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THE TRIAL OF JOHN BARLEYCORN. A Tem- 
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LANCASHIEE SKETCHES. 



^ Ot^ fron tlM forest, wildipgB ]|e did briog^*' 

Spenser. 







SKETCHES 



OP 



LANCASHIRE LIFE 



Jnlr fmliim. 



BY EDWIN WATJGH. 



" One touoh of nature makes the whole world kin." 

SflAKSPSBX. 



SECOND ED ITiaN. 



LONDON : 

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.; 

HOULSTON AND WRIGHT, PATERNOSTER ROW; 

LIVERPOOL: G. PHILLIP AND SON; 

MANCHESTER : 

ABEL HEYWOOD, 58, OLDHAM STREET, and 28, PICJCADILLT. 



3«DCC0LyII.. 




-^3?3f./3,i 




rCITER AND OALFIN, lA BELLE SAUYAOE YARD, 
LUPOATB HILL. 



PREFACE. 



In thifi little volume, relating; principally, to a district with 
which the writer is intimately acquainted, he has gathered up a 
few points of local interest, and, in oonneetioR with these, he 
has endeavoured to embody something of the traits of present 
life in South Lancashire with descriptions of its scenery, and 
with such gleanings from its local history as horo upon the sub^ 
ject, and, imder the circumstances, were available to him. How 
far he has succeeded in combining a volume of local matter, 
which may be instructive or interesting, he is willing to leave to 
the judgment of those readers who know the country and the 
people it deals with. He is conscious that, iUv comparison with 
the fertile field of strong peculiarities which Lancashire presents 
to writers who are able to gather it up, and to use it well, this 
volume is fragmentary and discursive ; yet ho believes that, so 
far as it goes, it will not be wholly unacceptable to native 
readers. 

The historical informatiom interspersed throughout the 
volume, has been gathered from so many sources that it would 
be a matter of considerable difficulty to give a complete and 



VI PREFACE. 

detailed acknowledgment of it. In every important case, how- 
ever, this acknowledgment has been given, with some degree of 
care, afi fiilly and clearly as possible, in the course of the work. 
Some of this historical matter may prove to be ill-chosen, if not 
ill-used — ^perhaps in some cases it might have been obtained in 
a better form, and even more correctly given — ^but the writer 
has, at least, the satisiiEMitioti Of ImoViiig that, with such light as 
he had, and with such elements as were convenient to him, he 
has been guided, in his selection of that kind of information, 
by ff> desire to obtain the most correct and tk& nu)st applteable 
matt^ which was avail^le to ^im, 

A book which ift pw^y kxsal in it» chioraicter asid beanng^ afs 
this is, cannot be esxpected to have much inters for persani 
unconnected with the district which it velaten to« If there td 
any hope of its being read at all, that hope is centred ther^^ 
The subjects it treats upon being local, jwa4 the l>pg?if|g^ used 
in it being oJft^ th^ yemacnhir of a (aftlculaE pa^ of the 
f^unty, these i^ircumstancea cwAxne to oanso^ it» ^r^la of 
acquaintance^ Butf i^ oxd^ to vakA th^ patt pi it thlch I9 
gir^ in the dialect as intQlhgibla as pofiibl^ to aU i$ad«Bl sot 
intimate with that form pf native languagei, ^(m^ eare hm h^m 
jtohen to explain irach words as ave Hnum^y ^B^DigiioiMi m foniii 
^ in skeasing. And^ here i| naay be noticedf that pezHon^ who 
know Uttle or nothing (^ the dialect ei JjBsaomlnt^ ar^ ai^t t0 
think of it as one in form and sound throughout the eoHntyi 
and expect it to aamm mxe vQiv^ed loatfite trh^i^ef it ii re- 
ivesepted in writing. Thi4 is a mistake, fov there often mk^ 
j3j9i)B]<hml^ shades of difiB|^Tene&^eT<^i» in plaeed net joore tl^|i 



1PREFAC£. YU 

eight or ten miles apart— in the ezpreasioii, and in the fona of 
words which mean the same thing ; and, sometimeBT the lan^ 
guage of a veiy limited locality, though bearing the same general 
characteristics as the dialect of the county in general^ is rendered 
Btill more percq>tibly durtmctiye in features, by idioms and 
proverbs peculiar to that particular spot. In this Tolume, how- 
ever, the writer has taken care to give the dialect, as well as ha 
could, in such a form a9 would conv^ to the mind of the 
general reader a oc^rect idea of the mode of pronunciation, and 
the signification of the idioms, used in the immediate locality 
which he happens to be writing about. 

Lancashire has had some learned writers who have written 
upon themes generally and locally interesting. But the soecess^ 

> 

ful delineation of the quaint and racy features of its humble 
life has fiiUen to the lot of very few. John Collier, our soimd- 
hearted and clear-headed native humourist of the last century, 
left behind him some exquisite glimpses of the manner of life in 
his own nook of Lancashire, at that time. The little which he 
wrote, although so eccentric and peculiar in character as to be 
almost unintelligible to the general reader, contains such evi" 
dence of genius and so many rare touches of nature, that to 
those who can discern the riches hidden imder its quaint ver- 
nacular garb, it wears a perennial charm, in some degree akin 
to that which characterises the writings of such men as Cer- 
vantes and De Foe. And, in our own day, Samuel Bamford — 
emphatically a native man — ^has, with felicitous truth, trans- 
ferred to his pages some living pictures of Lancashire life, which 
will probably be read with more interest even than now, long 



Viii PREFACft. 

after the writer Las been gathered to his fathers. There are 
others who have illustrated some of the conditions of social 
existence in Lancashire, in a graphic manner, with more polish 
and more learning ; but, for native force and truth, John 
Collier and Samuel Bamford are, probably, the foremost of all 
genuine expositors of the characteristics of the Lancashire 
people. 

Li conclusion, all that has hitherto been done in this way, is 
small in amount, compared with that which is left undone. The 
past, and still more the disappearing present, of this important 
district teem with significant features, which, if caught up and 
truthfull]^ represented, might, perhaps, be useful to the next 
generation. 



Manchester, 



CONTENTS. 



■♦■ 



Bamble from Bvbt to- Bochdalb 11 

The Cottage of Tim Bobbin, and the Yillaob of 

MiLNROW 40 

HionwATS AND Btewats, from Bochdalb to thb Top 

OF BliACKSTONE EdOE 75 

The Town of Hetwood, and its Nbighboubhood . • 144 

The Grate of Grislehurst Boggart . • • . 192 

Boggart Ho* Clough 211 

Bosthbrne Mere 235 



RAMBLE FROM BTJBY TO EOCHDALE 



" Iti haidl; in a Mtfn pow'v 
To l^eep, at times, frae heiug sour, 

To M0 hem tMngt un ebitf'd ; 
How b«9t o* 0lii«ls ar« vhilds ia want, 
Willie coofa on oonntless tlioasands ranf, 

And ken na lierif to wair't i 
But, Dafie^ la4) ne'er fash your head, 

Thougli we Hae little ffear, 
ff^te fit to wi» our imy bvead^ 

A» laag'8 wa're liala and fier." 

BUBNS. 

Osn ^d iffc^raootQ^ st the end of Februafy, I had naum 
IbnniiMM to do in Bmy, wbidi kept z&e theore tin et^tig. Am 
tlie twili^ otttie vteaMng on^ tiie skied settled tikmlj into 9 
gDVgeoos eofi](Kl)ixkatioa of tiie grandest shaped and Iraes , wliieh 
a^iearad to eaaofiy the eomttry for miles anxaxd. The nr wad 
Terj^ clear^ aad it wad ixipping cold ; and ereiy ol^ect withtn 
stgbfc stood out in beautiftd relief in ihaA iko» traoapareneet 
softened by the deepening shades of eveidng. Ererythiiig 
seaded to akaild still and meditate, and inhale silently the air of 
peace wfaidh perraded tiiat magnifioeiKt and tnuu^nil hour of 
dosing day, as if aD things on earth had eatight the spirit of 
^^mttk nature's cftening eoDBneots oq the fiuniiQg shows and 
yg^ties of man." The glaie of daylight is naturally fitted iae 
biistle and hnsiness^ bat sadi an eventide as this lodted the resj 
mitire htna of deront thought, and recovery from the absorbing 
-^details of worldly oe^apation. It is said that the town of Bory 
tahed its xUme j^m the Saxon word hyrif a bnrgh^ or castle* 
One of the twelve ancient Saxon fovtressw id Lancasfaire stood 
in the p^ now ealled '^ CihMiIq .Oroft^" (^>ae to the townf and 



12 RAMBLE FROM BURT TO BOCHDAlE. 

upon the banks of the old course of the River Lrwell. Lnmedi- 
fttely below the eminence, upon which the castle once reared its 
frowning walls, a low tract of ground, of considerable extent, 
stretches away from below the semicircular ridge upon which 
the northern extremity of the town is situated, up the valley of 
the lrwell. Less than fifty years ago thia tract was a great 
stagnant swamp, where, in certain states of the weather, the 
people of the neighbourhood could see, to the dismay of some of 
them, the weird antics of the *^ Wild Fire,'' or, ^^ Jack o' Lan- 
tern," that fiend of morass and fen. An old medical gentleman, 
of high repute, who has lived his whole life in the town, lately 
assured me that he remembers well that, during the existence of 
that poisonous swamp, there was a remarkable prevalence of 
fever and ague amongst the people living in its neighbourhood ; 
which diseases have since then comparatively disappeared finom 
the locaUty. There is something rich in excellent suggestions 
in the change which has been wrought in that spot. The valley, 
so long fruitful of pestilences, is now drained and cleared, and 
blooms with little garden allotments, belonging to the working 
people thereabouts. Oft as I chance to pass that way, on the 
East Lancashire Bailway, on Saturday afternoons, or holidays, 
there they are, working in their little plots, sometames assisted 
by their children, or their wives ; a very pleasant scene. Most 
Englishmen glory in a bit of garden of their own, and take 
pleasure in the pains they bestow upon it. 

I lingered in the market-place a little while, looking at the 
parish church, with its new tower and spire, and at the fine pile 
of new stone buildings, consisting of the Derby Hotel, the Town 
Hall, and the AthensBum. South Lancashire has, for a very long 
time past, been chiefly carefid about its hard productive work, 
and practicable places to do it in ; and has taken little thought 
about artistic ornament of any sort; but that part of the 
strong, old county palatine b^ins to flower out a little here and 
there, and this will increase as the enormous wealth of the 
county becomes influenced by elevated taste. In this new 
]^ange of buildings, there was a stateliness and beauty, which 



^^^r^^^^w 



BAMBLE FROM BURY TO ROOHDAUE. IS 

made the rest of the town of Bury look smaller and balder than 
ever it seemed to me before. There it stood in the town, but 
not, apparently, of the town. It looked like a piece of the west 
end of London, dropped among a cluster of weavers' cottages. 
But my reflections took another direction. At *' The Derby," 
there, thought I, will be supplied — ^to anybody who can com- 
mand " the one thing needfiil," — sumptuous eating and drink- 
ing, fine linen, and downy beds, hung with damask curtaining ; 
together with grand upholstery, glittering chandelier and look- 
ing glass, and more than enough of other ornamental garniture 
of all sorts ; a fine cook's shop and dormitory, where a man 
might make i^iifb to tickle a few of his ^ve senses very prettily, 
if he was so disposed. A beggar is not likely to put up there ; 
but a lord might chance to go to bed there, and dream that he 
was a b^gar. At the other end of these fine buildings, the 
new Athenaeum was quietly rising into the air. The wants to 
be provided for in that edifice were quite of another kind. 
There is in the town of Bury, as, more or less, everywhere, a 
thin sprinkling of naturally active and noble minds, struggling 
through the hard crust of ignorance and difficulty, towards 
mental light and fireedom. Such salt as this poor world of ours 
has in it, is not unfrequently found among this humble brood of 
stragglers. I felt sure that such as these, at least, would watch 
the laying of the stones of this new Athenaeum with a little 
interest. That is their grand citadel, thought I; and from 
thence, the fiital artillery of a few old books shall help to batter 
tyranny and nonsense about the ears ; — ^for there is a reasonable 
prospect that there, the ample })age of knowledge, '^ rich with 
the spoils of time," will be unfolded to all who desire to consult 
it ; and that from thence the seeds of thought may yet be sown 
over a little space of the neighbouring mental soil. This fine 
old England of ours will some day find, like the rest of the 
world, that it is not mere wealth and luxury, and dexterous 
ji:^ling among the legerdemain of trade, that make and main- 
taiu its greatness, but intelligent and noble-hearted men, in 
whatever station of life they grow ; and they are, at least, 



aometloiieB found among ihe obeoure, uDosteatatious, and T617 
poor. 1% will lefun to pize thefie, as the ^^ poJae of tba 01a- 
done/* and to cultiTate ihem as the clmt hope of Ito fatnre 
exuteoee aad gior^r; and wiU carefully namove, aa much as pos" 
flible, aQ lumeceaiBry dil&cultiea i!^!>oin the path of thoae wh^, 
from a wise inatioet ci nature, ame unpdlad in the punauit of 
knowledge bgrpme lore of it, lor its own fi^Jc^e, and not bjsoiviJd 
aims. 

The STevr Town Hall 10 the centml hmlding of thia fino pile. 
The fireih nap waa not yet worn oS it ; andf of eouisei ita 
antfaoritiea were anzioaa to pnMerve ita pristine CodntbiaiOL 
beauty from the oontaminatiooa of * ^ the imwaahed." They had 
made it nice, and they wanted nose but nice people in it. A^ 
the "free exhibition" of models for the Fed monwuent, a notace 
waa posted at the entrance, warning irisitors, that ^^ Pmoss in 
Cloga" would not be admitted. There ore some Town Sails 
which a«e public pnsperty, in the management of which a 
kindled soiieitude prevails about mere cHDaments of wood an4 
stone, or painting, gilding, and plaster v<Hrfc ; kadlng to suph 
raatrictions aa tend to lessen the s^rvioe whioh ihey might airoi4 
to the whole public. They are lospt rather too excluaiTdy to 
grandee-feativiaia ; and gatherings of thoae claMfia which are tOQ 
mndi sundered from the poor by a Cfaineaa wall of e»$hlsiYe 
feeling, and vnlgariy distingiiiahed from them by the vague 
name of the ^^ respectable.*^ I have known the authoritiea of 
such places make ^^ serious ol^eetions to erening meetiogi;" 
and yet, how oft have I seen the fuoe of " pahHo meetings" 
got np by this party, or that, ostemdbly for ih» diseuasion of 
some important question then agitating the popttlatkm of the 
neighbourhood, inviting pvhlic diseusdon, at eleven oVsktek in 
^tut forenoon^ an homr when the heterodcHc mnltitttde they feared 
to meet, would be secure enough ai their iafaour ; and, in this 
way, many a padr of £a.natic hounds — and there are some snoh 
in aH parties — have howled but their hour inth a dear stage and 
no fbe ; and then walked off glorying in their diam Uvamfh^ 
leaving nothing beaten behind them but the air they hare 



nAHBh% FROM BU&T TQ i»0Cm>Al^. 16 

tainted with ex parte ^imnmahUon. And^ m my erroiieoiiB 
belief iMt this Town HaH, into which ^^Persoo^ in Clogs" 
were not to be {MLn^itted^ was publie px^rty, the qtutJifiisation 
test seenned to be of a que^ kind, and aJtogether at the winmg 
end of tbe ffum, Aias^ for these poor lads who wear chgfi and 
workHBoiled &sti«a gannent(»; it t^km a moral Gohmbrnt 
evexy now loid then, to ket^ the woiii at ail awake to a dim 
bdlief that ihere is something fine in them, which has htm 
nmning to waste ior want of ipecogdtlon and culture. Blemed 
and beautiful aro the leet, thought J, which icaetwrn hath enmied 
in the neat ^^ Claieneev'' of the softest CAif (» 0(»xiQvaB« or the 
glossy '^ Weliington,^' of £i3« Er^ch- kal^^. Even so; tJie 
woodenest human head haa a better chance in this w<n:]d, if it 
come before as oorered with a good*]o9king hat. But, woe 
unto your imp^taneni curiosity, ye unfc^rtunate ck)g-wearing 
bYfirs of the fine arts ! — {J. was stron^y assured that there w^^ 
Bev«ral corioa. epmmm <rf tJua stwiige a«iiBai fflctont wnong 
the woridng people of Bury«) It was feasant to hear, bowei^er, 
that sareral x>f these ard^^t persons of questional^ under* 
standing, meeting with this warning as they attempted to entf^ 
the hall, after duly contemplating jt with humorous awe, 
doffed ibeir condemned clogs at once, and, tucking the odious 
timber under their arms, ran up the ^teps in their stocking-feet. 
It is a consolation U> beUere thai; these clogs of theirs ai^ not 
tlie only clogs yet to be taken off in this world of ours. But, 
as this ^^Town Hall" is priyate piopi^y, mad, as it has been 
settled 1^ a certain ooronetted Solon <^ the north that ^* a man 
can do what he likes with his own,'* these re^tions are, 
perhaps, more pertinent to oth^ puWc h^lla that J, know o£ 
ti^an to this one. 

In one of the windows of *' The Derby" was exhibited a 
representation of ^^ The Eagle and Child," or, as the country- 
folk in Lancashire sometimes call it, ^^ Th' Bnd and Bantling" 
the anciait recognizance of i3ae Stanleys, Earls of Derby, and 
form^ly kings of the Isle of Man, with their motto, " Sans 
changer," in a scroll beneath. This family sUU owns the 



16 BAHBLK FBOM BUBY TO ROCHDALE. 

manor of Biiiy, and has coiudderable poeaeBsions there. They 
have also large estates and great influence in the north and 
west of Lancashire. In former times they have been accounted 
the most powerful iiamily of the county ; and in some of the 
old wars, they led to the field all the martial chivalry of Lanca^ 
shire and Cheshire under their banner. As I looked on the 
Stanley^s crest, I thought of the fortunes of that noble house, 
and of the strange events which it had shared with the rest of 
the kingdom. Of James, Earl of Derby, who was beheaded at 
Bolton-le-Moors, in £x)nt of the Man and Scythe Inn, in Deans^ 
gate, two centuries since; and of his countess, Charlotte de 
TremouiUe, who so bravely defended Lathom House against the 
parliamentary forces, during the last civil wars. She was 
daughter to Claude, Duke of TremouiUe, and Charlotte £ra- 
bantin de Nassau, daughter of William, Prince of Orange, and 
Charlotte de Bourbon, of the royal house of France. Apart 
£rom all the pride of famous descent, both the earl and his lady 
were remarkable for certain high and noble qualities of mind^ 
which commanded the respect of all parties in those troubled 
times. I sometimes think that if it had pleased Heaven for me 
to have lived in those days, I should have been compelled by 
nature to fall into some Boundhead rank, and do a stroke or 
two, the best I could, for that cause. When a lad at school I 
had this feeling : and, as I pored over the history of that period^ 
sometimes by the light of the fire, for want of a candle, I ^ell 
remember how, in my own mind, I shouted iShe solemn battle* 
cry with great Cromwell and his captains, and charged with the 
earnest Puritans, in their bloody struggles against the rampant 
tyrannies of the time. Yet, even then, I never read of this 
James, Earl of Derby — ^the brave and faithful soldier of a very 
infatuated king — without a feeling of admiration for the 
chivalry of his character. I lately saw, in Bolton, an antique 
cup of *^ stone china,'^ quaintly painted and gilt, out of which it 
is said that he drank the communion immediately before his 
execution. Greenhalgh, of Brandlesome, who was a notable 
and worthy man, and who governed the Jsle of Man for the 



ftAMBt1£ tROM BURY 1!0 ^OCHt>Alfi. - 1? 

£arkof Derby, lived at BrandleBome Hall, near Bury. Beepect- 
ing Edi^ard, the third earl, Camden says, ^^ With Edward, Earl 
of Derby's death, the glory of hospitality seemed to &11 asleep.^' 
Of his mmiificent housekeeping, too, he teDs ns : how he fed 
sixty old people twice a day, every day, and all comers twice a 
week ; and every Christmas-day, for thirty-two years, supplied 
two thousand seven hundred with meat, drink, money, and 
money's worth; and how he offered to raise ten thousand 
soldiers for the king. Also, that he had great reputation as a 
bone-setter, and was a learned man, a poet, and a man of 
considerable talent in many directions. The present Lord 
Stanley* is accoimted a man of great ability as a politician and 
orator, and of high and impetuous spirit ; and is the leader of the 
Conservative party in parliament. A century ago, the influence 
of great feudal &milies, like the Stanleys, was all but supreme 
in the greatest part of Lancashire ; but, since that time, the 
old landlord domination has fast declined in the manufieu^turing 
districts ; and, though the people have found some galling 
^slaveries imder new disguises, in the state of things which 
Ynauufacture has brought with it, they certainly begin to set 
'more value upon their independent rights as men, than upon the 
painftd patronage of fbudal landlords. 

I had no time to devote to any other of the notabilities of 
Bury town ; and I thought that " Chamber Hall," the birth- 
place of the great departed statesman, Peel — ^which is becoming 
ia kind of political Lancashire Mecca in these days — ^would be 
worth a special pilgrimage some Saturday afbemoon.f I had 
finished my business about seven o'clock, and, as the nightfaU 
Was fine and clear, I resolved to walk over to Rochdale, about 

* Saceeeded his fktber, the thirteenth Esrl of Derby, in 1851. Has 
lieen Chief Secretary for Ireland, and Secretary of State for the Colonies. 
lA^eoepted ofSLoe aa Premier, in 1851. 

' t Binee that time the people of Bnry have erected a monument in their 
-jnarket-plaee to the memory of thia braTe-hearted benefiM^tor to his oonntiy. 
The statue itself has a noble and simple appearance, but tbe pedestal on 
\rhich it stands looks an insignificant footing^ for a fiffure of each propor- 
.tionsy and is a little open to the criticism of '« wd ColTop/' wbo said that it 
looked "like a giant trying to balance hisser npov a four-pcawnd loaf.'^ 

B 



like ^ GQ^txy w^ better ^t^ \ do ; and l^eiiig in yerj ^ 
health and spirit '^ took the road s^t 91106, witlf m j |tick \fi mj 
^nd| a« brifikl^ 99 a Shetland pomj in good fettle. Striking 
o^t f^i the tow|i-end, I bethought iffe qf aix old herbalisft, or 
" yarb doctor," who lived gomewl^ere thereabouts— a genn^e 
dealer iff samples, l^red up in the hills, on Aslfworth Moor, a^vJb 
three miles from tlfe town, aif4 'w^ho had made the botany of l^a 
natiyj^ neighbourhood a life-loffg study. Culpepper's. ^^ Herb^ '^ 
l^a^ a ^yourite book with him, as it is among a great numlber of 
tjie country people of L^ncashif p, where there are, perhaps, mor^ 
really cieTer botanists in humble life to be found than i|i ax^ 
other part of the kingdom. Nature and he were fE^nili^^ 
frieo^s, for he was a Ipfiely rambler by hill, and glen, and jleld, 
at ail seasons of the year, apd could talk by the hpif^: about t^ 
beauti^ and medicinal virtues of gentian, dandelipn, aud camp^ 
i^ile, or tai^y, mquntain flax, sauotuary, hy^P) bi^ckbe^, 
wopdrbetony, and " Bpbin-rufi-i'-th? -hedge," aiid an endlesp 
^talogue of otl^er herbs and plants, a plentiful as8prtme|xt of 
w^ch IfLQ kept by him, either green or in dried bundles, ready 
for the behoof of his customers. The countay people in La^ 
cashire generally have great iaith in simp}es, and in simple 
treatment for their diseases. I well remember that one of jbheir 
most caAonical recipes for a comfnpn cold is *^awot cl^^fnir 
milk po^t, weel sweet'nt, aif* a traycle cake io% s4> bed-time." 
They are profound believers in the kindly doctrine expjref^ i^ 
ihat yerye of Gi^ge Her))ert's : — 

** Koraaervanls mask oi mm 
^Thaii lie*U take notiof of ; i]ier'i7paih 
' ' He treads down wlf at befriends him 
When Bickness makes him pale and wan. 
^ .Q]^ mighty love I «^aniBoa«wo|d4i pad hiitk 

4-npther to atte;kd Mm.'' 

^HkmioH* op: p^mitiva 0)4 herb-4oot^ hud in bU itiiiGie driyeii 
what he dqubtleas considered, in his humble way, a pretty 
^gaiJ^ul trade. And he was nqt e:;cactly ^^ a doctor-by-guess," «[b 
^9 Scotch say, but a man of good iM^toral parts, and of some 



fi2UaiU& 8BQBI BUBT VQ EOCB1)AI.B. $9 

insight ]«[to hisoxiitii pl^srdiQliJgy, of fteat experiance and obdenri*^ 
tton in hia little epbare, and reuuurkalbla fer stixxig eomxnoB 
seoae aad integrity. H« was also .w^ acquainted witli tKe 
]iabita and tke pecqliaf tone of physical eonstitiitum among tbt 
people of Ids BfsighboiirbQod. Like Im phannaoopteia, Iw Ml^ 
and nMnnera were rery simpiLe, and his rude patients had gi«at 
eoBfidence in hinu It wias getling dark, and I did not know 
&fMtlj. wheara to find him^ ot 1 afcuMiM hare, liked vei^ weQ to 
see th$ dd hotaoiat^ ol wham I had heaxd a retj intefestan^ 
account in m; natire totm. ' 

When one gets fairly into the oountry it is fine waOEing hf 
a dear gtaiHght, when the air is toniGhed with froflt, and tine 
gxaand hasd under the ioak. I enjoyed all iAoB gtiU moire oa 
that old totd, wMcbia «1t»»jb rising i»i^ knoD, or deBeendine 
intQ 8QBie qui^ httie cdoligh, where aU i^ so stiU that on& oan 
h«ar the wateise WJUg ^ong the fie]^ and stnnted w<K)ds off the 
wayside. The wind was hiowfng frwh. and keen acrosa Knowl 
Bill and the heatiaisry wasted of A^fiwofth and Bodiey Mocm^- 
tbpse wild hei^iis: which difida the Tafe of the Boaeh fram the 
Foi^e^ of Boaseadale. I ertood and looked upon the hhte hea-** 
yans^ ^^ fretted with gokba SBt^" and around me unon t^a. 
^progsJLTe nlgbt-Mene^ so findy stiD %nd sd^nn, the eS^ 
deepened by the moaxdngs of Hie wind among the tvees. My 
mind reverted to ihe orowded city, and I thou^ t& myself-- 
this ia rather difier^it to Market-str^t, in Manohesler, en a 
Tnesday focenobo,. about tiie time of ^^hi^ change,^ as i 
^Htenied to the dear ^^ Wo-up P^ of a sofitary carter t^hls horse 
on the top of the Cf^poiite knoH^ and heard the lat^ cist c&b^ 
t^-door hiled) and saw the hght feoaathe insidagllpt l&rth 
into the trees helow i» aninafcaut. It waa a homely glimpse^ 
which contrasted beautifully with tha fXHnhte grandear^ of the 
2dght^ The cottage door (^losed again, the fbreside picttire was 
gone, and I waa aloofi^ on the silent lofid, wath the dear star» 
tooking dpwn. ' . 

1 genei^a^y put dl^ my mealis t{& I got a hint ft*om'the ksidef 
and, by the time that ;I reached the bottom of a lonelytdell, 

B 2 



20 BAMBLE FBOlt BTTBT TO B0CHDAL2. 

about tbree miles on the road, I began to feel very bnngry, and 
I stepped into the only house thereabouts, a little roadside inn, 
to get a bite of something. The honse stands near to a narrovr 
woody ravine, which runs under the highway at that place. It 
is said to haye been entirely built by one man, who got the 
stone, hewed it, cut the timber, and shaped it, and altogether 
built thd house, such as it is; and it has an air of primitive 
rudeness about it, which partly corroborates the story. It is 
known to the scattered inhabitants of that district by the name 
of *^the house that Jack built.*^ On entering the place, I 
found the front room dark and quiet, and nothing stirring but in 
the kitchen, where I saw the light of a candle, and heard a little 
music among the pots, which somebody was washing. The 
place did not seem very promising, so far as I could see at all, 
but I felt curious, and, walking forward, I found a very homely -» 
looking old woman bustling about there, with a clean cap on, 
not crimped nor frilled any way, but just plainly adorned with 
a broad border of those large^ stiff, old-fashioned puffe, which I 
used to watch my mother make on the end of the ^^ Italian 
iron," when I was a lad at home. Old Sam, the landlord, had 
just come home from his work, and sat quietly smoking' on the 
long settle, in a nook by the fireside, while his good wife, Mary, 
got some tea ready for her tired old man« Hie entrance of a 
customer seemed to be an important afiSur to them, and partly 
80, 1 believe, because they were glad to have a little company in 
their quiet comer, and liked to hear, now and then, how the 
world was wagging a few miles off. I called for a glass of ale, 
and something like the following conversation ensued i — 

Mary. Aw'U bring it, measter. See yo, tay this cheer. ItV 
Qs chep sittin* as stonnin' for aught aw know. An* poo up to th' 
fire, for it^s noan so warm to-neet. 

Sam, Naw, its nobbut cowdish, for sure ; dray up to tV 
hob, axC warm yo, for yo look'n gradely pariah't.* 

^' If you can bring me a crust of bread and cheese, or a Ht 
of cold meat, or anything, I shall be obliged to you," said L 



RAMBll FnOH JBVBY TO BOC^PALJS« %l: 

Mary. Ah, sure aw will. We'n a bit o' very iiice cowd 
mheyt ; an' aw'll bring it eawt. But it's bhoylt, jnind yo J 
Pun yo like it bhoylt ? Yo'n find it middlin toothsome. 

I told her that it would do very well ; and then the landlord 
struck in : — • 

Sam, Does ta yer, lass. There's a bit o' nice pickle theer, 
i'th cubbort ; aw dar say Jie'd like some, Fot it eawt, an' let 
him feel at it. 

Mary, Oh, ay, sure there is ; an' aw'U bring it, too. Aw 
declare aw'd forgetten it X Dun yo like pickle, measther ? 

" I do, very well," said I, "just for a taste, thank you." 

Mary, Well, well ; aw myhen for a taste. But aw'U bring' 
it, an' yo can help yorsel to't, I^t's see, wi'n yo have hard 
brade ? Which side dun yo come fro ? 

" I come from Manchester," said I. 

Mary, Fro Manchester, eh! Whau, then, yo'd'n jayther 
ho' loaf-brade, aw'U uphowd yo. 

" Naj^ nay," said I, " I'm country-bred; and I would rather 
have a bit of oat-cake. I very seldom get any in Manchester; 
and, when I do, it tastes as if it was mismanage, som^ow ; so 
I can assure you that a bit of good country bread will be a treat 
to me." 

Mary, That's reet ; aw'll find yo some gradely good stuff ! 
An' it's a dhyd howsomer nor loaf, too, mind yo, * * ♦ 
Neaw, wi'n naut uncuth to set afore yo ; but yo'n find that 
beefs noan sich bad takkin', iv yor ony ways sharp set, * * 
Theer, see yo 1 Nea, may yoursel' awhom, an' spare naut, for 
wi'n plenty moor. But houdi yo hannot o' yor tools yet. Aw'U 
reytch yo a fork in a crack. 

I feU to my homely feast with a very hearty good-wiU, for 
the viands before me were not scanty, and they were both 
wholesome, and particularly welcome, after my sharp walk in 
the keen wind, which came whistling over the moors that night. 
The first heat of the attack was beginning to slacken a bit, and 
Old Sam, who had been sitting in the comer, patient and pleased, . 
aU the while, with a very observant look, began to think that 



mow ih^ Tisight be foom ftjr hka to ptit ill A wdid tir two. I, 
2£Lk\ began to feel as i^ I hAd bo object!^ to taper off my' meal 
with a litUe country talk ; c^d the old man was jnet asking me 
whapb the town's ic>&. jsaid about ^e paxliameiitafy erisis, tod 
the rumour which had reached him, that there was an intentltyn 
of nitxtti&g the c^m-laws again, wh^ Mary interrupted him 
Isf saying, ^^ HsiBht, &ara ; does, ta yer naut ? '* He took t^e 
pipe out of his mouth, and, quietly blowing the smoke £rdm the 
csMtter of his lips, held li^ head oil ohe side in U listening atti- 
tude. ' Old SflEtfl smiled, and fightliig his pipe 'i^n^ he sAid, 
" Ah, yola's Jone o* Jefifr^'s." " It's naut else, Aw belieVe,*' said 
MAry ; " does ta think he'll oo'? '" '^ Co', ah," repUed Sam ; 
*'dMh^6verma6s, thinks ta? Tay thy eheerto th'tofaesidea 
bit, an' may reawm for hii&, for he'll be i'th' hedwfte in a minute." 
And then, turning to me, he said, ** Nea, then, measter^ yo'n 
yer 9cmfe gam, It yor spiare't." "He had scarodiy dc^e spealdng, 
when a loud " Woyhe " was heatd outside, as a cart stopped at 
tlto ddor, and a heaty ^otstep came stamping up the lobby. 
The kitchen door opened, and a full-blown Lancashire Cossack 
stdod before us. Large-limbed and broad-shodldered, with 
a great. Cranky good-tempered &oe. Ml of iiide. health and 
glee. He looked a fine sample of simple manhood, with a 
cBdposition that seemed to me, £K)m the expresfflon of his 
c^tmtenanee, to be something bet^reen that of an ahgel and a 
bdlMog. Omng hi& hands a hearty smack, he ruM)ed them 
tdgether, ilnd amiled at the fire ; and then, dbfSng his rough 
hUEtf and flin^ng it vdik his whip upon the table,- he (touted 
otit, '*He!k)f Heav are yo— o'on yo! Yo'r meeterly quiet 
again to-neet, Mary I An' some oy acowd beet it is. My nose 
sweat*.** Ibe lundlotd whiispered to me, ^*- Aw tdwd yo, didn't 
air. Sit yo stiU { lie's rare oompftuy, is Jone." 

Mar^. Ah, we're quiet enough ; but we shannTHi be so long, 
nettw At tid^'t eotne'd, Jone, nothur. 

- Johe* Well^ well. You noan beawn to flyte mo, owd 
dAyter, aite yb ? 

. Jbn^dbiiyiK)»HizoBh!ir,wiltoi4foo; hoomhyensnaut'MttBg. 



' ' 3ihl^. Ifilt aWi Sit to d^wti, Jolie. W^ffe olez fkiii to 
sitho ; fof thir't noitii biie b*tlli'wai*St iMt o* fblk, dd roof {6 to art. 

/one.' Aw*st sit ilk) fleiawii, a& -i^Kat &# am ; ai* a:^'gt i;^arm 
&o too, i)eslde ; an' a^'fl W stiiriiriat tb Siiptoo, afot^ft'^^ darken, 
yon dur-hple again. * * *. * Ot^d woman, fill md 
one o^th big'rt pots yb haii, an^ I6t's be Isavih' hotid, ftw pray 
yo ; tef ihy thrdttfe'^ as dty as a ke±. An* b^ as dippy ks ever 
yb cbti, b's^ ctaytftr, or aw'st be helpin' tbysel, for it's iH bidein 
for dry fclk amiing good drink ! 

' Maty. liTdy, nay ; aw^ll ftatte thb mygeP, Joli6, i* ttio^ll hh 
patient abba^ haute a minute ; dn' th^W'fet hd' plentj- tb start 
m', ife heaw^t be. 

J'&ne. " ThaVs just teei," said Mdfer, Men his wife bote 
hur tuhg i* ttfr^b! Owd ^bmah, ^o desarv*n a cbmfoi'table sat- 
tlement i* th' top ^op wheh yb dee'n ; an' yo'St ha' one, too, iv 
aw'te ony sa^ i' tlx' matter. * * Eh^ heaw quiet yo are. 
Sain! ' Bj^ W mft^, it aw'te hdre a bit modr, aw'd niay some 
riciin' 1' thi^ cdute-cdtfe, too. Whau, moh, yb'dd'ti giiik into a 
dhyed sleep, 4ti* Mt dee i'th* i^ell, It ctoe didn't t^dckeii yo up a 
bit, bytch h'eaW and then. 

M&r^. Eh, tbbh ! Thea sefes, bur Sam iii* me's gfettin' bitd, 
dn' Wi'dli'h fa^thur be quiet a tgry flhyel, for th' bit 6* time at 
wi^ hd^n tb do bn. Beside, aw could neter db wi' robf Wai-k. 
Raylefe (f ide I it*d weaiy a gtboin' trfee to ha' th' dlli, ah' th' 
lumbeif, in* th* tiiiict at te hsfi i* Some ale heslwius. 1?b my 
thihkih', aw'd gb as fur as othur grace* gtew or waytut ran, 
aforb aw'd lite amoon sich doih's. One could elthur itiaiiage 
we't at th' for-end o' their days. But what, we hannut So luiig 
to do oil, nekw ; ku' aw ^ould e'n flnigfc as quietly as aw can. 
We hannut had a battle i* fer hbiwse txz — l^^ dee — ^uz three yeer 
an'riiobt; ha'nwi, Sam? - 

Sam. NaWj aw dunnot think we han. But we soud'h a 
dhjrel moot ale, just afbte that iime, too. ' 

Jone, Three year, sen yo ! Eh, the dule, Mary ; he£t# ha^n 

•Grass; 



24 RAMBLE FROM BURT TO ROCBDALB* 

JO shap'd that I Whau' owd Keddj at th* Hoo*8eo«m-*-70 
kROim owd Neddy, aw reckon, duxmot 70, Sam? 

Sam, Do I know Rachdaw Churcli steps, thinkB to? 

Jone, Aw dar say yo known th^ steps a dhyel better nur yo 
known th^ church it8el\ 

Sam, Whau, aw have been bin up thooee steps a time or two 
V my life ; an thea knows, ony body aVs bin up *em a twothore* 
times, 'U nut forget 'em so soon ; for iv thi'n tay *em sharpish 
fro' th' bothom to' th' top, it'll try their wynt up rarely afirare they 
reytch'n Tun Bobbin gravestone i' th' owd cburch-yort. But, 
aw'ye bin to sarvice theer as oft as thea has, aw think. 

Jone, Ah ; — an' yo'n gotten abeawt as mich good wi't, as aw 
have, aw dar say ; an' that's naut to crack on ; — ho'erer, wi'n 
say no moor uppo' that footin'. But, iv yo known ony body at 
0', yo known own Neddy at th' Hoo'senam ; and awll be bund 
for't, 'at i' three years time he's brunt mony a peawnd o' 
candles wi' watchin' folk fh^ i' their heawse. £h, aw've si'n 
him ston o'er 'em, wi' a candle i' eyther hont, mony a time, 
when they'n bin fheytin', an' he's kept co'in eawt, " Nea lads. 
Turn him o'er, Turn I Let 'em ha' reawm, chaps, wi'n yo ; let 
'emha'reawn! Nea lads! Keep a loce leg, Jam I Nea lads!" 
And then, when one on 'em wur done to th' lung-length, he'd 
sheawt eawt, *^ Houd, houd ! he's put his hont up I Ccnne, give 
o'er, and ger up." And, a£ore they'd'n getten gradely wynded, 
and put their doas on, he'd offer ^^ another quart for the next 
battle," £h, he's one o'th quarest chaps i' this nation, is owd 
Ned, to my thinkin', an' he's some gradely good phoynts in 
him, too. 

Sam, There isn't a quarer o' this countryside, as hea't be ; 
an' there's some crumpers amoon th' lot. 

Jone, Aw guess yo know'n Bodle, too, dunnot yo, owd 
Sam? 

Sam, Yigh, aw do. He wortches up at th' col-pit yon, 
doesn't he? 

* A 7V>att<?r— • few. 



KAMBI^E FBOM BUBY TO BOCBI>ALE« 25 

Jone, He does, owd craytur. 

Mary, Let's see, isn't that him 'at skens a bit ? 

Sam. A bit, says ta, lass? It's abooifa bit, by Guy. He 
skens ill enough to crack a looking glass, welly. His e'enseet 
crosses somewheer abeawt th' end on his nose, i' th' treawth iror 
known ; an' he's as feaw as an empty pot, ole o'er, — an' aa 
leawsy as Thump, too, beside. 

Mary, Eh, do let th' lad alone, folk, win you. Aw marvel 
at yo'n no moor wit nor mayin a foo o' folk at's wrang wbeer 
they connut help it. Yo met happen be strucken yorsels! 
Beside, he's somebory's chylt, an' somebory likes him too, aw'll 
uphowd him ; for there never wur a feaw &ce i' this world, but 
there wur a feaw fancy to match it, somewheer. 

Jone, They may fiBtncy him 'at likes, for me ; but there's 
noan so mony folk at'll fancy Bodle, at after they'n smelled at 
him once't. An', by Guy, he's hardly wit enough to keep 
fro' runnin' again woles. But, aw see yo known him weel 
enough ; an' so aw'll tell yo a bit of a crack abeawt him an' 
Owd Neddy. 

Mary, Well let's ha't ; an' mind ta tells no Ues abeawt th' 
lad i' thy talk. 

Jone, Bith mon, Mary, aw connut do, adeawt aw say at 
he's other a pratty im, or a good un, 

Sam, Get forrud wl' thy tale, Jone, wilto : an' bother no 
moor abeawt it. 

Jone, (Whispers to Owd Sam): Aw say. Who's that chap's 
at sits hutchin i' the nook theer, wi' his meawth oppen ? 

Sam, Aw know nof . But he's a nice quiet lad o' somebory's, 
so tay no notiz. Thae'U just meet pleaz him i' tho'll get forrud ; 
thae may see that, i' tho'U look at him, for he stares like a ferret 
at's sin a ratton. 

Jone, Well, yo see'n, Sam, one momin', after Owd Neddy 
an' Bodle had been fuddlin' o' th^ o'emeet, thi'dd'n just getten 
a yure o' th' owd dog into 'em, an' they sit afore th' fire i' Owd 
Neddy kitchen, as quiet, to look at, as two pot dolls ; but they 
didn't feel so, noth^ ; for thi'dd'n some ovayed-waache apiece, 



2d ItAMBiS FROM BtTRT Tb ROCrkDAtil. 

V th' treawth wur known. When thi'dd'ii tiim't things o'er a 
bit, Bodle begun o' lookin* very yeam'stfully at th^ fire-hole o' 
at once^t, and he ssft, " By th' mass, Owd Ned, awVe a good 
mind to go reet np tV chimbley." Well, yo known, Neddy 
BkeS ft spree as wdl as ony moil livin', an he doesn't care so 
ifaich what mak' o' one it is, noihur ; sb as soon as he yerd that 
he jumped up, an' said, " Damn it, Bodle, go up— up wi' tho !'* 
Bodle stood still a minute, looking at th' chimbley, ah' as he 
dbuble't his lat* up, he said, " Well, neaw ; should aw i*ayley go 
up, thinks ta, o^d ctayter?'* "Go?— ah; what elze?" said 
Owd Nfed — ^*' Up wi' tho ; soot's good for th' bally- waach, mon ; 
an' aw 11 gi* tho a quart ov ale when tho colnes deawri again ! '* 
"Will ta, for sure?" said Bodle, prickin' his ears. "Am ai^ 
lyin' thinks ta? " bnswer't Owd Neddy. " Wliatt, theh, aw'm 
off, by Gclfe, iv it're as lung as a steeple ;" an' he made no moor 
bttwks at th' job, btit set th' tone foot onto th' top-bat, ah' Up 
he went into th' toudge hole. Just as ^le wur crominih' hissel' 
in at th' bothom o' th' dhimbley, th' owd woman coom in to see 
what they hadd'n agate ; an' as soon as Bodle yerd hur, he code 
eawt, " lloud hur back a bit, whol aw get eawt o'th seet, or 
elze hoo'll poo me deawn again." Hoo stare't a bit afore hbo 
cbtddmay4t eawt what it wur a're creepin up th' chimbley-hble, 
an' hoo said, " What mak o' luniber ha'n yo afoot neaw ? for 
yo're a rook o'th big'st nowmutis at ever trpde ov a floor: To'n 
some make o' divulment agate i'th chimbley, aw declare." As 
soon as hoo fimd what it wur^ hoo shea^rfced, " Eh, thea ghr'eyt 
gawmless fool Wheier to for U|i theer? Thea'll be smobr't, 
mon!" Ah, hoo would ha* darted forrud, an' getten hdtid on 
him ; but Owd Ned kept stonnin afore hur, an' Eiayin " Let 
him alohe, mon ; it's nobbut a bit or a siJtee." Then he looked 
o'er his shoulder at Bodle, an' said, "Get tee fbrrud, Wiltd 
riowmun ; thae met ha' bin dea'ini again by nieaw ;" an, as soon 
as he see'd at Bodle wur gettin meeterly wisel up th' hole, h^ 
leet hut go ; but hoo wur to lat by a dhyeL An' o' at hbd 
cbuH do, wur to fot him a seawse or two o' th' legs wi' th' poker. 
But he imr fot up, ah' naut else. He did just stop abeawt 



R^^Bte irttOlfr BTOY TO ROCbDALE. 27 

kttdvii U idiiuie,— wlieH he teld httt Wt iik legs,— to cb* «iwt,' 
*^Ho6''sttertat»6liit1iii'md?" "Whau^" said hob, "It^sme, 
^b^ ghreyt lesthisr-yed ;— an' cctoie dearwn lH' tbo I Whatever 
arto' dom' f th^ chimbley ? " « Aw^m goin' tip for some ale.'* 
*' Ale 1 Hiere's no Ale up theet, thae ghreyt biii/rsen fob ! Eh, 
air t»feh yt>t MaUy wnr hete!'^ "Aw wish hoo wnr here, 
idfid d' ine," Md Bodle. ^* Goine deawli witho this toinute, 
thae ghreyt drunken hal ! " " Nut yet," said Bodie^ — " but 
a^*U n&t foe liing, nothiir, fo may depend ;-^for itii noftin a 
nke plaKe,-r-th]8 isn't. Eh! there is some ot a tmodgel An* 
it gwoe wur as aw go fur ; — a — ^tsdjo-— o! Rf Guy,* aw feon 
Sise iloan, — n<^ talk, iiothur ; — so geroff, an' let mo get it o'er 
afore aw'm chank't ;" and then tV owd lad crbpe forrud, as 
hftrd as he could, §» he're thinkin' abeawt th* quart ov ale. 
Well, Owd Neddy nearly skrike't wi' laughin', -as he watched 
Bodle draw his legs up eawt o' th' seet ; an' he feet agate o' 
hommetin' th' chimUey whole wi' his hoUt, an sheawtin' up^ 
S^ 6^0 bli) Bodle, owd lad I Go on^ owd mon I Thir't li reet 
un, i' tho Ihbyzus ! Thea^st have a quart o' th' best ale i' tiiis 
hde, i* tho lives till tho comes deawn again, as hea 'tis, owd 
btid ! an i' tho deeS through it, aw^ll be fourpenoe or fi'pence 
toawrd thi bernn." And th^^ he went sheawting up an' deawn 
" Hey I Dun yo yer, lads ; come here ! Owd Bodle's gwoto 
ddeyn up th* ehimbleyi Aw nevtgr sprad my e'en uppo th' 
marrow trick to this i' my lifo." Well, yo may think, Sam, th' 
whole heawse wur u|> i' no time ; an' some rare spwort they 
ha'dd'n ; whol Owd Neddy k^ goin' to th' ealetside, to see if 
Bodle had getting his yed eawt at th' top ; an' then runnin' in 
again, and bawling up th^ fiub, *^ Bodle, owd lad, heaw arto 
gettin' on ? Go ihrob wi't, owd cock 1" But, whol he're statin' 
and sheaifHiti' up th' chimbley, Bodle lost his houd, 8(»newheer 
toawrd th' top, an' he coom shutterin' deawti again, an' o' the 
soot i' the^ chivibley wi' him ; an' he let -M' his hinder end 
thump o' th' top-bar, an' then roU't deawn ii|^ th' har'stcme. 
An"* a greadly bla8h4)0ggai>t he looked, yo nay think. Th' 
QlMrd lad seeln't.as if h0 hardly kiipwed wheer IjiQ wiut ; so he lee' 



38 KAMBI^B ?BOM BUBT TO BOGHPALE. 

ibeer a bit, amoon a ghrejrt dond o^ soot, an* Owd Neddy stood 
o'er him, laughing', an' wipein' his e'en, an' co'in' eawt, " Tay 
thy wynt a bit, Bodle ; thir't safe londed, iy it be hard leetin' I 
Thir't a reet un, bi' th' mon art ta, too. Tay thy wynt, owd 
bird ! Thea'st have a quart oy ale, as hea 'tis, owd mon, as 
soon as eyer aw con see my gate to th' bar eawt o' this smudge 
at thea's brought wi' tho ! Aw neyer had my chimbley swept 
as chep i' my life, neyer ! " 

Mary. Well, if eyer! Whau, it 're enough to may tU' 
feUow's throttle up I A ghreyt, drunken leather-yedl But, 
he'd be some dry, mind you ! 

Jone. Yo'r reet, Mary ! Aw think mysel' at a quart oy ale 
'ud come noan amiss after a do o' that mak. An' Bodle 
wouldn't wynd aboon once wi' it, afore he see'd th' bottom o' 
th' pot, ^othur. 

Well, I had a good laugh at Jone's tale, and I enjoyed his 
manner of telling it, quite as much as anything there was in the 
story itself ; for, he seemed to talk with eyery limb of his body, 
and eyery feature of his fiEu;e ; and told it, altogether, in such a 
liying way, with so much humour and earnestness, that it was 
irresistible ; and as I was ^' giying mouth" a little, with my ' 
face turned up toward the celling, he turned to me, and said 
quickly, " Come, aw say ; are yo noan fyerd o' throwing yo'r 
choles off th' hinges? " We soon sett]^ down into a quieter 
mood, and drew round the fire, for the night was cold ; when 
Jone suddenly pointed out to the landlord, one of those little 
deposits of smoke which sometimes waye about on the bars of 
the fire-grate, and, after whispering to him, ^^ See yo, Sam ; a 
stranger uppo th' bar, theer;" he turned to me, and said 
^^ That's yo, measther 1 " This is a little superstition, which is 
common to the fire-sides of the poor in all England, I belieye. 
Soon after this, Mary said to Jone, *^ Hasto gan thy horse 
aught, Jone?" "Sure, aw haye," replied he, *'^w laft it 
iieytin', an plenty to go on wi', so then. Mon, aw reckon to 
look after deawn-crayters a bit, iy there be aught sturrin'.'* 
** Well," said she, " aw dar say thea does, Jone; an' mind yo^ 



fiAMBLE FROM BTTUT TO ROdkt>ALSf. 2d 

thooee at winnut do some bit like toawrd things at connut 
spheyk for theirsek, they'n never ha' no luck, as hoo they are." 
" Well,'*^ said Jone, " my horse wortches wed, an' he sleeps 
weel, an' he heyts wed, an' he drinks wed, an' he parts wi't 
flyerfol wed ; so he doesnt ail mich yet." " Well," replied 
Maiy, " there isn't a wick thing i' this world can wortch as it 
should do, if it doesn't heyt as it should do." Here I happened 
to take a note-book out of my pocket, and write in it with my 
pencil, when the conversation opened again. 

Sam» (Whispering.) Sitho, Jone, he's bookin' tho f 

Jone. Houd, measther, houdi What mak' o' marlocks are 
yo after, neaw I What're yo for wi' us, theer I But aw caren't 
a ffirt abeawt it ; for thi' connot hang folk for spheykin neaw, 
as thi' could'n once on a day ; so get forrud wi't, as what it is. 

He then, also, began to inquire about the subject which was 
the prevailing topic of conversation at that time, namdy, the 
parliamentary crisis, in which Lord John RusseU had resigned 
his office at the head of the government ; and the great likeli-* 
hood there seemed to be of a protectionist party obtaining 
power. 

Jane. Han yo yerd aught abeawt Lord Stanley puttin' th^ 
Com Laws on again ? There wur some rickin' abeawt it i' Bury* 
teawn^ when aw coom off wi' th' cart to-neet, 

Sam. They'n never do't, mon I They connot do ! An' it's 
Very weel, for aw dunnut know what mut become o' poor folk 
iv they did'n do. What think'n yo, measther ? 

I explained to them the unsettled state of parliamentary* 
affiurs, as it had reached us through the papers ; and gave them 
my firm belief that the Com Laws had been abolished once for 
all in this country, and that there was no political party in 
England who wished to restore them, who would ever have the 
power to do so. 

Jone. Dun yo think so? Aw'm proud to yef it I 

Sam. An' so am aw too, Jone. But what, aw know'd It weel 
enough. £h, mon ^ there's a dhyd moor crussuz o* brade lyin' 
abeawt i' odd nooks an' comers, nor there wur once't OT a day^ 



80 flAMSLE F^OM BURY ^O ^OCBSiJihB: 

4w*ire sin th^ tiii^e yrhsia thi*d*n W Ym cl^ed up like kuaps 
o^ gqwd. 

J<me. Aw think tbey'u ha^ to fot Lc»d Jqlm badb:> to vheyv^ 
kis cut deawn jet. To my tbiukiQ^ Wd no busineaB to Ihyev 
kis looms. But aw dac aay he knowB his own job betther nor 
aw do. He'll be as £iiuse as a boggart, oj ehe Wd never hta' 
bin V that sbop as lung as he has bin ; not heu There's moor 
in his yed nor a ayto' -tooth comb eon lot eawt. What think 
yo, owd brid ? 

Sam, It's so like ; itH^ so like ! But aw dunnut oaoe whoH} in, 
Jone, i' thi'n nobbut do soqne good for poor folk ; an' tiiat's one 
o' th' main jobs for thoose at's power to do't. But, iT th^ wur'n 
to put th' Corn Bill on again, there's mony a theawsan' 'nd be 
clemmed to dhyeth, o' qy a rook. 

«7bne. Ah, there would so, Sam, at aw know on. But, see 
yo ; there's a dhyel on 'em 'ud go deawn albre me. Aw^d may 
somebody houd back whol their cale cpom 1 It they winnut gi^- 
me my share for wortchin' for, aw'U haye it eawt o^ some nook^ 
07 aw dunnut, damn Jone 1 (StriJ^g ^be table hea^y witih 
his fist.) They's never be clemmed at ir heawse, as aw ba' si'n 
folk- damned i' my time, — ^never, whol afw've a knheQry© a th' 
end o' my arm 1 ]^eaw, what have aw towd yo I 

Sam. Thea'rt reet lad 1 Aw houd te wit good, by tii' mass. 
Whol they gi'n us some Int like ov a choance, we can eltbur do. 
At th' most o' times, we'n to kill 'ursels to keep '^ursels, welly ;• 
but, when it comes to scarce wark an' dear mheyt, th' upstroke'i^ 
noan so fur off. 

Mar^. Ay, ay. If it're nobbut a body's sel', we met manage 
to pinch a bit, neaw an' then { becose one could reayson abeawt 
it some bit like. But it's th' chiMher, mon, it's tV chiJder I 
Th' little things at look'n for It reggelur ; an' wonder'n beaw it. 
' is when it doesn't come. Eh, dear o' me ! To see poor wortchin' 
folk's little ;brts o' childher yammerin' for a bite <f' mheyt 
•4--when there's noan jGor 'em ; an' lookin' up i' folk's £^oe9, as 
micb as to say, ^^ Connot yo help mo ?" It's enough to may^ 
ony^odjf 9ry tbj^ sbopfi fuli 1 



. i^ere X tfx)]c out 2U7 lxx>k to make aiipther xiote. 

Jone, Hello ! yo'r agate again ! YoV for maym^ sopue saak 
ov a liobbil pn us, aw believe \ What, aye yo takkiu' th' pickter 
on mo, or summat ?***** ** 

JIh, owd Sam ; vhat a thing this lari^iu' is. Aw should ha^bin 
worth mony a hunderth theawsan pe^wnd iy aw cquld ha^ dofi^ 
o' that shap, see yo I 

Sam, Aw guess thea con write noan, nor read nothur, con tdf 
Jon©? 

7one* Kut aw ! awVe no moor use for a book nor a duck has 
for a umbreli. Aw'ye had to wortch meeterly hard sin aw'i^ 
five year owd, mon. Iv aw've aught o' that mak to do, aw go 
to pw4 Silver-yed at thi' lone-side, wi't. It naay'p mo ipad mony 
a time, mon \ one look^s sich a foo ! 
, Sam* An^ he con write noan mich, aw think, con he ? 
, Jone, Naw. He went no far nor pot-hook an' ladles P writix^^- 
aw believe. But he can read a bit, an' that's moor nor a dhyel 
o' folk abeawt here can do. A^ know nobory oppo this side 
at's greadly lamt up, nobbut Ash'otl^ parson. But there's 
plenty o' chaps i' Kachdaw teawn at's so brawsen wi' vit, whol 
nothur n^e, nor thee, nor no mon el^, con may oj^y spps^ on 
'em. Yo reckelect'n a 'tomey co'iln' here onqe't. What 4uil 
yo think o' him ? 

Sam. He &yvurs a foo, Joqc ; ar aw'm a fob mysel\ 

Jone, He's far hurnt i' aught but honesty, mon, that^s heaiS"- 
it is. He '11 do no reet, no tay no wrang : So wi^n lap it up just 
whee:r it is ; for little pigs ha'n lung ears. 

Sam, Aw'U tell tho what, Jone ; he's a bad trade, bjc i^ 
honfi, for (me thing ; an' a bad trade 'U sphoyle a good mon 
sometimes ; iv he^U stick weel to H. : 

Jone, It brings pnoor in nor mine does, a dhyel. But ip'n 
Jet it drpp. Iv aw'd his larnin, aw^d may suqpouat on't. 

Sam, Ah, well; it's a fine thing is larnin', Jone I It's aveiy 
:gne thing ] It tay's no reawm up, mon* Au' then, th' b^Hlies 
connut fot it, thea sees. But what, a dhyel o' poor folk ai:e sg; 
tae^ up wi' gettiu' what they ueed'pi for th' Wly Wf^' th' back, 



i2 RAMBIA ^Ok iftXTRY TO kOdl^Att. 

whol thi'n nothnrtime nor inclination for nought but a bit oV a 
crack for a leetenin'. 

Jone. To mich so, owd Sam ! To micli so ! * * 

Mary. Thae never tells one heaw th* wife is, Jone. 

Jone. Wliau, th' owd lass is yon ; an' hoo's nothur sickly, nor 
Soory, nor sore, *at aw know on. * * * Yigh, 

hoo's trubble't wP a bit oy a bbreykin' eawt abeawt th* meawth, 
Bometinies. 

Mary. Does hoo get nought for it ? 

Jone. Naw, nought *at'll mend it, aw'm fyerd. But, aw'm 
mad enough, sometimes to plaister it wi' my bond, — ir aw could 
find i* my heart. 

Mary. Oh, aw see what to mhyens, neaw. * * An* 
aw dar say thea gi's her 'casion for^t, neaw an' then. 

Jone. Well, aw happen do ; for th' best o' folk need'n bidin 
wi' a bit sometimes; an' aw'm noan one o' th' best, yo 
know'n. 

Mary. Naw ; nor th' worst nothur, Jone. 

Jone. Yo dunnut know, o' mon. 

Mary. Happen not ; but, thir't to good to brun, as hea*t he* 

Jone. Well, onybody's so, Mary. But, we're o* God 
Almighty's childer, mon ; an' aw feel fain on't, sometimes ; for 
he's th' best feyther at a chylt con have. 

Mary. Ah, but thea'rt nobbut like other childer, Jone ; thea 
doesn't tak as mich notice o' thy feyther, as thea should do. 

Sam. Well, weU ; let's o' on us be as good as we con be, iv 
we aren't as good as we should be ; an' then wi's be better nor 
we are.. 

Jone. Hello I that clock begins *o givin' short %wance, as 
soon as ever aw get agate o' talkin' ; aw'm mun be off again I 

Satn. Well ; thae'll co' a lookin' at us, olez, when tho Comes 
this gate on, winnut to, Jone? It tho doesn't, aw'st be a bit 
mad, thae knows. 

Jone. As lung as aw'm wick and weel, owd craylfer, ftifr's? 
keep comin' again, yo may depend, — ^like Clegg Ho' Boggart. 

Sam» Well nea^, mind ta does do, for aw've sooneir see the^ 



RAMBLE ITROM BURY TO ROCHDALE. 88 

nor two fiddlers, ony time ; so good neet to tho, an^ good luck 
to tho, too, Jone, wi^ o^ my heart I 

The night was now wearing late, and, as I had yet nearly 
three miles to go, I rose, and went my way. . This old road was 
never so much travelled as some of the highways of the neigh- 
bourhood, but, since railways were made, it has been quieter 
than before, and the grass has begun to creep over it a little in 
some i^bces. It leads through a district which has always been 
a kind of weird r^on to me. And I have wandered among 
those lonely moorland hills above Birtle, : and Ashworth, and 
Bagslate ; ^up to the crest of old Knowl, and over the wild top 
of Booley, from whence the greatest part of South Lancashire 
— that wonderful r^on of modem wealth and energy — ^lies 
under the eye, from Blackstone Edge to the Irish Sea ; and I 
have wandered through the green valleys and silent glens, 
among these hills, communing with my own heart, and with the 
^^ shapes, and sounds, and shifting elements " of nature, in many 
a quiet trance of meditative joy ; where the serenity of the scene 
was unmixed with any ruder sounds than the murmurs and 
gurglings of the many-mooded mountain stream, careering over 
its rocky bed through the shady hollow of the vale ; and the 
blithe music of small birds among the woods which lined the 
banks ; or the viewless gambols of the summer wind among the 
varied shade of rustling green, which canopied the lonely stream, 
so thickly, that the flood of sunshine which washed the tree- 
tops of the wood in gold, only stole into the deeps in little fitful 
threads ; hardly giving a warmer tinge to the softened light in 
the cool grots and mossy cells down by the water side. Romantic 
Spoddenlond I Country of wild beauty ; of hardy, simple, 
honest life ; of old-world manners, and of ancient tales and 
legends dim ! There was a time when almost the very air of the 
district seemed, to my young mind, impregnated with boggart- 
lore, and all the wild " gramerie " of old Saxon superstition, — 
when I looked upon it as the last sylvan stronghold of the ftdries ; 
where they would remain impregnable, haimting^ wild 
" thrutches '^ and sylvan ** chapels," in lonely deeps of itjs 



«l0tt^ fitL^ iroodfi ; and, in Bpitef of ftll the liai^d-Iieairted Idgfe 
in the world, still holding their nyfstic^ Hfistiivate there on< iltiooffr- 
Hf^ n%1ltd, ftaid larip|M]% to the ancient mnek! of iti^ irsltei^, till 
th^ 6«Btds; of doom. And^ lor al! the boasted jomtdk of inte9ec;6, 
]i6 ]fi^ evesh to ty» day, a (^triet where the esii^tenee of Witeh«», 
and the powet of witchdoctors, wfse^ften, seers, planet-rcd^grs, 
ttodi profnoeticBftors, find great credence in the imagfnatiozttr df 
a ifaif»f soAplev ^aasi tinlettered peo^ple. There is a littlb fbM, 
ei^Sili •' Fridtahair,^'' in 1^ township of Spottod, whidrfbM 
was ri^ hofisto of tf ndDtoble coimtry astrologer, £tt Ite BobMn% 
tlfti^, eaSed *" Frielahaw Witch."' Tka tela a .htxmotffcmB 
tftoTf in ]y# works, ahoidi an adyenttxre he had with tlos PiticS:'- 
liiaw planet-raler, at the oid Angel Inn, in Rochdalev P!i^^- 
tsivw Ib&epB tip its old oracnkj^ fiime in that moorland qttarter 
t& liis daj*, f(xr it hwr its phmet-^er istH) ; and, it iff noft alone 
ii^ 8li€h wiMy remote*, outlying- i^oobr of l^e hdls 1^^ the^ 
pi!o£iSBOfs of the ar^ of divinaMon may yet be htmdt ; abm&t 
4?feff poftiknm town i^ lianctehh'e has, h. some cbrner cif 
idf oa«^ or more of theser giffced star-readers-, seaitildiig 
««§ thie^ MMen things of Hfe, to alt inqidrers, aie alxyat 
a^ sllHIng a->h«ad. These country sooth^yers mostly drive a 
sort of eotttraband tradie in their line, in as npisdessgand seci^et 
tB way as- possible, among the most ignorant, weak, or criedbl6l3S 
'^nrt of the popcdkitkni. And it is natural IJiat they should Hoturii^ 
whserefer there are mindfe combining abundance 6f ignorant 
Ml£h and imagination with a plentiful lack of knowledge. But 
th^are not alt skulkers these diviners oi l3ie skies, for' now and 
'then a bold prophet stands forth, in clear and distinct pro- 
^portibns, before the wondering public gaze, who has niore Joffcjr 
and learned pretensions ; ' witness the advertjsei;nent of Di, 
Alphonso Gazell, of No. 4, Sparth Bbttoins, Rochdale, which 
appears m the Bxxihdale Sentinel^ of the 8rd of December, l'd53.* 

* '^B«B«flMAt pr»«tfeft! pliiloflophy, No; 4, ^rt& BottbniBl', sAsr Bbeti- 
d«l8k-->Pro(^o8tib iMNSro^'phimioIogy, or nature ednridered' as a wiioli^*^ 
its matter, it« properties, itslawB) pkjslcal, xnori^^ and intelleetual; ao^ 
ike elfed; of thair inilueiiees on toditiduai lit^f charabter/ and' ability. 



Oh,^ ddfiiiHdd lilly kid Agriippft ; yaar tsbadows «f« ttpm ^ 
HfttJil ^nA I mvs^ cofttkmiB my fst<ysj of ihehoB6lidWBA 
WMoeiAtiotk ; and as I wandered on thssb cold aed 'silent mf^ 
vatd&tihB blue tkj, -vrhere nigfat^s candles trefe bttmhig, so dear 
and ^alm^ I reanei»bered that ibis was the ^oemtry of old Adam 
de BpmiiiBid^ whov iim&7 ^enturiefi «inee) pknsdj bequeathed 
Mrtaiii bi*oad> aeres of kaid^ ^^ fer the mire of souls,'* iti the^ 
•pufiait oi Boehdale. He has, now, mmy teirttrries 6}ep^ with 
Mb fijthei8 ;' beet, woe lo the» day, when tarn live to see sach 
betfuests, long ago kft for -piom uses, degenerated into lolling- 
'6oitelie«, tfjpon which ynlgar pri^ may rook its sense of dnty 
htto stillness^ among the fatal st8|yors of w<»*ldlmeas, * * * And 
£tow, as I wa&ed down the road, m thk sovnb^e twilight, withf 
ttr htti^bed wind, and tinder the shade of the woodj height on 
which the hOme^ead o# Has brave <M Saxon stood, my foot- 
HkepA sdanding elc^r in the qtdet air, and the very trees iaeemsng 
io bend ofcfi^ to one anotirar, tsad conrnmne in awliid mmrmnrs 
on t& approach of kn. int^adef , how ocmld' 1 tell What ^le t^amp 
^ my: tmoeremoi^oiis i^t might wakeDi there? The rood 
crosses a deep and craggy glen, oalM **S»ftyps66 Ohmgh,^ 
which is One oif the finest pieces of ravine soenery ili ^e whol^ 
^oimty, little as it is known* The ^itire letig^ of this wild 
g0tg& is* nearly i^etee miles, and it Is watered by a stream fiiom 
the lallB, is&Ued '*' Kaidin Watet," which, in seasons of heavy 
rain, rag^ and roans Witir great tiolende, through its narrow 
fodcy chatmel^. There ii» many a strange Old tale connected 
with this clough. Half way up a shaley bank, which ovafhangs 

I*rom tlieae premlsesj^and nearly twenty yean* sxperience, any lady or gen« 
tleiitiik may Kate the moet talnable advice on matters of healthy sickness, 
l«ri&esiQn, trftde, emirrati^D, and sp^oalation ; alao raarnage-^its proepeeta 
to tne inquirer, wheCner it will be attended with happiness, the time of ita^ 
06cnitinc9i a rail deseriptibn and ehuraicter of the present oi^fnttire partner, 
vit^ jQopjkmi ips^nuStl^nft to the liiiqiarried^Whioh offer or parly to take^ 
and thns's^ure the fullest amount of happiness, shown to any indiyidnal- 
by this 6bnibittation of seiemie. The principal requisite points of informa- 
t^ £)rjit»ply0lg4>e $ci«9M to Ike )>mfit of iti inquirer are^the preeisa 
date, place of birth, and the station in life. 4-tteiidance eyery day except 
l^ixdsys, at No. 4, Bpittik Bottoms, BoehcMe. 

c 2 



80 ftAMBLlfi FBOM BXTBT TO BOCHDAl^i 

the river on the western side of the dough, the mouth of Idl 
ancient, disused lead mine may still be seen, partly shrouded by 
tangled brushwood. Upon the summit of a precipitous steep 
of wildwood and rock, which bounds the eastern side of the 
clough, stands Bamford Hall, a handsome, modem building, of 
stone, a few yards from the site of the old hall of the Bamfords 
of Bamford* The new building is a residence of one branch of 
the Fenton family, wealthy bankers and cotton spinners, and 
owners of large tracts of land, here and elsewhere. On an 
elevated table-land, at the western side of the clough, and 
nearly opposite to Bamford Hall, stood the ancient mansion of 
Grizlehurst, the seat of the notable flEimily of Holt, in the reign 
of Queen Elizabeth. The Holt family were once the most 
powerful and wealthy landowners in the parish of Bochdale« 
The principal seats of the £eunily in this parish were Stubley 
Hall, in the township of Wardleworth, and Castleton Hall, in 
the township of Castleton. The manor of Spotland was granted 
by Henry YHI., to Thomas Holt, who was knighted in Scot- 
land, by Edward, Earl of Hertford, in the thirty-sixth year of 
the reign of that monarch. Part of a neighbouring clough 
still bears the name of " Tyrone's Bed," from the prevailing 
tradition that the fjEUoious Hugh O'Neal, Earl of Tyrone and 
King of Ulster, took shelter in these woody solitudes, after suf- 
fering severe defeat in the great Irish Rebellion, in the reign of 
Queen Elizabeth. Mr. John Boby of Bochdale has woven this 
legend into an elegantly written romance, in liis ^^ Traditions of 
Lancashire." 

I reached home about ten o'clock, and, thinking over the 
incidents of my walk, I was a little impressed by one fSeu^t, sug^ 
gested by the conversation at the roadside public-house, with 
" Jone o' JeflBrey's," and the old couple ; namely, that there is 
a great outlying mass of poor dumb folk in this country, who^^ 
by low social condition, but more by the prevalent lack of com*' 
mon education among them — are shut out from the chance of 
hearing much, and still mqre from the chance of tmderstanding 
what Uttle they do hear, respecting many interesting political 



BAMBLB FROM fiURY TO BOOHDALE. 37 

questiom of the time ; and, also, with respect to many other 
matters which are of essential importance to their wel&re. 
Whether this gross ignorance which yet pervades a great multi- 
tade of the poor of England, is chargeable upon that moltitude 
itself, or upon that part of the people whom more favourable 
circumstances have endowed with light and power, and who 
yet withhold these potent elements from their less fortunate 
fellows, or, whether it is chargeable upon neither, let learned 
casuists decide. The fact that this ignorance does exist among 
the poor of England, lies so plainly upon the surface of society, 
that it can only be denied by those who are idle or incurious as 
to the condition of the humbler classes of this kingdom ; or, 
by those who move only in such exclusive circles of life and 
thought, that they habitually ignore many of the conditions of 
human existence which lie outside of their own narrow limits of 
society and sympathy ; or, by such as wink their eyes to the 
great truth in this matter, in order to work out some small 
purpose of their own. Wherever there is ignorance at all 
there is too much of it ; and it cannot be too soon nor too 
effectually removed, especially by those who are wise enough to 
see the crippling and infectious malignities of its nature. That 
portion of our population which hears next to nothing, and un- 
derstands less, of politics and the laws — any laws whatever — ^is 
nevertheless compelled to obey the laws, right or wrong, and 
whatever strange mutations they may be subject to ; and is thus 
continually drifted to and fro by conflicting currents of legisla- 
tion which it cannot see ; currents of legislation which some- 
times rise from sources where there exists, imfortunately, more 
love for ruling than for enlightening. Many changes come over 
the social condition of this blind multitude, they know not 
whence, nor how, nor why. The old song says — 

<< Remember, when the jadgment*s weak. 
The prcgudice is strong." 

And, certainly, that part of the popular voice which is raised 
upon questions respecting which it has little or no sound infer- 



pm^ p]|i^ of flai<wWg^tf»>fl$t, uabiidl^ fe^uig, iflmh., hm &9 
silsr gpyarmiieiut tbaa the ep]iiien»eraL eircuiBiUm«^ Wbieii diaA6 
fil^ otb^ foff ^ £44 of time. Sb^^nd deioAfqgliie^ Joioif 
ffeU boff pvostara^ is tb^ popitk^i of tb» imaduK^sutj^d ^^ t^»s»^^ 
lie it is f»X}i&i ; «nd thef l^ave e «t0cfc (tf o^drfm di iQtidd td^, by 
ivbidi tbey csun niore it to tMir own encUi \^ «« ^a^ m lymg.'^ 
He wbo k&ow tine teiacbes of itbis paasive initran^ent, «a^ fi^dbe 
ijt 4is(X}un»e tba vaxm he deop^es; and, onhappUf, tbftt k mufi 

WlJ^n madmen lead the l^Iind." 

Kov, ibo edwsalied cUaacw bove «H tbe wi4e field of a^jueieBib 
1fl»rnjwg opeiB to them — tb^ey can pasture where tbey will ; fuod, 
the fftf?e^ma of present ksyowled^ rushing by, tbey can drink ^ 
tbey bat. Wbaibever }b doijig ia pojyitics, too, they bear of, 
whilst these things are yet matters of publk dispute \ and, in 
some de^ee, th^ junderstand and isee the draft of tben^, and, 
iheacGSqire^ can tbrow such in&i^oe as in tbenji lies into one or 
the other scale of the matter. This boasted out-door parlia- 
^nent — ^tbis free eiqv'essioQ of public o|»inion in Ez^land, how- 
ever, as I hare said before, goes no £»rther down ainong the 
people 4j)an edi«cation goes. B^ow ths;t point lies a land of 
j&etful slaves, (Jungeoned gS by ignorance &om the avienues 
which lead to freedom ^ aM they mostly drag out their lives in 
ynwilling subservience to ^ iegis)atioii which is beyond tbsir ken 
d^d infljifbepjttce. Their ignor^ince koeps them dumb ; and, there- 
fpre, theb* icondijbion and wants are nettb^ so well known, nor 
so often nor fso well expressed as those of the educaited clasae^i. 
Tbey seldom complain, however, until the state of a%irs beginii 
to press them to great extremities, and tb^ their principal e^T 
ponents are mobs, and fierce uproars of desperation. It is plain 
that where there is society there must be law, and' obedience to 
tliat law must be somehaw enforced, even among those who 
know nothing if£ ^e law, as well as those who defy it ; but my 
pim^ ^}is^4 m »g4n^ tiiat igpofpoit «^tion of tbeti^. 



RAMBLE FBOM BV9|Y TO ROCHDALE. 39 

which shuts them out from any reasonable hope of exercising 
their rights as men and citizens. And so long as that ignorance 
of theirs is unnecessarily continued, the very enforcement of laws 
among them, the nature of which they have no chance of 
knowing, looks, to me, very like injustice. I see a rather re- 
markable difference, however, between the majority of popular 
movementB wHch have agitatkl the people for some time p«rt. 
and that gpeat sucoeasf cd one — the repeal of the com^laws. The 
agitation of that q^uestion, I beHeve, awakened and enlisted a 
greater breadth of the understanding sympathy of the nation, 
among aU classes, than was ever brought together upon any one 
popular question which has been agitated within the memory of 
man. But it did more timx aJBO^^-^^d heawi lies one of the 
great foundatioB-etones which i^iaM hoM it £rm awhile, I think ; 
since it has passed into a law, its effects have most ef&ciently 
convinced, and won over, that dumb, imeducated multitude of 
the labouring poor,'whp could axot v£9ry well understand, and did 
not care much for • ihe mere disputation of the question. 
Everybody has a. stoEkach of some sort-HBiad it frequently 
happens that when the brain is not very active the stomach is 
particularly so — so tb^ where it w^id ouot penetrate the under- 
standing, it has by this time triumphantly reached the stomach, 
^d now sits there, smiling complacent defiance to ^my kind of 
sophistry that would ^coax it thenceforth again. The loaves of 
£ree trade followed the tracts of the. League, And the hopes of 
,|)rotectionist philosophers are likely to be "adjourned sim 
die^"'* for this generation at least — ^perhaps much longer ; for th# 
fo^ is clearing up a little, and I think I see, i» ikQ distance, a 
rather better education gettii]^ ready for the n^xt geaeiiation. 

^'O for the eomi&g of that g^lorions tinie 
Wl]«&, priaing: ]ui»wledge as her «ol>l«st w^^ 
And bes£ protection, this imperial realm, 
While she exacts allegiance, shall (admit 
An ^blifffitioip oa her part, to teach 
Them wno are bom to serve her and obey ; 
[Binding: herself by statute to secure 
For aU Im children whom hv soil nainitaiiMj 
The rudiments of letters." 



.. , ^ 



40 



THE COTTAGE OF TIM BOBBIN, 

AND THE VILLAGE OF MILNKOW, 



*' If thon on men, their works and ways, 
Ganat throw nneommon light, man ; 
Here lies wha weel had won thy praiaey 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

* * If thon art stanneh without a stain. 

Like the unchanging bine, man ; 
This was a kinsman o* thy ain, 
For Matthew was a true man. 

** If thou hast wit, and fun, and fiie, 

And oe'er good wine did fear, man, 
T)iis was thv billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man." 

BUBSS. 

It is not in its large towns that the true type of the natiyes oi 
Lancashire can be seen. The character of its town population 
is greatly modified by amalgamation with settlers £rom distant 
quarters. Not so in the country parts, because the tenancy of 
land, and employment upon it, are siiflficiently competed by the 
natives; and while temptations to change of settlement are 
fewer, the difficulties in the way of changing settlement are 
greater there than in towns. Country people, too, stick to the 
old sod, with hereditary love, as long as they can keep soul and 
body together upon it, in any honest way. Ab numbers begin 
to press upon the means of living, the surplus fights its way in 
cities, or in foreign lands ; or lingers out a miserable life in ne- 
glected comers, for want of work, and want of means to fly, in 
time, to a market where it might, at least, exchange ite labour 



THE VILLAGE OF MILNBOW, 41 

for its life. The growth of manufacture and railways, and the 
perpetual inroads of hordes of destitute, down-trodden Irish, 
are truly stirring up Lancashire, and changing its features, in 
an unparalleled way ; and this change is rapidly augmenting 
by a yaried infusion of new human elements, attracted j&om all 
quarters of the Hngdom by the immense increase of capital, 
boldly and promptly embarked in new inventions, and ever« 
developing appliances of science, by a people remarkable for 
enterprise and industry. Still, he who wishes to see the genuine 
descendants of those old Saxons who came over here some four- 
teen hundred years ago, to help the Britons of that day to fight 
for their land, and remained to farm it, and govern in it, let 
them ramble through the villages on the western side of Black- 
stone Edge. He will there find the open manners, the inde- 
pendent bearing, the steady perseverance, and that manly sense 
of right and wrong, which characterised their old Teutonic 
forefathers. There, too, he will find the fair comeliness, and 
massive physical constitution of those broad-shouldered farmer- 
warriors, who made a smiling England out of an island of forests 
and bogs, — ^who felled the woods, and drained the marshes, and 
pastured their quiet kine in the ancient kur of the wild bull, the 
boar, and the wolf. 

Milnrow is an old village, a mile and a half eastward from 
the Rochdale station. The external marks of its antiquity are 
now few, and much obscured by the increase of manufacture 
there ; but it is, for many reasons, well worth a visit. It is 
part of the fine township of Butterworth, enriched with many 
a scene of mountain beauty.. A hardy moor-end race, half far- 
mers, half woollen-weavers, inhabit the district ; and their rude, 
but substantial cottages and farmsteads, often perch picturesquely 
about the summits and sides of the hills, or nestle pleasantly in 
pretty green holms and dells, which are mostly watered by 
rambling rivulets, firom the moorland heights which bound the 
township on the east. There is also a beautiful lake, three miles 
in circumference, filling a green valley, up in the hills, about a 
mile and a half from the village. Flocks of sea-fowl often rest 



sm tiii9 vftter^ in tiit^ lligbk firan the MMstem to the vflufwii 
fM9«, J^^PQot it9 laargiii, tiie view of tiie wild n^«» oC t^ 

it tfaAoii ^^ RilftnkirfifwiP fidos." flloiMi iid soAieBtiBsllr fioia the 4mato 
fiOBid tint wiodt nloiiff t^ ^Bfltfim lisiik.' A mafiHive Cjathadrai*- 

nicicisAgi^ point o£ ttbtraction to xim^blBn from tfce vik^ 
Uov, iAd M cajied J^y ttoa ^^ ftobin Qaod 3«d." AaqiMffe 
cftTitf an the fev^ |mH is fia&d '' "Fh' OcUmt/' Sundveds^ 
nfMpkpa ADA floiifaitiiiifid on tJift fliufiboe of tbe xock. MH&e i& aKoob 
ffytwMwwHniiT AtofttioBB: And 4)ftai jbava thd koesfin of tha 

MOQI^ bdeR iiwrtiAd &t DOBD d frnxau^ dttWB by tiui StSokiBB-fif 
Ul, ^A rawiinvMM j^hiagillfr . hfl-nMia^inor hia jp^ioia xnti^ ii» LajMi 

fiM9 aafteg^itbiiy «a poisible. But the sounds float, de«r ma 
befl* Tnikia ovsc thft oftoora in tibe aviet ^ tbo nxNnuiur* and dis- 
twbtbegane. Qna of the fecrt; feyoiiirite. yaiphion ofay jop^ 

^wi^^^p m^i^^^^^ ^^^^i^i^feaA^nffHttp a^^j^ "^^j W"^" ^^^aj^a*fc ^mj^^m* ft^^^^^r ^»^* ^»^^wwf^wi^» I^F 'P^^ ^'•(^ 

wbicb ^Qltfia by ^^Ckigg HaU,'* ggiwiwirooffted ia fioby'f ti»* 
dition ioi **• Clegg Hjo' Boge^it^'^ ^^ tbsop^ a4»roB9 the gjpem 
hitim by the knely iM £wnii-boi]«e, oaBed *^ Peanock,'' aod« 
skirting aloog tbe ed^ «f this qiitet la)ije--upoii wboee W0tam 
I have spent many a happy summer daj, alooe — up tht^ 
10%- qswa o isaide beyond, to this weU-knovii rock, called '•'• Robin 
{{eod ^ed," qpo& tbe bleak «uiuaiit of Blaeksfcone Pdge. It i^ 
so iaij^e that It <»ii be seen at a 4w^eiiiee of Ibmr sailes h^ tilm 
nskul ^e, ost a dear duf. The nanie of Eobim JJopd^ tha^ 
ki¥« Md gQBtkwgoily outlaw of the <^^ 

^< The Sngikh baliad-singei^s joy—*' 

is not only vedded to this wild ipaoifrol-iain crag, bat to at i€iist 
0Re other ooiigepial spot in this parish; where the rude tsa-- 
ditioiis <^ the simple people of ih» neighboorhood point out 
wgyDther rock, of seviecal tons weight, as having been throwm 
thither, by this staiwaxt king of the green- woods, from aq 
^I^Mpeite hill, nearly seyen miles off. The romantic track where 
the lake i^ ie ^ut the krel of Mil^ow, mi quite out of jtja/^ 



j^K» tH8 FHiLAOE OF HILNROV. 4$ 

toiiii i ipy. i n ay o^^^ jtaeajredlfir, iv7|io k too;|(pt to $mi iiig i>]BBioo. 
of the features of the whole district, frem ihe J*aiiher.fltedle 
sample he sees on the sides of the rail^ between Manchester and 
Bochdale. BmJa i£' hdinfitij^ v^J to know the t^ntry and 
its inhabiting, he mxak get ^ 4liat, ^^ ax^ tak Hbl! crow-gate,^' 
and he may find vast HiLQ(WS, fnjd x«nnies, greea ploughs, and 
dells, and 

fUok -vill lepay bim ibr im pains. AsA then, if he bs « Lui« 
Ciflhire man, aad ^ iovear of genius, lab 2ym go to Mibirow — it 
WW t^ 4ve]fiiig''pkce of Tim Bobisin, viJtli whoie wosUr i hope 
he^b i;i0t mxaequalnted. Has written works azie not Miioli m^ 
9xUt^, He was a paiiuber, and ids rough brash waM replete witk 
BfegfurtliiKn, sketches, fidl of naiiufe, and radianit wi^ kk own 
bnwA, lumibiFOQs originaJiiy. He «lao left a ndAj^hmafxtym 
^iadteetk tale, a few Hiidii^iastic poecos and letters, jcfayawatgriafejc 
of i:ire sterling qiiaJity of his fafiart and head, aad jjugb ^erviag 
to Bhtow us how much gveater the man was than iaas book. 

I WM i^birays prood of Tim, aaid in my< early days kaire zttvle 
maof a |iilgrimage to the village "mheffe he used to livej wan* 
dering home agaam through the green l^ils of Butterwortk. 
BezEt <m aeesng tke {dace onoe more, Z went n^ to HQnt% Bank, 
one fine, day a^ the end of kst hay-time, to catoh the train to 
Rochdale. I paid my shilling, and took my seat among a b^^ 
oi hearty waAmeaix aad ccmntry^fblk onmiing bade from the 
ehsap tzi^ to Wales and the hai^hing piaces on the LoDcaafaire 
eeaet. The aeastHL had beeai uncommonly fine, and the trippers 
loftked brighto: lior their out, ajid, to use thdr own phzaae, felt 
^^•^UL at '^h^r^ wiek," ^uad ready to buckle to wodb: again with 
doal& vigour. The smile of summer had got into the saddest 
of i^ a httle, and we were communicatiye and ooaaafortaJbie. A 
]^9iig*Mmbdd collier lad, after settling his body satis&ctorily in a 
earner, began, with eyes and ears obvious to ail winks and 
whispers, \o ham, in a j(d1ang metre, with as much freedom of 
)Bmi as if he viiaat ik» mouth of a l<»ieiy ^^ fazewt-bee *^ on his 



the cotton fiictdrieB behind Oldham Edge. If the traveller can 
see no fine proepective meaning in the manufacturing syBtem, 
lie will not be delighted with the scene, for the country has a 
monotonous look, and is bleak and sterile, with hardly anything 
worthy of the name of a tree to be seen upon it. But now, 
about a hundred yards past the Oldham station, there is a little 
of the palpably picturesque for him to feast on. We are cross- 
ing a green yalley running north and south. Following the 
rivulet through the hollow, a thick wood waves on a rising 
ground to the south. In that wood stands Chadderton Hall, 
anciently the seat of the Chaddertons, some of whom were very 
famous men ; and since then, the seat of the Horton family. 
The situation is very pleasant, and the land about it looks 
richer than the rest of the neighbourhood. There was a deer- 
park here in the time of the Hortons. Chadderton is a place 
of some note in the past history of the country, and it is said to 
have formerly belonged to one of the old orders of knighthood. 
On the other side of the line, about a mile and a half off, the 
south-east end of Middleton is in sight, with its old church on 
the top of a green hill. The greater part of the parish of 
Middleton, with other vast possessions in South Lancashire, 
belonging to the Ashetons from before Richard III., when extra- 
ordinary powers were granted to Randulph Asheton. The 
famous Sir Ralph Asheton, called *'^ The Black Lad," from his 
wearing black armour, is traditionaUy said to have ruled in his 
territories in South Lancashire with great severity. In the 
town of Ashton, one of the lordships of this family, his name is 
still remembered with a kind of hereditary terror; and till 
within the last five or six years he has been shot and torn to 
pieces in efi&gy by the inhabitants, at the annual custom of 
*' The Riding of the Black Lad." The hero of the fine ballad 
called *' The Wild Rider," written by Bamford, the Lancashire 
poet, was one of this fiimily. The Middleton estates, in 1776, 
failmg male issue^ passed by marriage iuto the noble families 
of De Wilton and Sufl&eld. Now many a rich cotton spinner, 
perhaps lineally descended firom some of the villain<T0erfs of th^ 



,4?6 .THE eWTAaiS 6F fUd »09B.t]!r^\ , 

>'Bkek Lttd^'' b^ 4B^y« to bupxig ihe bitnd Jtodtf (^ 'lUtfe 
jffood old Asbel€Ha»^ 

The iiram ia now bard en ]Miie Pits Station, wlieife it » not 
impoaBiye for the traveUer to haye to-^ait awMeu But lie 
^uay conxfort bktMdf with tiie suBBimniCie that it is iiot olfcen 
ZDQch more than half an hoisr or fio. Le6 him aAiuae hinaself^ 
meanwhile, with t^e wild dinft that M his ears ; — the shoy^luig 
and running of porters, the aoreams of en^ne wlustlest the j^t$ 
and coUinonB on a BmaH scale, and the per^nal foffri^ c^ 
trains, of one kind <»> other, that shoot too and fro bj bds win- 
dow, then stop suddenly, look thonghtful, as if they had dtQ|yt 
something, and run back again^ If he looks out, ten to one ke 
win see some red-hot monster making towards him fri^ a dm- 
tanee at a great speed, bekhing steam, and soattering sparks and 
j*ed-hpt cinders ; and in the innocent timidity of the mOsaent 
.he may chance to hope it is on the right pair of rmls; But tizne 
and a brave patience delxvers him from all these terrors, unaliat^ 
tered in eyerything_if his temper holds good-^nd he ^oots 
ahead again. 

The moorland hills now sail upon the sight, sttjetching from 
the round peak of Enowl on the north-west, to the romantic 
heights of Saddleworth on the south-east. The train is three 
.minutes from Bochdale, but| before it reaches there, let the 
traveller note that picturesque old mansion, on the gre^ above 
Castleton Clough, at the left-hand side of the mL His eye 
.must be active, for, at the rate he is going, the various objects 
about him, literally ^^ come Hke shadows, so depart.^^ This is 
Castleton. Hall, formerly a seat of the fiolts^ of Stublsy, an 
andent and powerful local &mily in this parish, in the r&g^ of 
- Henry VIU. Castleton Hall came afterwards into the poeses- 
«ion of Humphrey Chetham,> the venerable founder of Chetham 
.College, in Manchester. Since tiiien it has passed into other, 
hands ; but the proverb ^^as rich as Chetham o* Castleton," is 
often used by ihe people joi this <Mstript, at this dtsy ; and many 
interesting anecdotes, characteristic of the noble qualities of this 
.old Lancashire worthy, are treaaured up by the people oi thoae 



'pMig of ihe e6tmtFy wlmee he Hvedf esp^tftlfy ki t!ie deigli- 
bourboodff of Ckyioft Hall, near Manchefiftor^ a»d TtMon- 
Tourer, jieRr Bolkai, Im ^KToa^fte residextees: Catt^teUEf HaQ 
'irasr ftffi iatereBting plaoe to me Mrhm I yrm a lad. Ab I pM b^ 
k iKyTf I soznetlmeff thiak of tlie day wheisE I first mastered 
ddiwn Ulie' etaudsy ssreixaey wMcb toads io it froni! the li%kN)od 
beMnd ; «id eitmbed xsp a moeey wall by the way-Bide^ to lool: 
into tte green gloom c^ a mystenoos wood, whloli Bioades the 
Year of .the baSdu^. Ereni nofw, I renieinbegr the duBh ef 
isoft^BatioiLs whieh came over me then. I had pieked up some 
jorapi^ of hntorie kre about ihe hall, which deepeiied the in- 
terest I itM in it; Ute sc^mn c^d rustling wood ; the qnamt 
appearance aind seraoe <£gmty of the haB; its rich aasoeiatiofBB ; 
adid the tspe^ of int^est wMoh Mngers arooird every deeayii^ 
T^iae gS the wocks and hsimts of men of bygcme tiroes, made 
tiie pkee doquent la isie. It seemed to me then like a moan*- 
m^tetaft hniocy of itd old iidiabitanter trnd their times. I 
remesii^er, too, .{hat I once got a peep iisto a pairt of the haSL, 
wheie, in thos^ days, some old armour hung ttg$aast ih» wafi, 
8ile»t< and msty eiioiigh, but, to me, teenmig with tales of ehi- 
Tftfafyand knightly emprise. Bnt,^ here is iRoeSidate ICailway 
: Station, wh^e he,. #ho. wn^ies ta yisift the TiOage of Mihirow, 
had better ahght. 

M the traxrdler had tim^e and ikieliiSKtioQ tO' go^ down into 
Kochdale town, he inight see somef interesting thmgs, old $ioA 
new^ there. The town i» more pictuaresqudiy situated than most 
of the towns of Sdnth Lancashire.^ It lines tite sMes of a deep 
TaOey fm the, banks of the Eoch, oTevlooked by moorland hills. 
In Saaton tiinies it was an insignifieant Tillage, cidied *<* Bock- 
edtan,^' oonsfei^g of a few rtnral dwelHngs in Chcirch Laoie, ^ 
'Ste^p and nan^w old street, which was, down to the middkr of 
last tehtnry^ the pfineipal street in the to#n, thais^i^^ ^ 
.^aewfiest and obsciireBt. The famocut John Bright, the Crottk^ 
well of modem politicians, was bom m thi^ UmHf and Mves at 
" One Ash," on the north side of it. John Boby, author of 
the ^^Traditionsof Lancashire," wasabanker,in Rochdale, of the 



4S THE COTTAGE OP TUf BOBStK^ 

finn of Fenton and Bobj. The bank was next door io the shop 
of Thomas Holden, the principal bookseller of the town, to 
Vhom I was apprentice. For the clergy of the district, and for 
a certain class of politicians, this shop was the chief rendezvous 
of the place. Roby used to slip in at evening, to have a chat 
with my employer, and a knot of congenial spirits who met 
him there. In the days when my head was yet bat a little 
way higher than the counter, I remember how I used to listen 
to his impulsive, ingenious, and versatile conversations. Holden 
himself was a man of more than ordinary education, and a clever 
tradesman. I served him nearly eleven years; and though, 
during that time, he often lectured me for ^^ thumbing" the 
books in his shop, he sometimes lent me^ books to read at home. 
To his dying day, he seldom met me on the street that he did 
not stop to give me a solemn and friendly warning against radi- 
cal tendencies. Rochdale was one of the few places where the 
woollen manufacture was first practised, after its introduction 
intp England. It is still £ainous for its flannel. The history of 
Boohdale is in one respect but the counterpart of that of almost 
every other South Lancashire town. With the birth of cotton 
manufacture, it shot up suddenly into one of the most populous 
and wealthy country towns in England. After the traveller has 
contemplated the manufacturing might of the place, he may 
walk up the quaint street from which the woollen merchants of 
old used to dispatch their goods on pack horses to all parts of 
the kingdom, and from which the street takes the name of 
^^ Packer Street." At the ixyp, a flight of one hundred and 
twenty-two steps leads up into the churchyard, which com- 
mands an excellent view of the town below. . There, too, lies 
'^ Tim Bobbin." Few Lancashire strangers visit the town with- 
out looking at the old rhymer^s resting-place. Bamford, author 
of ^^ Passages in the Life of a Radical," thus chronicles an 
imaginary visit to Tim's grave, in happy imitation of the dialect 
of the neighbourhood ;— 



AND THE VILLAGE OF MILNKOW. 49 

<< Aw stood beside Tim Bobbin gnyey 
At looks o*er Raohda teawn. 
An th'owd lad woke within bia vearth, 
An Bed ' Wbeer arte beawn ? '* 

" Awm godn into th* Packer-street, 
As far as th' Gowden SeU, 
To taste o' Daniel Kesmns ale. 
Tim.—' Aw end like a sanp mysel.' 

'* An by this bont o* my reet arm, 
If fro that bole theswl reawk, 
Tbeawst ha?e a sanp otb' best breawn ale 
At ever lips did seawk. 

" The greawnd it stnrrd beneath meh feet, 
An then aw yerd a groan, 
He shook the dnst fro off his sknU, 
An rowlt away the stone* 

** Aw brought him op a deep breawn jug, 
At a gallon did contain ; 
He took it at one blessed droight, 
And laid him deawn again.** 

Some of the epitaphs on the grave-stones were written by Tim. 
The foUowing one on Joe Green, who was the sexton in Tim's 
day, is published with Urn's works : — 

** Here lies Joe Green, who arch has been. 

And drove a gainfol trade, 
With powerful Death, till out of breath. 

He threw away his spade. 
When Death beheld his comrade yield, 

He, like a cunning knave. 
Came, soft as wind, poor Joe behind. 

And pushed him into his grave." 

Near to this grave is the grave of Samuel Kershaw, blacksmiUi, 
bearing an epitaph which is generally attributed to the pen of 
Tim, though it does not appear among his published writings :— . 

** 3[y anvil and my hammer lie declined. 
My bellows, too, have lost their wind; 
My fire's extinct, my forge decayed. 
And in the dust my vice is laid. 
My eoal is spent, my iron is gone. 
My last nail driven, and my work is done." 

*' Blind Abraham," who rang the curfew, and who used to 
indtate the Bochdale chimes in a wonderfia way, true to their 



50 THB con:Ae£ of tim bobbin, 

slightest fjBiulto, for the lads at the old Grammar ^hool, could 
lead a stranger from any point of the churohyaiTd, straight as 
an arrow's flight, to Tim's gravestone. The Grammar School 
was founded in the reign of Queen lElijEabetK by Archbishop 
Parker. The parish church is an interesting old edifice, stand- 
ing on the edge of an eminenoe which oYerlooks the town. 
Tradition says its foundations were laid by " Goblin Builders." 
The living was anciently cl^)endf&nt on the Abbey of Whalley. 
It is now the richest vicarage in the kingdom. A short walk 
through the fine glebe lands, and past "Th' CanthiU Well,"* 
west of the vicarage will bring the traveller to the hill on which, 
in 1080, stood the castle of Glamel, the Saxon Thane, above the 
valley called " Kill-Danes," where the northern pirates once 
lost a great fight with the Saxon. 

After spending a few days in the town, I set out to MUnrow 
again one fine afternoon. The road leads by. the ^^ Kailway 
Inn," near the station. The hay was mostly gathered in, but 
the smell of it still luigered on the meadows^ and perfujined the 
wind, which sung a low melody amiQng tl^ leotves of t^e hedges. 
Along the vale of the Roch, to the left, lay a succession of 
manufacturing villages, with innumerable miUs, collieries, farm- 
steads, mansions, and cottages, clustering in the valley, and 
running up into the hills in all directions, from Rochdale to 
Littleborough, a distance of three miles« As I went on I was 
reminded of " wimberry time," by meeting knots of flaxen- 
headed lads and lasses from the moors, with their baskets filled, 
and mouths all stained with the juice of that delicious moorland 
fruit. There are many pleasant customs in vogue here at this 
season. The country-ft)lk generally know something of local 
botany, and gather in a stock of medicinal herbs to dry, for use 
throughout the year. There is still some ",spoln' " at the 
mineral springs in the hills. Whether these springs are really 
remarkable for peculiar mineral virtues, or what these peculiar 

* Properly "Th' CamiAill Well/' a weU in whftt is oOle^ "W • 
Brood Feelt," where the Danes encamped, previously to their attack on 
the Saxon oaAlki-and iheit slaugfhter at £iU-l)ati«, in the vale bafew. 



AXP TKE YIXiIiAOE OF MUiNBOW. ^l 

YVftvm are, I am Bot prepared to oay ; Kit it is o^H^ tbc^t 
maQ7 of the inhabitants of this district finnly believe in ih^ 
medicinal (|uahties, and, at set seasons of the year, go forth to 
Tisit these springs, in joyial companies, to drink *^ epo wajter.'^ 
Some §p with great faith in the yirtnes of the water, and, baring 
drank well of it, they will sometimes M a bot4ik» with it, and 
ramble back to their houses, gathering om their way edible 
h^bs^ sach as ^^payshun docks,'* and ^^ green-sanee^^^ or ^^a 
bum o' nettles,^' to put in their broth, and, of whioh^ thegr abo 
make a wholesome ^^ yarb-puddin','' mixed with meal ; or they 
scour the MU-sides in search of ^^ mountain flax;,** & "capital 
yarb jfor a cowd ; '* and for the herb called " tovmental,*' which, 
J have heard them say, grows oftenest " abeawt th* edge o* th^ 
singiBg layrock neest ; " or th^y will call upon somo oemklry 
botanist, to beg a handful of " Solomon's aioal," to '^cure btack 
e*en wi\'' Bat seme go to these springs mainly for the sake of 
a; pleasant s^oU, and a quiet fuddle ; for they carry to the water 
a supfly of s^ong iaftisicms, whieh, when taken with it, in suffi* 
cient quantities, work considerable changes upon the eomlitU'' 
tion lor the time. One of the most noted of these ^'^spoW '^ 
haonts is ^^ Bine Fots Spring," situated upon a lone and hBty 
moorland, at the head of a green glen^ eaUed " Long €lou|^,** 
about three miles from the pretty village of Littleboroug^. The 
ancient Lancashire festiTal of ^^ Buahbearing," and the hay 
harvest, &11 togeth^ about ^ mon^ of August, and make it a 
pleasant time of the year to the folk of the neighbourhood. At 
about a mile on the road to Milnrow, the highway passes close 
by a green dingle, called " Th* Grentlewoman's Nook," which is 
someway connected with the unfortunate fate oi a lady, once 
belonging to an influential &mily, near Milnrow. Some of the 
country people yet believe that the place is haunted, and, when 
forced to pass it afk^ dark has come on, steal'-fearfully and 
hastily by. 

About a mile on the road stands Belfield Hall, on the site 
of an ancient house, formerly belonging to the Knights of St. 
John of Jerusal^n. It is. a large c^d building, belonging to the 

D 2 



52 THE COTTAGE OF TIM BOBBIN, 

Townley family. The estate has been much improved by its 
present occupant, and makes a pleasant picture in the eye fix>m 
the top of a dinge in the road, at the foot of which a by-path 
leads up to the old village of Newbold, on the brow of a green 
bank, at the right-hand side of the highway. I stood there a 
minute, and tried to plant again the old woods, that must have 
been thick there, when the squirrel leaped from tree to tree, 
from Castleton Hall to Buckley Wood. I was trying to shape 
in imagination what the place looked like in the old time, when 
the first rude hall was built upon the spot, and the country 
around was a lonesome and wild tract, shrouded by primeval 
trees, when a special train went snorting out by the back of the 
haU, and shivered my delicate endeavour to atoms. I sighed 
involuntarily, but bethinking me how imagination clothes all 
we are leaving behind us in a drapery that veils many of its 
rough realities, I went my way, thankful for things as they 
are. A little ftirther on, Fir Grove bridge crosses the Rochdale 
canal, and commands a better view of the surrounding country. 
I rested here a little while, and looked back upon the spot which 
is for ever dear to my remembrance. The vale of the Eoch lay 
smiling before me, and the wide-stretching circle of dark hills 
closed in the landscape, on all sides, except the south-west. 
Two weavers were lounging on the bridge, bareheaded, and in 
their working gear, with stocking-legs drawn on their arms. 
They had come out of the looms to spend their " baggin time'' 
in the open air, and were himuning one of their fovourite songs ; 

," Hey Hal o' Wabg, an Sam, an Sae, 
Hey Jonathan, art tbea tbeer too, 
We*re o' alike, there's naut to do, 

So brinff a qoart afore uz, 
Aw're at Tinker's gardens jester noon. 
An* what aw see d aw'll tell yo soon, 
In a bran new Bxtng ; it's to th^owd tone, 
Yo'st ha't iy yo'n joyn chomz. 
Fal, 1a1, de ral" 

At the doOT of the Fir Grove ale-house, a lot of raw-boned 
young feUowB were talking with rude emfribasis about the 



AND THE VILLAGE OF MILNROW. 58 

exploits of a £ghting-cock of great local renown, known by the 
bland soubriquet of " Crash-Bwons." The theme was exciting, 
and in the course of it they gesticulated with great vehemence, 
and, in their own phrase, " swore like horse-swappers." Some 
were colliers, and sat on the ground, in that peculiar squat, 
with the knees up to a level with the chin, which is a favourite 
resting-attitude with them. At slack times they like to sit 
thus by the road side, and exchange cracks over a quart of ale, 
amusing themselves meanwhile by trying the wit and temper of 
every passer by. Nothing goes by without comment of some 
sort. These humorous road-side commentators are, generally, 
the roughest country lads of the neighbourhood, who have no 
dislike to anybody, who will accommodate them with a tough 
battle ; for they, like the better regulated portion of the in- 
habitants of the district, are hardy, bold, and independent; 
and, while their manners are open and blunt, their training and 
amusements are generally very rough* 

I was now approaching MUnrow^ and here and there a 
tenter-field ribbed the landscape with lines of woollen webs, 
hung upon the hooks to dry. Severe laws were anciently 
enacted for the protection of goods thus necessarily exposed. 
Depredations on such property were punished after the manner 
of that savage old "Maiden" with the thin lip, who stood so 
long on the " Gibbet Hill," at Halifax, kissing evil-doers out of 
the world. Much of the fSEunous Rochdale flannel is still woven 
by the country people here, in the old-£Etshioned, independent 
way, at their own homes, as the traveller will see by "stretchers," 
which are used for drying their warps upon, so frequently 
standing at the doors of the roomy dwelling-houses near the 
road. From the head of the brow which leads down into the 
village, Milnrow chapel is full in view on a green lull-side to 
the left, overlooking the centre of the busy little hamlet. It is 
a bald-looking building from the distance, having more the 
appearance of a little square stone factory than a church. 
Lower down the same green eminence, which slopes to the edge 
of the pretty little river Beal, stands the pleasant and tasteful, 



H irirte <x«TAGfi of Tim fiofiBm, 

btot modcBt, stone-bmJt residence of. the incumbait of MUnjrolr, 
the Bey. Francig Robert RameS) honorary camm of MancheiM«r, 
a notable archagologist and historian ; and a gentleman, moch 
bdoved by the people of the locality. 

There are flome old peof^ Btill living in Miliirow, irho ^eire 
taught to read and write, and ^^do sums^' ib TiM Bobbin^s 
iKhool ; yet, the lujority of the inhaMtants seem ufiMquHtfaitied 
with his <«ai roiideneek I had myBdf been Biiaied liefl^eefiMg 
it ; but hating obtained cottwt infonaation, and n telkteaMise 
fkoai a frieHd in Rochdale to an old rdattve of- his who liv^ in 
the ^ritaUe ootti^ of renowned Tim, I set about inquiring 
for ^m* Am I entered the Tillage, I met a Bturdy, good^ 
locMng womafi, witii a chocolateMcolota^ «iik tochief tied 
oter her «nowy cap, in that graceful way which tfi kfiow all 
vret l^e oountry-side as the ^^ Mildro Bomiet*^^ She Btopt me 
imd taid, ^^ Meastor, hea for han yo oom^d? " ^* From Rech>^ 
dale/* *•'• Han yo sin au^t ov o Mley wi breechuz on, an ray- 
thiflffiyiTttd, oppoth' gate, between an th' Fir Grove ? " Itold 
het I hid not ; and I tb^ inquired d h& iot Sdidb^dd that 
!it«d in Tim. Bobbin's cottage. She re<dKmed Up aU the pet>- 
>]^e die knew of that name, but ncme of them anflwering the 
tkM^ptioii, I went on my way. I next asked a ta& woo&eli^ 
weay^) who was striding up the street with his shuttle to the 
m^Bding. Scratching his head, and loddng thought^ily 
loutti among the houses, he said, ^^Scwofil? Aw know no 
6cwo^ but ^oose ut th' Tim Bobbin aleh«iw«d; yodd'n 
bettur ash theerJ' St^^g over to the Tim Bobbin inn, 
Mis. Sdiolefield described to me the situation of Tim's cottage, 
near the bridge. Retradng my steps towaidfi the place^ I weftt 
into the house of an old acquaintance of my cfaikihood.. On 
the strength of a dim< remem1»rance of my featnres, he inrited 
me to sit down and riiare the meal just made ready Ibr the 
fiomily. ^^ Come, poo a dieer up," said he, ^^ an' need no moc^ 
lathein'.''* After we had fini^ied, he said, ^' Neaw^ win yo 



AKP 1£AE yiLLAOfi OF MttNBOW. 55 

kiktB a leeeh o* baeoo? Mall|r^ reyteh us «oixie tddyea pipes, «ki 
th' pot ^XA 0^^ hook* Let^s see, hoo's lad are yo, fsen jx> ; for 
aw wdUj &lrgettQD, bith' aaattk" After a firuiUesB attenqpft at 
en^hteuiag him therdoii in ordinary town^fingiiflk^ I took to 
tii0 dialecsbt ami ui tiie comitiry flEu^on doBcribed my g«bfeal<^, 
oi^ tlie mother's side. I yr6A instontiy comprehended; i&r he 
fitopt Soae flhort triths ^^ Whaxi th^en, aw^ll be tHiAken iv yo are 
not «p!w'«(m to ' PUly, wi' th' i^pee, at t^' ^ggJiMv' " " Yo 
haa it neaw,'' «aid L "^^ Eh,'' l^pUed he, '' aw knowed htm as 
wddl as 9m kmw my own feytliurl He're a ^n^ tifaap for 
m»iftc, aa' steh like ^ an' he used to letto graveniAeiies) an' do 
maso&^warL ^, aWve bin to mony a orrytcrty 'wi' Owd Billy. 
Whati — let's see — Owd Wesley preytched at his heawsei, i' 
W«rdle ibwd onee'tk* An' ban yo scHxie relations i' th' Mildifo, 
theift? ^' I told him my errand, and kuinired t&r Schokfiiekl, who 
li?Bd in Tim Bobbin's ooitage. As he pondiered, aaid tuisnd 
tlie name over in his mind, one o£ his lads shouted out, ^^ By 
th' micm, fey^ur.) he mhyims ^ Owd Mahogsiiy»' Aw think he's 
. code Sow^t^, an' helices i' th' garden at th' bothom o' .ih' himk, 
hS" th' waytur aide." It was generally agreed that this- was ^ 
l^lace, BO I parted with my !&iends and went towards iti The 
old man oame out wil^ut his hat, a short distanee, to set me 
right. After bidding me a hearty ^'good neet^" he turned 
round as he walked awa^, asad l^outed out, ^^ NeaW ta eare yo 
vx)an th' next time yo com^ thi£ gate, an' wi'n hare a gtadely 
do." 

About twmty yards from the vmt end of the Itttk stone 



Ittd WM mi« 0f We«liy'« ficat praMhfln. fie w<ib mf frSBdmotliflr** imeie. 

In Southev*0 Life of Wesley, I ^nd the following note respecting him, 
■under the ne»d, " OtJtCRT as aiks* M«tH0i)i8«.— VroLUNC* oi" MOUB, 
AVib MiSOSHDUCT or MASisfeSAiBS."-^** Whw. Joha Lsaoh wa» pelted, 
near Rochdale; in those riotons days, and saw Lis brother wounded in the 
iforefaeiid hf a etone, he Waft adad etaongh to tell the nkhble that not one of 
them oovld hit hitti, if he were to stand pABching these till midni|^. Just 
then the mob began to quarrel among themaelyes, and, therefore, left off 
pelting. But the anecdote has been related by his brethren for his 
praise.'' 



56 THE COTTAGB OF TIM BOBBDC, 

l»idge that spans the river, a lane leads between the ends of the 
dwelling houses down to the water side. Th^!ie, stall sweetly 
secluded, stands the quaint, substantial cottage of John Collier, 
in its old garden by the edge of the Beal, which, flowing through 
the fields in front, towards the cottage, is th^re dammed up into 
a reservoir for the use of the mill close by, and then tumbling 
over in a noisy little fall under the gard^ hedge, goes shooting 
and frolicking along the north-east side of it, over water-worn 
rocks, and imder the bri Ige, till the cadence dies away in a low 
murmur beyond, where the bed of the stream gets smoother, 
lifting the latch, I walked through the garden to the cottage, 
where I found *'*' Owd Mahogany ** and his maiden sister, two 
plain, clean, substantial working people, who were sitting in 
the low-roofed, but otherwise roomy apartment in fix>nt, used 
as a kitchen. They entered heartily into the purpose of my 
visit, and showed me everything about the house with a genial 
pride. What made the matter m<»re interesting was the fact, 
that ^^ Owd Mahogany " had been, when a lad, a pupil of 
Collier^s. The house was built expressly for Tim, by his &ther- 
in-law ; and the uncommon thickness of the walls, the number 
and arrangement of the rooms, and the remains of a fine old 
oak staircase, showed that more than usual care and expense 
had been bestowed upon it. As we went through the rooms on 
the ground-floor, my ancient chaperone gave me a good deal of 
anecdote connected with each. Pointing to a clean, cold, 
whitewashed cell, with a great flag table in it, and a grid 
window at one end, he said, *^ This wur his buttery, wheer he 
kept pullen,* an gam, an sich like ; for thir no mon i* Rachdaw 
parish livt betthur nor Owd Tim, nor moor like a gentleman ; 
nor one at had moor friends, gentle an simple. Th* Teawnlo's 
took^n to him fyrfully, an thir'n olez othur oomin^ to see him, 
or sendin* him presents o' some mak\*' He next showed me 
the parlour where he used to write and recdve company. A 
little oblong room, low in the roof, and dimly lighted by a small 

* i*«/ic»— poultry, 



XmD THE yiLLAGS OF MILXROW. 57 

windov £rom the garden. Tim used to keep thifi retiring 
sanctum tastefully adorned with the flowers of each season, 
and one might have eaten his dinner off the floor in his time. 
In the garden he pointed out the comer where Tim had a roomy 
green arbor, with a smooth stone table in the middle, on which 
lay his books, his flute, or his meals, as he was in the mood. 
He would stretch himself out li^re, and muse for hours together. 
The lads used to bring their tasks £N>m the school behind the 
house, to this arbor sometimes, for Tim to examine. He had a 
green shaded walk from the school into his garden. When in 
the school, ov about the bouse, be wore a silk velvet skull cap. 
The famoos radical, William Cobbett, used to wear a similar 
one, occasionally ; and I have heard those who have seen both 
in this trim, say that the likeness of the two men was then 
singularly striking. ^^Owd Mahogany '' having now shown 
and told me many interesting things respecting Tim's house and 
habits, entered into a hearty eulogy upon his character as a 
man and a schoolmaster. '^ He're a flne, straight forrud mon, 
wi no maffle abeawt him, for o' his quare, cranky ways.'' As 
an author, he thought him ** Th' flne'st writer at Englan bred, 
at that time o' th' day." Of his caligraphy, too, he seemed 
particularly proud, for he declared that ^^ Tim could write a 
clear print bond, as smo as smithy smudge.'' He finished by 
sayin, that he saw him carried out of the door-way we were 
standing in, to his grave. 

At the edge of dark, I bade adieu to Tim's cottage, and the 
comfortable old couple that live in it. As I looked back firom 
the gaxden-gate, the house wore a plaintive aepect, in my imagi- 
nation, as if it was thinking of its flne old tenant. Having 
heard that there was something uncommon to be learnt of him 
at the Tim Bobbin Inn, I went there again. It is the largest 
and most respectable public-house in the village, kept in a fine 
state of homely comfort by a motherly old widow. I found 
that she could tell me something of the quaint schoolmaster and 
his wife "Meary," who, as she said, " helped to bring her into 
th' world." She brought out a folio volume of engravings from 



58 THB COrTAGB OF TtM BOBlKDC, 

deedgns by Tim, with ma&y pieces of proee and venae of hk^ in 
engraved £ftc-8tinile of his hand-writing. The book wM btmnd 
in datk m(»noooo, with the author's name on the (tde, in gold. 
I tamed it over with pleasure, for ibste were things in it not 
found in aiany editSonB of his works. He kmdkdy «bow« ikk 
book with some pride to Tim's admiraiis; by some idie had hem 
oiiGiredhii^«umstif money Ibr it; and«iioeapattyof«!iiH<(»iis 
vsdtom had w«ti*nigh danied it off by steahb in VMt eamliige, 
alto making frnitleBft <9tf«rs of pujffdiaae, wlMn 1^ plaft was 
vieteisted in timio, and thetr<6a0Hie t^estc^^ tons pft^eirtcuMody. 
• I read in it one of his addreeses to his substnib^ in which he 
saysof himself,^^* He'ts Lancashire bom ; and by the by^idi bis 
laoqusintanoe ligree, his wilb not estoepted^ that heVi an odd- 
fieifew. * * In the lelgn of Qneeh An&e he was a 
boy, and Ohdof 1^mAe«ihih3h«n of a poor^uratein iMmieuAkte, 
whoae stipend iM/ver amounted to tldtty pottads a>yeiirs imd 
consequently the femily must feel ihe in^ teet^ ^ petiury wi<ii 
a witness. These indeed we(« sometimes blunted by the ehMil- 
able di^osilkm of 4^ good reoior (the Refv. Mr. H--^^--, of 
W ' ■ a) : eo this T. B» Hved as some other boys did, content 
witii water-pottage, battermiik, and jannock, till he wss between 
thirteen and fourteen years of age, when Providence began to 
smile on him in his advancement to a pair of Dutdi loMas, 
wiien he met wi^ treiude to his potlage, and sometiineA a MtHe 
in his buttermilk, or spread on his jannoek» Howw^, the 
refledioai ai his other's di^umetanoes (which now imd then 
start up ttndirtiil edge his teeth) make him betteVe thst PlWN^iKfB 
arenogoodClttiitiaaB; iliat he who wiU accept of tWfiLcrsaore 
places of one hundred a->year, would not say / ka^ mM^^ 
though hewiM t\>pe dement. Urban, or Booi&c6,*-'<90ttld afirm 
hima^ iuMlible, stid oSet his toe to kings : that ^ uneqilal 
diatribtttion of Church eoaoluihents is as great a grievanoe in 
the ecclesiaBtic, as undeserved pulsions and places are in the 
«tal« ; both of which, he presumes to pnc^^hesy, will prove 
canker^wonns at the roots of those succulent {daats, and in a 
iliew yeancauae leaf and branch to ahrivel up, «md dry idiem to 



tinder J* TM spirit of th&i paesage eeeDos the nattiM growtji, 

in fsash a inifid aft his^^of Hie curriculum of fttudy in ih& batd 

oottege of Tim^B early dayii. Ili the thrifty home of the poor 

Ltttaauahife ctufftt«s Hiough halrowed by *^ the iion tiMft^ of 

pen^ery,*^ Tim inlMrited rid»« tha(t 'world's wealth cafinot buy. 

Uaxkr tibe taition of it good old fkliiiBr, who ootiM istik)dy fab 

raflei^^ ittd flUBo^Ue mind wid teaok him maby cdbe^iM; 

things, togeA)»r wM Itet kftrd eltruggle to ke^p the wolf ftom 

the door of his duldhood which presBed upon his thoughts, he 

grew up contempkttv«^ iself-reiiant^ and manly, on oatmeal 

poinds, and jannock, with a little treacle for a GtMb-send. 

His feelings were deepened, and his natural Ioto of independefitte 

strengthened there, with that hatred of all kinds of k^justioe, 

whi(^ flashes tiirough the rich humour and genial kindnfiss ^of 

his natiu'e, — for nature was str(»g in him, and ha relished her 

realities. Poverty is not pleasant, yet the world has mote to 

tbat^ ]poVerty for than it dreams of. With honourable pride 

he bought his w)ay to a pair of Dutoh loomi) whiere ke leamoi 

to win his jannock and treade hy honest weaving. Subsequently 

he endeavoured to support hdmiielf konoiMMy> by pMmats no 

lesstiseM^butmc^^congeiualtothebiasof his&culties; but, to 

the ksti, his hearts destfe was leas to live in es^irtMd plenty and 

pfecfedence amobg men, than to live consciekitioufily, in the sweet 

relatioiisof .honottmlde independenoe in the world* The lieeMng 

W«A strong in him, and gives digbity to his ch&racter. As a 

politacian, John Oollter was eonsidembly ahewi of the time he 

'fived in, and le^peciaQy of the ample, slow-minded rd,ce of 

.pesfto dweliiDg^ th^, in that femote eafltoam nook of Lanca- 

id^, fit the foot Of Bhckstone Edge. Among each people, 

and in suck a times hb 9p6ke toad wrote tinngB, whioh lew loen 

d»red to Write and tpetk. He spoke, too, in a wa^ which was 

as ind^Mnd^it and pithy as it was quaintly^^d^^remive. His 

\raftds, like his aothms, stood upon their own feet, and looked up. 

t^erhapS) if he had beena man of a drier nature^^^-of less genial 

«tnd itttranetite g^Vffi than he was,— -he migirt} have Imd to soflfisr 

more for the enunciation of truths, and the recognition, of prin- 



60 *tni& COTTAGE! OF TIM BOBBIK) 

ciples which were unfjashionable in those days* But Collier was 
not only a man of considerable valour and insight, with a manlj 
mind and temper, but he was also genial and humorous, as he 
was earnest and honest. He was an eminently human-hearted 
man, who abhorred all kinds of cant and seeming. His life was 
a greater honour to him even than his quaint pencil, or his pen ; 
and the memory of his sayings and doings will be long and 
affectionately cherished, at least, by Lancashire men. 

« Eh ! Whoo-who- whoo I Whafc wofo wark I 
He'd laft nm aw» to lie i* th* dark.'* 

The following brief memoir, written by his Mend and patron, 
Richard Townley, Esq., of Belfield Hall, near Milnrow, for 
insertion in Dr. Aiken's " History of the Environs of Man- 
chester,'' contains the best and completest account of his life 
and character, which has yet appeared : — 

'* Mr. John Ooluib, alias Tix Bobbiit, was bom near Warrington^ in 
Laaoashire ; his bther, a clergyman of the Batablished Chnreh, had a email 
Goraey, and for eereral years tanght a school. With the joint income of 
those, be managed so as to maintain a wife and sereral chudren deeently, 
and also to give them a tolerable share of nsefnl learning, nntil a dreadful 
calamity bewl him, about his fortieth year— the total loss oC sight. His 
former intentions of brining np his son, John, of whose abilities he had 
eoneelTed a fayonrable opinion, to the ohnreh, were then over, and he placed 
him out an apprentice to a Bnteh loom-weaTcr, at which business he 
worked more than a year ; but snch a sedentary employment not at all ac- 
cording with his Tolatile spirits and eccentric genios, he prevailed upon 
his master to release him from the remainder of his serritnde. Though 
then yery young, he soon commenced itinerant schoolmaster, going about 
the country from one small town to another, to teach reading, writing, and 
accounts; and generally having a night-school (as well as a day one), for 
the sake of those whose necessary employments would not allow their at* 
tendance at the usual school hours. 

** In one of his adjournments to the small but populous town of Oldham, 
he had an intimation that the Rer. Mr. Pearson, curate and schoolmaster, 
of Milnrow, near Bochdale, wanted an assistant in the echooL To that 
gentleman he applied, and after a short examination, was taken in by him 
to the school, and he dirided his salary, twenty pounds a year, with him. 
This Tim considOTod as a material adyance in the world, as he still could 
haye a night-school, which answered yery well in that populous neigh- 
bonrhood, and was considered by 11m, too, as a state of independeney; a 
fayourite idea, eyer afterwards, with his high spirits. Mr. Fearson, not 
yery long afterwards, iislling a martvr to the gout, my honoured father 
gaye Mr, Collier the school, which not only made him happy in the 
thought of being more independent, but made him consider himself as a 
riidimait. 



AND THE VILLAGE OF MILNROW. 61 

*^ Hayiflgf now more leisure hours by dropping his night-school there, 
though he eontmned to teach at Oldham, and some other phices, during the 
vaeaiionB of Whitsuntide and Christmas, he began to instruct himself in 
rnusie and drawing, and soon was such a proficient in both as to be able to 
iaatmot others yery well in those amusing arts. 

'*The hautboy and common flute were his chief instruments, and upon 
the fonner he yery muoh excelled ; the fine modulations that haye smce 
been acquired, or introduced upon that noble instrument, being then un- 
known in England. He drew landscapes in ffood taste, understanding the 
rules of perspeetiye, and attempted some heads in profile, with yery decent 
sueoees; but it did not hit his humour, for I haye heard him say, when 
urged to go on in that line, that * drawing heads and faces was as dry and 
insipid aa leading a life without frolie and fun, unless he was allowed to 
steal in some leers of eomio humour, or to giye them a good dash of the 
caricature.' Yery early in life he discoyered some poetic talents, or rather 
an eaa^ habit for humorous rhyme, by seyeral anonymous squibs he sent 
about m ridicule of some notorioctsly absurd, or eccentric characters; 
these were fathered upon him yery justly, which created him some enemies, 
but more friends. I had once in my ponession some humorous relations 
in tolerable rhyme, of his own frolic and fun with persons he met with, of 
the like deeeription, in his hours of festiye humour, which was sure to take 
place when released for any time from school duty, and not too muoh en- 
gaged in his lueratiye employment of painting ^ The first regular poetio 
oompoattion which he published, was ^ The Blackbird,* containing some 
spirited ridicule upon a Lanoashire Justice, more renowned for politiciU 
zeal and ill-timed loyalty than gpod sense and diseretion. In point of easy, 
regular yersiflcation, perhaps this was hia beet specimen, and it also ex« 
hibited some strokes of humour. 

'* About this period of Ufe he ftU serbusly in loye with a handsome 
young woman, a daughter of Mr. Clay, of Flockton, near Huddersfield, 
and soon after took her unto him for a wife; or, as he used to style her, 
his crooked rib, who, in proper time, increased his family, and proyed to 
be a yirtuous, discreet, sensible, and prudent woman, a good wi&, and an 
ezeellent mother. His family continuing to increase nearly eyery year, 
the hautboy, flute, and amusing pencil were pretty mudi discarded, and the 
brush and ^let taken up seriously. He was chiefly engaged ror some 
time in painting altar-pieces for chapels and signs for publicans, which 
pretty wdl rewarded the labours of his yacant hours f ron^ school attendance ; 
but itfter some time, family expenses increasing more with his growing 
family, he deyised, or luckily hit upon, a more lueratiye employment for 
his leisure hours: — this was copying Dame Nature in some of her humor- 
ous performances, and grotesque sportings with the human face (especially 
where the yisage had the greatest share in those sportings), into Which his 
pencil eontriyed to throw some pointed features of grotesque humour, sneh 
as were best adapted to excite risibility, as long as such stranre objects had 
the adyantage of noyelty to recommend them. These pieces he worked off 
with uncommon celerity ; a single portrait in the leisure hours of two daySy 
at least, and a group ox three or four, in a week. As soon as finished, he 
was wont to carry them to the first-rate inns at Rochdale and Littleborough, 
in the great road to Yorkshire, with the lowest prices fixed upon them, the 
inn-keepers willingly becoming Tim's agents. The droll humour, as well 
as singularity of style of those pieces, procured him a most ready sale, 
from riders o|it| and trayellers of other desoriptions, ^ho had hetfd of 



TIm'ft o1wK»dw. Tbefl« wI4i»«ml Fivo4«9ti0B« M0& bem to be te mbeh 
mer»l ra|inte, tliftt ^0 ha4 lavge ord«ri for ttieaiy ^tpeoivly from iMvalmitfl 
& IdT«rp(]toI, who tent thttsi, upon sjMooktloa, into tbo W««l IboUm aad 
AmerioB, fio Jm^, lit that tiaie» to m^, thiit «if PraifuloM» had «rfr 
meant him to be a rich man, that woold have beon the pv^Av ^t»o». 
eapeciaUy if ahe had hindly heetaved nnoa bin twc^ vm of himte instead 
of one;* bat vhea eaah came ia i«adilj, it v«« aavei ta fa laoivUy: a 
cheerful flam with a joyoua oompanioa waa eo laueh ia vmmm with 1^ 
own di^Q6itiaa> that a temptation of that hind eanld netw ha vesiatad bgp 
poor Tim; to tha aaaaoa ta gfiow rieh nerer aniTed^ bat Tiia yeiQalaad 
poor Tim to tjtia cad of thQ ehaptaiv 

" CkdUer had baea for maaj yearaeeUeetias^ mat aaly Iron tha vnatlea 
in hie own neighboarhood. bat alao whereTor he mda eKeireie«i^ all 
the awhwar4i ivigaf, oUoW werde^ and local exprciMioaB, which eter 
ooourred to ium in converiatioii amoaipst tha lower elaieea. A. totjf re- 




tares of a Laneaahire Ck>wn/ formed from lome matio aporta aad gaaah ol a, 
and aleo eome whimaieal modes of eireulatiaf fan at the exp«isa of sill^ 
erecluloufl boqbiea amongst the then cheery gentlemen of that peoaliar 
neighbourhood. This pah2icatioa« from its aoTclty, togethit with aeme 
real strohcs of comic humour iaterlartied into it, took lery much with tha 
miclclle and lower clasaof people ia the northera counties (aad I beUera viery-* 
where in the Souths too, nhere it had the ehaace of beiag aotieed), eqthata 
new edition was soon necessary. This was a matter of ez.ultatien to Tiaf^, hat 
9ot of very loDg duration, for the rapid saU of the second editioa 9eo« bro^ht 
iforth two or three pirated editions, which made the hoaatt, uaaiMipeetiag 
owner to exclaim wiui great yehemence, * That he did not hellefe these was 
one honest printer in lisnoashire ;* and afterwards to lai^ soma al the most 
enlpable of those InsidiQius ofTeaders with hia hsea» sarcastie^pea, wbea 
engaged in drawing up a preface to a futare pablvcatioa. Aa above* 
namM performances^ with hui pencil,, his brash* and hia pea,t made Tim's 
name wi repute for whimsical arahaesa petty geaerally haowa, not aaly 
wUhia his native coantj, but also through the adjoiaiaf; ooaatiea «f Vork-i 
shire and Cheshire : aadi hts repute for a peculiar speeief a( pleaiMtry ia 
hia hoars of frolic, oft^ Induced persoas oif much higher ranh ^ Niad lar 
him to an inn (when ia the neighbourhood eX his residenee)» to haiie a 
personal speoimen of his uncommon drollery^ Tim waa seldom backward 
in obeying a summons tq good cheer, and seldom, I beliefo, disaf^iated 
the expectations of hia generous host^ for he had a woaderfhl flow of 
spiritSfWith an inexhaustible fuad of humouri and that, too^af avery. 
peculiar character. 

** Blessed with a clear and masculine undersiaadiag, and a been dis> 
oernment into the humours and foibles of other,, he know how to take the 
best advantage of those occasional intervWws in order to promote tiade, 
as he was wont to call it, though his natural temper was very far fvem 
being of a mercenary cast ; it was often rather too free and geaeroas ; mere 
so thau prudence, with respect to hii family, w<ml4 advise, for he weald 
sooner have had a lenten day or two at home, thaa done a ahahby aad mean 
thing abroad. 

"Amongst other persons of good fortune, who often called up(m him at . 
IfllnrQw, or sent fctr him to spend a. ^w hours with him at Rochdale, wss. 



XSXk Tfi& ViLLAQK OF MUiNROW; 63 

ft Mr. Biahfvd Bill, of EilmM «b4 HaB&x, in Tovktfiin). ikm omei ik» 
gvMiMft eioili nerehaata, and abso one of the moal eanaMerablo sMnniM* 
tavegra of Immbb an<i aliaUeaaa in the north ef Sagknd. !Htia centleMaA 
waa net oaiy fend of hia hnmoronff eon¥oraation» but ahw had tahan np Mt 
opinioa thathewonld behiffhljruBcfnl tahim aahia head eIeilK>in hnftinma^ 
fromhii \eitM ittj seady at aoaaonta^ and wrltiB|» a meat heantifnl (wall 
handy in anjr kind of typa» bat espeehilly ia imitation of fointadehaiaaleia. 
After aerand f^nitleM attempted he at laat, by oifara of an estfaTat ani. 
salary prof ailed npaa Mr. Geiller to enter into artiolea q$ sevriee far Vm9^ 
jeaf8» eertain, and to take hia fiimily to Sibtoid. After iisminir and aaai^ 
ingf ha called npon ma to gite notiee that he mnat leei^n the lehQal, end 
te thank m»U»mf )ong«-eantinaed faiendahip to hiab At latog leaTa, 
he^ like the haneat Maor :«— 

'■ MXhtiJkf nnneed iA ih» mM»g maod« 
])roppid tears aa fttft aa the Arabian traei^ 
Theur laadlcinal gnm.- 

And in fiilt«»ngr aeoent% entreatad wa not to ba tea bai^ in i&Uinc np ikA 
vtmfiof in tbat Qohfitol, whare ha had lived eo many years oontanM and 
happy : for he had already some forabodingathat he ahonld never relieh hia 
naw aitoation and new oeenpation. X grant«ci hia reqneet^ bnt hoped he 
would saon Teofmeila hinuell to his new aitnatlon, ae it prnmised to be «^ 
adv^ntaffeena both to himself and family* He replied* that it waa ibr tha 
sake of ois wife and ohildrsn> Uuit he waa at last induced to aooept Mr« 
Hiirs very tempting offers ; no other consideration whata?ar aoujld h^Tfl^ 
n^ada lum gii^e np Milnrow MhaaU and indepandenoy, 

*^ Aboil two months afterwarda, some bnsinesaol his maater'abriwag 
him ta Boehdala markel^ he taok that opportunity of returning by Baln^hiu 
I instnnily peroeiTed a wonderf at change in hia looks: that countenanocb 
which used ever tQ be gay, serenoy or smUingi was then eo^arad. or dia- 
gaised with a pensive, settled gloom. On asking him how he liked hjs 
new situation at Kibroid, he replied, 'Not at all;' then» enumerating 
several eanses lor diseentent, eonolu^ with an observation, that * he 
n^ven cenidd ah|de the iraya of that eonntry> for they neither kapt red^ 
letter daja themselves nor allowed their servants to keep any. Before he 
left nse, he paseionately entreated that I would- not give away the sobool, 
for ha ahonld netver be hapiy ogain tiU ha waa seated in the craiy oU e)be» 
chair within his aohool. I granted hia request, being less anxious to fili 
up the vaeaney, as there were two other free-schools for the same usee 
wilhin,the aama liawnshipa. which have decent ai^riea annaxad to them* 

« Some weeks afterwards I received a letter from Tim, that he had soma 
liopea of getting released from his vassalage ; for, that the Isther hating 
fonp»d ant what rwj bigk warn bia son had agfeed tf giia ^m% vraa 
exceedingly angiy with him for oeing so extravagant in his allowance to a 
clerk; that a violent quarrel betwixt them had been the consequence; an^ 
from that circumstance he meant, at least hoped, to derive some advantage 
in tha way of regaining his Uherty, wMeh he lingered after, and panted 
for, as much as any galley^lave upon earth. 

^ Another latter annonnced, that hia maater perceived that he was 
dtgected, and had lost his wonted spirits and cheerfulnesa) had hinted t* 
him, that if he disliked hia present situation, he should be released at the 
end of the year; concluding hia letter with a most earnest imploring that I 



64 THE COTTAGE OF TIM BOBBIN, 

wonld not dispose of the sehool before that time. By the interpositioii of 
the old (pentleman, and some others, he got the agreement oanoelled a eon- 
siderable time before the year expired ; and the erening of the daj wh«i 
the liberation took plaee, he hired a large Yorkshire eart to bring away 
bae and baffnge by six o'clock the next 'morning, to his own lionse> at 
Munrow. vrhen he arriyed npon the west-side of Blaekstone Edge, ha 
thought himself once more a Fbu Man ; and his heart was as light as a 
featMr. The next morning he came np to Belfield, to know if he might taks 
possession of his sehool again; whieh being readilv ooasented to. tears of 
irratitnde instantly stresmed down his oheeks, nnd snsh a snihisten of joj 
ulnmined his eountenanee, as phiinly bespoke the heart being in unison 
with his looks. He then deeland his nnalterable resolution never more to 
qoit the humble Tillage of Milnrow ; that it was not in the power of kings, 
nor their prime ministers, to make him any offers, if so disposed, that would 
allnre him from his tottering elbow ehair, from humble fare, with liberhr 
and contentment A hint was thrown out that he must work hard with 
his pencil, his brush, and his pen, to make up the deficient in income to 
his iunily ; that he promised to do, and was as good as his promise, for he 
used double diligence, so that the inns at Boehdale and Littieborough were 
soon omsmentra, more than erer, with usly grinning old ftllows, and 
mambling old women on broomsticks, dce» £c 

« Tim's last literary productions, as I recollect, were 'Remarks upon 
the Ber. Mr. Whittakers History of Manchester, in two parts:' the 
'Remarks' will speak for themselYCS. There appears rather too muoh 
seasoning and sslt in some of them, mixed with a degree of aowbity for 
which he was rather blamed. 

" Mr. Collier died in possession of his fsoulties, with his mental powers 
but Bllle impaired, at nearly eighty years of age, and his eyesight was not 
so much injured as might hsTe been expected from such a scTcve use of 
il^ during so long a space of time. His wife died a few years before 
him, but he left tmree sons and two daughters behind him." 
• 

In a fiketch like this, it is not easy to select sach ezampleB 

from OolHer's writingB as will giye an adequate idea of t^eir 

manner and significance. His inimitable story, called '^ Tmnmua 

and Meary,** will bear no mutilation. Of his rhymes, perhaps 

the best is the one called '' The Blackbird." The following 

extract from Tim's pre&ce to the third edition of his works, in 

the farm of a dialogue between the author and his book, though 

fax from the best thing he has written, oontains some reiy 

characteristic touches : — 

" Tim. Well, boh we'n had enough o' this foistj matter; let's talk o* 
summat else ; an furst tell me heaw thea went on eh thi Isst jaunt 

'< Book. Gu on I Belsydy, aw couid ha' gwon on wheantly, an' bis 
awhoam again wi'th' crap eh meh slop in a snift, ir id na met, at oyteh 
nook, thoose basthnrtly whelps sent eawt be Stuart, IHneh, an Scht^leUL 

*f Thn, Po^h ! I dunnot ipeeon heaw f(dk harbort'nt an euttemt o^er 



AND THE YILLAGB OF MItXROW. 65 

tho; bob wbat thoose fause LannonerB said'n abeawt te jamp, at*i new 
o'er-bodyt. 

** Book, Ob, oh I Neaw aw ha't ! To meeon*n tboose lung-seeted 
folk at glooar'n a second time at books ; an whooa awr fyert would rent 
meh Jnmp to chatters. 

•* lim, Reet mon, reet; that's it, — 

<' Book, Whan then, to tello true, awr breeod wi' a gorse waggin* ; for 
thejtooVn mo Tth reet leet to a yure. 

" Tim, Heaw*8 tat, eh Gods*num! 

"Book. Whau, atyoad'n donned mo o'thlsfl'ni like a meawntebank*a 
foo^ forth* wonst, to mey th* rabblement fun. 

*' Tim, Eh, law ! An did*n th' awvish shap, an th* peckFt jump pan, 
Mtid'n they? 

" Book, Aye, aye; primely i'faithl— for they glooam't sooar at mo; 
tnm't mo reawnd like a tnyliur, when he messurs folk ; chuckt mo under 
th' chin ; ga' mo a honey butter-cake, an said oppenly, they ne'er saigh an 
awkert look, a quare shap, an a peckl't jnmp gee better eh their live. 

** Tim, Neaw, e'en fair £»' um, say aw t These wur'n th' boggarts at 
flayd'n tho I But aw'd olez a notion at tear'n no gonnor-yeds. 

'' Book. Gonnor-yeds I Naw, naw, not te marry ! Boh, aw carry t 
mysel' meety mee?erly too-to, an did as o bidd'n mo. 

** Tim, Then theaw towd um th' tale, an said th' rimes an aw, did to? 

"Book. Th' tale an th' rimes I 'Sflesh, awbelieye eh did; boh aw 
know no moor on um neaw than a seawkin' pig. 

" Tim, 'Od rottle the ; what says to ? Has to foryeat'n th' tiiyliur 
findin' th' urehon ; an th' rimes? 

" Book, Quite, quite ; as eh hope to ohieye I 

" Tim, Neaw e'en the dule steawnd to, say aw I What a fuss mun aw 
have to teytch um tho again ! 

"Book. Come, come; dnnna fly up in a frap; a body conno carrjr 
oytch mander o' think eh their nob. 

" Tim. Whau boh, mind neaw, theaw gawmbin' tyke, at to can tell th' 
tale an say th' rimes be rot tightly. 

"Book. 'Fear me na,' said Doton ; begin. 

" Tim, A taylinr, eh Cmmmil's time, wur thrunk pooin' tnrmits in hla 
pingfot, an fund an urohon i'th hadloont reean.* He glendurt at't lung, boh 
oould yiay nowt on't He whoav't hi whisket o'ert, runs wboam, an tells 
his neighbours he thowt in his guts at he'd fund a think at God ne'er made 
eawt, for it'd nother yed nor tale, nor hont nor hough, nor midst nor eend ! 
Loath t' believe this, hauve a dozen on um would gu t' see iy they could'n 
may shift t' gawm it ; boh it eapt um aw ; for they newer a one on um e'er 
aaigh th* like afore. Then theyd'n a keawncil, an th* eend on*t wur at 
teyd'n fetch a lawm, fause owd felly, hetf an elder, at could tell oytdi 
think, — for they look'nt on him as th' bamil-seoanee, an thowt him fuller 
o'. leet than a glow-worm's a — se. When they'n towd him th' case, he 
steoke't his beeart; sowght; an order't th' wheelbarrow wi' spon-new 
trindle t' be fotcht. 'Twur dun ; an they beawln't him away to th' urehon 
in a crack. He glooart at't a good while ; dried his beeart deawn, an 
wawtud it o'er with his crutch. ' Wheel me abeawt again, o'th tother side,* 
Mod he, ' for it sturs, an by that, it should be wick.' Then he dons his speo- 

* Sadloont r^«an— ^headland guiten f •H^^'-hight, called. 



66 THE COTTAGE OF TtiM i^BBl^, 

tacles, 8tare*t at't again, an Bowgtin', said, ^Bfeether, iti sninmat; t)^ 
feyther Adam nother did, nor couW korsuu it Wheel mo whoam again r 
" Book. Aw remember it neaw, weel enough : bon iv th^ee fiewers 
could gawm it oytch tody eonldna ; for aw find neaw at y,o,comp»re'ii toe 
to an urchon, ut has nother yed nor tale ; 'eflesh, is not it lik« rniiiiing mo 
deawn^an a bit to bobbenomo; ^ ■ 

<* Tifh, Naw, naw, not it ; for a meeny 6* folk would gawin th* nmm, 
boh Yery lite would undenton iV tayliur ah his urchon. 
• ^^Boqk» Th* rimes |-*-htim,—lemme see. *Sblid, aw foryeafn thoose, 
too, aw deawt I j^ • ^ 

, " Tim. Whoo-who whoo I What a dozening jobberknow art teaw ! 

*^Book. Goddloijaso'me; a body conna do moor thin they con, con 
fhev? Boh if in teytoh mo ugain, an aw foryeat urn again/ e'en rftddfe 
men hqyd tightly, say aw. . . 
« Timi Mind te hits, ihen! 

'^ 8ome write to show their wit ana parts, 
@ome sho^ you #hig, some tory hearts. 
8ome flatter khave^f some Johs, some jooUf 
, And some are ministerial tools. . ^ 

^* Book, Bigh, marry; oytch body jiaysso; an gonnor-yeds tney axe 
Ibr tiieir labbor. 

'< Tiin. Some few in tirWs cause do write. 

But these, alas ! gcit little by*t. j . > ' 

<< Book* Indeed, aw can bMieye *o 1 Weel rime^i, ueawe'er ; gti on. 
*^ Tim. Some turn out mAggeis from their head^ ^ 

Which .die before their author's dead. 
"Booh Znns! Aw J^nglanshire *il think ai yo'r gleniin' at toose 
fratchin*, Syzen, craddlinly tykes as write*n sich papers as th' Tesiy an sioh 
eawve-talet as OornUh Petert at fund a new ward, snyin' wi' giiima an 
gawries. ^ ^ ^ 

<* Tim. Some write sncl^ sense i;i prose and rhyme, 

Their works will wrestle hard with time* . j 

" Book. Thatni be prime wroitlin', i'faith; for awVe yerd um say, dine 
«onau«r8 aw things. ii ♦ • i 

" Tim. Some fe^ print iruthf but many liei 

On spirits^ down to hutter^ies. 




, But want of money makes me write. 



" Book. By th' mass, th' owd story again I Bgh aw tiink eh ifie guis 
iftj: it's true. It'll do; yo need'n rime no moor, for it'0 Wter fin llek.ly. 
Whewt* on Tummus an Mary." 

. • .1 

To a Hberal and observant etrangel*, one o£ tlie ricneit f^SB^ 

bf a "Hsit to tliifi quarter will arise fi-ota Conteiioi]f)latidn bf iliB 
well-defined character of the peopie that live in it. (the whole 
ijopilktioii is diirtingtiished hf it fine, ^bhg, naitmtf ohariictl^, 
which would do honour to the refinements of eduoatipn. A 

• TF%ew^— whistle. 



Asm tj^ imAjAut Gt unmovf; 87 

§eB^6^ M^l^^, Mho dmnoi read the heart of tkte peo^ 

thi^h then- bluilt hmttiefB^ l^lll, t)erha|j6f ihink them fl little 

boc^M. Bttt thcmgh the^ h&f& iibt mtich bend in the neck, 

and ihs&t rough dialect is little blest with the set phrMes of 

dCMfi;^, ^ere are ho brayet* meii in the l^^orld, and tmder thel^ 

tm^Ottih dejheanour lites the spirit of Htkb tl&fnSif* The^ 

h&th a fiHi'ottrite prdterb^ that '' Mr plaf g a j^^el/' ahd at& 

getkemaif t^«fel, in all ^ir deahiig^f to aet upm h, The^ 

IM a g^t^fbtti |nrid^ in thef &iui Mho em ptot& hiftfeidlf their 

master in ah^hing. UiifMtmatel^, littk hM yet bc$m done 

for ih^ in thb way of bOoM-edttcation, ^aept irhat haa been 

^Bffilsed hf thb glindaf -^hoOlS) dhde the iim^ of theit great 

arpostlfe^ John Wesley, who, ill per^oh, as well as by hia enihu- 

ni6^^ early pTeacheirs, labonred mnch and mtnesQf ttfiiOtig 

them^ in niany partd of Sotlth Lancasiilre. iTet natnre has 

blest them ilith a flfi^ ydn of mother wit, and has dMUed sonie 

-aseM |iages Of her horn-book intd them in the Ibom^ the min^, 

and the fAtmi for they are nfttttraUy hard- workers^ and ptond 

of honM labotiT. They are keei! critics of character, too, and 

hat6 & sharp eye to the nooks and cornets <^ a sttanger^s attire, 

to Uee that^ at leasts Whether iieh or poor, it be sonnd; aiid, as 

thejr Bay, "bothoridy chlyefi," for they are jealons of dklyfolk. 

They are acdosiomed to a £^nk etpteBAoh of Irhat la Hi them, 

and like the opieh countenance, Inhere the time of day may bb 

read in the dial^ natutally libhoning *^ hudd*tl wark on meawse- 

tte^Eted/^ Aiiidng the nitiny anecdotes iHtislratrte of the ehahkst^ 

of thid pedpy^ thete ii^ Ohe which, thOtlgb fiilnfde, beaf^ a Strdtkg 

lA&mp of liiitite truth tipon it; A stalwart jroong feUdir^ irho 

liadlohg been employed ad earter for a drm in fhls neighbchil^- 

hood, hSA ail irte^btible propensity to fighting, which ita& mh- - 

#antly i^adiiig him iiito lierdp^. ite was an excelleilt mfBm 

]h H'ety other ifedpebt, but hb iidmoilitioli coUld cute him bf 

tliis; and at letigthhe Was discharged, in I^ype to^drk tlie 

desired change* Difessing Mmaielf in his be6t^ he apfilied td ah 

^mineht iiatiye metchant fbr a ^milai* Mtaatioi^; Abet dth^ 

iit^eMary q\iesMdii9, ihem^h^t aakedlrheti^ h« hadbMtght 

E 2 



68 THE COTTAGE OF TIM BOBBIK9 

his character with him. *^ My character 1 '* replied otor hero, 
^^ Naw, aw'm a damned dhyel better beawt it 1 " This anecdote 
conveys a very true idea of the rough vigour and candour of the 
Lancashire country population. They dislike dandyism and 
the shabby-genteel, and the mere bandbox exquisite would think 
them a hopeless generation. Yet, little as they are tinctured 
with literature^ a few remarkable books are very common among 
them. I could almost venture to prophecy before going into 
any substantial fiumhouse or any humble cottage in this quarter, 
that some of the following books might be found there, — the 
Bible, Bunyan's Pilgrim^s Progress, the Book of Common 
Prayer, and often Wesley^s Hymn-book, Barclay's Dictionary, 
Culpepper's Herbal, with sometimes Thomas k Eempis, or a few 
old puritan sermons. One of their chief delights is the practice 
of sacred music ; and I have heard the great works of Haydn, 
Handel, Mozart, and Beethoven executed with remarkable cor- 
rectness ^d taste, in the lonely farmhouses and cottages of 
South Lancashire. In no other part of .England does such an 
intense love of sacred music pervade the poorer classes. It is 
not uncommon for them to come from the &rthest extremity of 
South Lancashire, and even over the ^^ Edge " from Hudders- 
field, and the border towns of the West Biding of Yorkshire, to 
hear an oratorio at the Free Trade Hall, returning home again, 
sometimes a distance of thirty miles, in the morning. 

I will now suppose that the traveller has seen Tim Bobbin's 
grave, and has strolled up by Silver Hills through the scenery of 
Butterworth, and, having partly contemplated the character of 
this genuine specimen of a South Lancashire village and its in- 
habitants, is again standing on the little stone bridge which 
spans the pretty River Beal. Let him turn his back to the 
Bochdale road a little while ; we have not done with him yet. 
Across the space there, used as a £Bdr ground at " Rushbeanng 
time," stands an old-fluahioned stone ale-house, called ^^Hi* 
Stump and Pie Lad,'' commemorating, by its scabbed and 
weatherbeaten sign, one of the triumphs of a noted Milnrow 
fOot-racer, on Poncaster race^course. Milniow is still famous 



1 



AN]> THE^ VIXiLAaS OF MILNBOW.' 69 

for its foot-rAoers, as Lancashire generally is more particularly 
&motis for first-rate foot-racers than anywhere else in the 
kingdom. In that building the ancient lords of Rochdale 
manor used to hold their court-leets. Now, the dry-throated 
^^ lads o- th' fbwd ^* meet there nightly, to grumble at bad warps 
and low wages, equal and ^* fettle th' nation " oyer pitchers of 
cold ale. And now, if the traveller loves to climb " the slopes of 
old renown," and worships old heraldries and rusty suits of mail, 
let him go to the other end of the village. I will go with him, 
if, like me, while he venerates old chronicles, whether of stone, 
metal, or parchment, because the spirit of the bygone sometimes 
streama upon us through them, he still believes in the proverb, 
that " every man is the son of his own works." I will go with 
him, if he will accept my company, after I have whispered to 
him that the true emblazonry of my own shield is, in one 
quarter, an empty cobbler^s stall; in another, two children 
yammering over a bowl of oatmeal porridge ; for the crest, a* 
poor widow at her washing mug, with a Bible on each side of 
the shield for supporters ; and the motto at the foot, '^ No work, 
no meat." If he likes my heraldry, I would gladly go with him ; - 
if not, prosperity to his soHtary speed. I will play the finger- 
post to him with right good will. There is something at the 
other end of Milnrow worth his notice. 

Milnrow lies on the ground not unlike a tall tree laid length- 
wise, in a valley, by a river side. At the bridge, its roots 
spread themselves in clots and fibrous shoots, in all directions ; 
while the almost branchless •trunk runs up, with a little bend, 
above half a mile towards Oldham, where it again spreads itself 
out in an umbrageous way at the old fold of houses called ^^ But- 
terworth Hall." In walking through the village, he who has seen 
a tolerably built woollen-mill will find no wonders of the archi- 
tectural art at aU. The houses are almost entirely inhabited by 
^Torking people, and marked by a certain rough, comfortable 
solidity — ^not a bad reflex of the character of the inhabitants. 
/.t the eastern extremity, a road leads on the '^left hand to the 
cl'aster of houses caUed ^* Butterworth Hall." This old fold is 



7Q> Tm ooTfAan mi Tin Bdmrnr^ 



tawiNdiip, whaifl ir^ ftcqnmted m^ ib^ Uptoicjr iii4 mkmf^ 
logy of tiiQ vMe ooua^, iatelj naet vitl^ » Ucopii^ #rap^ tti# 
Budu)^ of liehMd and Cov^liyi da1«d A.9. X400, gifting 
t9 3ur 3 oka Bftoa mi4 hb wild kaF9 to tv^T^ (HTiiid f^ia«9 
p^dbnofid withfn il)^ ocatoiesftt Pl^ytpQ and PuttoPf»v|;|i«m 
t)ie oomitf of IdiDCdduro. (Lftsc. M88*t vol, ^podi., |^ l$i.) 
Hm wm dmMaa ih9 oU t^oaden ehiitp(^ wUfb t r xdi t j on rt ly 
19 fNiid hftY0 ^p0tri ad Buttenrof^ I)«^, fu)d iriiipii 10 ttiU 
pdliled Qirt by ttlje iwp^ of t»o fuqvQ fieldp, c»Ue(i ^^ Clui|iel 
Y«rd'' aod ^^ Obftpel Mmfipw*'^ ThisB» Jiffioam ooQ«ur in ^e^ 
^ Fi]c$ ^0119 (thf^ r^ejdenpe of til)^ QalliFell family, aboiiii 
two n^ikfi off), in the im^ (^ Qm^ Mmbe^ t^ «re kopwa 
to tM« d^y. It 10 prpbftbto t})i»|i th^ Byn^^ n«ye? M^i^d f>^ 
Bnttiarwiuribh Sail ftftor II19 W^vd of ^$ Sosefi* Th^y quitlied 
Qbf t<im, as a {Merman^t rcw d^ o e , on a^^nix^g N|e|R{tea4f in 
t^ ]!«ign of Heory the EigMt, altliougli ♦^ young Sir Jo^n," m 
he wfw called, Uyqd at Boytpn Hall, i^^ar Oldbaoi, anotiier aoat 
of tirn ^oUy, betw£jen 1592 a}»d ^603. 

At Butterworth Hall, the little Biy^ Beal, flpifing dov?i ^Efisb 
&om the heathery moHntaiQi^ Fhich throw l^eir ahadpvf upon 
the valley wher<^ it riios* diyides the fpid ; aii4 upon f^ gi^^m 
^ot, eloae tq the Qortheim margiii of ita water, atand« fn p^^ 
fsshioiied ^tpnf hall^ haid by the.8ite of the ancient residisD^e 
of the Byrona. After ^fpending an hour at the other ei^d of the 
village, wUh the rugged and comfortable generation dp-elhng 
there, axupng the nieinopa^a of ^^ Tim' Bobbin ^^ — ^thi^^ flW^^ 
old achopbnaater, of <^e laat 43epitury — ^who waa ^^ U^ obaerred 
<^ all ohservera " in thia place, in his day, and irlfo wi]} be 
rpnembered long after aome of the monum^tal lH:aa8C|^ and 
Bci|)ptifrQ4 effigjea of hie coiit^mpDrariea are p^apod by Jnik ^'' 
cnrioua ^fCf^-roOd thinly it Tfill ^t be imintia^^eating, npr prp^r 



AND f ^ YlLfJif^l^ OF UfJUmOWf 7]. 

ooca lisfid in feudal stsie. But - Jfit aot aiur gftptgroplfttivft 
mitfiv iuBrolo88 bis thooflfate too &r anayoncr a^p*ii<yiAri%ff ^»*iftMrM «, 

an4 «to(*?TWf of J^ I»8*? P^ tJwe^ ^e ^tprybelJij doe^ by, 
HowQirer kfg9 the diflCQunie oi hu naiiid ooajT be, let him mwev ' 
forjg}^ fii^ ^f^^M § »tEP»ig W).d impprjbj^t priseeftt ii> tlj.j3 epqa} 
life axofojod htm. And wherearer he sets lus foot in fiouth Lant* 
(^us^i^ )vs ]0r|l][ j^fx^ aom)Am^ fyi<^ th^t |ih/e^ ^tpp 4)^ut^let| 
fly]n|r wlieBid onee wag ib» eoundl chamber of 4 becQH $ and 
tl^ i^e {^ple Qf tji^ j(!*yj» f^ d^UHritrpe iu tji^ f*s^9ptitt^- 
biMte^' and ttit^yarda of the olden time I 

Tho fcjjpvii^ Ipfprs^tm T^sp^fs^^ Jb^ Pyroi> femily, 
Barons of Bocfadaie, ccupied ^pom an aiiicle in tho Manebesiev 
Q^(ffdicu}f pj tt^ ^fpinent ^tj/^i^^xi^a conjbibutot to tbat jourr 
m^f wili not be unintec«stiD|[ to aome people :--r 

(< Tpt^s "Bjt&^Af of C]ftyt07^ 9ftd Rophdal^^ L^iicashire, and Ne wstead Abbey, 

KotU., ue descendled froii^ B4tp)i de^urpn^ who, at the time pf tbe Oon- 

q])|9|9t^fmdQftiiaBoQp&d»7 Surypy, held divert jQanor9 in Notts and Berby- 

Biu^. ^g.o 09 ^.oroDt grfto^ao^ of 4^1ph, ^nd f^ndtd Baron of Horsetan^ 

•i^etifli^e |«;m;7. jSenry lir from Bepnl^jr aifairs, processed |iiuiself'a monk^ 

a']^4 ^d ^h<) ^rmi/ige of Klrjsal^ (^ K<^re«), linder i^^e priory of Jjenton. 

9i9 fion V#J? 6^r Bioger de BuroQ. ]K.obiBrt ae Bpon^ boh of Sir Boger de 

B^jron, in toe J^ip Jpbn. [Xld9-1200L niarried Cecilia, daughter and heiress 

of Ri;Qhi^d CJAjtopy of Oj^ytpn^ lui.g th^s pbtalneji the qianor and estate^ 

of Clayipn. Fails worth ao4 ^^6 township of Droylsden were soon after 

added to their I^ancftshire .estates. Their son, Bobert de Byron, lord of 

GUytoii, was vitnenf to> grapt.<^ ^yivg Hay in this country, to the 

monks of Gockera^pd, f^ tho 80ttl# of Henry l^f and Hichard t. And his 

son, Johi^ d^ pjron, whp was s^ted at Clayton, 28thKdward T. [1299-90]^ 

^99 '^Toroo^ of y^fYf^a^ ba4 #11 his Jand^ in Bochdale, with his wife 

Joi^, by gift fif her lathier, Sir ^ioldw^n Tentonicus, or Thies, or de Tyas, 

'^hp wai^ "coiiBervator of ^he peace In Lancashire, lOth Bdw^d |ld81-8d}. 

Her firfft husband wa0 @ir Bobert Holland, secretary of Thomas, Barl ^ 

Ia«qutei;. Twir spn wa9 Sjy ^John 4e Bywjiy knight, Iprd of piaytonj 

who wj^ onp of the nfitnessf^^ to this cnarter granted to the burgesses of 

^^^Sikpr, by Thom^ Grelle, lord of that manor, in 18,01. The two firsi 

witnesses po that document were ^^ 3i^f John Byron, Bichard Byron, 

knights.^ i^we were father and son. Sir John married Alice, cousin 

and hoi? of |lob|3rt ^onastr^, of Hindl^y. in this county. Their son, Sir 

Bichard, lord of Cadenay .i^nd Clifton, pad grant of free warren in his 

demepno lands 11^ Clayton, Lutterworth, and Boyton. on the 28th June. 

I0Q8 ; 1^0 jMr?e4 In parliament for Lincc^shire, and died before 31sc 

Bd^rird f II. [lM7-8f> ^19 fl^on was Sir Jsunes de Byron, who died before 

S^h Bdward' Hi. (1360-51]. His son and heir was Sir John de Byron, 

Thomas knigbtad by Bdward lit. at the ceige of Calais [1346-7], and, 

djf^ Wi^thpa^ iMue^ was s]»C€.epde4 by his brother. Sir Iliohard, before 4th 



72 THE COTTAGE OP TIM BOBBIK, 

Bieliard 11. [1880-81]. Sir Biohard died in 1398, and was snooefldad hj, 
his son, Sir John le Byron, who receiyed knighthood before 3rd Heniy Y« 
[1415-16], and as one of the knighU of the shire, 7th Henry YI. rU28-8]. 
He married Margery, daughter of John Booth, of Barton. Hia eldeet sod^ 
Biehard le Byron, dying in his father's lifetime, and Riohard*s mm, James, 
dying without issue, the estate passed to Riehard*s brother, Sir Nioholas, 
of Clayton, who married Alice, daughter of Sir John Boteler, of Beansey 
(nr Bewsey, near Warrington. Their son and heir was Sir John, who was 
constable of Nottingham Castle, and Sheriff of Lancaster, in 1441 and 1442. 
Sir John fought in the Battle of Boeworth Field, <m the side of Henry YII«y 
and was knighted on the field. Dying without issue in 1488, he was 9M« 
ceeded by his brother (then 30), Sir Nicholas, sheriff of Lancaster, in 1459, 
who was made Knight of the Bath in 1501, and died in January, 1503-4. 
This son and heir, Sir John Bynm (the one named in the above doeum«nt)| 
was steward of the manors of Manchester and Rochdale, and, on the dis- 
solution of the monasteries, he had a grant of the priory of Newstead, 28th . 
Hay, 15^. Prom that time the family made Newstead their principal 
seat, instead of Clayton. This will explain, to some extent, the transfer 
of Clayton, in 1547, from this same Sir John Byron to John Arderon or 
Ardeme. Either this Sir John or hia son, of the same name, in the year 
1560, inclosed 260 acres of land on Beurdsell Moor, near Rochdale. Bis 
three eldest sons dying without issue (and we may just note that Kuerden 
preserres a copy of claim, without#date, of Nicholas, the eldest, to the 
seijeanty of the king's free court of Rochdale, and to have the execution 
of all attachments and distrcBses, and all other things which belong to the 
king's bailiff there), Sir John was succeeded by his youngest son, S& John, 
whom Baines states to have been knighted in 1759 — ^probably a transpo- • 
sition of the figures 1579. This Sir John, in the 39th Elisabeth [1596-7], 
styles himself '^ Farmer of the Manor of Rochdale," and makes an annual 

fayment to the Crown, being a fee farm rent to the honour of Rochdale, 
n the first Charles I. [1625-6] the manor of Rochdale passed from the 
Byrons; but in 1638, it was recouTeyed to them; and, though oonfiscated 
during the commonwealth, Richard, Lord Byron, held the manor in 1660. 
Sir John's eldest son. Sir Nicholas, distinguished himself in the wars in 
the Low Countries, and at the battle of Sdgehill (23rd October, 1642). He 
was general of Cheshire and Shropshire. His younger brother, Sir John, 
was made KB. at the coronation of James L and a baronet in 1603. Owing 
to the failure of the elder line, this Sir John became ancestor of the Lords 
Byron. Sir Nicolas was succeeded by his son. Sir John, who was made 
K.B. at the coronation of Charles I. ; was appointed by that, king Lien- 
tenant of the Tower, in 1642, contrarr to the wish of parliament; corn-* 
manded the body of reserve at Bd^ehill; and was created Lord Byron of 
Rochdale, 24th October, 1643. In consequence of his devotion to the 
royal cause (for he fought against Oliver Cromwell at the battle of Preston, 
in August, 1648), his manor of Rochdale was sequestered, and held for 
several years by Sir Thomas Alcock, who held courts there in 1654, two 
years after Lord Byron's death. So great was his lordship's royalist zeal, 
that he was one of the seven specially exempted from the clemency of the 
government in the ^' Act of Oblivion," passed by parliament on the execu- 
tion of Charles I. Dying at Paris, in 1652, without issue, he was suc- 
ceeded by hia cousin, liicbard (§onof Sir John, the baronet just mentioned), 
who became second Lord Byron, and died 4th October, 1679, aged 74. He 
was BQOceeded by hia eldest son, William, who died 18th November, 1695, 



AND THE vilXAGB OF MILNROW; 78* 

and WM tuoceeded by his fourth son, William, who died Aiiff oat 8th, 1786» 
and was sneoeeded bj a ymtnger lon, William, fifth Lord Syron, bom m 
Noyember^ 1723, hilled William Ghaworth, Beq., in a dnei in Janaary, 
1765, and died 19th May, 1798. He was eaeoeeded by hia neat nephew, 
George Gordon, the poet, sixth Lord Byron, who was bom 92nd Jannary, 
1788, and died at Missolonghi, in AprU, 1824. In 182S, he sold Newstead 
Abbey to James Dearden, Haiti*, of Roehdale ; and, in the same year, he 
sold the manor and estate of Boehdale to the same ffentleman, by whose 
son and heir they are now possessed. The manorial rights of Boehdale 
are repnted (says Baines) to extend OTor 32,000 statute acres of land, 
with the nririleges of eonrt baron and court leet in all the townships 
of the pariah, inolnding that portion of Saddleworth which lies within the 
parish of Roehdale ; but excepting such districts as Bobert de Lacy gave 
to the abbots of Whalley, with right to inclose the same." 

The article goes on to aay that the manor of Rochdale waa 
anciently held by the Ellands of Elland, and the Savilles, and 
that on the death of Sir Henry Saville, it appears to hare 
merged m the poflsession of the Duchy of Lancaster; and 
Queen Elizabeth, in right of her duchy possessions, demised 
that manor to Sir John Byron, by. letters patent, dated May 
12th, 27th year of her reign (1585), from Lady-day, 1585, to 
the end of thirty-one years. 

The eye haying now satisfied itself with what was notable 
in and about Milnrow, I took my way home, with a mind more 
at Hberty to reflect on what I had seen. The history of Lan- 
cashire passed in review before me, especially it» remarkable 
latest history. I saw the country that was once thick with trees 
that canopied herds of wild quadrupeds, and thinnest of people, 
now bare of trees, and thickest of population ; the land which 
was of least account of any in the kingdom in the last century, 
now most sought after ; and those rude elements which were 
looked upon as '^ the riddlings of creation,*' more productive of 
riches than all the Sacramento's gold, and ministers to a spirit 
which is destined to change the social aspect of Britain. I saw 
the spade sinking in old hunting groimds, and old parks now 
trampled by the fast-increasmg press of new feet. The hard 
cold soil is now made to grow food for man and beast. Masses 
of stone and flag are shaken from their sleep in the beds of the 
hills, aod dragged forth to bipld mills and houses with, Streams; 



tboHsand ye^cs, we liammad up^ a^d 9iad« tp ^a^ ^d feoiir, 

the miiifir is pain&iily wc^nnmg his way in liibyiiati^ne tan- 
nels* and the earth is belchiiu£ coals at & thf ^ ^^w- nf ? mouilis. 
The Tegioii temis yrith eoal, st<xie^ and water, aad a pe(^le aMe 
to m^vi^ th^ aU tp their pi4?^)p§eSf T^es^ el^w/^nl^ quietjy 
bide ihor timfi| eesitaif aft^ fi&atascy, till ths gmod f)lot i|i 

ripe, wid % r^jtstenom 4&^ giv^. Apq», wJjW S^ ^i^ougiit- 
fiil barber sets certain wheels spinning, and a ecmtemplotiTe- 
lad takes a fine hint from his mother^s tea-kettle, these slum- 
benng powara start into ast^onidiiiig a^/tiMif^ ^k» an annjr of 
wanrii^ roused to battle 1^ the ivun^et. ClQtb is wi^vm &* 
tfa^ worlds wfL the irorld bn^ it, and weam it Oommesoo 
shoots. 1^ ^ujm. & fwor pedlav with his fMusk go. a amlo, i^ a 
giani mevduuili, stsppiiig ^rom continttiit to eontineni, ovet ik^ 
oceans, to m^ke hi« bargains, ; Baii]vay# ase mrented, and dio 
kn4 is Jil^wd.widi iron fyt ir^n piessefigm to rsn uftm, 
. through monntalns and over valleys, on businegs eommissions ;• 
the Ferylightoing tarns errand-bo^. A greal fiisimijtH^ thought 
and sentJufiat 8{ru»gs np, and Old Bnglaod is in hysterios 
about ito mmtso^ opinions. A new aristofiney wia^n from 
ih» {Hciidflot;, pesfierenng working peo^ of the district, afid 
thr^t^ens to posh thd old on^ tasm its stool. What is to ib 
t\m np^t i^ it all? The senses are stunned by 4^ din of 
t^il, and th# view obBe»|re4 Isf the dnst of bargain-'oatog. 
Qiit, i&rspiigh an opening in the clouds, hope^ stan $9Sfi shining 
still in the bine heaven Jhat ov^n^aniB iis. TsM heaft, ye 
t(Hling milijbnsf Th/s i^iiiits of your h^Boic &Mreiathfii9 14^ 
watdung to see what jsort oi England you will leave to 
youtsonsl 



7« 




J^P BTEWATS FSO^ fiOCpAlE 
Td fHE IK^ OF BLAePTOjrE EME. 

^'Ami ae by mtmy ^sdinir iiooks lie ftny^i 

of ito M^^wbj p iJ|i?J»i»e4 J?F#t^ of jtlw ^ »ft^M(9. 

B<i;»9iiiA#, is G)pud94 ^7 i?»a^ pf:»^t]Xi^ 91)4 mRWi^ f ^ 1^9 
l^f^/D^l^^i^mdapu^tip 9Hiqm %j^,^Fea tl)|^ t;bi«i ldl«d 

e^jr^tfiy »»4 Wflse4 Ipt i|# o#t^ 4«dwa9iAbab|t9d})7iL 

^»f^ W lli«9B?4EW )^^a<;p pf pePI^r I^ui^g tJ^ bat ti^Q 
timitm^ ffm^ ^ Vfm^m{4 *be vofW Jt^yje l»^e^ %l#u)^ to 
^ 11^ 4^ liP l^p ^. Th9:^pA4-^ti)jn6d B?i%h ii»74^i wWt, 
iiiQ^igilWi^yp^ «|4 li»^e, jtoYS^ tbiJOiiigh bi^ patiFO Wifqpd« wd 
QMi|9fa«ii9 lip^tiiig tbje f^ }j[9l9pwtKD£8 

ligjsded ^^li^te^ but w^ Utjtrjfi gl-y^ tp tilJ^g^. U^ a^M ti» to 
tbe ^i||^)^]4^, 9^4 k?^^ soi^tbiiig c^u* sqa^i^ti^j^ k|}p oire, 
ax)4 workmg it i^to ^uph sbapie? ,99 ^^^ itiaefiil m ^ )ife of ^d, 
Y^QP%g j«fl6C|if}47 SiX^d war&ir^, suc^ as Ms, Iq, ih^ slim 
c(msi»i h» fp«#Ml4 tlbe .isla>]34'!> w^t<^ ^ and scoured its plains 
£i|9rc4y ill b^tj^l^) ij^ hi$ ^JTl^d <^, ^ |;^p:or jbo the bol4est foe. 

Jfe WPP*ippdl^ ^j. jft ft» Wf»^ ¥»r7 W P»nbi» P^ WP«^ and 



76 HIGHWAYS AND BYEWATS FKOM ROCHDALE 

in colossal StonehengeB, under the blue, oVarching sky. On 
lone wastes, and moorland hills, we still have the rudely mag- 
nificent relics of these ancient temples, firowning at time, and 
seeming to say, as they look with lonely solemnity on nature^s 
ever-returning green, in the words of their old Druids — 

<< Everything oomos oat of the ground but the dead.'' 

But destiny had other things in store for these islands. The 
legions of imperial Rome came down upon the wild Celt, who 
retired, fiercely contending, to the mountain fastnesses of the 
north and west. Four hundred years the Roman wrought and 
ruled in Britain ; and he left the broad red mark of his way of 
living and governing stamped upon the face of the country, and 
upon its institution, when his empire declined. The steadfast 
Saxon followed,—" stubborn, taciturn, sulky, indomitable, rock- 
made,'^ — a farmer and a fighter ; a man of sense, and spirit, and 
integrity ; an industrious man and a home-bird. The Saxon 
never loosed his hold, even though his wild Scandinavian 
kinsmen, the sea-kings, and jarls of the north, came rushing to 
battle, with their piratical multitudes, toflsing their swords into 
the air, and singing old heroic ballads, as they slew their foe- 
men, under the banner of the Black Raven. Then came the 
military Norman, — ^a northesm pirate, traiaed ii^ France to the 
art of war,— led on by the bold bastard, Duke William, who 
landed his warriors at Pevensey, and then burnt the fleet tiiat 
brought them to the shore, in order to bind his willing soldiers 
to the desperate necessity of victory or death. Duke WilHam 
conquered, and Harold, the Saxon, fell at Hastings, with an 
arrow in his brain. Each of these races has left its distinctive 
peculiarities stamped upon the institutions of the country ; but 
most enduring of all, — ^the Saxon. And now, l^e labours of 
twenty centuries of valiant men, in peace and war, have achieved 
a matchless security, and power, and freedom for us, and have 
bestrewn the face of the land with "the charms which follow 
long history.'' The country of Caractacus and Boadicea, where 
Alfred ruled, and Shakspere and Milton sang, will henceforth 



TO THE TOP OF BLACKSTOXE IBDGB^ 77 

always be interesting to men of intelligent minds, whelteTor they 
were bom. It is pleasant, also, to the eye, as it is instructive 
to the mind. Its history is written all over the soil, not only 
in the strong evidences of its present genius and power, but in 
thousands of interesting relics of its ancient fame and character- 
istics. In a letter, written by Lord Jeffrey, to his sister-in-law, 
an American lady, respecting what Old England is like, and in 
what it differs most from America, he says : — " It differs mostly, 
I think, in the visible memorials of antiquity with which it is 
overopread ; the superior beauty of its verdure, and the more 
ta&tefiil and happy state and distribution of its woods. Every- 
thing around you here is historical, and leads to romantic or 
interesting recollections. Gray grown church towers, cathedrals, 
ruined abbeys, castles of all sizes and descriptions, in all stages 
of decay, from those that are inhabited, to those in whose moats 
ancient trees are growing, and ivy mantling over their moulder- 
ing fragments • ^ * # and massive stone bridges 
over lazy waters ; and churches that look as old as Christianity : 
and beautiful groups of branchy trees; and a verdure like 
nothing else in the universe ; and all the cottages and lawns 
fragrant with sweet briar and violets, and glowing with purple 
lilacs and white eiders ; and antique villages scattering round 
wide bright greens ; with old trees and ponds, and a massive 
pair of oaken stocks preserved from the days of Alfred. With 
you everything is new, and glaring, and angular, and withal 
rather frail, slight, and perishable ; nothing soft, and mellow, 
and venerable, or that looks as if it would ever become so.^* 
This charming picture is almost entirely compounded from the 
most interesting features of the rural and antique ; and is, 
therefore, more applicable to those agricultural parts of England 
which have been little changed by the great events of its modem 
history, than to those districts which have imdergone such a 
surprising metamorphosis by the peaceful revolutions of manu- 
'&cture in these days. But, even in the manufi&cturing districts, 
where forests of chimneys rear their tall unbending shafts, upon 



iHe gtbtmd once covered with the green Woodland^^ leafy MAe^ 
Sparsely dotted ^th qtutint 6ld hamlcfts, the TeneraMe hknttt- 
liientd of 6M Ehglidh lifb i^ti out in ^ t]Feft(itafdl ^&f, ktiioii^ 
ihe ctol^ding ^tidetifces (tf indderii pb^i^er aitd jwpdliltion. And 
the inAlleiK^ i^hich have fid gred,% (^hanged the a|^««Mi^ dT 
ihe coimtiy thehi, haT6 ticrt paoted oref the p^te witikotit 
«ifiect. Whm^rerthegetiiiigO^eolmtiei^iiiayb^lMdiitf ife 
iher^ fa hb dbttht thaiihfe did ebiitrbli df fbadailiM tt^ h^lijig 
hp; mi in the lie# fitftte (rf thiAgB the p^le of iSdnth 
iMcacfiii^ hare foohd grater 'fiherty Ui iiiixproTe €t^ ifi- 
diTidual qtuihtiel ahd l^ditioniS ; fitirer duOxgetf of ihisteaMbg 
their Inight laiA ateertilig their righia; gteatcfr poifet and 
i^eeddili td ^fiafbine and undetEttalld all ^ueirtibnd T^hich battie 
be^^ th6iii^ iad to estimate and infineiice theh* ttHen, than 
they hiid tinder the tmrea^ning domination whibh is petaAUg 
atray. Hiey ar^ not a people inclined to anarchy: Ihfey lore 
order 9A well a^ fr^om, and they lore freedom fbt th^ stdce of 
having otder estahlished upon jti£(t prindplefi. 

Hie conr§e of events dnring the last fiffcj years hid tiieeft 
Steadily npheaving the people of Sout^ Lancaciiire mit of f he 
ihraldom of those orders which have long striven to' coitiiettie 
Utich things mainly as tendM to thdr 6Wn AggrandMiemeilit, Hb 
th^ ^pento at the rights txf otheis. Bnt even ihftt pdrticAa sf 
the aristocracy of England ii^hich has not yet sO &r oM ilfe 
Kbngh d its hereditary |Rbqjudi6e(t all tef see that ii^ days af^ 
gone which hhrtttTed harHiMc [toclfenddndeSf i«t hM p^tt^^ 
thatf in the ihahnfactiiring dieltricts, it n6W witlks In A wdtAd 
iirh^e few are disposed to Abtept its a8BCDtit)ti(3^ (f( Sttpciliofity, 
Withoht inqniring into the n^thrd 6f it. Wh^ il pebjiie wh6 
hattttahy aspire to independoice, b^gin td ItnoW ho^ t«» g^ it, 
and how to nse it Whiely, the m^hods ist Mb tibiit IT^ tncide 
for slaves, Will ho Idngei^ SAS^^ thc9i* ptti'ptBe ^ tttdasfl&onss 
8*niah t)egiiis to ftel that he hA^ it faifte df '« ^ttfine ligkt'* in 
hhn as Veil as otheir htcflHsalSf th^ fnride of tttlle minds in gretft 
'phtceii, l)egi]^ ify ci^iker Mifif told thef fimdi gits liitt tho iNdl 



*■■ ' - • ■ ^- • . 

h6i^ ana then, dfifl l^k efbtnet^liefe el^ fcf a foo^-Hcter. The 
aristoci^y of tJiiglarid are fiot all bf ttem oVerwteiEfieci by the 
iny8fcferfot& dlgMty d thfeii- '^prestige of ahcieiit descent.'' 
Ulefe are nsitrfally-iioble irien ftmong them, ^hb caii dkjern 
ttetiineil ttHil^ tttttli attd dead tiaditloii ; ineri who do hoi think 

' thail tile |];c«b^Oti of a latge landed e^ie entitles its oimer to 
fextiWrtdifaary Hghti^ of ddtiiination over liis acreless heighbcfurs ; 
c* that, cto that accoiliit aidhe, the test df the world shotild fell 
doTHi and wctt^hip at the feet 6f a f ery ordiiiary piersbn, moife 
kitiarkablfe for an incdtopreheftsihle ^ay of depofrtiii^ tdinself, 
Si,iiA. fbt a cttricfufi pride of caste, tluth for being a worthier man 
than his neight)onrs. 

llirdtlgli the streets of South Lancasliire towns still occa- 
sidnally ron tne' esciiicheOned equipagfes of those exclusive, 
ari^tocfatic families, wno yest turii up the nose at the ^* lower 

' brd^tfe ; ^' aha cHerisli a dim femembrahce of the '^ good old 
tinies"' ^lieil tliese Itq^dahes wore the collars of their ancestors 
iti>oil wie neck. iTd my ttinking, the very carriage has a sort 
df Idriely, rin6\i^^ aiid linowning look, and never seems at 
hdiiie till it gets baci to tie coach-house; for tie troops of 
&ctt>ry lads, and other greasy, hard-working i^btie, clatter 
inerfily atidiit the the streets, looking vifiainouMy uhconsqious of 
itnytnihg pariiciilarly aiigiist in the naiiire of tlie sdow whicli 
Is going by. Qh the driving -box sits a inah witli a beefy ^e, 
and 4 cdihicaliy-gubdiied way of holding h^ cotontenance, ^rand 

' bver all "Udth **hdrse-gowd,'* andlace, and gilt buttons, elabo- 
rate >i^th ketaidic device. Another suet perstrfi, with great 
^il^ calves, and a '^ fimo^e-jack^^ tipdn bis hat, and breecbes of 
ceHileaii pitisti, staiids holding oh upon the platform behind, tt 
is ail iio iise. Thete are ddrhers of £iigland wbere such a sigbt 
is still eildiigb to ihf dw a wlidle village into fits ; but, in the 
greai tnahiifactuHhg towns, a travelling instalment of ilTomD- 
well's ihehagerie, witfe ih^ pbrthut of a cub rhinoceros in front, 

, would create indf e stir, tiiside the carriage tbere reclmes,— 
shewing &e bitter cUd of unacknowledged p£de,«-od6 of that 



60 HIGHWAYS Ain> BTBWAYS VBOM BOC&DAL£ 

rare brood of dignitaries, a man with ^^ ancoBtors,'' who plutiles 
himself upon the distinguished privilege of being the son of 
somebody or another, who was the son of somebody else, and so 
on ; — ^till it gets to some burglarious person, -who, in company 
with several others of the same kidney, once pillaged an old 
estate, robbed a church, and did many other such vaJiant deeds, 
in places where the law was too weak to protect the weak ; and 
there is an eternal blazon of armorial fuss kept up in celebration 
of it, on the family shield. But, admitting that all these things 
Were quite in keeping with the spirit and necessities of the time, 
and with " the right of conquest,'* and such like, why should 
their descendants, in these days, take to themselves mighty airs 
on that account, and consider themselves the supreme ^' some- 
bodies*' of the land, for such worn-out reasons? Let any 
Unwise aristocratic landlord who still tunes his pride and pur- 
poses according to the old feudal gamut of his forefathers, 
acquaint himself well with the tone of popular feeling in the 
manufacturing districts. Iiet ^^ John*' lower the steps, and 
with earth-directed eyes hold the carriage door, whilst our son 
of a hundred feithers walks forth into the streets of a manufac- 
turing town, to try the magic of his ancient name among the 
workmen as they hurry to dinner. Where are the hat-touchers 
gone? If he be a landlord, with nothing better than tracts of 
earth to recommend him, the mechanical rabble jostle by him as 
if he was ^^ only a pauper whom nobody owns,** or some wan- 
dering, homeless cow-jobber. He goes worshipless on his way, 
unless he happens to meet with some of the servants from the 
hall, or his butcher, or the parish clerk, or the man "Wbb rings 
the eight o'clock bell, and they treat him to a bend sinister. 
As to the pride of *•' ancient descent,'* what does it mean, apart 
from the renown of noble deeds ? The poor folk in Lancashire 
cherish a kind old superstition that *' we^re o* somebory*s chil- 
der,** — ^which would be found very neai* the truth if fairly 
looked into. And if CoUop the cotton weav^^s genealogy was 
correctly traced, it would probably run Iback to the year *^ one,** 



TO THE TOP OF BLACKSTOKE EDGE, 81 

or, as he expreeees it 'himself, to the time '^ when Adam wur & 
lad.'' Eyerjthing has its day. In some parts of Lancashire, 
the rattle of the railwaj train, and the bustle of traffic and 
labour, have drowned the tones of the hunting horn, and the 
chiming cry of the harriers. But whatever succeeds the decay 
of feudalism, the architectural relics of Old English life in 
Lancashire will always be interesting as such, and venerable as 
the head of a fine old man, on whose brow ^^ the snow-jGedl of 
time'' has long been stealing. May no ruder hand than the 
hand of time too hastily destroy these eloquent and instructive 
footprints of old thought which remain among us ! Some men 
are like Bums's mouse, — ^the present only touches them ; but 
any man who has the slightest title to the name of a creature of 
" large discourse," will be willing, now and then, to look con- 
templatively over his shoulder, into the grass-grown aisles of 
the past. 

It was in that pleasant season of the year when fresh buds 

begin to shoot from the thorn : when the daisy and the httle 

celandine, and the early primrose, peep from the ground, that I 

began to plot for another stroll through my native vale of the 

Roch, up to the top of " Blackstone Edge." These lonesome 

and craggy mountain wastes are &niiliar to me. When I was 

a child they rose up constantly in sight, to the east of Rochdale 

town, with a silent, majestic look. The sun came from behind 

them in a morning, pouring its flood of splendour upon the busy 

valley, the quiet winding river, and its httle tributaries. I 

early imbibed a strong attachment to these hills, and oft as 

opportunity would allow, I rushed towards them, as if they 

were kindly and congenial to my mind. And now in the 

crowded dty, when I think of them and of the country they 

look down upon, it stirs within me a 

" Wide sea that one eontinnous murmQr breaks 
Along the pebbled shore of memory." 

But at this particular time, an additional motive enticed me 
pnce more to my old wandering ground. The whole of the 



S2 HIGl^AYS AND BYEWAYS FBOM iftOCHDALE 

foad leading to it was fined with interesting places and associa- 
tions, fiut, among tie railways, and manifold otEer ways and 
riieans of travel ill England, wHct now cover the countrj' with 
an irregular net- work, 1 found, on looking over a recent map, 
a little soliiary. fine, running tere knd there, in short, broken 
distances ; aiid, on the approach of towns and hatjited spots, 
fiving under, like a mole of an otter. It looked fike a bfo&n 
thread, here and there, in thie mazy wef> of the map, aiid it was 
accompanied by the wordk " Boman Boad," which had a little 
interest for me. 1 know there are people who wguld sneer at 
the idea of aiif im^rtance being attached to a broken, imprac- 
ticable, out-of-the-way highway, nearly two thousand fears old, 
and leading to nowhere in particular, e^iicept, like the ways of 
ike wicked, into all sorts of sloughs audi difficulties. With't&em, 
one passable macacymsed road, on whicli a cart donld ^ to 
market, is worth all the ruined Watling-streets in Britain. And 
they are right, so far as their wisdom goes. The present ^ene- 
ration must be served with market stuff, come what may of our 
museums. But still, everything. in the world is full of manifold 
services to man, who is himself full of manifold needs. And 
thought can leave the telegraphic message behind painting for 
breatli upon thfe railway wires. The whole is either " cupboard 
for food," or "cabinet of pleasure ;" thefeJSore, let the hungry 
soul look round upon its great estate, and tu!rn the uniterse to 
D.]trmient,ifitcan;for 

*' There'i not a breath 
Will xningle kindly with the meadow air, 
, Till it has pftnted i:«tad, atid stoldn a share 
Of passion from the heart." 

And fliough the moorlaitd paci-horse and the fambfii^ besom- 
maker stiunble and get entang|led in grass, and sloulfhs, and 
matted brushwood, upon deserted roads, still that nimble Mer- 
cury, Thought, can flit over the silent waste, side by side with 
the shades of those formidable soldiers who have now slept nearly 
t^o thoiisand ^ear^ in the cold ground. 

it has not been my lot to see many of the vestiges of Roman 



rtf fffE tot or BLACK6T0KS EDGE. 99. 

fife in B^tetin ; yet, whatever the historians say about them 
has hact interest for me ; especially when rekted to the supfibsed 
conned^on of the Komans with my native district, for, in addi- 
tion to itel growing modem inte'rest, I eagerly seized every fact 
of histoiical association calculated io ehrich the vesture in which 
my mind had bug been enrobing the place. I had reed of the> 
Roman station at Littleborough, of the Roman ixmd in the 
neighbourhood, of interesting ancient relics, Roman and oth^j 
discovered thereabouts, and other matter of the like nature. My 
walks had been wide and frequent in the coiintry about Roch- 
dale, and many a time have I Hngered and wondered at little^ 
bDrongh, near the spot where history says that the Romians 
encamped themselves, at the foot of Blackstone Edge, at the- 
entrance of what would then be the impassable hills, and woody 
glens, and swampy bottoms of the Todmorden district. Yet I 
have never met with any visible rerimants of such historical 
antiquities of the locality ; and though, when wandering about 
the high moors in that quarter, I have more than onCe crossed 
the track of the Roman road up there, and noticed a general 
peculiarity of feature about the place, I little thought that I was 
floundering liirougH moss and heather, upon one of these famous 
dd highways. I endeavoured to hold the bit upon my own 
eagerness ; and read of these things with a painful reservation 
of credence, lest I should delude myself into receiving the 
mythical invention of a brain mad with ancientry for a genuine 
relic of the old. But one day, early in the year, happening to 
call upon K young friend of mine, in Rochdale, whose tastes are a 
little congenial to my own^ we talked «f a stroll towards the 
hits ; and he again showed me the line of the Roman road, on 
Blackstone Edge, marked in the recent Ordnance map. We 
tlien went forth bareheaded, into ihe yard of his father's house, 
at Watrdleworth Brow, from whence the view of the moorland 
Mils, ah the east, is fine. The air was clear, and the sunshine 
80 favourably subdued, that the objects and tints of the landscape 
were uncommonly distinct. He pointed to a regular belt of 
land,, of greened hue thp]» the rest of the moorland^ rising up the 

F 2 



84 HIGHWAYS AND BYEWAY8 TBOM ROCHDALE 

dark side of Blackstone Edge. That green belt was the line of 
the Koman road. He had lately visited it, and traced its uni- 
form width for miles, and the peculiarities of its pavement of 
native sandstone, overgrown with a thick tanglement of moss, 
and heather, and moorland lichens. He was an old acquaintance, 
of known integrity and sound judgment, and, withal, more 
addicted to figures of arithmetic than figures of speech, so, upon 
his testimony, I resolved that I would bring my imstable faith 
to the ordeal of ocular proof, that I might, at once, draft it out 
of the region of doubt, or sweep the beguiling fency from the 
chambers of my brain, Hke a festoonery of cobwebs from a 
neglected comer. The prospect of another visit to the scenery 
of the ''*' Edge," another snuff of the mountain air, and a little 
more talk with the hearty, old-world folk in the villages upon 
the road thither, rose up pleasantly in my mind, and the pur- 
pose took the shape of action about St. Yalentine^s tide. 

Having arranged to be called up at five on the morning of 
my intended trip, I jumped out of bed when the knock came to 
my chamber-door, dressed, and started forth to catch the first 
train from Manchester. The streets were silent and still, except 
where one or two " early birds" of the city had gathered roimd 
a lingering ^'saloop" stall; or a solitary policeman kept the 
lounging tenor of his way along the pavement ; and here and 
there a brisk straggler, with a pipe in his mouth, his echoing 
steps contrasting strangely with the sleeping city^s morning 
stUlnesB. The day was ushered in with gusts of wind and rain« 
and, when I got to the station, both my coat and my expecta- 
tions were a little dan^>ed by the weather. But, by the time 
the train reached Eochdale, the sky had cleared up, and the 
breeze had sunk down to a .whisper, just cool enough to make 
the sunshine pleasant. The birds were twittering about, and 
drops of rain twinkled on the hedges and tufts of grass in the 
fields ; where spring was quietly spreading out her green mantle 
again. I wished to have as wide a ramble at the farther end as 
time would allow; and, as moor-tramping is about the most 
laborious foot ^^ercis^ that mortal man can bend his instep to,^ 



to THE TOP OF BLACKSTONE EDGfi 85 

Except nrnning through a ploughed field, in iron-plated clogs, — 
an ordeal which Lancashire trainers sometimes put their foot* 
racers through, — ^it was considered advisable to hire a convey- 
ance. We could go further, stop longer, and return at ease, 
when we liked, after we had tired ourselves to our hearths con- 
tent upon the moors. I went down to the Beed Inn, for a 
vehicle. Mine host came out to the top of the steps which lead 
down into the stable-yard, and, leaning over the railing, called 
his principal ostler from the room below. That fimctionary was 
a broad-set, short-necked man, with a comely fiEice, and a staid 
laconic look. He told us, with Spartan brevity, that there had 
been a run upon gigs, but he could find us a " Whitechapel," 
and " Grey Bobby." " Grey Bobby," and the " Whitechapel" 
were agreed to at once, and in ten minutes I was driving up 
Yorkshire-street, to pick up my friends at Wardleworth Brow, 
on the eastern selvedge of the town. Giving the reins to a lad 
in the street, I went into the house, and took some refreshment 
with the rest of them, before starting ; and, in a few minutes 
more, we were all seated, and away down the slope of Heybrook, 
on the Littleborough Boad* Our little tit had a^ercurial trick 
of romping on his hind legs, at the start ; but, apart from this, 
he went a steady, telling pace, and we looked about us quite at 
ease as we sped along. 

Heybrook, at the foot of Wardleworth Brow, is one of the 
pleasantest entrances to Bochdale town. There is a touch of 
suburban peace and prettiness about it ; and the prospect, on 
aU sides, is agreeable to the eye. The park-like lands of Fox- 
holes and Hamer lie close by the north side of the road. The 
lower part of these groimds consist of rich, flat meadows, 
divided by a merry little brook, which flows from the hills on 
the north above "Th' Syke." In its course from the moors, 
to the river Eoch, it takes the name of each locality it passes 
through, and is called " Syke Brook," " Buckley Brook," and 
" Hey Brook ; " and, on its way, it gathers tributary rindles of 
water from Clough House, Knowl, and Knowl Syke. As the 
Foxholes ground recedes from the high road, they gradually 



86 ttlGHWAYS AND BTEWAYS FROM WCH^ALE 

undulate, until they lise in an ezpanaiye, lawny ^Lope, clotiifid. 
-Willi a verdure which looks — ^when met with smmner r^ py 
dew — ^'^like nothing else in the univewe," out ojT ^Uig^band. 
This slope is tastefully crowned with trees. Foxholes Hall is 
situated among its old woods and lawns, retiringly, 9poA tbe 
«ummit of ibia swelling upland, which rises from ih^ }^^ of 
Heybrook. It is a choice corner of the eartii, ^nd die.v^w 
thence, heikween the woods, across the lawn mi ?AQa4Pl^j /Hi^ 
over a wide stretch of picturesqudyrTaried coujitry, to j^ j4^ 
liiJls in the south-east, is perhaps not equalled in thepeighl>our- 
hood. Pleasant and green as much of the land in. thi^ di^ii^ 
locks now, still the general diaracter of tl^e soil, and tl^ whoi^ 
of it» features, shows that when nature ha4 it tq her||el£ v^^ 
much of it must have been sterile or swampy « Looking to^axds 
Foxholes, from the road-side at J^e^brook, oyer the i^ aijiees- 
tral trees, we can siee the still taller chimney of ^ohn j^d^^ lund 
•Brothers' mill, peering up ^ignifican^y Jbehind ; |kn4 jtjb,e jSKH^<^ 
(^ their £Bu;tory beU now min^e^ wi^ tl^e ca:\mg ofs^ anc^co)^ 
iColoiLy of rooks in the Foxhdeia wootd^. £V)x)i(^es is ^ seat .0^ 
the Entwiales,*a distinguished old IL^nca^^e faii^ly. Jp tib^e 
time of Camden, the Instoiaan, thi^ fyfm^j was seated at 
Entwisle HaU, near BdLfcon-le-Moors^ George £n|^wide de 
Entwisle left as heir his brother Williaip, who married iUice, 
daughter of Bradshaw, of Bradshaw. IJja soil E^jnpnd, the 
first Entwisle of Fox];Loles, nea^ ^Uxsh^^le, iwjit, the old luyi^ 
which stood on the site of tjie ^esent poe. ^e mprrie^ a 
daughter of Arthur Ashtoh, 0/ ^legg,; an4 his son jSJichafd 
married Grace, the ^ug^er of JElpbe^ .C^wick, of Hea^ey 
Hall. In tihe pansh ch^urch ^ere is a tablet jbo the m^nqcy 0^ 
Sir Bertin E^^d^, one of tjb^ bold soldiers who |bugjb^t at 
Agincourt, pp S^ Crispin's J)ay, in Uepry the Fif<^'s time. 
When a, lad, J. used to cop oyer this taU,et, and by some jalchemy 
of the mind, }. wpye a whole world of romance aroun^ jMa 
mysterious " 3ir Bertin," and connected him with aj^ that I 
h^ heard of the martial prQweas c^ old Engliah chivalry, fh^ 
tablet runs thus ; — 



JX) tfitJ TOP OF 3tACKSTOKfi £l?G|i. 8S 



"To peroetnaie a memoriajl erected in the ohnrdi of Bt. Peter's, St 



AlbadB' (|6HUie<f W^tike/;' this marble is here placed to t&e meih&tf6t 
a gj^Umt aflC^ loyal man— 8if BMn SntWiple, pnii, yisisovit wad l^aroli 
of jBr^^ke, in Normandy, and some time bailifiTof Constantinel inwhioj^ 
offloe^e Sncoeeded'his bro^er-in^law, Sir iToBn Ashibn, wlioise ^ughter 
J&rst mfOtpe^ Sir Richard le Pyron, an anoesi^-of jthe Jior^s Byron, o/ 
llochdale, and, secondly, Sir Bertin Entwisle, who, after repeate4 acts of 
lioAoiu* in t&^ s^hrloe of ^'sbvereigrns,^Sentys tlie Fifth and Bilih, inora 
.p^t^u|iM?^ |i ^i:lpconrtj yas kUled ^i ihe^tst ^tOe of 9t. Albanii ian4 
on his toinbstone jvs4 recorded in lurass the follow insbription: — *Here 
lyetli^Slr Bbrtln Bntwiisle; !Kni^ht, ^ho ^aa bt^ii in LancastersliyVe; 
«od wfi9 Tiseo99l /^d 'barg^ 0f ^^be|:«« 1^ I^ormandiT) aadJiiaHif of Con* 
Itantine, who died, fightior on King Henry the S.if t^'s party, the 23th 
May, 14^6, on whose BOtil Jesus ha Yef mercy/ " 

Close by ihQ stoneTbrijcJge at Heybrook, two Jarge ojtjl trees stand 
in the Entwisle grounids, one on each bank of the streaip, and 
partly overhanffljjff the road 3 they stand there alone^ as if tp 
mark where a forest has been. The tired country ijireaTer c^-rrjc- 
ing Ijis piece to the town, lays down his burden oq t|ie parap^j 
wipes his Jbrow, and rests under Jheir shade. I have gone some- 
times, on ]bri^ht nights, to leaiji upon the bridge and look ^un^ 
thiere, and J Wye hear4 inany a j^ntiye trio simg by t^^ 
old trees aiia the brook bdow, wjiile the mooiilidit danced 
among the Jieayes. 

JChe whole yalley of the jBocJb is a succes^Qn pjf gre^i^ J^ioUs 
and dingjes, and little receijing vales, witli now and then a 
ban:en stripe, Jike .*' Cronkeydiaw," or a patch of the oaioe 
large mouses, like ^^ Turf ^oss ^ " aji4 lii^}^ )^olts and ^ojms, 
no two alike in feature or detent : 4otted jiow and then with 
t^fts of |tunted yrgod, yritjb. many a clear pvook m^ f^Y^ T^ 
betweeiy. ,0n the south side of t^e bridge at jfi^yhrogk, the 
streamlet fixiigi the worth nins through ;tie meadows a ^ort dis- 




," G^jeyt Jleetin's," yhere, in pa^ years, I baye 



"^aidla't through the burn 
When simmer days were fine,** 

in ^ certain joui^g ocppanionship^^oiir }^re |ucat|)^ed ib&^ 
]Ukst a^jj^jtumn^s Jeayes; some in other towii^, one Of two onjy stiU 
hef'jg, ^4 ^^ f ^^ ^^ Australia an(| the ^ye. yfp jxq^ ^S 



S& HIGHWAYS AND fiYEWAYS F&OH nOCHbALE 

longer strip in the field there, and, leaving our clothes and 
books upon the hedge side, go frolicking down to the river, to 
have a brave water battle and a bathe — finishing by dr3ring 
oniselves with our shirts, or by running in the wind on ih» 
green bank. I remember that sometimes, whilst we were 
in the height of our sport, the sentinel left upon the brink of the 
river would catch a glimpse of the owner of the fields, coming 
hastily towards the spot, in wrathful mood ; whereupon every 
naked imp rushed firom the water, seized his clothes, and fied &om 
field to field, till he reached some nook where he could put 
them on. Erom the southern margin of the Boch the land rises 
in a green elevation, on which the hamlet of Belfield is seen 
peeping up. The tree tops of Belfield Wood are in sight, but 
the ancient hall is hidden. It stands close by the line of the 
Manchester and Leeds Bailway. The dell on the north, below 
the hall, is occupied by the print works of Messrs. Phillipi and 
Co., who occupy the hall. A little vale on the west, watered 
by the Biel, divides Belfield HaU firom the hamlet of Newbold, 
on the summit of the opposite bank. So early as the com- 
mencement of the twelfth century, a family had adopted the 
local name, and resided in the mansion till about the year 1290, 
when the estate was transferred to the fiunUy of Butterworth, 
of Butterworth Hall, near Milnrow. I find the Belfield fiumly 
mentioned in Gastrell^s *^ Notitia Cestriensis,^* p. 40, under the 
head '' Leases granted by the bishop," where the following 
lease appears : — " An. 1546. Let by H. Ar. Belfield and Eobt, 
Tatton, for 40 years, exceptis omus vicariis advocationibus 
eccleoariu quarumcunque, (ing) to find great timber, tiles, and 
slate, and tenants to repair and find all other materials. '^ The 
following note is attached to this lease : — ^^ Arthur Belfield, of 
Clegg HaU, in the parish of Bochdale, gent., son and heir of 
Adam Belfield, was bom in 1508, and succeeded his father in 
1544. He is described in the lease as ^ off our sayde sovaraigne 
lord's houshold, gentylman;' but what office he held is, at 
present, unknown. He was a near relative of the Hopwoods, 
of Hopwood, and Chethams, of Nuthurst.^' In the year 1374, 



TO THE Tot OF BtACKSTONfi EDGfi. 8& 

Geofi&y de Butterworth, a descendant of Reginald de Boter- 
worth, first lord of the township of Butterworth, in the reign of 
Stephen, 1148, sold or exchanged the &mily mansion of Butter- 
worth Hall, with John Byron, ancestor of Lord Byion, the 
poet, and took possession (by purchase or otherwise) of Belfield, 
which was part of the original possession of the knights of St. 
John of Jerasalem. When the monks of Stanlaw, in Cheshire — 
disliking their low swampy sitoation there, which was subject 
to inundation at spring tide — ^removed to the old deanery of 
WhaUey, before entering the abbey there, in the roll of the 
fraternity four seem to have been natiyes of Rochdale, among 
whom was John de Belfield, afterwards Abbot of Whalley, of 
the ancient stock of Belfield Hall, in Butterworth. Robert 
de Butterworth was killed at the battle of Towton, in 1461. 
The last of the name, at BeMeld, was Alexander Butterworth, 
bom in 1640, in the reign of Charles the First. The present 
occupants of the estate have tastefully preserved all the old 
interesting features of the hall, whilst they have greatly im- 
proved its condition and environments. The stone gateway, 
leading to the inner court-yard of Belfield Hall, is still standing, 
as well as a considerable portion of the old hall which surrounded 
this inner court. The antique character of the building is best 
seen from the quadrangular court-yard in the centre. The door 
of the great kitchen formerly opened into this court-yard, and 
the viands used to be brought out thence, and handed by the 
cooks through a square opening in the wall of the great dining- 
room, on the north side of the yard, to the waiters inside. The 
interior of the building still retains many of the quaint features 
of its olden time — ^heavy oak-beams, low ceilings, and tortuous 
comers. Every effort has been made to line the house with an 
air of modem comfort ; still the house is said to be a cold one, 
partly from its situation, and partly from the porous nature of 
the old walls, producing an effect ^^ something Hke that of a 
wine-cooler.^* That part of the building which now forms the 
back, used, in old times, to be the main front. In one of the 
rooms there are still some relics of th: ancient oak-carving 



90 HIGHWAYS AND BYEWAYS FROM BOCHDALE 

wHch. tojmef^j lined the waUs of the hall. -^^J^ ^^^ j^^'^ 
are three %areB in carved oak, which once pnaei^ part of the 
wainiaoofc of a cornice, aboye one of the fire-places, ^ese ^ere 
the fifpura» of a ]dDf .uid tyo <j[ueeQ8, ^utdnijj cujb ) an4 the 
remnants of o^^ paintlnj^ upon the figures, and the rich gilding 
upon the orowns, a^l g^ow ti^^ces of thdf hij^hly-omamented 
ancient appearance. The rp^ in jbhe neighhourhood of t|ie 
hall are now gop^- The luunlets of liirew^ld said ^^^]^ ^ 
thriving, with suhstai^tial hegdthy dwellings. Shad^ If^l^ !^^ 
laid among 1^ piantations j an^ tiiie sjuii^gs of j^ce^^ent .^gfer 
are now gathered into c^eax terraced pools ancjl a aex^ffep^ifSi ]g^e, 
glittering among geurdens and cultivatei^ grounds. 

Leaving JjLeyJbrook, we passed pj learner Ha)l, wluc|bL was 
the seat of a flEunily of Ijbe same name, l)efi)re Heozj t^e ^oiurth^ 
time. A large cotUm-mill now stands close behind th^e ha^. A 
few 7^cd8 through the toU-bar, we passed the ^^Ent^nsle 4f1^/* 
bearing the motto, f*' Fax se signe k Azincourt.^' A jb^yellec 
seldom needs to aak the names of the old lords of the la^id in 
England. pQt him keep an eye to the aig^-boards, and h^ is 
sure to find that part of the histor;ir of t^e locaUt|^ swinging in 
the wind, or ^pled up over ihe entnmce of son^e neighbouring 
alehouse. And, in the same ))aimy atmosphere, he pay learn, 
at least, as much heraldry as he will be able to find a n^ad^t fpr 
on the Manchester Exdiange. The public-house sigu^ in our 
old rural towns are generally very loya^ jpd heraldic, and some- 
times touched wi^ a little j[ovial (JLeyqtion. ll^e anns of kingSi 
qji^eens, imd Jbishops^ an^ ipitxes, chapel-houses, angels, and 
^\am^ comers,^' mingling with '^ many a crest that is &ipous 
in story ;" the arms of ike Stanleys, l?yrons, Assh^ns, ^raf- 
fords, liacys, Wiltons, Pe-la-Warres, Jl^oughtons, Molyneu^, 
Filkingtons, Badcliffes, and a long roll of old Lancashire g^^ry, 
whose fame is faintly commemorated in these alehouse signs ; 
and among the mottoes of these emblazonments, ife now and 
than meet with an ancient war-cry, which makes one's blood 
stui; into ;tumult when we think how it may have sounded on 
the ,^elds of Creasy, Agincourt, Towton, or Flo44en. ^ff^^f 



TO THE XPP Of Pf4CP702^ ^Z)tGS. 91 

these are sprinkled spread eagles, drains, grij^lns, . unicorns, 
and horses, blacjc, white, bay, and grey, with corree|X)nding 
mares, and shoes enow for them aU. ^oars, in eycry ppsitipn 
and slate of tempa: ; hulls, some crowned, some wii^ rings in 
the nose, like ou^ Mend ^^ John " ,o^ that name, foxes, too, 
and dpgs, |uresenting their poses with admi^le (^ectness of 
puipose at somet^hing in l^e next street 3 and ij^pcj^-lpojdng 
partri^es, who appear rec^ess of ihe intentions of thi^ san^ 
gaii^jry ^lac^guard in green, who is ^rroneo(i]sly »ipppsed to be 
lurhinsi b^bpd the pf^y with a gun in his hjftn,4* 7^^^? 
falcoj;|s, hawks, hounds and. huntsmen, the latter sop^etuigLes in 
''full cry," but almost always considerably "at fiiulfc/' so fe^: as 
pa:Bpec^ye goes. Swans, black and white, wit^ any luimber of 
necjks t^t can ,be reasonably expepted^ &tags, saints, sajne^ens, 
jolly millers, boars' h^u^, Hue b^[ls, pac^-horses, lam})8, rams, 
an4 tc^s, of oaJk an(jl yew. The seven stars, and now and then* 
a great bear. Lions of all poloijirs, conditions, and positions — 
resting, vomT^,f, ,^d ru^' j ydtk a auBd)er 'of 9J«<?yBhal 
aniQials, not explainable ^by anjif i^t^^v^ history extan^t, nor iq 
be found anywhere, I believe, except in the low sTy|kinps ^nd 
jungles of some d,npken dauher^s brain. 4^ ^ ^^ ^''if^^J 
Wagoners," gdjming extensively at Ibaming ;0agons of ale, 
garnished wit^ piles of bre^ and dieese, jp^ni^ onions as ^g as 
cannon-balls, as if to outiJAce t^e -groj^jctiom of the Cdo^^s of 
^odes, who fdts there in a state of stiff, eyerjlasting, cjlfim^y, 
gpod-temp^Cid reading, in ^front of his never-dwindJing feed. 
^BxUbf^jj^gjm, Abercrpmhies, ^d Wellingtons ; Dupc^ss, 
Rodneys, a^d STelsons, by 4<>2ens. I have seen an a^hniral 
pajjjijbed on h^^back, somewhere, ]^u^ I ney^ ^aw Cro^weU on 
an aJl^oa^ sign yet. In addi,tio;i tQ H^^i t|iere ai^e a few 
dukes, mostly of York and Clarenoe. Such signs as these show 
the old way gt Jiving aiid thinking* 9u,t, in pu^ Tn^nwfactijring 
towns, the tone of these old device is .cqnsideraMy modi^jed by 
an infusicm of railway hotelft, commercials, p^otjion-trees, shuttLes, 
^pindles, woojl-packs. Bishop Blaizes, |md >^ Old liooms ;" and 
^ %rms of the ancient ^u^ gQ^ivs ft^ outnumbered by the 



a HIGHWAYS AKD A'TEWAYS FttOM ROCHl>ALE 

aims of shepherds, foresters, moulders, jdners, printers, brick-* 
layers, painters, and several kinds of odd-fellows. The old 
*' Legs of Man," too, are relieved by a conifortable sprinkling 
of legs and shoulders of mutton— considerably overdone by ihe 
weather, in some cases. Even alehouse signs are *^ signs of the 
times," if properly interpreted. But both men and aldiouse 
signs may make up their minds to be misinterpreted a little in 
this world. Two country lasses, at Rochdale, one £ur-day, 
walking by the Roebuck Inn, one of them, pointing to the 
gilded figure of the animal, with its head uplifted to an over- 
hanging bunch of gilded grapes, said, ^^Sitho, Sitho, Mary, 
at yon hraaa dog, heytin^ brass marrables ! " 

About half-a-mile up the high road from Heybrook, and 
opposite to Shaw House, the view opens, and we can look across 
the fields on either side, into a country of green pastures and 
meadows, varied with fantastic hillocks and dells, though bare 
of trees. A short distance to the north-west, Buckley Hall 
lately stood on a green eminence in sight from the road. But 
the old house of the Buckleys, of Buckley, recently disappeared 
from the knoU where it stood for centuries. Its thick, bemossed 
walls are gone, and aU its quaint, abundant outhousing that 
stood about the spacious balder-paved yard behind. This old 
hall gave name and residence to one of the most ancient families 
in Rochdale parish. The building was low, but very strongly 
built of stone of the district, and heavily timbered. It was not 
so large as Clegg Hall, nor Stubley Hall, nor as some other old 
halls in the parish, but, for its size, it proved a considerable 
quarry of stone and flag when taken down. The first occupier 
was Greofl&y de Buckley, nephew to Geoffry, dean of WhaUey, 
who lived in the time of Henry the Second. A descendant of 
this Geof&y de Buckley was slain in the battle of Evesham 
(" History of WhaUey.") The name of John de Buckley appears 
among the monks of Stanlaw, in the year 1296. The arms of 
the Buckleys, of Buckley, are gules, a chevron sable ; between 
three bulls* heads, armed proper ; crest, on a wreath, a bull's 
head armed proper* Motto, ^^ Nee temere nee timede." These 



TO THE TOP or BLACKSTOKE EDGS, 9$ 

were their anus, but I know not who claiins them now. There 
is a chantry chapel, at the south-east comer of Bochdale parish 
ohurch, *^ founded in 1487^ by Dr. Adam Marland, of Marland ; 
Sir Bandal Butterworth, of Belfield ; and Sir James Middleton, 
'a brotherhood maide and oidayned in the worship of the 
glorious Trinity, in the church of Rochdale ;* Sir James being 
appointed Trinity priest during his lyfe ; and, among other 
things, he was requested, when he went to the lavoratory, 
standing at the altar, and, twice a week, to pray for the co- 
founders, with ^ De profundis/ " In this httle chantry there is 
a recumbent stone effigy of a mailed warrior, of the Buckley 
£unily, placed there by the present lord of the manor, whose 
property the chapel is now. I know that some of the country 
j>eople who had been reared in the neighbourhood of Buckley 
Hall, watched its demolition with grieved hearts. And when 
the fine old hall at Badcliffe was taken down not long since, an 
aged man stood by, vigorously denoimcing the destroyers as the 
work went on, and glorying in every difficulty they met with ; 
and they were not few, for it was a tough old place. " Poo," 
said he, " yo wastril devils, poo ! Yo connut rive th' owd hole 
deawn for th' heart on yo I Yo'n ha' to blow it up wi' gun- 
peawdhur, bi'th mass. It wur noan bigged eawt o' club brass, 
that wur nut, yo shabby thieves ! Tay th' pattern on't, an yo'n 
lam summit ! What mak' o' trash wi'n yo' stick up i'th plaze 
on't, when its gwon ? Those wholes uTl bide Iheynin again^ 
better nor yors I Yo'n never big another heawse like that while 
yo'n teeth an' e'en i' yo'r yeds I Eh, never, never I Yo' hannut 
stuff to do wi' ! " But down came the old hall at Badcliffe ; and 
80 did Buckley Hall, lately ; and the materials were dressed up 
to build the substantial row of modem cottages which now 
stand upon the same site, with pleasant gardens in front, sloping 
down the knoll, and over the spot where the old fish-pond was, 
at the bottom. Some of the workpeople at the neighbouring 
woollen null find comfortable housing there now. There is an 
old tradition, respecting the Buckley family, connected with a 
massive iron ring which was found fastened in the flooring o^ 



94 HIGHWAtS aSi6 tYimArd from koCHDALE 

a deserted cliam'bef of ihe Ball. A grefho\m<i belon^g to tBi^ 
f^unily, Whi^t in tiOndon with i^ master, took off HotaeWard 6n 
Behigf startled by tte fell of a teayy package, in Clieapmde, sthd 
wai found dead on the iooT-stej^ at Bilcklfey Hall a^ five next 
morning, affcer taving ran one hundred and mnety-sii niiies in 
sixteen hours. When viating relatives of mine near Buctfef , 
1 have met with a storj^ in the neighbourhood relating to oiib of 
the Buckleys of old, who was a dread to the country ^de i kiid 
how he pursued a Rossendale rider, who had crossed fhe moors 
from the wild, old forest, to recover a stolen horse from ttfe 
stables of Buckley Sail hf night ; and how this feuckley, of 
Buckley, overtook and shot him, at a lonely place cafied " Th' 
Hilloct,'" between Buckley and Bioolef Moor. Tthere a^ otter 
floating oral tradition^ connected with Bucklejf fiall, es^iaJly 
the tale of " Ihe Grehtle Shepherdess," embodying ihe roAantic 
adventures and unfortunate fate of a lady belonging to ihe 
femiiy of Buckley, of Buckley. And in this wide |yarisfe of 
fiochdale, ih the eastern iook of Lancashire,— once a country 
fertile in spots of lone and rural prettiness, and thinly inhabited 
by as quaint, hearty, and primitive a people as any in England, 
— ^thfere is many a pictdresque and storied dell ; som^ tales of 
historic interest ; and many an interesting legend connected 
with the country, or with the old femdlies of the parish ;-^the 
Byrons, of Butterworth HaB, b^OnS of Kocidale ;' the Ent- 
wisles, of f'oxholes ; the Crossleys, of ScaitcMe ; tiie Holts, of 
Stubley, Grislehurst, and Castleton : the Cleggs, of Clegg Hall, 
the scene of the tradition of " Clegg Ho' Boggart ;^' the 
feuckleys. Of Buckley; theMarlandS,0fMatlan4; theSowsrfds, 
of Great Howard; the Chadwicks, of Cliadwick Hall, and 
Healey Hall ; the Bamfords, of Bataiford ; the ScHofields, 6f 
Schofield ; the Butterwotths ; the Belfidds ; and miahy other 
femilies of ancient note,' often beiaring the names of their own 
eistates, in thfe old way. 

In this part of South Lancashire the traveller never nieefe* 
any ccjinsidetable extent of level land ; and, ihongh the hoimif 
contains gre^t moors, and some moe^j fei ih^e is nq\i gttcK 



TO THE TOP OF BLAGK6T0KE EDGE. 92^ 

anotHer eij)aiisive tract o^ level country to be found in it as tHat 
lonely grave of old loresfe, " Cha^ Moss," wmchi is crofesed by tte 
line or raflway from Slancliesier tp Liverpool l^uth-east Lan- 
cashire IS all picturesque up^ and downs, retired green noolus,' 
and ."guips and cranks and wanton wiles," and silent little' 
wuioing vaies, with etidlessi freaks of tiill and fdHocI:, linoK alnd 
dell, dingle and sliady cleft, laced with numerous small ffiream- 
leie ana clear nndles of babbling water, up to the iooi of thai 
wandering wilderness of moorland ^ hills, the . " Back-bone of 
England," which runs across the island, frotri -berbysfure into 
Scotland, and forms a considerable part of Ijancashire upon its 
way. lie piarigfi of Rochdale ^rtiy consists oif, and is bounded 
by, this tract of hills on the east aiid lidrth ; and what may be 
called the lowland part of the |)arish IbOKs, whei/ s6en from somd 
of the hills in tlixe iins(iediate neighbourhood, something like a 
green sea of tenipest-tossed meadows and pasture lands, upon 
which fleets of cotton mills ride at ancnor, their brick ma^ 
rising high mto the air, and their streamers of smoke waving in 
the wind. 

licaving the open part of the Idgh-road, op]j)osite Shaw 

House, and losing sight of Bucide;^, we Jf>^n to rise as we 

passed through Brictfield up to Smaflbridgfe. Tfiis village is 

seated on fih elevation^ sloping gently from the northed bimk 

of .the Rivet Roch, wtich rise continues sliglrtly through the 

village and up northward, with many a dip and frolic by the 

way, till it reaches the hills above Wardle Fold, where nature 

leaps up m a very wild and desolate mood. Some of the lonety 

heights thereabouts nave been beacon-stations in old times, knd 

their names in^ciate tlidr ancient uses, as " tfirct liill," above 

the village o^ Wardle. *' Jack th' Huntsman " used to declare' 

vetementiy ttat iferown "Watrdfe Hill was " th* fiiiest htating- 

greawnd V Lancashire." And theh^ there fk ^* I'oote^'s fiifl," 

" ttorriblowo^'s 6itf," and[ " Hade's Etifi." From the summit of 

the last the waters descend on one side to the Irish Sea,' on the 

west, on the otheip to the German Ocean, oh the east, 'the fe- 

maiiui of a large beacon are still visible on the top of it. Looking 



^& HIGHWAYS AND BYEWATS FROM BOCHDALB 

(Bouthwaid, from the edge of Smallbridge, the dale fiee green and 
fair in the hollow below, and the sQent little Boch winds through 
it towards Bochdale town. The yiew stretdies out seyeral 
miles beyond the opposite bank of the river, over the romantic 
township of Batterworth, up to the Saddleworth Hills. Green 
and picturesque, a country of dairy farms, producing matchleBB 
milk and butter ; yet the soil is evidently too cold and poor by 
nature, for the succeesfiil production — by the modes of agricul- 
ture at present practised in the district — of any kind of grain, 
except the hardy oat, and that crop mostly thin and light as an 
old man's hair. But even this extensive view over a beautiiiil 
scene, in other respects, lacks the charm which green woods lend 
to a landscape, for, except a few diminutive tufts and scattered 
patches, where young plantations struggle up, there are scarcely 
any trees. From Smallbridge, taking a south-east direction, 
up by " Tunshill," " Dolderum," " Longden End." and " Booth 
Pheyn," and over the Stanedge-road into the ravines of Saddle- 
worth, would be a long flight for the crow ; but to anybody who 
had to foot the road thither, it would prove a rougher peoe of 
work than it looks, and, before he had done it, he would not be 
likely to sneer at the idea of taking a guide, with a sufficient 
wallet of provision, for such a trip. The village of Smallbridge 
itself consists principally of one street, about half a mile long, 
lining the high road from Bochdale to LitUeborough. It wiU 
have a dull, uninteresting look to a person who knows noUiing 
previously of the place and its neighbourhood, nor of the curious 
generation dwelling thereabouts. Smallbridge has a very plain, 
hard-working, unpolished every-day look. No wandering artist, 
in search of romantic bits of village scenery, would halt en- 
chanted with Smallbridge. It has no architectural relic of the 
olden time in it, nor any very remarkable modem buflding— 
nothing which would tell a careless eye that it had been the 
homestead of many generations of Lancashire men. It consists 
chiefly of the brick-built cottages inhabited by weavers, colliers, 
and fJEkctory operatives, relieved by the new Episcopalian church, 
at the eastern end, the little pepper-box bell-turret of which 



TO THE TOP OF BLACKSTONE EDGE. 97 

peeps up over die houseas, as if to remind the rude denizens of the 
village of something higher than bacon collops and ale. About 
half a mile up the road which leads out of the centre of the vil- 
lage, northward, in the direction of Wardle Fold, stands a sub- 
stantial, plain-looking stone mansion, apparently about one 
hundred and fifty years old^ called " Great Howarth:" It 
stands upon a shapely knoll, the site of an older hall of the same 
name, and has pleasant slopes of green land about it, and a very 
wide prospect over hill and dale. Extensive alterations in the 
course of the last hundred years have removed most of the evi- 
dences of this placets age and importance ; but its situation, and 
the ancient outbuildings behind, and the fold of cottages 
nestling near to the western side of the hall, with peeping bits 
of stone foundation, of much older date than the building 
standing upon them ; the old wells, and the hue of the lands 
round about ; all show that it has been a place of greater note 
than it is at present. This Great Howarth, or Howard, is said 
to be the original settlement of the Howard family, the present 
Dukes of Norfolk. Some people in the neighbourhood also 
seem, to indicate this, for, as we entered SmaUbridge, we passed 
by " The Norfolk Anns," a little public-house. One Osbert 
Howard was rewarded by Henry I. (" Beauclerk ") for his 
£uthful services, with lands situate in the township of Honors- 
field, or Hundersfield, in the parish of Rochdale, also with what 
is oalled ^^ the dignified title of Master of the Buck Hounds." 
Bobertus Howard, Abbot of Stanlaw, was one of the four monks 
from this parish whose names appear among the list of the fra- 
ternity, at the time of their translation to Whalley. He died on 
the 10th of May, 1304. Dugdale, in his ^^ Baronage of Eng- 
land," says, respecting the Howards, Dukes of Norfolk : — "I do 
not make any mention thereof above the time of King Edward 
the First, some supposing that their common ancestor in the 
Saxon's time took his original appellation from an eminent office 
or command ; others, afterwards, from the name of a place." 
* * * "I shall therefore (after much fruitless search to 
satisfy myself, as well as others, on this point) begin with Wil- 



f6 HIGKWATtf AND BYEWAY6 FROM ROCHDALE 

hBasn Howiid^ a learned and reverend judge of the Couit of 
Cknunon Fleas, for a great part of King Edward the First's 
and b^inning of Edward the Second's time." So that 
there seems to be a p<)flSibi3ity of truth in the aasertion 
that Great Howard, or Howarth, near Smi^hfidge, was 
the origtnal settlement of the Howards, iuftceston of the 
Dukes o Korfolk. But I must leave the matter to those 
irho hava better and completer evidence than tMs. Aiken, 
in his ^^ History of Manchester," motions a diieM pes- 
tilenoef which severely afflicted that town about the year 
1645. A pestilence called the " Black Plague" rAged in the 
parish of Rochdale about the same time. ^^ The whole district 
being £lkd with dismay, none dared, from the country, to 
i^pproaoh the town, for fear of catching the contagion ; there- 
IbrSi to remedy, as much as pomble, the inconveniences of non- 
inteitouxBe betweeti the country and town's people, the pro- 
prietor of Great Howartih directed a cross to be raised oin a 
certain part of his estate, near to Black Lane End, at Small- 
bridge, ftnr the purpose of holding a temporluy market there, 
duriag ike continuance of the plague." Thence originated 
«« Howarth Cross," so named to this day ; also, the old ^' Milk 
Stones," or ^^ Plague Stones," latdy standing at about a mile's 
distance lirom the town of Rochdale, upon the ohl roads. I well 
remember two of ^tmes whidi were large heavy flag-stones, 
with oiia end imbedded in the hedge side, and the other end 
•upported upon rude stone piilars. One of these two wais in 
^^ Milk Stone Lane," leading towards Oldham, and l^e other at 
*^ l^arth," about a mile on the Manchester road. This last of 
these old ^^ Milk Stones," or "Plague Stones," was recently 
taken dolm. I find that similar stones were erected in the out- 
lets of Manchester, for the same purpose, during the pestQence, 
about 1646. The village of Smallbridge itself, as I have said 
before, has not much either of modem grace or antique interest 
about its outward appearance. But, in the secluded folds and 
oonwniof the country around, there is many a quaint farmstead 
of the seventeenth century, or earlier, such as Wateritxyuse, 



TO THB TOP OF BLACKSTOKE IBDOIS, M 

Aflhbrook Hey, Howarth Kiiowl, Little Howarth, Dearntey, 
Mabroyd, Wuerdle, Little Clegg, Clegg Hall (the haunt of the 
famous ^^ Clegg Ho' Boggart^^^), Wardle Fold, near Wardle 
Hall, "wtA fifty yeaiK idnce only a tonall tSequeBtered cluito of 
rough ttone hotiises, at the foot of the moorland hei^hhi, on the 
nortiH, and about % mile from Smallbrldge. It hail thtireH coki*- 
fdderably by mantdkcture «ant» then. In sonie of theHfB old 
settl^neftls there are houdes whEre the door is iltili opened from 
without by a " sneck-baAt^^' xk " finger-hole." Some of these 
M. houftea hkvt been Ultle changed for two or tiured centurites ; 
around othM a little modem addition had ^thet<ed in the courte 
of time ; but the oM way of living and thinkiiig lihgera in 
theiie remote oomdre still, like little standing p06Ur, Idft by tte 
genert^ tidie of ancient nianhets, which has gc^e do%n, fttfd is 
becoilkiin^ matter of hlfttory or of remembrance. There;, afid !& 
the i^ill i^re lonely detached dweUingS a&d ficAft, %hli& He^ 
k^atteftd i^ong the bleak bilk and silen^b cMgh^ of tiie 
" Edge," they cling to the S^jeech, and ways, and su^^erfttitions, 
find prejudSiceS, and pastimes of their *^ rtide fot^thett of the 
hamlet." A tadbe of hardy, indttstrious, old-^lshiOned, simplb- 
hesorted folk, wliOse pruidpal foar ia poverty and *^ bdggarts.*' 
They still gather round the fire in comm, where &ctories haiho 
not yet I'eached them, in the gray gloaming, and on dasrk 'iA^iM 
in winte):, to Ibed thdr untutored imaginations with Scraps of 
old legend, aM tales Of the local boggarts, fairies, and ^^ foexxdn," 
that hauti^ their Mtire hilh, and delis, and streams; ahd ^ey 
look forwaiti with joy to tile andeAt festivals of the y^ as 
the pHncipal x^Hefii Of their louely round of toil. But JSmaH- 
bridge had oilier Intereats for tte bestded those ariiring out of its 
remote suiTOtk^^dSng'iiooks and population. W« had known the 
village ever since the time when a tambleflo ihr Out fsMt Roch- 
dale leemiod ah adventuiy>u8 fieat for tiny legs, txuSb, as 1f« patt ed 
each WeU-veiUembttnod spbt, the flood*gatefi of inismory itreve 
throim opeUL, ind a Whole tidb of ebrly i<eA±kii96enoes eatte 
flowing over the mind : — , 

o2 



100 HIGHWAYS AND BYEWAYS FROM ROCHDALE 

'* Floating by me MemB 
Hy childhood, in this childishnefla of mine : 
I care not — ^*tia a glimpse of ' Auld lang syne/ " 

The inhabitants of different Lancashire towns and villages 
have often some generic epithet attached to them, supposed to 
be expressive of their character; as, for the inhabitants of 
Oldham and Bolton, ^^ Owdham Rough Teds," and '^ Bowton 
Trotters ; " and the people of Smallbridge are known throughout 
the vale by the name of ^^ Smo^bridge Cossacks." Within the 
last twenty years the inhalntants of the village have increased 
in number, and visibly improved in general education and 
manners. Before that time the place was notable for its rugged 
ignorant people ; even in a district generally remarkable for an 
old-world breed of men and manners. Their misdemeanours 
arose more from exuberant vigour of heart and body, than from 
natural moral debasement. Twenty years since there was no 
church in Smallbridge, no poHce to keep its rude people in 
Orderly trim, no very effective school of any sort. The working 
weavers and colliers had the place almost to themselves in those 
days. They worked hard, and ate and drank as plentifrifiy as 
their earnings would afford, especially on holidays, or* ^red- 
letter days ; " and, at by-times they clustered together in their 
cottages, but ofbener at the road side, or in some favourite ale- 
house, and solaced their fatigue with such scraps of news and 
politics as reached them; or by pithy, idiomatic bursts of 
coimtry humour and old songs. Sometimes these were choice 
snatches of the ballads of Britain, really beautiful, '^ Minstrel 
memories of times gone by ;" such as, unfortunately, we seldom 
hear now, and still seldomer hear sung with the feeling and 
natural taste which the country lasses of* Lancashire put into 
them while chanting at their work. Some of Bums^s songs, 
afid many songs commemorating the wars of England, were 
great favourites with them. Passing by a country alehouse, one 
would often hear a rude ditty like the fdlowing, sounding loud 
and clear from the inside : — 



TO THE TOP OF BLACKSTONE EDGE. 101 

** You generala all, and obampions bold, 

WSo toke delight Vih field ; 
Who knoek down palaces and castle walls, 

And never like to yield; 
I am an Englishman by birth, 

And Marlbro' is my name. 
In Devonshire I first drew breath ; 

That place of noble fame." 

Or this finishing couplet of another old ballad : — 

'' To hear the drums and the trumpets sound, 
In the wars of High Garmanie ! '* 

I well remember that the following were among their fEtvonrites : 
— " Oh, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi' me ? ". " Jockey to the Fair," 
" Old Towler," " The Banks of the Dee," " Black Eyed Susan," 
" Highland Mary," " The Dawning of the Day," " The Garden 
Gate," and "The Woodpecker." There are, also, a few rough, 
humorous songs in the Lancashire dialect, which are very com- 
mon among them. The best of these are the rudely-character- 
istic ballad called " Jone o^ Greenfelt," and " The Songs of the 
Wilsons," of which the following, known by the name of 
" Johnny Green's Wedding," and "Description of Manchester 
College,^' by Alexander Wilson, is sufficient to show the man- 
ner, and characteristics of the remainder of these popular local 

I 

songs: — 

'* Keaw lads, wheer are yo beawn so fast? 
Yo happun ha no yerd what's past : 
Aw gettnn wed sin aw'r here th' last, 

Just three week sin oome Sunday. 
Aw ax*d th' owd folk, an aw wur reet, 
So Nan an me agreed tat neet, 
At iy we eould mak boath eends meet, 

We'd be wed o' Ayster Monday. 

''That mom', as prim as pewter quarts, 
Aw th' wenches ooom, an browt t' sweethearts; 
Aw fund we*ie loike to ha' three earts,— 

Twur thrunk as Eooles wakes, mon; 
We donn*d eawr tits i' ribbins to, — 
One red, one green, an tone wur blue; 
So hey I lads, hey I away we flew, 
Loike a raee for th* Ledger stakes, mon. 



" B«igKt mevfUy w« dvoret f oU b«t ; 
An eh I ]ie«w J)al(e&alM»biiiiV|kt; 
Owd Oriislo wv io Ii^^tbi «ii liftty 

Fro' Boide to ■oide lioo Jqw'4 wn : 
Beawn WiUiT GroTe %i w V4l ooob^ 
An stopt at W 3«ven 3ton taj gwii» 
An dninX a» mi«k wann ala an rniOy 

As 'nd dreawA o' th' loft i' wdkup. 

<< Wlifli) th,' shot wqr paid, an W driok imr do^e, 
Vy IBennel-atieat, tia tti* ehnMh f»r f^iii 
We doaneed loike morris-doanoen dun, 

To th' iM^t o' aw mj knowledge; 
80 tV Job wur done, 1* hanve a crack ; 
Boh eh ! what fun to get th* firet smack, 
Bo neawy my lads, 'fore we gwon back, 

&%r4 %w, <' W^% ^\ 9i% &' Ooflflge.* 

** We see'd a dook-case flfst, good laws ! 
Where BecA atonda np wi^ gveat Inng olawi; 
Hia^s, an wing% an laate^ jawa^ 

They really lookH quite f^rink. 
Vheie*a snakea an watehhlljls, just lika pikesy 

tt Hunt an 9W tk* fff^rmxi* tikes, 
a thee, an me^ an Bam 0* Hikes, 
OifOf took a Uankatefriak* 

** BhI loijos days, booath ihr an woide, 
Sheet's yuds 0* hoaks at every stsoidfly 
fro* top to bisthnBi. eea^ 93^ aoi^e, 

Dioh pleoks tiiere*s very lew so : 
Aw azi him iv thoy wnr'a to aelly 
V or Nan loikes readink vast^ well ; 
Boh th' measter wnr eawt, so he could naw tell, 

Or aw*d a bowt her Robinson Cmsoe. 

^ ThM9*t a trniapet qieyU an mska a din, 
An a ihntQ 0* elooai nia^Q Q* ti% 
For folk to go a Isiffhtink in, 

Jnat like thoose da^ 0* Boney'f ^ 
An theer*s a tabl^ carved 90 ^ueec, 
Wi' as xi^ony planks as dc^a i^th ^ar, 
An Qrinkum^cranknma hevs an theer, 

Like tb' cilpQAft-pfesa at my gfoyany's. 

t( Tbsor's Oliver Onunill's bombs an baUs, 
An Frenchmen's gnns they'd tean i' C|g[ualls, 
An swords, ^ lunk as me, 0' th' wal^, 

An bows an arrows too, mon : 
Aw didna moind his fearfo words^ 
Nor skeletons o' men an burds; 
Boh aw fiiir hate th' seel o' greyt lang swords, 
8in tV feigh^ at Peterloo, m09. 



¥0 THE TO^ OF BLACKSTOKE £]>0K« 10$ 

'* W« we'd ft woo4ra eofik UlkewiM ; 
Boh dan jif it, mon^ these college boySj^ 
Tbej teU*ii a paek o* atariii' loiea, 

M awe a» ieaw*ft « iwiMir ; 
' That coekijrheii it amella roaat baef| 'U crow*' 
Bays he; *Boh,* aw said, <teaw lies, aw hnoWy 
Ab HiW «9ii pnxTt H plainly ao, 
4.w*Te a p^wnd i* my hat ^r th' diUmff.* 

« Boh ih* hatnr 9iP« M iBi08f4 vj thowt. 
An th* doi^ fair craokt by.th* thnnner bowt. 
An th* woman noaiher lawmt nor nowt, 

Theaw ne*«r seed huhe ain t'nr boniy i«»n* 
Theer*d eroeodiles, an things, indeed, 
Aw eebnra, aak, ahap, aiie, an breed ; 
An if aw inoot tell toan hauTO aw Bee*d, 
We moot sit an smook till morn, mon. 

** Then deawn Lang Millgata we did ateer, 
To owd Hike Wilson's goods-shop theer, 
To bey eawr Nan a rockink eheer, 
An pott, an spoons, an ladles : 
Nan bowt a glass for lookink in, 
A tin Bntoh o'on Ibr eookink in ; 
Aw bowt a 9heer for ainookink in, 
An Nan axed th* price o* th* cradlei. 

^« Then th* fiddler atmok np ' Th* Eoi^ey Hwmj,* 
An off we set for Qwdam soon { 
We made owd Qrisak trot to th - tiuMy 

IQyery yard q* th* way, mon. 
At nee^ oytch lad an bonny lass, 
Laws 1 heftw they doana'4 «n drank theb ffitm^ 
So toyrt wnr Nan an me, b^jr th* maaa, 
At we lee till twelve th* next di^, mon.*' 

Whenk tbe Koqrn sounded to gather tlpia lugnri^p^ or ^ '^ f^dt 
icoart dogs,** tbe weayer lads used to let go their *>pickin.*"|gi9gfib** 
ToQ up theiri^oDa, a^d |<;d]ow tbe i^kiam itfoot, i^t|^ a^^e^eell 
relish of their fore&thera, ret\;gn;iii^{ hungry, tired, ^pd plemA 
at xvight, to rele4;e the adreutures of the day. Son^etimefi tih<g^ 
lialUedfrom thevillajKe, iu joTial coznpaiuefih «tteaded by oue or 
mm of th<^r e^uanpiona, to baye 9, driiikiug-bout, 1^^ QhaQfing<e 
'^ tb* ooc^ o^ th* qlod^' in some neighbouring ban^t. S^qI| 
expeditiona often led to a aeries of single oombi^ts, in whiob riKk 
bodily strength and pluck -vrere the principal elenle^18 of suq- 
<;;68S ; sometimes a general melee^, or ^^ Welsh n^on,^' took place ; 
often ending in painful journies, -with broken bpnes, over thf 



104 HIGHWAYS AKD SYEWAYS FROM ItOCHOALi: 

moors, to the ^^WMtwortli Doctors/* As fiir as rough, sp(»rt6 
and rongh manners went, ^^thedule*' seemed to hare "thrut 
his cluV specially over ^nallbridge in those days. That man 
was lucky who could walk through .the Tillage without 
being assaulted by something more inoonyenient than more 
looks of ignorant wonder, and a hearty pelting of coarse jokes; 
especially if he happened to wear the appearance of a ^^ teawn^n 
buck." They had a kind of contempt for ^^teawn^s.folk,*' as 
an inferior race, especially in body. If town's people had m<»re 
iuteUigence th^n Common L the countryfZe villagers 
often affected to consider it a knavish cleverness ; and if they 
seemed externally clean, they looked upon it as an hypocritical 
concealment of the filth beneath. If they were well dressed, the 
old prevailing doubt arose, as to its being ^^ o* paid for ; " and 
if one appeared among them who had no settled home or con- 
nections, and whose demeanour they did not like, he had ^^ done 
Bummat wrang somewheer, or elze he'd ne'er ha' bin o' that 
shap." In fSftct, it was hardly possible for people bred in a town 
to be as clean, strong, or honest, as those bred iii the country. 
Town's folk had nothing wholesome about than; they were "o' 
ofial an' bhoyUn-pieces." When they visited Manchester, or any 
of the great towns about, they generally took a supply of eata- 
bles with them for the journey; "coud frog-i'-th'-hole puddin," 
or ^^fayberry cake," or *^ sodden moufin an' cheese," at saeh 
like homely buttery-stuff; for if they had occasion to enter any 
strange house in such places, to satisfy their hunger, they often 
ate with a jealous anxiety about the authenticity of the animal 
they were feeding upon, every mouthful went down among pain- 
ful speculations as to what the quadruped was when alive, and 
what particular reason it had for departing ' this life. ^ Bums 
alludes affectionately to ^Hhe halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's 
food ; " and oatmeal porridge, tmd oat-cake,' enter largely into 
the diet of country people in this part of Lancashire. They 
used to pride themselves in the name of ^* the Havercake Lads." 
A regiment raised in Lancashire during the last' war bore this 
name. This oat-cake i& baked upon a peculiar kind of stone 



to THE TOP Of filAOKStOXB EDOfi. 105 

slab, called a ^^ back-stone ; " and the cry of ^^ Havercake Back- 
stones^* is a familiar sound in Rochdale, and the villages around 
it, at this day. Oatmeal porridge forms an important element 
of a genuine Lancashire breakfast in the country. I have often 
noticed the air of satisfaction with which a Lancashire house- 
wife haa filled up the great breakfast bowl witli hot, weU-boiled 
oatmeal porridge, and, clapping the pan on the floor, said, 
*^ Theer, lads, pultiz yo^r stomachs wi* thoose !'^ And the hun- 
gry, hearty youngsters have gathered hastily round their old 
dish, welcoming it with the joyous ejaculation of " That's th' 
mak' P* The thick unleavened oat-cake, called " Jannock," is 
scarcely ever seen in South-east Lancashire-now ; but it used to 
be highly esteemed. The common expression, ^^ That's noan 
Jannock,'* applied to anything which is not what it ought to 
be, commemorates the fame of this wholesome old cake of theirs. 
But they have no inclination to an exclusively vegetarian diet ; 
in flEuH), tkey generally express a decided relish for ^^smnmat at'S 
deed ov a knife; " and, like their ancient progenitors, the Saxons, 
they naturally prefer heavy meals, and long draughts, to any 
kind of light epicurean nicety. 

There are many old prejudices and overdone jealousies still 
cherished by the country people of South-east Lancashire, as is 
their old belief in witches, witch-doctors, and '^ Planet-rulers ;" 
but they are declining, through increasing communion with the 
rest of the world. And then these things show only the unfavour- 
able side of their character ; for they are hospitable, open-handed, 
frank, and benevolent by nature. How oft have I seen them 
vehemently defend the downcast and the stranger ; or shut up 
ungenerous suspicions, and open all the sluices of their native 
kindness by the simple expression, ^^He's somebody's chylt!" 

*^ Owd Roddle" is a broken-down village ftiddler, in SmaU- 
bridge ; perpetually racking his brains about ^' another gill." 
His appearance is more that of an Indian Fakeer than an 
English country gentleman. He is as *^ concayted as a whisket" 
in, some things, but not in eating or drinking; for he will 
" seawk lamp-hoyle through a bacco-pipe iv onybody '11 give 



him 9k dioight q* ale to wesh it deawu wi' ; an^ aa. £;»? heytin\ 
WU heyt moii^ t]ung — dh^od or i4iv9--4Y bi^ ooql get bis 
t^fitti iii^tQi't." A nat^Ye of SiuaU};«icigo ^^i^ed, l«iM]r« ^luit 
^^ Bocldl^^^ did lor bis Uvix^^ aud be repU^d, ^^ YTbai^r, b«i ifheels 
coator and trwUi ab^lft yrV Jm c^ogs loco, aot^ spay^s a Ib^' oy 
biflBol^ to ale." Yet utt^ly bifit i« £od(Qe i9 bvoofself in jf^mm 
and hahi^ be is Btvon^^y imbued with the ojid pap^lndi^eB ^i^pauiist 
to^m'a peqple. To bi^t the whitest linen wof^ by f| t<9W3iMis#n, 
19 only what the conntify kSk calj a " Ereneb WWte." A weU- 
dfesaad peraon from Boebdale chigaoed one d^y, unwitt^ngfy, to 
awaken ^^ ]|ftodd(eV' iroi who, eyeing bim fixon hei4 to lcK>tt 
witb a criUeai ineer^ eajAt ^^ Shap off whoam, m £^ ^ tbo^oon, 
an* get tat buff pburt aoe^vir'ta bit, viHo ; an^ thy skin aa^ o' ; 
fojp theawr't "wiek wi' Yanpoin ; an* keep, o' tby own clod, wbo^ 
tbo con turn eawt sgib^ bit bke.** ^^9^t,*' ^o^tinued mj 
informant, *'*• awhn a bit partial to th* off&l diYul lor o* tbf^t ; be^ 
190 n^nob §ffm in himi an4 f^w bke a ^ i' <c^ heart I £b S he 
used to be i» bmber i# a trei^wt when be*te yon^g; l^t no^kW 
be^saawambl^an'alampaBaba^T^w^ o' y^aj^w^K Hh} 
tother momin' aw walked up to bi^ to ^. bit pY % cn^ e^t 
nml, but tb* pwd led l^ getting Im toppin out off elqii^tehis 
yed ; an' be wi^er*t an' etare't lil^e a twiebelt dog ; soot* ipran 
at mo, bke mad, Aw're £oie't to dray back a btt» at tb* fUnsft, 
be glooart so ^ayiKune. IVre yefy froeity, an' bf) e'en l^eked 
white and wild) an' aa geawlH as a whelp. lYtbe4^1^pet 
Boddle at th' turn oy a lone ti^^t momiii' l^ie'd % fiitpriked hiaser 
eawt oy bU wite, s^' gwon deawn again. Ir n^ew^t^er sa^^oee 
me eomeiim^ fgor taJkin' to Qod^ t but aw o^ teV bi^ at 
aw^ baYe a wqrt wi' tb' poor owd twod when aw ¥)^^ Un o^ 
what onobody m^s." 

"Piere is a n^ ofbeveditary saj^-seUers, or ^^ sCKnd-lpa^kers," 
in SmaUbridge ; a rongb, uncouth, mountaineer bi^ee^i who Uyo 
by orusbing sandstgo^e rock into powder, for a^e in the town qi 
!E^Qchdale, and the YiUages about it. This sand is used hr 
strewing uj^on the flagged house floors, when the floor is d<sm 
we^^ ; a^d while it is yet damp, the sand is ground over it by 



to tm TOP OJ? BLACKBTOiHi: SIK»S. 167 

th$i HQptioA of ^ }myj ^^ soourisg-stoQ,^^ to. wtacih % V^^t 
■^tro^flk wpfpd^ li^db h ^rply fixed, b; l)$iiig fidsten^d to f^ 
iq^A 9li^Tr, 1^^ fic^PI ^«( stgoiQ) ^nd Uk imbsdkM into it ^j; 
xQolt^ Jfi^. The motlQia of th^ ^^ cicoiiin^gHitpK^^* ifP^i^ t^ 
%09 i«to vaooi^a w, ai[id l^y^ «n onaam^tat wt^ten^as on 
the flopr w^ it gets dry ^ it br^^ di;v^tt ^^^(V^t ^ ^W^ 
n^ecit^ )abcw% The people wh^ knock thi» sa^d 9^ a^ it, 
have beea k%<ckwn oy&( the ooiwtrj «d^ fair m^ yea!(i(|P7 1^ 
iiaEo^. of *' Th' Kitt€iiFS," %ii4 ^e commoa local pwwfh, " W^'if 
o' OY a KtteT) like ^tteiE^ pig)^" ^ wie4 ii^ SDaaUbn^ge^ m m 
63(pre^on of MeQdahip or of kinship^ ^d ai^ ^oGptable eu* 
cowr^went. A^ regular 9^ Satm^y vioru:^ W^ t|^ ma^t 
oartB i^ to come |a^o Bochdp^ beayily ladeii i and | i^^i^eiaber 
that they w^e oft^a di^wA by l^oraes wbichi ^^ ^e steed of 
the fyazy g^tt^xQ^ of Spaw^ were '^many con*w«d»" a^di^ 
g^erally iU-coE^ditioaed*, 9XLd in ^ditiaa to that, ^KxmQti^ice 
afiS^i^^^ \S ^^^ ^ ^^^ ^^^^ B^0U9 ills which hoise^^^ iff 
l^ei?: to. Hiey haYe h^teir h9(i»es aow, X heUeYe, ^d they are 
bett^ m^. T^ ti^i]^ of attfop^danta i^hich \is^9(lljr aocop^p^A^ 
thea^ aa^dre%r^ into tt^ town i^as of 9 ci^ous deipnptioii, 
Qaid^i b#'a^fK5^edi biiX>i|m*^ed drivOT, |^sft^r«Jly dressed i(| 
atr^g f v>sticij(i, which, ^ h^T^lj plated with pat^es m partici^^ 
quartara, wa^^tiU vm^lj whol?, hut ahnoat always well ^oanled, 
a9d soiled wii^ tiie blend^ gttona of sand, and spilt ala» and 
bacon f^t> Wth cl^nusily stitched rips visible b^^e and ttoe, Th^ 
who^ b^ii^g akiad of tapestried chronicleof tha wea^^S way ^ 
liying, his work, bis fights^ foddleai and feasts. Tb^n they wer^ 
often barebea^ed, with their breeches ties flawipg loose at the 
kneesi aad tbe $dart. n^ wid^ op^t 4i»phQri9g a bro^d, hairy, 
weath^-rbeatei^ chest ; and th^ jovial-lac^, Dutch-built woi^eu 
toot in bli^^e lift fpfona, bj[u^ ^ooll^ b^gowns, ax^ di^kere^ 
shq^ ; ^j^id wi^ rouft^t wooden, peck a^d 1^-peck me^i^ea 
tHokfdun4^thcaramK ready for '^b^wpuths" and ^^p^onutha.'* 
Aj| tb^ qar^ w€$^t a^w^ i^gi tbe women went fsQjioL bouse to 
hoHS0, on ^sfik side of the xqb^ au^n h^g one h^ upon ^ 
^f^ Qh^, lookod in with tbe old fawli*r pquiry, *^ Pun yo^ 



106 HIGBCWAYS AKD BYfiWAYS FROM ItOCHl>AL£ 

want ony Bond this momin'?" *^Hah, yomaylhyeY a haw-* 
puth. Put it i' this can/* When they came to an old coatomer 
and acquaintance, sometimeB a short converaation would follow 
in a strain such as this, ^^ Well, an heaw are yo, owd craythur ? "* 
^^ Whan, aw'm noan as aw should be by a dhyeL Aw can heyt 
naut mon, an' aw oonnut tay my wynt." " Aw dunnot wander 
at tat ; yo'n so mich reeeh abeawt here. If yo'm up at th' 
Smo'bridge, yo'dd*nbe fit to heyt yirth-bobs an' scaplins, welly. 
Mon, th' wynt's chlyen up theer, an' there's plenty on't, an' wi' 
can help irsels to't when welike'n. Wi'n you come up o' aeeta* 
us? " " Eh, never name it I Aw's ne'er get eawt o' this hole 
till aw'm carried eawt th' feet foremost ! " " Come, wi'n ha' noan 
o' that mak o' talk I Aw'd as lief as a keaw-price at yo'dd'n 
come. Yo'n be welcome to th' best wi' ha'n, an wi'n may yo 
comfortable beside ; an' bring yo deawn again i'th cart. But ir 
Jem's gwon forrud wi'th sond. Let's see ; did'n yo gi' mo W 
hawp'ny? * * * Oh, hah! It'll be reet! Neaw tay care 
o' yorsel', and keep yo'r heart eawt o' yo'r clogs ! " When the 
cart came to a rut, or a rise in the road, all hands were sum- 
moned to the push, except one, who tugged and thumped at the 
horse, and another, who seized the spokes of the wheel, and, 
with set teeth and strained limbs, lent his aid to the '^ parl^ of 
progress" in that way. Sometimes a sturdy skulker would 
follow the ciurt, to help to push, and to serve out sand, but more 
for a share of the fim, and the pile of boiled brisket and cheese 
an' " moufin," lapt in a clout, and stowed away in the cart- 
box at starting, to be washed down with ^^ bally-droighta" of 
cold fonrpenny at some favourite ^^ co'in-shop" on the road. 

The old custom of distinguishing persons by Chriatian names 
alone, prevails generally in Smallbridge, as in all country psrts 
of Lancashire, more or less. It sometimes happens, in siuall 
country villages like this, that there are people almost unknown, 
even among their own neighbours, by their surnames. Boby 
gives an instance of this kind in his " Traditions of Lancashire," 
where he mentions a woman, then living in the village of Whit- 
worth, for whom it would be useless to inquire there by her 



TO THK TOP OF BLACKSTOKE EDGE. 109 

proper name ; but anybody in the village could have instantly 
directed you to " Susy o'Yem's o' FairoflTs, at th' top o' th' 
Rake," by which name she was intimately known. Individuals 
are often met, whose surnames have ahnost dropt into oblivion 
by disuse, and who have been principally distinguished through 
life by the name of their residence, or some epithet, descriptive 
of a remarkable personal peculiarity, or some notable incident 
in their lives. Such names as the following, which will be re- 
cognised in their locatity, are constantly met, and the list of 
them might be authentically extended to any desirable degree : 
— « Tom's o' Charles o' BiUy's," or " Red Turn," " Bridfuut," 
" Corker," " Owd Fourpenny," " Turn o' Meawlo's," " Ranti- 
pow," and " Ah 6* Finder's," who fought a battle in the middle 
of the river Boch, at a great bull-bait in Rochdale, more than 
thirty years ago ; "Bull Robin," " Jone o' Muzden's," " Owd 
Moreover, V and " Bonny Meawth." This last reminds me of 
the report of a young villager, near Smallbridge, respecting the 
size of the people's mouths in a neighbouring district. " Thi'n 
th' bigg'st meawths i' yon country," said he, " at ever aw seed 
clapt under a lip I Aw hove one on 'em his yure up, to see if 
his meawth went o' reawnd ; but he knockt mo into th' slutch." 
Many of these quaint names rise in my memory as I write : 
" Owd Dragon," " Paul o' Bill's," " Plunge," " Ben o' Robin's 
o' Bob's o' th' Brid-stuflBers, o' Buersil Yed," " CoUop," 
"Tolloll," ^'PrattyStrider," "Lither Dick," and "Reawnt 

Legs,"- 

^ Beawnt Legs he wnr a caiinin* owd twod. 
He made a mole draw a four-horse Iwod." 

And then there was " Johnny Baa Lamb," a noted character in 
Rochdale twelve years ago. He was low in stature, rather 
stout, and very knock-knee'd ; and his face was one paradise 
of never-fading ale-bloesoms. Johnny's life was spent in 
hdinng about the slaughter-houses, and roaming from ale- 
house to alehouse, where, between his comical appearance, his 
drunken humour, his imitations of the tones of sheep, lambs, 
and oth^ animals, and his old song, — 



i 



116 HIOHWAYS JUm BYEWAYS FllOM KOCRDALE 

** Tb« Inoii aftd th« mare, 
Fkw «p in the sir, 
An* AW think avr see 'em yet, yet, yet;**— 

the chorus of which he asaisted by clattering m great pok^ on 
the hearth, he was a general favouritei and k^t himself afloat 
in ale — the staple of hia ambition-^by beii^ the butt of every 
tt^-room, where hia memory itemains embarmed. Th^e was 
^^Barfdut Sam," a carter, who never would wear any foot- 
gear ; " Ab o' Blender's," " Broth," " Sthymi," " Scutdier," 
'''• Peawch," and ^^ Dick-in-a-Minnit;" Most of tiiese were as 
well known as the church dock. And then there was ^' Daunt 
o' Peggy's," "Bronner," "Shin 'em," "AyU o* Joe's o' Bet's 
o' Owd BuMiut's," and ''Fidkr Bill^" who is mentioned in 
the Lancashire song^ '" Hopper hop't eawt, an' Limper limp't 
in,"— 

" Then aw weat t5 th* Fisel'a Arus to taste ai their ale ; 
They tnp'n it ao faat it never ffwoS stale ! 
An' trhett aw*d set deawn, an*^getten a ^11^ 
Who should eoraa ih boh Fidler Bill. 

HJB ramMes abeiwt throa{ph boroughs an' teawns^ 
A* sellin folk op as boh Ow'n a few peawnds ;" 

and, then, tfaeta was " Jone o' IsaAc's," the mowei^, " Phey- 
swad," and " Bedflodc," who sowed blendspioe in hid garden 
fi)r partd^^seed; and "Owd Tet, i' Crobk," an ami&Me and 
aged country woman, who lately lived in ^ remote cokner of 
the mOors, above Smallbridge, and whooe intetided huiiband 
dying when she was young, she took it deeply to heart. On 
being pressed to accept the hand of a neighbour, irho knew her 
excellent qualities, she at last consented, asstbing him, however, 
that her heart was gohe, and all that she <50ttld promise hiih was 
thittshe couki " i^in, an' be gtadely ;" whidi saying has b^eofbe 
a local prorerb. In the Forest of Rossendale I have met with 
A few names of more carious structitfe th4n ev^ ft&y t^ the 
pl^otts ones, sndi as '' Eb o' Peg's o' Puddfh' Jine'ii," *^ Bet 
o' Owd Hany'ft 0' Nathan'^ at 1^' Change,*^ '' Enodi o' JTem'^ 0' 
Rulchot'i up at th' Nook," " Harry 0' Mon John'ii," ** Ormerod , 
o' Jem's o' Bob's," and " Henry o' Ann's o' Hanry'i o' MiUey's ^ 



to /THE to? 6T BtA^KStOKE E^E. Ill 

o' Ruchot's o' J6lm*fl o' Dick's, thiough th* ginilel, ah^ up th' 
steps^ an' o'er Joseph's o' JcAm^B o' Steen's^" wiiich mtiwr eadiara- 
ordinary CK^otiien waa given to me by a gentleman, living 
near Newchnrck) as authentic, and wdl-known in a neighbouring 
date. In a ville^, n«a:r B6ltott, t^ere w^ a few y^ard 6iJic6, 
a kttor«-camert who bad so long been eisclu»vely known by a 
tddmai£L^ that h6 had transiently forgotten hSft pttfpet naihe. 
By an uncommon diance^ however^ he once received a letter 
^Greeted to hboiia^, bat not x^memberfng tlie owtie^, ^ any- 
body of that name, he earned the letter in his pocket for several 
dayis iill he happen^ to m&^ with a ^rewd oM vOlag^ one 
day^ whom his neighbours looked upon as ^^ larht up, '^ and able 
to ^bin Btetything — ftom ale, bull-dogs, and politics, to the 
geography of the moon and the mystenes of theology. The 
jpostmaii {Ao%M his letter to iSt^ Ddf^c ^^Uager^ intuiting 
wheti^er Ibe ^ew anybody of that name. Tbe old man looked 
ah inatbht, then^ giving Iho other a l^ump, he said, with a 
laugh, ^^Ithea foo', it^s thyselM^' t have heaitd of many an 
in^taivce in diflbrent parts of Laneashire, whwe mmd generic 
" John Smith," after being sought after in vaJk for a while 
haa be6n at last discovi^^ concealed under some such guise as 
''IfonJaek," "Plunge," "Nukkin," or "Bump^." Ire- 
member an did student of the Pcntateufc^, in Bochdale, who 
used to take considerable paiBs in trying to drill sundry poor 
lads into a knowle(%e of the Holy ScriptureB. The early part 
of the Bible was hi9 fsivourite theme, and he interlarded his 
conversation with it to such a degree, that he won for himself 
the very distinguished title of " Th' Five Books o' iskoses." 

In Collier's tale of " Tummus and Meaiyi" he illustrates the 
personal nomenclature of these parts, in his own time, by the 
following passage, which, though it may appear very extra- 
ordinary in the eyes of people dwelling in the great cities and 
populous places of the south of !Elngland, yet does not exaggerate 
the actual custom of naming at present prevailing in the remoter 
parts of the county of Lancaster :-« 



112 HIGHWAYS AND BY£WAYS F&OM ROCHDALE 

" Meary, Trae, Tomnuia ; no marvel at o' wnr so flayed ; it war bo fearfu 
dark. 

TSummus, Heawe*er, aw resoW't mayth best on*ty an up speek aw,-~ 
'Whooaa tat?* A lad*s yhoyee answer't in a cryin din, *Eh, law ; dvn- 
nah ta meh.* ' Naw/ said aw, * aw*ll na tay the, belady I Whooas lad art 
to ? * ' Wbau/ said he, 'aw'm Jone o' Lairs o* Simmy's, o' Mariom's o' 
Dick's o' Nathan's, o'Lall's o' Simmy's i'th Hooms; an' aw'm gooin' 
whoam.' < Odd,' thinks aw't mysel', * theaw's a dree-er name ti'n me.' 
An here, Meary, aw oooldn't boh think what lung names some bn ni 
han ; for thiae and mine are meeterly ; boh this lad's wnr so mich drae-er, 
at aw thowt it doekt mine tone hawye. 

Meary, Preo, na; tell meh ha these Inngf names leet'n. 
. Tummtis, Urn— m ; lemme see. Aw oonno tell tho greadly; boh aw 
think it's to tell folk by. 

Meary, Well, an hea did'n he go on with him? 

Tummtu, Then (as aw thowt he talkt so awkertly) aw*d ash him for th' 
wonst, whatuncnths he yerd atnrrin'. 'Aw yo noon,' said he, 'but at Jack 
o' Ned's towd mo, at Sam o' Jack's o* Ted's Marler has wed Mall o' Nan's 
o' Sal's o' Peg's, at gas abeawt o' beggin' cham-milk, with a pitcher, 
with a lid on.' Then aw asht him wheer Jack o' Ned's wooant. Says 
he, * He's 'prentiee weh Isaac o' Tim's o* Nick's o'th Hoagh-lone, an' he'd 
bin at Jammy's o' George's o' Peter's i'th Dingles, for hawre a peawnd o' 
traycle to seaws'n a beest-puddin' weh ; an' his feyther an' moother wooan 
at Bossenda; boh his ffronny's aliye, an wooans weh his noant Hargeiy, 
eh Qrinfilt. at pleck wheer his noan moother ooom fro.' * Good lad,' says 
aw, * boh heaw far's tis Littlebrough ofl*, for aw aim't see it to-neet iy he 
con hit.' Says f lad, * If s abeawt a mile; an* yo mon keep straight fwrnd 
o'yor lift hont, as yoan happen do.' So a-this'a we parted; boh aw 
mawkint; an' lost my gate again, snap." 

A curious instance of the prevalence of nicknames in this dis- 
trict occurred, a few years since, about a mile from SmaUbrid^. 
A country lass had got married out of a certain fold in that part, 
and going down to Bochdale soon after, a female acquaintance 
said to her, "Whau Sally, thea's getten wed, basnet to?" 
" Yigh," said Sally, " aw have." " Well, an' what's te feUey 
code ?" replied the other. *^ Whau," said Sally, ^^ some folk go's 
him ^ Jone o* Nancy's lad, at th' Fleawm Heawse,' but his 
gradely name's ^Clog-Bant.'" We sometimes hear of a son 
who bears the same Christian name as his father, as *^ Jamie o' 
James's," and " Sol ov Owd Sol's o' th' Hout Broo," and I have 
often heard a witless nursery rhyme, which runs — 

" Owd Turn an' yung Turn, 
An' Owd Tam's son ; 
Yung Tnm 'U be a Tarn 
When Ow4 Tum's done;" 



TO THE TO^ OF BLACKSTOKE SD0B«^ 113 

Init the poor people of Lancashire sometimes have a Buperatitious 
fear of gmng the son the same Christian name as the father. 

Th& ancient rural festiTal of ^^ Rnshbearing,*' in the month 
of August, used to make a feunous stir in Smallbridge ; but the 
observance of it seems to decline, or, at least assumes a soberelr 
form, as the village gradually acquires additional means for 
mental enlightenment. A great number of local proverbs, and 
quaint sayings, are continually being thrown up by the popula- 
tion there, which, in spite of their rude garb, show, like nuggets 
of mental gold, what undevebped riches lie hidden in the human 
mind, even in SmaUbridge.^ They are wonderfully apt at the 
discernment and at the delineation of character. It is very 
common for them to utter graphic sentences like the following: 
— ^^ He^s one o* thoose at^ll lend onybody a shilling iv thi^n give 
him fourteen pence to stick to.'* One of them said, with ex- 
pressive surprise, on receiving a present of game from his son 
in Yorkshire, ^^ It isn't so oft at th* kittlin' brings th' owd cat 
a meawse, but it has done this time." There are two or three 
out of a whole troop of anecdotes told of the natives of this 
quarter which have the air of nature about them sufficiently 
to indicate what some of the characteristics of these villagers 
were in past years. Two young men were slowlytaking their road, 
late one night, out at the town end, after the &ir, when one of 
them lingering behind the other, his comrade shouted to him to 
**• Come on I " " Stop an' rosin J " said the loiterer, *^ aw hannut 
faughten yet 1" *^ Well," replied the other, with cool indiffe- 
tence, ^^ Get fAUghten, an' let's go whoam P' la the Rev. W. 
GaakeU's lectures on the Lancashire dialect, he says^ ^^The fol- 
k>wing dialogue is reported to have taken place, between two 
individuals oa, meeting : — ' Han yo bin toBowton?' * Yigh.' 
*Hanyo&ughten?* 'Yigh.' 'HanyouUckt'n?' 'Yigh; an' 
•awbrowtenabit'nhinKwhoami' my pocket 1'" *^OwdBun"was 
a collier, and a comical country blade dwelling near Smallbridge. 
He was illiterate, and rough as a hedgehog. Bun had often 
heard of cucumbers, but had never tasted one. Out of curi- 
tMil^ he bought » large one, curved like a moslem scymitar ; 

H 



114 moawviTfl akd «ye\vats fr6M itoofibALS 

and, TedtoB of all cnHnary gaidanoe, he cut it uxto dioei lengtih- 
wise, -aiid tfaen fnsA ihe long, cold, indigestible gtoen dabs, afi 
together, in %aoan*fErt;. -Heatebisfillof them,too;'ftirno^]ing 
wbidi ntoiHal ^tosnacb -woxdd 'bold came anusB to Bim. Wben 
he bad finiiAied 'bis curious collops, and iviped the grease from 
Ins month wifib the back of ^ band,:be saidf-^^S^rl^i' man, Bne 
felk *]1 beyt jM^t ! Aw^d^anuro'biulapatito!^ Th^teB 
a (tale, too, of the difficulties of a poor '&otory%MB«9rho ind iiean 
newly married, which is 'not -withoot its 'bints. Her ImBband 
told her to boil him some eggs, and 1o *^ bhoyle 'em«dft.'' He 
went out awhile, and on bis return, th^ were boiling, %iEt 
aiot readgr. 'He waited long, and "then shouted, ^^ Are ihoose 
eggs noan ready yet ? " ** Naw," said «he, " <hey are nut ; fat 
Bitho, aw^ve >bhoyled 'em aboon an heawur, nn libir no softer 
yet.** Now he did not care mnch for this ; i>iit when he *8aw 
her Uke the child^s nightcap off ite ihead to boil his dnmpling in 
one morning, he declared that ^* he conldn-t-ston it.** 

Leaving Smallbeidge, werattled out at tiie end<]tf -tfie Tilhge, 
.post the !Bed Lion, and up to ^e -top of the slope, where, after 
a run of about itwo hundred yards, we descended iirto ihe hcflow 
'Where the mgn of t&e old^^^Gveen Gate " stands, in 'the aeaenn 
of l!he year, people passing ihsit way in a morning will often see 
the door-wa^ crowded with hui^ting dogs, and a sturdy ix>ut of 
oountry rabble, <waiting to follow the ohase, afo<^, through the 
neighbouring bifls. [Rising again immediately, wie crossed 
another IcnoH, and down again we came to the foot <yf iiie brow, 
Where four roads meet, close by the ** <3rre«i Mon Inn,** Vlridi 
stands oppoeiteto the deserted little hamlet ofWuerdale, perdi- 
d&g with lone^ distressed look, upon a little ridge near the road- 
side, like an old beggar craving charity. 'On we-went, enjoyii^ 
<the lomantic variety cf the scene, as the green iqis and downs 
^€f the ivalley opened out to view, with its scattered ^&rms and 
. mlUs, all olipt in by 4he bilk, wHoh ^began to cluster near. 

^bont half a mUe further on, Where the road 'begins to slant 
•middeiily towards FeatherstaU, Stubley Hiill stands, not more 
i^tiiaa^enty yards from the roadside, and rather below^lhe^levdl 



of It. A BiuoftL .older Jaafltiuui it^be isaaftent one mvAt haare «tocM| 
licnre pmnr to the HSfch .oentnTf^^, £EKr ifa iL3£2, 4uad it^29, mflftttejp 
k made of Nidboias jand Jcdosi j^e ^Sitinbilej. .(Hin. WhaJ^j^) f/a 
sabfleqnexrtlj -cajiie into the -pfmrnekm i£ the fiolt |am%; of 
Grifilehurst and <]lasdeEtQ]i; a hcft&oh of tibie {iolts, of Mq^ 
Afihton, OhfishETe. Some of this lieonily fought 4i^ the Soofttvi^ 
wars, and ako in &Toiif of the royal cause at £<i||0QhUil, 'Sfjffft 
•fomy, Marsfcon Moor, &c«,and wsscq named in Charlea'ris {nKij^ted 
order of the Bo^ Oak. There -was a Judge Holt^ tf the Hotbi 
of Sale ^^ and a Jaanee Molt, whose mother wa0 co-Jtieirei» tp ^ 
James de Sutton ; the Tcas killed on Flodden Eield. M»rj» i^ 
dau^iter of James HoH, the last of the family wibo sreawled jit 
Cast^eton, in this paorish, married Samuel, hacqther of the fysmf9$ 
HumpliFey Cheetham. The CastleUm estate came into Hum'^ 
phr^^a hands in 1744. The manor of SpootilaQd wan igaaoi^ 
by Heniy YIII. to Thomas Holt, who was iknighted in SeoUaod 
by Edward, Earl of Hertford, ia the thirtynsixth yeax of #tf 
reign of that king. The Holts were the ixrunoirpal Jandop^fiii 
in the parish of .Soohdaleat the cQoee of %q sixteen^ oss^m^f^ 
John Holt held the manor of SpotiS^ad, with its apinurtenwweS:; 
also fourscore messuages, three miHs, one thousand i9faKB ni 
inclosed land, three hi^idred acres of meadow, one ^hfinstKni 
acres of pasture, and forly amres of woods, in Hundomfield, 
Spotland, and Butterwortk; besides a claim to hoM of his 
mejesty, as of his duchy of Lancaster, one third of xthe manor ^ 
Eochdale. The arms of the Holts are described ^ ^^ Argent on 
a band .engrailed sable, three £eur-de-lys of the £rat Crest, i^ 
spear head pvoper. Motto, ^ IJt saoem Yuilnera.' ^' The isnasent 
haQat Stubley was built by Eobert JioLt, about the 3^«r 162B. 
Dr. WMttaAcer noiices this house, wluoh is of oonsidecable sise, . 
formiBg three sides of a square. Xt is now iohabited .by several 
&iai]ies ; and much of the Jich ol^ cairYed o^, i^did other xeUop 
cf its former im|iaFtance, ha^e been remoiv:ed from tjhe i^^dbedor. 
From the top of the slope near Stubley, we mow .saw :1^ 
spke of littleborough Church, and the -viUa^e itself, pcetti^y 
situated at the head of the yale^ and close %o the foot of thtf 

H 2 



116 HIGHWAYS A27D ftlkWATS FROM ROCHDALU 

bills which divide Lancashire and Yorkshire. The bold, mole of 
the Manchester and Leeds Railway runs through the yillage. 
On the top of Blackstone, and about half a mile to the south of 
*^Joe FaulknerV' the well-known old sheltering spot for tra- 
vellers over that bleak region, we could now more distinctly see 
the regular streak of green which marks the line of the Roman 
road till it disappears upon the summit of the Edge. 

Featherstall is a flourishing little hamlet of comfortable cot- 
tages at the bottom of the brow in the high-road near Stubley 
Hall, warmed by the '^ Rising Sun," and another, an old fashioned 
public-house, apparently as old as the present Stubley Hall. 
The inhabitants are principally employed at the mills and col- 
lieries in the neighbourhood. The open space in the centre of 
the village is generally strewn with scattered hay and other 
horse-meat, and the lights from the public-houses gleam forth 
into the clear watering troughs in front as the traveller goes 
through at night. ' A rough old road leads out of the centre of 
the place, northward, over Calder Moor and the hills, towards 
Todmorden. From FeatherstaU the approach to Littleborough 
is lined with mills, meadows, and tenter-fields on the north 
side ; and on the south two or three fine green fields divide the 
highway from the railway, and a few yards on the other side of 
the railway the line of the Rochdale Canal runs parallel with 
both. And thus these three roads run nearly dose together 
past Littleborough, and all through the vale of Todmorden; up 
to Sowerby Bridge, a distance of twelve miles ; and, for a con- 
siderable part of the way, the river forms a fourth companion to 
the three roads, the four together filling the entire bottom o£ the 
valley in |K)me places ; and, in addition to that, may be seen, in 
other parts, the old pack-horse roads leading down from the- 
moorland steeps into the hollow. Carts, boats, railway trains, 
and sometimes pack-horses, seem to comment upon one j^n^ther 
as they pass and re-pass, and form a continual and palpable 
lecture on modes of transit, such as is not often met with in such 
distinct shape. Littleborough consist^ principally of one ir** 
regular street, winding over a Blight elevation, and down, to its. 



TO THE TOP OF BLA.CKSTOKE EI>GE. 117 

centre near the railway station, at the water-side, and thence 
across the bridge, up towards Blackstone Edge. Jt is it sub- 
stantial, healthy-looking viBage, prettily situated in a romantic 
spot. There are many poor working people in the village, but 
there is hardly anything like dirt or wjualor to be seen there, 
e:xcept, perhaps, a httle of that migratory kind, which is un- 
avoidable in all great thorough&res, and which remains here for 
a night, on its way, at a roadside receptacle which I noticed at 
the western end of the village, where I saw on a httle board 
certain . ominous hieroglyphics about "Loggins for travlura." 
The lands in the vafley all round Littlebotoiigh have the appear- 
ance, of .fine meadow and pasture; and, taken with the still 
better ctdtivated and ornamented grounds, and woods and 
gardens, about the mansions of some of the opulent people of the 
neighbourhood, the whole looks beautifully verdant, compared 
with the bleak hHk which look down upon the vale. The oM 
Royal Oak Inn, in the middle of the village, is pointed out as 
a house which John Collier used to frequent when he visited the 
neighbourhood, and where he fixed the scene of Tummus's miS" 
adventure in the inn, where he so unadvisedly ^^£et like a 
Yorsharmon, and clear^t th* stoo," aftar he had been to the 
justice with his bandeyhewit, "Nip," and where the encounter 
took place between " MezzUt Face ";and " WythenKibbo " : — 

*' Aw went in, an fund at two fat throddy folk wooant theer ; an thejd'n 
Bomo o'th warst fratchingst company at e'er eh saigh ; for they'rn warry- 
ing, banning, end coMn one another 'leawsy eawls,' as thick as leet. 
Heawo*er aw poo'd a encket, an keawr't meh deawn i*th nook, o' side o'th 
hob. Aw'd no soyner done so, boh a feaw, seawr-lookt felley, with a 
wythen kibbo he had in his hont, slapt a -sort oy a wither, xnezzilt-face*t 
mon, Bitch a thwango'lh soawp, at he varry reeeht again with it, an deawu 
he ooom o'th harstone, an his heeod f th esshole. His scrnnt wig feel off, 
an a hontle o' whot corks feel into*t, an bmnt and frizzlt it so, at when he 
awst don it an unlucky carron gen it a poo, an it slipt o'er his sow, an it 
leelike.ahowmbarkon hisshilders. Aw glendnrt like astickt tnp, for 
fear oy a dust myseV, and crope fur into th' ohimbley. Oytch body thowt 
at meBzil*fiice would iney a flittin' on't, an dee in a crack ; so some on um 
cried eawt, ' a doctor, a doctor,' whol others made'n th' londlort go saddle 
tU' tit to fetch one. While this war eh doin', some on um had leet ov a 
kin OT a doctor at wooant a bit off, an shew'd him th' mon o'th harstone. 
He laid howd on his arm to feel his pulse aw geawse, an poo'd as if he'd 
Bin dyeth poo'in* at th* tothev urm, an wnr resolrH o*er-poo him. After 



liar BIOHWATfl JftHir »TSW^79. J^BOif BOCKftUJB 

« 
ImIds^ dtfwkinly-wue ft^ bk, htf geet f^ ]ii» whirlf booaa«r n Mid tfrvm 
•w, 'Wbol bit heart bhyeU an his blood saroilates, there's hopes* Boh 
ifhEon tlHdt stops, its whoo>ap with him i'ftiitl^.' Mewil-ftee hesrfttsoBMni 
0^ < irheeHipr started to his fset, flote Boatt, boh graa li]M a toomwrUdog, 
an seet at i' black, swarffy tyke weh bwoth nea^es, an wawtod him o'er 
itttoth' gtt' er, fall o'new drink, wortchin'. Ho begrns o' pawain'' tm. 
psgrUn him nto'C so a4 aw war blendad together, saap. 'Sfleah, Maorr; 
ueaw'd h i weet teh, to sin hieaw'th bobbin war awtert, when at tey poc<rii 
kfm eilwt . an what a hobthnrst he look't weh aw that bemn abeawt tarn. 
Be kepi d Tui' hia eeii, bob- he moot aa weal ha' sowt am in hii hiadiap-«iid 
ti& th* londJady had made an heawer's labyer on him at th' pamp. When 
lieeoMtf ii> agaiii. heglooa^tawvlahly at aieinfi-ftuse, an'meEZiMaeii gloutet 
m wijthenl jT at aim again ; bob neather wanit, iUNr tbra^t Bo thi^ aeet 
vm deawn, an ihen 1^' londla^ coom in, an would mey nm't pajr for th' 
himber at tsyd^n done h«nr; * nefr drink'ii wmt be » creawHy aaid hob, 
* bsaide, theurs two* tamblen, thi«e qniftin pots, atf fear pipes maaht, an a 
whol papper o' baooo shed.' This made am ^ glendar ar tone tot&er again ; 
hoi Naek trte'e pa^ow war eeoU at W pump, an thf wythen kibba had 
^lite'nt totfaer, so at t^ eaoun'd little or nean, boll atgnsed Vpaf aw 
meeon; then seet'n urn deawn^ an war Mends again in a snift."' 

fior dsys and IMdgs^ and it wai ofbeo! osmmed viKh tlMl ^^ 
hig^tcBtd tii» ne^kibocBts tpomUbe wsattmodsi^liMr'th&eBrmsd 
]»& imaill additto frdm Bccbdaler and Todmonleii. Thetn»- 
dow>gi»CTgggnegaBytiMfo>»mopett«t«^ tatd^fittmSmgiA 

some diatedice iSMai the piscery oms-naghA perha^be ftbte^ i& Mnie 
d^pree, to asrt tibe foeur o€ waaM&ry going on isfflde. BskMhc 
ifidased to know «feKt were ibe component parts of ike wild 
medtey of melodies, all guaking ant fSrom the koofle in one tare- 
mendous diacord, he would have to draw iinder the windows, 
lAee^ he ndf^ hear :— 

" Onr hooada they were atannnh, and ear honea wen good 
As ever broke eover, or dashed in a wood ; 

TaUy ho I hack forwaady hwm; talfy ho! " 

Mfiiist^ ift another corner oi the samo room, a knot of atrong- 
liBtged royaterers joined, at the top of their vdces, in the fol- 
lowing, ckffus, beating time to it with fista and feet, md 
aaytlnng ete© which w« heavy and hatndy : — 

" ' Then heigho, heigho I 
Sing heigho,' cried he ; 
^Doei} my wife's first husband remember me 7^ 
Talde ral^dersl, do ral^de ricfor'* 



tRii6dt«iitm»]oadw)ice: — 

^ Th0 fiondB-were the fiitot that Tentor^d o^er ; 
lUiefbotsoon followed aftei^: 
3ut bzave Bske SohombeiiP was n<]rmfti% 
At theorosBing o' Bojne water.** 

Whdii} aaoi&ttr BsasiGftL ti|^ec^. in an o^mdtd oocaer,. ssxig^ for 
lHff'0llite'8]pgdalaBiiiiaemait, the fblloinng' qramU £»gme&t i-^^ 

'^Owd slioon an* stockin'a I 
Mm^ iriipper»at*ft made o' rod leather ! ** 

la anoiheir.qpuiiac you might hear tha fiddle playing the^ 
animated stuBisfl of the ^^ liyerpool hornpipe," or ^^ The Dmil 
love his ShuitfJ' while a lot of nimble, hearty youngj^teis,. in. 
wooden olog^^ hattered the hearthstone to the tune. In a large 
room aboYe,. the lighie flared in the wind^ a& the lads and ksaea 
flitted to and fro in the " Haymaker,** " Sir Roger de Coreriey," 
or ^^ The Triumph ; " or threaded through a reel, and set tail. the. 
whole house shook ; whilst &om other parts of the plaee yoa would 
be sure to hear, louder than all elsoy the olatter <^ pots, and 
hunting-eries; the thundering huriy-burly< of drunken anger, 
or the crash of ftimitore, mingling wiik the boisterou9 tones of 
drunk^i fun. Whoevep entered this house at sueh a time, in 
the Iv^ of finding a qiiiet. ccaiier, wibare he could be still, and 
look round upon the curious mixture of q;uaint, rough, charactei^,! 
would yery likely find that he had planted himself in the yery 
retrea€[ chosen by a drunken, maudlin fellow, who^ withr ene eye 
closed, sat uttering, by fits, noi^ sahitations of affection to the. 
pitcher of ale before him ; or,, with one leg over the other, hisi 
arms folded, and his head yeering lazily with drunken langour,.. 
first to one side,, and then to the other, poured fortb a. stream of 
unconnected jargon, in this style : — ^^ Nea then ; yeilo chops ! 
What's to do wi* thee? Arte findin* things eawt? Whether 
wilto haye a pipe o' bacco, dr a bofc o* th ribs ? Aw ye siunmat 
rth inside o* my box ; but it looks like a brunt ratton bi Guy I 
ISdj^ikpeii mJ dni^ ^ whol em hearken^ the thi 



1^ HIGHWAYS AKD BYSWATB FSOM ROCHDALE 

* * 4 Ck>ii te tell me what oatsr behmgis to ? — 4lklit*8 
the phoynt ! Come, oppen eawt ! Av'm ready for iSko, 

♦ * * An' iv thea*s naut to say, turn thi yed ; aw 
diionnt like to be stare't at wi' a bigger foo' nor mydel*. 

♦ * Sup ; an' gi' me houd ! ♦ * There's a lot o' nice, 
levd lads i' this cote, isn't there? * * Aw'Il tell tho 
what, owd dog ; ih* world swarms wi* foos, donn'd i' o* vatSks o^ 
clooas ; an' aw deawt it oles will do ; for, as &st as th* owd hdb 
dee'n off, there's fresh uns comes. An, by th' mass, th* latter 
lot dunnut mend thooee at's gwon ; for o' at te're so brawsen 
wi' wit. It'd mend it a bit iv oytch body'd wortch for their 
Hyin', an' do as they should'n do. Hah, thae may look as firase 
as to likes ; bat thea'rt one o'th rook ; an' thae'U dee in a bit, 
as sure as thea'rt Hyin', owd craytur. Thae'rt to white abeawt 
th' ear-roots to carry a gray toppin whoam, aw deawt. Gray 
yure's heavy, mon ; it brings nm o' to th' floor. But thir't to 
leet for heavy wark, my lad. ♦ * ♦ ♦ ♦ Behave 
thyseP ; an' fill thi bally when tho's a choance, for thea looks 
clemmed. Arto leet gi'n ? Cose, i' tho art, thea'd betthur 
awter, or elze thaell be lyin' o' tM back between two bworts, 
wi' thi meawth full o' sond, afore th' hawve o' thi time's np. 

* * Sitho at yon bletherin', keaw-lipped slotch wi' th' 
quart in his bond ! He's a breet-lookin' brid, is'nt he ? Aw 
dar say thae thinks thysd' bwoth hon'somer an' &user nor him. 
Thae may think so, but — aw know. Thae'rt no betthur nor 
porritch — ^itho're look't up ; for o' at to's sich 'a pratty waiscut 
on. What breed arto? There's summat i' that. But, it 
myhens naut ; yo're o' alike at th' bothom ! There's ir Jammy ; 
he's as big a wastril as ever stare't up a lone. He ax't me to 
lend lum ov ir lads, yesterday. 'Lend te a lad o* mine,' aw 
said, *naw, bi' th' heart ! Aw wouldn't lend te a dog to catch 
a ratton wi' 1 ' ♦ * Hello ! my ale's done ! 

* Then he dofiM hia shoon^ 
An' he look't i'tLo'on.' 

Aw'U gt> tOfturd ir Mally, aw think. Hey, Bkssoml Seautyl 



*rO THE ^rOP OF BIACKSTONE EDOB, 121 

Beawncer I Bluebell t For shame o' thaiuel', Bluebell ! Bj^ 
dogs; by I Yo-ho! Come back, yo thieves! Come back, 
aw tell 70!-' And so on, in a drunken jumble, for hours 
together. 

Littleborough is the l|ist Tillage the traveller leaves on the 
Lancashire «ide of Blackstone Edge ; and an high-road from 
Manchester to Leeds passes over the top of tiiese moorland hilb, 
gently ascending all the way from Littleborough, by a circuitous 
xoutC) to the summit — nearly three nules. A substantial hostdrie 
stands prominently upon the brow of the hill, called **' The White 
House,*' and sometimes ^^ Joe FaulknerV' fr^v^i ^^ name of an 
eccentric landlord who kept the house in the old coaching time. 
This house can be seen from the valleys on the Lancashire side 
for many miles. It was a celebrated baiting-place for the great 
stream of travellers which went over these hills, be&re the rail- 
way drifted it through the vale of Todmorden* The division 
stone of the counties of York and Lancaster, stands about half 
a mile beyond this old inn. Littleborough itself is prettily 
situated by a little stream, in the hollow of the valley, at the 
foot of this wild range of sterile mountains, and at the entrance 
of the Todmorden valley. It is surrounded by scenery which, 
though varied in character, is often highly picturesque, but 
never tame. Dark vast moorlands, bfty and lonesome ; craggy 
glens, woody doughs, and green vaUeys, frill of busy life ; with 
picturesque lakes, and little streams which tumble from the hills. 
The village has many advantages of situation, both-fbr pleasure 
and manufacture. Useful stone and coal, and good water, are 
abundant all round it ; and it is fs»t thriving by the increase of 
woollen and cotton manufSekcture there. It is still a great 
thoroughfare for Lancashire and Yorkshire ; and a favourite re- 
sort for botanists, geologists, sportsmen, and not unfrequently 
of invalids. Northward from the village, there are many ro- 
mantic moorland doughs, but, perhaps, the finest of these is 
the one called ^^ Long Clough," at the head of which is a re- 
markably fine spring, called ^^ Blue Pots Spring.'* The arti'^ 
fidaX Jake of ^^ HoUingworth " is about half a mile from the 



up io its hmk, ibrto^ the ebadjy aedododL ckiai^ cafled 
*'*' Gkiggnrood." ThiakJie^ irlieiL at its hfll|^ k tbree ndlai 
romuL It supplies the Bochdale Canal with water, and is well 
staakedl wilib fishb Itedewtioapiaoeftit&ralMvV'thAbittiile 
tb»?a]My haifBm^ wheoa the hi|^wagra and bycwifii,tilifr laraa-- 
wi^snd wal»r*^Hi9«^initeiweBniig tUdUbf aboirt tJtoiiaiin<>», an 
j4m wiik thfthi^frtHAo aftd labeos el tfan noLyos^ 
ThsTiikyiithMi^witbl^xiirarfihexailsm^ eamL^aBd 
wy y^ ||ff B ^ . hi jg l i UMi f l n ^ afid a haa^ aad mdoBtanBiMi jaywlalion, 
idMi gcnm^f iioda aboataAein^ynei^ 
cotton mffity IB Ite ooal auatt and fltaa* dd^ha^ et fflk t^ 
aiidshe^fHnBSofthiapirtiireBqae'lKKKderjp^g^ Sow tb ii rt 
Lwuttdne. The shd^ taikaal '' Hoiligiirwortk'' eofwafc «f 
ixti9gid*tUB»aiidl 8fc)fta«f pasture^ itfofedoWraaMfc moOr landlB. 
The kfiUor are,, in aenta dinatiuui^ abn^ to%, aad Tart, 
eiyeciailjf on the emtoro aide, i^etfa* tha* abedie^ raised maaB 
of mnAsktnmMgt^ aknteeiat theyiar ;, whiMi a wU hrolher- 
hood of dM^, heatherjr hilla, bdonipag- to te aanke Mtege, 
wind aboust tha 8eea& ia a fine setaMeit^, whicb afeDetdiea &r 
awa^, out ef flighty ia the north-weat. Bat tha kadaoi^ 
iqKn theiflMBediate hatdesa ei the ]ake„ is of arutal^ iwnaoitic, 
and aeraae eharactear, though tombed here a*d thore wddi 
mecidaiad hteaknesff «id ateriiity ; aid tibeva ia haadl^ an^- 
thii^ m m^ over the efi^aaonre raug« of iwioil t» zendiid 
a apeetatar that ha k ascfOiEDded l^'the neat p^nieiia wd 
aetive nanaiMtoiijif diatriet in the veddl iM the dltttatnt 
naahla of traflba aHiar tsakiy thofldsriiig thzeii^. the aaigh- 
faoaaring TaQey, and thQ ahnU zaflway whistle,, Jwo^ up dear 
owr the gNen hill t» idM Btoyth of the water, aaa anp^ aa&-« 
dent to^ diapeJk tmyi pastenat lesrerie whaeh the neta aiig^t of 
thia prettgr lake and ita acanoandiiig aceirarjr laa^ lead tOk Oa 
^rery holiday, in summer tlne^ the gieoi: eouttkry aaoond the 
margpai of thia water is aoiiaated hf xmaaeroiua eoaipaaieB ei 
TMtera fiom the h^ sidea, aad the populoQa YSkig» and towaa 
the »eiiVK)»ring vtikp* A Uttkb ateamcf fllk» apan. ik\ 



asd bottlff nay. b» lined alp Idba I1flluDaBaB^» inaf aad aithflv 

vidBitgF, ittn^ tbe twi» ole: thxeft eovKtry xnim neac to tke bovd^nr 
of ike hke^teedmenj with loaming pte a wBepaariaieB. la winiery 
the landscape about ^^ HoUingworth '' is very bleak,, mtd, aaift 
bnesome; aad tkeiMer wMittetkbaiiO edmfletidy ^ze» ovbt 
thftb aboxaeaad Ij^^tyehicle Biay be driven; asross it^fitm baak 
to banli^ m wiM& distance* It iaa fitTomker rauirt £» eECMrda 
of AsAerm, fteat a^ ]paiH»o£ the surzovBdi^. disioriciB i thoogll 
tiie ioQ iflf ofteit ^mi^fftemHif naey^. id aonifridacesy by veaaea of 
the stibi^ sjptmgfkf, and othet eaasea. Msmy lamcattabfe a6i3i<* 
dents have happened thcoogk kietfiifcieaa duti^B^ nfofi. inseeave 
^ localities in the ice of this water. Going home late one night 
in the depth of winter, to my re^deoce by the sidie of this lake, 
I found the wintry midnight scene— which, at that season of 
the year wai always wOdfcy dark and efcirkasy wtai iba» was bO) 
Bioon, and the wind was low — dimily TJIw i i i i i wi ini ths djataoeat 
l^ a flostibm gkaon of li^ta vpon the laket^.tmA the- ^ima^ 
eeimiii^ aouod of piek^aaEoi bveakiag vp the ice,, fell with a 
atflirtlmg sigiicfieaoee'vpoia theear. CNsr dfog^ ^^ Capftaany" did 
Hot eoBM emit to itteet ne^ whoi I. whaatibd,^ aa mradf and I 
hurried hf a shoct cut over the^ fiddsy and tSaemi^ tber wood^ 
towacda the spot wlkeve the li|pKliaw€9einsiM& There I. fowad 
a silent company of neif^dbooria^ fatrngn and weannnvstandb]^ 
apcNB the baak^ doee to the watery wil^ 4m& or two tsi the 
wealtliy empLojetn. hfm. the "rifi^^ €i littldbcse^gli^ wha bad 
dzaguft in thrir haads, and wcregmapdizectioni taanuiaiber of 
'Workmen emfksfed m bnaknig a.duaui^ tfafwng^ the ioer> £ar 
the passage of a boat to a part of the water where,, obl the 
evenii^ of the same day, tbe ice had brdkieit in with the weight 
of three fine young man behrngko^ ta the Be^phheforbood ; whose 
bodies thiB melancholy midaigbt gathering were woriiBg by 
lantern-light to reeoTer from Hoe water. I renftained up(» the 
spot until two of the eorpeea were brought to the b«ak, and 
removed ia a cart to the jhana-house where I resided, leerioaa 
to besB^ comreyed to their own homes ift the &ta»^ tews^ htter 



124 HXaHWATS A2n> BYEWATS FBOM BOGHDALE 

On in the moming, and while it was yBt dark. I shall never 
forget the appearance of these fine fresh-looking youths, as thej 
lay stretched out tdde by side, cold and stiff, in their ftkating 
gear, upon a large table, in the long passage which led up to 
my bed-chamber. 

The margin of the lake is adorned with patches of sloping 
wood in some places ; and the hills stand round the scene in 
pcturesque disorder. At certain seasons of the year large 
flocks of wild fowl may be seen resting ,upon ite waters. 
There are other artificial lakes, or reservoirs, fiirther up in the 
hiUs ; but the position and beauty of HoUingworth make it a 
universal &vouiite with all visitors to the district. 

<' Whan wMtling wiadi and alangbtering guns 
Bring autamn^s pleasant weather/* 

,the littleborou^ inns are throng with sportsmen, equipped 
for the grouse shooting; for which sport the moors of the 
neighbourhood are famous. littleborough has a modem look 
from the railway station, near to which the neat new churdi 
stands, on a slis^t elevation, about the centre of the place, and 
upon the site of the old one. Yet, though the village has quite 
a modem appearance, everything known of its history shows 
that it is a settlement of considerable antiquity ; perhaps, as 
eaiiy as the time of Agricda, the lUmian. 

The old chapel M Littleborough, which was a primitive 
building in appearance, was licensed for jnass, by the Abbot of 
Whalley, a.d. 1476. It remained in its original architectural 
state, untQ it became dangerously minoas in some parfs, and 
was taken down about thirty years ago, to make way for the 
present church. The Oentlemca^s Magazine^ for 1844, p. X82, 
contains an interesting description of the new church. 

In the immediate vicinity of Littleborough there are sevieoeal 
interesting old houses, now standing upon sites where fimuUes 
of importance in past times settled very early. Some of these 
old fiimilies have become extinct in the male line ; the p r op er ty 
of otfaers has dianged hands, like Scholefield Hall, Stubley Hall, 



'ipO THE TOP OF BLACKSTOKE ]&l>a£». 1&6' 

Lightowlers, and Windy Bank. Few of these old fiuniUeB hare 
held together and flourished through the mutationfl of time like 
the family of Newall, of Town House, near littleborough, 
respecting which I find the following passage in the GeiUUmaiCs 
Magazine^ June, 1844, p. 593, which serves to elucidate the 
character and position of a large portion of the ancient landlords 
of the parish of Rochdale : — 

''The fj&mily of Newall is one of those ancient families who hare for 
oentvriee reeided on their paternid estate^ but in the retirement of reepeet- 
able life holding the rank of yeomanry, which, in former times, and 
partionlarlj in the age when the Newalls fint settled in Lancashire, formed 
no unimportant portion of sodetj — sufficiently eleyated beyond the humbler 
classes to preserve a tolerable degree of influence and authority amongst 
them ; while they were sheltered in their retirement from those political 
storms which distracted the higher eireles of the eoramvnity, and which 
led to the ruin of many of the best fiunilies of the kingdomi and to the 
confiscation of their estates.** 

Barkers VisitatUm of Seats and Arms, contains a long account' 
of. the^ Newalls, of Town House, Hare Hill, and Wellington 
Lodge, Littleboroiigh, an influential family in. thia neighbour- 
bood during several centuries past; and still owners and 
oiscapierB of their old estates, as well a» extensive woollen 
maxiiifacturers, near littleborough^ 

The following arms, illustrative of the connections of the- 
Newall fiunily, are placed, with others, in the window of little- 
borough chapel :— « 

KtbkbshaoHi of Town House : Or^ on a chief per pale gules and sable 
three bezants. 

LxtHoxAiSy of lithobes! Vert, a lion rampanti or sem^ of oalthiaps 
Mble- 

N'bwall. of Town House : Quarterly, first and fourth, Per pale gules 
and asure, three coyered cups within an orle or i second, Kyrshaght third,- 
Idtholres. 

Chadwick, of Healey: Quarterly, first, Ohadwiok, Gules, an inescut- 
oheott^ within an orle of martiets argents second, Kyrkesnagh: third, 
Healey, Gnlesy four loienffcs engrailwL in bend ermine: fourth, Butter- 
worth, Argent, a lion couchant azure, between four ducal coronets gules. 

BucKLBT, of Howarth Farra : a cheyron between three bull's heads 
esboshed argent; quartering Butterworth, (The Chadwicks of Healqr 
quarter Buckley of Buckley. CoD. Arm.) 

Hoi/r, of Stubley : Argent on a bend engrailed sable three flramihdt-lis 
tftthafleld. (Also qiuurtexedb; the Ghadwi«ks« ColhArm.) 



126 HlQHWA*fB SWTD HYEWAYS FROM ROCITOALE 

BnmuD, cf Oleg^gswwd: Srmiiie, on « cbief qv. a hSbel t»f £t« 

Ten other shields contain the arms of the undent Cunilies 
of the district, as Bamford of Shore, Ingham of Cl^gswood, 
HaUiwell of Pike House, &c., and those used by the bishop of 
the ^ocese, the clergy connected with the pari^, and some of 
the gentry of the neighbourhood. 

The pgresent mansioii of Town House -was built about idxty 
yean ago, cm lihe tdte of the old house. There are sev^etal 
portraits joi ancient membars of the family there, with a model 
and drawings of the old mansion ; and maa^ other mtarosting 
ancient relics belonging to the Newalls. 

As we left Littleborough, I began, once snoEre, silent^ ie 
speculate upon the claims set up for it as having been a iEUxman 
station; but my thoughts had no firmer footing than the 
probaliilttiflB put iCartii hf !Dr. Whittakcor, ^and someather gwrifcBra, 
iidie ib»v«, perlApB, iDll0wed ham. Yet, the&oitiliwt^efiLvBr 
fiDBL^of A jmudl Hmnan :6tatiie <af Victory, witli jm kascjsfiassa. 
tberecm, was daag sp in the aeij^ibanrhQod some ttnne jigo, 
together mth the direcftnm of .the iBomBin road as maoiked sn 
the late ordnance map, and the TiBihle Tomadns -of n jgaoaH, 
tdangular^duiped Ronum entsendbment, on ^uik ^4e «if the 
Foad, on the .ffimmat of Blacskstone Edge, aeem to Ba|]port iht 
probabilities which gave rise to the opinion, and ma^ f^ei, enajale 
the antiquarians of Lancashire to give us something more 
certain about the matter than I can pretend to. 

PiMsing •under the railway aich near the ohiiroh«, 4uad lea^g 
the long, narrow^ woody glen of Clc^gswood on the right band; 
we .b^gan to aacend the hiQs tf the .winding road wbich csomm 
the Eochdale canal, and leads through a little hamlet called 
'* Xh' Bum,^^ ceoQsisting of an old substantial bouse or two h^ 
the Toadfflde, and a compact body of plain eotti^ges, with a 
&imdry In the middle. " Th' Dum" is atuated on one of (the 
sSielTes of land whic& the hi^^h-TDad crosses in the ascent of 
BjUMkstosie £4ge ; and ^vexHooks .the i^aJe in the direction oit 
Todmorden. It is shaded on -^ south ^ a«teep hill, clotii«d' 



to THE TO? OF SIACKSTC^TE *DGK. 127 

wil^ ^, and stimted oaks. Over tlod; li31-1]op, on ih& wmmSt 
of a 'wild and lonely eminence, Eftod oat &om liie cBn and 
travel of mankind, stand two or tluree remarkable cM folds, 
called *^Tb* Whittaker,'" "Th' Turner,* and "Hi' Sheep 
Bonk,*' like so many eagleS' nests, oyerlooktng, on the east, great 
heathery sc^itades lying l>etween i&ere and SSackstone ^klge, 
the silent domaiin of moor fowl, and seattoed b1ack-&eed sheep ; 
setdom trodden by hornan feet, except a wandenng gamekeeper 
or two, and a few-stmrdy sportsmen, in Ai^gost. Looking forth 
from tins -wild natural observatory, abont vhere "Th' Whit- 
taker" stands, the view to westward takes in a very extensi've 
and interesting landscape. The viile of the Rodi is tmder the 
eye in that direction, with its pretty sinuosities, its recedii^ 
deHs, and indescribable YorietieB of undulation ; nearty sur- 
rounded by hills, of different height and aspect. " Distance 
lends^' some ^' enffliantment to the viow,^' as the eye wanders 
oyer ^he array Of nature spread out below — green cuiltiv«'ted 
dells, waving paltdies of wood, broad jfleasant pastures ; ftftie 
«lear lake of ^ HoBingiwoFth*' lippBng below ; old &m)i]OQ8es, 
some prettily embowered in Khelr native gre^i, land seaittered 
abont the pleasant htde kndOs and doughs, ^ 4iie side 4if 
brooklets that'sMue olverly in Ihe distance ; the blue «iDdke 
curling trp quietly and distmctdy, fi?am eadi Mtle handet «ind 
village ; dotted with nuUs, colHeries, tenterfieldB, and aum^old 
evidences of the great native indostay and growing xnanu&ctur- 
ing vigour of the district. In these va&eys, all nature seems ^to 
yield tribute to ihe energy 4£ the inhaliitaBfts, and mraH life and 
manufacture seem to work into oach other^s hands with amit^ 
and advantage. Standing on this i^, with i^iese things-sprsad 
out before me, I hav>e been forcibfy stiruek with the l^eJIielf, tfaatt 
this comparatively 'un&vonvable iregion for agriioiiktare, woidd 
not haire been so wdl cultivated jeven as it is obow, but for tiM3 
introduction of the manufacturing system. Far w^ the eye 
rests upon the town of Rochdale, with its xilustegcs of chinmeysy , 
and hovering canopy of smoke ; the small square tower of its 
oldtshurch, and the steeples of St. ^Stephen's and 8t. JJameeTs, 



128 BIOHWATS AND BYEWAYS FROM ROCHDALE 

with some of the town-clad ridges of Wardleworth and Castietoiif 
clearly seen, if the day be fine. On a still Sunday afternoon^ 
in the sommer time^ I have sat upon the hill-top at ^^ Whit« 
taker,^' listening to the distant sound of Bochdale beOs, thai 
notable peal of eight, the music of which I shall never forget | 
and which I would back for a trifle against any bells in England 
for sweetness. And, at such quiet times, as evening came on, 
when *^ Lowing herds wind slowly o^er the lea,*^ I have almost 
fimded, in the Sabbatical calm of the hour, that I could hear 
the fine Sunday chime of Rochdale Old Church, '^ My soul, 
praise the Lord,** come floating up the vale, in the twilight, 
with a wonderful charm of peace and isolemnity in the sound. 
Immediately above ^^ Th* Dum,*' the high-road leading up to 
Blackstone Edge rises again as we pass by the old public-house 
at the right hand of the road, called ''Th* Wet Bake,** or 
'^ Weet Bake.** This house stands at the foot of a. steep and 
stony path, leading up to *^ Windy Bank,** an old, substantial, 
little stone hall, once inhabited by an ancient family of the 
neighbourhood* Windy Bank stands upon the edge of a high, 
rocky eminence, rising almost perpendicularly firom the road- 
side by which we ha4 to go. I remember many years ago being 
smitten with the lonely charm, of this romantic perch, and 
making some efforts to get part of it to reside in for awhile. 
There used to be a carter* in Rochdale, known by the name of 
**^ Owd Woggy,'* who upset his cart in the rough, craggy road, 
called '' Windy Bonk Steele.*' He returned to his master in 
the town with the tidings. ^ ^ Woggy ** always stammered badly 
in his Efpeech, but in this case he was worse than usual, and his 
looks told more than his tongue. His master watched in vain 
awhile, for " Woggy*s** painful delivery, in the usual way, but 
tired at last, he said, " Sing it, mon, wilto? " when " Wog" 
immediately sang out, with a fluent and melodious voice^ 

'' AwVe wanted wi* th* cart at th* Wyndy Bonk Bteelft, 
An' awWe broken th' tone wheel.'* 

As we wound round the foot of the rock on the top of irtiicii 



TO THE- TOP OF BLAGKSTONE EDGE. 129 

'' Windy Bank " perches, we found the high-road rutty and 
uneven, being covered with the gritty, perishable, sandstone 
rock from the hills, broken up and ploughed into slushy gutters 
by the stone-wagons from the quarries thereabouts. Pike 
House, the seat of the old local family of Halliwell — one of 
whom endowed the Free School at Littleborough — stands near 
to the north side of the road here ; and, at a short distance 
behind, there is an interesting house, formerly of some import- 
ance, with its quaint fold attached, called '^ Lightowlers/' 
Driving on, dose by the edge of the deep clough, called " Sladen 
fiollow," a hundred yards more brought us to the *^ Moor Cock 
Inn,^' formerly a much more lively place than now, as a shelter 
and refreshing place for travellers, when this mountain road was 
the great thorough£sure between Lancashire and Yorkshire. The 
^* Moor Cock^' was the last house but one on the Lancashire 
side of Blackstone Edge. The house has a rude, wholesome 
look still; but is little frequented. Few folk go up that road in 
these days, except stone-getters, sand-knockers, shepherds, 
sportsmen, and a few curious wanderers. We agreed to leave 
the drag at the '^ Moor Cock," and walk up Blackstone Edge 
on foot. " Gray Bobby '* was evidently pleased with the prospect 
of a feed and a rest, for it is tough work upon these hill sides. 
He seemed to look round with a thoughtful eye, and pricked his 
ears to the tread of the brisk young mountaineer — ^albeit he had 
a lame leg and a crutch — ^who came forth to loose his traces and 
lead him to the stable. As ^^ Bobby" looked at the stable, I 
could almost imagine him saying to himself, '^ There^s no place 
like home ; " it looked so rough. In the house we found three 
or four hardy-looking men ; brown-faced, broad-shouldered 
moor farmers or shepherds, apparently, who did a little weaving. 
Their strong, sagacious dogs, lounged about the floor. Such 
men, in such places, generally receive strangers as if they were 
«( Hun to see aught at^s wick." They happened to have a liberal 
newspap^ among them, and free trade was the topic of their 
talk, as it was almost everywhere at that time. Their conver- 
8ati(m showed by its simple, and sensible, earnestness, that there 

I 



ISO mGmrATs akd by^wats I'rom leocHDAu: 

were men, even up there, who knew who paid the piper for the 
great protection delusion, and who looked upon it as a down- 
right aristocratic swindle in all its bearings. I have often been 
amused by the plain, blunt, shrewd discourse of country peoj^ 
in the manufacturing districts, respecting the difference in the 
condition and feelings of the people in the reigns of *^ Oeorge o' 
owd Greorge's," and his brother, "Bill o' Greorge's,** and the 
condition and hopes of the people now, in the reign of the 
" pratty little woman at coom a seein* us latty.** In previous 
reigns, the tone of their loyalty might have been, at the best, 
summed up in what "Jone o* Greenfeli" says of his wife, 
*«Margit:"-- 

'^ Hoo'fl naut ogen th* king, 
Bat hoo likes ft fab thinifi 
An' hoo MJ8 hoe oqb toU whni hoo's luHPt** 

I have heard them talk of some kings, and statesmen, *' wi' 
kindling fury i* their breasts," In terms whlck would disturb the 
nerves of a city dandy a little. And, in their "brews,'* and 
blubd, and little coteries wliich meet for the spread of such Wse 
Information, they discusd the merits of political men and 
measures, and " Ferlie at the folk in Lunnon," in a shrerwd, 
trenchant style, which would considerably astonish some mem« 
t)ers of the collective wisdom of the nation, could they but 
conveniently overhear it. The people of Lancashire generally, 
are industrious collector^ of political information £pom such 
sources as they can conuqand ; they possess great Integrity of 
judgment, and independence of character, and cannot be long 
blinded to the difference between wise statesmen and political 
knaves, — or fools, who might be useful **to sceawr warps, or td 
wesh barrils eawt at th' back o*th' Bull's Yed ; but are no moor 
fit to govern a nation nor Breawn ivt th* Shore, or Owd Battel^- 
Jash, at beat th' wayter for runnln*/* They are an honest 
and a decent people, and would be governed by such. A short 
time since, I was talking with ati old politician, from ITeWtdU 
Heath, near Manchester, about monarchy, and he said, *^ I>an 
yo know what we ha'n oppo th' thrgaie o* Englan* JKBt meet 



ftcftw? A mother tm' her chOdher, mon; a mother fth* her 
childher f And a gradely daoent little woman, too, as erei* bote 
off th* edge of a moufin. That mends it a bit, doesn't it ? ^ 
This populace evinces some sparks of perception of what is 
natittally due to themselves, as well as to their masters ; and 
they only know how to be loyal to others who are truly loyal 
to themselves. 

When the lame ostler had attended to his charge, he came 
Into the house and sat down with the rest. Somehow, the 
conversation glided in the direction tyf Robert Bums, and we 
W»e eitchanging quotations from his poems and songs, when 
one of U8 came to a premature halt in reciting a passage. To 
Wtt stirprise, the young limper who had rubbed down '• Grey 
Bobby,^' took up the broken thread, and finished the lines 
correctly, with good discretion and evident relish. I fancied 
that we Were having' it all to ourselves i but the hind-hearted 
poet who •* mourned the daisy's fate," had been at the "Moor 
Cock '* beftxre us, and touched a respondent chord in the heart of 
our ostler. I forget who it is that says, *' It is the heart which 
makes the life ;'* but it is true, and it is the heart which sings 
in Bobert Bums, and the heart will stir to the sound all the 
wo^ld 0VGt, How many political essays, and lectures, and 
election struggles, would it take to produce the humanising 
eSeet which the tong, ^^ A man*s a man for a* that,'^ has 
kiwakened? It would sound weU in the Brilash houses of 
parliament, song in vigorous chorus occasionally bet^reen the 
speeches. 

After restfaig ourselves about three-quarters of an homf in 
the Moor Cock, we started up the hill side, to a point of the 
road a little past the toll-bar and the old ofl-mill in the hollow at 
the right hand. Here we struck across the moor, now wading 
'through the heather, now leaping over great rcrts and holes, 
Where blocks of stone had been got out ; then squashing through 
a patch of deceitfdl, mossy swamp, and sinking into^ the solb 
Wet turf, till we reftched the old moss-covered pavement, which 
the ordAance mnejon^ have caHed a *^ Boman road.'* It Is 

i2 



182 mOBWAYS AND BYEWAT0 VROM BOOHPALE 

entirely out of any ordinary route of travel. A clearly-defined 
and r^ular line of road of about forty feet wide, and which we 
traced and walked upon up to the Bmnmii of the Edge, and down 
the Yorkshire side, a distance of nearly two miles from our 
starting place upon this track. We could distinguish it clearly 
more than a mile beyond the place we stopped at,' to a point 
where it crossed the road at Ripponden, and oyer the moor 
beyond, in a north-westerly direction, preserving the same 
general features as it exhibited in those parts where it was 
naked to the eye. Here and there, we met with a hole in the 
road, where the great stones of the pavement had been taken 
out and carried away. While we were resting on a bank at 
this old road side, one of the keepers of the moor came up with 
his dogs, and begged that we would be careful not to use any 
lights or matches whilst upon the moor, for fear of setting fire 
to the heath, which was inflammably dry. I took occasion to 
ask him what was the nature of the path we were upon. He 
said he did not know, but ke had always heard it called *^ Th* 
Boman Road." At a commanding point, where this massive 
old pavement reaches the edge of ^^ Blackstone," £x>m the Lan- 
cashire side, the rocky borders of the road rise equally, and 
rather abruptly, in two slight elevations, opposite each other, 
upon which we found certain moss-grown and weatherworn 
large blocks of stone, half buried in the growth of the moor. 
There was a similarity in the general appearance, and a certain 
kind of order visible in the arrangement of these remains, 
which looked not unlikely to be the relics of some heavy ancient 
masonry, once standing upon these elevations ; and at the spot 
which is marked, in the line of the '•*' Roman Road," in the 
ordnance maps, as an ^^ Entrenchment." 

The view along the summits of the vast moors, from any of 
the higher points of this mountain barrier between the two 
counties of Lancaster and York, looks primevally wild and 
grand towards the north imd south; where dark masses of 
bleak solitude stretch away upon the horizon, as fiBur as the eye 
can see. in every other direction, the landscape takes in some 



TO THE TOP OF BLA0K6T0NE EDGE. ISS 

cultivated lands upon the hill sides, and the bustle and beauty of 
many a pleasant green vale, lying low down among these sombre 
mountains; with many a pictmresque and cultiyated little 
dingle, and green rayine, higher up in the hills, in spots where 
farm-houses have stood for centuries ; sometimes with quaint 
groups of cottages gathered round them, and clumps of trees 
spreading about, and shading the frolicsome current of a moor- 
land riyulet, as it leaps from the craggy fissures of the hills. In 
the valleys, the river winding through green meadows ;:mansions 
and mills, villages and churches, and numerous scattered cot- 
tages, whose little windows wink cheerfully through their screen 
of leaves — 

" Old farms remote, and far apart, with intervening space 
Of blaek'ning rock, and barren down, and pasture's pleasant taoe ; 

* The white and winding road, that crept through village, glade, and gleD> 
And o'er the dreary moorlands, far beyond the homes of men/* 

Standing upon these proud and rugged desolations, which look 
down upon the changeful life of man in the valleys at their feet 
with such an air of eternal strength and serenity^ whilst the 
toiling swarms of Lancashire and Yorkshire are scattered over 
the wide landscapes beyond, in populous hives — ^the contrast is 
peculiarly strong ; and I have wondered whether these old hills, 
which have seen the painted Celt stealthily tracking his prey 
through the woods and marshes below, and worshipping ^^ in 
the eye of light,'^ among wild fanes of giant rock, upon these 
mountain wildernesses — ^which have listened to the onward 
tread of the firm l^ons of old Rome ; and have watched the 
brave and burly Saxon, swinging his heavy axe among the 
forest trees, and with patient labour slowly making these valleys 
into green and homely pasturages ; and which still behold, with 
unaltered look, the restless, iron horses of modem days, which 
run about the hollows every hour, snorting fire and steam ; I 
have wondered whether these old hills, at whose feet so many 
generations of brave men have come and gone upon the earth 
li'ce swathes of grass, might not yet again see these native valleys 
of mine as desolate and stirless as themseLves. These moorland 



l^ilki the Btem apd VMk ooiPDLpai4oii9 of tlia mj^ti imd fikmd and 
niahing tempea^i rise up oiie after aooth^ upon %» aeene, till 
ih'Sf grow dim in tha distfuat edge of t^ sky. Lying upon my 
btfick, affioBg the t^eatfaer, I Joojied along iha smSim of tbd 
moora; andlaballlongremeinber thepeoqUavlonetiiifittof tba 
landflc^>e'0 acfieot, feenmthia way- j(!>irotiiliig WAaind^tbnt a 
wild infinity of moors, and mountain topB« saeeaeding each 
other, like greibt hfiiaTing wayea, of yariad lonn, Kot a aign of 
life WM visible oyer aU the seene, exoopt upon the moor wh»e 
we wcare resting, and wheve« now and then^ we could diseem a 
l^laekofaoed sheep, lifting its head ^boye the dai^k hee;ther, and 
staring with a mingled expression of wonder and fear, at the. 
new intruders upon its solitary pasturage. OccasionaUy, a 
predatory bird might be seen upon these hiUs, sweeping across 
the k>ne expanse, like an highwayman of the skies ; and, here 
and there, the moor-fowl sprang up from the cover, in whirring 
flight, and with that wild eluoking cry, whioh, in the stilfaieis of 
the seene, came upon the ean with a cleamess and predsion that 
made the profound solitude of its mountain lair more eyidoii to 
the senses. A rudeahephenl's hut, too, eould be seen (Weltering 
neav a cluster of rough erags upon the hill side, and hardly dis- 
tinguishable from the numerous heather-grown mounds^ and 
rooks of aU sises and shapes, which la^ scattered irreguUurly 
oyer the surfiice of the mo(^« But, in the distance^ all seined 
one continuous wilderness of silent, and untroddet} isountain 
sterilities, as quiet «s death. The sky was cloudleas avid clear 
the whole day whilst we wandsred upon the barren heights : and 
the blue, dome looked down, grand and still, upon the lonely 
landscapSi which was ooyered with a glorious sunshinei 

" No Btir of air wm there ; 
|fot 10 maeh life na on a iiiiiimev day 
Robs not one light seed from the feathered ^ra9iij 
Bat yrhere the dead leaf fell, tliere did it rest/* 

The heavens and the earth were two magnifiioent stOlnessies, 
which appeared to gaze serenely and steadily at each otlier, with 
th$ palm diguity, and perfect und^rsti^iidiiig of i^uci^t fri^^t 



TO TBB TOP OF BI^iU^KSTOKE BDGSt 135 

wliiQ6Qi}e^ and genuiite affinitieg can ^eyer be oosettled except 
b^ the oatmgoitmt fiat of Him who first established them. 
XjQoking hom»itally along the moors, in this mamier, nothing 
was visible to us (^ those picturesque and populous creases^ lying 
deep between theae great mountain ridgee, imd teeming with 
the industrioiui. multitudes, and material wealth of Lancaslure 
and Yor]»hire. 

These hills form part of a oonl^uous range, running across 
the island, m different ^eyations, And familiarly known as the 
*^ Backbone of Eflgland.^^ . Looking southward and south-east, 
in the direction of the rocky waste called ** Stanedge"— which 
is grossed by the high-road &om Manchester to Huddersfield-^ 
and '* Buckstones," which, according to oral traditicm of the 
yaiee, was formerly an highwayman'siiaunt, — ^the whole country 
is one desolate and rocky moorknd wild ; and the romantic hills 
and yaileys of Saddleworth, with the dim and disl^nt sununite 
of the Jjerbyehire mountains, bound the view. Northward, the 
laAdsoape has the same general appearance, In this direction! 
Studley t'i^e lately stood upon the sununit of a lofty moorland 
ridge, overlooking the beautiful valleys between Hebden Bridge 
and the pictureB<5iue little town of Todpaorden, being part of an 
extensive district famous for its hearty and comely breed of 
people, and for the charms of its scenery, in which wealth and 
coipfortable industry are scattered throughout the most verdant 
and retired vales, interweaving among hills of a very wild and 
ronoantic character. The sides of these hills often consist of 
great precipices of crag, which overfrown the green valleys; and 
of thick woods, through which little cascades tiunble down from 
the mountains. Studley Pike was a tall and mas^ve stone tower, 
or pillar, erected to commemorate the restoration of peaoe, at the 
end of our wars with Napoleon, Singularly, it came thundering 
to the 'ground, on the day of the recent declaration of war 
against Bussia. 

On the west, the fine valley of the Roch, covered with 
wealthy towns and villages, stretches away out from this group 
of hills* Pretty Littleborough nestles immediately at the foot 



136 HIGHWAYS AKD BYEWAY8 FROM ROCHDALE 

of the moimtain, ai^d the eye wanders along the busy vale, from 
hamlet to hamlet, till it reaches the towns of Rochdale, Bury, 
Heywood, Middleton, and the smoky canopy of Manchester in 
the distance. On a fiavourable day, many other large and more 
distant Lancashire towns may be distinctly seen. On the east, 
or Yorkshire side, looking towards Hahfea, the hills appear to 
be endless. The valleys are smaller and more nmnerons, often 
lying in narrow gorges and woody rayines between the hills, 
hardly discernible from the distance. The momitain sides have 
a more cultivated look ; and hovering habs of smoke, rising up 
from the mountain hollows, with sometimes the tops of fatctorj 
chimneys peering out from the vales, show where villages Hke 
Bipponden and Sowerby are situated. On the distant edge of 
the horizon, a grey .doud' hanging steadily beyond the green 
hill called ^^ King Cross," marks the locality of the town of 
Halifax. Green plots of inclosed and cultivated land are 
creeping up the steep moors ; and comfortable &nn-houses with 
little folds of cottages, built of the abundant stone of the dis- 
trict, are strewn about the lesser hills, giving Hfe and beauty to 
the scene. 

For native men, the moors of this neighbourhood, as well as 
the country seen from them, contain many objects of consid^- 
able interest. The hills standing irregularly around ; the rivers 
and streams ; the lakes and pools below, and in the fissures of 
the mountains — ^we knew their names. The lakes, or reservoirs, 
about Blackstone Edge, form r^narkable features in its scenery. 
One of these, " Blackstone Edge Reservoir,'^ takes its name 
from the mountain upon whose summit it fills an extensive 
hollow. This lake is upwards of two miles, close by the water^s 
edge. The scenery around it is a table-land, covered with 
heather, and rocks, and turfy swamps. The other two, ^^ White 
Lees" and ^^ Hollingworth," lie lower, about half-way down the 
moors, — *^ White Lees" in a retired little glen, about a mile to 
the north-west of the " Wliite House," on the top of Blackstone 
Edge ; and ^^ HolUngworth," the largest and most picturesque 
of the three, is situated about two miles south-west of the same 



TO THE TOP OF BLACK6T0XE EDGE. 187 

spot. Close by the side of the present high-road from Lan- 

caahire, over these hills into Yorkshire, this old hostehy, called 

the " Coach and Horses," better known as " Th' White House," 

is situated near the top of Blackstone Edge, looking towards 

Lancashire. The division-stone of the two counties stands, 

also, by the road side, and about half a mile eastward of this 

public-home. The high northern bank of the road, upon which 

the division-stone stands, shuts out from the view of the passing 

traveller, this gloomy, bleak-bordered lake, called *^ Blackstone 

Edge Reservoir " — a scene which *' sky-lark never warbles o*er." 

A solitary cart-road leads off the highway, at the eastern comer 

of the reservoir, and, crossing the moor in a north-easterly 

direction, goes down into a lone and picturesque spot, called 

*' Crag Valley," or " The Vale of Turvin," for it is known by 

both names. This valley winds irregularly through the heart 

of these moors, nearly four miles, emptying itself at Mytholm- 

royd into the &mous vale of Todmorden. Fifty years ago, 

*^ Crag Valley" was almost entirely a savage and unfrequented 

region, little known, and much feared. Now, there are thriving 

clusters of rude population in it ; and many comfortable and 

sometimes very pretty homesteads, where industrious people 

dwell, sprinkled in isolated situations about the sides of the 

glen. Manufacture has crept up the margin of the stream. 

^^ Turvin" is becoming a resort of adventurous ramblers from 

the border towns and villagers of the two counties, on account 

of the pictnre«iuewildne« of its scenery. In some places, the 

stream of the valley dashes violently through deep and narrow 

gorges of ragged rock, overhimg with thick wood ; peeping 

through which, one unacquainted with the spot might be 

startled by the sight of a gloomy, precipitous steep, shrouded 

with trees, and the foaming water rushing wildly below over its 

fantastic channel of stone. There are several mills in the length 

of the valley now; and, in places where level holms lie down in 

the hollow, by the water side, the land is beautifully green. The 

vale is prettily wooded in many parts of its length ; but the 

barren moorland hills overlook the whole length of lonely 



Tmrin, The inhabitants of this remote fj^ are etei^ yet 
ioniewh»k v^W^ ^ app^cn^ance and nidPO^i like their hiUs* 
In Sarm&e timesi the rallay wsa notable ^nHHig the people el 
th^ sivroondinf diatrict^, aa the rende^oyia of cotn^:a and 
rpbham; andtbephraa^ ^^ a Tiurin abilling," ^wou:^of th« 
once &nioii« de9cterit|r of thaae counterfeiting outUwa^ who are 
eaid to haya Inrk^d a long tune in Impr^p^le aecurity, in 4aj^ 
gona bjt among th^ dreary aecl^mnQ oi this wild Quiaiian4 
glen. 

Anxroaching Turvin hy the rongh open road aeroBs tha moow 
from ^ top of Blackatone Sldge, it leads down into a deep 
comer pf the valley, in which etanda the new church of " St. 
John's in the Wildemeaa,^' built a few years agQ, for the behoof 
of the straii^ling inhabitantB of the neighbouring moors, and 
the little community of factory people which has folbwed the 
mills into this remote nook of the earth* Near the church, there 
is a small fold of new eottageSf occupied principally by factory 
operatiyes ] and a clean-looking modem public-house,— =a yesry 
welcoma and useful oonyenienca to anybody who is curious 
enough to ramble into this seduded comer. 

Upon the summit of one of the neighbouring mountains^ 
there is a great platform of desolation, distinguished, eyen 
among this brotherhood of stony wastesi as ^^ The Wilderness |" 
and I think that, whoever ha^ visited the spot will be inclined 
to say that the roughest prophet that ever brooded over his in- 
spired visions in the solitary places of the earth, could not well 
wish for a wilder Fatmos th«m this savage moor-top. On the 
right band of the public-house, near 3t. John'a Churc^ several 
r^ugh roads lead in different directions. The centre one goes 
up through a thick wood which clothes the moimtain side, and 
on by winding and wearisome routes to this " cloud-oapped " 
wilderness. On a distant part of this bleak tract stand two 
remarkable Druidical remains, called "Th' Alder Stones," or, 
the ^^ Altar Stones,^' — sombre masses of blackening rock, upon 
which the Pruid prieste of our island performed their sacrificial 
rites, before tb^ wild and fi^ Celts of the district. The fm^ 



Uqu Quel £D>|infttio« of ikm two (stooe^, yrikH h&r^ e^cb » 
sloping top, TFith » liolW in the mi<Ue, mi a duomel theo^ 
dowQwaid, i99i^ liP co&toa th$ cbiinK^ gosexidly attributed to 

B^tnnung fisoiQ ^^ St. JoW» in the Wildorneai/* tovaidA 
B]a(3]E«ito]ia Edg^, A quaint aod ancient staoe building, called 
^^ Qvug {JaU," occnidep a shad^r situatian npon the bill side at 
tbe p§^ht hmi pf tba yal«, {^ f^t the edge of ike wild tract 
called ^^ ]ikvipgd4^e Moor.^' This ancient ball contains manj^ 
yalnablp Rp^oinieiui of canred 09k fumiturei which baye been 
j^erngvedp -ni^ H^q building^ from the tme of its old owners* 
A &w yeaf9 ago, ij^ keepw of ErringdaliB MootF dwelt in it, 
and ^pt ^e plao^ in trim «i a lodge, for the entertaisniont of 
the (fwwi^ of th^ qaoor, mi tb^ sporting i&^iends, in the grouse 
mmn- 

Between the moorrfiide, on wbiob ^^ Crag Hall ^^ is situated, 
and tb^ ro«4 up ta the top gf SliM^tone Edg«Ei, a moorland 
stream run^ aJip^g its rooky channel down in the deep gut of thQ 
biUs. J remember that mani^ years ago I wandered for boursi 
one summer day, x^ this lonely water, in company with a young 
frleitd of mine^ In the course of our ramble upon the banks of 
the itreain, Uttte dreaming of any Testigee of human creation in 
that region^ we came puddei^y almost upon the roof of a sub« 
stantial opttage, rudely, but fbrmly built of stone, We de- 
scended the bank by a little steep, sbjong path, leading to the 
dgor^ There was no smoke, no stir nor sound, either inside or 
out ; bvt, through the clean windows, we saw a pair of band- 
loomS) in good condition, with an unfinished piece upon them. 
We knooked loudly and 7^)eatadly, hewing to obtain some 
umpto iNteihment after our long, latiguing stroll ; but there 
was no aiiawer, We knocked again and again, and Ji^t as we 
weiPe about to leave the lonely tenement, and take our way 
hod^Wf^fdijh^for the twilight waa coming on, and we had nearly 
ten miles to go— we heard the approacshing sound of a pair of 
dogs in the inside of the <)ottage ; and the door was opened by 
a taU| srtiiopg nib9P^w#*-bon^,a»d weU-bodi^ with hard, round 



140 HIGHWAYS AND BYEWAT8 FROM ROCHDALE 

limbe, and apparently about thirty-five years of age. His light, 
clear-complexioned face wius fiill of frankness and cahn cdmpiliGity. 
His head was large and well-formed, and covered with thick, 
bristling, brown hair, cut very short. Yawning, and stretching 
his arms out, he accosted us at once — as unreservedly as if we 
were old friends, for whom he had been looking out sometime— 
with, " Well, heaw are yo, to-day ?" We asked him for a drink 
of milk, or of water. He invited us in, and set two chaiiB for 
us in a little kitchen, in which the frtmiture was rudely simple 
and sound, and everything in very good order, and cleaned to 
its height. He brought forth brown pitchers frill of butter- 
milk, plenty of thick oat-cakes, and the sweet butter, for whicb 
these lulls are famous ; and we feasted. The cool of the evening 
was coming on, and there was no fire in his grate ; so he fetched 
a great armful of dry heather from an inner room, and cram- 
ming it into the fire-place, put a Hght to it. Up blazed the in- 
flammable eliding with a crackling sound, making the room look 
cheerfrd as himself. A few books lay upon the window-sOl, 
which we asked leave to look at. He handed them to us, com- 
menting on them, in a shrewd and simple way, as he did so. 
They were chiefly books on mathematics, a science which he 
b^an to discourse about with considerable enthusiasm. Now, 
my young companion happened to have a great passion for that 
science ; and he no sooner discovered this affinity between him- 
self and our host, than to it they went pell-mell, with books and 
chalk, upon the clean flags ; and I was bowled clean out of the 
conversation at once. Leaving them to their problems, and cir- 
cles, and triangles, I walked out upon the moor ; and cdtting upon 
a knoll above the house, wrote a little rhyme in my note-book, 
which some years after appeared in the comer of a Manchester 
newspaper. When I returned, they were still at it, ding-dong, 
about something or another in differential calculus ; and I had 
some difficulty in impressing upon the mind of my companion 
the important superficial area lying between us and our homes. 
This lonely mathematician, it seemed, was a bachdor, and he 
got his living partly by weaving, and partly by watching the 



TO THE TOP OF BLApKSTONJE EDGE, 141 

moor for the ownei8 ; and as I looked upon him I ahnoet envied 
the man his strong frame, his soimd judgment, his happy un- 
sophisticated Bund, and his serene and simple way of life. He 
walked over the moor with us nearly two miles, without hat, 
conversing about his books, and the lonely manner of his life, 
with which he appeared to be perfectly contented. Although 
our moorland hermit was a bachelor, there was no evidence of 
n^ligence about his person or clothing ; but, under some cir- 
cumstances, that £ftct alone would help to account for the man's 
happiness and orderliness. At our parting, he pressed us 
earnestly to come over the moors again the first opportunity, and 
spend a day with him at his cottage. I have hardly ever met with 
another man who seemed so strong and sound in body ; and so 
frank, and sensible, and simple-hearted, as this humble mathema- 
tical eremite of the mountains. That enthusiastic attachment to 
science, which so strongly distinguishes him in my remembrance, 
is a very conmion characteristic of the native working-people 
of Lancashire, among whom, in proportion to the population, 
there is an extraordinary number of well-read and practised me- 
chanics, botanists, musicians, and mathematicians ; and the book- 
sellers, even in the country towns of the county, know that any 
standard works upon the^e subjects, and some upon divinity, are 
sure to find a large and ready sale among the operative classes. 

We ware the afternoon for away in rambling about the high 
and open part of Blackstone Edge, between the immense group 
of black rocks called ^' Bobin Hood's Bed," and the solitary 
inn called the *^ White House," upon the Yorkshire road. 
Wading through the fern and heather, and turfy swamps; 
climbing rocks, and jumping over deep gutters and ancient 
lodgments of dark-brown stagnant water, had made us so 
hungry and weary, that we made the best of our way, with a 
good wiU— often sinking among shaky patches of moorland 
bog — ^to this inn, while the sun was yet up above the distant 
hills. Here, the keen appetite we had awakened upon the 
moors was amply satisfied ; and we refreshed, and rested our- 
selves a whUe, convensing about the country around us, and 



lid filGHWAtS AITD STSWATS itkOni lt60flDALE! 

exchanging aiieodotefi eharacteristlc of its remail:abl^ local 
characters, and retniniscenced of our past adventtrres in the 
neighbourhood. Many of these related to ^' Old Joe," the 
quaint gamekeeper, at Hollingworth, a kind of local •' Leath^ 
Stocking," who has many a time rowed tne aboat the lak6 in 
hii fishing-boat, talking of dogs, and gnns, and game, ftnd 
telling the sporting exploits of his youth. 

When we came out of the inn, the stm had gond Sown 
beyond the Mils upon the opposite dde of the scene. Wight's 
shrouding shadovrs We^ climbing up the brbad nt&spB^ but 
their great, undulating suimnit-lines still showed in dear relief 
against the westetn sky, where the waning sunSet^s glory 
Hngered. In erery other direction, the> skirts of the landscape 
Were fkst ihding from tiew. Eochdale town, with its chttrch 
towers and stacks of tall chimneys, had disappeared in the dudrjr 
distance. The mountainous wastes stretching aWay, dax4t and 
Still, on the north, south, and east, were melting into gloomy, 
indistinct masses ; and, below the hills, quiet evening^s dreamy 
Shades were felling softly down, and folding aWay for the night 
all the hamleted valleys between the top of Blackstone 'Edge and 
the JEswling boundary of the scene. Day's curtains wefe gently 
closing to, and the watchers of night beginning their golden 
vigU, and all the air seemed to be growing thick With dreams. 
We descended from the moor-top by a rough, steep by-path, 
which direrges, on the right-hand side of the ordinary highway, 
a little below the ♦* White House," and cuts off a mil6 of thd 
distance between that point and the " Moor Cock," whote we 
had left "Grey Bobby" and the "Whitechapel.*' Fa* down, 
from scattered cots and folds which were slowly disappearing in 
the deepening twUight, little Hghts were beginning to glimmer, 
That frontlet jewel of mild evening's forehead— *' the star that 
bids the shepherd fold '*— was glowing above us, and, here and 
there, dimmer twinklings of golden fire were stealing out from 
the blue expanse. As we slowly picked our way down the 
rocky moor, the stillness of the dork tract around ns seemed 
to deepen aa the Ught declined ; and th^e wais Ao distingtdA- 



TTO tHfi TOP OF BtACKSTONS fiDOS!. 143 

able sound in the neighbourhood of our path, except the clear 
gurglings and silvery tricklings of indiscernible rills, which — 
like traits of genuine dehcacy, deep-hidden in the characters 
of men of rugged exterior, only revealed in serene hours and 
to wakeful perceptions — ^were thus, unseen, doing their gentle 
spiriting, and unostentatiously beautifying the air of this rough 
solitude with their low sweet music. 'Erom. the faxim below, 
the far-off bark of dogs and lowing of cattle, came floating up, 
mingled with the subdued rush and rattle of railway trains, 
sweeping along th3 distant vaUey, Half an hour's active and 
erratic walk down the hill, brought us back to the ^^Moor 
Cock." Limper, the ostler, got *' Grey Bobtqr " from the 
stable^ Mid pat him into the harness. Out came the folk of 
the liop£(e, to s^ us offr Our frisky tit treated us to another 
romp, after whicli we drove steadily down the road) in the grey 
gloaming, aud on through tiittleborougln ftud Smallbndge to 
.Bochd^e, by the light of the st^krs. 



144 



THE TOWN OF HEYWOOD, AND ITS 
NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

** Natore never did betray 
The heart thst lored her ; 'tis her priTlleM, 
Through all the jcara of this our life, to lead 
Ifromjoytojoy. 

WouNiwonH; 

Oke Saturday afternoon, about midsummer, I was invited 
by a friend to spend a day at his bouse, which is pleasantly 
situated in the green outskirts of the manufacturing town of 
Heywood. The town has a monotonous, cotton-spinning look ; 
yet, it is surrounded by a very pleasant country, and has some 
scenery of a highly-picturesque description in its immediate 
neighbourhood. Several weeks previous to this invitation had 
been spent by me wholly amongst the bustle of our *^ Cotton 
Metropolis,*' and, during that time, I had often thought how 
sweetly the summer was murmuring with its *^ leafy lips'' 
beyond the town, ahnost unseen by me except when I took a 
twopenny ride into a certain suburb and walked about an hour 
or two in a scene which the season seemed to smile upon 
almost in vain, and where the unsatis£eu;tory verdure was broken 
up with daub-holes and rows of half-built cottages, and the air 
mixed with the aroma of brick-kilns and melting lime. Some- 
limes, too, I stole down into *^ Smithy Door Market " on a 
Saturday morning, to smell at the fresh flowers and buy a 
^^posey" for my button-hole; and I was always £un to see 
them, though they did look a bit mauled sometimes. It re- 
minded me of the time when I used to forage, with such glee 
about my native hedges, for bunches of the wild rose and 



THE TOWN OF HETWOOD, AND ITS NEIGHB0X7BH00D. 145 

branches of white-blossomed thorn. But now, as the rosy time 
of the year grew towards its height, I began to hanker after 
those wild moors and noiseless glens of Lancashire, where, even 
yet, nature seems to have it aU her own way. I longed for the 
quiet green valleys, and their murmuring waters, the rustling 
trees, and the cloudless summer sky seen through fringed 
openings in the wild wood's leafy screen. Somebody says, that 
>^ we always find better men in action than in repose V' and 
though there are contemplative spirits who instinctively shun 
the turmoil of towns, and, turning towards the tranquil seques- 
trations of nature, read a lofty significance in its infinite forma 
and moods of beauty, yet the heat of the battle of life lies 
where men are clustered. Great men can live greatly anywhere. 
But ordinary people must be content to snatch at any means 
likely to improve or relieve theb lot ; and it will do any care* 
worn inhabitant of the town good to ^^ consider the hlies of the 
field " a little, now and then. Country folk come to town to 
enliven the monotony of their lives, and town^s folk go to the 
country for refreshment and repose. To each the change may 
be beneficial, at least I thought so ; and, as light as any leaf 
upon tree, hailed my journey, for none of Robin Hood's men, 
ever went to the greenwood with more pleasure than I do. 

It was nearly three when we passed the " Old Church," 
on our way to Hunt's Bank Station. The college lads, in their 
quaint blue suits, and little flat woollen caps, were froHcking 
about the quadrangle of that ancient edifice which helps to 
keep ahve the honourable name of Humphrey Chetham. The 
twopenny omnibuses were rushing by, with full loads. I said 
^^ full loads," but there are omnibuses running out of Manchester, 
which I never yet knew to be so full that they would not "just 
hold another," especially on wet nights, and holidays* But on 
we went, talking about anything which was uppermost ; and in 
a few minutes we were seated in the train, and darting over the 
tops of that miserable human jungle known by the inappro- 
priate name of " Angel Meadow." The railway runs close by 
» Uttle hopeful oasis in this moral desert, the " Ragged School," 

J 



tid . THE TOWX OF HEYWQOD, 

At the end of Ashley Lane ; and, from the carriage iHndoWi w<} 
ooold tee *^ Charter Street," — ^that notable den of Mancdieeter 
outcastB. These two significant nei^bours — ^^ Charter Street,*' 
and the *^ Ragged School,"— <canmient eloquently npon one 
another. Here, aU is mental and moral ni^aria, and the wild 
reyefay of the place sounds like a forlorn cry for help. Tb&ee 
the same human elements are trained, by a little judicious, timely 
culture, towarda honour and usefulness. Any thoughtful man, 
with an unsophisiicated mind, looking upon the two, might at 
least be allowed simply to say, ^^ Why not do (Hiough of this to 
cure ihatV^ On the brow of Red Bank, the tower and gabies 
of St. Chad^s eathoHc church oyerloolc the swarming hiye of 
ignorance, toil and squalor, which fills the Talley of the Irk ; 
and which presents a fine field for those who desire to vptead 
the gospel among the heathen, and enfiranehise the sbve. And 
if it be true that the poor are *^ the riches of the church cf 
Christ," there is an inheritance there worth looking after by any 
church which claims the title. Uprose a grove of tall cMmneyB 
from the dusky streets lining the banks of that httie slutohy 
stream, creeping through the hollow, slow and slab^ towards ite 
confluence with the Irwell, at Hunt's Bank, wheare it washes 
the base of those rooks upon which, five hundred years ago, 
stood the ^^ Baron's Hall" or manor-house of the old lordb of 
Manchester. On the same spot, soon after the erection of the 
old OoUegiate Church, that quaint quadrangular edifice was 
built as a residence for the Warden and Fellows which aHer* 
wards became, in the turns of an eventful fbrtune; a mansioii of 
the Earls of Derby, a garrison, a prison, an hosj^tal, and a 
coQege. By the time we had taken a few reluctant snifiis of the 
euriously^compounded air of that melancholy waste^ t(re began 
to ascend the incline, and lost sight of the Irk, with lis ke- 
tones, dyehouses, brick-fields, tan-pita, and ga^warlai \ and the 
ttnhai^ mixture of st^ch, squalor, smoke, hard work, igno- 
rance, and sin, which makes up the landscape on ite bordens^ aad, 
after a short stoppage at the Miles Flatting dtatLon, our eyes 
were wanderiing over the summer fields as we whirled akmg* 



Ajn> ITS NElGHBOUaHpOD. tiff 



i 



JiTature was drest in her richest robes, and eyery green thing 
looked liish with the bounty and beauty of an unusually fine 
seaaon. As we looked abroad on this wide array of ^^ the 
splendour of the Md, and the glory of the flower,'' it was 
exhilarating to see the sprouting honeysuckle, and the pei^e*- 
Iffeathiag palm, of holy memorj \ and there, too, creeping about 
the hedges — all coyered with fresh leayea and pfv^de^^^-was 
that old acquaintance of life's mcvning, the rambhii^ bramble, 
which will be putting forth '^ its small white rose" about the 
time that oountry folk begin to house their hay; «nd when 
yiUage lads in Lancashire are gathering gear to decorate their 
irush-carts with. Clustering primroses were there, and tha 
celandine with burnished leayes of gold; and wild yiolets 
prancked with gay colours ; with troops of other wild flowers, 
some full in yiew, others dimly seen as we swept on ; and a 
world of floral summer beauty thickly embroidering the green 
mantle of the landscape, though beyond the range of discrimi- 
nating vision ; but clear to the eye of memory and imagination, 
which acssured us that these stars of the earth were making then: 
old haunts beautiful again. The buttercup was in the fields, 
bokliiig its pale gold chaHce up to catch the evening dews. 
Here and there grew a tuft of slender^stemmed white lilies, 
graceful and chaste ; and then a sweep of blue-beQs, tinging the 
hedge »dea. and the. moist akypm imder the trees, with their 
future l^ue — as blue as a patch of it^y — and swinging the fine 
ufteense from their pendent petals into the sauntaing summer 
wiifcd. Then oame the tall, gaudy £>xgloye, and thids: bushes of 
the gold^-bloBBomed furse, ooyered with laight, Inraye, gleaming 
spears, upon the banks of the line Oh,, nek summer! Tone 
of blossoms^ and honey-dews ; and flowers of eyery colour ! 
Thy lush fields are rich with clover and herb-grass ! Thy day- 
Ughta glow with glory ; thy soft, gray twilights are fhll of 
dreamy eights and sounds ; and the finest odours of the year 
peorfume the ahr, whan 

« Tks butterfly fliU from the flowering tree ; 
M^ tkf eoirslifr and blaa^bell an bent J>y Iba be^^** 

J 2 



148 THE TOWN OF HEYWOOD, 

• » 

The throstle sang lond and clear in the trees and little dells 
near the Hne as we roUed along; and the blithe '^layrock'^ 
made the air tremble between heaven and the green meadows 
with his thrilling lyric. That tall, white flower, which country 
folk caU *' posset," spread out its curdy top among the variety 
of el^ant summer grasses, quietly swaying to and fro with the 
wind. And then the daisy was there ! There is no flower so 
well becomes the hand of a child as the daisy does ! That little, 
simple, ^^ crimson-tippet" companion of the lark, immortalised 
in the kind poet's plaintive wail ! Tiny floral jewel of the fields 
of England, favourite of the child and of the poet ! Daisies lay 
like snow, — a scattered drift of summer's snow, — ^upon the 
green landscape ; and the hedges were white with the scented 
blossom of the thorn. To eyes a little tired of the wide-sprea<i 
city's smoky hives of brick — 

'' Where stoop the Bons of care, 
O'er plains of miechiefi till their souls turn grey "•— 

it was refreshing to peer about over the green and beautiful 
summer expanse, which lay smiling at the skies, towards the 
blue hills of South Lancashire, rising up on the edge of tiie 
horizon, solemn and serene. Every season has a beauty of its 
own, and so has every scene. Nature is full of variety in her 
features and moods ; and fiill of expression in her variations. 
These fine " shapes, and sounds, and shifting dements," both 
in detail and combination, are beholden to the mind that eon^ 
temi^tes them ; but their arrangement teems with significant 
originality, and at every moment, and in every place, t£ey wear 
a new aspect of beauty, that 

*^ Bole permanenoe in being's ceaseless flow." 

My own general impression of the natural charms of this part 
of Lancashire is, perhaps, in some respects a little warmer and 
more a<;cepting than that of an experienced and unbiassed 
stranger would be ; for the wheels are beautiful which roll me 
toward! tl^e country where I first pulled the wild fiawers and 



AND ITS NEIOHBOUBHOOD. 149 

barkened to the lark. In this district, there are none of those 
rich depths of soil which, with little labour and tilth, burst 
forth in fiill crops of heavy com. But the land is mostly 
clothed with pastoral verdure, and fine meadows; and the 
farming is almost entirely of the dairy kind. It is a country of 
green hills and vales, and clusters of dusky mills, surrounded by 
their busy radiations of industrial hfe ; and, except on the wild, 
high moorland regions, there is very little land now, even of the 
old mosses and morasses, which is not inclosed, and in progress 
of cultivation. The scenery has features of natural beauty 
peculiar to itself. It consists of a succession of ever-varying 
undulations, full of green, sequestered doughs, and defts, and 
shady comers ; threaded by many a little meandering stream, 
which looks up at the skies through over-lapping verdure from, 
its green hoUow ; and which 

'* Chanffes oft its Taried lapse, 
And ever as it winds, enobantment follows, 
And nsw beanties rise.** 

Travellers firam the midland and southern counties of England 
often notice the remarkable scarcity of trees in this quarter. 
The native woods were chiefly oak, ash, birch, beech, and yew, 
-^-very useful timbers. But when the time came that Lanca<» 
shire b^;an to strip some of its old customs and ornaments for 
a vigorous fulfilment of its manufEUSturing destiny, every useful 
thing upon the soil was seized, and applied to the absorbing 
purposes of the new time. The land itself began to be wanted 
for other ends than to grow trees upon. And then, when old 
landlords happened to be pressed for money, the timber of their 
estates — daily becoming more valuable for manufacturing neces- 
sities — sometimes presented the readiest way of raising it. Their 
lands often followed in the same track. And now, the landscape 
looks bald. Trees are scanty and snutll, except at a few such 
places as Hopwood Hall, and Chadderton Hall ; and a few thin, 
isolated clumps, like that which crests the top of ^^Tandle 
HUls.** In that part of this district which lies between 
'' Boggart Ho' Clough** near the old village of Blacklcy on the 



150 THE TOWN OF HEYWOOB, 

west, the town of Middletott on the east, and the Manchester 
and Leeds railway line on the south, there is a large and bare 
platform of le^el land, called «' Th* White Moss.^ It is rather 
derated above the surnmnding conntiy ; and it is qnite remored 
from any of the great hi^ways of the neighbourhood, whidi, 
neverthden, wind near to the borders of this seeluded moss in 
some places, with thdr restless streams of business. In former 
days, this tract has been a densely-wooded and unfrequented 
wild ; and, even within these twenty years last past, it was one 
great, unreclaimed marsh, in whose peaty swamps the massive 
relics of its once heavy Woods lay boriied. Bince that* timei 
nearly two hundred acres of the moss have been brought into 
cultivation ; and it is said that this part of it now produces as 
fine crops as any land in the ndghbourhood. In turning up 
the bog, enormous roots and branches of old trees, principally 
oaks, are often met with. Yery fine oaks, beeches, firs, and 
sometimes yew trees, of a sise very seldom met with in this part 
of Lancashire in these days, have frequently been foimd em- 
bedded in this morass, at a depth of five or six feet. Somtid 
Bamfotd, in his description of the '* White Mosb,*' say»--'»The 
stems and huge branches of trees were often laid bare by the 
diggers, in cultivating it. Nearly all the trees have been found 
lying from west to east, or from west to south. They consist 
of oaks, beeches, alders, and one or two fine yews. ThB roots 
of many of them are matted and guarded, presenting interesting 
subjects Ibr reflection on the state of this region in unrecoided 
ages. Some of these trees are in part charred when fijund. 
One tremendous oak, lying on the north-w^est side of ^e mosB, 
has been traced to fifteen yards in length, and is twelve feet 
round.^^ This solitary moss was one of those lonely places to 
which the people of these districts sometimes found it necessary 
to retreat^ in order to hold their political meetings in safety, 
during that hard and eventftd period of Lancashire history 
which fell between the years 1815 and 1821. It was a time of 
great suffering and danger in these manufecturing parts. The 
working people were often driven into riot and disorder by the 



deflpenitioai of extreme diBtraas \ irhick dutreas and diiovdar 
WM often increased by the discreditable eiqnonage, and ruthkiB 
public BoveritieB emjfiojed by the authoiitief! to oruih politioai 
diaeiiitioa among lOae popnlaee. Of the' gaUaht baxid of x^ 
formen irhieh led the van of the poptdar atrnggle, many a 
hnmblo and previooaly'nniiDted pioneer of liberty has left an 
heraio mark upon the history of that time. Some of these aro 
still Jiring ; othen have been many a year laid in their quiet 
grayea, — but their memories 'Will long be cheriahed among a 
people who know well how to esteem men who sineeKly love 
frsedom and jiistiee, aM are able to do and to suffer for them^ 
in a l>taTe spirit. 

in this actiye arem^ of industrialism there are many plaoes 
of historic interest scattered orer the uneven country i^nreading 
out from both sides of the line \ old halls and churches, where 
our fo3*e£a,therB have lived end worshipped many centuries; and 
quaint reUbs 6£ ancient Hamlets, hidden among the great over«- 
growth of modern fa^ctasj villages, mingled with immeoie mills 
and costly mansions, often belonging to men who were poor lads 
a few years ago, wearing wooden clogs, and carrying the woollen 
pieces back from the loom at their own houses upon their 
shoulders. As we cross the valley immediately beyond the 
Middleton station, the little picturesque old parish church of 
Middleton stands full in o^ght, upon the top of a green emi- 
nence, about a mile northward from the line, and just above the 
town, which lies chiefly down in the valley, north-west of the 
church. In the interior of this old feme still hang against the 
southern wall the standard and armour of Sir Bichard Assheton, 
which he dedicated to Bt. Leonard of Middleton, on returning 
'from the fight of Flodden Field, where he greatly distinguished 
himself) taking prisoner Sir John Foreman, serjeant-porter to 
James the Sixth of Scotland, and Alexander Barrett, high 
sheriff of Aberdeen ; and capturing the sword of the standard- 
bearer of the Scottish king. He was accompanied to the battle 
by a brave array of picked Lancashire aroh^ns^ the flower of his 
Middleton tenantry. At the western base of the hill upon 



Ib^ THE TOWN OP HEYWOOD, 

which the old church of St. Leonard of Middleton is^tuated 
two large cotton &ctorie8 now stand, close to the spot which, 
even so late as the year 1845, was occupied by the picturesque, 
heavy-timbered old hall of the Asshetons, lords of Middleton. 
The new gas-works of the town fills part of the space once 
covered with the gardens of the hall. Middleton lies principally 
in the heart of a pleasant vale, with some relics of its ancient 
quaintnesB remaining, in good condition, such as the lai^ an- 
tique wood-iand-plaster inn, called the " Boar's Head," in the 
hollow at the front of the parish church. But the gre^i val- 
leys of Middleton are flGust filling with cotton and silk mills, and 
dye works, and a thriving population. The manor of Middleton 
anciently belonged to the honour of Glithero, and was held by 
the Lades, Earls of Lincoln. Li the reign of Henry HI., the 
heir of Bobert de Middleton held a knight^s fee in Middleton, of 
the fee of Edmund or Edward, Earl of Lincoln, who held it of 
the Earl of Ferrars, the king's tenant in capite. And Baines, in 
his history of Lancashire, farther says ; — 

'<In 8 Bdward IL, the manor of Middleton if found in tke inqnitttion 
post-mortem of Henry de Lacy, amongst the fees belonging to the manor 
of Tottington, held by service of Thomas, Bsrl of Lancaster. With Henry, 
Sari of Linooln, this braneh of the Laeys passed away; and their posaes- 
sions in this country, with his daoghter and heiress, derolyed upon Thomas 
Plantagenet, Barl of Lancaster. The heirs of Robti (Robert) de Middleton 
possessed lands in Midelton, by military serriee, in the reign of Henry the 
Tliird, 1216-1272. At a later period the manor was possrased by Richard 
Barton, Bsq. ; the first of this family who is recorded in connection with 
Middleton was liTing in the reign of Henry the Fourth, 1410. He died 
without surriying issue* and the manor passed to the heirs of his brother, 
John Barton, Bsq., whose daughter Margaret having married Balph 
Assheton, Bsq., a son of Sir John Assheton, Knt., of Ashton-under-Lyne, 
he became Lord of Middleton in her right, in the seventeenth of Henrv the 
Sixth, 1488, and was the same year appointed a page of honour to that king. 
He was knight-marshal of Bngland, lieutenant of the Tower of London, 
and sheriff of Yorkshire, 1473-1474. He attended the Buke of Gloucester 
at the battle of Haldon, or Hutton Field, Scotland, in order to recover Ber- 
wick, and was created a knight banneret on the field for his gallant ser- 
vices, 1488. On the succession of Richard the Third to the crown, he 
created Sir Ralph vice-constable of Bngland, by letters patent, 1488." 

Thus b^gan the first connection of the town of Middle^n 
with that powerful Lancashire &mily, the Asshetons, of Ashtq 



Xam ITS KEiaHBOURHOOD. 153 

Undel^-Lyne, in the person of the famous " Black Lad," respect-^ 
ing whom Dr. Hibbert says, in his historical work upon Ashton-> 
under-Lyne, as follows : — 

" It appears that Balph Asslieton became, by his alliance with a rich 
heiress, the lord of a neighboarin^ manor, named Middleton, and soon 
afterwards received the hononr of knighthood, being at the same time en- 
trusted with the office of yice>ohanoellor, and, It is added, of lieutenant of 
th eTo wer. I nyeeted with such authority, he committed violent excesses in 
this part of the kingdom. In retaining also for life the privilege of guld 
ridinfff he, on a certain day in the spring, made lus appearance in this 
manner, oiad in black armour (whence his name of the Black Lad), 
mounted on a charger, and attended by a numerous train of his followers, 
in order to lei^ the penalty arising from nec^lect of clearing the land from 
carrgulds* The interference of so powerful a knight belonging to another 
lordship oould not but be regarded by the tenants of Assheton as a tyran- 
nical intrusion of a stranger, and the name of the Black Lad is at present 
regarded with no other sentiment than that of horror. Tradition has, 
indeed, still perpetuated the prayer that was fervently ejaculated for a de« 
liveranoe from his tyranny: — 

' Sweet Jesn, for thy mercy's sake, 
And for thy bitter passion, 
Save us from the axe of the Tower, 
And from Sir Ralph of Assheton.' " 

Happily, with the death of this terrible guld-rider of Assheton 
the custom was abolished, but the sum of five shillings is still 
reserved from the estate, for the purpose of commemorating it by 
an annual ceremony. Kalph Assheton, of Middleton, was an 
energetic adherent to the parliamentary cause during the civil 
wars. On the 24th September, 1642, about one hundred and 
fifty of his tenants, in complete arms, joined the forces of Man- 
chester, in opposition to the royalists. He commanded the par- 
liamentary troops at the siege of Warrington, which he cap- 
tured. He was engaged at the siege of Lathom House, and led 
the Middleton Clubmen at the siege and taking of Bolton-le- 
Moors by the royalists, May 28, 1644. In 1648 he was a 
major-general, and commanded the Lancashire soldiery of the 
commonwealth, on the marshalling of the parliamentary forces 
to oppose the Duke of Hamilton. In the same year he took 
Appleby from the royalists. His eldest son, Richard, who died 
an inlant, March 25th, 1631, was supposed to have been be- 
witched to death by one Utley, " who, for the crime, was tried at 



164 THE TOWlPf OF HEYWDOD,' 

ihft aSBUses at Lancaster, and executed there.'' Hjb turn ISlj&fh 
e^poiued the cause of Charles the Second, and vrw created a 
baronet in 1663. 

As we gUde out of sight of Middleton, a prominent feature 
of the landscape on the opposite side of the railway u the wood- 
crowned summit of " Tandle Hills." These hills overlook the 
sequiestered dairy farms and shady dingles of an extensive district 
called " "niomham ; *' which, though surrounded at short dis- 
tances by throng, smc^y* manufacturing villages and towns, is 
a tract fuU of quaint farm folds, little grassy uplands aud dells, 
interlaced with green old English lanes and hedge-rows* Before 
the train r^hes Blue Pits station, it passes through the fine 
estate of the Hopwoods, of Hopwood ; and, at some points, as 
it passes, the chimnies and gables of Hopwood Hall peep through 
its surrounding woods, in a retired and well-cultivated valley, 
on the north side of the line. As the train begins to slacken on 
its approach to the station, the tiny, old roadside village of Trub 
Smithy, the scene of many a humorous local story, lies nestling 
beyond two or three fields to the south, at the foot at a tlOpei ^ 
the hi^<»road from Manchester to Bocbdala* At ^^ Blue Fits " 
station, we obeyed tha noisy summons to ^' Change here icK 
Heywood," and were put upon l^e branch line which leads 
thitherward. The railway hence to Heyirood winds through 
green fields all the way, and is divided from the woods of Hop- 
wood by a long^ straight staipe of gleaining oanali kqvt in 
excellent order. As we rolled cm towards Heywood ttie moor* 
land heights of Aahworth, wild, round^topped Knowl, Bodey, 
and LobdeK^ rose boldly up in the baok^ground of the. scene 
before us, seemingly at a short distance, and before any gUmpse 
was seen of the town of Heywood, lying low between ua axid the 
hills. But as we drew near, a canopy of smoky cloud hung over 
the valley in front ; uid '^ we knew by the smoke " — as the 
song says — ^that Heywood was near; even if we had never 
known it before. Heywood is one of the last places in the 
world where a man who judges of the surrounditig countiy by 
the town itself, would think of going to Tnralii^. But, #Ten ia 



ANU ITS KEIGHBOtTRHOOO. 155 

tMft smoky manufecturing town, which is so meagre in historical 

interest, — ^there are some significant peculiarities connected with 

its rise and progress, and the aspects of its present life ; and 

some interesting traits in the characteristics of its inhabitants. 

And, in ita surrounding landscape, there are many picturesque 

scenes ; especially towards the hills, where the rising grounds are 

pierced, here and there, by romantic and craggy glens ; long, 

lonesome, and woody j and wand^ing fer up towards the moors, 

like ** 8impBon Clough ; ** and s6metimes green and pleAsant by 

the qtdet watar-side, like "Tyrone's Bed," Mid " Hooley Clough/* 

As the train drew slowly up to that little station, Which 

llways looks busy when there are a dozen people in the office, 

the straggling ends of Heywood streets began to dawn upon us, 

in the Valley off at the north-west ade of the line, with the peep- 

i^ chining tops of many of the cotton-mills, which lay yet too 

low doVm and far off to be wholly seen. Some costly mansions 

were visible ftls6, belongii^ to wealthy men of the netgh- 

bourhtood, — mostly rich cotton-spinhers, — perched on ** coignes 

of vantage," about the green uplands and hollows in the 

valley, and generally, at a respeotftd distance from the town. 

Many of the cotton miUs began to show themselves here entirely, 

— ^here and there in clusters, — ^the older ones looking vary dtteky 

and dreary, and uninviting to the eye ; the new ones as smart as 

new bricks and long lines of gKttering windows could make their 

dull^ square forms appear. A number of bride-built cottages 

bristled abeut tfee summit of a slope which rose gently up in 

front of us from the station, and closed firom view the bulk of 

the town, lying down in the valley beyond. We went up the 

slope, and took a quiet bye-path which leads through the fields 

along the southern edge of Heywood, affording a good view of the 

town and the valley in which it is sittiated, and entering the town 

near the market-place. Andnow, let us take a glance at the history, 

and some of the present features of this manu&cturing town. 

So iSsur as the history of Heywood is known, it has not been 
the arena of any of those great historical transactions of Eng- 
land's past, which have so shaken and changed the lesslremote 



156 THE TOWN OP HEYWOOD, 

and more populatecl parte of the country. The present appear" 
ance of Heywood would not, perhaps, be any way delightful to 
the eye of anybody who had no attractive local interest in it. 
Yet a brief review of the history, and the quick growth of the 
place, may not be uninteresting. Heywood is the capital of the 
township of Heap, and stands principally upon a gentle elevation 
in a wide valley, about three miles &om each of the important 
towns of Bochdale, Bury, and Middleton. The township of 
Heap is in the parish and manor of Bury, of which manor the 
Earl of Derby is lord. This manor has been the property of the 
Derby fSunily ever since the accession of Henry VH., after the 
battle of Bosworth Field, when it was granted by the king to 
his father-in-law, Thomas Stanley, first Earl of Derby, who 
figures in Shakspere^s tragedy of ^^ Richard the Third.'* The 
previous possessors were the Pilkingtons, of Filkington. Sir 
Thomas PiUdngton was an active adherent of the York 
faction, in the wars of the Roses ; and, in a manuscript of 
Stowe's, his name appears, with a large number of other Mends 
of Richard, who '•^ sware Kynge Richard shuld were ye crowne," 
There is a picturesque and secluded little hamlet of old-&shioned 
houses in this township, called Heap Fold, situated on a hill 
about half-a-mile west of Heywood. This hamlet is generally 
admitted to be the oldest, and, probably, the only settlement in 
the township of Heap in the times of the Saxons, who first 
cleared and cultivated the land of this district. Previous to 
that time, it may be naturally supposed that, like many similar 
parts of South Lancashire, this district was overrun with woods, 
and swamps, and thickete. Edwin Butterworth published a 
little pamphlet history of Heywood, from which I quote the 
following notes : — '^ The origin of the designation Heap is not 
at all obvious ; in the earliest known mention of the place, it is 
termed Hep, which may imply a tract overgrown with hawthorn-, 
berries. The name might arise from the unevennees of the sur- 
&ce, — heap (Saxon) indicating amass of irregularities. The deno- 
mination ^ Heywood' manifestly denotes the site of a wood in a 
field or a wood surrounded by fields." Farther on, in the same pam^ 



AND ITI^ K£IO&BOtJBHOO]>. 157 

phlet, he says : — " The local family of Hep, or Heap, has been 
extinct a considerable time. The deed of the gift of the whole 
forest of Holecombe, to the monks of St. Mary Magdalen, of 
Bretton, in Yorkshire, by Boger de Montbegon, is witnessed 
amongst others by Robert de Hep ; but without date, being of 
an age prior to the use of dates. Roger de Montbegon, how- 
ever, died 10th Henry m., so that this transaction occurred 
before 1226." It may be true that what is here alluded to as 
the local flEunily of Hep or Heap, is extinct ; but the name of 
Heap is now more prevalent among the inhabitants of Heywood 
and the inmiediately surrounding towns than anywhere else in 
England. With respect to the two suppositions as to the origin 
of the name ; almost every Lancashire lad wiU remember that 
he has, at one time or another, pricked his fingers with getting 
'* heps," the common bright red berry, which, in other parts, 
goes by the name of the " hip." And then there is some show 
of likelihood in the supposition that the name has come from 
the Saxon word " heep," meaning " a mass of irregularities," as 
Putterworth says ; for the whole district is a succession of hills 
and holes, and undulations, of ever-varying size and shape. 
Again, he says, " Heap was doubtless inhabited by at least one 
Saxon family, whose descendants, it is probable, quietly con- 
formed to Norman rule. In that era, or perhaps earher, the 
place was annexed to the lordship and church of Bury, of which 
Adam de Bury, and Edward de Buri, were possessors shortly 
after the conquest.* A family of the name of Hep or Heap, 
held the hamlet from the paramount lords. In 1311, third of 
Edward H., Henery de Bury held one half of the manner of 
Bury."t Previous to the fifteenth century, this township must 
have been part of a very wild, roadless, and untempting region, 
having, for the most part, little or no settled population, or 
communion with the living world beyond ; and the progress of 
population, and cultivation of the land, up to that time appears 
to have been very slow, and only in a few isolated spots ; since, 
:although there were several heys of land at that time, near to a 

• Teffte de NevUle f Harl. M^Sd. Codex 2^086, fo. 4^8. 



168 THE TOWN or QEYWOOD^ 

wood, and thence called ^' Heywoodf" upon the spot now ooc^- 
pied bj a bmi^ community of people, numl»enng twenty i^xir 
sand at leaat, ptiucipally employed in the cotton manufacture, 
yet, there is no record of any dwelling upon that particular spot, 
until shortly after the fifteenth century, when a few rural 
habitations were erected thereon. From this comparatively 
recent period may be reckoned the dawn of the little rural 
village which has since expanded into the pr^ent storing 
manufacturing town of Heywood, now thriving at a greater 
rate than ever, under the impulse of modem industrialism. 
About this time, too, began the residence there of a family 
bearing the local name. " In 1492 occurs Robert de Heywood, 
In the brilliant reign of Elizabeth, Edmund Heywood, Esq., 
was required, by an order dated 1574, to furnish a coat of plate, 
a long bowe, shdfie of arrows, steel cap, and bill, for the military 
musters.*^* James HeyWocd, gentlerpan^wafi living b«fotel604. 
Peter Heywood, Esq., a zealous magistrate, the represcsntative 
of this family in the reigns of James the I. and Charles the I., 
was a native and resident of the present Heywood HaU, which 
was erected during the sixteenth century* It is said that he 
appreh^ded Guido Faux, coming forth fron^ the vault of the 
house of parliament, cm the eve of the gunpowder treason, 
November 5th, 1605 ; he probably accompanied Sir Thomas 
Knevett, in his seatch of the cellars ipider the parliament bouse. 
Hie principal interest connected with the earHest history of the 
town of Heyvood, seems to be bound up in the hiutory of 
Heywood Hall and its inhabitants, which will be noticed 
ferther on. 

The old episcopal chapel, near the market-place, dedicated 
to St. Luke, is a very plain little building, with nothing 
remarkable in its appearance, or its situation. |t seems to 
have been founded at the beginning of the seventeeQth century. 
It contains inscriptionB commemorative of the Holts, of Gcrizie* 

* Hard. HSS., 1896. Theie is a pecUgrea of tbU fmiXj iv D^awovtiiTs 
HS3. Bodldan LtD. vol. Ixlix. 



AH© m NEIGHBOURHOOD. (IW 

hxaet, fmd Qie gtarkiod^ of Heywood Hall. A dial-pkte oi^ 
the eiastem 0:s^terior, beaiB the date J1686, with the imtiaJs of 
JRobert H^rffood^ Esq., c^ Heywo^ Hall, who was governor 
of the We of MAn^ in 1678. Besides the Heywoods, of Uey-. 
wood HaU, tjiere w^re seyeiral powerful local families in the 
olden tune seikted at short distances round the spot where 
Haywood now stands : the Heaps^ of Heap ; the Bamfprds, of 
Bamford; ih» Marlands, of Marland; the Holts^ of Grisle- 
huffil^, and thd Hopwoods, pf Hopwood— which last still resade 
upon thebr andent estate, 

Heywood, or '^ Monkey Towti,'' as safdnatic people ^l other 
.parts of Lancashire sometinvM 9aU it, is Xkom & manufactiuing 
pbcQ of at lei^t twenty thousand inhabitanta. It ov^&k its rise 
almost entirely to the rise and progwa of cotton ipanu&oture ; 
and the histcwy of the latter ineorpoifttes the history of the 
Ibrmer in a xUUoh greater degree than that of any other con* 
gideral^ town in the district. Thi^ gives it a kind of interest 
whieh certainly does not belong to any beauty which the external 
appearance of the town, at present possesses. A few years 
before those potest mechanical inventions became known 
which ultunately made Lancashire what it is i|i our day, Hey^ 
wood was a. UttlOf peaceful^ and coii\parat4vely unlrequented 
country fold; but a fbw years after thes6^ ipventions ^^ame 
into action, it began to grow into what th^ people of those 
days perhaps thought ^^ something rich and strange,^' with a 
celerity akin to the growth of grci^t towns in the United 
States of. America* About two himdred years ago, a few 
little rural ootiages first arose upon this previo:u8ly almost un- 
peopled spot ; and at the same time when ^e manu&cture of 
cotton began in South Lancashire, it was stiU It eonaU agrieulr 
tural village, {seittily situated in a pioturesqtie and Quiet ncene, 
about the centre of the long, gentle ridge of lacdy trhich ia now 
nearly covered l^ the present smoky torwn^ full of cotton iaotoriea 
This little rutal nucleus clustered near to the old, white^washed 
episcopalian ch4>el which stands in the market-place. Pilous 
to the iUYentum of the fly shuttle, by Eay, in the neighbouring 



160 THE TOWN OP HETWOODV 

town of Bury ; and the ingenious combinations and applications 
of the inventions of his contemporaries by Arkwright, the 
enterprising Preston barber, ahnost every fiurm-hotise and little 
agricultural cottage in this part had the primitive spinning- 
wheel and the old-fashioned hand-loom in them, wherewith to 
employ any time the industrious and frugal inhabitants could 
spare from their rural occupations. At the time of Arkwiight^s 
first patent, the people of these parts little knew what a change 
the time's inventions were bringing upon their quiet native 
haunts — still less of the vast radiating influences which were to 
arise therefrom, combining to the accomplishment of incalculable 
ends ; and they were, at first, slow to wean from their old, 
primitive, independent way of living partly by fiuming and 
partly by manufacturing labour, which they could do in their 
own houses, and at their own leisure. ^^ Manchester manu- 
facturers are glad," says Arthur Young, in 1770 (the year of 
ArkwrighVs first patent), when bread is dear, for then the 
people are forced to work." But though the supply of yam in 
those days was less than the demand, and the people were not 
yet draughted clean away from their old manner of life, ihej 
were caught in the web of that inevitable and inscrutable destiny 
which will have its way, in spite of the will of man. Oliewwld's 
Master had new commissioners abroad for the achievement of 
new purposes. These wonder-working seeds of providence, 
patiently developing themselves in secret, were soon to bvust 
forth in a wide harvest of miraculous change upon the field of 
human life. Certain men of mechanical genius arose, and their 
creative dreams wrought together in a 'mysterious way to the 
production of extraordinary results. John Kay, of Bury^ in- 
vented the '^jncking peg," or ^^ fly-shuttie, in 1738; and his 
son, Robert Kay, invented the "drop-box," used in the manu- 
fiicture of &brics of various colours, — and that wonderful cotton 
and woollen carding machine, which stretches the wire out of the . 
ring, cuts it into lengths, staples and crooks it iuto teeth, pricks 
holes in the leather, and puts in the teeth, low after row, with 
extraordinary speed and precision, till the cards are fii^ec^ 



AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 161 

Thomas Higlis, the humble and ingenious rced-maker, at Leigh, 
in 1763, origmated that first remarkable improvement in spin- 
ning machinery which he called after his fEtvourite daughter 
" Jenny ; " and he also introduced the " throstle" or water 
frame in 1767. This man lingered out his old age in affliction 
and dependence. James Hargreaves, the carpenter, of Block-* 
.burn, improved upon the original idea of the spinning-jenny^ 
and invented the crank and comb, ^^an engine of singular 
merit for fsudlitating the progress of carding cotton." The 
ignorant jealousy of the Lancashire operatives in those days 
drove this ingenious man to seek shelter in Nottinghamshire, 
where he was but ill-received, and where he ended his days in 
miserable poverty. He died in a workhouse. Arkwxight, the 
Preston barber, was more endowed by nature with the qualities 
requisite for worldly success than these ingenious, abstracted, 
and simple-minded mechanical dreamers. He was a man of 
great perseverance and worldly sagacity. With characteristic 
cunning, he appears to have wormed their valuable secrets out of 
some of these humble inventors ; and then, with no less industry 
and enterprise than ingenuity, he combined these with other 
kindred inventions of the period, and wrought them into a 
practical operation, which, by its results, quickly awakened the 
world to a knowledge of their immense power. He became a 
rich man, and " Sir Richard." In 1780, the " spinning-mule," 
was first introduced by its inventor, Samuel Crompton, a poor 
dreamy weaver, then dwelling in a dilapidated comer of a quaint 
old Lancashire hall, caUed " Th' Hall i'th Wood," in Turton, 
near Bolton. This machine united the powers of the spinning-- 
jenny and the water-frame. The spinning-mule is now in 
general use in the cotton manufiBMJture. This poor weaver gave 
his valuable invention to the public, without securing a patent. 
His remuneration in the shape of money, was therefore left to 
the cold chances of charity ; and it would doubtless have been 
more prompt and secure, and more productive, under the pro- 
tecticm of a patent. He was, however, at first, rewarded by a 
Bubscription of one hundred guineas ; an^ ttveniy years ofixr^ 



162 THE TOWN OF HEYWOOD, 

^ards, by an additional subecripfiion of four bimdred guineas; 
and in 1812 parliament awarded the sum of five thouaand 
pounds to the dreamy old weaver, in hig latter days. In 1785, 
the first patent for the power-loom was obtained by the Bev. 
Edmund Cartwright, of Kent, who invented it ; and after oon- 
siderable improvements, it has at last eontributed another 
enormous impulse to the malnufacturing power of these dislaricts. 
Whilst th se great mechanical agencies were devebpii^ them- 
aelves, James Watt was busy with his steam-power; and 
Brindley, in conjunction with the Duke of Bridgewafcer, was 
^oonstmoting his gigantic water-ways. They were all ndcessary 
parts of one great scheme of social alteration, the end of whidi 
is not yet. These men were the immediate sources of the pre- 
«ent boasted manu&ctnring power and wealth of Lancashire, 
tip rose Arkwright's model mill at Cromford ; and the ocm- 
Ibrtable, industrious, and independent people of South Lanca- 
shire, who were spinning and weaving in the old way, in their 
scattered cottages and folds, began to find themsdves drawn by 
IrresistLble spells into new combmations, and new modes of 
living and working. Their remote haunts began to resound 
with the busy tones of clustering labour ; their quiet riven, late 
murmuring clear through silent glens and cloughs, began to be 
dotted and dirtied with new mills ; and their Uttle villages 
speedily shot up into large and active manufacturing towns. 
From 1770 to 1788, the use of wool and linen in the spinning of 
yarns had almost disappeared, and cotton had become the idmost 
•universial material for employment; the hand- wheels were 
supetseded by common jennies^ hand carding by carding en- 
gines, and hand picking* by the fly shuttle. From 1778 to 
1808 was the golden age of this great trade ; the introducticm of 
mule yams, assimilated with other yams produdng every de- 
scription of goods, gave a preponderating wealth through the 
loom. The.mule twist being rapidly produced, and the demand 

• The " picking rod" is a straight wooden handle, by which the hand- 
loom weaTor need to impel his shuttle. **Aa straight as a piekin' rod,*' iij 
« eommoB phraae among country people in ^nth Lwoaehist, 



AKD ITS NEIGHBOUKnOOD, l68 

for goods very lat*ge, put all hands in requeet ; and weavers' 
flhopB beeatnd yearly inore numeroilB, — the remuneration for 
labour ynJi bigh, and tiie population was in a most comfortable 
eonditien. The dissolution of ArkwrighVs patent in 1785, and 
the general ad(^tion of mule spinning in 1790, concurred to giye 
the most extraordinary impetus to the cotton manufaeturek 
KumaK>ufi mlDs wiere erected, and filled with water frames ; and 
jennies aJid mules were made and set to work with almost in^ 
crediWe rapicfity."* 

fieyWood had already risen up, by the previous methods of 
manuJlis,otu)*e$ to a place of about two thousand inhabitants, 
in the year 1780 — that changeful crisis of its histwy when, 
the manufexsture of cotton by steam-power first began in the 
township of Heap with the erection of Making Mill, hard by 
the north side of Heywood. Ilm mill was built by the firm 
of Peel, Yates, and Co., of Bury — ^the principal of which firm 
was Robert Peelj Esq., (afterwards Sir Robert), and ffeither 
of the memorable fi&r Robert Peel, late prime minister of 
England, whose name is hbnourably connected with the abo- 
lition of the Com Laws 5 a man who won the gratitude of a 
nation by bravely daring to turn *' traitor" to a great wrong, 
in order that he might anbrace a great right. This mill is now 
the propfflpty of Edmund Peel, Esq., brother of the late Sir 
Robert. It stands about half a mile iVom Heywood, in a shady 
clough, and upon tiie banks of the river Roch, which rises in 
the hills on the north-east extremity of the county, and flows 
down through the town of Rochdale, passing through the green 
glen called '* Tyrone's Bed ; '' and through ** Hooley Clough." 
The river then winds on westward, by the town of Bury, three 
miles off. The course of this water is now well lined with 
manufaetfiring power, nearly from its rise to its embouchure. 
A stranger may always find the mills of Lancashire by IbUow- 
ing the courses of its waters. 

Before the factory system arose, wh«i the people of this 

• « Badeliffii*g OrigiJi of Power-l«oi« W^STing," pp. 50—66. 

K 2 



164 THE TOWN OF HEYWOOD, 

quarter did their mantifactiiaruig work at their homieB — whek 
they were not yet brought completely to depend upon manu- 
fEtcture for liyelihood, and when then* manner of life was^ at 
least, more natural and hardy then it became afterwards — 
their condition was, morally and phyedcaUy, very good c(Hn- 
pared with the condition which the unrestricted fiictoiy system 
led to in the first impetuous rush after wealth which it suddenly 
awoke, especially in the employment of young children in mills. 
The amount of demoralisation and physical deterioration then 
induced and entailed upon the after population, particukriy in 
isolated nooks of the country, where public opinion had Httle or 
no controlling influence upon such mill-owners as happened to 
poflsees more of capital and reckless ayarioe than of humane 
care for their operatiye dependents, must haye been great. It 
was a wild manufacturing steeple-chaae for wealthy stakes, in 
which whip and spur were used with little mercy^ and few were 
willing to peril their chances of the plate by any lingering con- 
siderations for the sufferings of the animal that carried them. 
But the condition of the factory operatiyes, since the intro- 
duction of the Ten Hours^ Bill — and, perhaps, partly throu|^ 
the long-continued and earnest public discussions which led to 
that enactment — ^has yery considerably and yisibly begun to 
improye. Beneyolent and just men, who own mills, haye, of 
their own accord, in many honourable instances, paid a much 
more liberal attention to the general welfare of their worl^ieople 
eyen than the proyisions of the law demanded : and those mill- 
owners whose only care for their operatiyes was bounded by a 
yigorous desire to wring as much work as possible out of them 
for as little pay as possible, were compelled to fulfil certain 
humane regulations, which their own sympathies would haye 
been slow to concede. The hours of flEu^ry labonf are now 
considerably and systematically shortened ; and the operatiyes 
are not eyen so drunken, riotous, and ignorant, as when they 
were wrought, monotonously as their machinery, £rom bed-time 
to bed-time. Books and schools, and salutary recreation, and 
social comfort, arc more fashionable among them than they used 



AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 165 

to be — partly because they are more practicable things to them 
than before. The millii themselyes are now necessarily healthier 
in many respects than formerly ; &ctory labour is restricted to 
children of a reasonable age ; and that elementary education 
which is essential to every child^s welfeure, is now, by a wisdom 
worthy of extension, administered through the necessary impulse 
of the law to all children of a certain age in factories. 

Heywood town is altogether of too modem an origin to 
contain any buildings very interesting to the admirer of those 
quunt and instructive relics of ancient architecture which may 
generally be found, more or less of them, in unaltered nooks of 
the older towns of the county ; and which, although their con- 
dition and character may be unsnited to the fashions and 
requirements of modem manu&cturing life, yet please and in- 
Btruct the thoughtful mind, breathing a kind of relieving historic 
interest and beauty among the great overgrowth of dull-looking 
modem buildings forced up by the hot atmosphere of Lancashire 
manufacture during the last seventy years. The only places in 
Heywood around which an antiquarian would be likely to linger 
and muse, with anything like satis&ction, would be the little 
6[MSOopal chapel in the market-place, founded in the seventeenth 
eentnry, and Heywood Hall, which stands about half a mile 
from the town, and of which more anon. With these excep- 
tions, there is probably not one building in the place two hun- 
dred years old. 

The appearance of Heywood, whether seen in detail or as a 
whole, presents as complete, unrelieved, and condensed an epi- 
tome of the still-absorbing spirit of manu&cture in the region 
where it originated, as can be found anywhere in Lancashire. 
And, in all its irregular, serpentine main street, consisting of 
more than a mile o£ most monotonous, brick-built shops and 
cottages — together with the dingy, radiating Kttie streets and 
alleys diverging therefrom — there does not appear even one 
modem building remarkable for taste, or for any other distin- 
guishing excellence, sufficient to induce an ordinary man to halt 
and admire it for a njinute. There is not even an edifice charaC" 



1 



16d THE TOWN OP HEYWOOl>, 

t^iaed b J any singullurity whatever, calctilaitod to awitoi w6a^ 
der or curiosity in an ordinary beholdiarf eatoept it6 great equardf 
brick oOtton mills, machine shops, and the like; and when the 
outside of one of these has been seen^ the (Outside of the remain- 
der is no nayelty< The heights and depths pHncipally culti- 
yated in Heywood appear to be those of fsuitoly chimtieys and 
coal-pits. .. Of cotursiB, the interiors of the mills teem witb 
mechtoiiGal wonders and ingenuiUes; and the sodal Ufe and 
characteristics of the population is full of indigenous interest. 
But the general exterior of the town exhibits a dull and dusky 
succession of manufacturing sameness. Its inns, with one or 
two exceptions, look like jerry-shops, and its places of worship 
like warehouses* A living writer has said of the plaoe^ that iib 
looks like a great fimeral on its way froin BiUry to Bo(didale« 
between whioh towns it is sitiiatod midway* When seen frara 
any neigihboilring elevation, on a dull day, this strange figure 
hardly exaggerates the truth* The Whole M^a of HeyWood 
seems to be govdined by; ^ ring of Hfcetovjr belis«^t kast^ 
much more thto by any other beUa« The ter^ dweUiiig^faonsM 
look as if they, toO| worked in the dictorieiu To pess(»uiaocas-' 
tomed to the quaint prettiness Of w^*'Vegdlatdd £ngiyi. rural 
villages, and the more natural hu6 and general appearance of 
the people in such places, the inhabitants of Heywood would, at 
first sight, have somewhat of a sallow appearanee, and tiieir 
houses would appear to be slightly smeared with a mixtuite of 
soot, sperm oil, and cottCHQ fluz. And, if such observers hhew 
nothing of the real character and habits of the iEbetory poptt** 
lation, they Would be slow to believe them a Jpeopls remarkal^ 
fond of cleanliness and of subetantsal homely oon^c»rt, as fsr as 
compatible with the nature of their emjdofment. A dose 
examination of these Heywood cottages would show, however, 
tliat their insides are more clean and comfortablB than ^h& first 
glance at their outsides might suggest ) and would also reveal 
many other things not discreditable to the native diSpositi<^ of 
the people who dwell in them. But the architecture and getie« 
ral eharaeteristicB of Heywood, as a towxii evinoe to9 toite> no 



AKB ITS KEiaBBOURHOOD. 167 

refinem e nt, nor even pabUc spiiit or liberaliiy, oomme&Buratd 
with its wealth and energy. The whole population Beema yet 
too completely wrapt in ita laborious manizfaotaring dream, ta 
care waxucAk about the general adornment or improvement of the 
place, or even about any rery effective diff^iaion of those influ« 
enoes which tend to the imptorement of the health and the 
cnltnie of the nobler fiiculties <^ the people* But Heywodd 
may yet, perhaps, emerge from its dreary appraitioeship to 
blind toil ; and, wiping a little dui^t from its eyes, look forth 
Awards thitags quite as essential and of a nobler kind than this 
unremitting fight for bread fbr the day. At present, wherever 
one wanders among the streets on week-days, the same manu^^ 
iactttring indications present thanselves. It is plain that its 
people are nearly all employed in one way, directly or indirectly. 
This is suggested, not only by the number and magnitude of 
the mills, and the general aspect of the habitations of the 
people, but by every living movanent on the streets. Every 
vehiele that passes ; every woman and chUd about the cottages 9 
every lounger in the market-place teDs the same story. One 
striking feature of week^lay life in He3rwood, more oompletely 
even than in many other kindred towns, is the oloek-wprk 
punetuaJity with which the operative crowds rush from the 
milk, and hurry along the streets, at noon, to their dinnsn \ 
sauntering back again in twos and threes, or speeding ak>ng in 
solitary haste to get within the mill-doors in time for that re- 
awakening boom of the machinery which is seldom on the 
laggard side of its appointment. And it is not only in the 
dress and manners of this numerous body of fSeu^tory operatives 
— ^in their language and deportment, and the prevailing hue of 
theur coimtenances — ^that the character and influence of their 
employment is indicated ; but also in a modified variety of the 
same features in the remainder of the population, who are either 
immediately connected with these operatives, or indirectly af- 
fected by the same general manufacturing influences. I have 
noticed, however, that fefctory operatives in country manufac- 
turing towns like Heywood have a more wholesome appearance, 



168 THE TOWN OF HEYWOOD, 

both in dress and person,* than the same class in Manchester. 
Whether this arises from any diiference in the atmosphere, or 
£rom more healthy hahits of factory operatives in the country, 
than those induced among the same class by the temptations of 
a great town hke Manchester, I cannot say. 

In the course of the year, there are two very ancient festivals 
which are kept up, each with its own quaint peculiarities, by the 
Heywood people ; and commemorated by them with general 
rejoicing and cessation froni.labour. One of these is the ^^ Rush- 
bearing," held in the month of August; an old feast which 
seems to have died out almost everywhere else in England, ex- 
cept in Lancashire. Here, in Heywood, however, as in many 
other towns of the county, this ancient ceremony is still observed, 
with two or three days* holiday, hilarity, and feasting, in the hay 
season. The original signification of this annual ^ ^ Rush-bearing," 
and some of the old features connected, with the ceremony, such 
as the bearing of the rushes, with great rejoicing, to the church, 
and the strewing of them upon the earthen - floor of the sacred 
fiane, have long since died out. The following racy passage is 
taken from a poem called *^The Village Festival," written by 
Elijah Ridings, a living author, of local celebrity, and is de- 
scriptive of the present characteristics of a Lancashire *' Rush^ 
bearing^** as he had seen it celebrated in his native village of 
Newton, between Manchester and Oldham :— 

'' When wood and barn-owls londly Bhoat^ 
As if were near some rabble rout; 
When beeeh-trees drop the yellow leaf» 
A type of human hope and gritt; 
When little wild flowers leaye the snn. 
Their pretty love-tasks being done ; 
And natoro, with exhaustless charms^ 
Let's summer die in autumn's arms : 
There is a merry, happy time, 
With which I'll grace my simple rhyme ;— 
The wakes — the wakes — the jocund wakes! 
My wand'ringf memory fonakes 
The present busy scene of things, ' 
And soars away on fancy's wings, 
for olden times, with garlands crown'd, 
And rush- carts green on many a mound; 



AND ITS KSIGHBOimHOOD. 169 

In homlets boaring^ a g^at namej* 
The first in astronomic fame ; 
With' bnojant youth and modest maid, 
Skipping along the greon-sward glade. 
With hmghing eyes and ravished sight. 
To share once more the old delight I 
Oh ! now ithere comes — and let's partake-— 
Brown nuts, spice bread, and Bcdes cake ;t 
' There's flying-boxes, whirligigs, 
And sundry mstie pranks and rigs; 
With old '* Chum "f cracking nnts and jokes. 
To entertain the country folks; 
But more, to earn a honest penny, 
And get a decent living, any*— 
Aye, any an humble, striving way. 
Than do what shuns the light of day. 
Behold the rush-cart, and the throng 
Of lads and lasses pass along I 
Now watch the nimble morris-dancers. 
Those blithe, fantastic antic-prancers, 
Bedeck'd with gaudiest profusion 
Of ribbons, in a gay confusion 
Of brilliant colours, richest dyes, 
Like wings of moths and butterflies ; 
Waving white kerchiefs here and there, 
And up and down, and everywhere; 
Springing, bounding, gaily skipping, 
Deftly, briskly, no one tripping; 
All young fellows, blithe and hearty, 
Thirty couples in the party ; 
And on the foot-paths may be seen 
Their sweethearts from each lane, and green. 
And cottage home ; all fain to see 
This festival of rural glee; 
The love-betrothed, the fond heart-plighted, 
And with the witching scene delightea ; 
In modest guise, and simple graces, • 

With roses blushing on their faces ; 
Ah ! what denotes, or what bespeaks 
Love more than such sweet apple-cheeks? 
Behold the strong-limbed horses stand, 
The pride and Ixuist of English land, 
Fitt^ to move in shafts or chains. 
With plaited, glossy tails and manes; 
Their proud heads each a garland wears 
Of quaint devices — suns and stars ; 
And roses, ribbon-wrought abound ; 

* The village of Newton, on Newton Heath, near Manchester. 

f A kind of spiced cake, for which the village of Socles, near Man- 
chester, is famous. * 

X A quaint old vendor of nuts and Bccles cakes, who used to be well 
known ai Lancashire wakes and fairs. 



170 THB TOWN OP HEYWOOD, 

The nhirpiaU,* one handred pound, 
With green oak boaghs the oart is orovened. 
The strongs gaunt horses shake the ground. 
Now see the welcome host appears, 
And thirsty mouths the ale-draught cheers; 
Draught after draught is quickly gone-- 
<< Gome ; here's a health to every one 1 " 
Away with care and doleful thinking ; 
The enp goes round ; what hearty drinking ! 
While many a youth the lips is smaoking, 
. And the two drivers' whips are cracking : 
Now, strike up music, the old tune; 
And louder, qaieker,old bassOon; 
Gomo, bustle lads, for one dance more, 
And then cross -^morris three times o'er. 
Another jnff--eee how it foams, 
And next the brown October comes— 
Fall five years old, the host declares, 
And if you doubt it londly swears. 
That it's the best in any town — 
Tenpcnny ale, the real nnt«brown. 
And, who was he, that joyial fellow, 
With his strong ale so old and mellow P 
A huge, unwieldy man was he. 
Like Falstaff, fkt and fall of glee ; 
With belly Uke a thirty^sixf 
(Now, reader, your attention fix), 
In loose habiliments he stands, 
Broad-shouldered, and with brawny hands; 
Good humour beaming in his eye, 
And the old, rude simplicity ; 
Btct ali?e fbr rough or smooth, 
That rare old fellow^ BiU o' Booth I " t 

The oihesr is a fiunotis old festival here, as well as in the 
neighbouring town of Bury. It is a peculiarly local one, also ; for, 
I belieye, it is not celebrated anywhere else in England except in 
these two towns. It begins on Mid-Lent Sunday, or ^^ Simblin- 
Sunday," as the people of the district call it, from the name of 
a spiced cake which is prepared for this feast in great profusion, 
and in the making of which there is considerable expense and 

* Huch Taluable silver plate is sometimes lent by the inhabitants of 
Lancashire villages to adorn the front of their native rush-cart daring its 
annual peregrinations. 



f A thirty-six gallon barrel. 



He was the landlord of an old road- side inn, on Newton Heath, with 
a pleasant bowling-green beldnd it. The house is still known as ** BiU o' 
Booth's." 



AKB ITS KBiaHBOVBHOOD. 171 

riralry shoi^n. On ** Simblin-Sunday," the two towna of Bury 
and Hejnrood swarm with visitors from the surrotinding country, 
and ^^ ^mldinB" of extraordinary siae and valine are exhibited in 
the 8hop'*windaws. The festiyal is kept up during two or three , 
days of the ensuing week. In the Rev. W. GaskellVi interesting 
lectures on the *-*' Lancashire Dialect,*' the following passage 
occurs relatiTe to this *' Simblin-Cake :" — *^ As you are aware 
there is a kind of oake for which the town of Bury is fiunous, 
and which gives its name in these parts to Mid-Lent Sunday— 
I mean * symnel/ Many curious and fenciful derivations have 
been found for this ; but I feel no doubt that we must look for 
its true origin to the Anglo-Saxon 'simble'or *simle,* which 
means a feast, or * symblian,' to banquet. • Simnel' was evi- 
dently some kind of the finest bread. From the chronicle of 
Battle Abbey, we learn that, in proof of his regard for the 
monks, the Conqueror granted for their daily uses thirty-six 
ounces of * bread fit for the table of a king, which is called sime* 
nel; and Rog» de Hoveden mentions, among the provisions 
allowed to the Scotch King, at the -Court of England, * twelve 
Hmenels,^ 'Banquet bread,' therefore, would seem to come 
very near the meaning of this Word. I may just observe in 
passing, that the baker^ boy who, in the reign of Henry VII., 
personated the Earl of Warwick was most likely called * Lam- 
bert Slmnd,' as a sort of nickname derived from has trade.'** 

The amusements, or what may be called the leisure-habits, of 
the factory population in Lancashire manufecturing towns are 
much alike. Some are sufficiently jaded when their day's work 
Is done, or are too apathetic by nature to engage heartily in 
anything requiring f\ni)her exertion of body or mind. There 

• The folWittj? ii6te ia attdclied t6 this passage, in Mr. Gaskell's lec- 
tui«t:^«That fioble m&sUr of lail^oge, Walter Ssvagfo Landor, who bae 
done roe the honpar to refer to my lecture in the Sxaminer, says of this 
Wrd * symble/ a feast, it is very like 'symbslum,* which means the same, 
in form of pio-Dio; and adds, * la Tuseany a fine oake is oalled semolina. 
When I waa a boy at Ilngby, I remember a man from Banbury, who sold 
simnetSj very eatable. The interior was not unlike mince-pie without fat, 
hat fliTOttved with saffiron ; the exterior was hard> smooth, and yellow/ " 



172 THE TOWN OF HKYWOOD, 

are many, however, whe, when they leave the fectoiy in thej 
evening, go with a kind of renovating glee to the reading of 
such books as opportunity brings ¥rithin their reach, or to the 
systematic i^osecution of some chosen study, such as music, 
botany, mechanics, or mathematics, which are favourite sciences 
among the working people of Lancashire. And even among the 
humblest there areoften shrewdand well-read, if not extensively- 
read, politicians, chiefly of the Cobbett school But the greatest 
number occupy thdr leisure with rude physical sports, or those 
coarser indulgences which, in a place like Heywood, are more 
easily got at than books and schools, especially by that part of 
the people who have been brought up in toilfiil ignorance of these 
elements. The tap-room is, unfortimately, the most convenient 
school and meeting-place for these; and the tap-rooms are 
numerous, and well attended. There fiEUstory lads congr^;ate 
nightly, clubbing their hard-earned pence for cheap ale, and 
whiUng the night hours away in coarse ribaldry afid dominoes, 
or in vigorous contention in the art of single step-dancing iipm 
the ale-house hearth-stone. This single step-dandng is a &- 
vourite exercise with them; and their wooden dogs are often 
very neatly made for the purpose, lacing closely up to above the 
ankle, and gaudily ornamented with a multitude of bright brass 
lace holes. The quick, well-timed clatter upon the tap-room 
flags generally tells the whereabouts of such dancing haunts to 
a stranger as he goes along the streets ; and, if he peeps into 
one of them, he may sometimes see a knot of &ctory lads clus- 
tered about the tap-room door inside, encouraging some fS&vourite 
caperer with such exclamations as, ^* Deawn wi* th* fiiut, Bol»n ) 
Crack thi^ rags, owd dog 1 *' The chief out-door sports of the 
working-class are foot-racing, and jumping-matches ; and 
sometimes foot-baU and cricket. Wrestling, dog-fighting, and 
cock-fighting are not uncommon ; but they are more peculiar 
to the hardier population outside the towns. Now and then, a 
rough ^^up and down " fight takes place, improvised at an ale- 
house door, or brought off more systematically in a nook of 
the fields. This rude and ancient manner of persooal com* 



AND ITS NEIGHBOUKHOOD. 178 

bat is graphically described by Samuel Bamford, in his 
well-known ^^ Passages in tbe Life of a Eadical." The moors 
north of Heywood afford great sport in the grouse season. 
Some of the local gentry keep packs of harriers ; and now 
and then, a ^^foomart-hunt" takes place down by the water- 
side, with the long-eared dog, whose mingled cry, when heard 
from the hill-sides, sounds like a chime of bells in the 
distant yalley. The entire population, though engaged in 
manufacture, evinces a visible love of the fields and field sports, 
and a strong tincture of the rough sunpHcity, and idiomatio 
quaintness of their forefathers, or '' fore-dders,'' as they some, 
times call them. In an old fold near Heywood, there lived a 
man a few years since, who was well known thereabouts as a 
fighter. The lads of the hamlet were proud of him as a local 
champion. Sometimes he used to call at a neighbouring ale** 
house, to get a gill, and have a ^^ bout" with anybody so inclined 
and worth the trouble, for our hero had a sort of chivalric dis*- 
like to spending his time on " wastrils" unworthy of his prowess. 
When he chanced to be seen advancing &om the distance, the 
folk in the house used to say, ^^ Hellho I so and so*s coming ; 
teen th* durl" whereupon the landlord would reply, "Naw, 
naw I Ihyev it oppen, or else he'll punce it in ! But yo'n«no 
'casion to be fyerd, for he^s as harmless as a chylt to aught at's 
wayker nor his sel I '' He is said to have been a man of few 
words, except when roused to anger, when he uttered terrible 
oaths with great vehemence. The people of his ndghbourhood 
say that he once swore so heavily when in a passion, that a 
plane-tree growing at the front of his cottage, withered away 
from that hour. Most Lancashire villages contain men of this 
stamp--men of rude, strong frame and temper, whose habits, 
manners, and even language, smack a little of the days of Hobin 
Hood* Yet it is not uncommon to find them students of botany 
and music, and fond of little children. Jane Clough, a curious 
local character, died at a great age, near Heywood, about a year 
and a half ago. Jane was a notable country botanist, and she 
had many other characteristics which made her remarkable. She 



174 THB TOWM OF HEYWOOD, 

• 

was born upon Bagekte Heath, a moorland traet, up in the 
hills, to the north-east of Hepvood. I well remember that 
primitiye country aniazon, who, when I was a lad, was such an 
dd- world figure upon the streets of Bochdide and Hejrwood. 
Everybody knew old Jane Olough. She was very t^, and of 
most maflculine face and build of body ; very strong-boned and 
robust, with a dear and healthy oomplexbn. She was mostly 
drcst in a strong, old-fiwhioned blue woollen bed«gown, and 
thick petticoate of the same stuff. She woie a plam bat very 
clean linen cap upon her head, loosely eorered with a silk 
kerchief; and her foot*gear consisted of heavy clouted shoon, 
or wooden clogs, suitable to her rough country walks, her great 
strength, and masculine halnts. Botany was always a ruling 
{NUMon with rough old moorland Jane. She was the queen of 
all flower-growers in humble life upon her native clod ; eepe* 
jbiaUy in the cultivation of the polyanthus, auricula, tuHp, and 
>( ley" or carnation. Jane was well known at aH the flower* 
shows of the neighbourhood, where she was ofti^ a ^uooesBM 
fixhilntQr ; and though she was known as a womim of somewhat 
^Ksrupnlous mors! character — ^and there are many anecdotes of 
her illustrative of this>-«yet she was almost equally well known 
at foot-races and dog-battles, or any other kind df bcittles, for 
which she not unfrequently held the stakes. 

There used to be many a ^^ hush-shop," or house for the $Bk 
of mdicfaised drink, about Heywood ; and if the dktrici was 
thrown into a riddle, they would turn up now and then yet ; 
especially in the outskirts of the town, and-up towards the hilk 
These are generally sly spots, where sly fiiddlers, who like ale 
for its own sake, oan steal in when things are quiet, and get a 
.beUy-fiill at something less than the licensed price, or carry off 
a bottle-full into the fields after the gloaming has ccnne on. Of 
course *' hush-shop" tipplers could not often indulge in that 
noisy freedom of drunken speech, nor in those wild bursts of 
bacchanalian activity vulgarly known by the name of ** hell^ 
delight," of which licensed ale-houses are ofben the unavoidaUe 
scenes; and where the dangerous Lancashire ale-house game, 



AN© ITS NEIGH^OUBHQOD. 176 

called ^^ Th' Bull o^ th^ Bauk," has sometuues fmished a night of 
dranken oomedy with a touch of real ti»gedy. The most suit- 
able cuBtomers for the *•*• huah-ahop," were quiet) silent, Bteody 
soakers, who c^red for no other company than a fall pitcher; 
and whose psahn of life consisted of scraps of old drinking- 
songs like the following, trolled out in a low chuckling tone ; — 

M good ale, thou art my darling, 
I lo?d thee night, I tore thee morning,. 
I love thee new, I love thee old : 
1 loVe thee warm, I lore thee cold I 

Oh! goodalet" 

There is aii old English drinking-song just republished in " The 
Songs of the pramatists," which was printed in 1576, in 
Bishop Still's comedy of " Gammer Gurton's Needle," though 
probably known earlier. Fragments of this old song are still 
known and sung in the north of England, The burden runs 
thus in a l^ancashire version ; — 

** Baiek and side, go baM, go bare; 
, ITaut and hood, go coad ; 

But bally, God send thee good ale anuf, 
Whether it« yung or owd I " 

Having glanced in this brief way, at the progress of Hey- 
wood, from the time when it first began to give a social human 
interest to this locality, as a tiny hamlet, about the end of the 
fifteenth century, — ^at which time the valley where it now stands 
was a comparatively unfrequented solitude — ^up to its present 
condition as a busy cotton-spinning town of twenty thousand 
inhabitants, surrounded by a district all alive with manu- 
facturing activities, I will return to the narrative of my visit to 
the place, as it fell on one fine afternoon about the end of June. 

We had come round from the railway station, along the 
southern edge of the town, and through the fields, by a foot- 
path, or " fuut-gate," which led us into Heywood about one 
hundred yards from the old episcopal chapel in the middle of the 
town. The ttitjIr were stopped. Country people were coming 
into town to do their errands, and a great part of the working 



176 THE TOWN OP HEYWOOD, 

popolaticm of Heywood appeared to be Bauntering alo^g the 
main street, Btopping at the shops to make their markets as they 
went along ; or casting about for their Saturday night^s diversion, 
and gazing eag^ly from side to side, to see what could be seen. 
Clusters, of factory girls were gathered about the drapers* 
windows. These girls were generally clean and tidy ; and, nob 
unfrequently , there were very intelligent and pretty countenances 
amongst them. The older part of the factory operatives, both 
men and women, had often a staid and jaded 4ook. The shops 
were busy with customers buying clothing, or food, or cheap 
publications ; and the ale-houses were getting lively. A little 
company of young " factory-chaps" were collected about the 
bookseller's shop, near the old ^^ Queen Anne," looking out for 
news, or pictures, or reading the periodicals exposed in the 
windows. Now and then, a select straggler wended his way 
across the road to change his *^ library-book" at the Mechanics' 
Institution. There was considerable stir lower down the street, 
^heie a noisy band of mudc was marching along, foUowed by 
an admiring multitude. And, amongst the whole, a number of 
those little, active, mischief-loving lads, which are so weU-known 
in every manufecturing town by the name of " Doffers," were 
clattering about, and darting after one another among the 
crowd as bUthe as if they had never known what work was. 
We crossed through the middle of the town, and went down 
the north road into an open tract of meadow land, towards the 
residence of mine host. 

The house was pleasantly situated in a garden, about two 
stones' throw from the edge of Heywood, in the wide level of 
rich grass land, called " Yewood Ho' Ghreyt Meadow." The 
road goes close by the end of the garden. We ^tered this 
garden by a little iron side-gate, and on we went, under some 
richly-blossomed apple trees, and across the grass-plat, into the 
house. The old housekeeper began to prepare tea for us ; and, 
in the meantime, we made ourselves at home in the parlour, 
which looked out upon the garden and meadows at the front. 
Mine host Bat down to the piano,* and played over some of that 



AMD ITS »nEIGHBOtmHOOI>. 177 

fine old psalmody which the country people of Lancashire take 
SQch delight in. His family consisted of himself, a staid-looking 
old housekeeper, and his two motherless children. One of these 
was a timidy bright-eyed little girl, with long flaxen hair, who, 
as we came through the garden, was playing with her hoop 
upon the .shady grass-plat, under the blossomy apple trees ; but 
who, on seeing a stranger, immediately sank into a shy stillness. 
The other was a oontemplative lad, about thirteen, with a 
Melancthon style of countenance. I found him sitting alone in 
the parlour, absorbed in ^^ Roderick Random." As soon as tea 
was over, we walked forth in the cool of the evening, to see the 
daylight die upon the meadows around. We could hear the stir 
of Saturday night life in the town. Through the parlour 
window we had caught glimpses of the weird evolutions of a 
large bat ; and; as we stood bare-headed in the garden, it still 
ilitted to and fro about the eaves, on noiseless wings, in dusky, 
vivid motions. As the still, cool night stole on, we went in, 
and the shutters closed us from the scene. We lingered over 
supper^ talking of what newspaper writers call *^ the topics of 
the day,'^ and of books, and local characters and customs ; and 
about half an hour before midnight we cr^t off quietly to our 
beds. 

When I rose £rom bed, and looked through the window of 
my chamber, the rich haze of an unclouded midsummer morning 
sufi^ised the air. The sunshine lay glittering all over the dewy 
fields ; for the fiery steeds of Phoebus had not yet drunk up 
those limpid springs ** on chaliced flowers that lie." The birds 
had been up many an hour, and were carolling and chirping 
gleefully about the eaves of the house and in the gardens. The 
sfdendour and serenity of the day had touched even the dull 
manufacturing town on the opposite ridge with its beautifying 
magic; and Heywood seemed to rest from its labours, and 
r^oice in the glory and gladness which clothed the heavens and 
the earth. The long factory chinmeys, which had been bathii^ 
Uieir smokeless tops all night in the cool air, now looked up 
serenely through the sunshine at the blue sky, as if they, too, 



178 *rHE TOWN OT HEirvirooft,' 

were glad to get rid of the week-day fume, and gaze qmetfy 
again upon the loveliness of nature ; and aU the whirhng 
spinning machineyy of the town was lying still and siknt as the 
overarching heavens. Another Sabbath had dawned upon the 
world ; and that day of God, and god ef days, was bieathing 
its fine bahn among the toilers again. It n a poor heart that 
never rejoices in the fireedom and joy of nature, nc»? ever felt the 
serene and saeired suggestiveness of an Enghsh Sunday morning : 

<< Man has aneiher Jay to swall iha past, 
And lead bim n«ar to little, but hit last; 
But mighty nature bonnds as from lier birth ; 
The Bun is in the heavens, and life on eavth; 
Flowers in the yaU«7) splendonr in the besn, 
Health on the gale, and freshness in the streiin]. 
Immortal man I behold he* glories shino, 
And cry, exulting inly, * TUey ^ro raiaa! ' 
Gaze on, while yet thy gladdcn'd eye may see; 
A morrow oomes when they ave not for thee.** 

It was a feast to the senses and to the soul to look voand und^ 
the son upon sudi a scene at such a time, with ti^ &ciiltie6 
fresh ftom repose, and instinctively conscious of reprieve from 
that relentless rou^d of busy necesaities that IbHow them, hot- 
foot, through the rest of the week. As I dressed myself, I 
heard mine host^s little daughter, ^^- Mary Ann,'^ begin to play 
^^ Bosseau^s Dream '^ on the |^ano, in the parlour betow, and I 
went down stairs humming a sort of bass accompaniment to the 
tune ; lor it is a sweet and simple melody, which cMmUd in we!fl 
with the tone of the hour. The little shy musician stayed her 
fingers, and rose timidly from her seat, aa I entered the room ; 
but a Httle coaxing soon induced her to return to it, and she 
played the tune over and over again for us, whilkrt^ the mormng 
meal was preparing. Break&st was soon over^ and the young- 
sters dressed thenselvea for chapel, and lefb us to ooxselyes ; i» 
the one small bell of Heywood Chapdl was going ^^ Toll^— toU^ 
toll;" andstragg^lingoompanieBof clean, heaUhy children, were 
wending up the slope from the fields towarda their Sunday 
achoob. Through the parlour window, I watched th^ httlb 



^^•■^■"^•^■^r^o 



AlJD ITS NEIGttBOimHOOD. fH 

eompaniee of country chikfren — so fresh, so glad, and' iwree*-* 
looking — and as they went their -way, I thou^t of the to** 
when I, too, used to start from home on a Sunday morning, 
dressed in my holiday suit, clean as a new pin from top to toe, 
and well content with a plentiful hreakfast of oatmeal " porritch " 
and butter-cakes ; and accompanied to the door with a world of 
good and gentle admonitions. I thought of some things I 
learned " while standing at my mother's knee ;" of the little 
prayer and the blessing at bed-time ; of the fine old solemn 
tunes which she used to sing when all the house was still, whilst 
I sat and list^ied, instinctively drinking in those plaintive old 
strains of devotional melody, never to forget them more. I 
thought of the simple joys, the painful, lonely struggles, and the 
^'ell-remembered sorrows of those days; and as these things 
came over my mind, the feelings of childhood touched me across 
the changeful gap which lies between. 

We were now aJone in the silent house, and there was a Sab- 
batical stillness all aroimd. The sunshine gleamed in at the 
windows and open doors ; and, where we sat, we could smell 
the odoinrs of the garden, and hear the busy music of birds out- 
side. We walked forth into the garden, among little beds of 
flowers, and blooming apple trees. The subdued chirrup of 
children's voices was still going up the road hard Jby, towards 
the town. From the thick woods round Heywood HaH, there 
came floating over the meadows a thrilling flood of mingled bird- 
music from an innumerable choir of feathered singers, sporting 
among those leafy shades. All nature was at morning service, 
and it was good to listen to this universal canticle of praise to 
Him " whose service is perfect freedom." A kind of hushed 
joy seemed to pervade the landscape, which did not belong to 
any other day, however fine; as if the hills and vales, the woods 
and waters, also, knew it was Sunday : — *' Hail, Sabbath ! thee 
I hail, the poor man's day." To the wisest and best men, the 
whole universe is one magnificent place of worship, and the 
whole course of human life one ceaseless divine service. The 
man who has a susceptible heart, and loves nature, will find 

L 2 



180 THE TO\m OF fflBYWOOiJr 

pleasure and renovation in communion with it, no matter wliat 
troubles may disturb bim in the world of man^s life : — 

^' For she can so inform 
The mind that is within ns, bo impress 
With quietness and beanty, and so feed 
With lofty thoughts, that neither eyil tongnes. 
Bash jadgfmente, nor the sneers of selfish men. 
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
The dreary intercourse of daily life 
Shall e'er prevail against us or disturb 
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold 
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon 
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk ; 
And let the misty-mountain winds be free 
To blow against thee." 

The backyard of the house, where we were sauntering about, 
was divided from the woods and gardens of Heywood Hall by 
a wide level of rich meadows ; and the thick summer foliage 
which lapped the old mansion fi^m view, looked, in the distance, 
a very inviting shelter from the heat of a cloudless midsummer, 
forenoon — a place where we could wander about old swardy plots 
and lawns, among embowered nooks and mossy paths — ^bathing, 
meanwhile in the pleasant coolness of its thick, green shades ; 
in which a blithe multitude of small birds were waking the 
echoes of the woods with the sweet tumult of their blending 
melodies. Being disposed for a walk, we instinctively took the 
way leading thitherward. The high-road from the town of 
Heywood, northward, goes close by the front gates of Heywood 
Hall. This road was formerly lined by a thick grove of trees, 
reaching nearly from the edge of the village to the gates, and 
called " Th* Lung Nursery." This grove so shut out the view^ 
and overhung each side of the way, that the walk between 
looked very lonely after dark ; and country folk, who had been 
loitering late over their ale, in Heywood, began, when they 
reach " Th' Lung Nursery," to toot about from side to side^ 
with timid glances, and stare with fear at every fitful rustle 
of the trees. Even if two were in Company, they hutched 
doeer together as they approached this spot, and began to be 



AND ITS NEIGHBOUBHOOD, 181 

troubled with vivid remembrances of manifold past transgress 
sions, and to make internal resolutions thenceforth to " Fear 
God, an' keep th' co'sey," if they could only manage to " hit 
th' gate" this once, and get safely through the nursery, and by 
the vrater-stead in Hooly Clough, where " Yewood Ho' Boggart 
comes a-suppin' i' th' dhyed time o' th' neet." This road was 
then, also, flanked on eaxih side by a broad, sprawling thorn- 
edge, overgrown with wild mint, thyme, and nettles ; and with 
thistles, brambles, stunted hazles, and wild rose bushes ; with 
wandering honeysuckles weaving about through the whole. It 
was fuU of irregular dinges, and *' hare-gates," and holes, from 
which clods had been riven ; and perforated by winding, mys- 
terious tunnels and runs, where the mole, the weasel, the 
field-mouse, and the hedge-hog wandered at will. Among the 
thorns at the top, there was many an erratic, scratchy, half- 
made breach, evidently the result of the frequent incursions of 
country herbalists, himters, bird-nesters, and other restless 
roamers of the woods and fields. It was one of those rich, old-- 
fashioned hedges which country lads delight in; where they 
could creep to and fro, in a perfect revel of freedom and fun, 
among the brushwood and prickles, with no other impediment 
than a wholesome scratching ; and where they could fight and 
tumble about gloriously among nettles, and mint, mugwort, 
docks, thistles, sorrel, " Robin-run-i' th'-hedge," and a multi- 
tude of other wild herbs and flowers, whose names and virtues 
it would puzzle even a Culpepper entirely to teU ; rough and 
free as so many snod-backed young modiwarps, ripping and 
tearing, and soiling their ^^ good clooas " as the country mothem 
used to call them, by tumbling among the dry, fine soil of the 
hedge-side, and then rolling slap into the wet ditch at the 
bottom, among " cuckoo-spit," and ** frog-rud," and all sorts 
of green pool-slush; to the inexpressible dismay of sundry 
communities of Umber-tailed ^^ Bull- Jones," and other little 
hecromantio fr^ that inhabit such like stagnant moistures. 
Some looked for nests, and some for nuts, while others went 
nutHng up the trees on climbing adventures, trying the strength 



188 . THE TOWJf or HBYWOOD, 

43i manjr a bough ; and all were blithe and ftee As the birdB 
among the kayee, until the twilight shadeB b^an to £bIL 
Whilst the sun was still up in the sky, they thought little about 
tiioBe Bumeroiu natire boggartS) and ^^fEureeB,'' and ^^fee<Hin\'' 
.which) acoording to local traditions and superstition, roam, the 
. wood0| ai^d craters, and kmelx places ; sometimes with the male- 
ToSLeat intent of luring into their toils anj careless intruder 
upon their secluded domain. Sotne lurking in the streama and 
Jxxds^ likd ^^ Greiai-Teeth)^' and ^^ Jenny Long Armsi'' waiting, 
with skinny daws and secret datt, for an opportunity to dutch 
the unwary wanderer upon the bank into the water* Others, 
like '*Th' White Lady," "Th' Strikin' Woman,'* " Baum 
Bappit," '' G^idehtirst Boggart," and '' Clegg Ho' Boggart," 
haunting lonely nooks of the green country, and old houses, 
where they have made many a generation of simple folk pay 
» considerable toll of superstiliowf fear for some traditional 
4iepd of darkness done in the dim pest. Others, like ^^Nut 
•Kan," prowled about the shady recesses of the woods, ^^ wi' a 
poke-full o' red-whot yetteits to brun nutHsteylers thir e'en 
,eawt." But, when dusky evening began to steal oyer the &ding 
.scene, and the songs of the birds, and all the sounds of day 
began to die upcm the ear — ^when the droning beetle, and the 
weird bat began to flit about; and busy crowds of midges 
.danced aboye the road, in masy eddies, and spiral columns, 
between the eye and the sky; then the superstitious teachings 
of their infancy began to play about the mind ; and, mustering 
their trapH^ the lads turned thdr feet homeward, tired, hungry, 
Kvatched, dirty, and pleased; bearing away witii them— in 
additidii to sundry griping feeds of uliripe dogberry, which ihey 
had eaten from the hedge*«ide»— great store of hazle-*nute, 
and earth-nuts; hips and hawn; little whistles, made of the 
tough bark of the wicken-tree ; slips of the Wild rose-bush, 
stuck in their caps and button-holes; yellow *'Bkedlocks," 
and whip-lashes made of pkdted rushes; and sometimes, also, 
,fitung-up eyes and swollen cheeks, the painful trophies of 
desperate encounters with the warlike inhabitants of ^^ waq>- 



AND ITS 2$rBlI0HBOUBHOOD. jld3 

nestB," uaexpectodly dro{^>ed on, ib the coiu«e of iimx neraJ 
froMc. 

" Ob, sweet youth ; how Booa it £ades ; 
Bweet joys of youth, how fleeting I** 

The toad bxnne was beguiled with clod-battles^ ^^ Frog-Leap,^' 
and " Bob Stone," finishing with " Trinel," and " High Cock- 
donim,^' as they drew near their quarters. The old hedge 
and the nursery haye been cleared away, and now the fertile 
meadows He open to the yiew, upon each side of the road^ 

On arriving at the enlarance which leads up from tiie high 
road to Heywvxxi Hall, we turned in betWBen tVFO grey, dilapi- 
dated gate-pillars, standing in a semicircle^ receding a little 
from the road side. These old, headless, battered ^te^^piUars, 
had a lone and disconsolate appearance about them. The crest 
of the Starkies is gone from the top, and the dismantled shafts 
look conscious of their shattered fortunes. The woodm g^te, 
now ricketty and rotten, swung to and fro with a grating 
sound upon its rusty hinges, as we walked leisurely up the 
cool, spacious ayenue of tall trees, towards the hall. The fine 
old wood, so thick with its &esh green, was a glorious sight, 
with the strong flood of summer sunshine pouring down upon 
it, and stealing through its fretted roof of many-patterned 
foliage^ in £reakish threads and bars of sunlight, which played 
about beautifully among the leaves and upon the fresh yerdure 
underneath the trees^ weaving a constant interchange of green 
and goM within that calm and pleasant shade^ as the plumage 
of the Wood movt^ with the wind; The scene strongly reminded 
me of a passage in Spencer's " Faery Queene :"— 

" And all within were paths and alleies wide, 
With footing woitne And leading inward farre : 
?aire harbour that them seems : so in they entred ar.** 

We went on under the trees, along the deserted carriage road, 
now tinged with a creeping hue of green ; and past the spacious 
old garden, with its long, low, bemossed brick wall ; and, after 
sauntering to and fro among a labyrinth of neat footpaths, 



184 THETOWK OF HEYWOOD, 

wMclb "mad up and down the cloisters of tliis leafy cathedral, 
we came to the front of the hall. It stands, now tenantkaB 
and silent in the midst of its ancestral woods, upon the brow of 
a green eminence, overlooking, on the north, a little green, 
wen wooded valley, watered by the river Roch. The landscape 
was shut out &om us by the surrounding trees, and the place 
was as still as a lonely hermitage in the heart of an old forest. 
The tread of our feet upon the flagged terrace in front of the 
mansion resounded upon the ear. We peeped through the 
windows, where the rooms were all empty and quiet ; bat the 
state of the walls and floors, and the remaining mirrors, showed 
that some care was still bestowed upon this deserted haU. Ivy 
hung thickly upon some parts of this large, straggling old 
building, which has evidently been built at dilSerent periods ; 
though, so £Kr as I could judge, the principal part of it appears 
to be about two hundred, years old. When manufacture began 
greatly to change the appearance of the neighbouring village 
and its surroimding sdenery, the Starkies left the place ; and a 
wooded mound, in front of the hall, was thrown up and x^anted 
by order of the widow of the last Starkie who resided here, in 
order to shut from sight the tall chimneys which were gradualfy 
rising up in the distance. We wandered about the grass- 
covered yards, and among the extensive, straggling outhouang, 
at the rear of the hall. A very large household must have been 
kept here in the palmy days of the Starkies. The following 
passage, relative to the ancient inhabitants of Heywood Hall, 
is quoted from Edwin Butterworth^s " History of the Town of 
Heywood and its Vicinity : " — 

" A family bearing this name flonriBhed here for many ffeneraticmv; but 
they were never of much note in county genealogy, thougn more than one 
were active in public affairs; In 1492 occurs Robert de Hey wode. Iq the 
brilliant reign of Elizabeth, Edmund Heywood, Esq., was required by an 
order, dated 1574^ to furnish ' a coate of plate, a long bowCi sheffe of 
arrowes, steel cap, and bill, for the military musters.'* James Heywood, 
gent., was living before 1604. Peter Heywood, Esq., a sealous magistrate. 

*Harl. MSB. 1,926. There is a pedigree of this family in Bodsworth s 
UBS. Bodleian Lib. vol. Ixxis. 



AM]> ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 166 

tli« Fepresentatiye of thia family, in the reigns of James Ibe First and 
Charles the First, was a natiTe and resident of Heywood hall, which was 
ereeted daring the sixteenth oentary. It is said that he apprehended Goido 
Faux coming fortii from the vault of the house of parliament on the eye of 
the gunpowder treason, Nov. 5, 1606. He probably acoompanied Sir 
Thomas Knenett, in his search of the cellars under the parliament house. 
In 1641, ' an order was issued that the justices of the peace of Westmin- 
ster, should carefully examine what strangers were lodged within their 
jurisdietion ; and that they should administer the oaths of allegiance and 
supremacy to all suspected of recusaney, and proceed according to those 
statutes. An afternoon being appointed for that service in Westminster 
hall, and many persons warned to appear there, amongst the rest one 

James, a papist, appeared, and being pressed by Mr. Hayward 

(Heywood), a justice of the peace, to take the oaths, suddenlv drew out his 
knife, and stabbed him ; with some reproachful words, ^ for persecuting 
poor Catholios." This strange, unheard-of outrage upon the person of a 
jninister of justice, executing his office by an order of parliament, startled 
all men ; the old man sinking with the hurt, though he died not of it. 
And though, for aught I oould ever hear, it proceeded only from the rage 
of a sullen varJet (formerly suspected to be crszed in his understanding), 
without the least confederacy or combination with any other, yet it was a 
great countenance to those who were before thought over apprehensive 
and inquisitive into dangers ; and made many believe it rather a design of 
all the papists of Bngland, than a desperate act of one man, who could 
never have been induced to it, if he had not been promised sssistanoe by 
the rest' * Such is Lord Clarendon's account of an event that has rendered 
Peter Heywood a person of historical note ; how long he survived the 
attempt to assassinate him is not stated. 

<* It is highly probable that Mr. Heywood had imbibed an undue portion 
of that anti- Catholic zeal which characterised the times in which he lived, 
and that he was the victim of those rancorous animoeitieB which persecu- 
tion never fails to engender. 

*' Peter Heywood, of Heywood, Esq., was one of the gentlemen of the 
county who compounded for the recovery of their estates, which had been 
sequestrated 1643-5, for supporting the royal cause,— he seems to have 
been a son of the Mr. Heywood that was stabbed ; he re-obtained his 
property for the sum of £351.t 

** The next of this family on record, is Peter Bemoood, Bsq., who was 
one of the * counsellors of Jamaica,' during the commonwealth ; — one of 
his sons, Peter Hekoood, Ssq., was commemorated by an inscription on a 
flat stone in the chancel of the church of St. AnneVin-the-Willows, Aiders- 
gate- ward, London, as follows: — • 

<* < Peter Heiwood, that deceased Nov. d, 1701, younger son of Peter 
Heiwood, one of the counsellours of Jamaica, by Grace, daughter of Shr 
•lubn Muddeford, Knight and Baronet, great grandson to Peter Hejwood, 
in the county palatine of Lancaster ; who apprehended Guy Faux with his 
dark lanthorn ; and for his sealous prosecution of papists, as jastice of 
peace, was stabbed in Westminster hall, by John James, Dominican friar, 
anno. dominL 1640. 

•Clarendon's " History of the RebeUion," edit 1714, v. 1, p. 196. 
fBaines' 4to. *< Hist Lancashire," v. 1, p. 586 : v. 2, p. 676. 12mo : v. 1, 
p. 55. Adams's Cat of Lords, &c,, who compounded for their Sstatcs, p. 54. 



169 THB TOWK OF HEYWOOBi . 

*< ' Beacler, if not a papUt bred, 
Upon BQoh aahes gently tread.' * 

<< Robert Heywood, ctf Heywoed, Esq., aarried Mary Haalam, of lUwIi^ 
^ale, Deo. dO, 1660 ; and waa probably elder brother ot Pelar S^iwoody of 
London. 

** In the Tisitation of 1664, are traced two liaee of the Heywooda, thoee 
nl Heywoed and Walton ; from the latter waa deeeended Sanrael Heywood, 
JBeq.y a Weleh judge^f unele of 8ir Benjamin Heywx)od, Baronet, of 
Claremont, near Moneheeter. The armorial bearing^ of the Hey woodsj of 
Uey wood, Waa argent, three torteanxee, between two bendlete gnlea.. 

*^ The jumptirij of this aneieat family, principally eoneistiag of Hey wood 
Hall and adjoining lande, ie eaM to hare been parohased by Mr. John 
Btarkey, of the Orchard, in Rochdale, in the latter part of the eerenteenth, 
or the beginning of the eighteenth cenlnry. Mr. Starkey waa living in 
1719 ; hia descendant, John Starkey, Ssq., married Mary> daughter of 
Joseph Gregge, Bsq., of Chamber Hall, Oldham. John Btarkey, Beq., 
who died March 13, 1780, was father of James Starkey, Baq., of Fell Foot, 
near Cartmel, Lancashire, the present pomesaor of Heywood Hall, bnni 
.September 8, 1762, married Sopteihbw 2, 1785, Bliaabetli, second dangliter 
of Bdward Qre^g Hop wood, Bsq. In 1701, Mn Starkey selrTed the office 
of high sheriff of the eoonty ;— from this £imily branohed ^ Starkoys of 
Bedirals, near Buy." 

Heywood town itself looks anything but picturesque or 
pretty, at present; but, judging from the features of the 
country about Heywood Hall, especially the whc^e of the north 
iside, and what the aspect of that country has been beforetilne, 
this old house must have been a very pleasant and retired 
country-seat about a century and a half ago. 

Descending from the pleasant eminence, upon the northern 
edge of which Heywood Hall is situated, and which was pro- 
bably the first inhabited settlement hereabouts, at a time when 
the ground now coyered by the manufacturing town hard by 
was a tract of woods and thickets, wild swords^ turf moss, and 
swamps — ^we walked westward, along the edge of the Boch, 
towards the manufacturing hamlet of Hooley Clough. This 
beautiful valley, by the water-side, is a very serene spot, and 
has a sylvan and well-cultivated appearance. The quiet river 
winds round the old pastures of the haU, which slope down to 

* Survey of London, by Btowe, Strype's edition, 1720, vol. 1, fol. 103. 
t Oorry's Lancashire, v. 2, p. 619. In Dodsworth's MBS, Bodleian Lib. 
T« cxyii. p. 163, is a record of Bobart Heywood, Bsq, 



Al(fi ITS NEI0H^QUBH(>O0. 187 

the water frosoi tho well cdiaded fitunmit jXpoA whkh it stands* 
The opposite heights are clad with well-Gonditumed woods and 
plantations ; and Crimble Hall looks forth protm|ie^tlJ^ frooi 
the lawns and gardens upon the summit. About a mile up this 
valley, towards Rochdale town, in a quiet green glen, hes the 
spot pointed out in Roby^s " Tradition '^ of " Tyrone's Bed," 
aa the place where the £unouB Irish rebels the £arl of l^rrOne^ 
lived in ooHcealment some thne during the reign of Queen 
£liaabeth« Even at this day, country folks,, who know little or 
nothing of the tradition, know the i^lace by the name of 
" YeFs o' Thorone" — an evident corruption of the "Earl of 
Tyrone." This was the wild Irish chieftain whd burnt the 
poet Spenser out of his residence, Bathcormac Castle. It was 
dinner time when we reached the stone bridge at Hooley 
Clough ; so we turned up the road towards home, for the walk 
had shaipened our appetite. 

The youngsters and the dinner were both Waiting for us 
when we got back to the house ; so we fell to without further 
delay* The little girl was rathei^ more communicative during 
dinner ;. and, after the meal was over, we had more music. But, 
while this was going on, the lad stole away to some nook that 
he knew of, with a book in his hand. And, soon after, the 
master of the house and I found ourselves once more alone, 
smoking and talking together. I had enjoyed this summer-day 
so far, and was inclined to make the most of it ; so, when din- 
ner was oter, I went out at the back, and down by a thorn* 
edge, which divides the iheado^. I was soon followed by mine 
host) and we sauntered <m together till we came to a little 
shelving hollow, in which a still pool lay gleaming like a sun 
among the meadowis. It looked cool, and brought the skies to 
our feet. Sitting down upon its sloping bank, we watched the 
reflection of many a straggling cloud of gauzy white sailing 
over its surface, eastward. Little fishes, leaping up now and 
then, were the only things which stirred the burnished mirror, 
for a second or two, into a thousand tiny tremulations of liquid 
gold ; and spiritual water-flies darted to a,ad and fro upon the 



188 THE TOWN OP HETWOOD, 

pool, like nimble fimcies in a fertile mind. And thus we rested, 
Baying little, but lazily enjoying the glory of a smnmer day in 
the fields; while 

''The lark was singingf in the blinding sky. 
And hedget were white with may." 

But we had a few prime cigars with us, and a great jug of fresh 
buttermilk, which, at this time of the year, is proYerbially worth 
'^ a guinea a quart/' And we took long drinks of it. I hardly 
need say that it swelled us more than it elevated us, and we 
lolled about upon the green grass in a state of dull, full, rotund 
sobriety. After awhile, we drifted dreamily asunder, and I 
crept under the shade of a fence hard by, to avoid the heat, and 
there lay on my back, looking towards the sky through my 
fingers, to keep sight of a little fluttering spot from which a 
skylark poured down its rain of blithe melody upon the fields 
around us. My fiuse was half buried in tall grass and meadow 
herbs ; and I soon fell asleep with them peeping about my eye- 
lids. After half an hour's dreamy doze, thus, in the sun— 
during which my mind appeared to have acted over a whole 
life-time in masquerade, I woke up, and, after shaking the buzz 
of field-flies out of my ears, we gathered up our pots, and 
books, and went back into the house. 

When it drew towards evening, we left the house again ; for 
it was so fine outside, that it seemed improvident to remain 
tmder cover longer than necessary ; and we walked through the 
manufacturing village in Hooley Clough, and on, northward, up 
hill, and down dell, until we came to a wild upland expanse, 
called " Birtle," which stretches away along the lonely base of 
Ashworth Moor. The sun was nearly touching the top of the 
hills when we reached that elevated tract ; and the western 
heavens were glowing with the grandeur of his decline as we 
walked slowly over the fields towards the solitary old home- 
stead called " Grislehurst." Here we stayed awhile, conversing 
with an ancient cottager and his dame, about the history of 
their native comer, its legendary associations, an4 other mat? 



AitD ITS NEIGHBOtmHOOir* 189 

terd interesting to them and to ns. We left Gnslehnist in the 
twilight, by a route which led ns through the rocky deeps of 
Simpson Clough, and on, homewards, just as the first lamps of 
evening were lighting up ; rejoicing in the beautiful approach 
of a cloudless summer night, as we had rejoiced in the glorious 
day which had gone down into the west. 

The next morning I returned by an early train to Man* 
Chester ; and, since that time, it has often been a pleasure to me 
in the crowded city to recollect that livelong summer day, 
spent in the country north of the manufacturing town of Hey- 
wood. Its images never return to my memory but I wish to 
hold them there awhile. And it was not the less exhilerating 
freedom and delight of roaming over my native hills and doughs, 
dressed in their summer green, than in the magnificent harmony 
of changing grandeurs, which heaven and earth made up ^' from 
ntiom to dewy eve " that day ; and which stirred me with a 
scarce and indescribable joy, the remembrance of which has 
something of freedom and elevation in it ; a feeling which in- 
terprets to me the significance of what the philosophic Emerson 
says, relative to the influence of nature^s beauty : — " Give me 
health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridicu- 
lous. The dawn is my Assyria ; the sunset and moonrise my 
Paphos, and unimaginable realms of ftterie ; broad noon shall be 
my England of the senses and the understanding ; the night 
fihall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams.'^ If 
men had their eyes open to the beauties and uses of those ele- 
ments which are open to all alike, and truly felt the grandeur 
of this earth, which is the common home of the living, how 
much would it reconcile them to their differences of social 
position, and moderate their ill-conditioned repinings at the 
superiority of this man's housing, and that man's dress and diet. 

hooking back at the present character and at the previous 
history of this town of Heywood, there is some suggestive 
interest in both the one and the other. The period of its 
existence, from the time when it first arose in an almost un- 
cultivated ^t ajs an habitation of man till now, ia contained 



190 THKi TQWK OF HEtH^OB, 

in Kuch a oompaiatiTely l)rief qtaee of time, that tO An!F fltaiiioafl 
man who cares to ctonaider the natme of its origin and the 
ohasracter of the iocial influences which have comlxned to make 
it such as it now is, the materiala fas guiding him to a c^Hn- 
prehension of theee things, lie ahnost as much within bis reaeh 
as if the place were a plant which he had put into the soil for 
himself, and the growth of which he had occasionally watehed 
with interest. In this respect, although Heywood wears much 
the same general appearance as other cotton-spinning toWns, it 
has aomethinf of a oharaoter of its own, difl^ent from most of 
ihe other towns of Lancashire, whose Mstories go baek many 
oenturies, ofben through eventful changes, till they gfow dim 
amcAg the eariy records of the kingdcxn in generaL Unlike 
those, in tlm, however, Heywood is almost entirely the creation 
of the cotton trade, which itself arose out of the. suddai and 
wonderftil oomhinatton of a few ingenious thoi^ts put Into 
energetic practice by a people who seem to have been eminently 
£tted hiy natw«e to perceive their value and to act enterpnsiBgly 
upon what th^ perceived. K it had been possiUe Ibr an 
Intelligent man to have lifted himself into mid -air above 
Heywood, abont two hundred years ago, when its first cottages 
liegan to cluster into a Httle village, and to settle himself eom- 
fortfthly down upon a eloild there so as to be able distisetiy te 
vatoh anid quietly to reason upon the growth of the place 
beloir, wiUi all the changing phaseaof its Mfe fixan^en liH 
now, it might present to him a very cMerent aspect, and lead 
him to very different conchudous to those engendered hf people 
Jiving and moving actively anM>ng the busy swarms of humaii 
action. In ihe mind of such a serene overiodLer — distinctly 
observing the detail and the whole of th« manner ^ life beneath 
Jum, aiid faiJXj oomprehanding the nature of the rise and pitogrcss 
of this T<anCTud>ire manufiMtuxing town — ^many valuaMe Hioughts 
might arise) which would not so easily occur to those who creep 
about the crowded earth, £ram day to day. Mi of fittle per- 
turbations. But, to almost any thoughtf^ man, the history cf 
this VMidem manu£M;turing town would iliustrate the pow^ 



AND l¥S NEioHBOtJRttOOD. 191 

wliicli a little practical knowledge gives to a practical people 
over the physical elements of creation, as well as over that 
inert portion of the people who 'have little or no education, and 
are, therefore, drifted hither and thither hf every wind of 
circumstance which wafts across the surface of society. It 
might suggest, too, how much society is indebted, for whatever 
force or exceUexice there is in it, to the scattered seeds of silent 
thought which have quietly done their work among the noise 
of action — for ever poiQtiiig it 0(u to still better actioa ; and it 
might suggest, how much the character of the next generation 
depends upon the education of the preftent one. Jx>oking at 
this question of education merely in that point of view in 
which it afiects production, the following passage, by an 
eminent advocate of education, shall speak for itself: — "Prior 
to education, the productive power of the six millions of 
workers in the United Kingdom, would be the physical force 
which they were capable of exarting. In the present day, the 
power really exerted is equal to the force of a hundred millions 
of men at least. But the power of the uneducated unit is still 
the physical force of one man, the balance being exerted by 
jnen who understand the principles of mechanics, ^d ot 
chemistry, and who superintend, the paachine power evolve4 
thereby. Thus the power originate by the few, an(l sujper- 
intended by a fraction of society, is sevei^teen tinies gi?eater 
than the str^gth of ^11 our workers, and, js hourly increasing*^ - 
If a man was a pair of steam-looms, how carefully wouW he be 
oiled, and tended, and mended, and made to do all that a pair 
of looms could dou What a. loom, fuU of miraculoua faculties, 
is he compared to these — ^the master-piece of nature for creative 
power and for wonderful variety of excellent capabilities J yet, 
with what a profuse neglect he is cast away) like the cheapen 
rubbish on the earth [ 



199 



THE 6EAVE OF (JRISLEHUEST BOGGAKT. 

^*Tboiiff1it-wrapi,bfl wandered in the breei j trooda, 
In wfiioh the annuner, like a hennit, dwelt : 
He laid him down by the old haunted epringt 
Up-bubbling, *mid a world of greenery, 
Shut-eyed, and dreaming of tM fairest shapes 
That roam the woods.'* 

Alxxaitdxe Smith. 

** Whiles glow*rinff round wi* prudent cares, 
Lest bogles eateh him unawares." 

BUBNS. 

When one gets a few mileB ojBT any of tKefie poptdoud 
maxrafacturing towns in Lancashire, many an old wood, many 
a lonesome dough, many a quiet stream and ancient buOding, 
18 still the reputed haunt of some old local sprite, or *^ boggart,'' 
or is envdoped in an atmosphere of dread by the hereditary 
superstitions of the folk of the ndghbourhood, as being the 
resort of fairies, or of '^feeorin."* This is firequently the 
ease in retired rales and nooks of the lowlands of Lancashire, 
lying between the populous towns. But it is particularly so in 
the hilly parts, where the old manners of the people are bat 
little changed, and where many tiny homelets of past ages stiH 
stand in their old wild solitudes, and, like their sparse popu- 
lation, retain many of their andent characteristics. In such 
places, the weird legends and superstitions of the forefathers of 
Lancashire are cherished with a tenadiy which would hardly be 
credible to the inhabitants of Englidi dties in these days. 
There stiU lingers the belief in witchcraft, and in the power 

of certain persons to do ill through peculiar connection with 

• 

• Feeorin'^fmrfvl things. 



THE GBAYE OF OSISLEHURST BOOGABt. 193 

the evil one; and the belief, also, that others— known as 
^^ witch-doctorB " — are able to ** rule the speUn," or counteract 
the malign intents of necromancy, and possess secret cfaarans 
which afford protection against the foul fiend and -all his brood 
of infernal agencies. 

A few years ago, I lived at an old fium, called ^' Peanock," 
up in the hills toward Blackstone Edge. At that time, a strong 
little fellow about twenty-three years of age, called ^^ Eobin," was 
employed as ^^ keaw-lad '* at the farm. Bobin used to tell me 
fearful tales of the witches and boggarts of the ndghbourhood. 
The most notable one of tSem all was ** Cl^g Ho* Boggart,*' 
which is commemorated by the late Mr. John Boby, of Roch- 
dale, in his *^ Traditions of Lancashire.'* This local sprite is 
still the theme%f many a winter's tale, among the people of the 
hillB about Clegg Hall. The proverb *^ Aw*m here again—like 
Clegg Ho* Boggart,** is common there, and in all the surrounding 
towns and villages. I remember Bobin saying that when he had 
to go into the " shippon ** early on a winter*s morning, with a . 
light, he used to advance his lantern and let it shine a minuteor - 
two into the ^^ shippon ** before he durst enter himself, on account - 
of the ^^feeorin ** which *' swarmed up an deawn th* inside i*th 
neet time.*' But, he said that ^^ things o* that mak oouldnt 
bide leet,** lor, as soon as his lantern glinted into the place, he 
could see *^ witches scuttering through th* slifters o*th woie by 
theawsans, like bits o* leet*nin.*' < He used to tell me, too, how 
that a daiiy-lass at a neighbouring &rm had to let go her- 
*^ chum-pow,** because ^^ a rook o^.little green divuls begun a- 
swarmin up th' hondle as hoo wur chumin*.'* And then he 
would ^bmce, with a kind ^of unconscious timidity, towards a 
nook of the yard, where stood three old cottages connected with 
the fiirm ; and in one of which there dwelt an aged man, of 
singular habits and appearance, of whose supposed supematnaral 
powers most of the people of that neighbourhood harboured & 
considerable degree of fear; and, as he glanced towards the 
corner of the building, he would teU me in an undertone that the 
htde Ixish cow, *^ Bed Jenny,** which used to be " as good a 



184 



iAiBb% ft tail or i^ve. a afeealo'xD^faail immst 
iMfe* ^^ litt V>t(n^ Byiy j^ieHted* at kw tfaMN^ 

GBshire hilk. ^^ Boggarts ^' appear, howeYev, t» &iirv& bM» noM 

>i yycf teiH)v»wiytvaft eaBeil^^i^iMfibVtKMl^m &daj; 
tatvlMnik cMA»t<>pMstb«ttfMf&adtairaa^«^ilME«»]^^ 
iroolft'* m a day, aAd tke co*toA trade aiNMW, beggMi4i^> and 
lbkiM,aad ^lnovm*'of attkiiid»bceiuitoiee a^sFayfron 
cklt«r of atattkSy and tlw titfed iraaver was itt» to «vMf hm 
Ilia laoBMi %> bed, w&ere ke eouid real baa body, -whSB hm nove 
bis l^wrfol fittieieB into t^ fkeaklsh pattens dT a dvaaan. Aad 
lbe% railaray taraiaa bagaa to rumble be«H^ AtHig^ aoiitadaB 
wbere tbia '' Ultla gMyfdk'' olpM^dayabadbeldiadiBtui^bed 
firayy bidtn^wilb xmlti^laditfof buay, eorioua people, idbo lociiLed 
UttiaoTnyltcbetafi; aadpaabapatbfli^ belpedl^dbspetaoBM of 
iheafr roaaaadie daeamia of old gbaaotu^ tplucb h)ad beeeaiDotoed 
by tile ^onuDOo of the paat^ 

lb* OD ba ibo'alleamooft of aaud-summer day, I sal at tea 
Witbaa aoqtnauiteK^ wbo d#elfe in the SeldBoataideth^ torn 
of fiaywood» We bad qioatt tbO'lbrenoon kk ^riaiting B^n«Md 
llafili,«ad nsakHSskg iBebcmg ita-frooda, and ibM^gb a ptaMaat 
olo«e^ nateved by tbv Book, vbaeb wiada alo&g tho Mafiben 
baae of tbe^mioded aoimeace nponvboee hnmlhe^immu^tib 
sauipxft aUoida. Wo iDgpnd o¥er tbe aflcnaoen pea2^ tattsa^ 
ofti^pastaaidpceBetttoftbediatmtaroaiadw. Woijpwiited 
opoaitbe aadent aapeetof tbe eottisfery, aod tba cqaidilioB Mid 
obaaoleiialte of its early kteMtaoiils ? we taliaed of t^ 
geatry^ibflir tnlhiaiioo, ikm Maideneefl^ aad tbeir fataaoa^ of 
zeowdEalUft local abenea aad aaea; and of ibo paoaaii te- 
taxea of oooial life m tbeae dJafefieta^ Ftet of oat ae»^ 
TcnaAaola teklod to tbo aeeaory aaad Ie9«ada df Htmk yM 
tmck flf bilbi aad dbasi^ vlodb coaapeteep tbo «attiiiy, 
liliaty aoKbiraid, iremc HaywtDod «p to tba: billy laaga of 
mooflandt wMcb saparatea tbait port of I^aaaaabiia tm. 



Tarn osUkYB o» ^ximjoijmfff bocw^at, W 

1^ vanin^ OlilrH^ «l BeMmkkte^ F<tt«8L Up m tb&i » 
oaote tr4^ ^ Wkte luwk ^buglM^ belwieeik B&jvood ikhiI 

mwJI «o!tift«rf iwBilel, eiJIed QhsWhov^ To » afcmsgpr'g tyi^ 
the two fWttiit tom jtoftdn, -wkkik tgt& mm ^e K^vcHcs^f tbe 

tuF^ beimitjF qI Hbm tttiGKtio)^ abA tbe KND9«»lie diaiacler of 

tiie aoeaeiy azoiiiid. GMt^imaiA Blifndt ow m kiQ» eleirated ptol^ 

Isna of load, eaUad ''BurtK'' or '«Sakk»'' tlie pfaHse of Hielheiik 

it i» Ixyuade^oii the nortbt iDy tlie dark iKoge ol Askirorth nxMr, 

«»d iltfr FDiuiid loftj mem of KbowI bSIl; aBd oft ike cmj^ by 

SsoapsoBi ClamfliEy a deepnmne, aiMMit iipo^ zttika long^ noaiBC 

Bl^ inito' tke BcarihenK. Bioois, Tip alMid^ gteik «f prectptoBi 

CTBi^ aod iPood-skvoiKled waiecs, is daefiy latopira to tkBia 

people IB the -ncxai^ who lokja voiigh aad. Imemmm w/asxtiff 

wa^ ; aad to anybedjr wko k>Yes to lamlDle aiaong awik urild, 

legettd-hcMiBted aoIitBdc^ a iKiK»i%lit *««& ^ffom^k ^^ SvaqpflKW 

ClBiH^ ' '« would be » p lmnqy et iwi easUf iMrgott^B. Grialeh«nit 

^iBB^ alxMii a stogfefiPt thiH(i«F Ikob t)i» WMtesm Itiak of tbii 

dbctgb, aad il» «itBaili«ai i» oufc ef the way of ft^Biwaim obserrar 

ikm. But it ia daI enlfjF tke kne eisaiQ ol ita litnalkmy wkieh 

makes this now umg^aAuffA lookamg hanitefc in faiiwfc aig. €ix»le^ 

kicrat ki aB old settkiBaaiei^ tke early inkaUtoita of ikedlslrict ; 

BBdwasferacaMteMrtttTeacmeoftkeatttaoftbeHiiltfaw^ 

C^iiidekBnib, StBl%» aad Casttelem, m tUapanifh; a btBBck o£ 

the Helta of aale> AfAAoB, Ckeaiiim. SoneoC^ikifianilylQn^ 

iB tiie See*titok wan, aand alio m ikvoBDr of tlift it^^al caioe^ at 

Edgiiolky K ewkto r f j^ Maiatoii Moor^ (&&.,» and were Bianwd Ib 

Kaatip€kaffkB%]B«ieeM.eMBref tkeE^ TherowaB 

B jBd^Hdil,of tkeHdUaof Sab; anda JaowB Hott, whose 

Bi0tk€rwiieec>-keiT^l»tiBgEor JaBQie»deSut*eB; kewaakiHedat 

FkddcttEield, Maiyr^daiq^btarof JametHeltyikelietoC 

* Thomai POiUramiuf Holt, Beq., was one of the intended Knights of the 
Order of the Bayal Oak* iUeordhig t&» MR, meBinrandma, he died &6th 
Umk, 1669^ «»«A!w aowabiett a hwer^ai thegr re^B^ri iiJ'-^Burke's 
Comnumerg* 

M 2 



196 THE OBAVE OF OBI6LEHI7BST BOGOABT. 

the &mily who redded at Casdeton Hall, in tibia pariah marriot 
Samuel, brother of the fiunoua Sir Humphrey Cheetiiam. The 
manor of Spotland was granted by Henry VJJLl. to Thomas 
Holt, of Grislehurst, who was knighted in Scotland, by Edwaxd, 
Earl of Hertford, in the thirty-sixth year of the reign of that 
monarch. The Holts were the principal landowners in the 
pariah of Rochdale, at the dose of the sixteenth century. What 
remains of Grisldmrst, is sttU associated in the mind with the 
historic interest which attaches to this once-powerM local 
fomily. The place is also closely interwoven with some other 
interesting ancient traditions of the locality, oral and written.* 
In earlier, years, I hare often wandered about the wild woods 
and waters, and rocky recesses of this lonely glen, thinking of the 
tale of tlie rebel Earlf who is said to have concealed himself, 
two centuries ago, in a neighbouring cbugh, which bears his 
name ; and, wrapt in a dreamland of my own, sometimes a little 
tinctured with the wizard-lore which lingers among the primi- 
tire folk of that quarter. But in all my walks thereaboutB, I 
had never visited Grislehurst, till this smnmer afternoon, when, 
as we sat talking of the place, my curiosity impelled me to pro- 
pose an evening ramble to the spot, from which we could returo, 
by another route, through Simpson Clough. 

We were not quite half an hour% walk from Grislehurst 
when we started on the north road from Heywood ; and the son 
was still up in the heavens. Half a mile brought us into Hodfly 
Cbugh, where the road leads through the village of Hod^y 
Bridge. This village lines the opposite banks of the Boch at 
that place. Its SLtuation is retired, sheltered, and picturesque. 
The quiet vale in which it lies is agreeably adorned with modem 
plantations, and the scattered remains of old woods ; and the 
whole scenery is green, varied, and pleasant. The viUage its^, 
has a more orderly and wholesome af^pearance than any other 
manufacturing hamlet which I remember. The houses were 

• Bee " Tyrone'* Bed," in Roby'e " Traditioni of Lancaahire." 
f The tarbnlent Bsrl of Tyrone, who headed the Irish rebellion in<&e 
reign of Blittbeth.. 



THB OIUkYS OF QBISLBHUBlSr BOQOABT. : 197 

><3leaB, and oamfortable-lookiiig, and the roads in fiiir oonditun. 
I noticed that nearly every cottage had its gtock of coate piled 
up under the front window, and quite opoa to the street, the 
«« cobs " neatly bniLt up into a square wall, and the centre fill^ 
up with the " sleek an* naplins.^' It struck me that if the 

* people of Manchester were to leave their coals thus open to the 

' world, the course of a single night would, generally, ^^ leave not 

•« wreck behind^* The whole population of the place is employed 

/by the Fenton family, whose extensive miUs stand close to the 
margin of the river, in the hollow of the clough. 

We went up the steep cart-road leading out of Hooky 
Clough towards the north, emerging into the highway from 

. Bury to Bochdale, about a quarter of a mile above the hollow 
where it crosses the lower end of Simpson Clough, and nearly 

•opposite the front lodge of Bamford Hall, now the seat of one 
branch of the Fenton fsmily. The country thereabouts is 
Ivoken into green hills and glens, with scattered patches of old 
woods, shading the sides of the doughs. It' is bleak and sterile 
in some parts, in others wildly-picturesque, and altogether thinly 
populated over the whole tract, reaching up to the mountainous 
moors. As we descended the highway into Simpson Clough, a 
wood clothed the southern side of the road ; but, through an 
opening in the trees, we caught a glimpse of " Makin mill,'' low 

' down in a green valley to the west. This little old mill was the 
frst cotton factory erected in the township of Heap. It was 
built about 1780, by the firm of Feel, Yates, and Co., and now 
belongs to Edmund Peel, Esq., brother to the late prime minis- 
ter. Looking over the northern parapet of the bridge, in the 
hollow of the road, the deep gully of the clough, below, is filled 
with a cluster of mills and the cottages attached to them. 

, Woody heights rise abruptly around, and craggy rocks over- 
frown this little nest of manufacture lying fiir below in the 

^bott(Hn of the ravine. We climbed up the steep, shady road, 
in the direction of Bury, and on reaching the summit at a place 
called "Th' Top o' th Wood," we turned off at the end of a 
row of stone cottages, and went to the right on a field-path 



«lalM<olBi(yir«IMi«ri&etir^«fi9iidtar ciifter ^ tibem 
bdks^ ito ^M«ic*^v»* ^BMI^ «E> it* on^^ Hie tege^ 

aiMia^MII t^ lb M» tgralis, ^ksaijk ^vJim a iU y »ot Qri|^iii% 

4i§es in *<#yA «i]»ila» pieeoB <€ aftefent ttasoaqr were sfteor- 

much of a atmtai«m, lMii>4aQe fila&i^^ be ^Ul 

jef tlie &0M8. JiMd <li0», 1^ 'OoiattArf aMnaid was al green 

fial, there was none. Its^gabtotlumk Umillfce laftd wte^lbe 
SaaBt NiMflfcalile piece dt ^mflqaitf ii^iMi the flaiee. IBa^ 4^ne 
j^art dP the WeiB(t vitite ^ ^Gkis bnili&i^ SukweA >a coxslSsftaiBie 
4boltif^ teiidenee, the wiadow dt it^ich wan lul of {tlajite Mid 
€6wen, hi pota. Aiihate<MteMQ|bftFelnadeAa:Bd$&lkia«^ 
'ne&^^es, leased agai&st Ihe idoo(f -chieeK w'Hh hka altts felded. fie 

«3reB; aAd hia ^i«i, fidi fea^az«B «Bd'«(^eiDffiL fi^cve, %efipiEA:e<iL 
lifeof 1iea3%^haM«. He wai« sew faierlfasi tsi^eohes, tied wfOi 
%Baeh ifflk i^^a M lihe kseea. LettBiiig iJkete^ mmI, toeAESag 
ca3i])i:f -OT«f the fields hi ^Ote twiSgh^k, he eyeA us eamec^, «b 
tsotiEtttry-Mk do wlien lErtsraiigens wander hato their ^onfre^tieiited 
tlXtBers. Hie ^MyHfjtit was b^inxdng to gHde away, «Dd ttie selb 
tianmter eraii&g was -wsnmg hwiiifSbBiSj dowH era ibub Temekt^ 
qtdet landscape whidi Btrete&es 9A»ag ihe hase cC Ashwerth 
moor, "l^e old nafli^s <x)«Eirtenanoe liad more edi^^^ 
ISiaai p a triaardbaa. Ibrce <€t;haraetef la it ; yet he wasTeiy comdly 
^olook tLpoB, aaid -seesiied a natfiiral part of the laadseape around 
fSm ; a&d the h&fxt ttod the caan toge^er, somehow, l>rought to 
tay teind a graphie fine Sft tihe %ook of Oeaesis about the patri> 
avdh laaae govag eat '^to teed^te in ike Iftdld «t ^renti^.^' 
' BAar we had uMiaAerad ahcwA the fflaee -a few at&EMjfbes, dorii^ 
which ^e^d«o(Kager watched us wi& aoahn bat^eanoas «^ 
We went towiiM hibi w«^ 4he tistild atSiite^ 



4«ajpn»fe' «d do » snet :o' i^ood j«st neaoir ; «&' s^Vii te'sone 

Omf ^ >^ m th^ll be /v»ytar aaiocm w fo'a see.** St 
fbwe, Jbwi«Qg tlie KNi&T^iswtioQ* ^ssaoe fiwtli to laee wibali irai 
ffsxo^ QA« aavi waxMknad fiLonrl^^ afto xm r^im the Jane. She 
iQnM a4taK>9g^kiill w»d p(xr% <^ coxantsy wos^aAt mtAim Mm 
Hum. km Aiwbavidj; 4Uid W j^ht-coroplffloiepfld &^ toane«L 
iwiri^riwtibQ ^be^H^flAidd^ ij|»e 4iwawg ^eaa nild aiid 

afetl^ tuod liie eld inwiim HKtre ito bpmwi^ nor e^^ea ^ vmoA 
iwrcbHCKwi Iber Iteadifs dsie iroJiced Q«t Her :Qif> and apcoiR 
ireaEe Jiidte «8 neiT snow, «Qd idL lur attke looked mmsAwtA 
eneet, 4ilicngk .<>f l)0iDdy'attt sad quality. I hmmy^aomfsAum^ 
tiuBk tibe ckNiitts abe iobd en iroie ^o&oked mik. ^''mej^^ «r 
)ttrandci:,'CvmeliL;like)i«^ <M»nt^-|i9&iay atilbefaQiU 

taBi of tbe ''lii^" £wibe«aiBe of tii^^oQ^ amefl !dmb]aie3r 
ininrt ito their ckntibUig. And no kki^ ^eh iOO^M bt«upe 
;Ndbale8otDtfily fMtrfoaaed. Gjye iM a iwdH^ waalied dart» lilo>riwfl. 
im$k(!B^mB.isry^hBAgdjMSiA«^^ IBaekmi^ 

«f 8W3eerti^B0'wedgeajB^i»bo9e(^^ in fronii <?f «% 

iMEid lihe4Bitir of d&y wae deQUming Into 4hd low, lidb hsm^ «a 
«iHiiiaier eveukig. The atieotphere ioiuMdiatd^ «ronnd mesieft 
italeaver .than wIwol 4ibe ewi mis up, ^vt » digkt 4i(hadeof iuMgr 
^;Bfl(f ''afl creeiaqg orer tlie lar least. We lounged ^kaag ^ 
jii«bQ, mUh t|ie <:ottdy4anie,|c»llo^fmgiuflQc^^y9<ft^<4k<^^ 
iOf iti»ae or foiir ^rftrd% jproikdeEUB^ wJbp ^ wWt we .o^djbe]; 
md iviliy i*e thad ^^^ladendd ^iato ^^Ic^movfi^mLmdL^tmek 
%■ time. 4fler.a. Ji^ <3pbet, ^isenifftve Ml^ wkh ttie ^old iaa«b 
ite«ii tbe Itf^-^nop, the ?ii^w d tiie towsi, apid 4mi^ W^m^ 



t Knowl-hiil, between Boehdale and Boeeendale. 



SOO TUB ORAVK OF GKtSlXBXSVtBT BOOOAIR; 

asked him whether the spot we were upcm was not Oxisleliunt ; 
and he replied, ^^ Yor oppo the yery cLod.** We then inqnixed 
where GrislehiirBt Old HaU stood, and whether the huge old 
faoilding of which his own cottage was a part, had been anj 
way connected with it. He brightened np at the maitioii of 
Cbifllehunt Hall ; and turning sharpl/ round, he said, with an 
air of surpris^^^^ What! dun yo pretend to know an^^ht abeawt 
Gerzlehus'Ho'? * « Nut mi4, aw think, U'& look on yo." 
I told him that aU we knew of it was from reading, and from 
what we had heard about it ; and that, happening to be in the 
neighbourhood, we had wandered up to see if there were any 
remains of it in existence. ^^ Ay, well," saidhe-- and as he said 
it, his tone and manner assumed a touch of greater importance 
than before — ^^^It that's o' th' arran yo han\ aw deawt yo^ 
made a lost gate. Nother yo nor nobory elze needs to look for 
■Gerzlehns' Ho' no more. It's gwon, lung sin ! * * But, yo'n 
let reet for yerrin a bit o' summat abeawt it, if that'll do." He 
then turned slowly round, and, pointing to a plot of meadow 
land which abutted upon an oblong .ding^ to the south, be said, 
^' Yo see'n that piece o' meadow lond at th' edge oth green 
hollow theer?" ^'Yes." ''WeU; that's the spot wheer 
Gerzlehus' Ho' stoode when aw're a lad. To look at't neaw, 
yo wouldn^ think at othur heawse or hut had studd'n oppo that 
dod ; for it's as good a bit o' meadow lond as ever rain weet or 
scythe swept. * * But that's the very spot wheer GrerzlehuB' 
Ho' stoode. An* ifre a ghreyt plaae too, mind yo, onoe't ot a 
day. There's naut like it oppo this country-side neaw, as heaw 
'tSs; nother Baemforth new ho', nor noan on um. ^nt what| 
things are yery mich awturt sin then. * * New-£ftnglet 
folk, new-fangle't ways, new-£uigle't ererything. Th' owd ho^s 
gwon neaw, yo see'n ; an' th' treeoe are gwon at stoode abeawt 
it—the dule steawnd theem at cut um deawn, say aw !* An' 
then th' orehart's gwon ; an' th' gardens an' o'are gwon ; ndbbat 

* The dule tteawnd theem ai aaum cZscnm— the devil astonlah those wlio 
cut them down. 



Tm^ GRAVB OF QBXSUSBJJBBT BOGGAHT. SQt 

a twotbore tr^eee or a very scaiqe mak, at*s laft o*er anent i3m 

biggin-^w dar say 70 see'd um as yo coom up^they're mor^. 

* * An' then, theyM bigged yon new bam oppo th' knawe ; 

sax* they'n cat, an' they'n carvet, an' they'n potter't abeawt th' 

cmd plaze, whol it doesn't look like th' same ; it doesn't for sore 

— nut like th' same." We now asked him again whether the 

large stone building, in part of ^hich he lived, had belonged 1)0 

ihB old hall. '^ Ay, well," said he, looking towards it, '^ that's 

'nauEL sich a feaw bnildin', that isn't. Thafre part o'th eawt* 

beawsin to Gerzlehua' Ho', yo may see. There's a window 

tbeer, an' a dnr-hole, an' some moor odd bits abeawt it, of an 

pfwdiah mak, Yo con happen tay sommat fro thoose. But it's 

divided into different livin's neaw, yo see'n. There's a new 

farmer lives i'th top end theer. He's made ghreyt awterations. 

It's a greadley good heawse i'th iaside, iv yo see'd through." 

(( Well," said I, ^^ and what sort of a place was Giislehunit 
Old Hall itself? " 

''What, Gerzlehua' Ho'?" replied he; ^' well, aw should 
know, as hea 'tis, iv onybody does. Aw've been a good while 
oppo th' clod for naut iv ah dunnut, * * Ay, yo may laugh ; 
Imt aw're wed acquainted wi' this gr^wn afore thir bom, my 
ladr-yers to mo, neaw ? " * 

I made some sort of an excuse for having smiled, and he 
went on. 

'' GerzldiuB' Ho' wur a very ghreyt plaze, yo may depend. 
Ik're mwostly built o' heavy oak banks. * * There wur ir 
Jammy lad,t an' me, an' some moor on us— eh, we han carted 
some ov a lot o' Iwods o' rare fine timber an' stuff off that spot, 
at time an' time 1 An' there's bin a dhyel o' greadley good 
flags, an' sich like, ta'en eawt o'th land wheer th' owd heawn 
stoode, an' eawt o'th green hollow below theer — ^there has so.'' 
'' How long is that since ? " said L 

The old woman, who had been listening behind us, with her 
hands clasped under her white apron, now stepped up, and said» 

* Fervtomo, neovf-^-hearestthon me, now? 
f /r Joflifn^ W— our James's Boiu 



JM TBOS OiULFB ^QV MHBUBVBST BOOOJfflU 



' ''ficaw Iwg fiu^ IVteM, ati^ 4dM(tt (ft% l«tur mu He 
flkovUl know nocr ncr ^ n^oMWife ifc, 4Mr ^mqa." 

ymtj te «tot» jIa' Me 9iq»* maitiii^ Im, ^^^«ro^f»t a 

fMea," wUL ha, tvMMg raoM t0«avd8 ilto w^ jiointmg 
cff «btiM<u&«f llwbiiicSQg^ ^^«i)|»7XMlgD0aa tfaematoo^ a 
ineiawd jiu«4iali^3Biddle'(yra {liets^ o''hmA^& linaciiapQi* 
yort afoWJtJMa ISwgr aay'ii tkat tli«r6% piavies tbeer yet. Aa^ 
Yifipo tkatioKMretiBLeer, ahem tin' new baoa ataM, ihtte nr aaL* 

JDtnrasdiear tkatine ladl ««rti him i^mgioB a fitToaBteJlheiBie^ 
and me iaaai, thereJaaey %d<|» the Mftie> 

Taiaa^ hia tee ta the irest, he paoMi tflttrakb ia ^^een 
emiiM«Kieivhidtiatoo4ata«facrt ^diataMa, aad foad, ^Xo tfaift 
AKrthqroo^yoni^veen bUftack 'Tt'OaetL^'ic^ppo ^aoHinit oa 
there once being a place theer, where prisontsn "irare oaafine^t. 
Jka* «iiat hae igi^mnid gvm M'tOi name oth 'GaMcme Hill,' 
fl»iwt lor, aw kacnr ai«t." He the« paaaed^ a^ potttiag to a 
}itUe hollow aear the place whese wa abaod, ha jidigM^ hywesad 
^ TQioe as he eoMbiniaad— ^^ Aa* then, «w^ OMkosi po ae«i j«a 
bend i'th lone, wheer th' aah tree stons? " "^ Aj." "* WtA,'* flai 
iBB, '' liistVi tibe Yety spot whev Cknddiiu' BoggMir'a iMvied.'' 

My thoughts had so drifted away in another diiectiaa, tiiab 
IwnAotiareparedlbrfliMhan aimouaoaaoiaDit te ffi^ I was 
vwara tfaaffe I3ie sinple^NaKted iahabitalMks «C that ansraisiid 
dMobtdiai^toBsa^of theaap«s8tiidaBS4if thttrlaaeiMMni; 
tek the tfai^g <eaaie upcai me iso vnetpeotodiy^ and«haa any 
aniad waaaoqaieliy aaDsarhod im deeams df aaathor iort, ^hsrtvif 
Ji» aid msBL had fiaed off a pistol close to aoy «ttB, i ahMdd jDdt 
Baaahsensawoohiastoioidiediliboag^ilaQightJiavs hae^ moae 
startled. All that I had^heoa thinlang of inasbsdattiaeeinto 
lite ci)gk» fixan wtoMA it^iame; and, af «tt^^ 
^nittas new iflBMae<]f the old mandatory. I looked «Btohistei» 
to see whether he really naaxtt what he had said; but there it 
was, sure enough. Ia'er««f -aotwaad ^featase ha authentically 



rwb mt&YS «6i' aftiftt J&Htattfr »o€KhUKr. 



etnAcxBeA^el&ias^^ d lift litiraid f^edii^. BSbi 
^was as solemn and myBterionaly eloquent as an uaMleBid 
stxme. 

"^GfJ^lnuHSt BoggaMf eeiid £, locking towwii tlw fiMM 
oncemoire. 

» Ay f replied ht. '^IMt^ n^MT ft WW liidi auMr^ «i^ 
cfbtne cur a job it inur. T« Itt^pm tte«j»^ ))Feid ooi't ^^^ 

Thet)ld woiDsaB iM^toolk «;^^e«tdrf, wiitJi iMMPe eaUMito^iit 
eveii than ber lii]flibMii«l. 

^' It's a good whfle laA "^wmr M^i; txi'ita^ war « oMk 
buried wi' it, with a stoops ^Mytm^^s^i^i^ U. It^m^uOsmmMLe't 

««And,^tmyda)reaUy<yfliA:)(h«M,*«W(i2, <*tfcBiittilfiirfH»iwi 
'liais beeii luitaited 4>y a boggiiitl ^ 

""'Has !biii---%e tel'" r^^iMl«li#. '^^ii^mmi Hoiii^ 
soon j&nd it eawt, too, iv yo liye't uppo th' spot. Ht^vtsywiA 
iv $t wotdd^t maaffOt fm» &Sy «ldn«f an^eBd^iotiwriwl (me 
marlock <^ aiMPdiebt Unp^ fi<Ma «» uiiiiy Mk op^ i^m 
comitiy-lile«t^h0B%&goileaw«i yMi km <^ «lber deii^t aw 
con teH ya.'** 

''Boisif it^slwd«Etd.toie|,"irefJMJ, ^« it .M^^gr <^i^)!W% 
iKOttlie yoa.JKHiGiLiAtfWt.'' 

""Ob, ii!riyi^''s«yL/the'0](d^iiW]|i^ '4y it ^eew'^ it dfooia^^ 
to ikoBfi joeeds no moor. Aw lamwiMms ioJk mam)^ -Mievse 
sich things ; there is 0b''U hei^me fittl^glit «t o^ wit iatf't ftir 
druYven into nm, wilto, s|;ilL)bo^^ ItnA this is 4^ ^ifypetib case, 
nkind yow 13i, ae¥«r aM»e it{ Ihooss at iias «fe 4io dk^sH wi' 
knows >wtittfc«t OS,; liiitiiioQseiat knows aMftut4tl)6iiiwt skih Wlro^' 
whan, H^Sil&eiSiiBuiiMk>a«(' atKrtb^ajy^ 4» lim«beawt«ts^flo we'n 
j^^en tep it iqp wh^ie Jtt ia.^' 

^^ Well, well, but stop," said the old man. '^ Yo say^iH^ It 
doesn't trouble us neaw atit!9 liwed. Wilwii^ iit ifi$?% aliapn a 
fo]iaut«in itii'4ftKnici«rkwi{»«t4^ thefv jrevd spiBMat i'th 

' * Stoc!^B^«tidLe^-4itbaf^6eet)fjioiiitedwo<)d. 
t Mariock^h freak; a pfank. 

§ )rtftd,«Ad?<6— by force; againsi tlie will. 



9dt THE ORAYE OF GBIflUEHDBST BOGGABX. 

dkyad tiineo^th iiee;^ ; an' hoo war wel^tiirat eawt o' bed, too; 
beside — 8o then/' 

it Ah," said the old woman, ^^ sich wark as that^s very scardn** 
i'th neet time. * * * An' they never could'n find it eawt 
But aw know'd what it wur in a minute. Th' fanner's wile an 
me wur talking it o'er again, nobbnt yesterday ; an' hoo says at 
ever sin it happen't hoo gets as timznenK>me as a chylt as aocm 
as it dxays toawid th' edge o' dark, iv there's nbbory i'th heawse 
but heroel'. * * Well, an' one very wyndy neet, as aw're 
sittin' bi'th fire, aw yerd silmmat like a — ^" 

Here the old man intenmpted her. 

^' It's no use folk tellin' me at they dunnut believe sich like 
things," said he, seeming not to notice his wife's stoiy ; *^ it's no 
use tellin' me at they dunnut believe it ! Th' pranks at it^ 
played abeawt this plase, at time an' time, ud fiayony wick-soul 
to yer tell on." 

^' Never name it ! " said she ; '* aw know whetibier they woold'n 
or notb * ♦ One neet, as aw're sittin' |5y mysel' — ^" 

Her husband interposed again, with ;E^^^abBtractei%]r, 

'^ Unyauldn' th' bhyes', an' tumin' carts an' things o'er i'th 
deep neet time ; an' shifidn' stuff up an' deawn th' heawse when 
folk are i' bed ; it's rather flaysome, yo may depend. But then, 
aw know, there isn't a smite o' sense i' flingin' one's wynt away 
wi' telling o' sich things to some folk. * * « It's war nor 
nmckin' wi' sond, an' drainin' wi' dnders." 

'^ And it's buried yonder," said I. 

" Ay," readied he, "just i'th hoUow, Where th' ash tree is. 
^That used to be th' owd road to Bachda', when aw're a lad." 

" Do you never think of delving tb' ground up," said L 

" Delve I naw ;" answered he, " aw'st delve noan theer, as 
bea 'tis." 

The old woman broke in again—* 

"Naw 5 he'll delve noan theer, nut iv aw know it. * * ♦ 
Nor no mon eke dar lay a finger oppo that greawnd. Joseph 

* ^camn-HBCfliing; terrifying. 



THE ORAVB OF GBIflLEHURST BOGGART. fi05 

Fenton^s* a meeterly bowd chap, an' he's rayyen eyerything up 
abeawt this oountry-Bide, welly, bnt he dar not touch Gerzlehufl? 
Boggart for his skin ! An* aw houd his wit good, too, mind yo t" 

It was clearly useless attempting to unsettle the superstitions 
of this primitlTe pair. They were too &r gone. And it 
was, perhaps, every way best, to let the good old couple glide 
on through the evening of their life, untroubled by any ill- 
timed wrangling about matter-of-fSact philosophy. But thd old 
dame suspected, by our looks, that we were on easy terms with 
^ur opinion of the tale ; and she said to us, *^ Aw dunnut think 
yo believ'n a wort abeawt it ! " This made us laugh in a way 
that left little doubt upon the question ; and she turned away 
£rom us, saying, ^^ Well, yo^re weel off iv yo'n naut o* that mak 
o' yor country side." 

We had now got into the fields in the direction by which we 
intended to make our way home ; and the old people seemed 
inclined to return to their cottage. We halted, and looked 
round a few minutes, before parting. 

^* YouVe lived here a good while," said I to the old man, 
<^^ and are well acquainted with all the country round." 

'^ Aw know every fiiut o'th. greawnd about this partr— hill 
an' hollow, wood an' wayter-stid." 

^* You are getting to a good age, too," continued I. 

" Well," said he, ** aw'm getdn' middlin' boudly on into th' 
fourth score. Ir breed are a lungish-wynded lot, yo seen ; tak 
um one wi' another." 

"You appear to have very good health, for your age," 
said I. 

" Well," replied he, " aw ail mich o' naut yet— whau, aw'm 
mheyt-whol,t an' sich like ; an' aw can do a day-wark wi' some 
o'th young uns yet, thank God for't. * * But then aw'st 
come to't in a bit, yo know'n — aw'st come to't in a bit. Aw'm 
so Hke.t Folk oonnut expect to ha' youth at bwoth ends a' 

" One of the Penton fS^mily who own the land there* 

t JfAe^MffAo^meat-whole; able to eat his meals. 

i Aw'm so liks^it may natnrallj bo expected that I ihall. 



Beflidtv 70 «9e^ Mt at'» 41^'te^ to k«q^ ojp|p«% eonmtl de't 

^Im^ GimMmbsI t6B|f eo]i4«[Ml Ibaely im wi»ler tnae? " 

MiiTirii at i4 as teQxni^'84Qlk w«ald da * « «^ Xt'H be a 
giup^dhirel iH«9«a;fc tb' i^ o' Eaow bUl yoi^ sea jo^ IV| 
aepipdeA0ii|^ tiiQ«r W atenr^ tn aHar ta dbfeifa^. i' vintor tkae. 
Bii^lta«a^we^Meiem«i^lwi^'lB«bto«)^t^ A»'aafot 
aoBoiMHiy we gwem a' »«|gtibi9m»' a \it^ ncav an* tlwa, ja 
see'n. Beside, we getten to bed rajther aooDar or % oec^ nei? 
Ife»^ du ]& » tcftwii." 

im ft laa^ni ir tb aaat ^wear vad flbaos," 

** But you hayVt man^ i«^|^1pqwg» abouA y^i* k«a^^ 

^^O^, 7%k; '' attUlhe. '"^Ham'a W femar'a Oiecr; and 
oneortwoMBOT. JUft' ttak, tiieta^atih' 'T4Pf.o'tlb Woad'&ilL 
lien titare^ «Hoc^ Ckm^' sm& ik' ^ War OOeeKt— wecan 
Boon get to othur o' thooee tte^ iM ^wat'B ai l)iio¥ ao^ extra 
do. * * 0^1 ftk; va'9 |i«i^ ^' na^i^htonral Bat tk' 
iBbtib* feik i»a * dkjel on vat i^¥aftatfb, vili^aa' ii1»-^' ova 
lller--Vitl«D» am^Digs^aA' littom aia' Pifglei o'er ai^. 
An' wheer dun yo come firo, sen yo? " 

WatotdkfeDEu 

*' Well ; '' said he, ^^ an' are yo it'h buildin' line — at «nmm 

W« aga» ciqiaj&ed ^ I«rind|)al Ma^ 

4f*Wcl;^«ddhe, " it^frnaort ta ne^ Bft a?if bMvv (A^-AoblMt 
aw%# tl^afcia* 10^ # « « I>i^t^ ^^ ^^ aa& Bivpi&rth 
0i»i W, atea il^0|iao^d dw^n ?" 

"Nerer." 

• i^^li aei tn dm* u yep oppmf 0mmi< iM; »^V» ai^it^— folk 

that hava a Hoomf to mainuhiy esnnot dl» It wHk tfts wted. 
t 2%* Wtr <^ffke--ti nsme applied to the Tilb^ol fiMslSofd, 



oQB»es«|ito^ti^»9 »'«»**.«» &k«MHii^ « « « jA*'imfi» 
be&VB Ibadk ih» g«ia^ then? '' 

"Ay; ye>igaHiittoy>tia ro «g ^ Wdtoa^gk.*' 

"Weil; yo Jtoun iMtod toyw y»yo» dwnnfcth* ^roxintWn ; 
for itft ai iQuig^ gala. So^gpooduMttayc^i** 

We lEMMie Iben ¥iytk " GO0& m^finkl'' and w«re mUkiBf 
««igr» idben k» ibouted baek, "He9^[ atr ai(f ^ Du»yo kiMW 
Ifed o^ AjMlFOT'is?" "m.'' "He** t(li» ¥ery noft far yo.! 
^w^T& lost mbetihem^ b)o> f He loMwra noor orttska hcnt e^**- 
boeky e' Ihis sIcb-^aiE' hell ait « fire eairi eay tune, tdOfist* lii» 
Ht» q' eootttry talaa Spev ovaa^bed^y att Hoel^ Bsm^iBQ^ ml 
tl&ey^ taU yo w&eer be £¥e& Scv geodaeet to-yo! *^ 

Lewrii^ tbe twi» old eottsg^rs, and tkeiv boggart-liaTiBifeii 

hamlet, tie -<»e»fc weg tfcefiekb toiwyedi Qmftaa Clongk Ike 

sleep flidee of this ronMtttie q^tav^ mostly ctotkoA witb -vioodflv 

fraeipaQy of oak and lirak. Wot seariy aiitie^ Im^tk, the 

cloiigk ie dviided krto tipo vsvtiies, deep, n«R«tvr, and often 

«mggy*-Haid efaody -with tveeBi Tw^ stseams iaw down Iram 

the high mooft abofre, ea^ tfarooghone e£ thoia ffioomy defiki 

tm they unite at aplMe from whenoa 1^ diN^gk ocmtmueR its 

way soatkward, in onft inder and kat ahveaded etftOBBd^ knt 

atifl between firt^ep and x«ol7baiik8,(]Mar(fy When the 

?aaB are keavy and dne npoi& Aahworth aaoovs^ these troatrauas 

nah lorioiady through theiv veek^bonnd oomaaa In the nanmr 

xarinesy inGa|»abie of nosehie^. till th^ meet at the palat wknre 

the dongh heooBUB one, vhentkey tkencelloraaone^alronigaaid 

impetnow terrearily wktekhsB, at least enee, proved dBa fcractife te 

some of the mtlL propev^ k>wet down tke mdley. Coaafaig te 

the weateBn htink of tkbefeo^ we skirted aloagr ha aaatveh of 

an opening by which we conld go dcvwn into it iriiik Ike feaat 

difficulty. A littte leoaMed iNMn the eaalam ei%^ and nearly 

opposite to US, Blood Bnailb^ new kaJly thia w aJ do n ee ef Jawes 

Pentcm, Sto^., oneof IkaweallhiyeatteB-efliiiaei^of thalnaine, 

kft tlaa loeafity^ A IbiriavdatNsm that aaaaaton, aotid nearer to 

the edge of the clough, stood, a few years ago, the Tenesfkble hall 

of the Bamfords of Banvlbrdf one of the oidest fisimilies belong- 



SOS TBB ORAVS OF ORlSZiEHVitST BOGGABT. 

ing to the oM local gentiy ; and, probably, among the firat 
fiazffli settlers there. Thmnas de Bamford occuis about 1193» 
Adam de Bamford granted land in viUa de Bury, to William de 
Chadwick, in 1413 ; and Sir John Bamford was a fellow of the 
Collegiate Church of Mancheater, in 1506.* A William Bam- 
ford, Esq., of Bamford, served the office of High Sheriff of the 
oranty, in 1787. He married Ann, daughter of Thomas Black- 
bume, Esq., of Orford and Hale, and was father of Ann, lady 
of John Lrehuid Blackbume, Esq., M.F. He was succeeded by 
Bobert Bamford, Esq., who &om his connection with the Hes* 
keths of Cheshire, took the name of Bobert Bamford Hesketih, 
Esq., and mamed Miss Frances Iloyd, of Gwrych Castle— Ltoyd 
Hesketh Bamford Hesketh, Esq., of Gwrych Castle, Denbigh- 
shire, married Enuly Esther Aim, youngest daughter of Eairl 
Beauchamp.t The venerable and substantial old halL of the 
Bamfords was taken down a few years ago. I do not r^nember 
ever seeing it myself, but the following particulars respecting it 
have been kindly furnished to me by a native gentleman who 
knew it well : — " It was a fine old building of the Tudor style, 
with three gables in front, which looked towards the high-road ; 
it was of light coloured ashler stone, such as is found in the 
neighbourhood, with mullions, and quaint windows and doors 
to match, and was, I think, dated about 1521. Such pother 
building you wiQ certainly not find on this side of the county. 
Castleton Hall comes, in my opinion, nearest to it in venerable 
appearance ; but Bamford Hall had a lighter and more cheerful 
aspect ; its situation, also, almost on the edge of the rocky 
chasm of Simpson Clough, or as it is often called Guestless, i.e. 
Grislehurst Clough, gave an air of romance to the place, which 
I do not remember to have noticed about any ancient residence 
with which I am acquainted." 

Stillness was falling upon the scene ; but the evening wind 
still sung its lulling vespers in Grislehurst wood, and, now and 
,then, there rose from the gently-rustling green overhead, the 
silvery sob of some lingering singer in those leafy choirs, as we 

^Sollingworth^a, ManeunienHa^WiXiSxfA edition, p. 53. 
t Court Magasine, yol. 8, No. 45. 



THE GRAVE OF ORISLEHURST BOGOART. 209 

^rorked our way among the deepening shade of the wood,-<iown 
Hie broken steep, by blind paths, until we came to the rocky 
bed of "Nadin Water," low in the shrouded hollow of the 
dough. The season had been dry, and the water lay in quiet 
pools in the fantastic basins and crevices of the channel, gleam- 
ing in the gloom, where the light fell upon them through the 
trees. We made our way onward, sometimes by leaping from 
stone to stone in the bed of the stream, sometunes tearing our 
path oyer the lower part of the sloping bank, which was mostly 
kix}ken and irregular, and, in some places, scattered with moss- 
greened fragments of fallen rock, in others, slippery and swampy 
-with old lodgments of damp, fed by the tiny rindles and 
driblets of water, running more or less in all seasons from little 
springs, here and there, in the wood-shaded steep. In some 
parts, the bank was overgrown with close-woven, scratchy 
l/hickets, composed of dogberry-stalks, wild rose-bushes, prickly 
hcdlins and thorns, young hades and ash trees ; broad-leaved 
docks, and taU drooping ferns ; and, over all, the thick summer 
•green of the spreading wood. Pushing aside the sweeping 
branches of the trees, we laboured on till we came into the 
pleasant opening where the two streams combine. A stone 
bridge crosses the water at this spot, leading up to the high and 
woody ridge of land which separates the two ravines in the 
upper part of the clough. Here we climbed up fit)m the stony 
bed of the stream, and got upon a cart-road which led us 
southward, out of the clough, and up to the Rochdale road, 
which crosses the lower end of it, at a considerable elevation. 
The thin, clear crescent of a new moon's rim hung like a silver 
fflckle in the sky ; and the stars were beginning to glow in 
" Jove's eternal house ! " whilst the fading world below seemed 
hushed with wonder and awe, to see that old, mysterious 
sprinkling of golden lights coming out in silence once more 
from the over-spanning blue. We walked up the slope of the 
Toad, from the sOent hollow, between the woods, and over 
the knoll, and down into Hooley Clough again, by the way 
we came at fbrst. Country people were sauntering about, in 



210 nus •ORA.vB OF cotiSLsmmsT bogoaht. 

the balmy twifight, njpom. the imin fond, 4md the green hfe^ 
lanes theieaboutB, m tvoB uid threee. In tiie village «if HocAepf 
Bridge, tiiie iohabitatitB wane locmgoig at tii«ir oottEme doen, itt 
nei^bourlj talk, Q^jo^ing the last beautiful boors of a depsft^ 
iag sumtner day; and^ probaUy., ^Ked o* Andrew's^ ynm 
ratting in some qtdet oomer of the vtUage, ttmosing a-diole te^ 
eager listeners ^th his quaint oonntty tales. 

A short walk tsongfatOB to tiie ^dof our ^leaMustraail^e, and 
we sat down to talk ow what we had se^ and heard. My t^t 
to Grislehnrst had been all the more isteveBting that I had no 
thoo^t of meetmg with such a strong tiving evidence Of the 
lingering saperstitions of Lancashire Hiere. I used to lilee %o 
sit with country-folk, hearkening to their old-workL taks of 
boggarts, and goblinB, and fiories, 

<*That plat tbe manes of honn in ^etiig^lit. 
And cak« the elf look ia foul fthOtish min ;** 

and I had thought niTfKff well acquainted witdi the Ix^gavt lore 
of my native district ; but the go^in of Gririehuzst was new to 
me. By this time I knew that in remote ooontiy houses tiie 
song of the oricket and the tiddng of the clock were begiaabig 
to be (fistinctly heard^ and that in many asolitary cottage thcie 
were now almost the finly sonnds astir, except the plaiutive 
cad^ices of the night wind ngfaing around, and turning eveiy 
crevice into a voice of supematmad impart to many a snpo*- 
sidtious listener ; whxle, peshi^ the low rustle of the tMes, 
blended with the dreamy t%^ of srane neighbouring bzwiidet. 
The shades of night would by this time have fallen upm te 
lonely, ha m i tc d homesteads of (MslehurBt, and, in tl^ folds of 
its di:^y robe, would have bEDOght to the old cottagi^s their 
UBwd ff wrs, filled with 

"Bliaplnff flntMiee, that mppniiend 
Moce than «ooi seaeoa erer eon^refaenda ; " 

and I ooold imagine the ^eod old supple |Air creeping offtate- 
pose, Alt the old time, and ^severing 9^ theur ^es move oar^Mgr 
tduuDL nsaal irom the goblm-peofled g]eoin«£her tbe tai&ivehid 
with them «bout Gxasliehwat Boggart. 



211 



BOGGAKT m CLOUGff. 

** Under the g w rawoed tree, 

WLo loves to lie with me, 

And ttme bis merry note 

Unto tke sweet bird's thiMt, 
Come hither, eome hither, oome ldther;~ 

Heve we shall see 

'Noeneniy 
But winter and xongh westher." 

SHlSJifBfil.' 

There is a quiet little cloiigh about three miles ftom Man- 
chester, near to the ancient Tillage of Blackleg. The best en 
trance to it which I know of is by a gateway leading down from 
the Bonth^n edge of a shady ste^ oalled ^^ Entwisle BroQ,*^ in 
the high road from Manchester to Middleton, which runs close 
by the northern end of the dlough. Approaching the spot in 
this direction, a winding road leads down between a low 
bemossed wall on the right, and a thorn hedge which partly 
Boreens 1^ green dep& en the left. The trees which line ^ 
paldi overlftp it with a plesiasat shade in sommer time, tOl it 
reaches t^ open hollow, wSieve stands a o<xnfortablebrick-bQih 
fimn-'house — the ozQy hafoiffettfien in it*— with its outbidldiiigB 
Bnd gaardens spreading aroond, and sheltered in the lear by the 
green, wooded bank of the cbiigh. Thence this pretty Lsn- 
cashire dell wanders on southward for a ccraaideral^ disteMe 
in pictnresqne quietude. The tefwnAkp of !^ackley, in n^adi 
it is situated, retaim many tmeesof its fonner rural beootyvand 
Bome scattered remnantS'tf iht woods 'Whioh once ^veored id» 
district. As %whc^,it %s erett y^, «r> pleasantly fiaiaedib 
natural features as feubrly to entitle it to rank among He pvel^ 
tiest scenery ift i^rm^olkii^'tit^jtibtnAi^oA of lliinGfaeBter, 

2^2 



212 BOGGABT HO* CLOUOH. 

althougli its green yaUeys are now, almost all of them, more or 
lees, surrendered to the conquering march of manufacture — all, 
except this little secluded glen, known by the name of '^ Boggart 
Ho* Clough." Here, stUl, in this old sylvan ^^ deer-leap *' of 
the Saxon hunter, the dreamy student, the lover of nature, and 
the jaded townsman, have a green and tranquil sanctuary, where 
they can quietly wander, serenely cloistered from the tumults 
of man*s life; and perhaps there is many a contemplative 
rambler who sometimes seeks the serene retirement of this leafy- 
dell, the whole aspect of which seems to invite the mind to hold 
a ^^ sessions of sweet, silent thought." One can imagine that 
this is such a place as a man of poetic temperament would de- 
light to linger in occasionally ; and the interest which has ga- 
thered around it is not lessened by the isuct, that before Samuel 
Bamford, the Lancashire poet, left this district to take up his 
abode in the metropolis, he dwelt at a pleasant cottage, on the 
summit of the green upland, a Httle distance from the eastern 
edge of the clough. And here, in his native sequestration, he 
may have sometimes felt the significance of Bums^s words, 

*' The nrase, nae poet ever fand her, ' 

Till by himsel' he leam'd to wander, i 

Down by some streamlet's sweet meander, I 

And no think l&ng," i 

The rural charms and retired peacefrilness of " Boggart Ho^ I 

' Clough " might well, in the vicinity of a place like Manchester, 
account for part of its local celebrity ; but not entirely so. The 
superstitions of the locality and the shaping power of imagina- 
tion have clothed the place with an interest which does not 
solely belong to the embowered gloom of its green reoeaseB, n<v 
to Its broken, pictur^ue steeps, overgrown with fern and 
.spreading tanglements of prickly underwood ; nor to the deep, 
shrouded seclusions of its utmost remoteness ; nor to the beauty 
of its swardy holm, spreading out a pleasant space in the centce 
of the vale ; nor to the wimpling riU which wanders through it 
from end to end 

« Amongst the pnmy stones, whieh seem to plaine, 
With gentle mnrmnre, that his course they do restraine.** 



BOGOABT ho' CL0U6H, 213 

Man has clothed the scene in a diapeiy of wonder and £ear, 
woven in the creative loom of his own heart and imaginatioiv 
Any superstitioiis stranger wandering there alone, under the 
influence of a midsummer midnight moon, would probably 
think this a likely place for the resort of those spiritual beings 
who " fly by night." He might truly say, at such an hour, that 
if ever " Mab " held court on this green earth, '* Boggart Ho' 
Clough " is just such a green nook as one can imagine that her 
mystic choir would delight to dance in, and sing 

" Come, follow, follow mo, . 

Te fairy elves that be. 

Light tripping o'er the green. 

Come follovf Mab your queen ; 
Hand in hand we'll danee aronnd, 
Jfot this place is fairy ground." 

The place is now associated with the superstitions of the dis- 
trict ; and on that account, as well as on account of its natural 
attractions, it has been the theme of more than one notable pen* 
InRoby's ^^ Traditions of Lancashire" there is a story called 
." The Bar-Gaist, or Boggart," which is connected with " Bog- 
gart Ho' Clough." From this story, which was contributed to 
that work by Mr. Croffcon Croker, author of "The Fairy 
Legends," I quote the following : — 

" Not far from the little snug smoky village of Blakeley, or 
Blackley, there lies one of the most romantic of dells, rejoicing 
in a state of singular seclusion, and in the oddest of Lancashire 
names, to wit, the ' Boggart-Hole.' Bich in every requisite 
for picturesque beauty and poetical association, it is impossible 
for me (who am neither a painter nor a poet) to describe this 
dell as it. should be described ; and I wiU, therefore, only beg of 
thee, gentle reader, who, peradventure, mayst not have lingered 
in this classical neighbourhood, to fancy a deep, deep dell, its 
irte^ sides Mnged down with hazel and beech, and fern and 
thick undergrowth, and clothed at the bottom with the richest 
and greenest sward in the world. You descend, clinging to the 
trees, and scrambling as best you may, — and now you stand on 
haunted ground I Tread softly, for this is the Boggart's clough* 



2t4 BOOOABT HO* CXOTTCnr. 

And dee in yonder dark comer, and beneaik ih» parajeoiat^ 
jDOBsy stone, where that dnsky sollen esre jvwbb befero-tui) BiCB 
a bit of SalTator*B best ; there hniks thaik strange M, thft sly and 
miischievotis Boggart Bonnee ! I see Mm earning ; oh n&, it 
was only a hare bounding from her Knu; ihesre it goes — 
theret 

^^ T ynS. tell you of somo of the paianks of this very Boggart, 
and how he teased and tormented a good focmer^ hioSj: in a 
house hard by, and I afisnre yon it was a rerjr worthy old lady 
who told me the story. Bat, first, aappose we leave the 
Boggart^s demesne, and pay a Tisrt to the theatre of his strange 
doings. 

'^Yoa see that old firm-hooBe aboot two fields distant, 
shaded by the sycamore tree: that was the spot which the 
Boggart or Bar-gaist sdected for his freaks; tfafiro he held his 
rerels, perplexing honest George CheefAuun, fbp that was the 
fitmer's name, searing his maids, wonying Us mm, and 
frightening the poor duldren oat of their seren senseii, sa^that,. 
ailaat, not even a moose dont show himself indoors at tihe ftrm 
as he rallied his whidceny five minotes aftos the clock had 
stmok twelve.'^ 

The story goes on describing tiie startling pranlta ol this 
hnMUo terment of hmxesfe Gsovge CheethaM'a oid haimted 
dwdBng. It tells how that the BiBggartwhkhwaa a long tiau 
a faaep to the fbrmer^i fianily, <* soaring the maftdli) wonying 
ibfr men, and frightening the poor dhUdxen^'' beoame at last a 
fioniSar, mysteriaons presenee— is a e«rtatn sense, a reeognised 
member of the household trocq^— ^Iten heavd, but ■svcrsaen.; 
ftDfil somatimes a sharer in the housdrald eonveiHUMn. Whan 
nnny tales were being tsM around the fire, on wintsr sighiH 
IbeBoggart^s «* small dkriU voioe^ heard abore the mt, He a 
Wfy's penny tranqiet,'* joined tiie gencnl hm^Aei^ in a tons 
ef supeenatoral oongeniafity, and the hearers leanrad;, at feat, ta 
hear witiMnt dismay, if not to love the soondi whmh l^y hoi 
ftaxed betee. But, boggarts, ISke men, are moody eneoim w ; 
and this unembodied troubler ci the fiurmer's lonely hcmse-i 



te ]»V6 b€»i aometimeftso ftigflk&l of eroything like sfwatital 
di^jnity:, or •yen ol tha eloiaMi a£ oki aoqiniiitaiice, as to vepiy 
tQ. the i^mUifw baiubap aC bit moBtai ^o-ten^ntB, m a tone of 
petty malignity. He even went bo &r, at last, as to sovangtt 
htmafilf for aoma f aadad inenlt, "k^ indiistrioualy pnllikig the 
oidldreQ up axui down by thfiiiead and legs in t&e night time,, 
and by acreaohmg and laus^ung plafnfiy in the darJ^ to tiw 
miiqaealuUde aanofance o£ the inamtea. In oodar to ge^ rid of 
this noctomal toeiaenb,. it afifpoucB that the ^smer removed his 
oiiildien xato othae skepag apaztDMEitar lesirizig the Boggart 
aoda tenant of t^eir old ^edKMmiY iMfh seems to have bec^ his 
&rourite stage oi axstton. The story eondudes as follows :-^ 

^^ Bat his Boggartahip luuraig noir fairly become the poa* 
aoaaor of a room at ^e £eurm> it would sj^aar^ oonaidered himself 
JA the fight of a privilaged iaanaifcei avd not, as hithesto^ an 
ooeasional visLtor, who merely joined in the gen^soal ezpreBaioii 
o£ marsiment. Familiarity, th^ say, breeds contempt ; and 
jvom the ohildtenV bread and butter weuld be snatohad away, 
«r their poxiingera of bread and milk would be dashed to the 
g^sHmd by an unseen baud ; or, if the younger ones were left 
alone but for a few mianlea, they were sure to be found soareeinr 
ing with teiiNV on the return of thnr nuxee. Skanatlmea, 
bowever, he would behave himself kindly. The cream was 
then ehumed, and the pans and kattkis aeoured without kands^ 
There was one eireumstaacawkiah was renaakabla :*-*>tha staira 
aseendedfiram thakitefaan>; apavtydon ef boairds eefveMd the 
ends of the st^is and fanned a doeet beaaatk the ataireaaa. 
!Fr«m one of the boavds of this pa!rtitio& a large round knot waa 
aaaidamaHy diq?lsoad; aadonadaytixeyoiuigQBtofthaclukivent 
while play^ig with the dme-kom, atuok it inta this kaot^kola. 
Wh^er or BOi the aperture had been farmed by tha Bo^ggart 
aaapeep«-hale ta waiah the mafeians of the lunily, 1 aanno^ 
paatend ta n$gr, Same thoaght it was* for it waa callad the 
Baggart's peep-hi^ ; buit atiteas saidthat they hadxenmabeBed 
^ k>n£^ before the abiim kuigh fxf the Boggart was keavd in the 
kauaa. Haiwever this majF have been, it iaoertan that the koan 



216 BOOQART HO* CtOUGH* 

was c^jected with surpiifidiig predsion at the head of whoerrar 
put it there ; and either in mirth or in anger the hom watt 
darted forth with great velocity, and struck the poor child over 
the ear. 

*' There are few mattere upon which parents feel more 
acutely than that of the maltreatment of their of&pring ; Imib 
time, that great soother of all things, at length familiarised thts 
dangerous occurrence to every one at the fimn, and that which 
at the first was regarded with the utmost terror, became a kind 
of amusement with the more thoughtlees and daring of the 
£unily. Often was the hom slipped slyly into the hole, and in 
return it never fuled to be flung at the head of, some (me, but 
most commonly at the person who placed it there. They were 
used to call this pastime, in the provincial dialect, *' kking wi't' 
Boggart ;' that is, playing with the Boggart. An old taiksv 
whom I but faintly remember, used to say that the hom was 
often ' pitched' at his head, and at the head of Yob apprentice, 
whilst seated here on the kitchen table, when they went their 
rounds to work, as is customary with country tailors. At 
length the goblin, not contented with flinging the hom, returned 
to his night persecutions. Heayy steps, as of a person in 
wooden dogs, were at first heard clattering down stairs in ike 
dead hour of darkness; then the pewter and earthen dishes 
appeared to be dashed on the kitchen floor ; though in t^ 
morning all remained uninjured on tkeir respective shdves. 
The children generally were marked out as objects of dislike bf 
their unearthly tormentor. The curtains of their beds wonkl 
be violently pfolled to and fro; then a heavy weight, as of a' 
human being, would press them nigh to suffocaticm, from which 
it was impossible to escape. The night, instead of being the 
time for repose, was disturbed with screams and dreadful noises, 
and thus was the whole house alanned night after night. 
Things could not long continue ia. this fiuahion ; the £uiner and 
his good dame resolved i» leave a place where they couM »> 
longer expect rest or com&rt; and George Cheetham was 
actuaily following with his wife and family the last load of 



BOGGART HO' CL0T7GH. 217 

fbrnitTiie, when they were met by a neighbouring farmer named 

John TVf^ftm^»^^^- 

*** Well, Georgey, and soa you're leaving th' owd house at 
last? ' said M<^.TR}u>.n- 

«( *• Heigh, Johimy, my lad, I'm in a manner forced to't, thou 
sees,' replied the other ; ^ for that wearyfii' Boggart torments 
BS soa, we can neither rest neet nor day finr't. It seems loike to 
baye a malice again't young ans, an' it onmiost kills my poor 
dame here at thoughts ^n't, and soa thou sees we're forc'd to 
flit like.' 

^* He had got thus &r in his complaint, when, behold, a shrill 
▼Dice, from a deep upright chum, the topmost utensil on the 
eart, called out, ' Ay, ay, neighbour, we're flitting, you see.' 

*^ ^ Od rot thee,' exclaimed George : ^ if I'd known thou'd 
been flitting too, I wadn't ha stirred a p^. \ Nay, nay, it's to no 
tise, Mally,' he continued, turning to his wife, ^ we may as 
weel turn back again to th' owd house, as be tormented in 
another not so convenient.'" 

Thus endeth Crofton Croker's tradition of the " Boggart," or 
^* Bar-gaist," which, according to the story, was long time a 
well-known supernatural pest of old Uneetham's farm-house, . 
but whose principal lurking-place was supposed to be in a gloomy 
Book of '' Boggart Ho' Clough," or '' Boggart Hole Clough," 
§at the name adopted by the writer of the tradition appears to 
be derived from that superstitious beMef . With respect to the 
exact ori^n of the name, however, I must entirely defer to 
tikose who know more about the matter than myself. The fea* 
tures of the story are, generically, the same as those of a thou« 
sand such like superstitious stories still told and believed in aU 
the country parts of England— though perhaps more in the 
northern part of it than elsewhere. Almost every lad in Lan- 
cashire has, in his childhood, heard either from his " reverend 
grannie," or from some less kin and less kind director of his young 
imagination, similar tales connected with old houses, and other 
haunts, in the neighbourhood of his own birthplace. 
Among those who have noticed *^ Boggart Ho' Clough," is 



3tS BOOGJun HO' eiamim, 

lb; SuMul Baavind^ inll^ knoiiEn^ a^ 

writer upon the stonny political events of his ^adkoB fife^^aai 
upon i9iiat0ir«r Mlito'to'the mtamMBmaioA cnalou a£ Laneadiiie. 
In describing matters of the latter kind, hfthMr tlie advantage 
of Beings ^BMlaNro and to tiia maaaat hamf and attB more 

ofii^vmafsikB^lotttiM^^yaa-lABlk. H&«aalx»atMkliila>* 
taa^ titmt two. ndka iron '^Boggart Ifio^^ Cknght^' aod, «a £ 
•aid bofiEire, he-nauMJw aone yaajB^ ^^^ etooi^ iMiL 

In his *^ Passages in the Life of a Badical," vol. i. p. ISO, tbara 
b^;iB8 os» of the lacieili 6(mad^om of liitfiaaMaft dkaiac- 
todstiOB witii whii^ X am acqiudnied. TbB Mfc .poiffc of tfaia 
passa^ flontasps & daan^tno aoooonii of <^^Flattfc^" & ooauxtaEj 
kitoiiiBt^ ^ eMnmp,'' ar hud^etthcbar, and «« BAfi^^'^Jk yontih ^ of 
«B ardent twnpararoeot, hat badifBl,'* wha^wsi^ dBepI;^ in kneer 
mtH ^*^a young- beaatty vesidiiig m tba honaocaf faer £fttiiar» who 
iMld aanafi miyi-iBm oil liie MU-aide^ not iir fouxt Old Birklou" 
It describes the meeting of the threes ia tiso ione oot«tago of 
Bangle^ mother^ near Gradabimk wood ;. the eoxoBenftHoiL ^t 
toak placo thaao; aad^^c supenrfeiAioiia adinntee thegr agned 
vifttm^ im osdeB ia dellTOP jaoong Bangla teaBttho hopetenon of 
ll» hnMsbtSde and uaBaqoilad kyvo«»thralL ^Wm modeak af^ 
pMooheo had net bisii noticed la^ tiie adbreiioKO ; axidyfmwk^ 
had{ damwdwitii aootber yootii at Btiry Mr, ho inagnad ahs 
was tnooomniUy lost, to ban, and the pcmaaion hadi akagrt 
imm him makBohofy. Doetoio had beooiiipfdiadto^batho 
wao BO better; ^i^era and ohanns had ten laiad to hoag 
diiwai Khe eofei-hearted maid, bot aU in vm » 



"'He Bonght her at the dawn of day; 
Be aovgiit hep at tlM noosin' ; 
HaiOQ^t her when the erening gw^t, 
Had broQght the hoHow moon in. 

** * Be ealTd her on the darkest night, 
With wimrd epeUe to Mnd ber : 
And whfli the flaai amae )» lifl^ 
Se wandared iMb to find hev 

*^iiji kngtii BQBQoreni and fiartiino'-lalkiBi wan thought of, 



^XiBi^pi^'Bi^/ftaoleiBeer, ranUng at KleMfoMfifer BiMge^ 
hmring^ be^EL cofisalbed, aaiel the kd ]ladl no'ciMflsoefif' gaamng^ 
power over the damself unless he could taJce Saint Johnls F«n& 
seed ; and if he oaoM. but sdctore three grams q£ that, he might 
bring, to him wittter^r he widaied^ that waHcadt flew, or swam.'^ 
Such being the omiditknis laid down, and beiieyed in by the 
three, they resolved to ventuse, togethac,, on the taking of Saint 
John's Fern seed, with stcict obeervaoee of the time and the 
cabalistic ceremonials «]joined by ^^ TampiTig Billy," the seer, 
of Badcliffe Bridge. " Plant," thebotanwfc, " Imew where the 
&aest clump of fern in the country grew ;" and he undertook 
to accompany ** Chirrnp" and *^ Bangle'' to the spot, at the 
time appointed, the ere of St. John the Baptiat The remaindei? 
of the passage describes *^ Boggart Ho' Clough," the spot in 
which St. John'a Fern then grew in great abundance, andwhertt 
the botanists of the district stiH And the plant ; it describea 
also the f^urfal enterprise of the three at the witching hour of 
midnight, in search of the enchanted seed : — 

'^ On the left hand, reader, as thou goest towards Manchester, 
ascendiug &om Blackley, is a rather deep yalley, green swarded, 
and embowered in plantations and older woods. A driying 
path, which thou enterest by a white gate hung on whale-jaw 
posts,* leads down to a grove of yoimg trees, by a modem and 
substantial farm-house, with green shutters, sashed win- 
dows, and flowers peeping from the sills. A mantle of ivy 
climbs the wall, a garden is in front, and an orchard, redolent 
of bloom, and fruit in season, nods on the hill-top above. Here, 
at the time Plant was speaking of^ stood a very ancient house, 
bunt partly of old fashioned bricks, andpartly of a timber frame, 
filled with raddlinga and daub (wicker-work plastered with 
day). It was a lonfi and desolate-looking house indeed ;, misty 
and fearful, even at noon-day. It was known as ' Boggart-ho\* 
or ' Fyrin-ho';* and the gorge in which it is situated, was, and 
is still known, aa ' Boggart,' or * Fjian-ho' Ekof,* » the glen of 

* Those somewhat remarkable posts haye been xemoveiiof late j«an, aad 
stout pillars of stone occupy their places. 



220 BOGGART HO* CLOUGH. 

the hall of spiritB.* Such a place might we cnippose, had Milton 
in contemplation when he wrote the passage of hia inimitable 

poem — 

« 'Telia how the dradeing goblin iweaiy 
To earn hia cream-bowl| dnlyae^ 
When, in one niffht, ere glimpte of monii 
Hia ahadowy flail had thraahM the com 
Which ten day-Iabonrera could not end ; 
Then Ilea him down, the Inbher fiend : 
And, atretch'd oat, all the chimnej^a lengthi 
Baaka at the fire, hia hairy atrength ; 
And eropfal, oat of door he flinga, 
Ere the firat eoek hia matin ainga.* 

'^ By the edde of the house, and through the whole length of 
the yallej, wends a sickly, tan-coloured rindle ; which, iasmng 
from the great White Moss, comes dowU, tinged with the 
colour of its parent swamp. Oppodte the modem house, a 
forbidden road cuts through the plantation on the right towards 
Moston-lane. Another path leads behind the house, up pre- 
cipitous banks, and through dose bowers, to Booth Hall ; and 
a third, the main one, proceeds along the kloof, by the side of 
the stream, and under smi-screening woods, untU it forks into 
two roads : one a cattle-track, to *• The Bell,* in Moston ; and 
the other a winding and precipitous foot-path, to a farm-house 
at ^ Wood-end ;* where it gains the broad upland, and emerges 
into unshaded day. 

'^ About half way up this kloof is an open, cleared space of 
green* and short sward : it is probably two hundred yards in 
length, by sixty in width ; and passing along it from Blackley, 
a group of fine oaks appear on a slight eminence, a little to the 
left. This part of the grove was, at the time we are concerned 
with, much more crowded with underwood than at present.* 
The bushes were then close and strong ; fi^e sprouts of 'yerth- 
groon ' hazel and ash, were common as nuts ; whilst a thick 
bush of bramble, wild rose, and holly, gave the spot the appear- 

* ThoBO oaka haye been felled, and the kloof ia now eomparatirely de- 
nuded of timber ; the underwood on the left aide is nearly awept amy. 
Sad inroads on the ominona gloom of the place. 



BOGGART Hb' CLOUGH. 221 

ance of a place inclosed and set apart for mysterious concealment. 
Intermingled with these ahnost impervious barriers, were tofts 
of tall green fern, curling and bending gracefully ; and a little 
separate from them, and near the old oaks, might be observed 
a few fern clmnps of a singular appearance ; of a paler green 
than the others — ^with a flatter, and a broader leaf— sticking 
up, rigid and expanded, like something stark with mute terror. 
These were * Saint John^s Fem;^ and the finest of them 
was the one selected by Plant for the experiment now to be 
described. 

*^ A little before midnight, cm the eve of St. John, Plant, 
Chirrup, and Bangle, were at the whale-jaw gate before- 
m^itioned ; and having slightly scanned each other, they 
proceeded without speaking, until they had crossed the brook 
at a stepping-place, opposite the old Fyrin-ho\ The first word 
spoken was — * What hast thou ? ' 

" ' Mine is breawn an' roof/ 

said Plant, exhibiting a brown earthen dish. < What hast 
thou?' he then asked. 

" * Mine is breet enougli/ 

said Chirrup, showing a pewter platter, and continued, ' What 

hast thou?' 

** * Teed wi' web an' woof, 
Mine is deep enough,' 

said Bangle, displaying a musty, dun skull, with the cap sawn 
off above the eyes, and left flapping like a lid by a piece of tanned 
scalp, which still adhered. The interior cavities had also been 
stuffed with moss and lined with clay, kneaded with blood fix)m 
human veins, and the youth had secured the skull to his 
shoulders by a twine of three strands of imbleached flax, of 
undyed wool, and of woman's hair, from which also depended 
a ray n black tress which a wily crone had procured firon^ the 
xpaid he sought to obtain. 

^••IhBtwUldo/ 



mmt^^tming, Pknt And OkBn^ fftiaed ; bat Boagle, 3iiii» 
ind Qvideatl J Us Iwftrt on tiio aooomplidmieiit of ilie «idas 
tekiBg, Biid, ^ Fonvmud ! — if ive torn, b»w « lipiit lifts sgokeo^ 
WbvtelmL Ooiae on ! ' and thgr w«nt ibrmrd. 

-'^ A fiilflnce, £ho .ihat 4Qf dfiKtli, •was azoond 4lHni m Aib^ 
fl utowi on tiiei0peA pki^an^. Notfamg moTod cither in tim 
at farahft. Hiiaou^ a space in tbe iblia^e the «tanB wotq «een 
pale in hoa^ea, wnd'Aeiodced anoon hvmg in « 1^ of hhkt asoid 
motionless clouds. AH was stiU and breathless, as af Bavth, 
heaarea^ and the eiaments, weoe agliast. Anytlidng ^tronM hare 
been prefeacable to that nnnatuad stiUneas and sileDce — theiioot 
of the night owl, the konim of the pit nj^esmow^ the moaa of 
the -wind, the toll of a death-bell, or ihd howl of a ban-dqg, 
wonld, inaonuch as therf are thingB of this world, luM^e beeao. 
welcome soimds amid that horrid pause. But no sound came, 
no object moved. 

" Gasping, and with cold sweat oozing on his brow, Plant 
reooDected that they were to shake the i&m wifth a fcadbsd nsd 
of witch hazel, and by no means must touch it with their hands, 
and he asked, in a whisper, if the others had brought one. 
Both said they had forgotten, and Chirrup said they had better 
never have come ; but Plant drew his knife, and stepping into 
a moonlighted bush, soon returned with what was wanted, and 
they went forward. 

^^ The green knowe, the old oaks, tlie encircled space, and 
the fern, were now approached ; the latter stiff and erect in % 
gleamy light. 

*^ ^ Is it deep neet ? ^ said Bangle. 

" * It is^' said Plant. 

" 'The sterHHit Mfls Ibe iheidMod §m, 
JNov tb«4cp of Jteona dothhoUU' 

**■ And tliey drew near. A5 was tffcill and inotioiileBB-. 

** Plant knelt on one knee, and hdd hkdidi under^te IbHu 

*^ Chirrap held his Iftotd idateamt below, and 



^^Bani^Jaaeit, cod retted tiw akidl ftiraeti^r nndor botk on 



i( 



" * Good St Jolm, this Boed we oniyo, 

* * A voice rasponded : — 

" ' Now tin moon is downward •tertingy 
Hoon and stare are all departing;; 

Qviok, ^aUk ; ikflk^, chake ; 
He whose bejut sliaii.fleoM6t bivak, 

Let liim take.' 

^^ Thfigr lookad, and pefceiYed l^ « gknoe thftt a yoaerable 
£c»niL, in a Jooee robe, waA near them* 

^^ Da]4cneaB came down liJEe&»woop. Tbe fem waft ahak^ 
the ii{)fMr diah flew into pieceB-'4ke pewier one melted ; tbe 
skull knitted a ciy^ and eyes gluced in its sooketa ; lights broke 
— ^beautifiil diildren were seen walldng in tbeir Jboiiday ckxthefi^ 
and graceful female forms sung mournful and'emobanting aira. 

*^The men stood terrified, and lekscinated ; and Bangle, 
gaang, bade, ^'God Idees '^n.' A crash Mkmed as if the 
whole of the timber in the kloof was being leplintered and torn 
up ; strange and horrid forms a|»peared from the thi(dEeto4 the 
men ran as if sped on the wind — they separated, and lost each 
other. Plant ran towards the old house, and there, leaping the 
brook, he cast a glance behind him, and saw terrific shapes — 
some beastly, some part human, and some hellish, gnaehing 
their teeth, and howling, and mttering the most fearfid aaid 
moom&l toBss, as if wishfiil to foDow hiai but unable to doiKk 

^^ In anagony of tecror he arrived at home, not knowing how 
he got there. He was, during seraral da5B,in a state bordmiig 
on unconsdoiKBieiB ; and, when he recovered, he kwraed that 
Chirrup was femad on the WMte Utmf MVing jaud, md 
chasing the wild birds. As for poor fi«b£^ heJovad his W9f 
home over he^ge and ditch, rmaa^ with wapeambiaai mA 
£aarM speed-'-the skill's esrm i^img ct his kmA^ And ^m 
aettier jaw^iiMuagaadjiMaw^ft^itM^ miiiiMilipliL 



224 BOG0AST HO* CLOUGH^ 

eovrnds. He had preeenred the seed, howerer, and, having taken 
it from the aknll, he baiied the latter at the crofis load frcna 
whence he had taken it. He then carried the spell out, and 
his proud love stood one night by his bed-side in tears. Bui 
he had done too much for human nature— in three months afib^ 
she followed his corpse, a real mourner, to the grave ! 

*' Such was the description my fellow-prisoner gave of what 
occurred in the only trial he ever made with St. John^s Fern 
seed. He was fall of old and quaint narratives, and of super- 
stitious lore, and often would beguile time by recounting them. 
Poor fellow ! a mysterious fiEkte hung over him also.*' 

This description of ^^ Boggart Ho' Clough,'' with its ac- 
companying vivid dramatic picture of one of our strong local 
superstitions, is all the more interesting from the vigorous and 
graphic pen of one who knew the place and the people around 
it so well. I know no other writer who is so able to portray 
the distinctive characteristics of the people of South Lancashire 
as Samuel Bamford. 

It ^is now some years since I first visited the sc^ie of the 
foregoing traditions. At that time I was wholly unacquainted 
with the last of these legaids, and I knew little more about 
^^ Boggart Ho' Clough," in any way, than its name indicates. 
I sought the place then, solely on account of its natural 
attractions. Feeling a little curious, however, respecting the 
import of its name, and, dimly remembering Boby's tradition, 
I made some inquiry while lingering in the neighbourhood, and 
found, that, although some attributed the name to the super- 
stitious credulity of the native people, there was one gentleman 
who nearly destroyed that theory in my mind at the time, hy 
saying, that, a short time previous, he had dined with a lawyer 
who informed him in the course of a conversation upon the 
same subject, that he had recently been at a loss how to describe 
the place in question, having to prepare some notices to be served 
on trespassers ; and, on referring to the title-deeds of the |90- 
perty, he found that a family of the name of ^^ Bowker," had 
£>rmerly occupied a residence situated in the dough, and that 



BOGOABT HO* CLOtTGH. 2^ 

Hieir dwelling was designated ^^ Bowker^ Hall.*' This he, 
perhaps rather haatUy, adopted as the origin of the name, and 
described it accordingly. But the testimony of every writer 
vrho notioes the spot, especially those best acquainted with it, 
inclines to the other derivation. 

But the locality has other points of interest, besides thiff 
romantic rural nook, and the tales of glamour connected with 
it* In it there is many a boggart story, brought down from the 
jMst, many a spot of fearful repute among native people. Apartr 
from all these things, the chapelry of Blackley is enriched with 
historic associations well worth remembering, and it contains 
some very interesting relics of the ancient manner of life there. 
In fonner times the chapelry had in it several fine old quaint 
Liancashire halls. Booth Hall, Outburst Hall, Lightbowne Hall„ 
Hough Hall, Crmnpsall Hall, and Blackley Hall. Some of 
these still remain, and are worth seeing. Some of them have 
heen the homes or the birth-places of men of decided eminence 
in their day — eminent for worth as well as station — among 
-whom there is more than one who has left a long trail of 
honourable recollections behind him. Such men were Humphrey 
Ghetham, Bishop Oklham, and others. Bradford the martyr^ 
also, is said to have resided in this township. William Chad- 
derton, D.D., bishop of Chester, and afterwards bishop of Lin- 
coln, was bom at Nuthurst Hall, about the year 1540. George 
Clarke, the founder of the charity which bears his name, and 
one of Fuller's Worthies, resided in Crumpsall. The following 
particularB respecting the district and its notabilities I glean 
from the recently published ^^ History of the Ancient Chapel of 
Blackley," by the Rev. John Booker, B.A., of Magdalene 
College, Cambridge, curate of Prestwich :— First with respect 
to the ancient state of Blackley, in the survey of Manchester, aa 
taken in the 16th Edward 11. (1322), and preserved by 
Euerden,* the following official notice of the township occurs :— 
•'The park of Blakeley is worth in pannage, aery of eagles, 

* Kucrden^ US., fol. 974, Clietham Library. « 



ference, together mth twodeer4e9i%4|il&«fahkHi|j^«fl»i»(^'' VHm 

Ttei. fo)}pwjiiPig jgptiM^i^ i!««i«ptft«^ tto ^tg^aaa)i^g7i4|{i;ih^ 
iUKn9, ^^ Bte«]|lej,'' wll. i»Qt be, mia^o^sta)^. tQf 8Mepit». <tf,. 

&2e«(^y. wl^fib^ Bioans o^. only i^^<^,. djorji;, <^W(f ««« aD^ eT«ja 
i/^Q!9W«.l>Ut.«to> mky,A4€ifi,palM^ fi^pm. ' blw*< t<h bjwcji 
or ixi»j(« wljit^t.. Af^,9»,ii ibes^ oppowte > wi ff aw n gst,, w^sf% m^, 
nxig^ejx^j, p^lomg, . tw-o.ot^. £m:iimi pvwtao^. tl^pt^i^e^i^ jQ«e 

of yi^ii]k;»m^^ie^GiMf,^v^ ml tbe otto^^oio-/ %i i^t^. 

l4ace qf,. ;Hj««»r«.r Oi>.. tJMa^. i|aii*t» WW^I^ter- sa^.m to 
Histoiy o( ]54ancl^p8iifBr,.,"/rh© S^Sfm ^Jm-, hla<ik4 ^ Wofe^ 
frpquenjUy^ ip(ip^art|>.».the dcj^p, ^b^m.of tlCfte^ ; , Imm W^ hAT/^ «Q-. 
many jlaoasi dwtuigTiidj«4 b^, tjtbp ^itjbe* W E»glft^.wbj?i!e.,BQ 
cm^D^pfitance& of sqII' and.lHKP6^#mUm'9f "Viftto ^X^ Q(¥»iim '. 
to it, aft the vjaiagefij of Kl^bilV?i,ft«drBlftfil^^ I<A|i99lAm 
Bliieley-hui»^^ near Wigw, ft»d, qw; <?▼». Btecktey> i)#»i^} 
Manehester ; and' the wooda of the last were even seven miles 
in circnit as late as the fourtee)^ centujryi 



: ' ^If^hiAd^ wk)i n^ii^ tikfH^tlm. fsmi ViBf^ bfmk^ tistHmmy 

nt wi flni iffQftArte»4ft Oft* i|»sii.:r«.i. Wild. lMir<^. l^dk^v^aAKi 
:5flara«4 ^.i». tbt^ B^nn^in of ;S4itto'*Traj9JB, «». im^^ h^nded 

Tivi!«Mwt UpQjQ^wkiobnin. jl4)^,,«^Hxi th^qnaint olA hall q£ 

itolfi ]x)(4ft4sti|l]pp» of: ;«kft,»igiHl ijd WHiM atoal ftoski^iKWl ta. 
Toamk. «]|di QMry oflFi tiie l^edqteljhaa ftcia* tb^^ oonalm, <^ the 

fThe fallowioff note if altaehod tothi&paaaage in Mr. Booka^SToltme: 
-*ffTIi»iuuM]& of Mi0li)«^be«» twpla toftUniaBr to tfae fl«i>«niti^ o£ 
its inliabitantf . It ha« had it« nine days* wonHer at ereiy period of its 
hufprau,: HtVin»iHrau, m^t oLih^wM WK^t^mn^ pnwiigifla 
wbi<4^.M9Mfl4MrWf W<sm^i.m:^i^* &. ^laijWejr^ n^re UjmbfiBtw, 
ift>aaa.J;«!lm Fi4n41«M#'§F^iN».^4.Q«e^wM.rep^ing;f, ih«>eornA.bei|i|r cut, 

i«4jl^te,ea(Pk>ij^A. «Mi4.t*# 4faiw.*<wwpC.,tl|Qiudi of a kin%fld|^. WiSe«^^ 
were within reddish, and as it iru%)j^]f^jj,^ ^figf^i&m»^,Q^ml^h VWr. 

o 2 



228 BOGGABT ho' CLOUOH. 

Hie township of Crmnpsall bounds Blackley on the noMi 
aide, and is divided finom it by the lively but now turbid MtQi& 
River Irk, or Iwrke, or Irke, which means " Roebuck." " From 
time immemorial, for ecclesiastical purposes, Crumpsall has been 
associated with Blackley." The present Crumpsall Hall stands 
on the north side of the Irk, about a mile and a half frtttn 
" Boggart Ho' Clough." The earlier orthography of the name 
was " Crumeshall, or Ourmeshall. For its derivation we are 
referred to the Anglo-Saxon, the final syllable ^sal ' signifying 
in that language a hall or place of entertainment, of whidi 
hospitable abode the Saxon chief, whose name the first syllable 
indicates, was the early proprietor. Thus, too, Ordsall in the 
same parish." Here, in later days, Humphrey Chetham was 
bom, at Crumpsall Old Hall. The author of the " History of 
the ancient Chapel of Blackley," from whose book I gather all 
this information, also describes a quaint old farm-house, situated 
in a picturesque and retired spot in the higher part of Crump>^ 
sail, and pointed out as the dwelling in which Hugh Oldham, 
Bishop of Exeter, who founded the Manchester Granmiar 
School, was bom. About tovar years ago, when rambling about 
the green uplands of Crumpsall, I called at this £surm to see a 
friend of mine, who lived in a cottage at the back of the house, 
in the garden. While there I was shown through this curious 
old dwelling, by the tenants ; and I very well remember that 
they took especial pains to acquaint me with its local importance, 
as the place of Bishop Oldham's nativity. It is still known as 
" Oldham's tenement," and also as " Th' Bongs (Banks) Farm." 
The following is a more detailed account of the place and the 
man: — 

" It is celebrated as thtf reputed birthplace of Hugh Oldham, 
Bishop of Exeter, who, according to tradition current in the. 

was another fliTour!t« haunt of gliostly vitUanta, the legend of mhieb im 
been perpetuated by Mr. Roby in hia ' Traditiona of Lancaahire,' vol. ii. 
pp. 295, 891. Nor haa it ceased in our day : in 1852 one of ita inhabitanta 
imperilled tba aafety of hia family and neigrbbonm, hr undermining tlie 
walla of hia cottage, in bia eiforta to diaoover tbe hidden oauae of aome 
myaterioua noiae that had diaturbed him." 



BOOOABT HO* CLOUQJi^. 2d9 

neighbourhood, was bom there about themiddleof the fifteenth 
. eentury, and it i3 stated to baye been the residence of the Old- 
bams foic the last four hundred years. The house itself, a long 
lUinow thatched building, bears eyidence of considerable anti- 
quity ; the vails appear to have been originally of lath and 
pilaster, which material has gradually in many places given place 
to brick-work; and the whole exteii(»r is now coyered with 
white-wash« A room on the ground-floor is still pointed out as 
the domestic chapel, but there are no traces of it ever haying 
been devoted to such use. 

^^ Hugh Oldham, LL.B., bishop of Exeter, was descended 
from an ancient feunily of that name. According to Dodsworth 
(MSS. folio 152), he was bom at Oldham in a house in Goul- 
boume-street, but this assertion is contradicted by the testimony 
of his other biographers : Wood and Oodwin state that he was 
bom in Manchester, l^ which they mean not so much Manches- 
ter town as Manchester pariah ; and Dugdale, in his Lancashire 
visitation, states more definitely in what part of the parish, 
coiRecting at the same time the misstatement of the others, 
P not at Oldluun, but at Crompsall near Manchester.* In 1503 
be was created Archdeacon of Exeter, and in the following year 
was raised, through the influence of the Countess of Richmond, 
to the see of Exeter. . In 1515, having foimded the Grammar 
School of Manchester, he endowed it with the corn-mills situate 
on the Biver Irk, which he purchased from Lord de la Warre, 
as well as with other messuages and lands in Manchester." 

In relation to Bishop Oldham, it may be worth while 
noticing that in the Manchester Guardian of yesterday, 
Wednesday, January 10th, 1855, 1 found the following letter 
reelecting an aged and poor descendant of this native prelate. 
This brief notice of an aged and poverty-stricken descendant of 
the Bishop— a soldier^s wife, who has followed the fortunes of 
her husband, as a prisoner of war, and through the disasters of 
batUe, shipwreck, and imprisonment in a foreign land— is not 
uninteresting : — ^^ There is now living in this city a poor, aged 
woman, who,, it appears, is a descendant of the founder of the 



* 



tOla in Aipe#m^. 9te (is 16 ' M yW i l i bi gft <tf 4iftrf MMlL 
'i«Md^)|Slft1r'ixttS(ftr ^ rllllULi i|»1iiM U fi iili I Hlft |i i iHiiftlw i ftwiiiiim i 

Crumpeall, in the chapelry of BlsMaf^'mm OMIdIAi^ IMi- 
iflilM»^ ilMil QlAII^ flial^e^^ttiiteaitta, Sutf^itft^^Ol^^ one 
<^ VVttlft^s W^iiilliflS 'bnd '» «d^ (lA«in 'MMiMBttt' Ink («Mtty 
#Wft<»'tto4lollL in.ifc ww i>rt ^j M tto aihrtuia&. gte?foiloirtiig^lHft r 

'V^tlfiie !-*- 

^<fte Hrttd l)iMQt bt li^ tkMli€flH»lM»tAeiM, <!^tt^6«&ittdl, 

¥91bylM0. 'H&floM%«lfs^««d4ii%dM«tioft4^^ 

>tmA Ittapk^4^e'<Nad^«l^€Ml im ititti0t|»>« 4ttiA» ur^fa^bhi^ iaAlso 
pitel)p«^6d ^ ^ %b«ini8ft Itat in (t$Sd ^i^ |AuMMnd> €l«94lln 

"l^tft'H 4iBgeHt iiieflii«» €^f ^f^mip^am^mid'til^^^^hm^^ 
80un^-IMMi»j Md'« l«Mplfot«l*ktflMtii^BdUl^^ «fti1llBB«dy««Utod 

fii^h^itefHfr'ofldKitmti M neS^ ^i afkiii'lfi l^ift,3*<liii- 

geiMiliill«ft«r M%h ^sitili ^AUtlle did iTeSr 4dg^cl»th^»>lttii iwiw , 

to ^inde^iiie fusAiMiiimet^ 4&ttMiim^:mid a/pfmMitmii^f 



^Adr^^^sMfiM %t iii& time «h«jr'l6J^ Am^, xfear^kM^ iidr Ulffift ; 
*»ti^Vegbii&^^^W^nL «f MeHM^h»»t^ lii^ an^f^le meftfib nJlM&y 

«^tl6iL1Ml. tfi ^bfi fme i7m «^ illMite ^ «i^ ^yW|^l 

penii^liilMMSm/tkiid £;K)0'tmr^Mdt^^ b«it&dieifi»riiittlr 

'fiife flegpeult, ^t(»xdlftgH^Mis ^ 4lijr like Ibittidtiti6ft>4)f ^41 public 

Hbntry; aUd tlie ^residme of l^ ^^E^illfee ^(1feltil»ulfti^ "tt^ tieKr 

^^"fS^^pmi 6£ a Hbittritm. !En 1^836 4^ fKM i»«»^*dWtiM«t 

Mr. Chetham died unmarried September 20th, 1653, and -^Iflfe 
b«iMediift«lie Coltegittte C^tto-okj^kete^a modulfiSnt ha»^e^ntly 
b6^ «irect^ to ifaifi ttietn^ at 'iSb.e iXfU^^a foAa^ pijft&t^pilMr 
ill !iir*b6uttt3r." 

%1be toltowing d^scfif^ti^ <yf i&e iiotttie, at Oitttf^isall, ^i 
''i9MxihTttmip]srey*(yi^^ bdJto, fe afeo ^ven in Bobk^l^ 

'ffebtfr^ of KacM^y (5lmpd :^ 

♦^ChfdiiipSan '^n, the teldtifeaifce 'of liMs teinch -^ the 
'Oh^itaztBs, H^as andth^r ispi^ltn^n df '%he hii^-thxft>^9i9d mftttsiblfs 
tiltefeidy diedbribed. In ilegign the fnone 'dfrangMHeht ^'ddetoH^ *to 
^Yacre^beea fellmredliiatisin^*«^l& ininany df'die hiai0<e»«6ted 
«i}dtii%''t^e^fiM«Mi^^h'atid two sticcreejding cetiiiQie&«''^a^ it)bl(^g 
^pB^i^mning the (5^1l%e, With 'iSMss'gjiilbks'^^ teai6h^^'pl«(j«dtilig 
^0Cttn6 ' dtetttnce 0(it^U!fds. ' THie iiiBtfri^triL cdnslMfbd of a'iMlids 
of veWiife^ tilnbetff, ^Jrbssed by c«;herftTplatoiadia!«n«^^ ^iWteh 
Hhe ' extt^on of 'ftie giftftefe, k 't9ife upper *pirt of %hfc*i the 
1»te<«[» s{]^ng ^ttagotiitlly fhnn t^ eehl^ '^ Icitf^piWt. '^ 
^ttfd&yfi^t^'df^i&f^ "j^m^h/tkik^ (dSt^t^^t^ ^fisid^jrabij^ %iey diid^e 



. dS3 . BOOOABT HO^ 0L0UG9* 

<Niter emfiice of the walk, tlms not only aDowing of a moa^e 
ni»d diam of water, but also affording a greater protectian 
£rom the weather. The hall was of two storiee, and lighted 
chieflj hj bay-windowB, an occasional dormer-window in the 
upper story rising above the roof, and adding to the effect of 
the building by destroying that lineal appearance which it 
would otherwise haye assumed. This mansion, though uerer 
posBessing any great pretensions to architectural exceUenoe, wm 
nercrtheleBB interesting from the picturesque arrangement of its 
details, and may be ccmsidered a very creditable example of the 
middle-class houses of the period to which it is referred. It 
occupied a site distant nearly a quarter of a mile £rom that of 
the present hall, and was taken down about the year 1825.'* 

Well may Fuller, writing of Humphrey Chetham, say, 
** God send us more such men I ^' The *^ poor boys*' of Man- 
chester may well repeat the prayer, and pray also that heayen 
may send after them men who will strictly look to the righteous 
administration of the bequests which such men leave behind 
them* 

It is not yet a week since I went down to the Chetham 
Library, to copy, from Booker's ^^ History of Blackley," the fore- 
going particulars respecting its founder. The day was dark 
and damp, and the great quadrangle of the coll^;e was as still 
as a church-yard. Going up the old stair-case, and, treading 
as lightly as I could with a heavy foot, as I went by the principal 
librarian's room door, I entered the cloistral gloom of the old 
library. All was stirless and silent, as I wandered on through 
the dark array of book-laden shelves. The sub-librarian was 
writing in some official volume upon the sill of a latticed 
window, in one of the recesses. Hearing an approaching foot, 
he came out, acd looked the usual quiet inquiry. ^^ ^ Booker's 
Blackley,' " said I. He went to one of the xecesses, unlocked 
the door, and brought out the book. *' Will you enter it, sir," 
said he, pointing to the oblong volume kept for that purpoee. 
I did so, and walked on into the '^Beading Boom" of the 
library ; glancing, as I went in, at Oliver Cromwell's swon^ 



BOGOABT HO* CLOXTGH. 293 

wMch hangs above the door-vajr. There vas a good fire, and I 
liad that interesting, antique apartment all to myself. The loft}', 
<arched old room looked very clean and comfortable, and the 
hard, oaken floor resonnded to the footstep. Tbe whole fumi- 
tare was of the most quaint and substantiai character. It 
^as panelled all round with bright old black oak. The win* 
dowswere latticed, and the window-sills broad. The heavy 
tables were of solid oak, and the chairs of the same, with 
leather-covered and padded seats and backs, studded with brass 
nails. A curiously-carved black oak book-stand stood near the 
door, and several antique mirrors and dusky portraits hung 
around upon the dark panelling. Among these is the portrait 
of Bradford the martyr, a native of Manchester. In the 
library there is a small black-letter volume, entitled, ^* Letters 
of Maister John Bradford, a faythfiill minister and a syngular 
pyllar of Christens Church : by whose great trauiles and dili- 
gence in preaching and planting the syncerity of the Gospel, 
by whose most goodly and innocent lyfe, and by whose long 
and payneful imprisonments for the maintenance of the truth, 
the kingdom of €k)d was not a little aduanced : who also at last 
most valiantly and cheerfully gaue his blood for the same. The 
4th day of July. In the year of our Lord 1555.** The por- 
trait of Humphrey Chetham, the foimder, stands immediately 
above the old-fashioned fireplace, under the emblazoned arms of 
his fiunily. Sitting by the fire, at a little oak-table covered 
with green baize, I copied the paitioolare here given, relative 
to Chetham*s bequest to the people of his native locality. I 
could not but lift my eyes now and then towards that solemn 
and gentlemanly old face, inwardly moved by a feeling which 
reverently said, ^^Will it do?" The countenance of the fine 
old merchant seemed to wear an expression of sorrow, not un- 
mingled with quiet anger, at the spectacle of twenty thousand 
books — intended as a " Free Library,** though now, in com- 
parison with its possibilities, ^tee chiefly in name — ^twenty thou- 
sand books, packed together in gloomy seclusion, yet surrounded 
by a weltering crowd of five himdred thousand bu£iy people, a 



'Mi 'fmmii^i!'¥ic^*^mii(f^k. 



' ftbd^MCMf "cte^M^lor ^liiiir {ft'^,/'tiif& iSibithuD. LihMf is 

'^6mk atidieitifi^ anA iitelbeen'tectod up^toitoiivB. laliifaottlBifre 

itet1lie<tiotDle4MMH»d.ifa^ -^^Mdd t)e •eiitlMMflflAiimliy'lli^ 

ifed '#ith.i«>tidii,if te sm «fc0t€la«iom'<bf' 4diese'thilli»twf«vr. It 

-octtBA 'ikllfliie tmoce iihieiy iMt :^ '%b^«o<^ be-lHS Vtnb'Mie 

' ifkmm^m' ihe «igiM<niit Ufab nm. wUob, in lu8i«&,'^ Aiftes 

. «» the •dntiniMldratioii of ^^eHfiMiotlier kMl flhtaMi^ dfedbltttig^ln 

,%ift'«(vhian». tiybBr'«;)6dallyvii«ttili|g'thft olBM'af ^i^)«iF>N9tt'' 

^ fat ivirate'beiiefi* (his Haif»t«l''««ra« vitenML, tovpeoMi!^ *«t- 

.ya^pk mteufuf tilnetubf ((if so il:ltiPE.ovii0) f/br ^t^ )?7fo^iie»if«fe<$d b/ 

-paSBaga, of %lf»i^f1^><£riil^]diigtf|K)atiut<tera 

vtetab^iafed^tint;^ if it mste 'poaeM^ td tolttmlb 4fliA t^-Hie 
««lf eei^ lie>w)!rtdd eonsitoit a p|t|fthlrt tbe tv^nty HHsnnMtfld 
•bookH'iB^thd-lignBxy^ «tid Hie five bQUdtdd itAiid«i»iidtMd|t& Mft- 

•eaelKMMV. 6a,«4]io, nmiilimts miAiy'^a «^0«rMaiid i^im^iSM 

<wh«ti4li^liNuyist4^toMd. 






i^A COESHIHE SKETOHv) 

Most thfOQgh th^m all immatable reniams*- 

8b>a HiW iii iMn ito ^A he t ^ mm^tmBiMf. 
ThMe leafy heights their iioy temple <ow« 
fblbi&<»Hidft'h6to«¥th'6Bii:«](tathk]f», ' 

^IwiB^-iiawdtv IwMdhgrfrbiiitlid «lrM»^ 
Bapt into Toliye- mood the seeaa^ below. 
'IttuiBh, haply, lie diwWniM, trtti^en By ln^»j^' 
(ftn^Bliiand dinieta^hov^rlvg ^Ttor iiia«; 
Bat most he saw iind felt. I feel and see-^ 

' $Ua>t]M9s«riiie)«liirt di»iUi'oB|giv?e«hd(teo. 
The •tranqai^ehami of UttU RoBtherne Mere.' ' 

fiibid)^nft<««^M«rted 'tc^getlier -toiMTCto tluMi^laee, f&t aatait'Dii 
BuMtatr^the Ml -of ' June. . Waik^ iip4Kfi}]0 OjdetfdMftd 
^tstllA^iL,me piMl't>iiPmS(|M90ta^:'ftiMl (g0t-#iir4iX3kite:te^BMdd]i, 

«#a 'SKiii(«ve(iftb(]«vb ^he'/juktlbfte, «iimm^-« -BmAber-ef -fM- 
cbflHal:|^pfe, of -t^ c]Aa»D8, ^tk •• •hoet 0f ^kpfap'eUUitn 

same way. The^i^ ^Mui fide, and tlbe sky cImm^, «Kfiii|tt :^lli«r& 
a few gauzy clouds floated across it with dreamy grace, as if 
they had cotftie iftik t&t «k * liUcflMay . Everything se^ed to feel 
that it yfSA Snaday. 'Hie'&SAs, aiafl gt6t^ and.gardens were 
drest in theirlMMr. ^'^IMM^t^iSkWMh^otf ilike ^Mft with them. 
In a few minutes our flery iron horse had whirled us to Bowdon, 



S86 ROOTQxiunfi icbbx. 

stAtioiu Tnming to the left at the top, we strack into a quiet 
road that leads between hedge-iowB, in the direction of &oa- 
theme. Bowdon bells were ringing to church as we walked 
akmg, sorroonded by fluiging birds, and sunshine, and a thou- 
sand sweet odours Stem, the cottage gardens bj the wajside. 
Now and then a young sylph, of graceful fiboe and timid miest 
tripped past as, in the garb of a lady, on her way to church, 
witk her books before her ; then a knot of pretty, brown-&ced 
yiDagegirk, with wild flowers in their hands, going the same way, 
with all the innocent TiTadty of childhood in their look and gait { 
anon came sbwly wending up the path an old couple, bending 
with age, the history of a simple life of honourable toil written 
in their fi^oes, and their attire wearing that touching air which 
always narks the struggle which decent poverty makes to put 
its best appearance on. The road, which seemed to be little 
frequented, shortly brought us to Ashley Hall, a pictureaq[ue 
"woodland mansion, which stands near it. A fine avenue of an^ 
cestral trees shade the walk to the porch of the old hall, which 
nestks behind the present modem one. The outbuildings are 
antiquated and extensive. The old house still wears the ap^ ^ 
pearance of an abode of comfort and el^ance, bent with that 
quaint charm which hangs about all fine, old-fashioned rural 
dwellings. Nothing seemed to be stirring in or about the 
building but the wind, the birds, and the trees; and the two 
large stone sphinxes in front of the porch looked like petrified 
genii, so profound was the repose of this green nook. Outside 
the house the grass was growing over everything, even over the 
road we walked on it was creeping. For some distance the 
roadside was pleasantly soft to the foot with springy verdure, 
and thick-leaved trees overhung the highway, 

<< That fiun did iprad 
Their armes abroad, with gray mosse Ofereaste ; 
And their green learea, trembling with ererj blast, 
ICadt a ealm ahadow far in oompaaae rounds" 

until we b^gan to descend into the green pastures of a little 



ROSTHERKB MERE. 2^ 

Vs3e, tbioagh which a dear rirer winds its mtmntiring way. 
A widow lady stood in the middle of the path, waiting till her 
Hftle orphan lad and his sister drore a herd of cows from the 
fi^ld by the water-side. There was the shade of grief on her 
pale face, and she retmrned onr salutation with pensive courtesf . 
We loitered a few minutes by the gate, and helped the lad and 
Itis aster to gather the cattle, and then went on, thinking of 
the affecting group we had lefb behind us. The wild flowers 
were plentiful and fine by the way, espedally that modest little 
blue-eyed beauty, the " Forget-me-not," which grew in great 
profusion about the hedges. A large drove of hungry-looking 
Irish cattle came wearily up the road, driven by a frieze-coated 
farmer, who rode upon a rough pony that never knew a groom ; 
and behind him limped a bare-footed drover, eagerly munching a 
lump of dry loaf, as he urged forward a two-days-old calf by a 
twist in the tail, — an old and simple application of the screw* 
propelling principle, which is very effectual witii all kinds of 
dilatory quadrupeds with tails on. He was the very picture of 
poverty, and yet there was a gay-hearted archness on his brown 
face, and he gave us the " good day " merrily. The very flutter 
of his rags seemed to have imbibed the care-defying gaiety of 
the curious animal they hung upon, with such tender attach* 
ment. The whole country was one tranquil scene of fertile 
verdure, frequently fiat for the length of a mile or i^o ; but 
gently undulated in some places, and picturesquely wooded. In 
a vista of nearly two miles, not a human foot was on the road 
but ours ; and every sight and sound that greeted the senses as 
We saimtered along the bloesomy hedge-side in the hot sunshine, 
was serenely sweet and rural. Skirting the wall of Tatton 
Park, we came up to a substantial farmhouse near the highway^ 
and opening the gate, we walked up to it, to get a few minutes 
rest, and a drink. At our request, a girl at the door of the 
house brought us a hirge country jug full of chum milk, which, 
when she had reached us a seat in the garden, we drank as we 
sat in the sun. In the yard, a Httle fat-legged urchin had crept 
with his ** porritch-pot,** under the nose of a large chained dog 



it;<wiMWil^ ^)mtf'^ oiMt^^wb. ft»tte. ^rfaiie«^ ot vmiihimm^.^ 

a g9*jQpM»Mii»i ^e^isfi^oi »^f^gg^m9L Jlspi^ an^^mf -one «C 

cQiitaM«fc>^.4ii¥i.o£. mtm^,m^ 9^wm ^^.M- ftm/mm 

Vm>lSm^e>tll9!9fit^ X^/li^ pcfiAM^ aod i^akf<»f ea^ 

It^hail,aJiK¥>k^iPf<mfrlMHgri» ^»d lfiai»0d. &jCwar4>iB Ui^:«^ 

PW{iBi.hia,T*alkK "Bia^yoH.iify^«iiej>,ithf^i3e.?" *^H^5«efp." 

% iK^rofj iti^rlMioH^ , lib? flf^dcl^ aspBamu^ of, ite, yi»«^siibtoi<> 



are the whole week, coming out on a Sun^Hgr^ tn^j Iv^htj^J^llb" 

<m9^^9m mfiii^)}Qfi^f^mkliimm4Q(k And fteUi^ 1MI «)itinM 

S9aoii<2*«0Mt'O« iMft iNWl^^oliiifiift, om ooidMMWifeto siidhiiko 

nftide^towirisH^ tbe iMnth'imefl^ co w w r a|:th&>islLU|flbi tfe».b«rtL> 
po^%a£'ii#nr,,bDkin§? do«n AjhnMigh iili0>t|»«B, JteaB>ftib»siiiwwH>- 
of tl^gir0«itjliill(on>viiki» thi» chnyoli 8tttiL<^.iqi09<JftQiARnid' 
jVto8*«a a]i;it9,liB|»tos^ Tbeip i<> logrv ^ ^^ bosMtt o$*i|M» VftUfey ' 
bfitow, as.flVH^oilt a«d lirii^ aa a- p)^ otf Inriikkh^ attr^^ 
exKOBplir towacdi. tife siiddte^ "wAbs^. iha ^nnd , emiboMed il& i^itiit- 
fi^tofftiD rifpkBv nrhj^ly. ihiBMcved m< tlte' wiliyhfe.- Aadi aH 
f inwigodi lomid 'wil^ i^- liclMai^ gteeaeirt. i)Q6M2orw% i^ piKEi^' 
weaodi^ slofODg deM^i^ to the-, edg^i of tbe wvkmi llmathf»- 
{lB0gAp^ 6ide^ A.fiiiftl^<*in0odod awuitiisi!' stnoilebeil'afwii^riae'&r'afi^ 
YW eoukl aee^ tO) ike noMW"gQded u ftdinot ampiMMAve clothe 
n^«riuMl'laii» nuog «p tenb eaiisr to waii' ofi« the^ honp6«. In ' 
femnk-oluBy Mftd a^k^Httb imrwiiliilfi be^^oDdthe^ lajecy the-pret^^ 
viflfega o^B^fwixm Bs^HaiMmmt, <kamk 'were- dbail|»iii tagW- 
abOBWtthe iBftidk, B wm^ A^togeii^ a ye]y'b«anllAil^£teglifidl>' 

lgiai(Bit|»th« iQndcHJadi^ h«trtii tha^ ft«t IhtqMslTBft lboliei%> 
tadwrifcan Mmcha^mf •»# bmIi heveand theveincMtwdii^ to 
fill' alb tbft wcmM'Si ttlHW^pea; th» xqf{|M^Mof'tte»^ pM^u^sv 
like me, little dreaming of the existence of B0i.«iva«|4ai^K>l eo^ 
netKhik&k, B^tlit aidte g6 Jk^mrnmi'-mki^'likto^ maik^wm as 
pMdba^l^bw^ Mag'shaMnad teDift'the'Viiidl^jf^^'iittoAek^iB.: 
i1iM»M«|t hojikti^ we -mm^ dettghtedtigili/a^flflOMidt^dttiin of Nll^e^ 



240 ROSTHBBKB KERB. 

in tbe eeaningly nnfathmnahlft d&epB of the water. My friend 
lemarked, what a fine harmony of lore and law we find ereiy- 
where interwoyen with all ** the shapes, and sounds, and shiftuig 
elements** of creation. 

The vicar had left ns, and gone into the church, requesting 
us, when we had feasted our fill on the outside, to follow him, 
and look through the inside of the church. We lifted the latch, 
but seeing him addressing a number of young people, who sat 
round him in attentive attitude, we shut the door quietly, and 
walking round to the porch on the. opposite side, went in, on 
tiptoe. Standing silent under the organ-loft, we listened, while 
he impressed upon his young flock the nature and intent of 
confirmation, and the necessity for their understanding the 
solemn obligation implied thereby, and devoutly wishing to 
undertake it, before they could be admitted to partake of it. 
^^ And now,*' said he, *^ if any of you don't quite understand 
anything I am saying to you, don't be afraid to say so. I shall 
be glad to know it, that I may make it clear to you. For you 
must remember, that it is not what I say to you that will be of 
use to you, but what you understand of it." He then consulted 
them about the best times in the following week for them to 
meet him, that he might assist such' as were wishful to prepare 
for the ceremony. He asked ** Thomas," and ^^ Mary," and 
*' Martha," how four o'clock would suit them on certain days, 
and when they whispered, very reverentially, that " half-past 
seven would suit them better,'! he replied, *^ I dare say it wiU, 
and let it be so then." He then repeated the pleasure it would 
give him to meet them at that or any other hour on certain days 
next week, to help, and examine them. It was only changing his 
dinner hour a little. We walked quietly out as he began to 
catechise them, postponing our examination of the interior till a 
fitter opportunity. 

jRoetlieme churchyard is a singularly retired spot. A solemn 
repose mingles with the natural charms of everything about 
it, increased by the antiquity of its. relics. Though near the 
viUage, it is approached from it by a gentle ascent, from the 



momMEi&m. hbbsb. 2tt. 



head of which it slopes tswnsf^ oleftm ool aS- aigkt «f tttcPYfllage, 
and is bounded, on tke west side hy a row of sornbie, M trees, 
tifarough which Kostiseno&Hiiil ia^seen In tbenkidirlc^ woods and 
gardens. "No other building except the church is in sight ;, and, 
a sweeter spot for the liii&-wesried body to take its lust rest in, 
could hardly be imagfoed. As'lhrfl&edalKmtrthkqtiiet country 
grave-yard, which is environed by scenery of such a serene kind, 
t^t nature itself seemsi stekL to distepb the i f |)a» of the 
keepers, upon whose ooM bed the kores tremlAe sileix^ down 
from their umbrageous emoprfv; and wtiea:^ I oould hear no 
eoimds but the low, lulling music of the trees rustling plaintively 
aroimd, I thought of Gray% iiiiaiitable ^' Elegy written in a 
Country Churchyard" i^— 



" Beneath these rugged «l<Mv **»«* j^BW-tree** shatle, 
Where heaves th«t«rf in mvny a monldering httrpg 
Each in his ntarifw eell for ever laid, 
The rude forefattoa of thehjoiflet ideep. 

** The bx«ecy eafi of fneoiiMhlmttiliiii^ morn, 

Tite swallow twittering frrm her straw-btiilt shedi 
The cock's sfarrll clarion, or the eehoing' horn, 
No more siiidl'rmtse them fh>m tbeir lowly bed. 

" Por then no more the blazing^, heart shall bum, 
Or busy housewife ply her crening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb hsA knees the envied kiss to share. 

" Oft did the harrest to the SHskle yielJ ; 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team a- field ! 
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke t 

^' Let -not ambition mock their useful totl. 
Their homely j(r^a and destiny obscure : 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short and simple annale of the poor. 

" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gtLxe, 
Await alike the inevitable hour ; 
The patlar of gloiy lead— 'but to the grave. • 



212 BOSTHERNE MEBE. 

<' Nor yon, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o*er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault. 
The pealing anthem swella the note of praise. 

'< Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can hononr*s voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death. 

** Berhaps in this negleeted spot is laid 

8ome heart once pregnant with celestial flre ; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed) 
Or waked to eestaey the living lyre. 

" But knowledge to their e5es her ample page. 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

** Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

** Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest; 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

** The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes^ 

*^ Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 
^ Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

*^ The straggling pangs of oonsdous truth to hide ; 
To quench the blushes of ingenious shame ; 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

** Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife, 
Tiieir sober wishes never learned to stray; 
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 



KOSTHERNE MERE. 243 

" Yet eT*n these bones, from iDsnlt to protect, 

Some frail memorial still erected nigb, 
^ith uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck*d, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

" Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter*d muse, 
The plaoe of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 
That teaeh the rustio moralist to die.'* 

This fine elegiac poem — ^perhaps the finest of the kind known 
in the English language — ^and which so remarkalfty unites the 
most touching truth and beauty of tone and style, with a finely 
solemn music in its versification, admirably adapted to the sub- 
ject, might, with almost equal fitness, have been written firom 
this peaceful churchyard of little Rostheme village. Man, 
whom Quarles calls a " worm of five feet long," is so liable to 
have his thoughts and feelings absorbed by the mere art o{ 
keeping himself bodily alive, that he is none the worse for a hint 
from the literature of the churchyard ; even read from the 
gravestones of such a place as Kostheme churchyard : — 

*' Art is long, and life is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
I'aneral marches to the graTd." 

We walked over the gravestones, reading the inscriptions, some 
of which had a strain o^ simple pathos in them, such as the fol- 
lowing : — 

" Ye that are young, prepare to die, 
For I was young, and here I lie." 

Others there were in this, as in many other burial-places, 
which were either unmeaning, or altogether unsuitable to the 
situation they were in. There were several half-stmken head- 
stones in different parts of the yard, mostly bemossed and dim 
with age. One or two were still upright ; the rest leaned one 
way or other. These very mementoes, which pious care had set 
up, to keep alive the mortal memories of those who lay mouldering 

p 2 



2H momnaaam 

in the earth below^ were emkai^ mbo the gnareB of ^oae th^ 
oommemomtoi. 

At the outside of i^iiortii-«nit enAanaioe ctftke church, lies 
an ancient and masaive stone' coffin, dog.up a Jew yettrs ago in 
the graveyard. Upon tiie fitosie lid of 4he ooffin ifRsa sculptured 
the full-length figure of a knight in a complete suit of mail, 
with sword and shield. No further clue has been obtained to 
ibe.histoiy'of this antig[ae>0G^Bin and ite effigy, tiian thaiit be- 
loB^d rio adi (d the anaient Ghfisfaixe £uxuly of YenabkB, whose 
crest andimotto, *^ Sic DQDec,".it heun. The chumhtocuitouis 
many int^esting maoum^ntB, behsigiag to this and Mksc faaor 
lies of the okL gentry of dieehire. . Several of ishese «Fe of the 
sixteenth and seventeenth ceniaries. But iher&Dmii and nwBb 
intflresting momuneats in the church, as woisks- Q£«rt,.are these 
belonging to the Egeiton iamily of Tattcm Park, or£acks, for.it 
is divi(i0d.intOithe ^^ Great Park '' and the ^^ SmallJE^^k," con* 
tunings altogeth^, .6,000 stotuie acres. At a. auitaUe time, the 
careful old sexton- occasional]^ takes a visitfB: up to the gate 
which separates the Egerton seat and monuments from the rest 
of the church, and, car^ully unlocking it, ascends two steps 
with a softened foot&U, and leads him into the storied sanctum 
of the Lords of Tatton, "where, among other costly monuments, 
he will be struck by the chaste and es^rsm^e beauty of a fine 
modem one, in memory of a joiing,4ady belonging to this 
family. On a beautiful tomb, of the whitest marble, the %iire 
of a young lady reclines upon a mattress and piQow of the same, 
in the serenest grace of feature and attitude ; and ^^ the rapture 
of repose " which marks the expression of the countenance, is a 
toodhtngitamnailation, in pose whke istatuaiy, of tiftBse'beaiitiful 
^nes in fdiiolt B^nron desoiihes the fint hooxs a£ dioatk; 

" Before decay's effacing fingers 
Have Bwept the lined Where beauty Hiagen,** 

At the hack of ibetreeoniliwt ;kuly, an oi^nisite ^^giiret)f «cl 
anedJuttris, and leans ^fanrani^iittii isMoB^ gni«e, ivaiBixijj^ 



0ieer Hie repoesng &nn, mth 'hdlf-opened iriiigs, snd <(Hie hand 
slightly extended over tlie dead. The effect of thcwfeole is ex- 
oeedmgiy beaatiM, elnste, vmdwbleamg. Tke ^niMiiiment is 
k»pt ^arefo&y coyered vri&i. -dflsn white IisaK&en^hie&,' except 
>^«rheii tiie'&niily is preseat, irhen it 'is tmn^eored'fKtil liteir de- 
pftrtnre. Before I was admitted to* vieiriihk'beaatSiil meoaoiial 
I hid heard' something of the ^etory viiich it ilhatrates, and I 
iBqwed fixtther of tihe sexton Tespeeting'it. The <M - man said 
that the joimg lady had he»i zmwell only a "i&w dkya previoas 
to the eveiuBg of her death, and, on that 6TemBg,.the &mi]^ 
l^yaician thought her so much hetter, aadfJdt so certainly ex- 
pectant of a farther improrrement in her health, that he directed 
her attmdants to get her to repose, and then they might them- 
advessafdy retire to rest for a little-while. Th^didso; and 
returning soon, found her Bfcill lying precisdy as tb^had laid 
her, and looking so pladd in teture, thart 'ihey did not know 
she was dead, until they came to ^uid her quite ^eoid. The 
n»muim9rt represents her as ^le was thos ^fcniBd. As 'I stood 
looking silently upon this group of statuary, <3ie evening sun 
shone through the southern windows t)f the <M chureSi, and the 
sexton — who evidently knew what the efifect would Tje — lowered 
tiK crimson blind of the window nearest "to the monument. 
USs 'threw u soft rkh crimson hue over the lihite marble tomh, 
tlie figures, and ttie sculptured drapery, whitih gave it an inex- 
pi«Mably rich appearance. 80 white and clean was ihe whole, 
that the white han(^cerelue& which the sexton hadixik^i off the 
figm^BS, and laid upon the wMte basement of 'the tomb, lodbed 
like part of 'the -sculpture. 

The churdi Is dedicated toBt. Maiy. It-is proved to hare 
existed :teng prior to 1168. The present «tee]^ was erected 
in 1741. There is something -venerable about the appearance 
of axL oM ecclesiastical building, Which continually and elo- 
quently preaches, without offending. Apart 'from all questioBs 
of cbctrines, formulas, and govemnKnte, I Often feel a venera- 
1^0901 for an «M church, akin to that exprened ^ him who sidd 



246 ROSTHEBNE MERE. 

that he never passed one without feeling disposed to take off 
his hat to it. 

The snn was setting westward over the woods, and we b^an 
to think of getting a qniet meal somewhere before we went baek. 
There is generally an old inn not &r from an old church. " How 
it comes, let doctors tell ;" but it is so ; and we begun to specu- 
late upon the chance of finding. one in this case. Going out 
of the churchyard at the lowest comer, through a quaint wicket 
gate, with a shed over it, a flight of steps led us down into a 
green dingle, embosomed in tall trees. And there, in front of 
us, stood a promising old country ^^ hostelrie," under the screen 
of the woods. We looked an instant at its bright window, and 
its homely and pleasant appurtenances, and then, with assured 
minds, darted in, to make a limge at the larder. *•'' A well-con- 
ducted inn is a thing not to be recklessly sneered at in Has 
world of ours, after aU," thought I. We sat down in a shady 
little room in front, and desired the landlord to get us some 
tea, with any substantial stomach-gear that was handy and 
plentiful. In a few minutes a snowy cloth was on the table, 
followed by ^* neat-handed Fhillis,^' with the tea-things. A pro- 
fusion of strong tea, and toast, and flne cream, came next, in 
beautlM china and glass ware ; the whole crowned with a huge 
dish of ham and poached eggs, of such amplitude, that I began 
to wonder who was to join us. Without waste of speech, we 
fell to, with all the appetite and enjoyment of Sancho at Cama- 
cho^s wedding. The landlord kept popping in, to see that we 
wanted nothing, and to urge us to the attack, which last was really 
a most needless, though a very generous, office. After tea, we 
strolled another hour by the edge of the water, then took the 
road home, just as the sun was setting. The country was so 
pleasant, and we so refreshed, that we resolved to walk to Man- 
chester, and watch the sinking of the summer twilight among 
the woods and fields by the way. Our route led by the edge of 
Dunham Park, and through Bowdon, where we took a peep at 
the church, and the expansive view from the churchyard. There 



/ 



BOSTHEBNE MERE. 247 

18 |t remarkably fine old yew-tree in Bowdon churchyard, seated 
around. The road firom Bowdon to Manchester passes through 
a country which may be truly characterised as the market- 
garden of Manchester. We went on, through the villages of 
i^trincham, Sale Moor, and Stretford, thinking of the meaning 
of his words who said— 

"One impuUe from a yeroal wood 
Will teaoh thee more of man, 
Of moral evil, and of g^d, 
Than all the aages can.'* 

It was midnight when I got to bed, and sunk pleasantly into 
a sound sleep, to wake in the morning to careful thought among 
quite other scenes than those I had wandered in the previous 
day ; but I feel that while I live, I shall not easily lose the sweet 
remembrance of ^^the tranquil charm of little Rostheme Mere." 



THE END . 



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Full text of "Sketches of Lancashire Life and Localities"

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