us a wag o' thi paw;
Ah knew thee when thi heead wor black,
But nah it's as white as snow;
Yet a merry Christmas to thee, Jim,
An' all thi kith an' kin:
An' hopin' tha'll hev monny more
For t' sake o' owd long sin,
Jim Wreet,
For t' sake o' owd long sin.

It's soa monny year ta-day, Jim Wreet,
Sin owd Joe Constantine
An' Daniel Ackroyd, thee and me,
An' other friends o' thine
Went up ta sing at t' Squire's house
Net hawf-a-mile fra' here;
An' t' Squire made us welcome
To his brown October beer,
Jim Wreet,
To his brown October beer.
An' owd Joe Booth tha knew, Jim Wreet,
'At kept the Old King's Arms.
Wheear all t' church singers used ta meet,
When they hed sung their Psalms;
An' thee an' me amang 'em, Jim,
Sometimes hev chang'd the string,
An' wi' a merry chorus join'd,
We've made yon' tavern ring,
Jim Wreet,
We've made yon' tavern ring.

But nearly three score year, Jim Wreet,
Hev passed away sin then;
When Keighley in Apollo's art
Could boast her music men.
But music, nah, means money, Jim,
An' that tha's sense ta knaw;
But just for owd acquaintance sake,
Come gie us a wag o' thi paw, Jim Wreet;
Jim Wreet,
Come gie us a wag o' thi paw.

A DISAPPOINTED MAN

I think an apology will be scarcely needed for introducing a few remarks
regarding Mr James Wallbank, a well-known and eccentric character in the
town. I have heard that James is dead. Whether this is so or not I cannot
say; certainly I have not seen the old gentleman about for some time.
James was for many years billiard-marker at the Devonshire Hotel. He
cherished the idea that he was related to royalty. He often told me that
he was a relative of one of the old kings of France, and insisted that
his name instead of being Wallbank should be Wal de Brooke, or something
like that. When Burridge, the celebrated American painter, was in
Keighley, he stayed at the Devonshire Hotel and painted Mr Walbank's
portrait, and the picture is now in the possession of Mr Martin Reynolds.

"GOOISE AN' GIBLET PIE."

Another well-known character was Harry Smith, manufacturer. Harry was a
man intensely fond of fun, and one Christmas Eve, I remember, when I was
coming from the station after returning from Scotland, he tapped me on
the sho