Part 6 (1/2)

”An' tell 'em to remember thee Upon t'next Feffee Day!”

I says-”I sallant get a meg, I'm gettin' parish pay.”

So when shoo'd spokken what shoo thowt, An' tell'd me what to do, I ax'd her if shoo'd harken me, Wal I just said a word or two.

”I'll nut tell you one word o' lie, As sure as my name's John; I think at you are quite i' t'mist Abaht things going on.

”Folks gether in fra far an' near, When it is Feffee Day, An' think they hev another lowse, Wi' t'little bit o' pay.

”Asteead o' givin' t'bra.s.s to t'poor, It's shocking fer to tell, They'll hardly let 'em into t'door- I knaw it bi misell.

”Asteead o' bein' a peck o' malt Fer t'wimmen liggin' in, It's geen to rascals ower-grown, To drink i' rum an' gin.

”Then them at is-I understand- What you may call trustees; They hev ther favourites, you knaw, An' gives to who they please.

”Some's nowt to do but shew ther face, An' skrew ther maath awry; An' t'bra.s.s is shuvv'd into ther hand, As they are pa.s.sin' by.

”There's monny a woman I knaw weel, Boath middle-aged and owd, 'At's waited fer ther bit o' bra.s.s, An' catch'd ther deeath o' cowd;

”Wol mony a knave wi' lots o' bra.s.s Hes c.u.m i' all his pride, An' t'flunkeys, fer to let him pa.s.s, Hes push'd t'poor folk aside.

”Fra Bradford, Leeds, an' Halifax, If they've a claim, they come; But what wi' t'railway fares an' drink, It's done bi they get hooam.

”Wol mony a poorer family 'At's nut been named i' t'list, Reight weel desarves a share o' t'spoil, But, thenk ye, they are miss'd.

”We see a man at hes a haase, Or happen two or three, They 'Mister' him, an' hand him aght Five times as mitch as me.

”'Twor better if yo'd teed yer bra.s.s Tight up i' sum owd seck, An' getten t'Corporation brooms, To sweep it into t'beck.”

No longer like Capia's form, Wi' a tear i' both her een, But like the gallant Camilla, The Volscian warrior Queen.

Shoo, kneelin', pointed up aboon, An' vah'd, be all so breet, Sho'd wreak her vengence on ther heeads, Or watch 'em day an' neet.

Shoo call'd the Furies to her aid, An' Dirae's names shoo used, An' sware if I hed spocken t'truth, Shoo hed been sore abus'd.

”Alas, poor Ghoast!”-I sed to her- ”Indeed, it is too true”; Wi' that sho vanish'd aght o' t'seet, Sayin' ”Johnny lad, adieu!”

In Memory of THOMAS IRELAND, _Police Superintendent_, _Keighley_.

BORN 1831, DIED 1887.

”He was a man, take him for all-in-all, we shall not look upon his like again?”-SHAKSPEARE.

Who knew his virtues must his death deplore And long lament that Ireland is no more; Set is the sun that shone with all its rays, And claimed from every one their warmest praise.