ely stamped with shame;
A nation gives her patriot
A never-dying fame.

No empty titles ever could
His principles subdue,
His queen and country too he loved,--
Was loyal and was true:
He craved no boon from royalty,
Nor wished their pomp to share,
Far nobler is the soul of him,
The founder of Saltaire.

Thus lives this sage philanthropist,
From courtly pomp removed,
But not secluded from his friends,
For frienship's bond he loved;
A noble reputation too
Crowns all his latter days;
The young men they admire him,
And the aged they him praise.

Long life to thee, Sir Titus,
The darling of our town;
Around thy head while living,
We'll weave a laurel crown.
Thy monument in marble
May suit the passer by,
But a monument in all our hearts
Will never, never die.

And when thy days are over,
And we miss thee on our isle,
Around thy tomb for ever
May unfading laurels smile:
Then may the sweetest flowers
Usher in the spring;
And roses in the gentle gales,
Their balmy odours fling.

May summer's beams shine sweetly,
Upon thy hallowed clay,
And yellow autumn o'er thy head,
Yield many a placid ray;
May winter winds blow slightly,--
The green-grass softly wave,
And falling snow drop lightly
Upon thy honoured grave.

Cowd az Leead.

An' arta fra thi father torn,
So early i' thi youthful morn,
An' mun aw pine away forlorn,
I' grief an' pain?
Fer consolashun I sall scorn
If tha be ta'en.

O yes, tha art, an' aw mun wail
Thi loss through ivvery hill an' dale,
Fer nah it is too true a tale,
Tha'rt cowd az leead.
An' nah thi bonny face iz pale,
Tha'rt deead! tha'rt deead'!

Aw's miss tha when aw cum fra t'shop,
An' see thi bat, an' ball, an' top;
An' aw's be ommust fit ta drop,
Aw sall so freeat,
An' Oh! mi varry heart may stop
An' cease to beeat!

Ah'd allus aimed, if tha'd been spar'd,
Of summat better to hev shared
Ner what thi poor owd father fared,
I' this cowd sphere;
Yet, after all, aw'st noan o' cared
If tha'd stayed here.

But O! Tha Conquerer Divine,
'At vanquished deeath i' Palestine,
Tak to Thi arms this lad o' mine
Noan freely given;
But mak him same as wun o' Thine,
Wi' Thee i' Heaven.

The Factory Girl.

Shoo stud beside her looms an' watch'd
The shuttle passin' through,
But yet her soul wur sumweer else,
'Twor face ta face wi' Joe.