w from her ten hours' labour,
Back to her cottage shoo shogs;
Aw hear by the tramping an' singing,
'Tis the factory girl in her clogs.

And at night when shoo's folded i' slumber,
Shoo's dreaming o' noises and drawls:
Of all human toil under-rated,
'Tis our poor little factory girl's.

Haworth Sharpness.

Says a wag to a porter i' Haworth one day,
"Yahr not ower sharp ye drones o't'railway,
For fra Keighley to Haworth I've been oft enough,
But nivver a hawpenny I've paid ye begoff."

The porter replied, "I vary mitch daht it,
But I'll give a quart to hear all about it;
For it looks plain to me tha cuddant pass t'snicket,
Baht tipping to t'porter thy pass or thy ticket."

"Tha'll write up to Derby an' then tha'll deceive me";
"I willn't, this time," sed t'porter, "believe me":
"Then aght wi thy brass, an' let us be knocking,
For I've walk'd it on foot, by t'Cross Roads an' t' Bocking."

Dear Harden.

Dear Harden, the home o' my boyhood so dear,
Thy wanderin' son sall thee ivver revere;
Tho' years hev rolled ower sin thy village I left,
An' o' frends an' relations I now am bereft.

Yet thy hills they are pleasant, tho' rocky an' bare;
Thy dowters are handsome, thy sons they are rare;
When I walk thro' thy dells, by the clear running streams,
I think o' my boyhood an' innocent dreams.

No care o' this life then troubled my breast,
I wor like a young bird new fligged fra its nest;
Wi' my dear little mates did I frolic and play,
Wal life's sweetest moments wor flying away.

As the dew kissed the daisies their portals to close,
At neet i' my bed I did sweetly repose;
An' rose in the morning at Nature's command,
Till fra boyhood to manhood my frame did expand.

The faces that once were familiar to me,
Those that did laugh at my innocent glee;
I fancy I see them, tho' now far away,
Or p'r'aps i' Bingley church-yard they may lay.

For since I've embarked on life's stormy seas,
My mind's like the billows that's nivver at ease;
Yet I still hev a hope my last moments to crown--
In thee, dearest village, to lay myself down.

The Heroic Watchman of Calversyke Hill.

[This extraordinary "hero" either bore false witness against his
neighbour, a poor artisan, or (taking his own word for it) saved the
nation from great disaster and ruin by putting out a fire that no one saw
but himself.]

We've heard of great fires in city and town,
And many disasters by fire are known;
But sur