hite,
A mantle gert shoo wore;
A nicer lukin', smarter form
I nivver saw afoar.

Her featers did resemble wun
O' that kind-hearted lot,
'At's ivver ready to relieve
The poor man in his cot.

Benevolence wor strongly mark'd
Upon her noble heead;
An' on her bruhst ye might ha' read,
"Who dees fer want o' breead?"

In fact, a kinder-hearted soul
Owd Yorkshire cuddant boast;
An' who wod feel the least alarmed
Ta talk ta sitch a ghoast?

I didn't feel at all afraid,
As nearer me shoo drew:
I sed--"Good evening, Mrs. Ghoast,
Hahivver do ye dew?"

Sho nivver seem'd to tak no gawm,
Bud pointed up at t'mooin,
An' beckon'd me ta follow her
Reight dahn bi t'Wattery Loin.

So on we went, an' dahn we turn'd,
An' nawther on us spak;
Bud nah an' then shoo twined her heead,
Ta see if I'd runn'd back.

At t'last sho stopped and turned arahnd,
An' luk'd ma fair i' t'een;
'Twor nah I picked it aght at wunce,
Sho wor no human bein'.

Sho rave a paper fra her bruhst,
Like some long theatre bill;
An' then shoo sed "Wake mortal,
Will ta read to me this will?

"Bud first, afoar tha starts to read,
I'll tell thee who I is;
Tha lukes a dacent chap eniff--
I judge it by thi phiz.

"Well, I've a job fer thee to do--
That is, if tha will do it;
I think tha'rt t'likliest man I knaw,
Becos tha art a poet.

If I am not mistaen, mi friend,
I often hear thi name;
I think they call tha John o' t'Bog";--
Says I--"Owd lass, it's t'same."

"It's just so mony years this day,
I knaw it by mi birth,
Sin' I departed mortal life,
An' left this wicked earth.

"But ere I closed these een to go
Into eternity,
I thowt I'd dew a noble act,
A deed o' charity.

"I hed a bit o' brass, tha knaws,
Some land an' property;
I thowt it might be useful, John,
To folks i' poverty.

"So then I made a will o't' lot,
Fer that did suit mi mind;
I planned it as I thowt wor t'best,
To benefit mankind.

"I left a lot ta t' Grammar Skooil;
By reading t'will tha'll see,
That ivvery body's barn, tha knaws,
May hev ther skooilin' free.

"An' if tha be teetotal, John--
Tha may think it a fault--
To ivvery woman liggin' in
I gav a peck o' malt.

"Bud t'biggest bulk o' brass 'at's left,
As tha'll hev heeard afooar,
Wor to be dealt half-yearly
Among ahr Keighley poor.

"I certainly did mak a flaw,
Fer which I've rued, a