"CANNY SHIELDS." HE town of Shields, from the days of yore even until now, has ever received but scant courtesy from the scribe or the traveller; and the meed of praise, thus sparingly granted, has been accorded in a still less degree by its powerful and opulent neighbouring borough, a few miles further up the Tyne. The following poem was written, it would seem, from some of the allusions, about twenty years since, and was printed for private circulation. We cannot do better, we think, than prefix an account of a visit to the locality, by the famous bibliographer, Dibdin, which, it must be confessed, seems to favour the sentiments of the poem. "Our first approach," says he, "was to the two Shields, south and north; a very Wapping, at the embouchure of the river Tyne. How am I even to attempt the description of these parallel towns, intersected by a river, upon the breast of which, all day long, colliers, and steamers, and wherries, and cock-boats, are in a constant state of movement and excitement! Never had such a scene before presented itself to my view. The black tints of Sunderland were neutralised into grey, compared with the colour of everything and every body here around me. While we were waiting for the ferry-steamer, to carry over the horse and chaise, with ourselves and other passengers, lounging at the water's edge, I looked down upon a lighter, or barge, nearly cleared of its cargo; and on gazing at the motley scene below, I saw a lad, of about fifteen, jump, from the side of the barge, upon a heap of very small coal, in the corner, and roll himself about in it as gaily and happily as a haymaker in a hay-cock! There is no disputing about taste; but doubtless this was as natural to the lad as the hay-cock to the haymaker. He lept up from his frolic a very Otaheitan in colour. Face, hands, shirt and clothes, were as black as his hat. "This is a very odd circumstance, is it not?" observed I to a bystander. "Not at all, Sir, the lads like few things better." "We now crossed the river, a good width, and all in a ferment with navigation of every possible description, and in every possible direction. Echoing shouts of men, splashing of oars, roaring surf round the steamers' prows, swelling sails, and fluttering flags, caught the ear and eye wherever they wandered. North Shields may be considered almost the exclusive property of His Grace the Duke of Northumberland; who has built a good substantial hotel close to the landing place. Indeed, it was once a moot point whether the customhouse, with all appurtenances of quay, wharfs, and docks, should not have been established here, rather than at Newcastle-upon-Tyne; but the Newcastle-folk fought a very tough fight, and discomfited the duke. Happening to mistake our way, as to the more ready and agreeable route to the Abbey ruins, we had to thread a few streets-which can never be forgotten...for their combined narrowness, stench, and dense population. Human beings seemed to have been born, and to have kept together since birth, like onions strung upon a string. You never see one or two together; they stand still, or bustle along, in fives, sixes, and sevens. It is a rushing stream of countless population. And what houses! What streets !-what articles for sale! Yet they all seemed as merry and happy as if they were the Holmeses and Lewises of Regent street. "Owing to a choke in the street, our vehicle was stopped some time; and every head from every window seemed to be thrust out to see who we might be. We had dropped from the clouds-if the expression of surprise and astonishment, visible upon each face had been the interpreter. At length we began to ascend, and gained the high road." Canny Shields. W HAT darkly distant see I yonder, Giddy topmasts, thick as rushes, A great long street from top to bottom. No! no! a nice Cross-house, a Square there's A town of Books (-for beef Accounts-) And Letters (-Average ones-); and Reels, And Balls (at "the Law") in large amounts, For making happy-CANNY SHIELDS. A town of Music, too, for Bagpipes, Then the "schism-shops," and the steeple, Glass and Iron, Gin and Gallipots, Once a youth of fame departed, In spruce pea-jacket, watch and seals, Ere long, howe'er, a voice was started In tones so frightful, (-was't the De'il's ?-) It well nigh went to wring his heart out, 66 Ay! the Ship's frae CANNY SHIELDS! Below he flies at one bold rush, Brings up the paint pot, down he steals Abaft the stern, and brush-brush-brushIndignant, brush'd out CANNY SHIELDS. He was, indeed, a modest youth, As each should be who nicely feels; And so he painted (-loving truth-) Another place for CANNY SHIELDS. Now they talk of building bridges, Tied to the clouds with "Apple-peels Shields for ever! the true blue Sailor "'* ARKER, who was vicar of Embleton, near Alnwick, "Miss Molly, a famed toast, was fair and young, • Shields phraseology. Border Tour. An Encident in the Life OF THE DAME OF THE WOODHOUSES, IN TYNEDALE. HE farm and steading of the Woodhouses about two miles above the village of Falstone, in Tynedale, were occupied some sixty years ago or upwards, by a decent, well-meaning man of the name of Matthew Robson. His wife was a careful, industrious woman, who rose early and sat up late, and was never weary in a worldly way, of providing for her family. The work she performed was wonderful; for besides doing all that was required in the kitchen, she was able herself, by carding wool for cloth and blankets, to keep two serving women constantly spinning on what was called "the muckle wheel." Her husband on going to bed at night, left her always at work, and in the morning she was busy again, before he considered it time to be up looking about his farm. When Saturday night came, she employed herself the same way as on any other evening in the week, and Matthew, being a man who entertained great reverence for religion, had some fears that before she retired, she frequently encroached on the morning of the Lord's day. He remonstrated with her on the impropriety of this; but not being desirous of running out his authority to its full extent, he left, for a time, the matter to her own conscience, and she proceeded as usual, steadily walking on in the strength of her unwearied industry. A piper of the name of Miles was then in the habit of travelling through Tynedale; and he remained always a couple of days or more at the Woodhouses. At that time farmers were not straitened in circumstances as they are now; and Matthew Robson, by furnishing Miles with provender while he stayed, and a fleece of wool as a donation at "clipping time," heard, during the piper's visit, the best and most arousing strains that he could possibly produce. The wily itinerant also habitually planned his visits so that he might reach Matthew's house on the Saturday night, probably to partake of an excellent dinner on the following day; and on this occasion arriving in the dusk of the evening, he was, unobserved by the mistress, conveyed into a small cellar, immediately below the kitchen. Being supplied with food and a comfortable bed, he received from |