fowk!
Yo see, poor thing, he's ravin!
It cuts me up to hear sich talk--
He spent his life i' savin!

"An Mally lass," he said agean,
"Tak heed o' my direction:
Th' schooil owes us hauf a craan--aw mean
My share o'th' last collection.--
Tha'll see to that, an have what's fair
When my poor life is past."--
Says Mally, "listen, aw declare,
He's sensible to th' last."

He shut his een an' sank to rest--
Deeath seldom claimed a better:
They put him by,--but what wor th' best,
He sent 'em back a letter,
To tell 'em all ha he'd gooan on;
An' ha he gate to enter;
An' gave 'em rules to act upon
If ever they should ventur.

Theear Peter stood wi' keys i' hand:
Says he, "What do you want, sir?
If to goa in--yo understand
Unknown to me yo can't sir.--
Pray what's your name? where are yo throo?
Just make your business clear."
Says he, "They call me Parson Drew,
Aw've come throo Pudsey here."

"You've come throo Pudsey, do you say?
Doant try sich jokes o' me, sir;
Aw've kept thease doors too long a day,
Aw can't be fooiled bi thee, sir."
Says Drew, "aw wodn't tell a lie,
For th' sake o' all ther's in it:
If yo've a map o' England by,
Aw'll show yo in a minit."

Soa Peter gate a time-table--
They gloored o'er th' map together:
Drew did all at he wor able,
But could'nt find a stiver.
At last says he, "Thear's Leeds Taan Hall,
An thear stands Braforth mission:
It's just between them two--that's all:
Your map's an old edition.

But thear it is, aw'll lay a craan,
An' if yo've niver known it,
Yo've miss'd a bonny Yorksher taan,
Tho mony be 'at scorn it."
He oppen'd th' gate,--says he, "It's time
Some body coom--aw'll trust thee.
Tha'll find inside noa friends o' thine--
Tha'rt th' furst 'at's come throo Pudsey."

Poor Old Hat.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! like misen tha's grown
An fowk call us old fashioned an odd;
But monny's the storm we have met sin that day,
When aw bowt thee all shiny an snod.
As aw walked along th' street wi thee peearkt o' mi broo,
Fowk's manners wor cappin to see;
An aw thowt it wor me they bade 'ha do yo do,'
But aw know nah they nodded at thee.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! aw mun cast thee aside,
For awr friendship has lasted too long;
Tho' tha still art mi comfort, an once wor mi pride,
Tha'rt despised i' this world's giddy throng.
Dooant think me ungrateful, or call me unkind,
If another aw put i thi place;
For aw think tha'll admit if tha'll op