Chapter 5

Yes; he whose life's short span appears Mixed up with joyous smiles and tears; So interwove with doubts and fears His harp did ring; And made the world to ope' its ears And hear him sing.

'Twas his to walk the lonely glen, Betimes to shun the haunts of men, Searching for his magic pen-- Poetic fire; And far beyond the human ken He strung the lyre.

And well old Scotland may be proud To hear her Burns proclaimed aloud, For to her sons the world hath bowed Through Burns's name-- All races of the world are proud Of Burns's fame.

Trip to Malsis Hall.

The day wor fine, the sun did shine, No signs o' rain to fall, When t'North Beck hands, i' jovial bands, Did visit Malsis Hall.

Up by the hill o' North Beck Mill, Both owd an' young did meet; To march I trow, i' two-by-two, Procession dahn the street.

An' Marriner's Band, wi' music grand, Struck up wi' all ther might; Then one an' all, both great an' small, March'd on wi' great delight.

The girls an' boys, wi' jovial noise, The fife an' drum did play; For ivvery one wod hev some fun On this eventful day.

Owd Joan o' Sall's wi' all his pals, March'd on wi' all ther ease: Just for a lark, some did remark, "There goes some prime owd cheese!"

T'Exl' Heead chaps wi' their girt caps, An' coits nut quite i' t'fashion; Wi' arms ding-dong, they strut along, An' put a famous dash on.

Tom Wilkins dress'd up in his best, T'owd wife put on her fall, Fer they wor bent, what com or went, To dine at Malsis Hall.

Ther wor Tommy Twist among the list, Wi' his magenta snaht; He's often said sin he gat wed, T'owd lass sud hev an aght.

Among the lot wor owd Sam Butt, As fine as owd Lord Digby; An' owd Queer Doos, wi' his streit shoes, An' wi' him Joseph Rigby.

There's Jimmy Gill, o' Castle Hill,-- That gentleman wi' t'stick,-- There's Will an' Sam, an' young John Lamb, An' Ben an' Earby Dick.

I scorn to lie--the reason why It is a shame awm sure! But among the job wor owd Joe Hob, Behold! a perfect kewer.

I'd quite forgot, among the lot, There too wor Pally Pickles, Wi' crinoline shoo walks so fine, Shoo's like a cat i' prickles.

Bud to mi tale--aw mussant fail I' owt on this occasion-- Wi' heead erect, an' girt respect, We march to Keighley Station.

Nah--all reight fain gat into t'train, Owd Ned began to screeam; Then Master Pratt doft off his hat, An' just pept aght at t'steeam.

This jovial band when they did land, Got off the train so hearty, For they all went, wi' that intent, To hev a grand tea-party!

The country foak did gape an' luke, To see us all delighted, An' ivvery one did say "Begum, Aw wish awd been invited."

'Tis joy to tell, they marched as well As t'Scots did ower the border, Owd Wellington an' all his men Ne'er saw such marchin' order.

The lookers-on, to see them come, Gat on ta t'second storey; Reight dahn the park they did 'em mark, Comin' i' their full glory.

Then to the place each smilin' face, Moved on i' grand succession; The lookers on did say "Well done, It is a grand procession!"

When they'd all pass'd the hall at last They form'd into a column; Then Jimmy Wreet, wi' all his meet, Gav aght a hymn so solemn:

Then all did raise their voice i' praise, Wi' music in the centre; They sang a hymn i'praise o' Him, 'At is the girt Creator.

That bit bein' done, they all did run, To get a pleasant day in, Some went there, an' some went here, An' t'Bands began o' playin'.

Wi' mich amaze, we all did gaze, Arahnd this splendid park; Then little Jake began to talk, An' thus he did remark:--

"At Morecambe Bay I've been a day, At Bolton Woods an' Ilkley; But Malsis Hall outstrips 'em all, 'At I've seen aght o' Keighley."

The girt park wall arahnd the hall, Majestical does stand; Wi' wavin' trees, an' pleasant breeze, It's like a fairy land.

It fill'd wur eyes wi' gert surprise, To see the fahnten sporting; An' on the top, stuck on a prop, The British flags wor floatin'.

The walks so grand, wi' yellow sand, An' splendid wor the pavin', High over all, arahnd the wall, Wor flags an' banners wavin'.

Nah--some made fun, an' some did run, Owd women they wor singin'-- "Do you ken the Moofin Man,"-- An' others they wor swingin'.

I' sooth 'twor grand to see this band, Assembled all together; Bud sad to say, that varry day Turn'd aght some shockin' weather.

Bud war ner t'rain, aw mun explain, 'At caus'd a girt disaster, All but one sort o' breead ran short-- It wor no fault o' t'maister.

O, Gormanton! thy breead an' bun, An' judgment it wor scanty; Oh, what a shame, an' what a name, For not providing plenty!

Oh, silly clown! thah might hev knawn, To eyt each one wor able; The country air did mak some swear They cud ommost eyt a table.

The atmosphere, no longer clear, The clouds are black an' stormy; Then all but one away did run, Like some desertin' army.

On--on! they go! as if some foe Wor chargin' at the lot! If they got there, they didn't care A fig for poor Will Scott!

Poor lame owd Will remains theer still, His crutches hes to fetch him; But he's seen t'time, when in his prime, 'At nobody theer cud catch him.

Like some fast steed wi' all its speed, All seem'd as they wor flyin'; To escape the rain, an' catch the train, Both owd and young wor tryin'.

One Mat o' Wills, abaght Crosshills, He heeard a fearful hummin', He said ta t'wife, "Upon mi life, Aw think the French are comin'!

Tha knaws reight weel 'at we've heeard tell O' sich strange things afore, So lass luke quick an' cut thi stick, An' I will bolt the door."

Like drahnded rats they pass owd Mat's, An' ran dahn to the station; Owd Betty Bake an' Sally Shacks Were both plump aght o' patience.

"This is a mess," says little Bess, 'At lives on t'top o' t'garden; "There's my new shawl an' fine lace fall, They'll nut be worth a fardin."

But, hark! ding-dong goes through the throug, The bell does give the sign, Wi' all its force, the iron horse Comes trottin' dahn the line.

Then one by one they all get in, Wet, fatigued, an' weary; The steam does blow, owd Ned doth go, An' we come back so cherry.

Whene'er we roam away fra hooam, No matter wheer or when, In storm or shower, if in wur power, To home, sweet home, we turn!

The Bold Buchaneers.

A Military description of the Second Excursion to Malsis Hall, the Residence of JAMES LUND, Esq.

I remember perusing when I was a boy, The immortal bard Homer--his siege of old Troy, So the Malsis encampment I'll sing if you will, How our brave army "bivoked" on the plains o' Park Hill.

Near the grand Hall o' Malsis our quarters we took, When Lieuteuant-col. Don Frederick spoke, Commanding his aid-de-camp Colonel de Mann, To summons and muster the chiefs o' the clan.

Majors Wood, Lamb, and Pollard came up to the lines, Each marching their companies up to the nines; The twirlers and twisters, the knights of the coal, And spuzzers and sorters fell in at the roll.

The light-infantry captains were Robin and Shack, And the gallant big "benners" the victuals did sack; Captain Green he commanded the Indigo troop, These beer barrel chargers none with them can cope.

The Amazon army led on by Queen Bess, Each feminine soldier so grand was her dress, Though they chatted and pratted, 'twor pleasant to see Them laughing and quaffing their hot rum and tea.

There was music to dainties and music to wine, And for fear of invaders no hearts did repine; Although a dark cloud swept over the plain, Yet our quarter was sheltered from famine and rain.

Drum-Major Ben Rushworth and Bandmaster Wright, Drank to each other with pleasure that night; We'd full-flowing bumpers, we'd music and fun, From the larder and cellar of Field-Marshall Lund.

One Private Tom Berry got into the hall, When a big rump o' beef he made rather small; And Flintergill Billy of the Spuzzer's Brigade, Got his beak in the barrel, and havoc he made.

The Field-Marshall declared, and his good lady too, They ne'er were attacked with so pleasant a foe; With this all the clansmen gave them three cheers, In return they saluted the bold Buchaneers.

The Benks o' the Aire.

It isn't the star of the evening that breetens, Wi' fairy-like leetness the owd Rivock ends, Nor is it the bonny green fields up ta Steeton, Or the benks of the river while strolling wi' friends, That tempts me to wander at twilight so lonely, And leave the gay feast for others to share; But O there's a charm, and a charm for me only, In a sweet little cot on the Benks o' the Aire.

How sweet and remote from all turmoil and danger, In that cot, wi' my Mary, I could pass the long years: In friendship and peace lift the latch to a stranger, And chase off the anguish o' pale sorrow's tears. We'd walk aght in t'morning when t'young sun wor shining, When t'birds hed awakened, an' t'lark soar'd i' t'air, An' I'd watch its last beam, on my Mary reclining, From ahr dear little cot on the Benks o' the Aire.

Then we'd talk o' the past, when our loves wor forbidden, When fortune wor adverse, an' friends wod deny, How ahr hearts wor still true, tho' the favours wor hidden Fra the charm of ahr life, the mild stare of ahr eye. An' when age sall hev temper'd ahr warm glow o' feelin' Ahr loves should endure, an' still wod we share; For weal or in woe, or whativver cums stealin', We'd share in ahr cot on the Benks o' the Aire.

Then hasten, my Mary, the moments are flying, Let us catch the bright fugitives ere they depart; For O, thou knaws not what pleasures supplyin' Thy bonny soft image hes nah geen my heart. The miser that wanders besides buried treasure, Wi' his eyes ever led to the spot in despair; How different to him is my rapture and pleasure Near the dear little cot on the Benks o' the Aire.

But sooin may the day come, if come it will ivver; The breetest an' best to me ivver knawn, When fate may ordain us no longer to sever, Then, sweet girl of my heart, I can call thee my own. For dear unto me wor one moment beside thee, If it wor in the desert, Mary, wi' me; But sweeter an' fairer, whate'er betide thee, In ahr sweet little cot on the Benks o' the Aire.

In Memory of J. W. PECKOVER, _Died July 10th_, _1888_.

He was a man, an upright man As ever trod this mortal earth, And now upon him back we scan, Whose greatest fault was honest mirth.

But never more his friends will see The smiling face and laughing eye, Nor hear his jokes with heartfelt glee, Which made dull care before them fly.

Nor ever more the friend shall find, When labour lacks, the shake of hand That oft was wont to leave behind What proved a Brother and a Friend.

In winter's bitter, biting frost, Or hail, or snow, or rain, or sleet, The wretch upon life's tempest toss'd In him found shelter from the street.

The unemployed, the aged poor, The orphan child, the lame and blind, The stranger never crossed his floor But what a friend in him did find.

But now the hand and heart are gone, Which were so noble, kind and true, And now his friends, e'en every one, Are loth to bid a last adieu.

The Fugitive: A Tale of Kersmas Time.

We wor snugly set arahnd the hob, 'Twor one wet Kersmas Eve, Me an ahr Kate an' t'family, All happy I believe: Ahr Kate hed Harry on her knee, An' I'd ahr little Ann, When there com rappin' at the door A poor owd beggar man.

Sleet trickl'd dahn his hoary locks, That once no daht wor fair; His hollow cheeks wor deadly pale, His neck an' breast wor bare; His clooas, unworthy o' ther name, Wor ragg'd an' steepin' wet; His poor owd legs wor stockingless, An' badly shooed his feet.

"Come into t'haase," said t'wife to him, An' get thee up ta t'fire; Shoo then browt aght wur humble fare, T'wor what he did desire; And when he'd getten what he thowt, An' his owd regs wor dry, We ax'd what distance he hed come, An' thus he did reply:

"Awm a native of Cheviot Hills, Some weary miles fra here; Where I like you this neet hev seen Full monny a Kersmas cheer; I left my father's hahse when young, Determined I wod rooam; An' like the prodigal of yore, I'm mackin' tahrds my hooam.

"I soldier'd in the Punjaub lines, On India's burning sand; An' nearly thirty years ago I left my native land; Discipline bein' ta hard fer me, My mind wor allus bent; So in an evil haar aw did Desert my regiment.

"An' nivver sin' durst aw go see My native hill an' glen, Whear aw mud nah as weel hev been The happiest of all men; But my blessin'--an' aw wish ye all A merry Kersmas day; Fer me, I'll tak my poor owd bones, On Cheviot Hills to lay."

"Aw cannot say," aw said to t'wife, "Bud aw feel raather hurt; What thinks ta lass if tha lukes aght, An' finds t'owd chap a shirt." Shoo did an' all, an' stockings too; An' a tear stood in her ee; An' in her face the stranger saw Real Yorkshire sympathy.

Ahr little Jim gav monny a sigh When he hed heeard his tale, An' spak o' some owd trousers, 'At hung on t'chamber rail; Then aght at door ahr Harry runs, An' back ageean he shogs, He'd been in t'coit ta fetch a pair O' my owd ironed clogs.

"It must be fearful cowd ta neet Fer fowk 'at's aght o' t'door: Give him yahr owd grey coit an' all, 'At's thrawn on t'chaamer floor: An' then there's thy owd hat, said Kate, 'At's pors'd so up an' dahn; It will be better ner his awn, Tho' it's withaght a crahn."

So when we'd geen him what we cud (In fact afford to give), We saw the tears come dahn the cheeks, O' t'poor owd fugitive; He thank'd us ower an' ower ageean An' often he did pray, 'At t'barns wod nivver be like him; Then travell'd on his way.

The Feather'd Captive.

My little dapple-winged fellow, What ruffian's hand has made thee wellow? I heard while down in yonder hollow, Thy troubled breast; But I'll return my little fellow, Back to its nest.

Some ruffian's hand has set a snickle, An' left thee in a bonny pickle; Whoe'er he be, I hope owd Nick will Rise his arm, An' mak his heead an' ear-hoil tickle Wi' summat warm.

How glad am I that fate while roaming, Where milk-white hawthorn's blossom's blooming, Has sent my footsteps ere the gloaming Into this dell, To stop some murdering hand fra dooming Thy bonny sel'.

For thou wur doomed my bird, for ever, Fra all thy feather'd mates to sever; Were I not near thee to deliver Wi' my awn hand; Nor ever more thou'd skim the river, Or fallow'd land.

Thy feather'd friends, if thou has any; Tho' friends I fear there isn't many; But yet the dam for her, wi' Johnny, Will fret to-day, And think her watter-wagtail bonny Has flown away.

Be not afraid, for not a feather Fra off thy wing shall touch the heather, For I will give thee altogether Sweet liberty! And glad am I that I came hither, To set thee free.

Now wing thy flight my little rover, Thy curs'd captivity is over, And if thou crosses t'Straits of Dover To warmer spheres, I hope that thou may live in clover, For years and years.

Perhaps, like thee--for fortune's fickle-- I may, myself, be caught i' t'snickle; And some kind hand that sees my pickle-- Through saving thee-- May snatch me too fra death's grim shackle, And set me free.

[Picture: Decorative picture of bird]

Dame Europe's Lodging-House.

A BURLESQUE ON THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR.

Dame Europe kept a Lodging-House, And she was fond of brass; She took in public lodgers, Of every rank and class.

She'd French and German, Dutch and Swiss, And other nations too; So poor old Mrs. Europe Had lots of work to do.

I cannot just now name her beds, Her number being so large; But five she kept for deputies, Which she had in her charge.

So in this famous Lodging-House, John Bull he stood A1; On him she always kept an eye, To see things rightly done.

And Master Louis was her next, And second, there's no doubt, For when a little row took place, He always backed John out.

And in her house was Alex. Russ; Oft him they eyed with fear; For Alex. was a lazy hound, And kept a Russian Bear.

Her fourth was a man of grace, Who was for heaven bent; His name was Pious William, He read his Testament.

Her fifth, too, was a pious Knave, And 'tis our firm belief, He once did rob the Hungary Lads Of hard-earned bread and beef.

These were Dame Europe's deputies, In whom she put her trust, To keep her Lodging-House at peace, In case eruption burst.

For many a time a row took place, While sharing out the scran; But John and Louis soon stepp'd in, And cleared the _padding can_.

Once, Alex. Russ's father, Nick, A bit before he died, Did roughly seize a little Turk, And thought to warm his hide.

But John and Louis interfered, Declaring it foul play; And made old Nick remember it Until his dying day.

Now all Dame Europe's deputies, They made themselves at home; And every lodger knew his bed, Likewise his sitting room.

They took great interest in their beds, And kept them very clean; Unlike some other _padding cans_, So dirty and so mean.

The best and choicest bed of all, Was occupied by Johnny; Because the Dame did favour him, He did collect her money.

And in a little bunk he lived, Seal'd up with oak, and tarr'd; He would not let a single one Come near within a yard.

A Jack-of-all-trades, too, was John, And aught he'd do for brass; And what he ever took in hand, No one could him surpass.

When tired of being shut in the bunk, Sometimes he went across, To spend an hour with Master Loo, And they the wine would toss.

So many a happy day they spent, These lads, with one another; While every lodger in the house, Thought John was Louis' brother.

The Dame allowed John something nice, To get well in her rent, Which every now and then i' t'bank, He put it on per cent.

And working very hard himself Amongst his tar and pitch; He soon accumulated wealth, That made him very rich.

Now Louis had a pleasant crib Which was admired by lots, And being close by a window, He had some flower pots.

The next to Louis' bed was Will, The biggest Monitor And though he did pretend a saint, He was as big a cur.

He loved to make them all believe He was opposed to strife, And said he never caused a row, No, never in his life.

He was so fond of singing psalms, And he read his testament; That everybody was deceived When he was mischief bent.

He seldom passed a lodger's bed But what he took a glance, Which made them every one suspect He'd rob if he'd a chance.

Now Louis had two flower pots He nourished with much care, But little knew that Willie's eyes Were set upon the pair.

In one there grew an ALSACE ROSE, The other a LORRAINE, And Willie vowed they once were his And must be his again.

He said his father once lodged there, And that the Dame did know That Louis' predecessors once Had sneaked them in a row.

In Willie's council was a lad Well up to every quirk; To keep him out of mischief long, Dame Europe had her work.

To this smart youth Saint Willie Did whisper his desire, One night as they sat smoking, Besides the kitchen fire--

"To get them flowers back again," Said Bissy, very low, "Meet Louis somewhere on the quiet, And try to cause a row.

"But mind the other deputies Don't catch you on the hop, For John and Joseph you must know Your little game would stop.

"For Joseph he has not forgot The day you warmed his rig; And christian Denmark still thinks on About his nice Slesvig."

"By your advice, my own Dear Mark, I have been guided on, But what about that man i't'bunk?" (Pointing o'er to John.)

"He's very plucky too is John, But yet he's very slow, And perhaps he never may perceive Our scheme about the row.

"But not another word of this To anybody's ears, The Dame she plays the list'ner, I have my doubts and fears.

"So let us go upstairs at once, I think it will be best, And let us pray to Him above, Before we go to rest."

So with a pious countenance, His prayers as usual said, But squinting round the room the while, He spied an empty bed.

"What a pity that these empty stocks Should be unoccupied; Do you think my little cousin, Mark, To them could be denied?"

"'Tis just the very thing," said Mark, "Your cousin, sir, and you, Would carry out my scheme first-rate, One at each side of Loo."

The Dame being asked, did not object, If he could pay the rent, And had a decent character, And Louis would consent.

"But I do object to this," says Loo, "And on this very ground, Willie and his cousins, ma'am, They soon would me surround.

"They're nothing in my line at all They are so near a-kin, And so if I consent to this, At once they'll hem me in."

"Oh! you couldn't think it, Master Loo, That I should do you harm, For don't I read my testament And don't I sing my psalm."

"'Tis all my eye," said Louis, "both Your testament and psalms; You use the dumbbells regular To strengthen up your arms.

"So take your poor relation off, You pious-looking prig, And open out Kit Denmark's box, And give him back Slesvig."

"Come, come," says Mrs. Europe, "Let's have no bother here, You're trying now to breed a row, At least it does appear."

Now Johnny hearing from the bunk What both of them did say, He shouted out, "Now stop it, Will, Or else you'll rue the day."

"All right, friend John, I'm much obliged, You are my friend, I know, And so my little cousin, sir, I'm willing to withdraw."

But Louis frothed at mouth with rage, Like one that was insane, And said he'd make Bill promise him He'd not offend again.

"I'd promise no such thing," says Mark, "For that would hurt your pride, Sing on and read your testament, Dame Europe's on your side."

"If I'd to promise aught like that, 'Twould be against my mind; So take it right or take it wrong, I'll promise naught o' t'kind."

"Then I shall take and wallop thee Unless thou cuts thy stick; And drive thee to thy fatherland Before another week."

"Come on," cried Sanctimonius, And sending out his arm He caught poor Louis on the nose, Then sung another psalm.

But Louis soon was on his pins, And used his fists a bit, But he was fairly out of breath, And seldom ever hit.

And at the end of round the first, He got it fearful hot, This was his baptism of fire If we mistake it not.

So Willie sent a letter home To mother old Augusta, Telling her he'd thrashed poor Loo, And given him such a duster.

"What wonderful events," says he, "Has heaven brought about, I'll fight the greatest pugilist That ever was brought out.

And if by divine Providence I get safe through this row, Then I will sing 'My God, the spring From whom all blessings flow.'"

Meanwhile the other Monitors, Were standing looking on, But none of them dare speak a word, But all stared straight at John.

"Ought not I to interfere?" Says Johnny to the rest; But he was told by every one Neutrality was best.

"Neutral," growl'd John, "I hate the word, 'Tis poison to my ear; It's another word for cowardice, And makes me fit to swear.

"At any rate I can do this, My mind I will not mask, I'll give poor Loo a little drop Out of my brandy flask.

"And give it up, poor Loo, my lad, You might as well give in, You know that I have got no power; Besides, you did begin."

Then Louis rose, and looked at John, And spoke of days gone by When he would not have seen his friend Have blackened Johnny's eye.