ca ith' pot.
An he'd fill up this little black clay,
An as th' reek curled away o'er his heead,
Ivvery trace ov his sorrow gave way,
An a smile used to dwell thear asteead.

He grew waiker as years rolled along,
An his e'eseet an hearin gave way;
An his limbs at had once been soa strong,
Grew shakier day after day.
Yet his heart nivver seem'd to grow old,
Tho life's harvest had long been past ripe
For his ailments wor allus consoled,
When he'd getten a whiff ov his pipe,

Aw'll keep it as long as aw can,
For its all aw've been able to save,
To bind mi heart still to th' old man,
At's moulderin away in his grave.
He'd noa strikin virtues to booast,
Noa vices for th' world to condemn;
To be upright an honest an just,
In his lifetime he ne'er forgate them,

As a fayther, kind, patient and true,
His mem'ry will allus be dear;
For he acted soa far as he knew,
For th' best to all th' fowk he coom near.
An aw ne'er see this blackened old clay,
But aw find mi een dimmed wi a tear;
An aw ne'er put th' old relic away
But aw wish mi old fayther wor here.

Let th' Lasses Alooan!

What a lot ov advice ther is wasted;--
What praichin is all thrown away;--
Young fowk lang for pleasures untasted,
An its little they'll heed what yo say.
Old fowk may have wisdom i' plenty,
But they're apt to forget just one thing;
What suits sixty will hardly fit twenty,
An youth ivver will have its fling.

__________

Old Jenny sat silently freeatin,--
Sed Alec, "Pray lass, what's to do?"
But his old wife went on wi her knittin,
As if shoo'd a task to get throo.
Then shoo tuk off her specs, and sed sadly,
"Awm capt ha blind some fowk can be;
Ther's reason for me lukkin badly,
But nowt maks a difference to thee."

Ther's awr Reuben, he's hardly turned twenty,
An awr Jim isn't nineteen wol May;--
Aw provide for em gooid things i plenty,
An ne'er a wrang word to em say;
But they've noa sooiner swoller'd ther drinkin,
Nor they're don'd, an away off they've gooan,
An awm feared,--for aw connot help thinkin,
At they dunnot let th' lasses alooan.

Ther's that forrad young hussy, Sal Sankey,
Awm thankful shoo's noa child o' mine:--
When awr Reuben's abaat shoo's fair cranky;--
An shoo's don'd like some grand lady fine.
An Reuben's soa soft he can't see it,
An aw mud as weel praich to a stooan,
He does nowt but grin when aw tell