think that they themselves doant do more than
they can help for their money.

T'ole ingin soon dragged us to Wolverhampton,
and the fust thing we did when we got out
at t' stashun was to go and look at t' arch o'
coal. Wor the reader ever glad?— oi doant
mean wor yow ever pleased; because a man
may be pleased at t' soight of a noice puddin ,
and hev his mouth a runnin' o' water;
bur wor yow ever so glad as to hev a grate
thumpin' and bumpin'  under yowr weskit, loike
a ingin a pumpin' up yowr feelin's, until it pumps
larfter into yowr mouth and tears into yowr eyes,
so that yow doant know which yow ought to
do, to larf or to cry, or do both? If yow do
know auythin' about that 'xperance, then yow
can understand wot me, and Bull's-oi, and
Stumpy, and Ole Crow felt, when we seed that
arch. Sez oi, " Bull's-oi, will that do?" And all
the answer oi got from him war lots o' grinnin',
and winkin' his oi, and noddin' his hed. Bull's-oi
carries a hart under his weskit; and the
soight o' that arch o' coal went straight to it,
and filled it so full that he couldn't speak.
Stumpy clapped his hands, and sez, sez he, " If
t' Queen knows wots good, she'll loike that;
and if she doant loike it, then she doant know
wot's beautiful." Ole Crow didn't know wot
to say; so sez oi, " Whomsumdever they be
that's dun that, I should loike to thank 'em."
"Amen," sed Stumpy, as reg'lar loike as
though he'd bin at chapel, and Stumpy allus
goes there. Jest fancy that arch, and all them
tools, and pikes, and baskets, and skips, and
everything that t' miners use! Lor, how glad
t' Queen wor to see 'em, and M r e knowed she
would be.

When we could git from t' arch o' coal, and
oi thowt we never should, we then went through
t' streets. They certainly wos very purty, and,
thinks oi, oi never thowt much o' Wolverhampton
people afore, but they can do things when
they've a moind. And then they were so beautifully
pius tew. The streets wos as good as a
meetin'. They couldn't say their prayers fast
enuff in a doors— 'spose they wos tew busy—
and so they stuck 'em outside in front of their
housen, and, everywhere yow went, yow wos
'bilged to say Amen— that is, if yow'd got a hart
as big as a chesnut, yow wos obliged to say it;
for all their prayers wos for t' Queen. But there
wos one thing oi didn't loike— oi doant say it
wos wrong, but oi didn't loike it— and that wor
to see seats fixed up in front o' sum of t' chapels,
and to know that they were rented. I thowt
it looked rayther mean, loike. Oi axed Stumpy
wot wos his opinions, as he goes to chapel; and
he sed, sez he, that he didn't think it wor
wrong to git a honest penny to help pay orf t'
debt. But oi said, " Stumpy," and oi looked
solemn loike, " wot isn't exac'ly wrong, is allus
exac'ly roight; looks has summit to do wi' things;
and oi doant think it roight to be makin' a
penny that 'ere way." Stumpy sed the leaders
knowed best; but, to my moind, the leaders
doant allus know best. What a noice place
they made for sum folk to set in, near to the
stato. Oi should loike to ha' bin' there, but oi
wor towd it was not for pitmen. Well, I doant
blame people for their eddication, because that's
gie them when they doant know no better; and
arterwards it sticks to 'em loike burrs to a
wosted stockin'. People ha' bin larnt that t'
pitman isn't loike other people, and we can only
by our good conduct prove that we belong to t'
same flesh and blood, although it is tew t'
underground part. Well, oi am not sorry that
everybody isn't at t' same level; for oi want
to get on, and when oi sees somebody afore me
oi am ernest to overtake 'em; and, tew moi
moind, that's t' way to raise in t' world. Oi
can't say as how oi loiked that hut they put for
t' Queen to go into. Oi think they called it the
Pervillon.

I dessay it was purty enuff to them that
understood such things, but it seemed a darksome
place to me, and they towd me that when the
maar got in there wid the Queen and the big
folks, that he got benighted, and I doant wonder
at it, and that when he found hisself agin, it
warn't hisself, but somebody else. I doant
know what his woife thowt about it, oi'm sure;
but my Molly sed that she shouldn't a loiked the
Queen to a changed her husband. There wos
one purly thing there that pleased me mainly,
and that wos a piece a calicor, wid letters on
it, stretched across tew or three shops. When
oi seed it, oi sez, " Bull's-oi, look here, what's
this?" "Ah," sez he, ' wot is it?" "Read
it," sez oi; and he red it: " Albert the good,
the silent father of our kings to be." " That's
wot yow call poetry," sez Bnll's-oi. " It is,'"'
sez oi. " Bull's-oi, what is a poet?" " Cum
up in this corner," sez he, " and we'll talk it
o'er. A poet," sez Bull's-oi, " is one who can
talk such as them." " Oi doant think it," sez
oi; " but oi think a poet is a purson who can
feel wots in them words, and can think such
thowts on a subject as could be put in them
words. Words is only a cart that brings out
your thowts and feelin's for other people to see.
A coal-master would be a coal-master if he
kep all his coals on t' pit bank, and never sent
any away, but then nobody would know that he
wos a coal-master; it is the sendin' 'em away
that makes him known to be a coal-master.
Jest so, Bull's-oi, a man may be a poet, a
silent poet, who has thowts and feelin's, and
keeps em shut up in his own moind; but
if he hasn't a cart, in t' shape o' words, to send
'em away, nobody knows he is a poet." " Ah!"
sed Bull's-oi; and wot more he would a sed oi
can't say, but the missuses hollered, "Cum
lads, t' Queen's a cummin'!'' and so orf we went
as fast as we could to the stashun.

It worn't easy work tew git down there, oi
can tell ye. A fellar had tew crush, and push,
and keep his temper. It's no good unless yow
keep your temper in a crowd. I seed a little
fellar as had got his missus hooked on tew his arm,
and sum rough lads, jest for the fun o' the thing,
loike, wor a moind to seperate 'em. That they
moight do so easily, they waited until t' party
wor turnin' a corner, and then they pushed