
Two little hands 'at are seldom at rest,--
Except when asleep in thy snug little nest.
Two little feet 'at are kickin all day,
Up an daan, in an aght, like two kittens at play.
Welcome as dewdrops 'at freshen the flaars,
Soa has thy commin cheered this life ov awrs.
What tha may come to noa mortal can tell;--
We hooap an we pray 'at all may be well.
We've other young taistrels, one, two an three,
But net one ith' bunch is moor welcome nor thee.
Sometimes we are tempted to grummel an freeat,
Becoss we goa short ov what other fowk get.
Poverty sometimes we have as a guest,
But tha needn't fear, tha shall share ov the best.
What are fowks' riches to mother an me?
All they have wodn't buy sich a babby as thee.
Aw wor warned i' mi young days 'at weddin browt woe,
'At labor an worry wod keep a chap low,--
'At love aght o' th' winder wod varry sooin flee,
When poverty coom in at th' door,--but aw see
Old fowk an old sayins sometimes miss ther mark,
For love shines aght breetest when all raand is dark.
Ther's monny a nobleman, wed an hawf wild,
'At wod give hawf his fortun to