cian 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.

Mute are those lips, whose mildest accents spoke
Their sterling worth, down to the harmless joke;
Clear-seeing his soul, for lo! that mind was one
That envied nothing underneath the sun.

To speak the truth, he never was afraid;
His country's weal, his country's laws obeyed;
A pensive calm reigned on his noble brow,
While in his eye you read the solemn vow:--

"I harm no one; no one will I betray;
My duty is to watch and see fair play;
My friendship is to no one set confined;
My heart and hand are given to all mankind."

Oh ancient town of legendary strain
When will his place in thee be filled again!
For men like he, possessed of sterling worth,
Are few and far between upon the earth.

Such was the man the weeping mourners mourn,
Lost to his friends, ah! never to return;
Fled to the spheres where he in peace must dwell,
While all who knew him bid a long farewell.

A Yorkshireman's Christmas.

Aw hev ten or twelve pund o' gooid meit,
A small cheese an' a barrel o' beer;
Aw'll welcome King Kersmas to neet,
For he nobbut comes once in a year.

Send ahr Will dahn ta Tommy Spoyle Wood's,
An' tell him ta send up a log;
An' tell him an' Betty to come,
For Tommy's a jolly owd dog.

Aw mean ta forget all my debts,
An' aw mean ta harbour no grief;
Nobbut emptying glasses an' plates
O' their contents o' beer an' gooid beef.

Them barns they care nowt abaht drink,
Like us 'at's advanced into years;
So Sally, lass, what does ta think,
If ta buys 'em some apples an' pears?

Ahr David's a fine little lad,
An' ahr Nancy's a fine little lass;
When aw see 'em aw do feel so g