THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES J I? ■■■' THE POETS Ke;i<^Kre;^, iBin^fe&j, ^^QmortH and District ; )ii;ix(; lUOGRAPHIF.S AXI) I'OiaiS OF \AKIOrs AUTHORS OF JHK AI'.0^'K XKHiHliOlRHOOI). ij)i I i:i> in CHAS. F. FORSHAW, LL.D. HoNdKAKV IKK riiK oi- 1.1 1 i;k.v riKK ; KlMl'OR OI- '■ VORKSHIKi; I'dl-ls, I'Asr AM) I'K l-:sl:N 1 ,'' AriHOK Ol- "sl.'liKl AM) (llili-R I'Oli.MS;" lilt ., lilt. BRADFORD : I'RINTRU AND Pl'BLlSHKD IIV THORNKlX AND I'l: A kSON, I7, MAR KKRKM) ROAD I AM) II, RAC.l.AN SIR I. in , IIINOLKV. 189I. liiiAnronii: I'lUNlKl) I'.V TlloKNTDN AMI I'KAKSON, 1; A UK F.llKN 1 1 UOAII. :llu$irQi{ion'5, urn. / H. I. JUittcificld, \\>i\. p:ige iv. Kcv. Patrick Bronte, B.A. "T Thornton Parsona<(e ... ... 26 Haworth Vicarage ... 27 Charlotte Bronte ... 29 Rev. Robert Collyer, D.D. ... 50 Councillor Craven ... ■:,b ClitTe Castle ... i>o John Dawson l-"ox ... 74 Haworth ( »1(1 (hurch ... ... 7S Abraham Holroyd ... 88 Thomas Ince ... 1 02 John Nicholson ... 114 Xicholson.'s Birthplace... ... ri5 Ben Preston .. 132 Jo>cph Rolx-n.shaw ... 142 Rev. J. Room, B.A. ... ... 14^ ^\^ C. Ru-hton ... ' ... i.s*' J. A. Whitakcr ... i()8 Kei<,'hley Old Chnrch ... ...171 William \Vri<;ht ... 180 Rev. L. K. Ellis ... 1 90 Jk'ckioot Bridge, Binglev ... 102 861868 .^:^>^^ ^— ^. TO \env^ |. Bytt^rfie^M, ^sq, OF C L I F F E C A S T L F XN accents low I heard a poet sing, "Y Scorn not, oh man 1 the bard of humble worth ; His is the task to dignify the earth. And with sweet song soothe sorrow's sordid sting. With many a lay of wild imagining. The land that gave to Saxon Iviliel birtli, Whatc'er its faults and flaws, has had no dearth (Ji' those whose songs iiave made its \allevs ring. From many pens these gems of \'erse are brought. Some rich in language where the glowing mind Speaks out in eloquence ; some iinrellned - Hut all at }*oe>v"s blest shrine ha\e wrou'dit. -\.,~ tribute to thy native town — and thee — T tend the~e children of Melp(.)mene. EurroR. Ike fol hiving Gin/kmcn have conlribuled the Biographical Skefihi's of the Authors tinder notice : — GEORGE ACKLROVD, J. P. AVILLL\.M ANDREWS, E.k.H.S. .ETHELHERT J'.IXXS. JAMES BURXLEV. ROHERl CLARK, L.R.C.P. L.R.C.S. C(irN( ii.i.(jK CRAVEX. H. C. i)L"CK\\'ORTH, LL.H., F.S.A. A. E. EELISOX, F.S.A. C. A. EEDERER, E.CP. CHAS. E. EORSHAAV. L[,.IJ. CLAREXCE POSTER, M.R.f.S. JUHX I). FOX. Rhv. JAMES (iAHB. B.A. JOSEPH GAUXT, B.A. Rhv. J. \V. KAVE. EL.D. ANALTER J. KAVE, .ALA. Rkv. M. KXOWLSOX. PEKCV .MIJ.LIGAX, .ALK.C..--. J.-\s. .ML'Xm. \\II,LL\M X \VLOR, C.C. Ki.\. A. H. RL\. LL.D. FREDERICK ROS>. F.R.FLS. \\ILLL\M SCRCTOX. I'll I LIP SXOWDEX. Ki,\. ROBERr SlAXSFiELD. Ri:\. K. \-. JA^ l.(JK. Ji..\. J. HOR^F.\LL I CKXER. IHO--. WII.MOT. L.R. <;.['. Lnsi,. M.R.C.S. E.N... j;lilj:r \\oc»i». PREFACE ■g^^ ()l'rri(' niiinl>, like all oiher minds, arc of three cli.-.tinct kiinl.^ 11^ - l)u>itivel\" <,'i)0(.l, l),ul. and middling. Of the lirst, there arc U^ so few exanijilcs, cither in the ])ast or ])rescnt. that the taslc of admirin<; them or praisiiij^ them seldom falls to llie lot of the critic. ( )f the second, it may be >aid that the} are hardly woi-tli the trotible of criticisinj,' : but the third, which are open to both pi'aise and l)lame, are b\' far the nio^^t numerous class, and ^■ery often their works impose a somewhat diftlcult ta>k upon the reviewer. Tlic}' are mostly, we suppose, the productions of \()un<; men (or women) who publish once the (flowing and \-outhful fancies of y(juth, and then, as tlieir th'iuijli is with their \'ears <,'row riper, attacli themselves to some one ov other of the more i)rosaic ])ursuits of common life. l.ike most fust cflbrts the}" are, as a rule, immature. Unmixed praise mi<;ht determine, or, at least, it ntight influence, the writers to ]nnsuc a course of life in which the}' can never excel. Un<|ualilied censure ma}' wound }()un[,^ and anient spirits; and it is not eas\' to mete out the proportions of each, which shall be both just and useful. The poenis which are of this mixed chaiacter come from ])er.-.()ns ol all de<;rees of lile and all j^nades of education — fr(jm promisin<^f -•cholars of the Universities, from the rou^^hdiandcd labourers at the bench, and from pale clerk.-, in tile countingdiouse. I'liei'c is a great dift'erence perceptible, of course, between the works of the cullixaicd ami the unta\igh.t, hut it is not in the essentials of true poetr}' tliat the drstinction is percei)tib]e. The lines of the scholar are more ])i)lislie(l, and hi< classic recollections give a grace to his page, but the creaii\e genius which iiiakes the true poet seems as likel}' to come hom the field or factor}' as from the abodes of learning. That power which belongs to true poetr\'- the i>os\er of e\'oking sympathies, calling up passions and eiiKUions. and with a few briglit, glowing words, making the heart throb and the brain teem willi tlie creations of thouglit and the pliantonis of memory mere cullivatioii and learning does not seem aide to confer. In respect to that, the taught and the untaught are aliout e(|ual. It is an individual ])i)\\ei'. In short. ■• J'nels :ire born, ami not ni;ide.'" PRKFACK. It is, liowever, very little use their beiiiy born, for as blunt, uut- spoken Ben Preston sin<,'s in one of his poems ( see pa<,'e 139 ) " The A<,'e of ]-'oesy is (i(,r,e," anil many a blight, sparkling gtm. that would adorn and beautify the literary annals of our county, is allowed to droo]-) and die for want of nourishment and support, ^\'e can well sav with an esteemed relative.* who half a centuiy ago joined the maj(jrit\'; - ■• Oil '. winild tlic world tn/i/x/A,- but iiu line. J'liL- prosent atfc would fnrnier ones outshinr : And many an unborn man. well pleased would know it, I'luit one of his rcl;itions was ajioet." The aim of the Editor of this work has been to bring together the be>t poems, with original biographies of poets, who by birth or residence are connected with the district of Keighley, Bingle_\', Hawortli and ailjaccnt townships. That there was at least a fair demand for such a volume as the one now before its readers is amply evidenced bv the number of subscribers: many of whom, incitlentallv hearing that the work was in prn^^rre^^. sent in their names, promisciiouslv, for copies. It is probable that some authors arc omitted who are entitled to a i)lace in these pages — the Publishers will be glad to have the names of such, with a view to inserting them in the next edition, which is already in a state of prejiaration. The Second Etlition, will contain about lifty additional pages, and will be rendered valuable from the fact that it will possess a sheet of fac-simile Autographs of nearly ever\- author who has a place in its pages. It was originally the Editor's intention to have such a plate in this volume, but he decided not to issue it in an incomplete state, as on the eve of going to j)ies- with the last sheet he di~co\ered that, with a little work, it was possible to obtain the sign.itures of several authors whom he had long \-ainly endeavoured to >ecine. 1 he Editor aiknowle(lge>. with a profusion of thanks, the deej) indebtednes> he i^ undei- to the gentlemen who have so generously contributed the Biographical Sketches of the different Bards, and he feels iKj .-.mall degree of jiride that he is able lo offer to hi- reader> through the medium of this volume such an arra\' (jf talent : atttl he would here j'joint out that on no previous occasion has any work been is-ued to the public that ccjntaiiis -uch .1 thorough list of repre:^eiUativL Yorkshire littefd/fm-.-i a- the ])resent volume. .tt. .M..\.. \'icar of Aiulley. Autl Poems. ' iMh. PREFACE. Many of the illustrations have been specially obtained; others have been lent by different \ BlXNS, AilH Kl.llKkl' W'liat wa> it lie loved Soii",^ What a Smile can tlo Home I've loved her all in_\" lile BlN.NS, J. AKTtHK... Sic Transit C(jnqiiesl throuj,'h Labour March ... Christmas A Moan in ( lunxh /'iii;r Co],I.\ KK, Rev. RfjBKKT. D.D. 6 ! Under the .Snow ... .Sa.xon ' irit 9 '^ (JlJN.s'JAN riNK. HkNKV '° The Poet's Home '■ (JkAVKN, C(MN('I 1.1.1 iK C. \\ '- A Cln-istmas Wi-li The P>ronte> 14 Clift'e Castle lubilee Ode 20 ■' A (lift of Ro>e. ... C(H,I.1.N".S().\. jM)\V.\kI Bin<'le\' Tide liKONlK ]-'.\.\llI.V. The -.s Ha!ley"s (.'oniet ■ ,11 Ckvi;K. Sii,.\.-~ Remembrance .vl I'o a Skylark '^on^' ■ .U The .~>treairilet Hope ... ?>l) The liluebell ■ .V' ])l.\i i.\, Wl l.l.l.\M . . The Xi-hl Win. I... ■ ."^7 Tre.td noi wheie Kii linnioi talily . .^^ The nank> of .\ire iJomolic I'e.ice ■ ,v^ When we were \'(iUi De^pondencN' .V) Ke~i,L,'natioii V^ El, I. Is, Rev. !.. !■;. !">n)wn'- Wood ... I'.IKM.KN . |.\MK.s ... 42 An Invocation My .Mother'- di ■ ive . . 4;, •jhe River ... 45 [■■\.\.N.>. John A \'i-io'' of .Spi M : :; ■ 4: Intem))er;ince V) 54 CUM KN l.s. FoRMlAW, J)K. Dcdicaloi}' Sonnet riic Kivi'i Aire .. . llaworUi Afoois .. . Ihe Urontes 111 P)in<,'lev Woods |olui Xieholson . . . Ikvkfool Jlii.I.i,'e ... 1-'(IX. |()!l.\ l)A\VSii.\ Soiiiedav 'Ihe X'oice of Love (i.VHi;, l\i:v. [.\s. llanleii l>eek ('■ !, M. W'., L.K.C.S. A .Seene I I I Kl;, I AMI.S Binlidav and .\utLimn Dejeetioi) ('liaiice ... llol.KoN 1), A I.KAKAM The i.oid of Saltaire Fhiw on, Ljeiille Aire III I NCW , il< i II, |()HN The i.a>s of ICMwiek I line I.\(l. I ^()MA.^ Poesy and .\ rt A Kis> ... At Last... /'„x< 1,5 I 4' 113 193 104 iy6 78 79 81 82 82 84 8f) 8;- 8,, <)(, 97 lOCJ 101 104 Ll.SlKR, Tho.ma.s ... The Toet ll\inii ... .Mii.LiG.\.N, j., ALR.C.S. ... To tlie Still Deatli ... MlNDV, j.VMK.S Bv the Aire's (xreen Banks XlCHOL.SO.N, JOMX... ( )n BingU-y Lines written at (ioit .Stoe Wilsden (.'hureli ... NOR.M INCTDN, 'J'HO.M.X.S Tlie \'oice of the J-'li)\\ers 'I'own and CoiintiA Ol'KR.VriVK OF Kkuihlkv Extraet frftn I'oeni I'RKSLO.N, J!k.\ Xij,dit N'isions ']"he Poet Tlie a<,'e of Poes\' is _i,'one KhNMK.s I' ok I HK TlMK.S Refoiin ... K(M;i:K I sn.\\\ , |((Si-.i'H My Native (ileus... .My Native Hills ... .My Native \'ale ... Kdo.M. KiA. jdii.x, H.A. Lines in an Album ( iro\\iii^' OUI In Memoriam l'ara])lirasc on Lord's l'ra\ COXTENtS. Rl'SHTOX, W. C. ... PaK" Whit.vkek. J. A. ... Pa^e ... 1 69 .Sony ... .. 157 To our Bards ... 169 In Memoriam •■ 157 , Tiie Preacher ... 170 To a Poet .. .58 .SoiiK ... .. I.v"' Wii.DMAX. Abraham ... 171 Married not Mated •• 159 The PaetoryChdd's Con plainl 173 Sonnet ... ■• 159 Lines to the Aire... ... 174 Shackletcix, Jaxk Little Annie . . I f )0 .. 161 WiLDox, K()i;k,ki- ('ar To Poesy < 1 C K 175 ... 176 Sl'therl.\nd, J. '). In 1 77 1 he accepted a call from the congregation of Salthouse Lane Baptist Church, EIuU, and laboured there until 1794, when he was com]ielled by ill health, to relinquish his j)ulpit duties. Immediatel\- j)rior to his arrival in Hull, there had been some dissension in the Church, and a considerable number seceded and built for themselves a new ("hapel, so that Salthouse Lane was not half tilled, but Mr. Beatson soon became popular and not only tilled up the vacancies, but necessitated an enlargement of the Chapel. He was a zealous advocate of civil and religious liberty ; of the spread of secular and rehgious education; and of the dissemination of know- ledge. He was one of the founders of the Hull SubscrijUion Library in 1775, '^"d served the office of President 1788-91. RKV. JOHN HEATSOX. He was twice married, leaving a tlaiii,'luer by liis first wife : and bv his second a son, who died at the a<,'e of fifteen; and two daii<,ducr-. The folloM'injj is a list of his works: — " T/if Divine Character of CInist ronsiiiered and viiidicafiJ. in a series of diaioi^nes, on that iiiferesfini;- and inipoiiiui / snb/eef. Leeds. 1773. " TJie Divine Satisfaetion of Christ Demonstrated, in a series of dialoi^nes- Leeds, 1774- ■■Divine Philanthropy: or the Love of God. A poetical essay. Leeds, i-j-j-]. pp., 102. ''./ Sermon," ( Jer. xxix, 7 ) on the dntv and interest of men as ?iiembe)s of Civil Society. Hnll, 1788. "The Divine Right of a Christian to fi-eedoin of enquiry, and freedom of practice in reli.t^ious matters. Hull, iTJ^). 2nd edition, leith a f>rief memoir 0/ the lite, charactc)-, and -on'ttings of the author, by f . I.yot. Idnll, 1709. '■ Compassion , the duty and dignity of mini ; and crnelty. the disgrace of his tnitnte; a .Sermon on Lnke x . 20. occasioned l>y tfiat brancli of fh'itish commci'ce '.oliich extends to the human species. Hull. 1780. DIuIne Pfiifantfiroptj. And now with shotits and brutal fury see The}' seize their prev ; h^ud peals of Itorrid noise. Like foaming waves deep roaring in a streiglit. Astound the ear, re-echoing wide around. His sacred hands they bind with cruel spile And bitter insults: mackleri'd with fell rage They drag Mim as a thief, tleride His ])ain, And loud exulting trium])h in His woe. Whom yonder do I see, with i)allid looks Precipitant in llight! Sure not his friends! His chosen followers! — Ah! most sure 'tis they! In dangers mouth their Master the}- desert ! () Cowardice! thou bane of friendship's bliss! Thoti breach of })lighted faith! 'tis thine to' unman The manly heart, subdue the firm resolve. And from the warrior's brow the laurel pluck! Detested be thy name! at thy api)roach May every Christian soldn-r point his sword Rio'ht at th\' heart and lav thee low in dust ! RKV. JOHN' IU-:ATS0X. Before the high priest see he stands arraign'd; (The criminals lot) but nothing to His charge just can be laid: His doctrine's peaceful end Bold He maintains, and to His foes appeals ! Ah ! yon inhuman wretch by hate impell'd Th' Illustrious Sufferer smites ; his callous heart, Of sympathy deyoid, no sufferings can dissolye. But self-collected see the Sayiour stands L'alm as the sea when not a single breeze Furrows its beauteous face, unaw'd, unmoy'd, His confidence in Heayen through misery smiles. () Innocence! thou balm of woes deep wound ! Thou great Inspirer of heroic deeds ! Majestic eyen in rags ! Thee may I clasp Close to my heart, indissolubly firm. The sweet Companion of my bitterest hours! To witness to the truth Messiah came. And now that truth announces: Urg'd to tell Whether He be the Christ? bold He declares I am ; and tho' submissiye now I stand Despis'd in lowly form, soon will approach The awful day, when My tribunal rais'd ?Iigh in the air. Myself the Judge confest, Deep-wailing ye shall sc c. Tumultuous now The crowd appears, loud clamours hark they raise, "Death i^ His due!" The Hall re-echoes death! Ske y>iih what brutal fur}- yonder mob Like dogs beset Him round : His sacred face They foul with spitting, strike with cruel hate, Till all appears one undistinguished wound. 1'he horrid night now j)ast, the morn appears Portentious, big with scenes of high import To rebel men : And see with sayage shouts Clamorous they drag Him to the Roman bar; Accuse him falsely, charge Him with foul crimes Alihorrent to His nature : Lust of blood. Their i)assions fires, that they still louder urge His instant death. Their urgent cries preyail. Their furious rage to sate, Pilate complies. His prisoner strait deliyt'rs, though conyinc'd Xo criminal charge was fixt. — Thou scr\ile wretch REV. JOHN' BKATSOX. To purchase favour at so dear a rate As guiltless blood ! Be sure so base a crinie Vengeance will soon o'erlake and full repav ! Ah ! turn my eyes from yonder ghastly sight Sliocking to nature ! blood adown his back Runs to the ground; His temples pierc'd with thorn- His features quite deform'd with cruel blows. 1nhu:max wretches ! tyger-hearted sure. Thus to insult the sacred Prince of Peace ! Say, ye blood-thirsty race, What cause for this ? Did He a faction raise, _\-()ur countr\ waste, Foment rebellion, or your ruin seek .-' Ah ! no ; not to C"(jndemn tlie wcjrld He came Though just its condemnation : His tlcsign From sin, and death, and liell. His ft)es to save. Why then abuse Him thus .- Why the keen shafts Of fell reproach, deep in Hi.^ heart infix .-' Why tear His sacred temjjles, and His face Foul with envi'iiom'd sjtitting .' Wh\- His back Rend with inglorious stript-s, as tliougli a sla\'e .- Thk lust of cruelty, io, still ])rrvails: Th' Illustrious Sufl\-rer now ihe\' clamorous drag To Calvary's ghastly mount, anil proutl Contt-mpi His rude appearance makes in every fact-. No j)it}'s shown: His mangled body see Sore j)rest: A massv beam of ])onderous weigln. Part of the tree accurst on which he liung. His shoulder bears — but can no longer bear. His strength t'xhausled through tlie loss of blood, Down on the ground He falls beut-aUi the load. While brutal shouts of triumph stun Hi-; ears. .ETHELBERT BINNS. Bv CHAS. F. FORSHAW, ]J..]). -NTk. P)|\.\s was boin at A\'ils(len .'' These contained many interestin of s(ane \'orkshire dialect words to that excellent weekl\- llie T.teds .Uerno// Snfqihintht, stamped him at once as a ])atient and careful student in hi^toiical lesearch. He has contributed poems to the Yorl-.-ihire Wcthhj Pusf, Yorksliu ein'ni, and many other prominent weeklies, and his is a familiar name to thousands of newspaper readers in the A\'est Riding'. It is to be hoped that the time is not far distant when .'sFr. Kinns will deem it well to issue the fru.its of liis pen in volume form, f(n- man\' of them are deserving' of l)re.>ervation. I give several examples of his labonis in the iields of lX)e>\-. at mas it he; Ioue;d ojBen He: uJe:d ? " Wh.VI' was it //(' l()\i'(l wlu'M //( wed .-' " Beaiit\-." "A\-, anil braulv had lltal. And tlie love that oni^cMidiM-cd lie has long' ago siiiTendered — Died when beatiu- was dead." lO .lilHELIiKRl' mNXS. "What was it he loved wlicn he wed ?" " Monev." "A\-, ami money has fled, And so has love it created, Lont,'' has that love been abated, It went when money fled." '■ What was it Jie loved when ht wed .' " " Rank." "Ay, and high rank mi,L;ht have lied, For it has so mucli dist^-raced That love f(jr it has been displaced, And so his love has fled." " What was it Jie lo\-ed when he wetl .-• " " I-ovi-." ''Ah, love! and each one's love bred A reciprocal love that nives \a)W in return, a love that lives When one's loved one is tlead.'' S o n <3 . I STooiJ with manv liundreds mtjre To watch the ))roud sliip leave tlie sliori With hundreds more 1 waved adieu, (jazt'd on the ship till lost to \-iew, Sijbbed with the rest, slied bitter tears, Ilo])ed for the besi for eoniinu' \ears. Like hundreds more, I read llie tale ( )f >hip that foundered in ti n'ale : Like hundi'i-ds more I was berea\ed ( )f one lo whom m\ lieaii liad i'lea\eil : Like "lwa-^ lo oilier>, ^-o lo me— - M \- life on eailh must sini^L- be. Still, with tho>e manv hundreds nifjre. Who watched the proud ^liip lea\e ilu- .^liore I know ihat I rw Ioul;- -^hall reai h A tai'-olf eoiniir\\ iraii.juil lieaeii, Wlli-reijn will be the hllipw re; ked iTew To V, hi .111 . Ill .■;il-I li \'- \',-;i\-i'ii :idii il. jcTHia r.KRi; iiixxs. UHaot a $mire gqr do. A SArir.F, can cheer a lonesome lieart, Can bid dull care and K'i^'' d.ei)ai1 : \Miat mi^'ht have bi'en a darksome day Its inlluence mala's hri^'ht and L';a\- : 'l"he charm a smile can t-asl around Us length ami breadth ihey know no bound. A smile which I sliall ne't-r forget. When I think of it, haunts me yet, And haunt me I am sure it will Till beating heart and pulse are still, 1>\' it a link was thrown betwiH'U ?*1\" liiai't and thine -ni_\- (hieen, m_\- Queen. ^^ome. I I.OVE to live 'mongst Nature's hills ; To (dimb their grassv sides, To see the sun above them rise As heavenwards it glides. I love tlu^ moors in summer-time W'luii growing lh)wers of heath ; L lo\e them in the wiiUc'r-time W'lien nuow hides tliem beneath. 1 lo\-e the gL'Ulle running streams Tlial coui'se auKuyg the \ales : 1 Iovl' the wide, ex])ansive view d"h;it human e\'e regales. 1 love t(i wandri- "mDiig (ield-paths Wdu-n all arouml is green, I lo\e them when the ha_\' smells sweet And harx'esler^ ■,Vi'c sem. I 1( tw liie l)()nii\\ \ eiiial \'.( u ul:- W'lieii MeckM with lea\cs and llowh's, I love them in the autuniu-lime W'liru f;dl llir d<'a(l leaf show'r^. /T.THEI.I'.F.RT P.IXXS. I love a certain shady nook ■' rH(.'mniecl in by a higli wall Of massive rocks, o'er whicli dotli flow The (>oh Slock Waterfall. 1 love the song' of happ^' bircis That sing at earh- day, That warble through tlu' hotter hours. At eve cliant forth their la}'. I love Spring's dear, if simple, flow'rs — Daisirs, and celandine, Anemones and butlercu])S, The\ glad these e\'i'S of mine. In fact I li)\'e all Nature's sights, Lnve Xalui'e's scninds to h(-ar, And if kintl Xalui'i's sights and sounds With me are e\'er near, \\'\\u wi^nders that the)Ugh foreign sci-ne: Ma\' tempi me oft to r(Kim, Yet I prefer to ]i\'e m\' da\'s E'er in m\' 'viliaUv- home. Fue: £oue:d Ber aff mtj L-lfe:. W[!i-;\ she w;is but a little girl. And, I a little !)oy, Sweet lA'ei'elda wa-; to me d"he ]u;rhe>t sourt'c of jo\' ; We hand-in-hand did wander out Amoiig llie field lughwav.i, And her swei't jireM.-nce always nn'ule '[\i(> fleet m\' childhood da\'s. And wjieii we both had reaehetl our teen> 'I'hough jia-^hfuller 1 grew. Vet if hei" gaze I one da\' n'li-^sed .Al\' eves would cheeks bedew; So e\'er, lliat 1 rr grow, And that which h)vo cndcai's. Kiv h)ng bt'camc mv very t)wn, My l)ettrr half of life— Swc'i-t J'',vci\'hhi chcMM's mv lujmc, For she is now my wife. We two are oUl, we've long been gray, Our lives are feeble now, We l)oth havt' reached old tottering age, IIavi> wrinkles on (vur brow; But still my Fverelda's dear As when she fu'st was wife. And thus from childhood up to now I've loved her all mv life. •e Riue:r Qlre;. 'Mid greenest l)aidvs in ([Uec'iily Ma}' With main- a s})lash of fairy spray, It blithelv, gently Hows along The pebbleil, moss\- stones among, Its ripples chant a gladsome law ( )n, on it speeds, careless ami ga^'. Through time-woni arches old and gi'ev. Whilst hajii)\' io_\-birds trill a song 'Mid ureenesi banks. Oh ! what so fair as earl_\' day When waters sweet catch Sol's glad rav, 'I'o leave tlie Cit^-'s surging thi'ong, 'J'o i[uit the haunls of vice and wron; And watch the ri\'er \\(Mid its way ']\lid greenest banks. J. ARTHUR BINNS. l^v P.UTLKK WOOD. CHIKF l.llJKAKIAN, I'.KA I )!■ i ,R| ) I'i I'.I.IC I.IIIK.VKIK Mr. ]. Ak'IHi'k l-iiNN.--. tlic iJtiirial Rcceivei- in l-iaiil^iuptcy foi IJradfoKl. ua- horn al l'.iiiL,'k-}- .>n llic 2Jt!i u[ jui}. i>^2i). In t1ii- (Iclij^'lnful villaj^'c. one of ihc Invclic-l in the \\'e>t Kidini; of N'oi k-hirc. the ])ciiocl of lii> cliiMh,,o(l .w.d \idt'r llic nia;,niiticcni environment of natural ^eeneI•_\■ \\hi( h -urrc/umled liini (hniiiL; thi- period of -u>eei>tii)iiity to inipre->ion- of tlie i'eautiful in nature, we can h.irdl\- wonder th;it under -ucii ta\"oural)le condition- liie (H\inc -.p.irk of poeti\- hoiii in I'.ini >]iouid 'oe -ulj-eiiueiii;}- i.iniied into a full poetic tire. He wa- educated at Mr. Richard-on'- well- known estaMi-~hnienl there, and aftei' lea\-in^ ,-cliool -.. ijwuiiied a. yeai in Manchester (luriuL; i>'44-v KetuininL,' iroin tlience he alierwaid> enterctl the office of the late .\Ir. j. A. llu-fi'dd. wlio ae;ed in tlie capacity of Treasurer of (^junl\' ("ouit-. and \'.it!i whom he wa> associated until the death of Mr. llu-feild in i.'s.S2. Mr. Hinn- con- tinued after this to hold the ap})ointment of Ivxaminei' of <'ounty Court Accounts till June, ■•'^■'^.v In the vear i>'^^j[ he and other- associated with him founded the Third Rijnitahle Permanent JUhldin;^' .Society, an in>titution whicli is doinj,' an incalculable amount of ^^ood amoni; the woiivin;;-classe^ of the town and nei^hliouihood. en.ihliiiL: them, as it doe-, to become posse->or- ol' their own hon-e- b\- n.eaus of the facilities which thi- a-imirable sociei\- afford- tliem. So ihorout^ddy is Mr. Jiinns \er-ed in m.itterr- rehuini,' to orLjaiii/aiion- ol this character that he has been called upon renea.tedK". l)oth on the platform and in the [U'es-. to place before the public hi- \iew- upon the subject. l-'ive ye:iis after the founding of the I'hiid k'quitable. the Council of the ."social Science Con^re>- in\ited him to d,cli\er an address on the su])iect of JluildiuL; Societie- duiinL,' tlie I'-r,tdford Meeting-, and a paper on the -ime -ubject wa- a!-o L;i\en li\ him before the l'.rili-]i A--ociation in \'>']. hrom [he commencement oi the societ\- .Mr. Ilinn- occupied the onerous po-ilion of I'lesidelU ior >i\teen year>. but he relin()ui-hed th.it ]">0>t wlsen he wa- ajijiointed joint -ecret.uy alom,' with .\Ir. ( li.irle- f.uni and .Ml. Win. .Mitchell, in l''^7I. Cililer llii- able triiinu ir.ite the > icief.' llouri-lied apace. ;iivl spre.al like a ;;reen ba.y tree. It i- now one ol' the !;irL;e-l. if no.', ilie l)r^H--t. in tile wcrld. in l)ecemi>er. I>^'\:;. he re-i,nied the -e.'r.-; :;r\--.liii' ol the -o-iily in ord ,1 to uiaiel I:il;e the ihiUe- of lii.;! imp' .italM po-;. J. ARiurR iiixx>. 15 Jic I (llicial Rc-tci\cr>liip in IJ.inkruptcA' lor ihc lir.ulford Districl. ollcrcd 10 liiiii li\' tlic ]5i)aiil of J'ladc. On lii> rc>i;,'iiali()n, Mr. .i5inn> wa;? clfctud a dircclor of llic Socicl)', a ])()>ili()n wliicli lie ^lill continiicr^ tu dCCU])}-. Tluj ])eii()d (if i'S53-4 ^\a^ a Im-y one for him in m.uiy w,(\-^. l!L'-.id(_> L-~tal)!i>liin;; tlic S icicl}' >il)o\c rcfcricd lo lie found lime to edit llie ••JSiadlord Mxaniincr," a nioiitlily ]ieiiodical to wliieli we >liall allude later on, and to ennipile a llynin Hook fe'r tlie u.-.e of the I^oii;;- I'lfd.L^'ed Fet.'totcd A^Mieiaiion -.i li_\inn book \\'hich, notwithi^tandiiif; iL> piirpo-e, is ha>ed on the broadest liiie^ in relij^ion, and i> al)>olutel\' free from seetariani>in. At the tinie of whieh we are now writing', mueh di~tre-> existed amon^ tlie Ihadfoixl wooleombcrs, who were l)rou;^lit to the \er;,"' of >tar\atiini 1)\' re,;-on of the :;reat de])re>^ion in trade whieh exi-ted in tlie eiiuniiA'. Mr. iSinn^ warmlx' e^pou--ed their cau-e and rendered them considerable help l)y brini^in;,; their unfirtunate eontre-- evoked a nol)le ])oem from his pen, entitled •■ Cont tliiouj;li Labour," wliieh is inspired throiif^liout with true, j^enerou- senti- ment, antl a j^enuine .>\'mj)ath\' with the suirerin,L;s of the worker.-. Sir Arthur ]Ielp> once wiote a book whieh he entitled " Kssax- written during inteivals of lUisiness,'' but one eannot a^■oid thinkinj; that in his ca-e the inter\"a]s took u]i a deal mme time than the bu-ine^s. 1 hi- ha- nut been -o with Mr. liinns. Xotw ithstandin<,' the inees.-ant ealls upon his tinie b\- bu-iiie-- enj^aLjements. he contrixed lo ^'et throui^h an amount of literal) woik whieh would do credit to main' a ])rofes- sional writer. l"or twehe _\ear.- he wiote a weeklv leader in the " Iluddersfield ICxaminer" and tlie •■ J)ew-bury Reporter," and freiiueiUly contributed ])olitical and litcrar_\- article- to the " Jiradlonl Ui).-er\er,'' and other new-paper-. Xor wa> he content to confine lii;n-elf meiel_\- to work with the pen, for he often ilelivcred lecturer, on literary su.bjecls before larye and appreeiati\e audience-. It will not be difficult to imagine that a man of wide >\nipathie- like .Mr. liinn- -hould l)e an ardent politici.m. Imleed he ha- been, and -lill is. a prominent member of the Idber.d part) in Bradford. Hitherto hi- poliiical career ha- been a mo-t active one, both on the platform a- a -[H-aker and a- a -a;,'acious or;,'ani-cr in the Liberal camp. So much cunlideiice has l)een jdaeed in hi- abilities in tin- direction that he ha- ha.f -e\eial election- for the W'e-t-ridin;; of "N'ork-hire fi')!!! liie )'ear 1873 to the pre-ent time. In iSSj ]ic wa- elected a member of the Town (Jouncil. rcjiie-entini,' the Mannin;,diain Ward. and he retained lii- -e.U until the _\ear iSSS, wlicn he wa- reliu taiitU con!]'clled to rc-i;^n owiiiL; to pre--ure of oflicial bii-iiie--. While in the council he held the position of \'iee- chairman of the Lree Librarie- It J. ARTHUR ]UXXS. ai!p()iisiliility, anil (.Ik- in v.hieli hi- wiile lvn()\\leUj,'e of literature w.s- ol -i^eat >ervice to the committee and the -taH'. Durin^r this jieriod lie j,Mve a lar;,'e amount of time and lal)our to the pre]iatalion of ilie Keference Library (Jatalo^nie. \\-iiich was ei^diteen m()nth> in ^'oiny throu;,di the ]>res-. The writer was <^reatl}' indebted to Mr. ]^iinn- for ]ii> laboui> in this direction, and he felt <,n-atetul tor the help tliu- cheerrtilU' rendered. Besiiles beini,' connected witi) the l-'r^e I'tiblic Libr.iry ,Mr. Binns took a liveU" interot in the Mech;inic~" Institute, as indeed he did in all in.--titution< for i)etterini,' the condition of the woi'ker,- of oui- town. He \vas chairmari of the labi-ar\" Committee for -even year-, (lurin<; wliich time he abl\- guided thi.- im])ort.int de])artmc-nt of tiie Institute's operation.-. The Bradford Lil)rar\- and Literarv Society now claim- lii- serviccs a.- a member of the (."ouncil. ^Ir. iiinn- seem- Ijorn to l)e tile orij,'inator of larj,^e and far-reachiii",^ schemes. Xot content with foimdiii;,' tlie " Tliird Equital)le."" we fnid him anion:,' iliM^e taking the initiatis'e in a concern \\iiich bids tair to rival, at -ome lime, the fir-t-named -ocietv in the extent of its f)pera- tion.-. The ^'ork-liire Inve>tment and American Mortf;at;e Compain', Limited, \\-as founded in i8S6. and from that time till now he has been pre-ident of the (..'omjianx". He made a journev to America in the sprin;,' of iNS,^. aloiiL,' wiili ^h. L'harle> Ltmd, to inspect and report u]ion tlie comiiany's -ecuritie- there, and lie-ides tlie Iiusiiiess information <,deanetl in the United States, he broui^dit Imck man\- pleasant memorie- of men and thing'- from oui' kin aero— the sea. Considering the bu-c life lie has led,, we cannot help \\ie>-e- in -ucli an eminent paj>er-. 'Idle task has a.g.iin been rendered no ea-ier on account of the long ]ieriod of time which ha- elap-e-l -ince he lir-t wielded the pen. d'o the-e drawback- we mu,-t al,-o add. Mr. Uinn.-"- luibit of not pre-er\"ing copie- of hi- liter.i.rv production-. In Ir t'.ie t.iilet-. \chii-e lot in liio-e (hi\> w.i- nii-erable to ,i decree. In line- ol' ''reat bi_.iutv lie L'i\e- J. ARTHUR BINNS. 17 exj)rc.ssi()n lo tlic h<)i)cs ami aspirations of the class of men with which he has always heen in deep syni])athy. The other poem already referred to i> called " Concjuest lhroui,'!i Lahonr." We ofier no apolo^^y for quotint,^ the whole of this composition, which will be fonnd among the selected examples of Mr. Binns's jjoetic muse. As in the verses pre- viously mentioned we fmd the same fervent feelin<,r and the same "lar<,'er hope" jiervadini^ every line of the ])<)em. In this year of 1854, Mr. l^inns edited the •• P^radford Examiner," a monthly political and literary journal, in wiiich he was the principal writer. It was successful, but its publishers got into linancial difficul- ties, and what was only intended as a temporary, turned out to be a permanent stoppage. The first number appeared in April, 1854, and continued up to the end of that year as a large octa\'o, but from the beginning of 1855 to the end of its career in July it appeared in ordinary octavo form. It included some novel features, among which were lists of notices of important meetings and events about to take ])lace during the month, and a record of votes of the ^\'est-riding members in the House of Commons. The most important articles, however, were from the pen of the editor himself, who contributed the monthly summary and review, besides shoit poems and j^rose articles. The two poems already quoted appeared in the " Examiner," as well as in the volume before alluded to. We cannot take leave of the ••lixaminer" without referring to an article on Bradford Fair ^\ilich a])|)eared therein, and which is to our mind one of the choicest things in the book. There is in this production a peculiar flavour, so easy to perceive, yet so difficult to define, and a crisp, elegance of touch which is characteristic of the writer. The description of the '-Cliorus Tommy," more especially that on the peformance of the Babes in the Wood, is full of genuine jiathetic and humorous touches. Mr. Binns has been a contributor to ■' Chambers' Edinburgh Journal," and the great Encyclopaedia published by this firm contains manv articles from his pen. Among these may be mentioned the following : -Un Chartism, Friendly Societies, Savings Banks, Trades Fnious, Socialism. York, an.d Yorkshire. The important chapter on the Worsted Trade of Bradford in Baines's " Yorkshire, Past and Present," was contributed by him, and will be found in the second volume of that work. A set of poems called " Stanzas on the Months " was privately printed in 1862. from which we have selected the one on March as a eliaracteristic verse. C^opies of this production are now very difficult to obtain. At the re([uest of the Yorkshire Geological and Polytechnic Societ}' he wrote in 1889 a " Alemoir of Dr. Scoresbv, Vicar of Jiradtord, Whale Fisher, Polar Explorer, and Magnctician," for jiubli- cation in the journal of that society. As previously stated, Mr. Binns's productions have been widely scattered over a great luunber of publications, and it has therefore only I(S J. ARIHIK IUXX-. been jto— -ihlc lo deal with a very --niall |)oitii>n of iluiii. .\fany of hi- poem- ha\c been publi-hcd in ihv ■• Speclaloi " ami ihc Ixtal ]K)pei> troni lime to liiiie. Il i> llie -ineere ik-iiv of liis Iriend- thai some of tile poem- may at no di-t.nU dale be eollui led in liook i'orm, and ib.u- be le-ened fi-oni lluir pie-ent unavailable eondiiion. ( )ne -horl bul pungent \i\cvc apjieaied in the ■■ Speelaloi' "" of |-'ebiuary 28th, 18S5. called --A Moan in ( liuivli." It aiiueied e(in-i on account of il- keen an^l incisisc .-ai-ca>ni. We cannot re-i-t making a -election fnaii a -d inn- h.i- Jjcen in llie habit ni -einling t) hi- friend- for manv vear- pa-t. ihex .iie ta-tefully gut up and i)ear u])i>n ihem eacli vear an original poem -uiiable to the wcca-iiai. i'liey all pi)--e— the mark of Mr. I'dmi-"- -inaig individuality, but the cue f. .r I^^SN .-ceni- I" us lo l)e the fine,-t n\ the -erie- llui- far. and we tliei-ef^ue qucjie it on that accoiml. Thi.- picve di-pla\'- some nf the main cliaractei'i-tic- ol" hi- jioeirv. uameb, genuine poetic; I'ecliiig. ca-\" and natural llow of felicilou> language, and a rare- cdnibinalioii of melod\- and vigo'ar. There a.re t'iuche< here and tiiei'e wiiicli remind u- of Longfellow. l)ut the -livnglh of llie \er-e .-land- in f.ivo'arable cunlra-l lo I.onglel!ow"s -omew'h.al feminine numbei'.-. W'ili Cai'leton. wlio i- a ])er-onal fi'iend of our authm". gi-eatl\- a'hnired the p'lem cdled •• .S:^ Tran.-it." which i- al-o included in llie collejiidn. It de-.-ribe-. in tli'amalic language, the ]">rogi-e-- of human life. Summing up ihe lilerarx' qualiiie- dI the w.a-iv wi.' Iia\'e been endea\'ouring to deal with, it -eem- to u- that melod\- an .md fmi-li. and an unerring pielic in-linci firm the cliief merits of Mr. Hinn-'s literarv eflort-. l-'imn hi- -uljjee'i rnalter il i- eviilent that hi.- -irong >_\'mpalhie- are with tlie toiling miilion-. iiii'cetl .-ome of his fme-t poem- ha\'e been in-piredi lj\- jii- eariie--; 'ie-ii'e foi- their wellare. An inteii-e lo\-e of fi'eedoin and ju-tice. and an intoler- ance of wi'ong in an\" form animate lii- eompo-ition- both in i)i'o-e .iwi ])oetr\-. It onl\' rein.iin- to -.iv tliat a- a nc,n .Mi'. iSmn- i- gem [i and ]>\C Cpiutosit. () w oMiKoi > lilr id' j()\ ;niil sii-fii,L;Lli, W'iiik- inuii's \-()uiii;' power unspi'iiL is, 'I'lirouijli all llir Icii wars" j()\(>us U'li^tli, riu' hoi aiul I'a^'cr L\vi-m'n's. Ni'xt comes llic tlccadc sweet and stron;^-, Veai's where no harm or hurl is, When life pours forlli lier fullest sont:;-, 'J'he j)rou(l and j)assionate ihirlies. Life's summer ^iows, — with llower and fruit 'l"he long' da\- all loo short is ; And well ils glorious s])lendours suit Our niitlda}" world, tlie forlies. Is ihis the first approach of Night ? Yes, downward now oui' tlrift is, As on we fare tlirough waning light. Slow sinking through the fifties. Still closer folds our narrowing range/. Our fate more sure and fixed is. For good or ill, small chance of change ^Vhen once we reach the sixties. Darkens ilic sliadow of the toml) ! And eithei' hell or hea\'en 'tis As life, past, ])rescnt, and to come Looks on us through tlie seventies. Shut out fi'om maidiood's earlier force, How sad the growing weight is, ^\'^' l)i>ar along' the drear\' course That ling'ers through the eig'hties, Still siowlier di'ags our wearv oar, Jkit useless to rt'pine 'tis, Ami }"et \\'e long' to lintl a shon.' Somewhere among the nineties I Oome, kindl}' Di'ath ! unt^(-ared, long-soughl ! S[)are us the lorluring r-;/;' dread Thai Meaveu has dropped us out of thought. To leave Us o'er the hundred ! 20 J. ARTHUR RIXXS. GoRqaest tfirougK labour. Workers for men, whoe'er you are, No matter what your sphere, Who still for human progress war, And bow with hearts sincere Before the heavens' high arching dome Of Light and Truth, and God the home, — Take courage ! brief as is our life, And though our task be great, Our strength is equal to the strife, And we shall yet defeat The foes that stop man's upward road To holiest freedom's high abode. Around us countless millions bend O'er dull mechanic toil. Their labour's best and highest end Grim Poverty to foil, 'J'hat, wolf-like, still pursues their way With dread persistence, day by da\-. Within their minds, chill, bleak and dead. There dwells no inner sight- No intellectual sun-rays shed Their vivifying light : A polar winter ever keeps Its emi)ire in those gloom}' dreps. From glorious Shaksjjcre's words tlicre ■>liines No orb to light their sk\-. While Milton's brave and god-like lines Pass unregarded by. The\- never wake to find tlu'ir souls. Vet Life to Death unceasing rolls. What then .-' Although the night be ilark, And our worn courage drooj). We wait not for the morning lark, IhU still, upborne by hope. And, strong in faith that scorns delay. We hasten on the coming day. J. ARTHUR RINXS. Yon flower, whose sweetness lures the bees, And sheds its perfume round. So frail, it quivers in the breeze, And vibrates with a sound : Wrought througli the earth its skyward course, By resolute and constant force. Green vales and gentle slopes arise, Upon old Ocean's breast ; Like brightest stars in clearest skies Thev in their beauty rest ; And strong as beautiful, they f<^rm A sure protection from the storm. Those isles beneath the restless waves, Minutest insects reared — Myriads of builders filled their graves Kre the first ])eaks appeared — Peaks that the sun might tip with gold. Firm njck where shifting waters rolled. Do not these things a lesson teach Of patience, courage, power ? Though far from land, we're sure to nMch The distant hoped-for shore. If to our work we prove but true. There's nothing tlial we may not do. Our earth shall yet an aspect wear Of nobleness and truth. When all shall human life revere Wise age and earnest youth : And the old Eden less be known Than that which shall the future crown. Across the stormy vault the wild wind sweeps In sullen rage : the shrinking forests crash. Roused to quick fury the enraged deei)s On trembling coasts vindictive billows dash, Till from its place some promontory leaps To the rude sea, whose waves triumphant wash Where the proud headland stood. But Spring is near; Storms are but passing; Heaven will yet shine clear. T. ARTHUR i'.lXX.' SRrlstmas, 18S8. O swKET ami solemn t()ll> llu- kmU ()( ihe (IfpartiiiL;- w/arl (J sweel ami sok-niu notes that swell Its rin^irini^- far and nt-ar. Some breathed with us the simtmer air \\'ho now liave passed awa\', And cliani^ed otir clouds (jf .s^'rief and care For Iieaven's eternal daw Still shines tlu' sun : the moon and -tai INIake loveh' still the ni^ht ; And we, throui,di earth's material bars, See a diviner litrht. Out goes m\- prax'er fcjr all m\- friend- Xot onlv those I know, For wheresoe'er the wide >k\' bends, 'I"o-da\' I have no fo<,-. ^Iv ])ra\er for all in vwrv land. That l)righter davs miiv be, From arctic snows to trr»])ic >an(l. From east to western se;i ! Alas! not \et is sheathed the .sword ?\len fight as fought their sires — l!tu still there rings a hi-a\-i'id\' wori Thmii^-h I'nar nf !ia;i!e iii'i-s. A \'>ord that calms the -oul's unroi. ( iives hope a happier \iew. And sh(;ws, lie\-()nd niglii"s mnunlain e;-,--.t. Th'' mi )riiinL;-'s jiri uniscd Mui-. ARilirR lUNNS. (WKII ll'.X 1)1 KI.NC. SKKMON.) Dri.L-i''i';AirRi':i), k';idcH-c'\'cd, lln- preaclier stands ; And iiolds thr sacrt'd volume in his hands, Xo loLicli oft^-t'iuus liLi;-luens up his face; Xo kindl}' accent si)ceds llie word of grace. He (h'awls and nuumders in unencHn^t^: drone ; — O ! for some hi^'luning'- flash, some thunder-tone, SomethiuL;- to show life yet remains on earth. Sorrow or j()\-, wild lau^'hter, madness, mirth, SomethiuL;' foi' lieart and mind to feel and know, X"ot th.est' sad phrases, foIlowin,L;' row on row. ()m- souls refuse the weary watch to keej), And feel " God giveth His beloved sleep." Grant, Lord, some help from heaven, some spirit-touch. Now that we feel so little, hear so much ; Anil as a set-oft" to our sins' amotint Put this dav's suffering down to our account. I^aujoi'th {|}ooi''^' Hi-:ri-: we inhale a breatli of heaven-sent air; 1 h're from the maddening hamits of man we're fri'e To taste the bliss of friH'tlom's junit}' ; To feel we' VI- vanquished vain deceit and care. Tliere is such grantleur in tltese moors so bare i'hat ne\-er sense of loneliness have we. For most can tell it is our (jod's decree 'i'h;it tlic}" His jovous bonnteousncvss sliduld sliare. To me, oh moors ! ve're not a barn-n \vaslc — Rallier 1 call \c " Gartlen of Oui' Lord :"' for \'e can time our lieaiaslrings" teiuleresl chord, And all our llioughts and inmosl souls make chaste. \'e lt;ad our minds iVom earlhliness away d'o realms be\oud- where dwells Fjeiaial I^aw 24 THE REV. PATRICK P.ROXTF. A.H il ^-^ /^. THE BRONTE FAMILY. Bv CHAS. A. FKDERER, L.C.P., I'.DITOK, VORKSIIIRK CdAI' BOOKS, KTC, KIX;. TiMK in liis t]i<;ht no lustic takes away ]-'i-<)ni the <^rcal Jirontes' wide immortal fame; The}' nobly j^'ained an cNcrlastin;^ name, Winninj^ the laurels that know no decay. Their 'scutcheon is undimmed — its glorious ray Has ever shone with hrij^ht translucent llamc ; So in the future will it shine the same .Vnd be the theme of many a distant day. The records of the present and the past Reveal no historv akin to theirs ; They bravely fou^dit ai,'ainst life's fitful blast, Still stru<^glinul)ject forms a pleasing contrast to the feminine fault-fnuling which is so disagreeably prominent in Mrs. (iaskell's work. i'atrick ]'>ron.te was horn at .Vhaderg, co. Down, Ireland, 17th March, 1777. flis ancestry is inNoh'ed in considerable obscurity, but we know that his father, Hugh Bronte, or Bronty, was a i)etty farmer, with a large faniil)', and snuill means t(j maintain it with. I'atrick must ha\e made good use of lii> time at school, for at the age of si.\teen he felt himself qualified to umleitake tlie situation of village schoolmaster at Drumgoolaiid in his native county. The Rev. .Mr. Tighe, incumbent of this village, soon recognised tlie abilities of his voung schoolmaster, 26 THK I'.ROX'JK FAMILY. encouraged him to study, and ultimately was instrumental in sending him to college. I'atrick catered St. John's College, Cambridge, in July, 1802. After a four years' residence, he was licensed to a curacy in Kssex (1806), and subsecjuently to the perpetual curacy of Hartshead, in the parish of Dewsbuiy (181 1). Shortly after his arrival at Hartshead, he published his fust work, a volume of ])oems, entitled "Cottage Poems," which was printed by llolden, Halifax, and contains, among other pieces, " The Haj^j^y Cottageis," '• Winter Nights' Meditations," "The Spider and the Fly," Sec, which, though not of a high order of jioetry, yet evince considerable ability and genuine sentiment. The subjects are mostly connected with Irish scenes and incidents. A close friendshi]) existed l)etwcen Mr. Bronte and ^Ir. AViU'^im Morgan, M'ho had come in to Yorkshire at the same time as himself, being appointed to the curacy of Bierley Chapel, Bradford, in 181 1. They THE f)I,T) r.\K.SC)NA(;K, IHOKNTDN. rTAff BirthpUu;- of Charloftf, Einilv Ja>ir, ana Ami Broufrj. both visited at the house of Mr. Fenncll, head master of the ^\'csleyan Scliool at Woodhouse drove, Api)erle\-, wliose home was brightened by the ])resence of a fair daughter and of a niece, a \'isitor from Corn- THE 15RONTK FAMILY. 27 wall, the sequel beinj; shown by the following curious entry in the eighty-third volume of the Gentlemen's Mctyazine : Married, at Guisoley, near l^railford, by the Rev. William Morgan, minister of Bierley, Rev. P. Bronte, H.A., minister of Hartshead- cum-Clifton. to ^[aria, third daiifjhter of the late T. liramwell, Esq., of Penzance. And at the same time and jjlace, l)y the Rev. P. P.ronte, Rev. \V. :MorK-an to the only dau),'hter of Mr. John Fennell, headmaster of thcAVesleyan Academy, near Bradford. Two children were born during Mr. Bronte's incumbency of Hartshead, .Alaria and Elizabeth, who both died in 1825. In 18 13 a]ipeared Mr. Bronte's second volume of poetry, entitled The Ji'in-al MiuMrel, which sliows a distinct im])rovement upon his former work. Irish reminiscences again form the staple of the subjects which comprise, amongst others, " 'Die Harper of Erin," "Reflections by Moonlight," "The Sabbath Bells," Sec. In 1 8 14, Air. Bronte resigned the living of Hartshead, being ap])ointed, probalilv tlirough the inOuence of his friend, Mr. Morgan, to the incunibencv of Thornton, in Braiiforil ]xuish. It was at the old parsonage of this village, of which Afrs. (iaskell draws such an tminviting j:iicture, that the gifted trio of sisters whose literary fitme completely overshadowed that of their sire, hrst saw the light. Charlotte was born 21st April, i8i(), Emily Jane in 1818, and Anne in i8i(j, or the beginning of 1820. The reader will find m Mr. .Scruton's charming monograph The Jiirtfijilace of Chm lotte liroiitc, a striking picture of the surroundings of the Bronte family at that jjcriod, which cannot fail to interest him. THK VICAK.\GK, HAWORTH. Mr. J^ronte's incuml)ency of Thornton, which lasted six years, also saw the appearance of two further literary eflbrts, viz., "The Afaid ol Killarney : or Albion and Mora," a prose tale, printed by Inkersley, C 2 2H iiii-: i;Roxii; ia.mii.v. Bradford, 1818; and " Tlie Cottage in tlie Wood," a prose tale, with a i)ocm a])pended, also piinted by Iiikersley, 18 18. and reprinted in 1859 by Nelson, Bradford. This period must ha\'e been a particularly trying one for the struggling young clergyman. The anxiety and toil entailed bv the care of ;,ix young children told upon Mrs. BrontjV hjaUh, and the outlook into the future was anything but reassuring. It i^ not surprising, there- fore, that .Mr. Bronte gladly seized the oj)p-)nunily of exchanging the incumbency of Thornton for that of the moorland \illage of ffaworth, \vhere a better stipend woukl establish domestic matters on a more comfortable footing, and the pure mountain breezes jiromised better health to the ailing familw The rem:)val took place 25th February. 1820, but .Mrs. Bronte's ailment (cancer) had taken too deep root for lier to gain more tlian a temi)orar\' benefit from the change of scene and atm')spliere. •• \'er\- ill, suflering great ])ain, but seldoin. if ever, comjdaining " (H. Turneri, she ])assed awav 15th .September, 1821. Her elder sister. MisS Bramwell, came some time afterwards Id tike cliaige of the bereaved household, and devoted the rest of her life to the bringing up of lier sister's children. As Charlotte was only four years old at the time of the removal to Ilaworth, all the con-cious life of the three sisters ma\' be s.nd to hue been spent at the latter place, k'irst under tlieir fath.-i's litful tuiti'^n. (diarlotte and homily weie jdaced. in [■'24. at a priwile school fir clergymen's dangliters at Cowan liriiigi'. jiear iviitiy Lons.kde, ^\■li_•re they remaine 1 but f)r a twjivemonth siifl'erisig both in l)(i ly a'.id min(k After several years spent at hoi.ie, imder the a'ole lut(ji-ship of the master of llie Haworth (iraminar School, the three giils went to stay. i)ne aftei' another, at Miss Wooler's school, at Koe Head, near Ilarl-hea.d. wlitiv thev f )U!id an affectionate teacher and congenial frien.d- wlio-e attach- ment la-ted for life. In 1.''42 Charlotte, then twenty-six year- of age. went witli lu-r sister l-auily to Bru-sels, and stayed there, fir-t a- puj'ii, then a- te.icher, for the space of two years. The impre--!ons wiiieli con- tinental scenes and manners left upon tlie ob-ervant min 1 ot Ch.irlotte. are most vividly portrayed in her hrst written, but la-t publi-iied novel, '•The i'lofessor." This brings us to the literary activity <'f the trio of -isters. Already in their earliest years, as soon as the ii-e of pen and ]>aper became familiar, they essayed tliem-elve- in literary comp^ isition. an I we are tokl that they lllie-! no le-s tlian twenty-two MS. v.-hnnes witll tales, e--ays. poem-, play-, ^^'c. Wf.en it is remeinbered,. t »). that the mental painiluin provided Inr hi- Liniily Ia' llie Rev. P. Bronte comprised '• Tiie liritisii k:— .lyi-t," ■•The Kam'oJer." •• fhe Mirror." " Bilackwood's Magazine." "The I.oimger," we need ieel little THK I?ROXiK FAMILY, 29 X. •^ ^^^^^..:^— ^6 IHE KkONTK FAMILY. surprise at tlie tersely classical style of writing to which the sisters attained almost at the very outset. Riper years added the zest of ami)ition, and the sisters were anxious to obtain pulilicity for their compositions, so that even the dissuasion and nej^lect of the publishers and literary men with whom they entered into correspondence did not quench their ardour. Unable to (jet anyone to undertake the rislv of publishing their collected poems, they took tlie bold step of issuing tlie volume at their own charges, and now a])penred for the first time before the public under the 7iows ile p//ime Currer Bell (Cliarlotte), Ellis Bell (Emily), and Acton Bell (Anne). Though these poems cannot rank witli tlic ]iroductions of our leading poets, of a Tennyson, a Swinburne, a Jirowning — '.leing too mechanical throughout and often stilted in form yet tliey sliow genuine poetical feeling, and are certainly superior to most of the ])oetry whicli passed current in the early jiart of tlie present century. (Charlotte's jioems show a greater ease of manij^ulation, wliilsl Emily's verses are more rugged, and withal more redolent of the wild moor, Anne writes in a more mystic strain, and her verses have not inajHly been compared to Cowper's. But it is chiefly as novelists tliat tlie sisters excelled. I^'inding tiiat ]X)etry was unremunerative, and fired liy reports of llie fabulous sums paid to Sir Walter -Scott for his romances, they determined to write each a novel, and in consequence completed, Charlotte "The Professor" (only published much later), Emily " Wuthering Heights," and Anne " Agnes Grey." "The Professor" was certainly not equal to the tales of ('harlotte's sisters, being too threadbare and deficient in striking incidents; but undismayed by her inability to liiid a pub- lisher for it, she resolutely set herself to the task of comp;)siiig another romance more suited to the popular taste, the result being that won- derful work, "Jane Eyre," which took the literarv woild bv storm, and raised the author to sudden fame. In quick succession followed ".Shirley" and " Villette," which were no less apiJieciated by the ]oublic, whilst Anne followed Up her previous success with •'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall." The sisters were not destined long to enjoy the giatif\iiig ]iroofs of public favour. On December 19th, 1848, death claimed I-'milv for his own, and the following year May flowers decked the graw of .\nne in the ancient churchyard of .St. Mary's at Scarborough. Si\ vcars after- wards, in June, 1854, Charlotte was prevailed upon to bestow her hand in marriage on the Rev. A. B. Xicliolls. her father's curate ; but before a year had run its course, the grave closed too over iier mortal remains (31st March, 1855). The Rev. I'atrick Bronte, bereft of all his children, afllicted witli blindness, continued faithfully to discharge his parochial duties, until he, too, was called to his long home, 7th June, 1861, aged 84 years. THE BRONTE FAMILY. $J ©n ^affstj's Gome;t, In 1535. Our blazing guest, long have you been, To us, and many more, unseen ; Full seventy years have pass'd away Since last we saw you, fresh and gay — Time seems to do you little wrong- As yet, you sweep the sky along, A thousand times more glib and fast, Than railroad speed or sweeping blast — Not so — the things you left beliind — Not so — the race of human kiml. Vast changes in this world have been. Since by this world you last were seen : The child who clapped his hands with joy, And hailed thee as a shining toy. Has pass'd, long since, that dusky bourn, From whence no travellers return ; Or sinking now in feel)le age, Surveys thee, as a hoary sage ; Sees thee, a mighty globe serene. Wide hurried o'er the welkin sheen. In nebulous or solid state. For ends both wise, and good, aiul great ; Or, to adjust and balance true The shining orbs of ether blue. Lest, erring in the heavenly j^lane, All should to chaos rush again ; — Or if the sun, as Xewton says. Still issues forth substantial rays, Emitting from his bod}- brigln, Exhausting sparks of rapid Hglit — To give- him back each spark and lay, Well gather'tl, on the airy wa_\- ; Lest he should sink in wrinkled vears, And leave in night the robing sj)heres. Sav, dost thou, then, all things that burn. Give to the Sun in thy return ? And thus maintain his shining fare In all the pride of youthful grace r 3 2 THE liROXTE FAMILY. If SO, tliou art less selfish far, Than many another shining star — Less selfish, far, than those below. Who gaze u})on thy brilliant glow ; For, here on earth, both one and all, We try to rise on others' fall ; And think our lustre shines the best, When dusky veils obscure the rest. But Newton sage and others sa}", The sun doth play ynujcf and ;^/r; 'J'hat, at each point of time, liis force Attracts, repels, th}' fier}' course ; In contradiction — strange to say — Lest you should wander frcmi }-our way, And that, when he has got tli}' meed. He sends ^■ou on vour wa\ with s])i-ed. Alas ! alas ! slioukl this be so .-' How man\' si/ns are here below, Save that the\- want both heat and light. And never shine, 1)_\' da_\' or iiiglit — Attract — repel — get all they can — And j)art with nought to li\ ing man ! Some sa}' tliou art electric firi'. And hast a tail of ])lague and ire — 'J'liat all along thv air\- wa\- ^'ou shed on men a baleful swa\'; That on the nati(jns near and far "\'ou sow the seeds of blood\- war. Small need for these tliv fatal arts : For we abound in wrathful liearts, And cunning heads, and lilighting gales, And martial hands, and fier\- tails — And swift to ill — for ill combine, \\'ith reatly skill, surj)assing thine. 'J'h}- course is chang'd, as sage> sa\", And thou liast run a novel wa\'. Just that the wond'ring world might own Thou hast a will and wa\' thine own. In this, fair stranger, we're inclined To follow thee, and have our mind — Whate'er sarcastic mortals sa\-, For we have orbits where to mo\e, ]]y impulse strong, of hate or \tar — (io — do tin' eirand, near and lar. h.re thou dost here ri'UU'n a.uain, k\.'w things that now are shall remain, d'ell distant worlds, on whom \'ou >hine, d"he hand that made thee i^ (li\'ine, — Koimd tin wide orbit slied tin' ra\s. In token of the loudest ja'aise To (iod ^\'ho made tln.self and all The stai's around this earthlv ball — Wdio shall beam forth, in .ulr.i'v briu'ht, When all creation sets in night. — /-*. Ilrniit'e Remembranee: C'oi.l) in the earth — and the dee]> sn.ow piled above thcc, k'ar, fai' removetl, C(dd in the drear\' u'i'a\'e ! Have 1 forn'ot, m\' oidv T.ove, to love tlu'e. Severed at last bv Time's all-scverinn' wave .-' 34 THE hRONTE FAMILY. Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy no'.de heart for ever, ever more .-' Cold in the earth — and fifteen wild Decembers, From those brown hillS; have melted into spring : Faithful, indeed, is the s])irit that remembers After such years of change and suffering ! Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world's tide is bearing me ahmg ; Other (Ksires and other hopes besut me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong. No later light has lightened up my heaven, No second morn has ever shone for me ; All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given. All my life's bliss is in tlie grave with thee. But, when the days of golden dreams had perished. And even Despair was powerless to destroy ; Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy. Then did I check the tears of useless passion — Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine ; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine. And, even yet, I dare not let it languish. Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain ; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish. How could I seek the empt_\' world again .' — C. Brnjilc. S o n q . The linnet in tlie roc:k\- dells, The mf)or-lark in the air, The bee anumg the lit atlicr brlls That hide m\" huh' fair; The wild deer browse aliovc licr l)i-ea>l The wild birds rai-e tlicir brrxid : And they, her smiK-s of love caro.^cd. Have left her solitude 1 THE BRONTK FAMILY. 35 I ween, that when the grave's dark wall Did first her form retain, They thought their hearts could ne'er recall The light of joy again. They thought the tide of grief would flow Unchecked through future years ; But where is all their anguish now, And where are all their tears ? \\'ell, let them fight f(^r honour's breath, Or pleasure's shade pursue — The dweller in the land of death Is changed and careless too. And, if their eyes should watch and weep Till sorrow's source were dry. She would not, in her tranquil sleep. Return a single sigh ! ]51o\v, west-wind, by the lonely mound. And murmur, summer streams — I'here is no need of other sound To soothe my lady's dreams. — 6^. Bronte. Hope was but a timid frientl ; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend. Even as selfish-hearted men. She was cruel in her fear ; Through the bars one drear}- day, I looked out to see her there. And she turned her face away ! Like a false guard, false watch keejnng. Still, in strife, she whispered peace ; She would sing while I was weej)ing; If I listened, she would cease. False she was, and unrelenting ; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round ; 36 THK r.RONTK FA^iIII.Y. Ho])e, whose \vhis])i'r would have given ]]ahn to all my frenzied ])ain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again ! C. Bronte. 0fie: sruebGrr. The Bluelx'll is the sweetest flower That wavt's in summer air : Its blossoms lia\'e the miglitiest power To sootlre m}' spii'it's eaiX'. 'J'here is a sj)ell in purple lieath Too wildly, sadly dear : The violet has a fragrant ])reath. But fragrance will not cdieer. Tlie trees are bare, the sun is cold. And seldom, seldom seen ; The heavcuis have lost their zone of gold, And eartli her robe of green. And ice uj)on tlie glancing stream Has cast its somljre shade ; And distant hills and vallevs seem In fnjzen mist ai"ra\ed. The Bluebell cannot cliarm me now. The heatli has l(;^t its bloom ; The violets in the glen below, The\' vield no sweet perfume. But, though 1 mourn llie sweet Bluebell, 'Ti^ better far awa\': I know how fast m\' Irars would swell T(j see it smile to-daw For, oh! when chill tin- >unl)e,!m> fall Adown that di"eai'\" skw And gild \<)n dank and dai'k'/iied w;dl ^^'ith ti'ansii-nt brillianc\': I low do 1 weep, how to come. And tui'ii me from that fading shine, To moiu'u the fields of home I- — A'. />'/-"/;.V. HI'. isROXTK FA.^rIr,^'. 37 ^B© fliofii iblnd. Ix suninier's mellow iiiitlnii^ht, A cloiullcss moon shone throui^'h Our open pjuiour window, And I'o.sc- trees wet witli tlew. I s;it in silent musing;'; The soft wind w;ived my hair; It told me heaven was s^-lorious, And sleeping earth was fair. I needed not its breathing' d'o bring sueh tlioughls to me ; Ikil still it whisj)ered lowly, liow dark the wootls will be ! "The thick lea\-es in my nnn'miir Are rustling- like a dream, Ami all their m\ liad voices Instinct with spirit seem." I saiel, " (io, gentle singer, rh\- wooing voice is kind : But do not think its nuisic lias pow(.'r to rea(di my mind. " Play with the scented flower. The \-oung tree's supi)le bough. And lca\'e m\- human I'eelings In thi-ir own course to How." The waiuleriM" would not lun'd me ; lis kiss ,ii'i\'W warmer still. "() come!" it sighed so sweetlv; " I'll win thee 'gainst tli\- will. "Were we not iViiMids from childhood.-' Ihive I not loved tlu'c long .-' As long ;is thou, the solemn night, W hose silence \vak;'s n.i\' ,^ong. "And wh.ui thv heart is resting J5oneatli the church-aisle stone, / shall have time for mourning, And //lo/i for bein"- alone." — .A'. Bivnlt 38 THE HROXTE FAMILY. Immortaflttj. No COAVARD soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere : I see Heaven's glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. God within my breast. Almighty, ever-present Deity ! Life — that in me has rest. As I — undoing Life — have power in thee ! Vain are the thousand creeds I'hat move men's hearts : unutterably vain ; Worthless as withered weeds. Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thine infinity; So surely anchored on The stedfast rock of immortality. With wide-embracing love Thy spirit animates eternal }-ears, Pervades and broods above. Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears. Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be, And Tliou were left alone, Lverv existence would exist in Tlu-e. There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his miglit could rendiT void: Tliou — Tiior art liringand Hrcalli, And wliat Tuor art mav never be tlestrosed. A'. ///'-w/Zr. Domestic Peace;. Why should such gloomy silence reign, And whv is all the house so drear. When neither danger, sickness, pain, Nor death, nor want, have entert'tl here THE HRONTK FAMILY. 39 \Vc are as many as we were That other night, when all were gay And full of hoj)e, and free from care ; Yet there is scjmething gone away. Tlie moon without, as pure and calm, Is shining as that night she shone ; But now, to us, she brings no balm, For something from our hearts is gone. Something whose absence leaves a void — A cheerless want in every heart ; Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, And mourns the change — but each apart. Ths fire is burning in the grate As redly as it used to burn ; But still the hearth is desolate. Till mirth, and love, and peace return. 'Twas peace that flowed from heart to heart, With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven. And gave us language to imi)art The blissful thoughts itself had given. Domestic peace ! best joy of earth, When shall we all thy value learn } White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, Return — oh, graciouslv return ! A. Bnmfe. ©sspondeRG^. I have gone backward in the work The labour has not sped ; Drowsy and dark my spirit lies. Heavy and dull as lead. How can I rouse my sinking soul From such a lethargy .-' How can I break these iron chains And set my spirit free } 40 Tin-: jiRoxii-; i'AMir.\'. Tlu-re have lieeii times when I have nidurm'cl In aiii,ai!sli (iV-r ilu' past, And raised mv suppliant hands on high, ^^'hile tears' fell lliiek and fa-^l ; And ])raved to liave mv sin> lorgiNcn, With such a fei-wnt zeal, An eariie.-L gaief, a strong de>ire As nxow I eaPinot feel. And 1 have t"eh so full of love, So stronL;' in spirit then. As if iHv Ill-art woihd ne\'.er cool, ( )r Avander haek ag'ain. And vel, alas ! liow rnan_\- times M\- feet have gon" astray! How oit ha\-e I forgot m\- (jocII How i^reatly ia!f'-n away! M\' sins inei'ea.-e — mv low grows cokh And liope within nu- dies : I'^'en h'aitfi itself is v/avering- now; (Jh, how siiall I arise r I ean.not Aveep. but I can pra}'. Then let nte not tlesjjair : Lord le^us, >ave me, lest I tlie ! Cdiri>t, liear ntv hinnble ])ra\'er ! Resignation. 1 ii^>]M-:i), that V ith the l)i-a\e and >iroiig, Mv ]);)rii ined ta->k miirlit lie : To t< al andd i]\r \)u>v tiinaig;, Will; parp. )>■■ pi!,"f and higT. Ihil ()>k1 has fixed anoilier pail. And lie has fixed it well"; 1 ^aid >') with my IT-ediiig- lu-ail, Wdieii tii>t tile ;ingiii-,h fell. 'Jdiou, (ii)d, ]ia>t taken our delight, ( )ar trea-iired hope awa\' : 'idiou bid'st tis iiow^ we.p throu,<4-h the niritannica '' antl the " Dictionary of National Biof^raphy." His prose and jjoetrv has found a jjlace in all the leading London ma<^'a/ine^ and newspapers. He founded the " Yorkshireman," and as its editor is widely known. Mr. 15urnley acted for some years as the literary editor of the " Bradford Observer." A ])opular dialect annual called " Saunterer's Satchel " was established and edited by him, and for some time he conducted the •• Yorkshire ^laf^azine." It will l)e gathered from the foregoing that Mr. Burnle_\ is a tireless worker. He has resided in London since 1885, and has made hosts of friends among the leading literati of the metropolis, and still keejis in close touch with his many old Yorkshire friends, who are proud of lii-, well merited success. He is a gifted and genial gentleman, and richly deserves the position he has won. Qt ^^ Qlotfier's (praus. Thi- twilight mingles with the goklen west. The wooded slo})es in heavv shadow lie, Bird-niiisic sinks into a blissful rest, The sunlight dies along the silent sk\-. And all around is solemn as tin- grave. O mother! all tlte world st-ems _\-et to sigh Tliat thou wert rudiel}- swept beneath Death's wave. 'J'en years full measured with the pangs of life Have drawletl their wears' length since thou did'st die ! Ten }-ears of f(jumiering hopes and useless strife ! Thy living love did ever ki'ep me high Above the waves of the all-selfish world ; But Death's cold glamour o'er thee hdl, ami I Was far into life's heartless tempest hurled. I) 2 44 JAMES RURXLEY. Yet now I live with thee again a sj)ace ; I hear thy voice, — by sadness made more sweet,— And look again into thy gentle face, Pride and Ambition leave me at thy feet ; The mysteries that hang around the soul Seem clearer ; and m.y tortured heart doth beat With calmer swell, subdued to th}- c()ntr(/l. Though Care's dark shadow li^-s ac;";)ss mv path, There still is sunshine in my m;.-m()r_\-. How oft in far-off scenes that sunshine hath Burst forth, and meltctl passion to a sigh ! A passing voice, or distant music t(jne Oft hath sufficed to bring thy presence nigh, And spread thy spirit's radiance o'er mv own. With spirit-music all tlie world seems filled. Our memcjries feed and grow upon its sound ; We catch its cadence, and l)v it are thrilh'd Where'er its raptured melody is f iimd. Yon rook which caws about the belfr_\- there, Instils more heaven into my soul as rcnmd It fiies, than I could reap from manv a ])raver. Its caw, though h.arsh and shrill, re-])rings the time When thou and I together trod this place : When, listening to the bells' devotional chime. We entered here full-souled with hope and grace ; And so, yon rook gives music t(; m\' heart Wliile sweeter sounds pass b_\- and leave no trace, Vov of our j)ast no voice do thc\' impart. I'd weep f(jr thee if there were nertl to weep, — Onh' man's selfishness wee])s c/er the death How man\' would be glad with thee lo slee]). Even could Death but give ihem this cold bed ; How manv more would gladl\" join tliee liere Oould the\' but win th\- holv calm, instead Of tossing on tlie waves of endless fear. Di'ath hatli few terrors for the joxh ss breast; Life is half death wlu-ri' Sorrow constant stavs ; So, nearer Death and nearei' (iod, some rest Were gained did n(jt Despair comi- (/er our da\-s. O patience ! diel'st tliou but on sorrow wait. Her wa^■s woukl holier be than jovous ways, And Sorrow would be life's most noble state. JAMKS BURNLEY. 45 O Mother! though thoii'rt dead, thou saycst more To me than all surviving voices say. 'Tis thee alone I think of as of yore. The village haunts where once I used to play, The village youths whom once I deemed so true, All seem l)ut rude distortions of a day When thou wert brightest object of my view. To-morrow will recall me far away. But find me purer for my lingering here ; Amidst these youthful scenes I could not stay, For all the light is fled which made them ilear. Then, mother! rest thee in thy j)erfect sleep. The storms which make our earthly life so drear Can nevermore disturb thy slumber deep. f He Rl luer. I stand by a murmurous river That sings on its way to the sea ; That sings a passionate stor)- Of things that are known but to me. And oft on its banks 1 wander. And list to its tuneful voice, For amidst its wail of sorrow My soul gains strength to rejoice. Through fields and gardens it windeth, It stoppeth nor night nor day. And the self-same song it singeth Whenever I pass its way. It sings of my happy chiklhood. Ere Care swooped down on my life ; It renews the pleasant fancies That once in my heart \\-ere rife. When the world looked like a heaven, When I placed firm trust in man. When no voice was a voice of sadness And life seemed more than a span. 46 JAMES I'.URNLKV. When sitting licrc in the sunset 'J'ill tlie hist red streak had died, I thought I sliould breathe for ever Jn the glow of that youthful pride. It sings a dirge o'er the sweetness That fled with those happy da}s, And brings to my mind a glory Which time can never efface. A glory whose brightness bred sorrow, Whose light still steadily beams, And throwing all else into shadow, Like a star in the dark it seems. Of this is the river si)iging As it runs o'er miles untold, And bears far over the ocean The tale which can never grow old. The cuckoo may come, and the linnet May fdl the air with his song ; The wind may sigh o'er the corn field As the shadows go floating along ; Yet the river sings far above them. For it sings the song of my heart. And while other music is changing It ever keeps true to its part. 'Twas here that we walked in tht> gloaniint The light of ni)- life and 1 ! 'Twas here that the vows were whispc'red Which memory can never let die. But my tongue shall never uj)bniitl her, Shall ne'er call her false, or untrue ; 'Twas enough to see and to love her. Too much to be loved by her too. The radiance left by lier ])rcsence Throws a halo over m\- soul : And the voice that thrillt'd with its music 1 still hear in the river's roll. Thus the river sings of m\' sorrow. Thus it sings of m\- former jo\- ; And the sorrow becomes so hoh It ciases my soul to annoy. JAMKS I'.URNLEY. 47 From its nest far under the mountain Till it sinks on tlic breast of the sea, The river keeps up its singing Through glen, through wood, and through lea. Through fields and gardens it windeth, It stoppeth nor night nor day. And the self-same song it singeth Whenever I pass its way. Q Vision of Spring. WrrH mind o'eredouded by the mists of grief, My memory fhtting to a long past joy ; With heart all numbed and senseless to relief. Spurning hope from me, calling it decoy To lure the heart for Misery to destroy: Life seemed a desert without one green glade I'o rest the soul or turn the eye's annoy; Ikiffled resolves and yielded chances made The past a long drear pathway of eternal shade. Lonel}- I sat within my cheerless room. Longing for Death to lift me from despair. When lo ! m_\- wearied e}'es saw from the gloom A spirit rise, like incense in the air. With lustrous wings and backward streaming hair. "]]orne on the pinions of the warm south wind I come," the spirit said, " and everywhere Ikit here, glad greeting and sweet welcome find: Thou, thou alone, to Joy art dead, to Nature blind. " Ik'liold the vision I unveil to thee, And cease thy morbid moanings o'er the past ; Think not of what thou might'st have been, but see What yet thou mayest live to be at last. All men are etjual heirs to Nature's vast And wond'rous beauties : they who turn aside And heed them not, at every step do cast A deeper shadow o'er their lives : they hide Their birthriu:hl "neath tlu' falselv glittering wings, o Pride." ^' 48 JAMES BURNLEY. The spirit ceased, and waved her magic wand, And straight, as from a cloud, before me rose A quiet scene of glen and wooded land : All thrills with joy as Spring glides on to loose The chains which hold them in cold Winter's throes. Earth's drowsy pulse doth beat with prouder swell. The birds rejoice amidst the budding boughs, The cuckoo's note sounds like some floating bell That chimes soft prelude for the choirs that haunt each dell. 'I'll' unfettered streams dance blithely o'er the vale, And throw soft kisses to the smiling fields ; The meads are starred with flowers, which load the gale With all the scents their rich luxuriance yields. The sun's glad light floods all the earth, and wields With never swerving hand, the broad'ning day; Anon, cool showers fall o'er the throbbing fields — Like tears of joy from heav'n, or wafted spray — And range their humid pearls in glistening array. Fair village maids and wooing youths pass by. And pledge their loves before the bright-eyed Spring; Glad groups of children, yet untaught to sigh. Disport along the glades, and proutlly string Fresh flow'rs in beauteous garlands as they sing : Frail, aged sires, who've climbed Time's hill so long The} 've reached the spot where snows eternal cling. Walk forth, and think they live again among Their early joys, untainted by the world's mad throng. The vision faded and my senses woke To new delights that chastened all my woc^ : Then o'er my raptured ear, soft murmurs broke Of birds, and bees, and lambkins bleaung low, And in my heart contentment seemed to grow. No more I brooded o'er the buried years. No more refused what Nature did bestow, But wandered forth, and calmed my frenzied fears. And shed, on Nature's balmy breast, repentant tears. Rev. ROBERT COLLYER, D.D. By J. HORSFALL TURNER, EDITOR, " YORKSHIRE NOTES AND QUERIES," "YORKSHIRE COUNTY MAGAZINE," ETC. A POET and poet-preacher should have a ]5oet as his biographer, but what the writer liereof hacks as a poet he probably makes up in ardent admiration of the man. Robert ("ollyer was born at Keighley, December 8tli, 1823, and when a month old travelled with his parents to their previous home at Blubberhouses. At eight years of age he was employed in the mill there (now removed to make way for Fewston Reservoirs), but in 1838, at fourteen years of age, he removed to Illdey, to learn the blacksmith craft under old Jacky Birch, who had taught the trade to Samuel Collycr, his father, at Blubber- houses. Doing some honest work at the old smithy, the gates opposite Ilkley Church porch, to wit, he spent his leisure moments with a few kindred souls in exploring the English classics that were then appearing in cheap form, and frequently he served the Wesleyan pulpits of the district. In April, 1850, having buried his wife in Ilkley churchyard, he removed to Shoemakertown, Pennsylvania, where he remained until February, 1859, when he (juitted the anvil to minister to the Unitarians at Chicago. The day before he left Old P^ngland he married a second time, and he is to-day deploring the loss, in the Fall of 1890, of the best of wives, the mother of his children. He continued to preach amongst the Methodists of Pennsylvania for a few years, but gradually became alienated, and on the recommendation of the Rev. Dr. Furness, he was appointed to the Mission Church at Chicago. From the day of his settlement the cause prospered, and a magnificent church arose. In 187 1 he visited Entjland, and his sermons and addresses commanded general notice. To show his attachment to his old home, the following extract is taken from a speech then delivered in London : — " There has never been a moment in the twenty-one years that I "have been absent from this land, when it has not been one of the " proudest recollections that I came of this Old England stock; that "my grandfather fought with Nelson at Trafalgar, and my father was "an Enghshman too, and my mother was an Englishwoman; that so " far as I can trace my descent back and back — and that is just as far " as my grandfather — we are all English, every one of us. Well, there "is not a day when I stand on the lake shore, tliat I do not see the REV. ROBERT COLLYER, D.D. RKV. ROBERT COLLYKR, DJ). " moors that were lifted iij) about my old habitation, and a little stone "cottage nestling in among the greenery, and the glancing waters, and " the lift of the lark uj) into heaven until you cannot see him, and a "hundred other things besides, that belong to this blessed i)lace of " my birth and breeding." Of liis mother, lie al\va\s speaks with profound veneration, and we do not wonder lliat now and again lie has lixcd on N'orkshire for a holiday resort, to see historic Ilkley, tlie heather-clad moors of Wharfedale ami Washburn, the Old Cliurch at I-"cwston where he was "christened," and gaze on the artificial lakes that cover the Pdubber- house and Fewston valley. .V fortnight after his return from Eu'dand in 187 1, the disastrous fire at Chicago brought liis grand cliurch to ruins, and alas I his fine Yorkshire library had also fed the flames. On the following .Suiulay he called together his scattered (lock, and on the ruins of their church read to them the touching words from Isaiah, " (Jur lioh' and our beautiful house is burned up with fire, and all our l^leasant things are laid, waste." ^Vith niarxellous ileterniination. they set about the erection of a more magnificent edifice again, and their jireacher's house and library, as far as pos'-ihic were restored. In i.SXo, he left Chicago, ha\ing accepted tlie pastorate ol' the Church of the .Messiah in New "S'orlc. In iited iMigland. and. amongst other engagements, proided at the annual excursion-gathering of the Yorkshire Archx'ological Association. Besides man\' pamphlets and fugiti\e ])ieces (pocnis and ])rosc a jnose that is full of poetry), he has ])ublislied the following volumes, some of ^\•hieh have run to a dozen editions in Anierica and 1-aigland: - " Nature and Life," " The Life tliat Now Is," " flic .'simple Trutli," "Talks to Young Men," ami -'.Vn Idyll of Xantucket." Tlicsi- volumes are amongst the choicest reading in the haiglish language. ;ind never were sermons and lectures more fascinating ; whilst their catlio- licil\" befits them as worthy to be re])rodtKeil in any pulpit in tlie woiki. Tdicise who lia\e read them, and cspecialb' those who have heard their author speak from inil]nt or jdatfonn. will endorse the ])opular opinion that JJr. Robert Collyer is rightly styled "the I'oet-Preacher of America." -Some vears ago, Ur. Collyer wrote to me suggesting that I should coni])ilc a History of Ilkley. I agreed to make the researches (in addition to what lie had ilone), and work conjointly, which resulted in the publication, m 1 permii : We will fight for the right — we want no more !" 77/t/i tile Norman found out the Saxon grit. For slow ami sure as tlie oaks had grown krom the acorns falling that autumn daw S(j this Saxon manhood in lhor])e and to\Mi To a nobler statiwe grew alwaw Winning \>v iiu-hes, holding b\' clinehe.^, Standing b\' law and the human right, ]Man\' times failing, iiewr oik c (|tiailiiig. So the new duv rame oiu of the niLdit. REV. ROI'.KRT COI.I.YER, D.D. Then rising afar in the Western Sea, A new world stood in the dawn of the day, Ready to welcome the brave and free Who could wrench out tlieir heart and march awa\' Froni tlu' narrow, i-ontracicd, di'ar old land, Where the j)()or were held by a cruel l)il. To ampler space's for heart and hand — And here was a chance for the Saxon grit. Steadily steering, eagerly peering. Trusting in (jod \'our fatliers came, I'ilgrims and strangers, froiuing all dangers. Cool-headed Saxons, with hearts aflame. Bound by the letter, but fri'c froni the fetter, And hiding their freedom in Holv Writ, They gave Deuteronomy hints in economy. But made a new Moses of Saxon grit. The\- whittled and waded through fori'st and fen, Fearless as ever of what might befall ; Pouring out life for the nurture of men ; In faith that by manhood the world wins all. Inveiuing baked beans, and no end of machines ; (jrrat with the rifle and great with the axe — Sending their notions over the oceans, To fill empt_\- stomachs and straighten bent backs. Swift to see chances that end in the dollar. Yet open of hand when the dollar is made, Maintainin.g the meeting, exalting the scholar, l)Ut a litth.' tot) anxious about a good trade ; This is voung ]onathan, son of old fohn. Positive, ])eaceable, lirm in the right, Saxon men all of us ma\' we be one, Steadv for freedom and strong in her might. Then, slow ;ind sur(\ as the oaks have grown From the acorns which fell on that old dim day. So this Saxon manhood, in citv and town, To a nobler stature will grow alway ; Winning by inches, holding by clinches, Slow to contention, but slower to quit, Now and then failing, never once quailing, Let us thank God for our Saxon s-rit ! S6 CAREY WILLIAMS CRAVEN. Q^r^<<<-tv ^A-t,^^ (^^ a^ CAREY WILLIAMS CRAVEN, liv Till-: Rkv. ROP.F.RT STAXSFIELU, VICAR OF S. I'KI'KK's, KKIGHLF.V. Carkv Wil.T.Lwrs Cravf.x was born at Keis^hley, in tlie We>t- Jiidinj^ of V()rlketches from his ver-atile pen, v.-hich have been widely read. He has always e\inced the keenest interest in questions concerihng the welfare of his native town, and by his public speeches, decided attitude, and indfpend.ent judgment, ha.s established liis ckiini to iniiuen.ce. and a \-oiee in the settlement of ([uestions atlecting local gfn'ennnent. I'lie reiin',;ment and .--ympiathetic tendeme-s of his manv poetical c()nii)o>ition> have al,-o licen ver_\- noticeable, and ha\-e made his name widely known in the ^■alley of Airedale. In 1884 he published a collection ot his ])oems under the title of a '• Wreath of Flowers," which still furthoi' extended his rejnitation as an author of attractive \ersc-. In the s;ime \ear he wrote the historical introiluction to ('raven's Directorv of Keighle}', Hingley and Skipton, an undertaking in\()lving much research and literary labour, and proving .\Ir. Craven's true perce))tion of the public ie(iuiremeut>. About tliis time he came under the per-oiud lunieeof fl. I. Butterfield. Fsq.. of C'lilie Castle, who. ever re.uK" to fo>ter and encourage \outht"ul geniu>. generously sup])lied the niean< for an extended tour ib.rough France. Ital_\- and .Switzerland. Mr. ( 'i.iven ha> written an account of hi> tra\els entitled •■A\'itli Mr. I'mterfield on tlie < 'ontinent," which obtained a read}' and ])opuhu' s;ile. Hi- friendship willi Mi'. JUitteifieid has alway> been of the mo-,t kindh' n;\ture. Mr. Cr.iven ha- a keen appreciation ot wit and lunuoui'. of \vhicli Ids >ucce>~.lul editoiship of the •• Keighley and .\iredale Tattler" in the years FSS^-fj give- abundant evidence. In iSSf, he commenced busine-> on lii> own accoimt, all the while pursuing hi- literary avocatimis, as -hown bv nunierou- miscellaneous poems, tale-, and sketches. Two of his odes on the (Jueen's |ubilee, 1887. were graciously accepted by Her Majesty. In i88<) a volume appeared from CAREY WILLIA:M.S CRAVEN. the press of Mr. E. Craven, Kei<^hley, containing,', under the title of "Poems," one hundred and twenty seven pa<^cs of Mr. Craven's best pieces. Tlie book met with much commendation, and still further extended the reputation of its author. I'"oilowint( on this in the same year came a smaller work bearing' the title of "The Eifi'el Tower, and other Poems." Mr. Craven's active intere>t in ]niblic affairs led to his nomination to seats on the Keif(hley Scliool Hoard and Kei^hley Town Council, both of which ])ositions he won after soniewliat severe contests. His shrewd fjrasj^ of multifarious business, and the assiduity with whicli he has apjilied himself to the arduous duties of a jiopular re])resentati^•e, have m(jre than justified the confidence re]:)Osed in him, notwithstandinj,' that the independence of his judgment has not always found favour in partizan strife. While Mr. Craven does not neglect the lighter and more congenial pleasures of the poetic mu^-e, he has shown tlial he can apph' himself with painstaking devotion and ])erseverance to the welfare of his fellow townsmen. He is deserving f)f a successful career in both splieres of useful Irfe. To one who's provt-d m> true a frirncl A heartfelt message now I send — A wish tliat at this fi'stivc time For him the bells will cheerful chime And stir the memories of tlu- j)ast, To dwell on sjiols when- jo\- is cast ; And when is rung the doubtful chauij Frcjm certain past to future strange, ]\bi\' cx'erv happiness attend His ciJiirsc unto the distant t-nd : And at its close, < • I ma\ tlurc be, A (diristmas in clcnnt\ I She IBrontes. Amoxcsi the hills with lieather clad Tlu-sc strange and marvellous spirits grew. Admiring nature in its strength, ^^'ith it they ffjrmed a com] 'act true. CARKY WILLIAMS CRAVEN. 59 The fragile forms, as liand in liand They lovingly the bleak path trod, Might scarcely think how great a name Would follow from their trust in God. Discouraged not by fortune's frown, In hope thc\- struggled bravely on, Nor ceased to labour for the right Till Death proclaimed the victory won. Save one, and he a genius born, In wild rebellion sunk to nought ; O ! what a noble soul v/as here. Had he his sisters' faith but sought. The good old father, upright, stern, In secret of his children proud. He watched their efforts to be great. Yet spoke his praises not aloud. The fearless Fdlis, bending not, Whate'er her pathway might beset. She fought with death up to the last. And bravely paid her human debt. And Acton, gently good to all. Shrinking from jarring worldly strife, She lived resigned, and passed away, Peace crowning her unerring life. A little longer Gurrer staved. The greatest of the magic three. But ere; she went the world bowed down And worshipped her abilit}-. The summer's sun may radiant smile. Dark winter's cold wind howl and blast. But after these have ceased to be. The sisters' fame shall ever last. Enshrined in memory's dearest nook, Their works immortal have a rest, Humbly I now this tribute pay To such as rank among the best. CAKEV WILLIAMS CKAVKN. 6l e. O XoiiLK strucUue ! statelier far Than many homes of ancient name, I'houi^li liistory has no claims on Ihce, Tliou still may'st lend to it some fame. No armed retainers guard thy walls, No titled lords within there be, ]Uit thou a grand example art. Of what is gained by industry. The I'lippings of the woolly tloeks, The labour of the skilful hands, 'J'he ceaseless clickings of the loom^ These formed the rock on which thou stands. The merchant's quick, far-seeing eye, Stretched far unto a foreign shore, Wealth risked upon the storms sea, That safely landed would be niore. These enterprises yielded gain To hands and hearts of sterling worth. And now the fruits are s|)read around Tlic town which gave unto them birth. Yet all the path lias nol been decked With jo\- unmixed b_\- grief and woe ; The band of six ri'duced to one, Is dei)th of sorrow borne b\' few. lint m(jurning shall not lasi for a_\'e, 'i'he minstrel song sliall joyful sound. And 'mid the throng of circles ga}- The festive cuj) again pass round. Where stand the castellated towers. Stretching so proudly to the sky. And crvstal coverings to the flowers That with the best of nature vie ; From oft" the richly verdant hills, As looking o'er the sluggish Aire, Across whose placid waters rise A mass of wood and moorland bare, 62 CAREY WILLIAMS CRAVEN. There lies the stone where Robin Hood Took shelter when he was pursued, While near is Rivock's gloomy peak, With nature's wildest state imbued. And the old Hall of Riddlesden, Link'd closely with the long-gone past, An 1 Howden's pretty woodland scenes, Wii 're nature's loveliest moods are cast. Bank House, where oft the careless youth Received a taste of Jackson's rod. Until the pedant's flesh and bone Was reverenced like to a god. And Willow Bank, the cultured home Of ornamental trees and flowers, Together with dear, sweet Gill Grange, Where memory pictures pleasant hours. Nearer do lie familar spots, Where childhood rambled free from pain, — Long will it be ere are forgot The " Friendly Oaks" and old "Dark Lane. And as the eye stretches apace, The spacious cricket sward is viewed. Where bat and ball are wielded well, And health and strength again renewed. Now sorrow lends its gloomy pall. And points to where the dear ones rest. Where Keighley's noblest sons are laid, And peace their wearied frames has blest. Here on the stillv Sabbatli dav. Friends to their loved ones' tombs repair, And bring before iheir minds again The image of what's buried there. And ancient Ulley's noisy rooks Li lofty trees incessant cry ; While Hawkclitfe's grand romantic wood. Near to the busy road doth lie. E'en higher still, unto the heights Where Whinburn's gallant knight did dwell, From rich Cliffe Castle may be seen More than the tongue or pen can tell. CARE^ WILLIAMS CRAVEN. 63 Within its room\' corridors, Sculpture and art have found a place, With treasures brought from far and wide, And relics culled from every race. C'liffe Castle, Keighley now is proud In thee such wonders to possess ; Long may's! thou stand a monument To shield, to shelter, and to bless. Retained by one of Keighley's sons, \\'ho to his native town still clings. His earlv davs are not forgot. And wealth its jiart of honour biings. 'Sidy generations still to come, \\'ith native pride gaze on the sjxjt. And point unto the stranger's eye Thy glories, ne'er to be forg(jt. jubifee; Ode:. THROU(iHOiT the world — in every clime Where I5ritish hi;arts have been — ■ This year shall witness festive deeds In honour of our (^)ueen, From east to west, from nortli to south, Her might\' power is known, And countless millions in her praise Shall cheer the I^ritish Crown. For fifty yv.us her li,i,dit has beamed Resj)lentleiu o'er f)ur land, And for the gootl of all mankind She's nobl}- worked and planned. 'Neath her our friends have closer grown. Our enemies have lied ; And where wa^ once but barren waste Rich plenty reigns instead. 6+ f.\l oxti ('ini'i\' probable lliat he was for some \'ears a resident of ])in_:,dc\'. In i^^]<>, \'.. ]s.eii^dile\', of Bradford, printed a volume entitled •' Poems b\- 1'",. Collinson and M. A. J'"arrar,"' 2i of \'orkshire,"" mentions Collinson as livinj,' at Clia]X'l J louse, t iras.-ington, Init lie does not (juote an_\' of his poems. 1 j^ive two poems from the \M)rk alluded to, though 1 am unable to tletermine whether thev were written hv Collinson or b'arrar. Bmgle;&j Olde:. Far imisic from tlir dislanl vale, I'oincs lloaliiii^' 011 niiiic cai'. Ami soumls nl mirlli arc on llic ,!4alc, W'liost' voice aloiic is dri'ar; Can, llicii, ihc fhousand hearts that beat Will) i-a|)l!ir(; at llic brief ili'ccil, Xo aflcr aiigiii.sh fcai' .-' Xoi- (Ircaiii the (lai"k i"chi)Ksc of ]ii"i(.li' Musi wake ieiii(M'>e al Hiiig'lc\ Tule .■" Vel haph' is ihe fcasl df iiiirlh Willi bliss as feclin.^.s rife, 'J"he liours ihc\- deem ihc boi on earth 'Idicii li!.;-hl the ^'loom oC life ; And l!ai)i)icr, ilian in regal hall Is pride al j)rincel\' fcslival, Willi s\inbol, fliiie and lil\', Art^ the}-, though wiser li])s dcritle, In slirring glee al Binffle\' Tide. 66 EDWARD COLLIXSOX. "The dance, the revel, and the song ! These best fill up the ?ieart !" Exclaim the widely-festal throng, "And why should these depart ? The day shall bring us high delight, Which love shall soothe to bliss at night When happy, and apart, The absorbing sense of souls allied Shall thrill the breast at Bingley Tide.'" For, in that meeting of the glen Full many a glancing eye Shall kindle, with its magic then, Affections pure and high ; For beauty spoils the feeble soul Of all its boasted self control, — And stoics learn to sigh, That woman's glance can turn asidr. Their stern resolve, at Bingley Tide. Blest Eden of the limpid Aire, From year to peaceful yc-ar. Men's hearts confess thy daughters fair, And virtue makes them dear ! Bloom on ! and in that after time Which waits them in a fairer clime The soul shall wander here. Recalling, with delight and jiride, Remembrance sweet of Bingley Tide. ^Be: DesfryefiGn of Pompeii. The demon came down in the silence of iiiglit, When the revel was higii in the lialls of deligln ; And, chilled by the blight of his pestilent l)reath. That proud citv's thousands grew m-rveless in death ! Too brief for her mirth — for her safet\' too long — Was that briglit hour of revelr}-, gladni-ss, and M>nu- : Vov darkh", that night, the destroxcr swejit pa>t, And her l)ravest fell withered, liki' leaves in the blast 1 Tdke the stream from the mtnintain, the sulir} Simoom, When it sweep> on its lone path of luin and gloom, Came the foe, — like the breath of the hurrii^ine's gust, Swept her wrath o'er that cit}', and left her in dust ! SILAS CRYER. Bv A. E. ELLISON, M.D.S., F.S.A. Mr. Crykr is a good example of the motto poela nascitar non Jit. He is gifted with tlie true spirit of poetry, and tliough most of his efforts are simple and common-place, here and there will be found a line sparkling with promise and full of genius. He was born at Barnoldsvvick on August I2th, 1840, but at the age of two years he removed to Bingley, where he had an uninteirupted residence of over tliirty years. .Since then he has resided at Keiglde\-, where he is engaged as a compositor on tlic staff of the '' Herald." Whilst at Bingk'v he was employed by Mr. Dobson, at whose establishment lie assisted to piint the volume of William Dixon's Poems, mentioned on J). 69. Mr. Cryer is tlie author of " Leisure Musings," 72 ])p., ])rinted in iSjO, (from \\-hicli tlie two jioems appended are taken); •'•Keep to Riglit " "The Better (Country," and many other small works. ^0 a SBcjIetrft. Happy Skylark, soaring in the heav'ns .so free ; Gladly (jod adoring, blest with liberty. Thine is surely plcastire which no cares anno\- ; Sporting at thy leisure, nought can mar thy joy. Pretty little creature, we might env}- thee ; Gladdening now all nature with tli}- melod}- : CheerfulJN- while mounting on th}- merry wing; Vet no grief recounting, thou dosl welcome Sjiring. Thou art never wear\- in thy lofty (light ; And th\- course ne'er dreary, till quite out of sight : ]])■ thy music teaching all may hapjjy be : This brief sermon preaching — ''Come, rejoice with ine !" Thus thy notes so thrilling, cheer the burden'd heart ; (jrief's emotions stilling, peace and jo}' imparl : So may we while steering through this world of ill, Leave some footprints cheering, tending heavenward still. Thou art e'er contented with thy chosen lot, As 'tis ne'er lament^'d, so thou pinest not : May we, from thee learning to be blithe and gay, God's kind care discerning, trust in Him to-dav. 68 SILAS CRVEK. Thou art never thinking of thy future lot ; From no sorrows slirinking, so they harm tliee not ; May we, from all sorrow, like thee rise above ; Leave the coming morrow to a God of love. Yea, like thee, submitting to our Maker's will, Trust Him unremitting, for His favour still : Like thee, never grumble, but to God resign'd. Bear our lot, though humble, with a thankful mind. From Him ev'ry blessing comes, but undeserved ; Things, to us distressing, in His love reserved ; Who, in mercy caring for e'en birds which fly, Still our wants He's bearing 'neath His watchful e\-e Q ^©lee; from ffie Streomfet. Hark ! the gushing streamlet, rippling through the wood. Tells in language plainly — God is wise and good : List ! methinks it whispers — " I was made for man : Look 1 I run so freely, all may drink who can." " Little warblers gladly sip along my shore. Giants of the forest hail my gentle roar ; Thev are led by instinct, reason prompts man's choice : Thev submit and listen, but man shuns its voice." "Appetite and passion reason's laws pervert, And the noxious bev'rage does him mental hurl ; So, intoxicated, reason prostrate lies. And all manly feeling soform God's blessing to a deadly curse .' Antl, b\" greedy drinking, make the error worse .'" "\\']i\- refuse to like me in my crystal state, Antl defile mv nature with what all must hale .-' I am sent to bless you by tlie (iod of love : From the hills I travel, or the clouds abo\e." " Nature, clad in beauty, with each flower and tree, S(j()n would tlroop and wither, unsustain'd by me : I\Ian, receive me wisely, always use me right, Antl I then shall yield thee nothing but delight." So, real iemp"ran(^- learning from the bcjunding rill. Let us ever practise and pursue it still ; Ne'er reject the offer of its kind reproof. But defend it bravelv, and ne'er stand aloof. WILLIAM DIXON. Bv CHAS. F. FOR SHAW, LL.D. Wii.i.iAM Dixon was a native of Stecton. horn in 1829, died in i(S68. 1 liavc not been able to <,'atlier mueli inlbrniation of liis eareer. Mr. (irainge, in his " Poets of Yorkshire," says '• He was born of humble parents, self-edueated and brou<;ht up to the business of a woolcomber. He afterwards beearne a watchmaker and workinj^ jeweller." In 1853 John Dobson, of Binijley, ]:)rinted for him a 192 pp. volume entitled •• 'J"he Poetical \\'orks of William Dixon ; includiiij,' Kpistles. Pleasine-^ of Meditation. Meh)dies, etc., with preface 1)\- theAuthor." l-'roni this preface I take the ibllowinj,^ : - ■• Ha'vinj,^ iiexer t"i<,nne|inmj,'. ma\' expect to lind sometliiiii,' ^'reat and admira.ble. This is my first attempt, the notes to which, I ha\e omitted, to avoid c\pcn-^e ; and. if in ])nblisl!int,f such a ])altr\' j^roduction. 1 ha\e been too bold before the world, .1 am reach" to fall upon mv knees and sue for pardon. To conclude: no lucrative \iews can ha\e allured me to thi^ tran^;,ne>>ioii, ~ince the lunnbcr of \-olumc< I ha\e ]irinted will little more than pa\ m\- pid)lislu'rs, if the\' do <;rcatl\' ; and I anticipate no better reward than thai, if thi-^ woik meets with acceptance, I shall feel m\self amph renumcratcd." Cpread mot mhere: Kinqs amd i^eroes He;, Trkad nol upon tlu' sik'iil tombs, \\'licrc kiip^s ;iiui heroes lie ; I5ui roiiiiil their e\erhistiug liomes, Sloop, niediljile, ;iiul si^'Ii 1 Tlie.se are tlie I'liiiis of ilie !)rave — riiis is lieroic cla\' — A warrio]' sleeps in ev"r\- irnwc. Thus adorv i^-litles awav. Oft have I heard m\' sire felate Their mi^-ht\' deeds of \ore, Aitd when he s])oke, he i-all'd ihem ,ciTt>at, As thousands did heibre. Their names are on the sands of time, Inscrib'd and daily ri'ad. And millions crv in ev'r\- clime, " 'I'hese are tlie valiant dead ! " yo wrLLiA:M nixox. Sleep on, ye warriors, sleej) and rest. While ilowers upon yv bloom, And dew drops lightl\- on _\-our breast Deelare how sad your doom. Immortal shades, to mem'rv dear. Though mournful thoughts take birth. And call forth many a silent tear To o'reet \'our h(jnr)ur'd earth. ^Be: IBgirRs of Qlre:. Whkx the village bell rings, And the ve-sper bird sings. In the sweet blooming copse of the vale — When the sun sinks to rest, 'Yond the liills in the west, And the zephyr breathes through the sweet dah When the crystal dews fall. And the partridges call. As to sleep's vertlant couch they repair — I'll away to the bower Where I've s[)ent many an hour. With my love on the green banks of Aire. There the slender willow grows O'er the stream as it flows, And the pale lib' waves in the breeze ; Like a beautiful maid. In some solitary shade. Lightly veil'd b\' the shadow of trees ; And as Ht-sperus shines O'er the hill, chul with pines, And delights the swuet soul of mv fair : I'll embrace her at e'en, In the bower where we've been, All al()ne on tlie green banks of Aire. Recollection still gleams, And my fanciful dreams Bring the scenes of mv childho(jd Kj view — How I sported in mirth, Round the >])ol of nw birth. When the sweet hours of \()Uth swiillv flew ! Tho>e fair walks 1 have blest, And m\' mem'rv shall rest \vn.r.iA>[ Dixox. On ihc past with a soug and a prayer ; And in years yet to come, I nia\- rapturously roam With my love on the L^ruen banks of Aire. 'TwouUl be folh- t(j be sail, When all natur(_' is i>;!a(l ; And, exempted from anguisli and strife, Let the pulse madly play. And the aspect be gay. And the droopins^'^ soul leap back to life : Kre maturity's \vf)es Shall engravt' on our brows, I'he ilcep furrows of trouble and care. Let me snatch some sweet hours, 'Mong the beautiful bowers. With mv love on the green banks of Aire. :Ir Dacjs ojfisK me; ajere Uoun%. ("axst tliou forget those blissful liours, Of merriment and glee, Wlu'n first I twin'd a wreath of flowers, And gave it, love, to thee .-' Around our feet the waters pla^'d. And birds above us sung. While \-ernal blossoms ])crfumes spread. In days when we were \'oung. 'I'he flowers that blocmi'd are wither'd now, The emblems of cnu" vouth, Wlien first we k-arn'd with zeal to bow At \'enus" slirine o( truth, "hwas then, the fields elvsian seem'd, When groves with n;iusic rung. And from each e_\'e affection beam'd. In davs when we were \'Oung. f »fl when I tlnuk on that (.lelight. In life's maturer \-ears, The j)resent seems eternal niglit — A vale of sighs and tears. Oh ! that I had not liv'd to see .My heart so sorely wrung. But pass'd away like infanc}', In days when we were }'oung. JOHN EVANS. r,v CHAS. F. J-ORSHAAV, LL.D. JiiHN E\'AN>, liy tiadc a wofjlcomber, was born at Pilton. in Somerset, in 1818, and died at Keij^'hlcy on the 25th September, 1873. He wa- a resident of Bradford and Kei_L;liles' iiearlv foriN' \iars, at which t(A\n> lie published several small books of \erse, njuk-r llie titles of ■•'iiie ]-.mii;rant," " \'illa,L;e Scene>." ■■ Tlie l'i':Aiier." ^Vc. In 1S48 he i>sued a 12 ])p. pamjjhlet on ■■'lii,' Pro.'ro^ of Intcmjierancc." in (leca>vlhil)ie ver>e (Rradiord: Jlcujainm \\'al!;er. .\I:.vket Street). From it 1 make the folluwin'' extract. Intemperance:. Vox s-oklfit (irh (iljsrtircil iit;i\ faiiiil}' sniilc. Its brilliant di^c ])v thrrknii-d lor awiiik- : 'Die liu'lttnintj; sit L-iilIiroiicd 11]=! m a lidtul. And bid tlu- ^uiooni di-i)ari in lliumli-r Imid: — ^Ia\' lift his h;uul in\"i-ibK' uv\ iul;']!. And mark liis anu\T o]\-c in icaj's, And sneak a\va\" int!ic;iti\'i- of jkai'>, ( )r vainh' ta!"r\- to arrest its coiu-sc. Till llashes picrec ii and disju-l In' force: \"et these lull form an awftil simile, ()f what frail man. intc-mperate mtist be ; ilis bhuid exaltcnl miL;-]it opjires- the brain. Till some opposinir i)o\\'"rs its force restrain : ()r, b\" tile imptilse of contraction, dart. Distend the \-ein^ and parahze a pan WdniT, if obstructed, it wotild soon de\-our ; Hut nielanclioh- cin-bs its lawT'ss ]i()\ver. As suiiin' lil'e o]- L;-loont\" death as>ails, l-'raiuic or dtdl insanit\- [irc'vail- : If, in life's ])ath tlie\- linL;-er tindi^ttiiTed, d'he power relax whicdi \'ital motion ctu'bed, A lit siiccc-eds, and com])romisir.,y strife Aditists tin; watfrant tendencies (,f life. JOHN DAWSON FOX. Hv Rfv. M. KXOWJ.SOX. MIXISTKK, IT^^IMIll VK .\I K.!H< )| )[ST CHA IM-.L. ]',l \( '. I.K V , JmHn Uawson \-n\ \\a- horn on Fel)iiiai}- s^tli. |S4'». in the villai^e of Harden, neai' P>in<^k'\-, in tiic A\'cst Killing of Vorksliiie. "W'lien very \'oung lie was conunittcil to tiie care of granilparents. and spent with tiieni the tirst twelve years of his life, and j)leasant are the recollections of these earlv vcars. A\'hen twelve vears of age his grandparents dietl, and life lost to him nuich of its sweetness, hut he had neither time or disjiosition to \ield to a momnfnl, morbid >[)iili. He saw clearl\- that he niu.--t n(/w work and care lor him--elf. .\ poor little cripjjle girl, who had found a h.ome beneath tlie same roof, also claimed hi.s ssnipath}-, and with a view of doing something for both, he removed to Bingley, where he found employment at the \'ictoria Mill at a small weekly wage of hve shillings. For se\eral \ears he remained in the factory, gradual!)- advancing in position and inHuence. His ambition was, however, to rise in the woild. The position of Secietarv and Libiari.i.n at the Bingley }^Iechanics' Institute becoming vacant, he applied for the post, received the ap|K;intment, and continued there thirteen years. In tlie meantime he married Maiia. the voungest daughter of the late Jones and Martha Coulton, of Hartlen Beck. J-"amil\- cares and responsibilities increasing, he determined on another eliange, and with much fear and trembling left the institute for a [position of risk atrd speciilatic^n, becoming the organising agent for a local Insurance Company. This did not succeed as he had anticipated, through circumstances o\-er which he had no control. He is now engaged in a liusiness of his own making viz., Wholesale Dealer in Si)ecia]ities in Drugs. In this he is likely to remain, as by ])lodiling persistent effort he has made it a success, notwithstanding the difficulties which to stjme men of less tact and perseverance would have been imi)Ossil)le. Mr. Fox is a gentleman much respected and oteemed by all who know him, and by tliose who know him best he is most lovetl and revered. This is jjrovedi by the [losilions of honour and re-pon>i- bililv the church of his choice has |uil upon him. He has been a i-'rimiti\e Methodist Local I'reachei' o\er twenty vears. has icpresented his circuit in District Meeting on two occasions, and has once sat as Delegate in the higliest assembly ot' tlie Connexion tlie Conference. He is .Superinlenilent of the Sunday School and I'residenl (for the fourth time in succession) of the i'rimitive Methodist (_'hri-^tian .\ssocia- 74 JOHX DAWSOX FOX. JOHN DAWSON FOX. 75 tion. He is a persistent temperance advocate. Respectinj;; liis literary productions mucli might be said. He publislied a few years ago a little work entitled " The Preachers' Register," which received the favour- able testimony of Canon Farrar and other distinguished divines, having had a sale of over 2,000. Recently lie jniblished a beautiful Service of Song entitled " The Struggles of a \'illage Tad,"' wliich is having a large sale. In addition to the narrative, three of llie Ininns are from the pen of Mr. Vox. ,Vs a jioet he most excels as a Inann writer. Many of his effusions will doubtless be found in the best hynuials of the future. We append two specimens of his writings : that entitled " Somedav" we consider a perfect gem. We may further intimate that it is the intention of Mr. Fox to j)ublish, erelong, in book form the whole of his ])oems. AVe trust that when ]:)ublishcd the_\' will find a ready sale and inciease the already extending f.une of our subject. Somedatj. Thk word falls softh- on our ears, What moaning' doth that word convcv ! Uitered in smiles, expressed with teai's, Hojieful, and cheering wortl — Someda\'. 'Tis happv childhood's voice we hear — Idiosc little bo\s and girls al pla\' — How C(;nlident, and void of tear I'hey spi,'ak of one grand, sweet — .Somedaw I^rigiit, stniny, liapp}', gcdden lujurs : A faire life so good and ga\' ; A pathway strew'd with fairest flcnvers, All _\'et to come, of course, — Somedav. Youth's restless, ever-wondering- age. Whose actions never dormant lay, Doth often place upon the stage The pleasing drama, called — Someda\'. One scene the mcmorv will retain, Though other scenes ma}" pass awa\-, 'Tis where the lovers meet, they twain Breathe forth the whisper'd word — Someday. JOHN DAWSON FOX. To love and wait they promise fair, And for each other oft do pray 'i'liat (lod will take beneath His care Those two, and make them oni — Someda\'. 'ITie man of business seeks to fnul Some refut>e on life's onward way ; Somethint*- to give liim peace of mind Amidst the threat'nings of — Someday. Hence faith and hope, with mind and will, Are called imi)ortant i)arts to play ; If now the journev be up hill, It may be on the plain — Somedaw Though for a while the sun may hide Behind thi' clouds his cheering ra\', Hut clouds disperse ! and in his pride The sun will shine again — Someda\'. C'ome i)rosj)(>rous gale, thou envied guest, Waft to yon tranquil, sheltered ba\-. That calm retreat, so oft in quest. All, all desire to gain — Someday. Spring, sunnner, autunni, now are lied. Arrived, the si'ason of decay ; Who hath not on life's page oft reatl. The d_\ing will he dead — Sometlay ? 'Tis evening now, 'twill soon be night — What c-hanges since life's merr\' May ; Pleasure and pain, througli shade and light, Have been, and will be, till — SoTueday. lUit soon the last great change will come, It cannot ver\- long delay ; Ah, no ! life's barque is nearing home, — Sweet thought ! shall anchor tluTc — Someday, Strength, vigour, fail, — impairt'd the sight, — Blest promise — nevi'r dying stay, "At evening time it shall be light," All litrht be\ond, no niirln, — Soniedaw JOHN IJAWSOX lOX. 77 e; (^Giee: of i^oue:, Thn iiume is swecl, wlicri' dwcllcsl lliou Thy nature we would feel aiul know ; Say, wast thou born, and dost ihou ,y^row () tell us, tell us where and how ! l^orn ! True, says love, but not on earth, My birthplace was in heaven above, (jotl was the author of my birth : In Him I live, for " (lod is love." But where mv author lives 1 live, Above, below, throughout all space ; Blessings possessed by me 1 give To creatures all, of every race. My mission is to bless, not curse ; I help to bear the ills of life : I make this world better, not worse ; I bring peace, jo_\-, amidst its strife. Just like a little child I grow, Apj)earing first a little bud. But like the tiny seed }()u sow. Becomes a giant in the wood. Scared}' perceived, my magic uand In various forms at Hrst appears : You feel me as I shake your hand ; You see me in the falling tears. Often 1 give a sigh — a look — My earnest longings to imi>arl : They are the index to the book — The keys thai open oft the heart. In tlioughls, words, actions, 1 reside ; I {.>ress mv passion on your cheek ; I wish \()u ever bv my side : I'm strongt'st whi'n I'm counteil weak. The poor are rich who mc embraci' : The rich are poor who know me not ; Mv ])rese]ice ever\' liome ma\' grace, -Vlike the palace and liie roi. JOSEPH HARDACRE. By PERCY MILLKiAX, .M.R.C.S., i..S.A. Joseph HardackI':, or llaidakci, for lie sij^iicd liis name in Ijoth ways, was l)oin at J.ees, a lianilcl a mile wide of i lawortli, in tlic year 1790. It is not certain lliat he was l)r(iuj,dU up to an\' trade, but the probabiHty is that, as his parents were onl\- ]X)or liill-side farmers, they would have to eke out their livinj,' by hand-woolcombing, the almost universal means of existesice in the district at tliat day, and, \m- doubtedlv, youn<^ llardacre would have his share to do to\\ards the family jnu'se. I'hysically he was a jx)orlv, delicate man, of broken constitution ; a contlition which j^mnc him <,neat and continued mental distress. His parents were Protestants, and Jiardacre Ibllowed in the same belief until in middle age, lie became a Roman Catholic, and died in that faith in the year JS40. He was never married, fie was almost entirely self-educated, a cajutal dehatei', a dabbler in several of the sciences, and a good sjjeaker. lie started the first druggist's shop iu Haworth, and by his attention and abilities, soon drew to the ]:ilace the best i)eoj)le of the neighbourhood ; he su]i])lemented this business rill., OLD ( 111 K( 11 A'l' HAAVOKTH ]N TllK TIMIC Ol- llAKDACKK ANJ) VICAKIATl-: OK M K. I'.ROXri;. by acting, during several years, as clerk to solicitors in Keighlcy, and only rc!in(|ni>hed this (Mnjtloyment on account of filling health, when he retired to the old home at Haworth to die. J lis remains lie in the josp:ph hardacre. 79 old cluucliyard. Old Patrick Bronlc and his son Braniucl!, were his friends; indeed, all the hcsl in j^osition, education and wealth of the district took jileasure in honourin<( Joe with custom and countenance, more, T fancy, for liis native talents and e\ident intellectual superiority, than for the mea_!4re accommodation his shoj) afforded. He was the author of three volumes of verse : " I^ocms : Lvrie and Moral," printed by Inkersle\- of ISradlbrd, in 1822, pp. 151 ; •' The ^l^^ropteron, or Steam Carriage," printed by Aked of Keighley, in 1850; and "The Bridal of Tomar," printed by (diaries Crabtree of Keighley, in 183T, ]ip. 144. The lirst pr.em i> iVom ''Pdenis: Lyric and Moral;" the second from " L'hc lirid.d of Tomar." ^lae; Qutfior's Got ii^ Ruins. De>f,rie]), in ruins, a wrrck u])on carlli, A lone, uninliabilc'd shed : Thou once pleasing cottage, tlie place of niv birth, Tliy juvenile ])leasures are lied ! No longer the emliers, with glimmering blaze, Enliven, and cheer t];e lone col : Tile place tliat slione gay in the best of my da\s. Is a dark and a desolate spot. The doors creak with age, and the walls -dvc grown green, Xo longer to storms are thev pi-oof ; Thro' chinks, and thro' crevices, winds whistle keen, And fast dro])s the rain thro' tjie roof. That roof, though a ruiitous as])ecl it wears ; Tho' liumble, 'twas cleanh' and neat : Tho" motild'ring, and tott'ring, and nodding in vears, h ()n(;e was my fav'rite retreat. No more oi\ the hearth, at the close of the da\-, ]\rust I seat m_\'seir calm and serene ; Where oft with agility springing awa\-. The (diirruping crickets were sdH'ii. So J(>.Si:rH liAKl).\t KK. 'Twas then thai the best of my moments were past, Were thou,y;htlessly, heedlessly spent : The pleasures of vouth were too fleeting to last, And I grieve for tlieir loss, and lament. The dawn of my (la\'s, like a morning in May, Rose radiant, and ealm, and seren(_- ; J^ut, ah ! it is past — it is hurried awa\- : Tike a ga\', transient dream it has bct-n. 'J'he morn of m}' youth was serene : but full soon It bc'i/amr in effulgence less bright : And, ah I if the da\"'s thus becl()uded at n(.)on, How dark arr tlu,' ])ros])fCts of night. 'J"i> mi', (k-arest ])laef on the surface of earth, Tho' lone and deserted its mien ; In winter, an infant. I basked nn its hearth; In summer I p]a\'"d on the green. Hut gone are those ])leasure>, no more tc* return : Their value I long shall retain : I grieve f )r their loss, I regret, and I mourn, Hut ne'er must enjov them again. Hut win' should a poor, feeble fabric of cla\', Indulge in des])air, and repine .' Its mould'ring ruins, its fall, and (.leca\', -Mav ser\-e to reinind me of mine. Old age, from long habit, gives little Jilarm, To the \'oung, the unthinking, and gav ; Ihn beaut\' must perish, and witlier each charm, And grandeiu- itself dii' awaw ]\lan wrinkles with age, and is wear\" with toil. As \ears waft him on from his priine ; And 'graven on all that exist for a while We trace the stein finder of time. Die ((It, and the ])alace that shelters a cro\sn. Are subj(.'ct alike to deca\ : I'or n;ilure and nialter, like gr.is- ijiat i-, liidwu. .Must perish ;ind withei' awa_\ . l()Si:i'H HARDACKE. Si I|}agdale;ne:. Clad in lier sal)lL' penitence, she seem'd Lovelier to look upon, and sweeter far Than when of softest dalliance she dream'd, And reckless revel'd, a frail fallen star, Timel}' reclaim'd in time to be redeeni'd. l'"are\vt'll that g-lare that sat tipon her charms, hike some foul stain on jewel most esteem'd ! That holy fire which the chaste bosom warms, Melted her soul, now amiable deem'd, Vor in her e}es an heavenlv lustre beam'tl, Prostrate she fell before her injured Lord, And l)athed ilis leet in penitential tears : She si^^'h'd. an. from aboiu \X'' to 1880, wliere he had obtained the aj^pointment of Medical Oflicer to tlie Local Board of Health. During his slay at Keiglikx' he contrihiiled poems, almost weekly, to the local ]>ress. and al>() jnihlislied. i;i \^'<). through E. Craven, bookseller, two dramatic ]:>oems, each f()ol>cap 4(0: "The King and the Protector. "" and '• A Queen's Love.'' T ha\e not been able to find much matter for a biograpliy of Dr. Uilles. J-'roni a glance at the Meflical Divecfurii, I find he studied al Dublin, and took the qualification of Licentiate of the Royal ('ollege of Sui-gcnns. Ireland, in 1831. after which lie was appointed Lecturer on Analonu' and Plivsiologv to the Westminster Hospital. He \va- Ci\il Surgeon to the Forces in the (Crimea, and autlior of tlie following work- : "British Dissector." " ()n Hernia," " E>sential> of Physiology." "Regional Anatomv." " Disease^ of London Re>idenl- :" beside- which he contributed articles to the Lnni-et and .Ut'/irnl Tniies. kOr some \'ears the doctor resided in London, wliere. in all jirobaliilitv he died ai)out six years ago. as in 1883 hi- addi'c-s in the Me'liro! Director;/ was given as London, and the following \car his name \\a^ absent. I give an extract from page 6 of " A OueenV Love." [A Ri)i in Si. f amis' Palod. C'kcii. al a liihh corrruJuulh papas.'] Cpxii. — This new born fondness of oin- l(i\-e-siek iiiicen For the }-oung Lord of ]''.ssex l)odes not good ; Leicester has ceased to charm, and would appoint A scion of his house to fdl Ids ])la('e. And gain new honours h^r his next of kin : He hatli too often cnjssed me in m\ patli. And now would place anoilu/r in m\ wa\', When age and sickness renders him inifli For place and ])owcr. I will not have it so, This youthful lord already hath obtained More honours than are just, and would u^iirp MALCOLM WILLIAM HILLES. 83 Some higher still. He must be checked in time, His fi(M"\- temper and impatient soul Art> the best means for me to work upon- — His love too, for the T.ady Sydne}-, Her close attention to him e'en at Court — Although the Queen, so blinded with her love, Doth see it not — will serve my purpose well. Haply the (^)ueen doth favour his intents To check my ])ower, and would a rival make Of liim to me ; 1 know her w(>akness, and Can turn and twist her round m_\- linger ends. 'Tis but to make her jealous of this lord, And 1 shall t\n-n the weapon that she meant To wound me witl), against her ])roper self. I shall appoint a sp}- to wait on him, W'lio shall report to me his ever_\- stej) : And if 1 (ind him tripping in llie least, Shall catcli liim as the angler hooks his fish. And p]a\- him, till I land him in my net, Flat on liis hack ; 'tis but a little now That takes one's head from off his shoulder's clean, And though Her Majesty doth spare the axe. When that she ma}- with safety to herself — Let me but rouse her fears, her jealousy. Turn her new born love to bitter hate, And m\- good lord ma_\' haply lose his head — 'Tis a most j^jotent remedy, and doth save A world of trouble in these shifting times. I wonder that I've kept my own so long: The vouthful lord is cousin to the queen. And e'en from tliis suspicions ma}' arise Tliat he seek to place himscdf upon The ihronc 'j^on which Her .Alajest}- now sits. T will appoint Sir Richard Forsler to this work. He is a subtle knave, will do my bidding well. And now for (ireenwich, where the Court rijoice. And sj)end the day in wanton revelr}- ; INIy gracious Queen will figure in the dance As gaily now as when a giddy girl She led' the dance within St. lames' Halls. JAMES HIRD. Ev JAMES BURXLKV, KDITUR (>1- •• NX)KKSHIRKMAN," AITHOK Ul- •'PHAM, I'.KADKOKl) LIKI';."' " NOKKSHIRK STOKIKS K K- TOl.l )," )'.l Thf. late Mr. fames Ilird. who was horn in the parisli of l-)inL;le\ in itSio, and (lied at Ilklcy on the I2th Xoveniber, itS;:;, was all his lile in deep sympathy with the poetic thoui^ht and aspirations, not onlv of liis own time, hut of the more famous ]>asl, and was himself a poet of no mean order. IJelon^inj,', as he was proud to own. to the self- educated class of writers, his achievements cannot hut he rej^'arded as of considerahle importance, for altlioui;!! his muse wa> mainly coiiletit with homely tlienics and did not >oar he\ond the limits nl a rather limited e.\i)eriencc, it was alwa\'^ sincere, and lull of lieart and svmpathv. In early life he experienced much of the e\ils and liard>liip,-. of that ill-starred jjcriod of factory lilc upon which Ivichard ( )astlcr let in the flood of popular iniJi<.;nation. and main of his poems h;ui lor their subjects incidents or retlections connected witli those dark day>. His ])en was fre(|uentl\' exciled in futhcrance of ihc Ten Hour>' .\[o\-e- nient. and he nevei' wearied of >inL,'inj,' the praise-- of ( )asllcr. ISull. Wood, and other chanipion> of that well fouj^du crusade. lie had liimself, a^ he relates in a note to one of his jjoems. been ^cnt by his widowed mother to work in the fictorx when onl\- six _\earsold. and was subjected to the tyrannie> and miseiies which at thai time were the common lot of factory cliihhen. j-'roni >ix o'clock in the morniiii; until eii;ht or nine at night, with onh" half an liour'> i\-l ,it noon breakfast an running; did the poor little shnes toil, and |anies lliid nevei lorL;i>t in hi> sul)>ei|uent ])rosperil\' that hi- had been oiK' of the,-c -uflerinL; ■rc.itures, and never ceased to sorrow I'or the lulplcss and unloiiunate. .\.> .\lr. Ilird aiKanced to manhood he loiced him>ell into a heltei career than the mill had otlt-rcd him, and b\ dint of >ell'-( ullure and peisevei-.uic(. was able to lake up a position ilial, while being one of re>pon-ihilii\ and \alue, \ielded him greater opportunities th.m he had pre\ iou^ly enjoyed for the expansion of lii> miml and the exercise ol his poclii gifts, l-'or man\ \ears he held a man.igcrial appoimmciii in (dnnection with the Old lirewery al Jjradlorii. and 1)\ the time he lelimpiished that ])ost he had. h'V thrift ,ind fortunate building -pecul.uion-. ac(|U'rcd a competence: a whole colon\ of coitagis in llall l, elected a member of the Bradford Town Council, to which body he belon<;;ed for several years. The speeches he made in the Council Chamber were occasionally of the poetic order, often wiiulinj,' uj) witli a peroration in verse tliat must have soimded odd to the ]irosaic ears to which it was uttered. But Mr. Hird was always so ihorou>;hly in earnest, and ^o well- mcaniiii^. that he connnanded a lar^e measure of ]oublic esteem. A short tunc previous to his death he retired to llkley, where he had erected for lum--elf a handsome house, but he ne\er >eemed quite to enjoy tliis self-banisliment from the scenes of his more active life, and graduallN- (h()0]K'd ant! dieil. Mr. Iiird"s lirst volume of jiocms was entitled ••The Marp on tlie Willows: or I'oetrv on Miscellaneous 'ir.ive Subject^."" ])p. 113, ])ul)lished in i<'^34. His secontl was entitled ■• J'he Propiietic Minstrel and other Poems," ])p. i-;6: H. Wardman, Bradford; London. I.on^nnan i field ! Who made them so divinely fair ? To Him that's everywhere revealed, Ve hoiH'less votaries of Chance declare. 88 Al'.RAHAM HOI.KO^ I). —- 79- ABRAHAM HOLROYD. I'.v WII.l.TAM SCKl'I'DX, AiTHdK. oi- •• rHi-: niKrui'iACK (H- cHARi.'rni-: i;k()N li: ;'" •■ vv.s \\i) j'i:xcii. I'KTi KKs OI- (II. I) i;kai)1'()i\1);"* i:tc. Thf, following article, rrom the pen of Mr. Scnitoii, ap|)earc(l in the '•Bradford Weekly 're]e<,'ra|)ii "" f(.r Januar)' 7th. wS,S8. and l>y ^[r, Scruton's kind pcrnii>sion it is reproduced in these pa;,'e>. •• 'Jdiere are few names in tlie modern literary annals of N'orkshire more familiar than that which forms the subject ol the proent sketch, and no apology can therefore he necessary for tlie prominence which is gi\'en to it in thi^ issue of the ' \\'eekl3' Telegraph." " Stei-n death, which comes at last to all, came on Sunday morning last to a -worthy' wiio>e name will he bound up in the history of ISradford as long as that histore endures. But the 'dread ;;ngel " liad no teirors for Abraham Holro\d. His religion (for he was jM'oloundly religious) was of a ]!ractical kind that ga\e him much happiness in life, and brought him consolation and courage when lace to face with death. And now • After life's fitful fever he sleeps well.' "It has been my pleasure, and |)ri\ilege too. to be intimately acquainted with Mr. llolrosd for moie than a quarter of a centurx'. In m_v o\\n antiquarian ])ur>uit> 1 ha\e often been indebted to him for guidance and help, which were ever given fieel\' and unstinledh', for he ^^■as indeed generou> to a fault. As the \'ear> rolled on, the actiuaintanceship gave place to a close and enduring friend-hip, and as a friend I found him firm and true. ••Mr. fiolroyirs cai'eer had been an e\entful and interesting one, and while in convers.uion with him he sometime> let fall snatches of it. enough to satisfy me that it w as one well worthy of being • ])laced on record.' W'lien 1 tlrst venlined to hint lhi> to him he dieem to fall in with it very cord.iaily, but aftei a while he liroached the subject him>elf, and, to ni\' delight, said that, as soon as lie could frntl time, he would sit down antl wiite tjut, to the best of his abilitv, and the powers of his memor\', the storv of his lil'e. The making of a ])romise was with Mr. Holnn'd as good as its fulfdment, foi' he was e\er a • man of his word.' An(.l >o it came to pass that, aftei' a little patient waiting, I bad put into m_\' hands one da_\- a well-written manu-cript in Mr. Plolroyd's hantlw riling, of which the following is a copv. G QO AI'.kAHA.M HOI RON I). "I was l)()rn at llic villaf,'c of ClaytDii. near Bradford, on the 2n(l of April, 1815. .\Iy father's name was Isaae Holroyd. and he was l)()rn and l)rouf,dit ii|) at a place called Storres, near Thornton Hei^dits. M\' mother was tlescended from the Barkers of (Jlavton on the father's side, and on that of the mother from the Xorthorjjs of J-lradford-dale. They were both handloom weavers, and as soon as m\ le^s were lon^ enou^di to reach the tieadles they set me to work at the >ame employment. I received no education at school except one summer my <^randtather J-folrovd ])aid threepence a week lor me. when I learnt to read. This wa> at the old \'illa<,'e School. Clavton. .My parerit> were loo poor to do an_\thin<,', as lhe\- liad four little ones all \'oun<;er than myselt, yet thou<,di we were >o poor, our famih' was verv much respected, and J ne\er knew of anyone saving,' a bad \Vord of an\' of us. I ])icked up my skill in writinj,^ at home. ])ractisin<^r from slips or co]:iie- >el for me by a cousin. When I was se\enteen \-ear> of age I l>ej,'an to pen short poem- and rlumes, and thc>e l)eing ver\- much admired, Mr. W'ardman. of Bradford, ]ii-inted a few of them in 1X34. In the mean- time mv lather died, and J. -till working; as a \\ea\er, was employed lir.-t by .Mr. j. .Vckroyd. of Halifax, and then by .Mr. Kichaixi Fawcelt. of Bradford. \\'a<,'es. howe\er. in i.'^3'>. had become so low tliat 1 delermineii to enter the army and give up weaving. 1 had been pulled otr sixpence a time in >ix weeks, and so on the 5tli of November of that year 1 enlisted at J.eed- into the 32nd Regimein of Foot, then stationed at .Montreal, in (/anada. < In the next da\" I was sworn before a magistrate at Leeds, and in a day or two 1 was sent oil with others by way of steam jiacket at Hull to Lonilon. .Vfterwards I was sent by pacl at St. [•".usiache, and a force having come up, an attacl'C \vas made, and tlie wooden clnu'cli and neaii\' ihe uliolc town \\a> burnt to the ground, as well as (irand ISrulc. another large \il!age. We then returned witli almost a hundred prisoners to Montreal, wliere manv of tliem were I'xccuted. M\ conuade and bed-f-llow timing the cold weatlier was shot in tlie forehead and killed. .Vt tlie beginning of this action I was tcdtl otf to tile annnunition guarch As soon as \\e got to Montreal ni_\- compan\' was orilered olT to L'])per ('anad.!. and we tra\ellcd in sleighs, witli lii)rses. jiost haste on the ice to Lake Ontario, where we tool< a steanier for Jvingslon. l)ut onls stayed there long enough to gi\e a man a hundred lashes witli tlie cat o' nine tails for smasliing his muslleigli. Taking steamer again, we were soon at Toronto, l-'mm tlieiice we sailed to IfamiUon. Tliencc in sleighs to Ancasier and ISrantfonl. Here arrest> were (kiil\ made of rebels, tlie whole being lodged in tlie jail of tliat town [ doing tlut\- every second day and night. After llie trials were o\er thirteen men were iiangetl one morning on one scaflbld a siclvcning >ight. A few (lavs al'ter niv c(jnipan\' marclied to Si. Thomas, and the rebellion being ended we were quiet for a lime. .V lady whom I liad befriended bv gelling her an interview ^^■ith lier luisband a prisoner -met me in tlie street and witli great kindness introduced me to the best peojile in the |il;ice. Her husliand had liecii acijuitied as innocent. .V gentleman, a triend of liers, offered to advance me /,'20 to l)uy my discharge from the annv. I to attend a side son of liis for a vear and drive him about in their carriage. I tlieref )re bought my discharge, but before tlie end of the )ear tiie \-oung man died, and my master sold all liis projiertv and emigrated to Illinois, I going with him and his wife to drive and lielp in anything tliat miglil be needed. On pas.-ing through .Michigan 1 took the ague from the swampy state of tlie lantl at that time, and in a while, when the summer came on, I became very ill. I was advised to gilississi])pi river, and after many days of travelling through that lonely state, I arrivet books I could borrow, and watching tile manners of the i)eo])le amongst \\hom my lot seemed to be cast. '■ In the ])re\ious years I had gained much knowledge of mankind, and the earth-mounds of tlie west liad interoted ]iie much, and created in me a l()\e of the ancient in ever\tliing I saw or read of hence my lo\c for anlisiuarian ])ursuits during the after ])art of my life. The compan\' I kept was al\\a\s the best I could hnd e\ery\\ liere, and 1 found in the American people l)oth North and South warm hands and loving hearts, without one exception, amongst those whom 1 became acquainted with, and f >hall e\er remembei- both the people and the countiy with feelings of sinceie affection. " Jn i. I fe was a Ijroiher of tlie famous Peter Parley, the author of books for young ])eo])le. When 1 haign it. M\ T.riglish doctor told me that ! must return to mv nati'.e counti\- if I would sa\'e m\' life. I and AIr>. ilolroyil, theiefore, tnuk pas-age home in .May. 1H51. and arrived at kiverpocjl on the loth July. After a \i-it to the great exhilalion. Lond(;n, we proceeded to Cornwall, where .Mrs. Ilolroyd reinaine 1 with lier ])arent< for a time, while 1 went forward to l-iradioi'd to establi-li m\',-elf in some busiiu.--. k'or ^onle time after my arrival in this town my cousin, John Tyas. gave me a home with him. He re-ided at the top of AX'estgate, and I ^oon got a -hop --sf)me four yards -ipiare --op]-)o-ite the old /oar Chapel. Jlere 1 -tarted bu-iness in real good earne-t. .Mr. William Cook, of Vicar Pane, -upjilied me with mo-t of what I nee] due for llie en<,a-a\ in,;,' and ])rintin,y of it. In my (hlemma I wrote to Sir (then .\fr.) Titus Salt, and he sent for me, and after I had told him of my luck', he .L,M\e me a ehe([iie for the cnj^naver and ])rinter, and I hano tried to j^dve the chapter and verse for all that I sent, for m\ (hief ambition was to be miderstood by the common people. 1 now bej^an as publisher and editor in earnest. Idie fo]lowin>,' is a prett}' full list of nw ])roiecls : • The (;otla<,,'e in the \\'o()d,' by the Ke\'. Patrick inonte, 1859. • 'V' Spi(.\ Man,' ' T' Creakin' (iate,' 'Xatterin" .Van," • !' Maister o" t' Haa>e,' the--e all in 1851), ami by my friend lien I'loton. Then 'Tlie I'hilosojihy of Lord P>acon,' b\- John janio. b.S..\. 'The Life of b'^t-'P'' i.isltv, of Ib-.tdlbrtl, and The Kidc-r of the While llnrse,' iSbo. In this year I be^an the • Ihadlbrd ifir,torical .\bnanack,' which I contimicd for six years. 1 al>o in i860 (October) started ' The Biadfordian," (a repositorN' of local talent.) A\hich came out for 27 months, when 1 w;is forced to stop, as its publication was bringinj^ me to povertv and heapinj,^ dillicullies on me i)ecuniarily. This work j,'ave me the most pleasure of anvlhinj; 1 ever did in my life. It broutdit me into contact with the l?e>t men and Momen of the time then in iiradford and the ^■icinit\•. In 1863 i pub- lished 'The Physical Geoj^najdiy of Bradford,' (ic, by Louis Miall. ^Vlso in i8()4 the • Poems and Sonj^'s of Ben J'reston.' These sold off 94 ABRAHAM HOLkOYD. at once, and made me acquainted with the llev. S. Baiinf,'-Gould, and he asked me to assist him in collectini^^ for liis hook, tlie 'Yorkshire Oddities.' which I did. I also had much to write to and for the late Thomas Wright, F..S..\. T then proposed tlic pubhshing of my 'Collectanea,' and my good friend the late Sir Titus Salt promised to stand by me until T chose to >toi). Tliis lie did. For what occurred after this had gone on for >onie time see my introduction to the said ' Collectanea. ' which I was not able to com]dete in book form until 1873. After removing to Saltaire I wiote the little work ' Saltaire and its founder' of \\-hich theix- ha\e been sold four editions of, in all, 3,500 copies. Xeailv all my other-, were f.ooo editions, named ])re- vioush'. I wisli to add that the jieople of !')radford, in 1868, presented me \\ilh /'(>:, on leaving for Saltaire. •• In 1873 I edited and published at Saltaire al>o ■ .V Garland of l'oetr\ b\' 'S'oiksliiie .Kuthors ' (collected specimen-, of nearly a Inmdred wiiter^ of mv nati\e counts ), a work which has been greatly atlmired. 1 dedicated it to ni\" dear friend Mr. (ieorge Aekroyd. " In 1874. old age creeping on. I retired from business to Eldwick on a >m.dl income, where I hope to spend the lew remaining (lavs of m\" life in peace, and in ])reparalion for lhe'entr\ into another and a better life. ■■Little remain.- to be added to thi- simple -torv of a Ncell-spent life. During hi> i)rief r(.\-idence at fddwick in the -mall but comfortable house which he had. built there (which l)\ the wa\'. he thought of calling the • Ilerinilage,' but fmalh' ga\e it the more appropriate name 'Ilarmonx (aittage") he emploved liiin>elf in ciilti\ating his bit of garden: ciiiresponding with literaiA' friend.-, and in contribiiling to local and other journal- choice aiticle- from his rich .n'cha'ological treasure- hou-e. Tile old love of couiUix wa- stiong within him. and here lie found pure nature in her variou- a-pect>. His l.Mok- ^^,•n■ ri'.rv- v,o,, not alluded to in the narrati\e that he has left us of liis A1!RA11A:\1 llOLRUVI). 95 career. Jle was too modest ■ a man to sa_\' much of liimself, ami moreover he hiboured more to exalt others than himself. Man\ other of his literary ventures mi<,'ht be mentioned if s})acc allowed. But j^erhaps this were neetlless, for are lhe\' not alread\ chronicled in the annals of \'orkshire literature ? As a publisher he w as most industrious, but as a writer hardly less so. •' From the stores of a ri])e intellect and with a well informed mind, he contributed nuuiy intcreslin<,' papers to local journals. '•if from his rotricted means he was unable to take j^reat projects in hand, he was luUirinj^ in his efforts to do e\er\th!n<:; that fairly came withii\ his f,'ras]i, hence theie is scarcch' a cha])te;- of local history with which the iinnie of Abiaham idolroyd is not assciciated. " Mr. Holroyd possessed a keen ami intelli^a-nt ajiprecialion of L[ood ]ioetrv. An ardent admirer of our ]in<^lish ballads, he collected durini; a lonj^'' course of years, neaily three hundred choice ballads and songs belonging to 'S'orkshire alone. ■' Mr. Tlohovd was a genuine anti(]uary, but not of the type that sees no merit in a book licyond i(s nnti(juit\' or >carcit_\'. lie was too liberal-minded to bi-licxe that a book is valueless because it might not hajipen to he one of a first edition, or that its real worth is depreciated bv its abund.uice or its free and imrestricted ciixadation among the book-reading ])ublic. For the good work that he has done in )M)])ularising, by means of cheap reprints, works of a scarce and costly character, lie is deserving of public gratitude. Our i)ortrait of Mr. ilolroxd is honi a photogiapl! 1)\- Mr. |. (iunston. I)arle\- Street, taken a few months ago." ■' file remains wfie irUerreti on W'ednestlay in the burial ground of St. John's (lunch, Cla\ton. The funeral, which was of a semi- ])ri\-ate characti.r, was onl\- attended by the tleceased's most intimate friends. .\ short sersice was conducted at the residence, prior to leasing for ('la\ton, bv ^Ir. Mitchell, a niendier of the Xew ('lunch (Swedenborgian). Saltaire, of which .Mr. Jlolrovd was one of the founders. Shoilh' before one o'clock the cortege left for Clayton, and w.is attended by the Kev. Mr. Kendell (Bradford), and Messrs. Dyson, Armitage, and Stephenson, rejiresenting the Xew Church at Saltaire: and a lew local aiiti(|uaiians, mcluding .\Ir. \\". Scrulon. .Mi-. W'm. C'uilworth, and Mr. J. 11. 'rurner. The coffin was made of ]iolished pitch ])iue. arid \\a^ borne b\' a hearse, followed 1)\' mourning coaches containing the relatives of the tleceased. Mr. !'. T. h'.mpsall, the l)rcsideiit of the Bradford Historical and .Vntiquarian .Socielx", and a number of (dayton friends, joined in the procession at that j)lacc. The burial ser\ice was perf(.)riued at the church and at the grave side bv the Rev. J. K. (rerranl. A beautiful floral cross was placed on the col'fin by Mr. (ieorge .Vckro\il, one of the deceased's oklest friends." 96 AURAHAM HOLROYD. ^Be: i^ord of Saltaire:. Rot, I. on, g-fiulc Aire, in tliy beauty, Renowinnl in storv and song: 'I'lu' subject of man}' a ditty From Xii'holson's musieal tongue; Hut a greater tlian he liatli arisen, W'lio has linked thv name with his own. He will i-end.er tlu>e famous for ages, Anil thou will to millions be kn(nvn. 'I'lu'U let us all join in the cliorus, Ami sing of the ([ualities rare, ( )f (in,' who h\' nature is noble — And hail him the Lord of Saltaire. lie's i'earM up a Palace to Labour, Will ei,[ual the Cesar's of old, — The Church, and the Sfdiool, ami the Cottage — And la\ishe(l his thousamls of gold: \\ heri' the workr.um ma\' live ami be happ}', fhijoxing the fruit of his liaiul : In conlt'iitment, in comfort, ami |)U'nty, Seciu'c as the pt'er of the land. d'hen let us all join in the chorits. Antl sing of the qualdies lare. Of noble. And hail him the Loi'd of Saltaire. From I'eru lie's brought the alpaca — From Asi;i"s plains thi' mohair — With skill has wrought both into beaut v, I'ri/'d mii'di b\ ihc wealthv and fair: lie has veh'ets, and candets, and lustres. With them there is none can comi)are : Then olf, off with Notir hats ami \'our bonnets. Hurrah fu- the I.ord of Saltaire. Hip, hi]), ami all join in the chorus. And sing of the (jualiticN lare. Of one who 1)\- nature is noble. And hail him the Lord of Saltaire. ABRAHAM HOLROVIX 97 Ffouj OR, 0e;ntfe Qire;. Fr.ow oil, gentle Aire, in tliv course to tlie sea. Tin' murmurs are music, (h^lighlful to me : In the spring-time of \-outlt I haunted tin" sti-(.-am. And now in mv manhood I'll make thee m\- theme. H\- loft\' hills bounded, and furze covered moors, (jreen woods and rich meadows encircle th\' shores; The l)eautiful birch tree o'ershadows th\- wave, And willows low-bent in thy Ijrigln waters lave. The lark on thy banks pours his song to the morn, 'J"he blackbird a.t e\-e cheers his mate in the tlioru ; The snowdrop and primrc^se iirst l)loom on th\' strantl, When spiing in her gladness re-visits the land. I lere light-footed summer dwells h^ng with her Ihjwers Bedecking the glades aitd adorning the bowers ; Here frolicking zephyrs to Mora make love, TluMi, kissing thvbosom, si)e(Ml on througli tlie g'rcjve. rh re goldeu-crcjwn'd auttunn, disjHiising hei- sheaws, Delighteth to linger among the brown lea\es; And cold, hoar\- winter is mild b_\' th}- side. Refraining to stem with his frost th_\- clear tide. When wild storms arise o'er the heather-cdad hills. And the tkxnls >eek th\- bed in wliite f()am\- rills. Now rushing, now dancing, tlu' gre\' roid^s among, Still calmh' thou glidest in beaiu\- ahjng. Screant on, \e wikl birds, in \'(_)ur dark evrie den, Av,-aking tlie echoes aslee]) in the glen ; Riiai' on. ye rough storms, from each summit to shore, \'e serve to endear my lov'd valley tlie more. Flow on, gentle Aire, in thy course to the sea, iJy the hall and tlie cot, and the woodland and lea: And long, long ma}- th_\- banks, that know not a >lave. Be the home of the free, the fair, and the brave. JOHN ILLINGWORTH. Hv .^^THELBKRT BIXXS, SKa;RKTARV, NOKKSHIKK DIAI.KCT SOtlKIV. I .VLi.KR'i"()N-(:rM-\\'ii.si)(-:.N lias for geiiuralioiis foinitil one niaiioi- and one ecclesiastical parish, and in the former part of this district, on the i8th of February. 1846 — at a farm called .Moorhoust was horn John Illinwwortli. the youngest child of a family of three brotlier^- and four sisters. His father was a hard-Morkin;^' farmer, and could not, when the time arrived for John to go to school, give him much >cho()l education, but such as he recei\e(l was from the schoolmaster in chaige of the British .School at Allerton. After a few \'ears' schooling, folm began to helji his father in farm woik. and he remained a farmer to lii< life's end. On July 1st. 1867, he married IClizabeth Luc\- llentham. n\' .School (ireen. Thornton, who still ^ul•vives liim with a faniilv of children. John pnjbably began tlie cultivation of his rliyming jiowers e.ulv in life, as some of his poem> show an illiteralene>s not found in his later attempts. He was ever exce^>i\el_\' fond of nature in all its varied moods and forms, and many, perhaps tlie greater part, of hi> ])oems on nature were written out-of-door-, as he >at on >onie grass\- bank, or in some eo-y nook. In 1870. he is-ueil an 8pp. >)Vo. lerowni pamplilet. pui)li>hed li\" F.J. Hammond Westgate. Bradford, entitled ■■ Kchoe- of tlie .Harp of Ebor." It contained but four poem>. ■.\i\(\ llii- ua- hi> onU' publication, with the excejjtion of a few ~ingle-])age leaflet,-. He. however, had -everal of lli^^ poem- printed in ^ariou- pa])ei- and almanacs, such a- ••'1'" Nidderdale T'omic C'.i-kel. Comic .\nnual. and Almanac;" ■•Readings and Recitation- lor Summer 1)..\- and A\'inter Night>;" -everal temperance poem- in one ol the lempeiance )iaper>. and al-o mi.-cellaneous poem> in a Bingle\' paper pubh'-lieii 1)\ T. Hairison ; and " T'owd man'- addres- to I'wife " in Ahrah;im Holroyd"- "A d.irland of J'oetr\." The temperance cause owes its |)()em- b\ ]i)])]\ lllingw ortli to Mr. Francis Butterlield. of W'il-den. for thi- gentleman. ha\ing -eeii one of John's )>oems entitled " .\ dro]) o" lum an' tea " in a ('ra\en almanac (about 18731. at once sought out the then (to .Mr. ISuttei field i unknown author (jf it. and entreated him neser to write igain a poem JOHN ILLINGWORTH. 99 ill praise of intoxicatini^ chinks. John ]iromisecl he would not, and during the remainder of liis Hfe kejjt that ])r()niise, and f;;ained tlierebv the ch)se friendsliip of Mr. Buttertield, who lias ever been the friend of all local rlu'mers. In lookinj^f o\er his numerous ])uhlished ami unpublished pcjenis one undoulUedly comes across many that are wortliy of preservation. ,\n\one ha\ing carefully perused them would certainlv come to the conclusion tliat here, indeed, was a man who was not a mere rhymer, but a real ])oet. As he himself savs ■' Inspired by Xatiirc and by J.civo I'lu' birds with songs rojoirc ; Inspired by Nature and by I,o\c I also raise my voire. " He sanj^ l)ecause he must ; lie had an ear for •■ the music of words." and wrote his poetr\' from the same cause that makes the bird to sino^, and llie child to jirattle. His best ])oems are humorous ones, and are written in liis native ^•erllacula^. ( )n Marcli 24th. I(S84. Yorkshire lost one more of her many native ])()ets, for on that da\- [ohu Illingworth died at the ear]\' a^e of thirt\- ci<4ht, and was interred at St. Janies"s Church, Thornton. ^he; £055 of £fdiuiel^ l|eilT. ( )n \v()(k1 and field llic risintr .sun A r()s\' ratliancr threw, And ever}- ojieiiiito; Hower wore A diadem of dew ; And io}-()ns was the liuiud's song, And soft tile eiickoo's call. And swtH'l the woodlantl (>choes rana: Around old Kldwiek Hall. Admiring the delighlfitl scetU' Along the glen I strayed, And there, before I was aware, I met a lovelv maid ; loo JOHX ILLIX(;\VORlH. Her golden hair, in glossy cuils, Did round lier slioiildcrs fall, She'd rosv clieeks, and rub\' lips — Sweet lass of h'.ldwirk Hall. There's nianv hoasi of peerless mait The rosy and the fair, ]3nt she's the (lower of tlie flock, The l)iid be}'ond compare : (j(jd grant her spotless chastit}- 'Slay never know a fall ; 'Slav heaven shield from ev'r\- ill the lass of Kldwick Hall.' Were 1 a king, and sat in slate Upon the rowal throne. Could 1 but win her virgin love I'd make this maid m_\- own ; (Jr, if she would not be a ijueen, I'd gladly part with all, Yea, all resign to make her mine — Sweet lass of Fdtlwick Hall. una. FrdUi the pui'ple lieather bells, From the green ekui fl(j\\cr\- \ale>. Hark; what gu>hing music swells Fist! the ever-changing lime: Sweelh' wootlland ecluics ring. Sweeth' liawthorn^ iVagiaiice tling. Sweellv larks llieii' cai'cds .-^ing. F.ach i)r()claim the j()\ ot' June W'ideh' scattered o'ei' the lea. Fldwers blijom in ijeaut\' free. Nature in her ])ride wt; >ee. All her w(irks do beaul_\' }iel(l ; Now the mowers cut the gras-. : Now the ev'nings sweeth' p;iss : Now each loN'ei' woo.s his las> 'Neath the wootl, or in the held. THOMAS INCE. Bv jOHX J). VOX, Ari-Hi)R OF •• si'Kr(;(;i.i''..s ok a \ir.i.A(;K i.ad,'" ktc I'lioMAS I\(i:\\r,s horn al liinj^'lc}' on X(i\cnil)cr iilh, 1830, of rcspecl- ,il)k' pai-cnla<,re. hut in vcr\- lowlv ciicninstanccs. He carlv Ibund hini>cir willi a hrothcr and sister, an inmate of tlie Poorhouse at \\'i<,fan, to whicli end aihersit\- and nnforlmiate domestic (h^n'erenees contrihuted. -Most old JjinL;!e\ites will lememher tlie late l-xlwaid Jr5rij,'<^s, who was .an allotment <,Mrdener antl li\-ed in A\'ellinj,4on Street, or •• on t' low- side. " as it was then termed. He and his dame were Thomas's ^^rand- jiarents on his mother's side. The IVither came ofl" a Lancashire stock, hnt was well connected in .Morton, T)int;lev, Jveiyhley, Shiiilev, and l>radrorin;.;ley. and his settlement in his hii tb.jilacc, would occup)- more space than is at our disposal. Iiinj^dev hecame his refui^'c. and, undei' \ariahle circumstances, for his iaiher's sister. Mrs. Jane .Metcalfe (wife of I'homas .Metcalfe, oat-hread hakei), anil his latlier's hrother (.Mr. Joseph Jnce), were kind enou<^di to take him in, so lonj^ras the kindness was appreciated; hut the rovinir, restless instinct was too strun;^' within him to remain on other folks' liearthstoiies, however l fi lends h\- disaiipearinj.; for months toL,^eth.er. lJurin<.( such wan- derin_i,'>, w :'.icl) Were entered upon \\ ithoul an\- lbrethoui.;ht, he en_L,'aj4ed in the m(<>l Jjohicniian and v.ij^'ahond tendencies, and fre(iuentl\- en- dured the seN'eiest ]iar,,L's which illness. p()\eity. And friendle>sness ei!t:',i!. ili-^lirst l:'-ine was .ifter his marria;,'e, whicli was hroken up rij^a.in onl\ -ix weeks .ifterwarr A while lie pttblished a ])ai)er fortnightly, called " Ince's Ob>'_'r\er r,nd Referee," but which jjroved beyond his means to con- tinue. He has jniblished an original volmne of prose and verse, by subscription at four -^hillings each, entitled •• Beggar Manuscri]ns," printed in lUackbuin. Christmas. iSSS. 'l"he book was well received b\ the pre>>. Kecentlv a portrait sketch of our biend aj)peared in •• Vorlvshire I'oets." It nuiy also be said that on one occasion he has been the recipient of Royal favotu". fie i-^ now busy preparing 104 THOMAS IXCR. another vohimc in jjiosc and verse, wliicli we liope \\ill recompense liini, and for which we bespealc the attention of liis nianv friends. As a tithe of liis e.\|ierienee would make a l>iilk\' record, sufticienl interest will perhaps be awakened amon^' our local leaders bv this brief recital from the life of one who thoiif^di ]ioor in one sense, is \et rich in mind and intellect, and the writer can truK' sa\' that it has been a jjleasure to follow him in all his wanderinf^^s, and he has ne\er lo>t si^^dit of him for lon^', since the\' were bo\> tot,'ether. and Airedale and it^ eiivn'ons are rich in memories for oin- friend 'i'homa^ Jnce. Poest) and Qrt. OxF. m<>l■nin,^■, as ovi-r tlie world's barren waste, Two Sisters went slowh' aloni;'. The one exercised her liarnionious 'J'asli — '\'\[c other bin'st fortli into ."^oni;" : IJoth tlie hiyli and the ](»w were enehanied fidl scjon And tnider their influence fell. Till none luit the lost ones coidd fail to attune With clianns bexond man to exccd. ( )h, hard is the lieart I unresponsive and cold. I)en\in,n' the beaut\' and i^race ()f either the SistiTs, whose worth is untold. In ,i^"i\"in,L;- true ritdies a place ; For tlie acme of grandeur, retineineut, and worth Alone b\" their aid" is ])oiu"tra\'ed, And all the routine and tin- foibK's uf eai'lh. In comnarison, sink in the shade. So let us endea\'oui these Sifters to woo. In charitx', honour, and triuh, Re_L;-ardless of what an\' scoffer ma\ do, { )\- fa^hion ma\ threaten, hii">ooth: We are pi'oud of the past. and. will welcome the d; When man, reco^'iiisiuL;' iii> pari. With dual de\()tion can letdiimh' sa\ : " All hail, mito Poi's>- and Art I"' THo:\rA.s iNXK. 105 Q Kiss. What rapturo in a lover's kiss. What concentrated st(^re of bliss, Wliat happiness, wliat passion keen. What love, what io\-, a kiss can mean, A soul to soul, a heart to heart. What fulness tloth a kiss impart ; A signature of homely birth, A bond of truest friendship's worth ; A taste of nature's native bliss, And purest ransom — is a kiss. A seal of love, a compact sign. An emblem of a troth divine, An union meet, an issue won, A token sweet and tlual boon. The kiss of innocence and faith A world of restful comfort hath ; The kiss of fon^l ])ossession means A liarbinger of blissful scenes ; A kiss at worst ex})resses most Achievement better won or lost. A kiss can grant a lease of life, A kiss presents a truce to strife, A kiss can bind a wayward soul, A kiss can travel pole to ])ole ; A kiss of love or kiss of jo\-, A kiss of pride v.dthout allov, A kiss of welcome well bestowed, A kiss of God speed on our road, A kiss of pleasure, howe'er given. Yields a spic}- balm of Heaven. at Oast. 'Tis o'er at last — the galling \'oke — The bondage now is jjast, The chain is loose — the fetters l)roke Ami I am free at last. I 06 THOMAS INCH. 'Tis sad to ])icturc all the years or bitterness and care, To tliink of all the sighs and tears Evolved from deej) des})air. I cannot own one little pang, In'cause mv task is done ; I'm heedless now of eviTV clang, Foi- now — the Ijattle's won. Farewt'U, to all \e liooks and pens ; Fare'well, \e ledgers too ; Fai-ewell to everything that K'nds R(-mor.-.e unto mv \iew. Fai'i'well to all \'e hatelul scenes — A jubilant fart'well ; A servici' with vouo]d\' means A servitudi' in hell. Avaunt, ve sj)ectres of the past ! Awav, from out m\- view ! For time has vanciuished vou at last, And life is leased anew. Never again do I wish to see \'e s\nd)(ils ot disgrace ; Not an\- charm remains for me About the wretched place. I leave nou all in swt'i't content, W'ilhdut oiu' small rt'U'ret, He\()nd the wish that luck was sent F.re \'ou and I had met. So, once again, a last adieu ]\1\- ])atiencc is run o'er ; .\ lib' mis-spent begins ant'w : Fari-well, for evermore. •-i^. -4^- oK. THOMAS LISTER. }5V JAMKS .\[UXDY, ^FCRKl'AKV C)V THK VOKKSHIKF, MTKRA R V SoCIKTV, 'J'hk subject of (iiir present slo closely to his .-tudcics, tliat his master, to pre\ent molestation b\- the other s:hoIar>, ])ut him 0:1 a de>k bv himself, and the ma-tcr said ••he learned more in one }ear than the ^encralil\- would learn in >even." When about tifteen \-ears of a<;e he was put to learn the maltini^ business, and in twentx'-five weeks he knew sulhcient to undertake the entire management of another kiln a few miles distant from where he learned the business. After a few years at this, he turned schoolmaster, and bej^'an to teach the risint;; generation in the Baildon .Methodist Sell )ol. It was during this season of instruction that he wa^ serioush- impressed that his real mission was that of a preacher of the gosjiel, and in this capacity he delighted his heareis in main' circuits, and g.iincvl for him- self the name of the '• Wandering (ientile." Xot satisfied with labouring in the vineyard of his mother-;;ountry. he started on the 7th day of August. 1848. for America, where he preached the gospel free and unshackled by the tenets of any ])articular denomination. Of his versification very little can be said in its favour. Whatever claims he may have liad a> an exhorter of the s^'riptures, he possessed but little of the divine aftlatus. He iniblished a small volume of poems on various subjects —also a number of devotional and original hvmns — yet, while we commend the sentiment which he breathes throughout his attempts, we find l)ut little to give him rank as a ])oet. The precocity of \-outh, his position as a schoolmaster, and h.is jiopularity as a preacher, are the three distinct features of his life ; but we cannot, after the most careful study of the copyright cilition before us, come to any other conclu-.ion than that he has tried to do his best, but in the doing of it he ha.s left behind no traces of that genius for which so many Yorkshire poets have been famous in the past. Whilst in .Vmerica, Lifter was elected a Justice of the Peace He died at Wilsdeu on Wednesday, March 29th, 187O, and on the following Saturday lie was biuied in iSaildon Churcluartl. ( )n his tombstone is the following inscription :-— Jilt ^3i:tioiuti i'.tmcininMiuc of T HO -MAS LISTKK. nn-; Pc.kt, Will) l)ii-.n Makch 2 .til, 1S70, A(;kii 07 Vi;aks. Here lies the m.in who tr;i\elle(l far, To warn our ilyinif race : \'i't lie himselt' was nothiny more J'ut sinner sa\ed by ijrare, H2 I08 THOMAS LISTER. ^fie Foet. The Poet's l)rain my (iod liatli made, Tlie Muses resting on his head; Inducing him his words to time, To feet, to verse, poetic chime. Nor has my God made auglit in vain, Not hand, or foot, nor tongue, or brain ; For all these gifts for good are given. That I thereby may honour heaven. The Muses have a mighty spell. To move the world to good or ill ; For in their hand they hold the key. To move its lasting destin}-. Thev charm the mind, the j)assions move And draw the soul to heaven above; Or if on evil subjects dwell. May sink the soul to lowest hell. Then let my muse directed be, Thou great eternal God by Thee, 'J'hat which I write in blank or rhyme I may be led by truth divine. And my poetic talents use, I'o spread abroad the glorious news Of God's eternal love to man, — And how he mav his heaven train. (mn. Thou bid'st me. Lord, go work for Thee In every place, where'er I be ; And tell to sinners the right way. That leads to everlasting da}-. Help me to go at Thy command, And spread 'i'hy truth in all the land; Then give up all I have to Thee, And drop into eternit\'. JOHN MILLIGAN, M.R.C.S. L.S.A. Bv ROBERT CLARK, L.R.C.P. L.R.C.S. John :Mii,i,igax was born at Cross Hills, i8lh January, i8l2, bis father (Mr. John Millij^^an). and imdc (Mr. Robert Milligan, the first M.P. for Bradford), havin<,' come froni Dumfries and settled in this district. In early life he was a]:>prenticed to a surj^'con in Bradford, but a little incident soon brou<,dit this connection to a close. He was required to make up the books on a Sunday. He refused, and left the ])lace. Subse(iuently, he was bound apjirentice to Dr. Mitchell, of Kei<,'hley. At this time the movement for the establishment of the Mechanics' Institute had been started, and by the force of his own proclivities was drawn into the early work of the institute, in which he took an active interest. On tlie completion of his pupilage, he went through the usual course of medical study in London, graduating L.S.A. in 1834 (and .M.R.C.S. in 1856), and subsequently commencetl jM-actice in Bingley, where he resided one year only. On leaving Bingley he settled in Keighley. In 1838 he was appointed as the first medical officer of the Keighley Union. Whilst engaged in a large jiractice he became forcibly aware of the low sanitary condition of the homes and worl attaclnnent was jierluips strongest to the wild nioovlaiid scencrv which abounds in these parts. He sings: ] l.nc thrlanrs sc ,>1(1 and lone, With taii,t;k'(l l)I(iss<>nis (i\ crlicad. And find a joy in e\'crv stone, A '^rm wluTc'iT my f(>i)tstri)s tread. I would not cliani^e liad 1 tlie jiower. For da/zlin- -ifts of -olden mind, ] he hills, the birds, and forest flower. That roinid my scjid their lif^dits cntuine. II, when away on foreif^n shores, A tlioiij^ht of home bedims my eye, It is to be npon her moors, J (I hear the Jiipin),^ wild-birds cry. J lu' eit\''s jo\s all end in ]).Tin, I'll bid them hence a Ion- adieu, And liie me to the hills a-.iin W'lu're Xatin'e's laee is ever new. Ill iHjl) .\[r. .\Iilligan had an attack of internal gout to which he succumbed after a short illness on March ()th. ^o tKe; Sun. (jKKAT Patriarch of all the ilrt's that climb the .skv, Well might primeval man lh\- glories deify ; 111 transport on Ihee gaze Ihrotigh all revolving limt', And to thet^ bow in rapl i(lolatr\- stiblime ! ]\losl glorious idol of the ancient world, l"or thee its altars blazed, its incense ctu'Ied, For thee its priests and acohtes of roval rank Their vestal iires watched and trimmed tlieir sacretl lamp. JOHN MILLIGAX. Ill Thou king' with diadem of ancient chi\ s, Adorned in panoply of l)urnislied ra\s, Thy garments of the lightning's flash are wove, And lightning is thy crown ibrged from the bolts of jc^ve. The stars with all the beauties of the night Thy advent tell, and pale their glories bright, Xor leave on heaven's broad shield one silver gem. But quickly fades before thy peerless diadem. The time shall come when thou, great god of day, A driveller slow shalt stagger on thy way, Thy })(nver and elTort gone, th_\- vigour chill. Obstructed all th_\- founts or frozen still. The earth a dotard grown, the reeling spheres In zigzag orbs shall mark the hoary years, The laggard moon shall droop, the seasons fail in rank. And heaven's face wax dull with many a starless blank. The keystone sprung, the fabric tottering on the brink, The big dome cracki'd with man_\- a crazy chink, And then Ini'xorable Power by hand unknown. Shall strike earth's pr()j)s and smite creation's scaffold down. De;atl=2. Thou Bony King, in shroud arra\ ed and iron crown. Who worlds hast reaped to store within the grave, Man.kind in every form thou niowest down, And gather' St in alike from shore antl wave, To fill the trophii'd garners of the awful tomb, .\nd swell tlie trunuphs of th\- harvest home. Xo tournament is death of ficlious strife, Ikit overthrow th;it makes the strong man ([uail : It boasts no blazonries that garnish life, Xo song of triumph save the funeral wail ; The shroud the victim's I'obe, the grave his temj)K' low The slim\' trail of worm llie u-arkuul 'Ui liis brow. JOHK MILLIGAN. 'Tis pride that prompts our faculties to roam On subjects bearing death's mysterious seal ; No spell hath man to win the secrets of the tomb, No mystic shibboleth by which he can reveal The masonry that binds the brotherhood of the grave, Or break the vows that dumbly all the dead enslave. A few among earth's multitudes are found Whose frames are built like rocky granite firm, From them the arrowy shafts of death rebound As from the iron hide of pachyderm ; And tliough each lengthened life a pyramid uprears, ''J"is based upon the griefs and cares of four score years. And some there are of more ethereal mould. That flit like visions bright o'er life's dull stage ; To hectic suns their beauties they unfold, Nor feel they manhood's bloom, nor chill of age ; They are not of tliat iron race of men. Who weave the weary coil of three score years and ten. But children of the skies in earthly vestures clad, Or fragile fabrics of a subtler essence framed ; The beings fair who realize the maxim sad, "The loved of heaven hv heaven are earlv claimed : " Flowers of other climes, whose blossoms dimlv pale. With all their garnered sweets to heaven exliale. And men of lying lij)S and perjured breath, B_\- honour hated and bv truth denietl, }Ia\-e furnished thousands to the lists of death, And tliousands more their tongues liave crucified ; If not with nails their unoffending palms have nailed On burning calumnies their lixing souls imjialed. 'J'he harridan who ^vith the dawn begins, And loudl}- chants throughout the livelong- (la_\, The calendar of all her neiglibours" sin>, fler tliousands slaws : not as assassins .•,la\". But di/epi.-r strikes, l)y cruel liint and sneering jil)e. Or kills 1)\- crushing weiirht of scjme foul (.liatribe. JOHN NICHOLSON. Bv CHAS. A. FEDERER, L.C.P., KDIXOK, YORKSHIRE CHAP BOOK.S, ETC., ETC. Xo fefblc intellect was tiiine — thy strains In wiklest grandeur were indeed comj)lete ; Succoured and nourished by Elysian rains, What wonder then their tunes were ever sweet .- And, when apostrophisinrj thy dear dales, Thy words rang out with eloquence divine. Filling the moorlands and the woods and vales AVitli minstrelsy which pen can scarce define. Xigh half a century has }5assed away Since thou wcrt called to thine eternal rest ; But thou art not forgotten, and I pay To thee this tribute which thy songs suggest ; For on thy county's glory-roll of fame, Amongst the bards, thine is a foremost name. — Eijitor. Tui'. subject of this short biographical sketch wa> tlic lirst dcni/.en of th.e Bingley and Bradford district who successfully woocnl the j)oetic muse, and vcntuied to proclaim to the world the subject of his silent comn.umings with nature and with tlie spirits of the past. A genuine J]ingle\- man he was. though by the accident of birth he tirst saw the light at the hamlet of Weardley. near Harewood, on the 2()th Xovem- bcr, IJQO: for he was but a few weeks old when his parents remcned to I'.ldwick, that picturesque nook on the southern outskirts of Rom- bald's Moor, where hi-, mother hatl sprung from. Xicll(!l^^oll rccci\ed his earliest instruction from a man named Briggs, wli(/ mu^t have been a '• technical " educator of the first water, for he combinctl the jiractical handicraft of besom making \\ith the theoretical exposition of the three r's. Tlie heather branches needed for the former p;irt of his calling ])roved. howev'cr. to be far more abundant on the \\ ild moors at the edge of whicli his ■• college '" was establislicd. tlian the o]h-e liranclics entru-ted to his educational care, b'hii ajipears to have so far piohtcd 1)\ Biriggs' tuition, that he acquiicd an artlenl taste for reading, which led him to peruse ever\- book, no matter on what subject, wliich chance threw in his wa\'. But together with this taste for literature, he unfortunately acquired that desuUorine.ss wliich not unlVequenily mars the career of individua]^ of jjromising intellectual capacilier;. At the age of twelve, John became 114 JOHN NICHOLSON. JOHN NICHOLSON. t I a ))iipil at the Biiigley (irammar School, at that time under the able mastership of Dr. Hartley, and he a]ipears to have made remarkable progress in English composition, towards which his habit of reading and tlie bent (A his mind naturallv led him. His poetical instincts were besides fostereil by the influences of his ordinary home life ; for his father, Thomas Nicholson, was a man of considerable culture, acquainted with the literature of the day, and fond of reading extracts from Shakespere, Milton, Pope, etc., for the delectation of his family, accompanying them with intelligent comments and pointing out their beauties to his hearers. KIRTHPLACF. OK NICHCLSfiX. A tweb'cmonth at the < irammar Scliool was tliought amph' suffi- cient to CDUiplcte [ohii'> c fallicr, wlio was a woollen manufacturer on a small scale. His mind, unfoitunately, was above his work, and regular occupation was no irksome to him that he embraced eveiy o])portunity of shirking liis task and i)]aying truant. His father's absence from home was usually the signal for J(jhn's throwing his work on one side and rambling otl' on the moors, with a book and his liautbo}' for his sole companions. lib JOHN MCHOLSOX. The lad's love for music, and his skill in ])laying the hautlwA-, led him gradually into surroundings less solitary and less elevating than the breezy moors, and he became fond of displaying his musical abilitio before admiring circles at ]3arties and in pul)lic liouse bar>. It was at such a party he first met a vivacious and \\in^(jmc girl, Mar\- Driver In- name, who led his youthful fancy cai)tive, and whom he ^^•ooed and won in the course of a short number of weeks, the hap])v bridegroom l)t'ing of the mature age of nineteen, his l)lushing bride nearly two \ears ]li^ junior. Several of Nicholson's poems, published in later year-, date from this jjeriod, being addressed to his beloved Mary in the rir>t fervour of his youtliful enthusiasm. fohn's dream of connutjial bliss proved Init short; before a ycai' had run its course, and before he himself had reached the twentieth year of his age, his loving wife died in cliild-birth. This se\'ere strolic of adversity had a sobering effect upon tlie hitherto tliouglitless youth : he forsook his gay companions, mourned for his past folly, and turned for comfort ami succ(jur to the God of lii- fatliers. flis parents were pious and consistent members of the .Metliodist bod}-, and they naturally rejoiced at seeing their wa_\-ward son retuin to ca>t in In's lot with them, and to seelc that intimate communit^n of sou]> wliicli i- tlie truest bond of family life. John's serious im]:)ressions were genuine, and ]5romised fair to be permanent ; he became an acti\e worker in the cause of Meiliodisni, and by and by his name a])pearetl on the circuit plan a> an accepted local preacher, preparator\' to lii- undergoing the needful training for tlie regular ministry. Sad to -ay, tlie in^tal)ility which ijroN'ed the cur-e of his after life, led liini to marry again after a luobalion of little more than a \ear, thus debarring liini from entering upon the ministerial career for which he ajijieared to l)e >o -well .uhipted. This second marriage took place in 1S13. when he wa> but twenty-two vears old, and led to hi- gradual e-trangement from his old religion- associations, the last ties which connected him with .Methodism being severed two years after. Martha Wild, hi> -eci^nd wife, pn^ed a true and patient iielpmate to him duiing the whole of hi- che'jtiered life, and wa> spared to -ui\i\e him se\e!al yeais. l-'or several \ear- before ami after hi^ -ccond marriage, John wa- in the eniploxiiunt of hi- fathei' a> a wareliou.-enian ; but m 1 S I .S he left l-dcl\vick to woik at Shipley I-"ield- .Mill, wheie an adxam.igcou- situation wa;- (iffered to him, an JOHN NICHOLSON. II7 constantly flocked from all the neighbourhood, and he often declared in after times that the years spent at Red Beck were the happiest ]Deriod of his life. Here, too, Nicholson's literary career really com- menced ; his manuscript effusions were circulated from hand to hand among his friends and reached gradually widening circles; satires on public men, sometimes, it must be acknowledged, bordering on the libellous, rendered his name a houseliold word, and caused the epithet " Vorlcsliire Poet " to be bestowed upon him. ^Ir. Thompson, then manager of tlie old DnlvC Street Tlieatre, persuaded him to write a drama in three act<. entitled •'Tlie Roblier of the Alps," which was acted wilh considerable success; and lie followed tliis up with the historical drama, '■The Siege of Bradford," the lirst of his works that was published. For reasons whicli are not verv clear, Xicholson gave up or lost his situation at Shipley Fields in 1822, when he removed to Hartlen, and not long afterwards to Hewenden, near Wilsden, where Ijp again met with remunerative employment. Whilst at Plarden, he had the good fortune of securing the patronage of J. (t. Horsfall, Esq., an influential gentleman, who was instrumental in making him Icnown amongst tlie neighbouring gentry and thus greatly iiromoting the sale of his works. The ajiproaehing appearance of a more ambitious effort of Nicholson's muse liad been well advertised beforehand and talketl about in literarv circles, so tliat \\-hen '' Airedale in Ancient Times," as he entitled the work, issued from the iness in 1825, it met with an extraordinarily ra]nd sale, three editions of it being issueil in the course of the year, and sheets pui'chased at the jirinting office as they were struck off" from the press without waiting for them to be bound. The Bradford of 1825, with its 25,000 inhabitants, was evidently gifted with more appreciation for poetical literature, than the J^radford of our day with ten times that number of inhabitants. This unprecedented and unhoped for success proved a fatal turning point in Nicholson's life. The intoxication of success gave a false colouring to everything that surrounded him ; extravagant visions of fame and wealth floated before his mind's eye, and caused him to abandon his regular employment in order to devote himself exclusivel}' to literature. The sale of any book, in a town so inconsiderable as Bratlford then still was, being necessarily restricted, he began to travel about the country and to offer his works for sale at the residences of the gentrv and clergy. This course was certainly the most profitable, considering that at that period the ])rovincial book trade was in its infancv ; but NiclioLson's character was not one that could easily withstantl the temptations which beset such a wandering life, and it is hardly surprising that the love of strong drink began to take an increasingly Arm hold of him. This period, however, saw the appear- Il8 JOHN NICHOLSON. ance of several new products of his fertile brain, chief anion<,' which stands "The Lvre of Ebor," a volume which undoubtedh' contains the best eflbrts of his poetic muse, and which bv it>elf would sullice to stamp him as a genuine poet and not a mere rhymester. In 1828 Nicholson visited London ; hi> adventures in tlie metropoli-, and the recejition he met with from the Yml^sliiie coIduv tliere. beini; related with charming wncetv in his ])amphlet, " 'J'lie \'oi] were publi^lied in the same vear. Kven according to his f)wn sliowing. lie was. to proveiliial caution led to a compulsory interview with a L(jndon police magi-- trate, and to ver\' unllattei-ing remark- in the Yorl<-liirc newsjxapers. Xotwithstanding this. Xicliolson repealed his vi-it to the metropoli- the following year, but thi- time in the company and under the -afe- guard of hi- wife, wlio took- care tliat he -hould not gel into an\' more scrajx--. At thi- period the l-'actoi'v Act- agitation wa- at its heiglu ; the ^^'est Riding Short Time ('ominittee were cjuite alive to tlie im- portance of indoctrinating tlie public mind bv means of pamplilet- and tly sheets, and popular writers were -ought out to aid tlie cau-t- b\- their pen. Richard Oastler's attention was drawn to our poet. \\lioueli as •■ The Little I'iecener's Complaint," and other-; but a- the cop\rii;]u pa— ed. after tlie -tipulated jiayment. into the hands of tlie Short Time Com- mittee, none of tliem appeared in an_\- edition of his collected poem-, and it is now ditlicult to identify them. Hut it i- not eas\' to uniiei'- stand wliy •■The i-'actcji'y (Jhild '" should n-' haxx- been inclui'ed in tlie editi(ni- jmbli-hed of late years. Nicholson's connection with < )a-tler did not l.i-t long ; the latter was a methodical, laboriou-, and inten-ely eanie-t man: Nicliol-oii the \ery contrary. The vice of ]n-ocia-tiiiation, to \^liich literar\' men are -pecially jjione, iK)--e--ed tlie latter in an inteii-ilied degree, and the habit of writing ••against time," -0011 led to the ine\-itable inca- jjacity of writing at all unles- '•the fit wa- upon him." which hajipeiied more and more rarely. .\t last he confined hiin>ell" to the mere re- publication of hi- old work-. It i- ,1 jKiinful ta-k for the biographer to have to lay bare the folly and \ice ol' .1 man of -plendid intellect and JOHN NICHOLSON. II9 mental powers ; but he must mournfully acknowledge that the sole cause of Nicholson's rajjid decline and loss of brain j^ower is to be sought in the intemperate habits which had grown upon him to a fearful extent since he adopted a wandering life. He made one more effort to free liimself from the trannnels of his besetting vice, and on the I4tb. Febrnarv, 1X35, he signed the })ledge at the Wilsden Inde- pendent Ciiapel, a facsimile of his signature on that memorable occasion being appendetl to his |)ortrait in this volume. He stated to th.e meeting that " he had been one of the most dreadful characters, and that i)erha])s he had diiiidv more liciuor than an_\- ]5erson present." Bui alas I tlie beautiful line> on "(ienius and Jnlemperance ", written nine vear> pre\iousl\-, were prophetic of his own late, and after a very ■^liort time liie demon drinj^ again as~eiled its crushing power over it> hel])]ess \ictim. Nicholson was fortunate in having secured a large circle of inlluen- lial frienon had gone to li\e in Jiradford in 1833, to resume his former ()ccu))atii>n of woolsorter, in the emiilo\inent of Mr. Titus Salt, whose warL-liouse was then in L'nion Street and who resided at No. 4t, North i's and irregularit} of liis work, and treated him with maiked kindness and forbearance to the end of his life. Fverv Suiulav and holiday, when the weather was fav(nirable, found Nicholson on his l)elo\ed moors. '• to clear his throat ol Brailford >m()ke," as he was wont to s;i\- ; ami he would not imbeciuentl)' start off' the evening before his holiday, so a> to make the nio.-t of the time at his disposal. With >uch intent he left his ISradford home on the evening before Good I-'rida\-. 13th A])ril. i'^43. to visit his aunt at Eklwick, and unforlimately called at >ev(.ral places on his ^\ay. It was near midniglit when lie made for the stepping stones which at that time aff'orded a passage over the ri\er Aire near Di\on's Mill. He must have missed his footing in the darkness, fallen into tlie river, and heen carried some distance liy the current, but appears to ha\e eventualh' succeeded in reaching tlie opposite bank, where he lay, exhausted and benumbed with cold, till the break of day, when he was discovered by a passing labourer. But the vital spark had then already tied, and all eff'orts to reanimate the still warm body proved useless. An inquest was held, and on the 18th April, 1843, the remains of the unfortunate poet were committed to the grave in Bingley churchyard, in the presence of more tlum a thousand spectators. JOHN XICHOLSOX. A Complete Bibliography of tin W'vks of JoJin Xiclmlsou. iiorn at Weardlov. near HarowDod, 20th Xovonibor, 1790; Lost tiis lifo in cro.ssin\i. being notes.) ■^,— Airedale in Ancient Times, Theood and Ei'eina. Tlie Poacher, and of her poems. By John Xicholson. London : Sold hy Seeley and Son. 160, T/eet .Street: ll'.'fones, s. ToT'e/fs Court. Paternosto Pore; and f . Of or, 44. Xe7ei.'ate .Street. 1825. (8vo., xii & 200 pp.: pref.ice ilated ■■ Hewmlen, Aiiril oth, 1S25 "'; engra\ing by Bradley, representing the Druid's Altar, near llingley, as frontispiece: engraved second titlepage, with view of Goit-.Stock waterfall, also by liradley : inner colophon :" Printed by G. & E. Xicholson, Bradford ''; price 6s. boards. The first 34 pp. are worked off from the tvpe set u]) for 2.1 |. — .{iredale in .indent Times, lilieood and Rlx'ina, 'J'lie l''oacIier, and other poems. Py 'John Xic/iolson. .Second Edition. London : .S'oid by .SciLey and. Son. iCn'. TVeet .Street ; ]F. Jones, 5, Loveifs Court, Paternoster Kou- and J. Of'or. <,!,. .Xezci^dte .Street. i-*25. i Unaltered reprint of 3 : an addi- tional paragraph is inserted in tlie preface, which is dated '' Hewnden, X'oveniber 5th. 1825.'') :^.— Lines on the Grand .Mndcal Eestival at Vorh, .September, 1825. By John Xicholson. Third Editioi. Bradford: Printed for the author, by G. and E. Xicholson. 1820. i.Small 4to., i\'. & 20 pp.: advertisement dated " Hewnden, February 23rd, 1826 ": price 6d.) 6.~Desultory 'Phoui;hts on the Periral of Cannwrce. 1826. Price od. 7. — fdnes on the Present .State of tlie Country. July, 1826. Third Edition. Price 6d. 8.— y'//r Yorkshire Poef s U'a/h throu^d' Xnaresbrooid ami its I'icinity. 1826. g.^The Poacher. A tale from real life. Py John .ytcholson, aath,.r of '•Airedale," d~c., o-r. Third Edition. - The Kecei-cer is as bad as the Thief"— Old Pro'cerb. Bradford: printed fu- the author, by G. and E. Xicholson. 1827. ( i2mo., 20 pp.; tailpiece: price od.i 10. —'/'he Lyre if Ehor ; The T\ill of Belshaz-^ar ; Genius and /ntemperanci- : and other poems. By John Xicholson, author of Airedale in Ancient Times, The Poacher, c~c. London : .S,dd by .Seeley and .Son, 160, /-leet .Street ; and G. and E. .Xicholson, Bradford. 1K27, ,8v,... viii. and 218 pp.; preface dati'd " liingley, July 2«th, i<'^27 ": inner culophiui ■' G. and E. Xicholson, printers. Kirkgate. I'.radford." ^ 11. -The Yorkshire Poet's Journey to London. Leeds : I'rinted by Robins, 01 ami llernanuui. and sold by all Booksellers. iiS2«. .Crown 8\o., 47 pp.] TOHX XICHOT.SOX. 12. — 'J'/if Yorkshiir Poi'fs Joiiniry to Loudon. By John Nicholson. Srconii Edition. I.ondon : Printed for Hurst, Chance, and Co., St. Pant's Chiui h-rnrd. I,o)ido)t; and Robinson and Hernanian, Leeds. 1828. Crown Svo,, 47 pp.; label on co\ or -" The Yorkshire Poor's Journey to London. I'riio is."j ■i\.- T'.nijlaint's Lainrnt for thr Loss of her Constitution : a poem. By John Xirh.'lson. Leeds: Printed for the author, by T. U'roy, White Cross Yard, opposite Greaves' s Hotel. Krii^i^ate. 1820. (4to., 18 pp.; dedicated ■•to the X'on.T.iIilf John, earl of EUIon."i If. Lo-o' ^foor Lroi, -Works: a poem, by John Xieholson, author of Airedale, ■L-^c. Jirailford: T . [nkersley b' Co., K irki^ate . 1820. (lamo., 11 pp.) 15.— 77//' Poacher. A tale from real life. I'y John Nicholson, author of '^A iredale." o~f.. o^c. Fourth Edition. '' '/'he Receiver is as bad as the Thief:'— Old Proverb. Bradford: printed for the author, by G. and E. JVicholson. 1830. ' i2mo., 20 pp.; tailpiece; jirice 6d.) lO. — The Valeof Hkley. i8;,i. 1.:. -The Factory Child, a poem. London: Whiiiaker, Treacher and Arnott, and sold by all booksellers. 1831. (i2mo., 54 pp. & i p. errata; terminal colophon " Leeds : Printed by T. Inchbold "'; title on cover " The Factory Child, A Poem. Price One Shillinfj.") 18. — 77/1" .Siex'e of Bradford. Second Edition, i8ji. iThe alterations in the text are considerable; etching- by Geller as frontispiece. ) lO.—Poewx by John .Vicholson, the Airedale Poet, with a sketch of his life and Torit/niTS, by J, dm James, author of ■' The History of Bradford." London: /.o/ii;;,/an, Bro7on. Green , and Lon,t;ma7is : and (Liarles .Stan field, Brad- ford. MiM C(XM\-. (8vo., xlvi. and 204 pp., and 16 pj). subscribers' names ; false title with ad\ert. of James' History of P.radford : engra\cd portrait by\\'. i). Cieller, IVfini the original painting now in the liradford Art Museum ; inner coloiilion ''C. Stanfield, printer, Bradford. ''1 20. — liniilaud' s Lament for the Loss of her Constitut ion : a poem published in 1829, on the p,,ssiN.;oftheRo>;tan Catholic Relief Bill. By John Xieholson, ,i/,thor ,.f Airedale, ond other poems. Re-publ ished as bein,i,r very applic- able t,. the present times. Bradford: Printed ly //. O. .'\/a:rson, Kirk- Kote. 1M50. ii2nH).. iS pp.; printed co\'er. 21.— /.<'?o .!/<'," /j-on-oorks: A Poem, first published in 1820. By John Xieholson, author of .liredale. and other poems. BiuK'ley: Printed by J. Dobson , Market Place. iJ^io. i i2nio. i 2 ]>]). > 7.2. -Pocns by John Xieholson. the Airedale Poet. Edited ly W. Heardcn. author of the ''.Star .Seer," c^c. . With a sketch of his life and vritiny,s. By John James, F.S.A., author of - 11,0 History of Bradford.'' " 'The History of the Worsted Manufacture," etc. Fourth Edition. London: II'. H. Vouuf,-. Bishop.'^j^'ate: and J. //arrison &- S^'n. ]'ork Place, Bin i;ley. MiKCCl.iX. t,8\(i.. Hi & 208 pp., engraved portrait b} \\'. O. Geller, from the same plate as 17; si-cond engra\e(l title pagi- with view of Nicholson's birth- place, by (i. Purton ; inner colophon "j. Harrison and Son, printers, Jiingtey." A feu 1 opies were struck oft' fin large paper, (to.i 2^.— Lines spoken at thcinniversaryMeetiui^af Leeds, to celebrate the birthday of Burns. i'<2'j. Reprinted for tile liurns' Centcnar\ in 1850. (i2mo hand- bill.! I JOHN XICHOLSOX. 24.— 77;? Poetical Works of Jnh„ Xicholsmi, fhr Aiyclalc IWt. Fifth Kdition. 1863. ■i-^. — Thc Poetical Works of John Xicholson Cfhc Aircioie Poctj ; carefully edited from the ori^^ittal editions, 7oith additional notes, and a sketth of his life and -H'ritiniis. By Jl'. J. Hird. author of "Scripture Xames and their Relation to Ancient History,'' etc. London: Sirnpkin, Mar- shall c~ Co. Bratford: Thomas Brear. 1876. i8\o.,lx\i; &4',i pp.; \>ur- trait of Nicliolsiin frdin the ri'tourlu-d plate of 20; six pli('toid all Booksellers. 1876. (F'cap 8\'o.; \'\ & 261 pp.; thirteen woodruts ; address to tlie reader sit,'ned '' .\Lrahani Holroyd, Saltaire, Aujjiist, 1876''; printed coxer: jjrire ;,s. 6d.,i ©H Binf^fetj. Thy beauties, Bin,s:k-y ! never have been sung I^v stranger-barcl, or native poet's tongue; Then may my humble muse with ther i)re\-ail To pardon my presumption, if I fail In this attempt thy beauties to relu'arse In rustic strains of my untutorM vrrse. Of all the learned vouths whom thou hast sent To distant seas, or some far coniiiu-nt. Though tliese on thee have thought in other climes, All have forgot to ])raise thee in llieir rliyme-^. When on thy lovely vale I stand to gaze, I feel thou need'st from me no meed of praise : Thy hanging woods, thy fountains, and lliy bowers, Thy dashing floods, thy landscajji's, and th_\- flowers, Thy bold grey rocks, thy health}' ])urple fells, Where silent solitude with beauty dwells ; Thy homes where honest wortji still finds a se^at, And love and virtue a serene retreat — Such scenes as these should plume the poet's wing. And swell his heart while he attemjjts to sing. JOHN X 1 C H OLSO X . 12 3 O may Religion, life's best hope aiul stay, The maids of Biugley teach the better way ! Tlieir minds instruct, their innocence protect, Their manners soften and their paths direct ; .ALay they be like the turtles of the wood, That dip their bills in Aire's meandering flood; 'I'hen, at the last, f;iith's sunshine on each breast, Soar to tlie mansions of eternal rest ! Innate tlieir principle of truth and love, Pure as the plumage of the turtle dove. Sweet as tlie flowers, when bending to the sun, Aw Hingle\'s daughters when they love but one. We have the mountain breez(>, the cold pure spring ; The woods where ev'ry British bird doth sing; Wild plants and flowers, wild birds, and scenes as wild. Or soft as any on which nature smil'd. Blooming and lovely, as the moon is fair, Antl pure as ether are the nymphs of Aire. The weeping birch, the great majestic oak. Where dark green ivy forms a winter's cloak ; The purple heath, where dappled moorcocks crow ; The sylvan vales, with limping hares below, The brootling pheasant, beauty of the wood. And spotted trout that cleave the amber flood. For liner walks, for more sequester'd bowers, For cooler grottos, and for richer flowers, For streams that wind more beautiful along, For birds with louder chorus to their song, For all that gen'rous Nature can bestow, All Yorkshire scenes to Binsflev-vale must bow. 0me:s mrlttsR at (Soit-stoeR. Hail ! thou sequester'd rural seat. Which ever beauteous dost apj)ear, Where the swe(H songsters oft repeal Their varied concerts, wild and clear! 124 JOHN NICHOLSON'. Upon thy cryslal-bosom'd lake Th' inverted rocks and trees are seen, Adorn'd wiili many a snowy flake, Or in their leatV robes of green. O could a rural rhymer sing The lovely scenes so richly drcss'd, Where piety may plume her wing. And sweet seclusion form lier nest ! Here ma}- tlie contemplative mind Trace Nature and her beauties o'er And meditation rest reclin'd, Lull'd !)}■ the neighbouring cataract's roar. Here, wearied with ga\- scenes of life, Tlie sire may see his children play. While heav'n has bless'd him with a wife, Who smiles his ha]>p^■ hours awa\'. If ever fairies tripp'd along. Or danc'd around in airy mirth, 'rhe\' surel}- to this place did throng, — ( )r else tliev never danc'd on earth. 'J'hc Lo\-es and (iraces here miglit stay; 'J'lr enamour'd pair, with bosoms true. Unseen a])point the nuptial day, AuKjng these scenes for ever new ; The poet tune his rustic lyrt>. If genius trembled on the strings. And merit modesil\- aspire, If friendshi]^ deign'd to plume his wings. O that I could meet tribute pay, As 'tis ujjon my heart impress'd! M\- song of friendsliij) here would stay, \\'hen waves the grass above mv breast. JOHN NICHOLSON. I25 )^e. fl&vj ^^areB at iDifsdeR. \\'hat various temples, since old Time began, Have on this little globe been rearM by man ! What different kinds of gods been worshipp'd here, Since earth, new form'd, was balanc'd in the sphere ! Some, ere the pointed pyramids, arose, In lands remote, which scarce a modern knows. When cost was nought, — and Asia at command lirought forth its treasures to tlie builder's hand. The Jewish fanes which seem'd to scorn decay, Tower'd in the sun — alas ! where now are the}' .^ Would wealthy Europe golden millions give ' )ne column from those fabrics to retrieve, 'Twere all in vain — no stone, nor sculptured arch. But '.rime has trodden down beneath his march. All the old temples built when Hesiod smig, And those which stood when Homer's lyre was strung. Are cover'd o'er with herbage or with trees. And not one relic the sage trav'ller sees. The abbeys where " Te Deum" oft was sung, And sweet-tun'd instruments of music rung. Are cloth'd with ivy's venerable screen, And creeping lichens' variegated green ; Successive storms the towers in furrows wear, And on their cohunns dampy sweats appear; Tall shrubs upon the mould'ring arches grow. And, drooping, wave o'er humbler weeds below ; And high engrav'd upon the time-worn scroll. Scarce legible, the words, " Pray for the soul !" The long grass trembles on the broken wall, And ev'ry year some shatter'd fragments fall. Not so with tlu:e, () Church, so fair and new. White as the polish'd marble to the viinv. — Ere any stone is loosen'd from thy wall, Neu' states may rise, and mighty empires fall ! Perhaps, like Greece, old Albion shall decay, P^re those tine columns shall be worn away ; Its comnKTce and its glory be no more, And science ilee to some far tlislaut shore ; 126 JOHN MCHOL>OX. Willi loft}' trees thou may'st be circled round, And thy walls echo with the organ's sound. A town may flourish on this barren hill, Renown'd for science, commerce, wealth, and skill ! Here shall some pastor, learned, good, and just. With solemn rite, resign the dust to tlust ; Perform each office with a pious care, And cheer the wretched sinking in des])air. The bride, with modest blushes on her face, Shall lightly tread across the hallow'd place. So fill'd with joy when to the altar led, Joy mix'd with fear, — a momentary dread I Here will the pious sons and daughters mourn. As slowly from a i)arent's tomb they turn; Here shall the tuneful youths, the virgin train, join with the pealing organ's holy strain, Touch'd by the sweet expressive warbling trills, That give those undescrib'd cold shiv'ring thrills To minds possessed of feeling's sacred leaven. And charm the soul, and lift it up to heaven. But different sects in time may yet arise. And the pure doctrines of the Church despise: A future reformation yet may come. And o'er our blest religion cast a gloom. Such great mutations have all earthly things : Creeds oft have changed with dynasties or kings ! The future generations }et may hope For heav'nly bliss through pardons from the Pope ; I'he cross, the hoi}' water, and the shrine Of some fam'd saint, ma_\- yet be thought divine ! But whatsoever doctrine here is given, May every pastor leach the way to heaven I ^^f^[ i)V THK ADRIATIC." •' NtK.NrOKlAI, SON.VF.TS OF JTAI.V," "MV TorK ON' THK CONTI XKN'J','" KTC, F.TC. Thf; poclic ajiliorisni. •• whom llie (jotls love die youn*,'," was never ])erliap.s more tiul_\' exeniplil'icil than in the fate of the youthful versifier wlio forms the subject of this notice, ami whose aspirinj; genius and celestial fu'c were too soon, alas I extinguished. Well might we exclaim while bending over liis early grave: — " There ha\o been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were ncjthing. liad ! such tu give." J-5ut futile and \ain as all human regrets ma_\- be, we cannot but lament that a life, whose tlrst-fruils gave ])romise of such abundant harvest, should thus have been >o hastily and relentlessly snatched away. Thomas Xonnington first saw the light at Stockbridge, Keighlev, on Augu-t 1st, i84,v i^'K-l wa^ of that sickly, ailing nature, which not onl_\- prevented his following any very acti\e employment, but which finallv resolved itself into hojieless pulmonary disease. At iifteen he became a j)upil-teacher at the Keighlev AVeslevan School, and five years later, having meritoriously acquired a Queen's Scholarshi]), wa> admitted a student of the Westminster Training ('(dlege. .\t this institution he signalK' distinguished himself, and was the fortunate recipient of several academic honours ; but his fragile l)hy>i never so happy as when carelessly wandering amid the verdant wootls and pleasant pastures of his native vale, and the delight he felt on such occasions finds adequate expres- sion in his "Voice of the Flowers," which, together with his other l)oem>, disj)lav at once a rare delicacv of fancy and teniler appreciation. 128 JHOMAS NORMINGTON. ^Re ^oIgg: of t^e Wlowex^. Seek ye the beautiful ! — seek yc llic free, Seek ye tlie pure and the true ? Then come to the woodlands, away with nie, And the flowers shall answer you. Is your heart aweary with toil and strife r Is the hope within you dead ? O come to the fields where the verdant life Of the wealthy year is shed. The voice of the (lowers is soft and low. And shall soothe the heart's unrest, While around you the radiant colours glow, Like the joys within the breast. In beauteous characters — pure and bright, Our Father His love hath told, In the glistening hue of silvery while. And the sheen of s])arkling gold. The rose is for love — so the poets sa}- — Young love in his burning prime : Then taste of his honeyed breath, _\-e that nia\-. Ere cometh his fading time. O rose of the summer, O emblem sweet, Of the sweetest draught of bliss, That the weary spirits of mortals meet In a world of woe like this ! And the lily — the lady of the vale, The queen of the flowers is she : With her graceful form and her cheek so paK', Like the spirit of purity. O I would not pluck thee, mystical flow(>r, So tender, and pure, and sweet ; For thy beauty would losc^ its spell of power, Away from this wild retreat. Hut the flower I love — that most 1 love, Is a flower of hardy mien ; It lights up the shade of the woodland mtuvc, And thrives in the cottage green ; IHOMAS XORArtX(;TOX. (J tb.o prcrh^ss blue of its laugluii,!^'' cyi', With never a cloud or blot : 'Tis the fiowrr for wliich llie alisciU >i'j;]\ — 'I'hc cherislicd " Fori^-cl-mc-nol."' Then weave ye a i^'arlaiul, but i)ul not in The leaves of the adonis : Ikil th(^ amaranth and the es^'lanline, Ani,! the h(»nev llowiT of bliss ; And bleiul \e the ivv and hawthorn still, The mini and llu; l;uirel ujo — And throw in \'our kint;'-cni)s too, if }e will, While 1 add a sprig uf i'rcc ! tZCj (poujn ctnd GoLintro). \Vii.\T can ihe counir}' boast r Ask of i\\i- spring And slie shall point thee to tlie flower\- field ; '\'\\v vertlant grove, ihe wild-wood echoing With gushing mnsic, such as voung hearts vield ; The torrent U'aping from its dizz\' height, The sunbeams dancing on the laughing s(.'a. Earth, air, and ocea.n ti.-eming with delight. And life all jovous as it ave should be. Ask of the summer, ami tlie n\mph shall tell ()f golden dawnings and of purple eves — (Jf favs that dance within the moonlit dell, Wliili.; amormis nighl-winds kiss the whisjjcring leave And sli'; shall tell thee of the babtding rill. And teach tin' liearl lo catch its wondrous song, — h'or nature lialh her mal(ddess minstrcTs still, \Vho lift theii" voices lovingh' and long. And sober autunui, rich in garner'd gold. In wealth more pux-cious than the miser's hoard. In ))omp of woodlands, gorgeous to behold. And all the jo}-s her glories can afford. And frigid winter on his icv throne Is vet enrolled with a bespangled dress ; ni< N-iiiec hath much of music in its tone, 'i'hough weird and wild, }et not enjoyed the less. 130 THOMAS NOKMINGTOX. And thus the circling seasons as the\' pass, Their grateful tribute to the peasant bring, While they who toil in cities feel, alas. Nor joy, nor thanks for nature's offering! What can the city boast ? A leaden sk\-, A filthy atmosphere, whose poisoncnis breath Hangs heavy with disease — a canopy Beneath whose shelter sits the monarch Death ! And haggard misery stalks the busy street, And blear-eyed villan}- her steps attend, While sounds discordant and unearthly meet, And mingling thus, in hideous chorus blend, Till the heart sickens and the brain doth reel ; And the stunned ear in horror turns aside. But turns aside with effort vain, for still Ye must rush onward with the whirling tide. No Sabbath or for man or beast, for here They have no souls to save, no heaven to win. But all is strife and turbulence and fear. And sordid wealth, and wailing, want, and sin. The city boasts its splendid palaces, Its gorgeous tnnples and its halls of stale ; But canst thou, citizen, compare with these, God's matchless temple, gloriously great, \\ liose starry lamps, undimmed by age or time, Arr countless as the ocean's sands; whose clujir Ot myriad choristers in notes sublime. Sing ceaseless anthems that to heaven aspire — \\ hose worshippers arc everlasting hills. And solemn wootls, and angel-tlowers thai lling A living fragrance, that like incense fills The Holy place at evening offering; Whose dread shecliinah hovers night antl da\-. Whose God is ever present seen in ])ower, All glorious in the noontide's golden ra_\-. Or shadowed forth at midnight's mystic hour. AN OPERATIVE OF KEIGHLEY Publishecl in 1834, ••The Weaver's C()nij)laint ; or, a bundle of ])lain facts, a n(>\el jioem." Keij^hley : R. Aked ; London: H. Hetherinj^ton, pp. 50. As a samjile of the versification we ^'ive tlie followinir extract : — Qn 0pe;ratiue; of Keigfiletj. Thk weavi^r then further continued and said, — I have thus the chief part of these sermons displayed, And therefore shall leave you to judge as you ma}- Of the wisdom those learn who for such lessons pa}'. And yet, strange to tell, there are thousands of poor, Who these same venal sycophants so much adore, That they'll run far and near, though expiring thro' want. To pay their last pennies in hearing their cant. By reason of whicli, as you now may behold, They have sunk from a nation free, cheerful, and bold, To slaves, on whom tyrants at pleasure can prey. And wliose souls are by priestcraft quite frittered away. Who, instead of exerting the pow'r they possess, In relieving their own and their neighbour's distress, Are wasting the vigour of body and mind. In a form of religion that's nothing but wind. And coward-like striving, b}' clamour and din, By huge ))rayers and long puffs against Satan and sin, To slip into heaven without going through Even one single duty tlesigned them to do. l^ut as luniger, I feel has t'xhaustcd ni}- strength, And }-our patience with such must be worn to the length, 1 shall sjiend the last br^^atli tliat 1 }"et have lo sj)are. In presenting 10 heaven ihi.s short earnest ])ra}'er — Whicli is that dark bigotry's bundle of creeds May be changed for religion in actions and deeds, And each hvpocrite find that his loved faith, alone, For his i;\il transactions can never atone. HKN F'KKSTOX. ^^5^2/ ytcj^^^^^^^,^ BEN PRESTON. Bv THK Rkv. J. W. KAYE, M.A. LL.D. F.R.S.L. RKCTUR OK DKRRVBRISK, F.NNISKILLEN. ATTHOR OK '• THK l.IVKS OK THE WIVES OF THE POETS," ETC. Poetry is the music of life, and the minstrelsy of literature; breathinji; forth the sweetest strains of tenderness or swelling; to the fjrandeur of a full clioral diajiason. If it be true that poets are horn, not made, that fact would account for the not infrequent development of the poetic facult)' apparently amid the most unfavourable environments, and under the most unpropitious circumstances. One would be apt to think that the monotonous routine and grinding toil of a Yorkshire factory life, would be most unlikely and unsuitable for evolving the qualities and characteristics of a Poet. Yet Nature sometimes indulges in the strangest freaks, and Poets arc " born " in the most unexpected places. Ben Preston was born on the loth of August, 1819, in a humble cottage in Bradford. His father received very little school education; and was a hand-leom weaver at the time Ben was born. But he was a man who had a thirst for knowledge, and gave as much time to reading as his daily work and family wants would allow. Being left an orphan at an early age, he had known something both of the trials and the penury of the poor, and had no desire that his children should grow up either in ignorance or in want. Ben was but a few months old when his father removed from Bradford to a place called Waterside, about a mile and a half from the town ; still following his occui)ation of hand-loom weaver. Here Ben became enamoured of Nature's loveliness ; his ears opened to tlie songs of the birds, and the sighing of the winds ; his eyes beheld with delight the green hillsides, the spreading trees, and the ripples of tlie rivulet. Only for a few years of his youthful life was he permitted to revel in these delights. His fuller removed back with liis family to Bradford, having obtained work in the warehouse of -Mr. Richard Fawcett, in whose eniplo}' he remained for the next seventeen years. Ben was now sent to school, as his father was anxious that his son should obtain some of the rudiments of education before he was put to constant daily work. 134 ''^^^' I'KESTON. Hi.s brother John, who afterwards became famous in his native county as the Artist-Preacher, and who was born in their two-roomed house at Waterside, was more fortunate in tlie matter of education. Ben being older was put to work sooner, to help the family income. A few years at an elementary school was all that fell to his lot, before he was bound an apprentice io his father's employers, to learn the trade of wool-sorting. It was now the wear}- monotony of his life began, it was now that the cherished memories of liis early youtl^ liaunted him with their dreamy music and their vi>i()ns fair, — " Tlie landscajif yliding swift. Athwart imai^inatiuns \ivid t-ye. " It was now, in these apprenticeship days, that Ben began to read with a pur]X)se, and study both nature and human-natuic, in -^uch hours as he could fdch from sleeji and daily toil. At this age Burns was ff)llowing the jilough on his father's farm at Alloway ; Bloomfield was following the craft of a shoemaker witli his brothers in a garret in London ; and Chatterton was studying antiquated English in old parchment manuscripts from the Church of St. Mary, Redcliffe, Bristol. It was in these toilsome days Ben Preston felt the '• Divinit}' ^tir within him," and he became conscious of the Muse's presence, when he could — " At intervals descry, fxlfams of the jflory, streaks of flowing- light, Openins^s ot hea\"en. " In measured lines and rliyming couplets he began to tell the joys and sorrows of the common people, among whom he lived and laboured. The first poem he ventured to make public, appeared in the Brailfoid Obaerver. Other compositions followed, and di-cerning men began to see that there was true p(;elry in the soul of Ben Pre>ton. Ben's parents were strict Calvinistic Bajnists ; but neither Ben nor his brother John could tind soul-rest in the teacliings of iJiat estimable religion.-- body. The Preston famil}' lived in a small house in the yard of Holme Mill, 'i'hurnion Road, and father and mother were most regular in their attendance at public worship, when family cares did not prevent. They eiulea\(nued to set a good example to their children ; and of lii- mother Beii -a_\s she was •■ as ])iou> ami a-- blameless a woman a> a> ever lived.'" Soon after attaining the age of manhood, Ben got married, still following the occupation of wool---oiting, which was then on the decline. I!i:\ I'RKSION. 13: He had many opi)ortunities of witnessing the exercise of that arbitiar)' power by which the " factory-hands " were hehl down in pinching; poverty by the " Factory I, ords." His soul rebelled against all such act> of tvrann\- ; and in scatliing sarcasm he wrote ''T' Sliort Timer." •■ Aw nivver can call liur mi wife," and other like pieces. Among tlie ])oorer classes he found traits the most loveable, depths of human nature that appealed to his poet-soul, quivering with truest and ])urest love ancl symjiathv, and so incomparably depicted in " (."ome to thi Gronny, Doy." He found liearts braveh- bearing up with the ii()l)k'-t endurance mider siclcness, sorrow and poverty, and souls \earning witli uns]:)oken aspirations for all that is good and l)c:intiful and true, so toucliingly told to us in " T' \Vcyvver"s Deeath." But to know these things as living truths, to be thrilled with the )iathos of humble life, to be inspired with the greatness and grandeur of the self-sacrifice of tlie common ]:)eople, vou must live among them and share their trials. For twenty years after his marriage this was Ben Preston's experience, toiling on, sorrowing, singing and saving, when in May, 1865, lie removed with his family to a hou.se at Gilstead. When the common lands of Bingle}- were enclosed, allotments were awarded to numerous claimants, and our Poet purchased an allotment from Mr. Alfred Harris, junr., and built a house away from the noise and smoke of town life. His brother John ])reviously bought two allotments on Gil>tead Moor, and built a residence there in 1862. For some reason or other Ben Preston sold his property at Gilstead, and retired to a house near hUdwick Glen, which commands a grand \iew of the wild moorland, adjoining the far-famed .Shijiley Glen. In the August of 1889, the writer of this sketch, accompanied by his friend J. S. Jowctt, h'sq.. of Brighouse, liad the pleasure of visiting Ben Preston at liis h(Miie at Fldwick. He was then 70 years old, liale and buoyant : his memory still strong and active, and stored with richest treasures of poetry and prose. The recitation of the choicest -election- from .Shalcespere, Burns, Wordsworth, Tenn\-son and otliers, wa- his delight. Hi- conversational i)ower> were excellent, and the matter of his di-course was both edifying and amusing. Hi- manners were homely and iun-eser\ed ; and yet in all hi- words and actions there were mani- fest mark- of natural refinement. The rare and peculiar genius of Ben Preston as a Poet is displayed in hi- dialect poems ; they are to Yorkshire what the dialect poems of Fdwin \\'augh are to Lancashire. In some of his other poems he has attained a high degree of excellence, especially in " The Poet," " The 136 P.F.N PRFSTOX. Oak and the Ivy," " Tlie Mariner's Church," " Adelphos." and others. His poetry is the apt expression, in apiiro])nalc word-, metrical and musical, of the beautiful symbolism of nature, the love of liberty and truth, and of the noble, tender, and passionate strug<,din^ of the soul in the humbler walks in life. He fjreatl}- reminds us of the remarkable poet-arli>t.AVilliam Blake. His language, like Blake's, is highly imaginati\e. deeply pathetic, and strongly self-assertive ; and like ISlake. too, he is a self-educaied man. He has contributed man\' articles on >ocial (jue^tions to the jniblic press. ^\ complete edition of hi~ pcjem-- \v.t~ pu])]i^hed in 1S81 b\- Thos. Brear, of Kirkgate, Bradford ; and in 1889 a -hort sketch of his life by J. E. Preston, appeared in An'!i-e>i-'s Xorth CoJintrtj Piiet.<, from whicli we have gleaned >ome paiticular-. Tlie poems of Ben Preston desen^e a prominent ])o>ition in everv Yoikshire Library. ni^fit Visions. SwEF,T arc tlie long liotirs of the solemn night. That bring the peace that hovers o'er the dead, For scenes, illuniincd by no earthl}- light. Rise in the chaos round the pillowed liead ; The Eden wcjrld ni_\' sinless childhood knew Sjjrings from the grave of time to ble>> my vii-w. The soft warm wintl is .-icented \\\i\\ the breath Of flowers that perislied in m\- balnliood, The melodv of voices hushed iit death Re-echoes merrilv tlirc;' \'ale and wood ; M\' Itome, m}' first home, seen thro" gu>lnng tear- Sliines in the >tin of long-departed }-car.-. l^cside our cottage stands the ancient oak. O'er which we mourned as for a father slain, And all tminjurcd b}' tlic \\dodman'> >ti'okc .spreads its ])aternal arms and li\cs again ; And there beneath its boughs >ils ntan\- a form L(;ng since- coitsigned to darkness and the woi'm. HEX PRESIOX. I 3" But where is she, the glorv of mv youth, Whose absence made the crowd a solituile ." Life had no ills when she was near to sootlu — The innocent ! the beautiful ! the good ! O, joy, joy, joy ! she comes once more to bless ; Let silence, poor dumb harp, uiv bliss express. Cherubic lore with haloes girds her l)reemed to sav That sin alone can .scxcr those v.'ho lovf. And that our hearts but tasted here below The heaven tliat goodness mav for ever know. Old home, ohl scenes, 1 seek — I haunt \-e }'et, Tho' there sad changes me antl mine befell, Tiio' strangers there in me a stranger nun. There is no jilace on earth L love so well. Forget not. (jh mv soul, in dreams of pritle (_)r vain pursuits, who the-re have lived and died. fHs Poet. Thk ])Oet Stands in solemn mood Amid the whisp'ring solitude ; The stars tluu gird the far-off jjole Speak to his lisi'ning earnest soul ; The nighi-wind and the ocean's roar Utler their deep and solemn hjre ; To him, all forms in mystic speech Lessons of priceless wisdom teacli. He onl\" can theii' whispers ht'ar, Hi\ Nature's own interpreter. I3S REX I'RF.SrON. Tho' oft unlicard, or heard amiss, Still, still for liim creation is Heaven's lanii:uagc, God's unelianging word, By night, h\' dav, for ever heard — rieartl as when tirst the measured chime Of moving worlds gave birth to lime — Voices which, heeded or unheard, Shall ^•et s])eak out till time shall be Gone, like a night-toll, tliat but stirred The stillness of eternitw Alas ! that poet ever strove To wake the throb of guilt\- love, Alas ! thai e'er tlie sacred lyre Was touched to rouse the warrior's ire, That sounds so heavenl}- e'er should be Blended with bacchant revelrw Not so, sings God and Nature's bard, Heaven and not fame is his reward ; His are the songs whose numbers roll Th.eir gusts of feeling o'er tlie soul, Stirring its dieps as l.)reey,e^ wakt' 'i'o lilc and health ihe .--tagnaiu lake; His are the ^li'ain^ that sootli;- to i\->l The fuiie.v of the luunan breast. Flood ihr dark >ca\\ with light, and dan Like >uid)eanis ihi'ougli tlie fro/.en heart; Hi- s|Mikon rnu^i(■, e\en wlu-n witi.l As is the \\il(|i--^i min>n"cK\ Of ]-u-hiiig wind or roaring m';i. With innnpri nolo of iriith is filleil — A nui-ic bringing peace, audi lio[)e-~ ( )f ])ower to c;ihn I'emorse and h-ai'. \'el, sweet and hoh' a> the teai', — The first ic;ir a fond moiher dro]>< ' '"e|- the -lil! halio thai -lumlnrs near, — lli> word-, wiih fin- ccirsiijil fi-;iiiglit, (Juickcn till- Luii'iod seed- of iliouglil ; (rod planted seeds tliat, a- lhe\- sliofjt L'pwai'd into the da\li,L;'ht, graee With l)eaut\', VL-idure, tlower-, and fruit The diear\ mental wilderiie--. P.KX I'RKSTOX. I y) Comes to his rar the word divine, From all below, arouiul, above, He sees without, he feels within, The eternal Life, and Idglu, and Lo\-e ; And (jod's own lan,i(ua,^"r, whis])crrd loni^'. Bursts from Ins lips in f('r\'id soml;--- Sont^' that shall sound in lunnan rai's His ehanu'idess truth thro" ehanijini;' \-ears. ^lie: Qqe: of .Poestj i^ qone. Xami:. .l,^oU!. and ]K)wrr alone ran bless. So mortals look not heavenward now, But guideless, godless, fatherless, Bend to the base earth heart and bro\\-. Tliis world is but a timepic^ee, formed 'W) wear awav its spriui^'s and stop. So hearts i^row cold and dead, imwarned, I'nvivified In I'aith and Flo]ie. Idio' the Creator's livint;- laws All thing's in heaven and earth control, C(^d, oi' Cod's v\'()rk, no loin^'er draw> Awe, love, or wonder from the soul. Hearts, yeanduL;- for a father's lo\-e. Sited orphans' tears and feid alone, -Afammon liath queiKdied the lights above- The Ai^c of Poes\ i-. Lj'one. And is it so .-' Speak, sons of tliouLiht, ^^dlO looking; ever to the skies, Have, in the -miuI's deep stillness, caught Heaven's loftii-st. lioHest harni'tnies. ^lan caiinoi live unsooihed b\' ~^on^•, Si'dv (^)f tins world'> low cares and ])ain. The t~aintinj4- sotil will turn, ere loni;;. To hear the minstrel's harp aij-ain. K2 RHYMES FOR THE TIMES P-v ;i BiiiL^K-y TalliiW riumdU-r. This \va> the title of a sliilliuf,' Ijoolilct isMied at I*iii<;ley in i84<). I'p. 46. ]N.ei<,'liley : Robert Aked. We give his poem on R © f © r m . I AM a little lonely word, Which men do often tise, l)Ut when at home I would be heard, I meet with their abuse. At meetings held in open air, Where man}- men did come ; I often liave been used tltere But none would take me home. In dwellings large the\' use me too, Where men drink and carouse ; l^ut none e'er sa\', "kind sir, will you (jO witli me to our house." 'I'he tailor used me }-esterday, In asking for his \oXc ; ^'et from m\' face he turn'd awa\'. Whilst he cut out a coat. The l)r(;ker pledg'd my friend to be, 1 le would ojipose all sin ; l)iU he forgets his pUnlge to me Wlien he takes })ledges in. And wlu'ii 1 plead with good intent, With men oil I'verv side, 'rhe\- sa\- " \ou go to Parliament, Tliere evermore abide." And with a man I've journe\'d there, Whose e_\i's roH'd clear and bright ; l]ut he ne'er had a bed to spare That I might sta}- all night. 'I'lu'n take me to vour (iresidi' My dut\- I'll perform : And you'll be known both far and wide As kindh- to Reform. JOSEPH ROBERTSHAW, Bv Rev. R. V. TAYLOR. 15. A. I'.R.II.S. X'ICAR e, aiul has also made many pleasin born on the 3rd of December, 1822. and is therefore now about 63 years of a;.;e. In 1836 lie went to reside in Luddenden Valle\'. ne.ir Halifax, to learn the worsted business with his brother-in- l;uv, Mr. John Ambler, of I'eel Hou>e Mills. It \\'a> duriny lii> resi- dence in the lovely and secluded \alle\" of l.uddenden that Southe}'^ " Remains of Henrv Ivirke White "' came under his notice, and opened in him the Jjeautiful laird of poe.-\'. He still cheri>hes a lo\e for the memor}" of the \oun<,' and ;,'ifted Xottinf^diamshire poet. In 1833. Mr. Robertshaw removed to Keighlev', and was mana<,'er for .Samuel (.'unlifTe Lifter, l^s(p. in his wool-combing^ establishment, until the bu-iness was ^'iven up in 1808; he then became inanaj,rer for a Limited Liabiliiv" Companx'. It \\a> durinj,' his residence at Keighlex" that two (M' hi> bo'jks were i^suctl from the pre>> : the title of one beinj,' •• ^'ork- >lnre Tale- and Le}.;end.s," com[)ii>inj,' --A Ramble to Jiollon .\l)be\."' •• Torn Lee. a Tale of W'harfedale,"" and ••The One I'ouiiJ Xole. a lale of ficbden l'.riclj.;e." Hi> other work i- called •• Meditative Hour-, an.'" \)\). 24(j, Reij^'hlex', 1856; with ••.Sketches and ■fradititioiis of the \'ork>liire .Moorlands,"' etc. His ••Meditative fbjiu's '" were dedicatetl by permission tle\'. IS.ut., then M.L. for Halifax, d'liis volume contains >ome fnie poems, which evince a sUdurr lo\c of Xaturc, coml)ined witli choice lan^aiage aiKl ca-y versification. In .Xiii^u^l [85;, when he bicanie b^ditor nf tlie Kfl'j/{/i_'i/ \if strife ; A resj)ite from hamanit}"s dee]) woes, 'j'he balm\' breath of forest Howers spiDils mund. In pla_\ fulness, the aching, grief-scarred bi'ow ; I'hi.' wearieil mind, in I'everie profound, Ls lulfd t(i tranquil rest b\' the calm streaudet's lluw. Come, pensive Melanchoh", come I meet fnrm d'o grace a solitar_\- scene like this ; Come to m\- heart ; no frost nciw nibs — no stcu'm Comes with rude breath to mar our mutual bliss. I'astora! be-auty decks the landscape tlim : — Secluded wood — paths under star-lit skies luN'ile our ste])s ; and hidden songsters Ininn, In sweetest harmon}', their forest melodies. Oh I beautc-ous goddess, now I fetd th_\- power, 1 catch the glances of {hv melting ew, 'I'he soft sensations \\hi(di m\" soul come o"er, With Iiol}' impulse, tell me thou ail nigh. Thou fair illuminatcu' of the sriul : Thou gushing spring of iiUelleclual l'n\- : Tli_\' humble wooer owns th\- kind control. And ])ours, for thee, the niusic of his lunnble hi'e. Thou! gentle one, hast often hushed to peace The stormv passions that in\'ade tlu' mind Of the lone liard, who. glad of his release Ki-om worldl}- cares — iu lia])p_\ ea^c i-ecliui-d. lias swecth' dreamed of childhood's llo\ver\- honu'. Of ti-easures dee}) enslsrined within the heart: While dear and long-departed ones have come Willi radiant smile^ llieir .-.ootinng lutluLiicc to impaM. 144 JOSEPH RO]?ERTSHAW. Or, led by thee, through fancy's boundless world, xVbovc the starry-fretted vault of heaven, What holy visions hast thou oft unrolled To my tranced gaze — what raptures have they given ! How pleasant thus in mossy dell to lie, And snatch from bygone days lifr'sdcarestfiow rs; Or view, while fast the happy moments lly, Our future home, with hojx's to gain its blissful bowers. Oh ! yes, I love these glens ; tliou evening star Bear witness to my i)assion deep and strong ; For thou hast wandered with mc \wdv and far. Their silent shades and green retreats among. Here, joining nature in her tuneful strain Of vocal praise to her Creator's name, 'Tis sweet to worsliip in this glorious fane, While woodland voices fan devcnion's hoh' flame. {|)&i Flatiue, l^iris. I MXG the everlasting liills, tliat I'ear Their giant forms around ni\- moorland home — A lowlv h(jme, 'tis lrni\ Iml far more (U'ar 'I'lian place and wealtli heiieatli \'ictoria's dome. O, mightv mountains, noble, high and lioar ! Proudly and firm ye stand, as ever, now ; Nor lightning's Hash can scathe, nor thunder's roar, Nor time, can bi'iid \our exerlasling brow. Proud guardians of mv native vale, I raise M\' humble, glowing numl)ers in \()ur praise. Cradled amid the storms that whirl around Your dauntless breasts, my _\-()Uthful footsteps roved Among your fastnesses. Tln're was 1 bound Bv naturt''s charms — by nature's charms beloved. .Surrounded b\- your torrents' nuisic wild ! .Secjuestered in \()ur fair\' solituiie. She reared the mind of }-our admiring child, And ](h1 him to the Ort'at, the Wise, the (jood ! lirought forth and rearcnl l)eneath your silent shade. There, too, may my lone corse be lowly laid. JOSEPH ROBERTSHAW. '145 Oil ! liow 1 love to climb your purple peaks, When goklen sunbeams flood your noble crests ; And thence to view the western skv, with streaks Of richest tints adorned ; while calmly rests The landscape, stretching- far, in deep repose. "Pis then — when feelings holy and serene Steal o'er the mind — when every breeze that blows Is fraught with bliss — we think what would have been This gloom}-, wretched, and apostate earth, Had Sin, the horrid monster, ne'er had birth. Or, when tlread \\'inter holds his iron swa}-. And battling elements around \-ou rcjar. Alone, among }-our liaunts, I love to stray. And listen to the storm-spirte's shriek, as o'er Vour reeling- heads he sails ; while deaf'ning, dec/p. Reverberating- tliunder rolls along ^ our rugged sides, or down some awful steep Darts till it spends itself the glens among-. — Oh! then, with j)alpitating- heart, how grand T(; view the Hashing, swift-descending brand! Ye fdl the mind with images sul)lime. Which aspirations after what is great And good beget, — which, nor the hand of lime. Nor death itself can e'er obliterate. V(-S, \e are agents, like the simple flower. Of (iod, that stamp in characters of flame His nature's impress with resistless power Upon the glowing soul ; and loud proclain-i His wisdom and His glorious majest}-. Who is for ever wrapt within his own eternity. ^© mtj natitJ© Serle. Sweet vale ! I love thee dearl_\-, Shrined in thy holy calm, I listen late and early To the inspiring psalm That from thy bosom rises high, A daily anthem to the bkv. 146 JOSEJ'H ROl'.KRTSHAW. 1 gaze upon th\- beauty, Thy music never palls, But nerves me for the dut\- To wliich life ever calls : Thou givest to m\- heart a jo}' Which all life's cares can ne'er clcstro}". The glens, the licalli-claci m(ju,niaiii>. The aged hawthorn trer. The i'ills. ihc ni()s^\' lountains — All have their charms for me ; In calm oi' storm, bv night or (la\', 1 love in their lone hatmls to stra\'. ilow brigltt till' sii;iset gloi'v L'pon th\" wooilhind .-^treani I What feelings now c-ome o'er tne. A\'hilc, lost in the briglit di'eam 0^ earlv (la\s, I walk "nee meii'e Along its green, i-om;iniic shore. I prize th(;se xotlthful feelings---- 'J'hose aspii'aiions grand; To nn; the\' were i'e\-ealings ( »f tlie future spirit-land ; 'J'heir inthieiici' shed> aroiiml m\ w;i\ The glo!'\' of immoiaal daw When, as tlie d;!\beam fadetli, The moon walks foilh serene, ( ) what a powei' ])erva(leth 'J'he fair, enchanting scene ! Ilow is the spirit e;i!i,i;"ht on high. And pant-, lo know life's rn\"stei-\ I I wish not weallli nor >pleiidoiu\ Nor pomj) ol' earthh- ])ow er ; To me 'tis wealth to wander, At morn or evening hour, Heneath the sk\, tipon the sod, \\diere first m\tlioughts were led to ( loi Long ;e> 1 li\-r, dear \alle\. Where'er m\ lot be cast, Wduli' i'ecollection> I'alb" Round the standard of the pa>t : d'hee will m}' heart still foiulh- pii/e, Karfli'-- lirjt and oidy paraddsc. Rev. JOHN ROOM, B.A. Rv WILLIAM XAYLOR, C.C Thk Ivcv. )i)lin J-looni, B.A., \'icar of EastwDod, Kcij^^'iiley, \va^ born on Uic 201I1 of l-"cbraar\-, 1820. at Dewsburx', in the W'c^l Ridin;^ of N'ovl'ishirc. He accjnired llic nulinicnls of learning in the ]-llcnicntary Schools of liis native town and earlv showed great fondness for books. The liap|n' possessor ot a \cr\- retentix'e memory, which even at his present advanced age shows renKnlcable vigour, he made raj)id ])i-ogress not infrequenth' anno\"ing Ids teacher bv aslcing the meaning of what he read in his lessons. \\'!ie!i onl\' seven \ea,rs old he had mastered most of tiu' le.uling facts of Scripture stor\', and luul committed ni.uix' of its most striking chapters to memor\'. His fa\"ourite secular books were l')Uinan"s •■ i'ilgriin's I'logre-^." a.nd •• Ivobiiison (/rirsoe," and he regarded the former noi as an allegor\'. but as a ^■el■itable lecord of facts. A^ Ik- grew up lie de\'elo[)ed an intense craN'ing for knowledge. ()flen when his comp.mions were at ])la\". our autlior might be found in some secluded corner poring o\er the page> of a fa\-ourite book. The sulijects most congenial to hi^ mind were histor\' and poetix'. For ficliori he luul but little tasie. exceiH as it illusiiated histor\- - even Sir W'.dter Scott had but few attractions for liim. Kollin, Plutarch. I iol(isniith"s ••(iiceceand Kome," llmne, and .Smollett, he read with avidit}. as opportunit\- ga\e him access to them. In poetrx' 1 lomer, X'irgil, Shakespere. Milton, Young, and Hyron were his pel authors ; and b_\- ih.e time he had arrived at manhood lie was fairlv con\ersant wilh their choicest writings. ihe ])oetieal bent of his mind, manifested it-elf s"cr\' earU'. Wdien only fourteen )'ears e to a \ery widely expressed wi-h, these were ])ubli>lun! in a sep;uate form and enjoyed a \er\- large cin ulalion. Dew-bury-: Printed by K. W'illan, Market- place. i8,V>. 20 |)p. Some \-eais later he wroie two temperance pocnis. '-Who i- a Slave .-"' and •• Who aie the Free.-'" both of which .ipp.e.uvd in the l-''iiiiihi llrmhl. and llu- F.diior of ihat journal -jioke of them in verv eulogistic lerm-, no snudl compliment. Ai iweniv vears of age he nunried : and soon after entered ih.e Scholastic I'rofes-iou, wliich he pi-osecuted wilh sucee-- foi- -ome -even ca- eight vcars. During this period he wrote the '• (.'hureh J'>ells" and seveial minor pieces having retetcii'.e to current e\enl.-. in iS4-s he I4H REV. JOHN ROOM, B.A. REV. JOHN ROOM, B.A. 1 49 was entered at St. John's CoUejje, Cambridf,re, and graduated B.A. in Januarv, 1852. During his undergraduateship he wrote ''Tlu- rhristian Hero." and otlier pieces. In 1852 he was ordained deacon ])v Dr. Longlev, Bislioji of Kipon. and ]iricst aliont tlie same time of the year folh:)\ving. The Curacy to wiiich lie was ordained wa> Keighlev, at tliat time under the Incumhency of the Rev. W. Busfeild, M.A , Rector. After fifteen months' service as Curate, lie was ap- pointed by the Bishoj) to the living of Eastwood, Keighley, at which jilace he still remains. During this long ])eriod of thirty-seven years in which Mr. Room has held the Living of Eastwood, his poetic pen has by no means been suffered to lie idle. In 1854 he published a small volume entitled •• Random Rhymes;" printed by T. D. Hudson. High Street. Keighley. Since then he has con- tributed to the press scores of pieces, of various lengths, on various subjects. Some are grave and solemn ; others light and humorous. A large number of his compositions have not a- yet seen the light, but it is expected that the whole will be shortly collected and published. They will till a volume of four or li\'e hundred images, and will afford verv interesting reading. It would be very ditlicult to assign to .\Ir. Room a distinct place in poetry, or to say in which of its many classes he excels. In description he deserves a high (dace, and he has the h.appv jiower of convening dee]j and grave thoughts j^leasantly, while as a satirist he is remarkably caustic, as some have good reason to remember. On the 20tli February, 1890, ^[r. Room gave an At Home, at his newlv erected residence, Thornleigh, Keighley, in celebration of the double-event of his (rolden Wedding and his seventieth birthday. The occasion was taken advantage of by his congregation and a few of his old friends to present him with a suitable address and a handsome escritoire, .md a fund was also raised with the object of recognising his long, able and devoted ministration, by the erection of an appropriate stained-glass window in the church where he has so long and faithfully laboured. November. 1890, saw this uork fully accomplished. Olpjes mritte.n Ir a Boyng Body's Mad I tlic Wizartl's skill, dear Kate, To re-ad tlu- volume of thy fat(-. Ami whisper in th}' eag'er ear The mystic words of hope and fear ; Would it be generous or wise To tell what in thv future lies? Ri;\'. JOHN ROOM, i;.,\. Of maiden love, or married cares, Or widow'd .^'riefs, or smiles or tears, Or wipe the film from f)ff thine eye 'i'liat shrouds in doidil th_\- cU^stin}' .' Xo I better far that tliou shouldst l)e l*'rom all unla-\\ful knowled,L;-e free ; Ik'tter to lia\'e a patient mind To (jod's g'ood providence resi^t^iiM ; Wliate'er it brin.n's. whate't'r it sends, Of health, or sickness, foes or IVieiids ;— A trusting heart, a steadfast will ; Xor doubling;' t^'ood, nor f 'arin^n' ill : X(Tr anxious for the jo\" or sori'ow That fate ma\- brin^;' with each to-morrow. Hut our blind nature era\cs to see What hides in dark futui'it}'. Tlu^ A'outh imens(_-l\- lonys to scan What fortu.nes wail him as a man. The m hid from moi'ta! e\(\ All this is folh. \\'ho can know What i-- best for him here below .' \\ liat profleis i^ain ma\' brini;' a loss: \\ hat seems a jo\' ma\' ])ro\e a ci'oss : And loss and cross are ijain and Jon', If ri^hth' we Ood's ^ifls em])lo\'. ("onllicl and peacH', sickness and luallh, Distros and condoi't, wain and \\r.-|lth : All that can pi'( isjier nv und( ) u- Ai'c \[\-i what ( iod dolh make ihcni to us. dhen \\]\\' be fretful :' Win i'e])ine r The (Iod thai oi'dei's all is ihine:- Thine— lo siii- u]) each hol\' fin-. .And thine- to i|uench each vain desire: d'o wash sin's poison IVom lh\' blood, .\iul make thee beautiful and lmhx! : dTv fooi to L^uide, thine head to sliield, Th\ w ork to hel]) in town oi' field : 'J'o keep thee safe in all lh\- wa\s. And bless and jjrosper all thy d'a\'s. RF.\'. JOHN" KOO>r, P.. A. All needful knowletlt^'e Ileav'n reveals, Whv wish to know what lie conceals ? '["hough but one forwartl step be clear; Taken, a second doth a}j])eai-. Though but one da\' at once thou live, Tii\' daih" bread tlw (iod doth give. 'J'lien be it thiui/, m\- fair fi'iend, Kate, 'J"o liaisl the ( jod that governs fate. Let litis truth la}' all doubts to rest, Whaif/er (ion (;[\ Ks or I)oi;s — 1> i;k.sj\ G procDinq Sixci-: first I drew breatli in this world of mankiinl, ddireescore and odd summers ha\'e rolled ; And sometimes the thought flashes into in_\- mitid, " I wonder if I'm growing old ? " Mv hair was once auburn, and curl_\- and bright. And fine as the fam'd ileece of gold ; Hut now it is lank, and silver}' white, I womler if I'm growing old ? Mv sight, once as clear as the eagle's, I read The sm;iiU-st print mortals behold, iJut now, though with s{)ecta(des hidj)'d, I'm ntisled, I wonder if I'm growing old .' y]\ leetli, once so pearl)-, and set in two rows. Tike sentinels guarding a fold ; Are fractur'd, disccdour'd, and wide gaps disidose, I suspieet that I (?w growing old. My appetit(> once needing nauglit to entice. For naught cam{/ amiss, liot or coUl : lias b.come so capricious, so s([ueamish, and nice; I har that I d/zi grinving old. M \' joints, once so supple, grow stiffer ea(T da\' ; .\\\ UKnements less nimble and bold ; .\nd aclies, pains, and ci'amjjs in m\' limbs make me sa}', " 1 ieel that I d;// growing old." REV. JOHN ROOM, ]^..A. I\Iv faculties mental, ni}' learning and wit, Like articles barter' d or sold, Are worse for the wear, and for wear an.' li'ss fit ; 'Tis certain I am growing old. My faculties, scmses, and organs and j)()\v'rs. All signs of decadence unfold : And soon will be cast up the sum of m\- hours ; For surel}- I aui growing old. V>\\\. grant me, dear Saviour, Thy grace and Tin- loxc In Th}' l^ook h't m\' iiame he enroll'ch Then renew'd and restor'd, in Tin' kingdom above, I shall (lourislr, and never s^row oltl. ^fie late: £;ord 1^re:de:ricR Gaueedlsli. 5n /ll^e morta m. No one can know what ma\- be (in the morrijw. To self, acquaintance, famih, or friend. Of health or wealth, of jo\- ox nK^rtal sorrow ; For future things all human ki'U ti'anscend. Unwise, we count on lengthened ^•ears to come, Tliough sure not of a Iransienl living dav : We plan our work, and build our future liome, Though work and home ma\" bolli lie far ;iw;i\-. Oh, Cavendish ; tin most uidiap])\- fate Hath wrung our hearts with agoinzM distress, We mourn as he who moiu'iis a iniieh-loved mate. In all the misery ol" loneliness. A Star has fallen from our socdal sk\' ; A trusted Friend is taken from our side ; A Coimsellor on whom we could iiK, All perished when our fntliful .\lend)e|- (bed. Hut \esteri.la\ we saw then' fidl ol' Ufe, Fir'd with high hopes and conscious em'rg\-; Anxious to heal the fcsl'ring wotnids of strife. And weld the bonds of peace and amitx*. \'ain ho])e ! for who would banisli Ireland's woes. And satisf\- her veritable need, Needs not to change her ecpiitable laws, But changt' her p(>ople's naturi' and their creetl. REV. JOHN ROOM, B.A. 1 53 But be the policy 'twas thine to serve, Wise or mistaken, provident or bUnd, None doubts the patriotism that gave thee nerve ; None doubts thy noble singleness of mind, Thy loyal faith, thy self-renouncing zeal, As with a halo gild thy honour'd name, Thy love for an ungrateful people's weal. And tragic death will give undying fame. A Sovereign mourns a loyal Servant gone ; An Empire, an untimely clos'd career ; A noble Sire laments a loving Son Whose filial tenderness made doubly dear. A weeping Widow — widow'd far too soon. Mourns a fond Husband ravish'd from her sight, Her sun of wedded life, gone down at noon. Leaves heart and hearth enwrapt in twofold night. FaropSmse; ©n {%& lord's Prater. Father in Heaven, Thou God alone, Who fill' St the universal throne ; Who mad'st from nought all things tluit are, From atom to the utmost star ; Thine eye is watchful over all. Thine ear attentive to their call. Thine hand Thy countless creatures feed, And succours them in all their need. Hallowed p>e Thine awful name. Holy, ineffable I AM ! Never may impious mortals dare Blaspheme it, or profanely swear ; Or desecrate by vulgar use, Or foul by heathenish abuse, But hold in reverential awe The Name made sacred by Thy law. Thy kingdom come, when Thou shalt reign Sole Monarch in Thy vast domain ; When all false gods shall broken be, And men shall worship only Thee. Fnthron'd in all hearts Thou shalt sit ; In all minds shall Thy laws be writ, And all shall own, in deeds and words. Thee King of kings and Lord of lords. L 154 RK\. JOHN ROOM, l'..A. Thv will r.K DONE OX EARTH ; vca even As it is done in Thine own heaven. Where Angels Thy behests obey, And highest Seraph owns Thy sway. So in this world of mortal men, Retleem'd, enlightened, born again, Ma}- all Thy high commands fulfil. And all delight to do Thy will. CjW'K is IHLS day OIR DAILY I'.REAI): 'Tis by Thy bounty we are fed. (live strength to labour, health to use, Nor aught Th}' goodness gives refuse. () save us from that trustless greed That hankers for the morrow's need : Be it enough that Thou supply Each present da\'s necessity. Forgive oi r trespasses, dread Lord, And teach us to observe that word. That bids us pity and forgive Those who ourselves offend and grieve. That we, as children of the light, May stand accepted in Thy sight ; And in our love and charity And mercy may resemble Thee. Into temi'tatiox lead ls xor : ikit keep our souls from sin's dark blot. Let not fierce lust, nor doubt, nor pride. Prevail to push our steps aside ; But in each ilark and trying hour O save us from the tempter's pow'r. .Mav all our trials motives be To Ijind u^ (■l()>cr, Lord, to Tlu-f. For Thine ihe kixgijom is; and Thine The pow'r and (;lorv — all divine, 77/t' Kini^'i>i, Thine undoubted reign. To ortler all things for our gain ; 77ie Pmc )\ to answer faithful j)rav'rs, Supply (jur wants, and soothe our cares ; 77h Glory, Thine exclusive praise For help and blessing all our da\s. WILLIAM CHARLES RUSHTON, Bv \VA[;rEi<_ J. KAvi-:, m.a. I'RIXCIPAI. OK ILKLF.V COf.Ma; i:. VOKKSHIKI'.. ]'>OK\ SL']nenil)er 4tli, i860, al Windliill. near Sliipley, Mr. \V. C. Rusliton was, by the deatli of his latlier at the close of 1X61, deprived of the siron^^ liand and lielp on wliicli \-outh wisely leans, antl thus early had to taste earth's bitterest sorrows. Hard was the stru<,'<^le for the teaehini; a villai^^e school could att'ord, and this was earlv cut short by his bciuL; sent to work in the factory, at the tender aj^e of nine. In tu'o x'cars more he was j^ut on to work " full time." Am])ition soon dawned. :ind the jiowers of the embr\-o ]ioet, deve!o])ed in rouym|)athies fmd ready and ai5])ropriate ex- pre-sion, embodying in poetic garb the \'aried phases of country life and feeling. But ambition seldom knows its bounds. Mr. ]-lushton has devoted his steaonne.{. You're like such thing when summer gilds the j()\s Of some impatient sapling, for the tree That teems with heav} crops too oft destroys The mellow lints of clioicest luxury ; Then give me record wlience I ma_\- recall Time's hollow eclio if perchance to trace' Which as 1 hope may ne'er to me befall. Your lack of meekness in my warm embrace. 'Tis citadel'd in you what may not jtari From forth my better being thus confined, 1 yield my soul, and so perforce m\- heart -Must drag its ileshy tribute on behind. Then frame your lips with language to admit Thai youth is vain }et sweeth- passionate. JANE SHACKLETON, By councillor C. W. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF "A WRKATH OF RHYMK," THE EIFFEL TOWER, AND OTHER POEMS," ETC. The maiden name of this lady, who wrote under the nom de phime of " Jenny Wren," was Jane Atkinson, daufjhter of Mr. T. Atkinson, farmer, of .Spring Close, Cullinj,'worth, and she was born in 1836. .Shortly after her birth, her parents removed to Harden Beck, near Bingley, the beautiful district where Nicholson, the Airedale Poet, resided during one of the happiest periods of his life. Here she spent most of her childhood, and on reaching years of maturity com- menced keeping a school, and afterwards comjjleted her educational course at Homerton Congregational College. P"rom here she accepted an appointment as teacher of a school at Farsley, where she supple- mented her ordinary scholastic duties by writing numerous pieces in prose and verse. In 1863, she was married to Mr. Abraham Shackleton, Printer and Stationer, of Keighley, and the year following a collection of her writings was published bv lier liusliand, luider the title of "Facts and Fancies." In her ])rcface to tliis most interesting volume, which has gone througli several editions, she thus explains what caused her to " write a book." " My husband is a printer, and I jiersuaded him, in the da)'s of my early bridehood, while yet persuasion was an easy matter, to gather my stray scribblings together, and reprint them in the form of a book, which would be my very o\\n production, and would be the realisation of the dreams and hopes of my girlhood," and concludes by sa\ing " I will publish no more, unless mv sweet twin- daughters, newlv born, should ])rove an irresistible ins])iration." Al- though not writing as frefpiently as before her marriage, new pieces from her pen (X'casionally apjieared in the local ])ress, and were also welcomed bv the public. The short stories she wrote were jjarticularly j)opular. After an illness extending over several months she died at Braithwaite, near Keighley, on June 8th, 1876. in July, 1879, at the request of many anxious to obtain copie.-,, a new edition (jf '• Facts and Fancies," with additional ])ieces. was published in a neat form Ijy Mr. .Shackleton. "Jenny Wren," during tlie lime she apjjeared before the public as a writer was a great favourite with writers generally, and throughout the di>trict of Airedale her noi/i de jAnme was familiar as a household word. Althcnigh attempting no great work, her writings showed unmistakable promise, and if compelled to write for her liveli- hood, she would undoubtedly have made a lasting mark upon the literature of her country. Her language and thoughts betray none of the maudlin sentimentality so frecjuently i:)revalent amongst female votaries of the muse, but are always healthy in tone and bright and crisp in method and expression. JANE SHACKLETON. l6l ^ittr© QfiHie, She lingered but a moment To glad us with her smile, vSwect, bright-eyed Little Annie ! S(>nt sad thoughts to beguile ; Then like a flitting sunbeam, She left our sea-girt isle. We loved dear Little Annie ; Her voice was soft a?id sweet As the gushing liquid music That murmuretl at our feet ; And we grieve that now her prattle Xo mor(> our ears may greet. O'er the wild, wide-sounding ocean, Where the dashing billows foam. They took dear Little Annie 'Mid other scenes to roam ; They bore sweet Little Annie To a distant foreign home. And we miss the fairy footfall That danced so lightly by. And the sunlight ever beaming In her bright, dark baby eye, And the laughter, gushing sweetly, Like angel music sigh. ^Ln- life for Little Annie, Be scattered o'er with flowers. Gathered by guardian angels. From bright arcadian bowers ; Till heaven receives Sweet Annie, To fairer worlds than ours. JANE GORDON SUTHERLAND, Rv J. (tAUXT, R.A. B.,S(. VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE VOKK.SHfRE LITERARY .St)CIETV; Al'THOR OE " EVENTIDE," " MARAH," ETC., ETC. For seven or eijjlit years previous to 1882, Miss SiUhcrlaiKl wun will- known in Keighlev, l)oth as one of tlie mistresses of the (iirls' (iranuiiai- School and as an untiring worker for the development of the University Extension Scheme. She was a classical scholar of hi a consequence of lier ability and perseverance, but after a very short illness, she succumbed on Sunday, February 15th, 189 1. Miss Sutherland was of Scotch extraction, and was born about fort\- years ago. Her ])oeins give evidence of culture and reiinement, and speak of a disjjosition at once gentle and amiable. Mr. J. Horsfall Turner — no mean judge of poetry — in his " Yorkshire Bibliographer," vol. i. pays a high compliment to her "Lays of the Luri." Whilst in Keighley, Miss Sutherland was a member of the Devonshire Street C'ongregalional Church. She also for some time conducted a j^rivate academy. Watch in the early morning, Watch through tlie lieat of da\-; Pray while the eve is closing. In the darkness watch and pray Watch, for temptations ever Round feeble mortals stray, But mercy faileth never. For those who watch antl l)ray. JAXl<: llORDOX SUTHKRI.AXtX 163 Pray for help and guidance Through life's troubled way, Pray for grace and prudence, In meekness, watch and pray. Watch through tlie night of sighing For the morning's cheering ray, Pray with the sick and dying. At all times, watch and pray. Sw KKT nyni])h, advancing with a beaming air, ( )f the three sisters fairest of the fair ; 'ren(ler(\st, truest, gentlest grace, Known 1)\- the love-light in th}- face, Still-\<)iced, soft-robed, ever tending Hel})less misery, and blending Smiles and tears in spirit healing ; ^\"ith faults and follies gently dealing, Nothing doubting, nought of harm, Clouding thy bright nature's charm ; Humble still, and not elated, Pi'one to soothe the evil-fated, ( )h beauteous, bright, benignant Charit}-, Thrice art thou blessed to souls in extremity. (Pqo). Month of fairest, freshest tlowers. Month of sunshine and of showers. Month of budding, verdant bowers — Merry Month of May ! Days of longer light and grace. Hours of glowing life's embrace, Whil;' nature's throbbing stei)s we trace- — Lovely Month of May ! l'"aii- daughter of a genial clime, ( iay tripping in thy glorious prime. Soon vanishetli the winter rime IkTore thv smile, () Mav JAMES WADDINGTON, Bv THK Rev. A. H. RIX, LL.D. F.G.S. MINISTER OE HIGH STREET CONGREGATIONAL CHIRCH, BKAIjI' OKI). VICE-PRESIDENT, YORKSHIRE LITERARY SOCIETY. Gentle in word and deed thy life has been, By Nature taught without and Grace within ; A scholar meet and apt, thou learn'dst in time, While yet a youth, to live the life sublime ; And now the Poet and the Christian soar In world.-, of light, while we thy loss deplore. George Aekroij'K J, P. The poems of James Waddington ha\e both an intrinsic and a relative value. To that class of readers who, recognising the limited educational resources at the Author's command, are willing to ap- preciate so noble an endeavour to cultivate a literarv taste, and to clothe elevating thoughts in cha>te and a])propriate language, their relative value cannot fail to be apparent. Born at Horton, near Bradford, in 1829, the childhood and youth of James Waddington were passed through at a time when mental culture was not easily acquired by those in the humbler >tation> of life. To his modest disposition and retiring habits, and his devotion to an aged parent for whose supj)ort he laboured as an arti-an. the secret of his mental progress may be largely attributetl. In tho.>f quiet hour> spent at home, in the village of .Saltairc. he dc\eloped a taste for reading — the writings of Coleridge, Lamb, Christopher North, and notably AVordsworth, being amongst his favourite authors. In comnuinion with these genial and refined spirits, he longed for a better actjuaint- ance with letters, and the vigorous attempt he made to improve hi^ education was followed with a very fair measure of success. At a comparativeh' early age he was elected a hrst-clas> member of the Phonetic .Society of Great Britain and Ireland, and foi- many years conducted two phonographic magazines known as the ••l^ioneer" and the "E.xcelsior," to which he freely contributed cs^avs. tales and short poems. As a contributor to the " Bradfordian," and other newsj^ajiers, lie wrote under the nom de plume of "Ralph Goodwin." Although the literary form'; employed h\ this writer are clearly the result of careful JAMES WADDIXGTON. I 65 study — and even then, are not absolutely free from mistakes — the fire of a poetic imagination is not wanting. Chambers of imagery are boldly entered, and full many a sparkling gem is made to adorn the lyric and stanza, the sonnet and the ode. ^ In the autumn of 1861, on his return from a visit to Cumberland, he was stricken with a fever, and on October 12th in the same year, after a short illness, and at the early age of 32, the gentle spirit of James Waddington passed away. In July, 1862, a postluniioiis volume of j^oems was issued under the title of " Flowers from the (lien ; the poetical remains of James Waddington, of Saltaire ; edited bv Tiliza ('raven (xreen." 176 p])., l)<)st 8vo. This volume was suliscribed to by his former friends who were employed, like himself, at the works of Mr. (afterwards Sir) Titus Salt. (Ptise ©f m6j notiu© ^Qfid. ^lusK of my native land ! what joys have I When winter day and all its cares are past, To banquet at thy sumptuous repast, '.Mong kingly spirits that can never die ! Visions of matchless beauty pass me by, That erst the raptured dreams of Spenser blest. Or light on Milton's gloomy pathway cast, Waking his seraph soul to ecstacy. Earth has to me no solitary spot : Whether my path be o'er the trackless moor, Or if I muse in some umbrageous grot. Forms of the world of mind come evermore ; And, earth's frail joys and sorrows all forgot, I breathe the balmy air of a diviner shore. 1 66 jAMKS \VAi)r>ixc;ro\. ^Se S©uf ©f P©e;s^ ^iues in qFI t^at be. The soul of Poesy lives in all that be — The million stars that look witli holy eyes To earth ; the beauteous moon that walks tlie skies The musie of the ever-soundinL^ sea ; The hills that stand in silent majesty With white and reverent heads, above the noise And tumult vain of earth, and all its toys ; The winding vales in whose deej) bosoms lie The sk\-reflecting rivers ; flowers that look With grateful eyes to heaven till dav be s])ed — Are all but glorious letters in the IJook Of Nature God has given for man to read ; And He has given to bards the power which cau Unfold their hidden meanings unt]), lone glen shall yield ihce rest ; Its hills fone deepl}- wooded, skvward rears, The other piled with rocks, hoar\- with \ears, Crowned here and there with birch-trees, sunn\-tress'(! Toss'd in the wind shall form thee a gre'en nest Where no rude sound shall jar ui)on tli\- ears. The brook shall sing its lullabv to care. The flowers that bloom in sweet st'clusion there Shall innocently look into thinc^ e\'es, Kindling dead memories of boyhood life. Refrcsh'd in sj)irit shalt thou thence arise. Strengthened to meet the world and cope with strife ! |,\^rF.s w .\[»i)1X(;tox. 1O7 ^QOJortS [floor. O Wide, brown heath, bare hills, and lonesome dells, Hill ye are lovely in this amber light, \'our shadows grim all mellowed in the bright Warm sunshine, and th(> flush of your fair bells ! All round this moorland path the ground upswells, With some stray sheep amid the heather blooms ; And with its dark, broad bulk, before us looms The mighty Boulsworth. Where this streamlet wells Through moss and fern, a sister band would roam, With fire of genius in their large bright eyes, Peopling their free and boundless desert home With life which they alone beheld and heard. Their sole companions the bee and bird, Within the round of these o'er-arching skies ! SE© Power of Poesej. Divines'! Poesy, hail ! When bruised and bent B}- rudest buffetings of adverse fate Thou comest to bless us and to elevate ! liright Queen of Song, from heaven art thou not sent. Bringing with thee Hope, Love, and sweet Content, Thy angel train, to enter my low dome, Filling my cup of joyance when they come. And binding up the wounds that strife has rent :" Without thee, what were this dull life of care. Battling with trials fierce and toils and sin ? Light of life's rugged path, thou show'st us where Its roses blow ; what goal we ought to win. And op'st with prophet-wand to mortal eyes The amaranthine bowers of Paradise. 1 68 JOH\ APl'LRYARn WHITAKRR. JOHN APPLEYARD WHITAKER. Bv PHILIP SXOWDEX, OF THK INLAND KKVKNTK DKI'ARTM F.N"1', IMAMOfTH. J. A. Whitakf.R wns born at Haworth. on Marcli and, i8()2. He is the only son of highly respectable parents, his grandfather being the late John Appleyard, of Haworth, a name well known and revered in the annals of Worth Valley Methodism. His parents removed to Cowling when their son was about three years old, and it was in this isolated village that the years of his boyhood were spent. He served an apprenticeship to a draper in Leeds, afterwards obtaining a situation as assistant at Cleckheaton. where he remained for eight years, marry- ing in the meantime. In 1890 he commenced business on his own account at Great Horton. As a child he displayed a remarkable a])titude for poetrv, and his recitations were always a welcome feature at the village entertain- ments. Considering his religious training, it seems but natural that his first essa}- at original poetry should be a sacred theme. Jde \-erv earl}- wrote a paraphrase on the llrst Psalm. His first publisheil ]:>oem was upon Haworth Churcli, written during the heated contro\ers\- re- garding the rebuilding. Since then he has been an occasional con- tributor to the Poets' ('orncr of the local press, and has frequently taken part in varied contro\er>ies through tlie same medium. His father, William Whitaker, died at Cowling when his son was only 13 years of age, so that his career in life has Ijcen almost entirelv marked out by himself. His mother, daughter of the late fohn Appleyard before nientionetl, resides at Oakworth. and the qualities of her mind, heart, and life, have in a great mea-ure entered into and influenced the life of her son. ^o ©ur IBards. God semis to man the p(;et To act ami pla}' his part ; He chisels on the hard, cold piece Of man's repulsive heart. Visions of thought in darkest night, God speaks through him to men. And when the spirit bids him write We hear his voice again. M JOIIX AlM'l.i:\ Alvl) W ini Alvl-.R. And down llie corridors of time, ']Mid life's ancestral halls, Pictures in words that are sublime Their vision oft recalls. But they are passing from our sight 'I'lu- hards of (jod's own choice; And who will lake their pi-n to write And cflio on (Jod's voice .-' O ! C(jme ye Bards of future times, Our Bards are growing old, And tunc your instruments and rhymes lo measures brave and bold. Tell of a glorious coming day Where all is ])ure and bright ; Shine thro' the darkness n(n\- we pray And " Let there now be liglit." Cjod calls the j)oet for the times ']"o sing his various parts, And with liis littlr soiigs and r]i_\-mes lie j)la\-s on nation^' hearts. $fie: Preaeher. I SKI-: him nioving up the stairs ; His hair is white, his hands arc tlnn ; And at thi' close of e\-ening praters, lie loves to line an evening hymn. With bended fcjrm ami feeble voice, A face lit up with h(.'a\-enl_\- liglu, A >tret('he(l out arm, he soflh' reads '• ('A()T\ to Thee, mv (jod, this night." 'Idle h\mn is sung, he bows his head, And clasps his feeble hands, and then In silence bent, a thousand hearts Repeat the closing words — Amen. ABRAHAM WILDMAN. By thk Rev. JA.MES GABB, B.A. RECTOR OF BL L>[1:R-\V-\VKJ.BLRN, VORKS. ; AriHOR OK " STKPS TO THK THRONK," " HVMNS AXD SONGS OF PILGRIM LIFK," KTC. Abraham Wildmax was horn at Ivci(,rhley, on the I3lh of Auj^ust, 1803, and was the son of Quaker parents, from whont he in- lierited the integrity and independence which lie shewed in several circumstances of his life. He earl\- wrote verses, and was, for a while, the first relieving officer elected by the Board of Guardians for Keighley, then recently constituted a Union under the Xew Poor Law .Vet. KEKIHI.KY ClirUCH J'KIOK TO lS|i;. Political and other differences presently arose, and he retired from that position. Mr. Wildman then threw himself into the Short Ifours" Factory Agitation, and, as secretary for the jn-omotion of this move- ment, corresponded with impoitant ])olitical personages, from one of the highest of whom — the Duke of Wellington — he received an auto- ABRAHAM WII.DMAX. graph letter. He also drew up petitions to both Houses of Parliament, and defended the factory workers before the Court of Quarter Sessions at K.eighlev ; a report of which may be found in the " Leeds Intelligencer," of Xovember 4th, [833. Mr. Wildnian had already brought out a Volume of Poems in [829. Fie had also sent ]>oems to the ]5apers, some of which were pre- served by the late Mr. Abraham Holroyd. from whose memoir of Mr Wildman, published in the locality, the subjoined poem, together with the incidents of his career which are here given, have been gathered. Mr. Wililman. afterwards engaged in business in Keighley, but was unsuccessful ; I'emoving from thence to Bingley, and then to Bradford, where, for some time afterwards, he resided. He entered the service of Messrs. 'iurney Sc Pirothers, wool-staplers, and sub- sequently was a A\-oo]-sorter with Mes^^rs. Wood 8c Walker. At length old age overtook him, and lie was unable t(j work. r^Iisfortunes in his family, as well as in business, weighed upon him. One of liis daughters was crippled, by injury to lu;r spine, in a mill accident. His only son went to Australia, and was never lieard of again. Then his -wife died. In order to obtain some jjccuniarv help, he publislied by subscription his " La\-s of Hungar\", from wliich lie derived some benefit. It seemed that lie must ultimately, and before long, come to the work- house. However, in 1868, the writer of the memoir before alluded to, hearing ihai .\[r. Wildman was in want, interested himself in his wel- fare, l-'riends in Bradford were, ai ilie same time, collecting funds to relieve his pressing necessities and ease his anxious care tor the future. Through the kind intervention of the former friend, .Sir Titus .Salt was moved to ix-nder him immediate assistance, and soon after, to allot him one of the Alms-houses at Saltaire, coupled with means of subsistence foi- the remainder of his life ; to which place, with his invalid daughter, he at once removed. But even here his bereaved condition was such a lasting grief to him that his improved circumstances could not entirely allay it. Soon, at the l)eginning of :\Iarch [870, he was seized with paralysis, and on the 19th pas-ed away from a world in which others beside him have found the ethereal mood of tlie poet no match for tlie hard realities of life, or the turbid atniosplicre and conijH-titive struggles of a busy, tliough not unfeeling age. ABRAHAM WILDMAN. I 73 ^lie: i^aetortj Ohifd's Gomplaint. Mercv! wakt" llic slunilx^rinj^- l)rc,'isl, Wake ! lo fan the holy (ire ; Plead the cause of Ihe oppressed, Plead for those who now expire. In a land where freedom smiles, We arc worse than ne.gro slaves ; Knvy of surrounding isles, Rouse thy patriots from their graves. Nation blessed from above, Must thy children wear the chain ? Land of Eibles — Christian love. Justice pleads for us in vain. Short our slumbers, brief our rest. Long the labour that we bear ; Grief, corroding in our breast, Sinks our spirits to despair. Ere the lark salutes the skies, (_)r the sun on us doth smile, From our wretched beds we rise. Weary with the last day's toil. There confined till his l.)riglil rays All have fled the western sky. Blush, ye Christians of these days — Blush at this foul tyranny ! Summoned by yon hateful bell, ]\L")rnand noon we're doomed tohear, Yes, it sounds like death's dull knell. We its victims of despair. Give support to SatUer's measure. Lend, oh lend, a helping hand ; Charity — that heavenly treasure — Should adorn a Chrislian huul. 174 ABRAHAM \\ILDMAX. Wake, then, Mercy ! fan the flame ; Plead for them who dare not speak ; Wipe the guilt from Britain's name, And the chains of slavery break. Oime;s eomposed oh the. BqkRs of tSe; Qire:, Wha r a scene of falTn beauty engages my >ight ; I'he fields, late so cheerful and gay, Have changed their colours to autumn's dead v, hile, ( )r })ass'd with tlie Season awaw Not a voice in the air, nor a song from the trees. In harmon}- breaks on mine ear : But chilling and cold is the northern breeze, — The herald that winter is near. Xo sountl, save the 1mm of the sweet village bells. Which rolls down the river so clear, Awakening the echoes that >leep in the dells — The voice of a plaintive desj^air. Sweet Aire, as thou flow'st, tlie leaves as they fall. Remind me of beauty and fame ; And tlie scenes now around in eloquence call, That beauty's a delicate name. Wliile fame too is fickle — slie borrows the wings Of fancy, oft changing and blind : Her subjects are borne like the leaf on the springs. Or hurri(>d away with the wind. Mere m\" nuise is grown shy — no longer I write — She dwells ntn with me in the bourn, But loves in confining me u]i laie at night. Then leaves me to si^ii and to mourn. ROBERT CARRICK WILDON. Bv GE;0RGE ACKROYD, Esq., J.T. Robert Carkick Wu.dox was born of humblt: ]Kuentai;e ai North Bierley, in the year 1817. He died in tlie Bradlurd liitirinary on the 22iul January, 1S37. and hi.s remains lie in Binf,'le_\- C"hurch\'ard, a few yards away from those of Jolm Nicholson. I'rior to his death, W'ildon had for some years resided at Dowley (-'rap, a hamlet >ituated between Bingley and Saltaire. Tlie story of his hfe, as told by the late Abraham Hohx)yd in his " Bard^ of Yorkshire, " is most pathetic. A job tailor by ira,-. J fe contri\etl to educate himself in a way (_)ne can hardh- reali/c, \\hen we consider hi> .-.cant means and opportunities ; for education wa> not brou^dit to ever\- child's door then, as it is now. His poems show that he possessed a hne ]ioetic instinct and a love of nature which must ha\'e cheered and almo'-t compensated him for his material wants. ~My acquaintance with him was onh' sli<,dU— almo>t confnied to a >in^de interview, when I recollect he recited to me ^ome mock heroic lines in Burns" welbknown measure, on the stir and >cy, but hardl\- festive l)oard. lie wishetl me to suggest a sul)ject for Ncrsitication to him. and 1, fresh from an amliiti(nis eflbrt of m_\" own at a small essav and discussion theme, suggested The Deluge. " The force of contrast could no further go." Ilowever in the course of a few weeks, lie brought me a neat \vrittcn and mounted copy of his line^ on ■■Tlie Deluge," and I. perhaps uncon-ciou^b' jealou- iliat he had m.ide more (jl' Ids -uhject than I had, for his ctjpy wa- more tluin twice as long a> mine. lia.-tiK' paid him an aclvnowledgement and a graluitx" below the \alue of tlie line- no doubt, but a- niudi a- I could then alUnd to give, I fear liolli ellorts are nt)\s- in the land \vhere all tliing- are forgotten. IU> poetic faculty must have greatly improved by exer- cise since then, for I find in his publislted poems some really hue passages of descriptive power, such as I had not thought him capable of producing. His •■ d'ong on a Summer's Da\',"" and " Calderdale," are high above commonplace, and hi- somiet to ['(>esy, (piite equal to mo-t of Kirk White's. 176 ROr.l'.Kl CARKICK WILUOX. Poor Wildon 1 let us hope that his spirit is at rest in tlie Paradise of the Poets, and enjoyiii io\" in the sunbeams, and love in the [freeze : The stout spreading oak can a ]deasure impart, A pleasure the purest to gladden his heart; In its groan there is worship, and ])ra\er in its nod, As it bendi'th its head to the glory of (jod : (^ ! such make the poet, a}"e, hap])ier far Than greatest of statesmen, or chieftains of war. He has joy in the stars as they glisten on high : He has bliss in the glance of his child's laughing eye ; He has jov in tlie love and the smile of his wife, Whose kindness can. soften the path of his life ; He has friends who are staunch, he has foes — but no matter ; The former he loveth, nor heedeth the latter : Then say not he's wretched, but happier far Than greatest of statesmen, or chieftains of war. JOSEPH WOOD. Bv ('MAS. F. FORSHAW, l.L.l). Mr. Wood is a native of Allcrton — boni on F'ebruaiy i6tli. 1824. He has wi-ilten several "In Memoriam " Odes, which ha\"e been much admired. In 1880 M. Field, of Bradfortl. pul)li-,hed for him a 35 pp. liamiihlet entitled "Thoughts on the Lord'- Prayer," which met wiili great success. This is the only work he has issued in book ;"oiin. At ])resent Mr. Wood is living in Bradford, in whicli town he has sjient the greater portion of his life. ©mnipotenee;. " Our P'athkr I" wlio can comprclicnci Thy wisdom, power, aiul might r Creation's bounds Thy sceptre- own> In glorious realms of light. Thy splendour fills all space witli ra} h ]\Iost glorious and divine : Sole origin of light and life. In beauteous order shine. "Our Father!" we beliold Tli_\" work> In Nature's vast domain : Prodticed b}- Th\" Almiglit}- word, Their order must remain. In its research, p]tilosoi)h_\- Finds Nature's tliemes sidjlime : Declaring 'Vhv Omni])otence, And wisdcjm througli all tinn-. Tell us, \e sages, who have gra>ped Fach science in its ttiiai : Whose giant mintls can comprelieiid. Whose inmost soul doth bunt 'Jo gain all knowledge, lift the folds ( )f the m}steri(;us \-ail Wliicli hides trui- wisdeim from our c\e>, l)Ut truth must }et prevail. We liail thee, Science ! thou art great. For noble is tlte truth : And bid tliee welcome as a friend. 'J'liough \-et a sprighth yoiuh. JOSEPH WOOD. 179 Roll on, bright harbinger of lore, Creation's laws unfold, Till I'very nation on the globe 'I'hv glorious truths are told. liJat ©r. Water ! thou great essential boon, Creation's works embrace ; Thy bounteous laws of pilgrimage No human mind can trace. Unmeasured fountains pour their wealth On all the earth around ; Unchanging emblem thou of truth. In })lenteous stores abound. Thy streams of grandeur ever flow In rich prolific stores, From lakes which in concealment lie Deep in the hills and moors :— Fed by eternal crystal fonts. From springs which never dry ; Which come in rain, and snow and hail. And change but cannot die. Oh, waters, ye arc beautiful. Whatever form ye take ; In the graceful winding river. Or in the crystal lake ; In ihe rolling yeasty billow, (Jr in the gushing spring : In the placid, bright blue ocean, (_)r where rip])les sweetly sing. Ye serve the rich man in his hall. The poor man in his cot ; The cattle on a thousand hills Will nevt-r be f(.)rgot. ^'e aid the birth of fruits and llower^. The herbage path ye trace ; Ye give to nature's lovely form Its beautv and its yrace. WJLLIA.M WRIGHT. WILLIAM WRIGHT. Rv Ffp:P.SLEY C. DUCKWORTH, B.A. LL.B. VICK-PRKSn>KNT. VORKSHIRK I.ITKRARV SOCIFTV; ATTHOR (<]•■ '-IX CHARGK," •■STATK SKCRETS," •' GRATITI'DK, '■ F.STRAXGF.l)," KTC, KTC. This well-knoun Keii^hlcv Poet, whose uom iJe plnme is ■•Bill o'lh Hoylus Kiiil." was born at Hoylus End, Hermit Hole, in the Parish of Bint^lc}-, on Marcli 22nd, 1836, and at present resides in Keighley. Voiinf; Wright attended the National School at Keighley until fom-- teen vears of age, after which he went to learn warp-dressing. He had not been at this employment long when he became acquainted witli a companv of strolling actors and was easily induced to join them. He followed this jiiofession for two years, and then joined the West York Rifles, and was in Scotland three years, at Ayr. Edinburgh anil (jlasgow. Wright then left the army, returned to Keighley, and again resumed war]-)-dressing. Whilst in the army he rose to the rank of sergeant and was on gnard at Holyrood i'alace during the Empress liugenie's stay there by whom he was honotn-ed by a personal inter- \iew. He married about 1851) and has three children. He is the author of numerous painphlets in ])rose and \-erse, and in 1876 his lirst yolume of ])oems ajipeared, entitled '• Random Rhymes and Rambles." Keighley : A. Ap))leyard, ])p. [64. for about ten years he issned a ("omic Annual. He also wrote a drama with tlie title of ''The Wreck of the Bella," which was jierformed in llradford. Iveighley, Liverpool, Lancaster, and other large towns, but. owing to the Tichborne Trial being pendent at tlie time, the Lord (hamberlain commanded it to be slopped. Wright has been a fre(jtient contributor to the local pres^, ami his wi.rks have been widely read and much hn XichoLon held in i'.inglcy hi- temperament, his jio-ition. and hi- genius, are all mucli liki- .XiihoLon's were. Mr. ()\erend. Printer, of Keighley, will shortly issue his second volume of poems, which i- ti) be called '-The com]ilete works of P.ill o'th Jloylu- I-hid." .\lanv of Wright's best jioems arc in his nati\e \ernacular. I 82 WILLIAM WKKiHT. ^o Isetae golden, ^sq., If^.P. CoMF':, hand mc down that rustic harj), From off that rugged wall, For I must sing another song To suit the Muse's call, For she is bent to sing a poean, On this eventful year, In praise of the philanthropist Wliom all his friends hold dear — The Grand Old ^Nlan of Oakworth, H('}ond his eightieth year ! No flattery m\- honest Musr, Xor vet he thou servile ; But tinkle up that harp again, A moment to beguile. Altho' the bard be rude and rough, Yet, he is ever proud To do the mite that ln' can do. And thus jiroclaim aloud — The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, Of whom we all are proud ! For base indeed were any Bard That ever sang on earth. Did he not wish his neighboui- well. Nor praise his sterling wortii. Teave state affairs and office To those of \-ounger blood. But I am with the jxitriol, The noble., wise, and good— - Tlie (irand Old Man of Oakworth, The wise, the great, the good. 'J'his worth}-, old philanthropist. \\'hom all his neighbours greet ; ^^'ho has a smile for everyone. Whom he may chanc(> to meet — Go to yon pleasant village, On the margin of the moor. And \'Ou will hear his ])raises sung ]^v all the aged poor — 'The (kand Old INIan of Oakwf)rth, A friend unto the poor ! ,1,1 AM UKic.rr .S3 The juvenile upon him .smile, The factory girl and boy, For when ihey meet the Grand Old r^Ian Each heart is filled with joy. With them remembered he will Ik- : His fame will ever stand — The worth}- old ])hi!anthropist. And patriot of our land — The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, The patriot of our land ! Long may he live ! and happ\ be, The patriot and the sire ; And may some other harp give praise, Whose notes will sound much higher, His tliirst for knovv'ledge, worth and lore- His heart was ever there — I'his worth}- old philanthropist, Bevond his eightieth year ! — The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, I>e\'ond his eightieth vear ! H. WROTHWELL. We insert this poem not only on account of its merits, but because it relates to the district. It is culled from the "Bin^dcy Chronicle." Wc hope in a future edition to give some account of the author. Q ^oIg© from tf^e; Druid's Qltar. High on this nigged mount I stand, Chained to the earth ^vitll ro(dattlements the vision sees, All crumbling downward to deca\-. Here trimly sat on bank of flowers, 'J'lie shepherds watch the sun decline, And praise him for their vintage bowers That give them store of goodlv wine. The l)ipe in trembling cadence trills, While maidens sing in sweetest strain, Which mingles with the murmuring rills, Then rolls across the waves amain. ()! be my home by such a streami. With contemplation for mv friend. And store of books — lime's golden gleam. Slow journeying onward to mv end. Or I could dwell by lovely Dee, Wheri' rolls its wave "ncath Chester wall ; Or wliere the (Juse fuU-llowing, free. Rolls ])asi full many an ancient hall. And that imperial cit\"'s towers Where I'onstantine in da\s of \'ore Had centr'd all his might\" jiowers. And since far-fam'd for h.oh' lore. A homt- like these, \\liere lime hath shed iji'iglu lionours from hi> hoar\- hand. Is where 1 wish to resi m\ head L'pon mine own dear native land! Rev. LOWTHER E. ELLIS. By THOS. WILMOT. L.R.C.P. Loxd. M.li.C.S. Ex<;. Mr. Ellis is entitled to a place in these pa^'es througli having for some years resided at Shipley, and whilst there was the author of a volume of poems, many of which relate to the district of Shipley and Saltaire. Born at Leeds on December loth, 1839, lie was early re- moved to the quaint town of Pickering, where most of his boyhood da\'s were silent. .Vl 22 lie entered the Primitive Metliodist >rin!^trv, and lia-~ ministered successfully in many ^'urkshire towns, amongst which are Doncaster, Shipley, Halifax, f-'alele\' Bridge, and Batle\-, He is no\\- stationed at Bclper, near Derby, wlicre he has been three years. It is now twenty years ago since his liist volume ol' poems was issued : this was entitled '• Flowers in Heaven, or Memorials of the Dead." jip. (>^ : printed b\" J. I'airott, Leeds. From thi^ \()liime we take "Brown's Wood," wliicli is situated !)et\\ecn Shiple\' and Thackley, and ■• An fiivocation," whicli was sung as a cliaiit at the oj:)ening of Windhill I'riniitive .Methodist (diapel. The Rev. gentleman is a sweet singei-— pure, simple and luituial, and his music is at all times pleasant and loveablc. Brown s iCood. Worthy a pod's muse, thou grand old wood ! For gcncrauons iliou hasl proudly stood. A forrsl once wen ihou of kingh' pride, Slrelching lb.} noble borders far and wide. Within til}' sylvan glades the wild boar rang'tl ; (_)a stealtliy ])inions glided birds of pre_\' ; J]ut, oh, since tlien how greatlv art thcni changed ! Now signs oi' peace prevail from da_\' to da}'. In former times I've heard the aged tell. How in thiv precincts ^\"as a famotrs well. Wliere fi'oni tlie College students came tci drink, And medilale beside its s]iad\' brink. Now, near ihv once Imu- ceiuliiies, ruslies bv The engine, fielching sjjurks asceitding liigii, And cloud}' smoke which 'mid the sunbeams pla\' As merr\' as the laughing llowers of ]\[;i\'. Enclosed in thy domaiits is also fouiid A little plot of sacred, hallowed ground. Where from ihe cares ot' life tor e\'er frei-d. Lie buried some who were of Fox's cr^'ed. 190 KKV. LOWTHKR E. ELLIS. REV. LOWTHER E. ELLIS. igi Though altered much from what thou long hadst been, A grandeur yet remaineth to be seen : Here stand the stately tree and massive stone, On which for ages past the sun hath shone ; The woodbine clinging to the sturdy oak, Sheds a rich fragrance o'er each winding walk; The velvet slopes are decked with smiling flowers, And birds sing sweetly in their leafy bowers. ']\Iid these transporting charms I love to stray, At dewy eve or early dawning day ; These scenes delightful ruminations bring Of Nature's God, and Heaven's Kternal King. Or jHuoeafion. Thol' great lehovah ! in this place, Unvfil the glorii^s of Thy face : To ever\- mind Thy power reveal : Let every heart Thy goodness feel. Here, in Tliine house, for ever dwell, Defeat the subtile power of hell ; Let Satan fly before thy might, Lito his dark abode of night. By Christ, whose blood the nations bought, Let matchless wonders here be wrought : O Spirit ! Thou eternal power, On us Thy heavenly blessing.s shower. Great Three in One ! Immortal Sire ! Fan into flame the holy fire I Array Thy saints in robes of grace, And let Thy glory fill the place ! Here let tlie captive find relief, — Break the strong bars of unbelief; — And let the Song of jubilee I^e sung, o'er ransom'd sinners free. For ever here may peace abound, .\nd great prosperity be found : In union sweet mav each agree. To consecrate their all to 'Fhee 1 CHAS. F. FORSHAW, LL.D. 1 93 Bv CJIAS. F. KORSHAW, LL.D. SUMMER. IIerk let me rest awliile, and watch the stream Mcrrih' Howing 'neath the summers sun ; How bright and joyous doth it blitliely run, A subject meet for poet's fairest theme. Pregnant with life — it seems with mirth to teem : Its bubblings speak of happiness and fun ; Its sparlchng, sportive ways are never done, l^ounding along with many a flashing gleam. How gay the pebbles in its shallow bed ! How soft and cool the moss upon its shore ! How quick the fish that dart its waters o'er ! How green the branches waving overhead ! And oh ! the many-shaded flowers how sweet That snugly nestle 'neath the noontide heat. WINTER. ]>ut lo ! the scene hath changed. King Winter's hand Hath striiojjed the foliage from the once gay trees, And 'stead of lightsome wind or zephyr breeze, Fierce gusts blow harshly over all the land. How wild tlie scene ! but }-et how wildly grand ! The flowers are gone and barren are the leas. And yet we love Quet>n Nature's masteries, And f\'el thai they are well and wisely planned. Though ice-bound now — the stream will flow again ; Tlie flowers v.-ill bloom — the leaves once more appear The Summei^'s sun again will shine out clear, And shed his glory over wood and plain. We love the Summer more when we have known To list with dread rude Winter's dismal moan. 194 ^^^'- J- ^-'^^^y ^-^• Bv THI-: Rkv. JAS. (rABB, B.A., Wt;LBLRN. Beneath the sunny gleam, With many a merry song, All the summer long. There runs a crystal stream. Within its mossy vest. Well nurtured by the drops Which the mountains tops Gather and dispense. Deep muffled in its source ! From whose upheaving breast. As bountiful as blest. It leaps into its course Like a thing of sense. Around the fountain-head The zephyrs, as they pass, Sport among the grass Till the hours have fled ; Or close beside the well. They hear a ^ilver bell Ringing them to bed. There, the dew}- lark Learns his matin law Listening through the dark 1 Soon he soars awa}' Towards the ros}' dawn. Pouring his glad ncjlc From his supple throat Over lea and lawn. There tin- lionrN-lx.'c, Earl\- on the wing. Hears the merr\- thing, Beautiful and free. Ever sweetl}- sing ! Cool, and pure, and bright As is the tlawning light : Morning, noon, and night. Music ave to me ! JAMES .MUXDY. 1()5 IBg^ t^e Qlre's ^re:e;F5 IBaKiIls. Bv JAMES MUXDY. Brauforu. l^EsiiJE the flowing Aire's green bank I stray'd, To watch the shadows that reflected lie Atween the crystal flood and mirror'd sky; Where — like a fairy world of restless shade — The summer verdure of the woodland glade ^^^aved to and fro with every zephyr's sigh. How calm the overshadow'd river seems ! No furrow' d wavelet ripples on its breast, No passing breeze disturbs its tranquil rest, Naught, save the golden flutter of the gleams. That dart from fiery Sol's retiring beams, Ere .slowly sinks he to the gentle west. I peer into the wat'ry depths below, And muse upon the mimic verdant way; I ponder as each flutter of the spray Gives back its faint responsive dumb-like show. 'They are but shadows in a river's flow That vanish with the light of closing day." How like to fame — when from the inner soul We mirror all our hopes upon a page, And tabulate the monument of age Upon the surface of ambition's scroll, — To find them fading as we near the goal, .\nd leave no record of life's heritage. Again I muse in solitude divine. Where nature prank'd in sweet poetic lore, Unfolds her bosom fill'd with richest store: Where all things rare and beautiful entwine. And here I drink from out the well of wine, Where I 'lit' had drank and drank so dee]! before. I dream a pleasant waking dream of thought, Beneath the golden light of summer skies, And as the mental visions Tore me rise 1 think of him, who, musing oft had sought Tliese wild enchanting scenes where he had wrought. And carved himself the fame that never dies. 196 ELIZA CRAVEN GREEN. His soul has fled to realms of purest light, Where rivers glide 'mid everlasting flow'rs. Where poets trill their songs in trancjuil bow'rs, And fear no shadow from the critic's ])light. Though silent hangs his harp in endless night, His Airedale strains still wile the tedious hcjurs. Oft in the purest light of coming days When gentle bards mav steal across the stream To pour their numl)ers in a strain sui)reme. Their songs will mingle with tlie time-worn ))raise Of viewless harps that sang enchanted hu's When nature fed the soul witli holv gleam. There Airedale's gentle bard in spirit mav Commune in sweet affinity of soul. And from that hidden sphere beyond the goal Send forth a spark to fan the fiery ra}- Which feeds the light of everlasting dav. And gives to reason's flight the richest dole. In {|}e,m©rlQm. — ^James uJaddinQton . Bv ELIZA CRAVEN GREEN. Too late ! — even as the wreath for Tasso's brow ; Fame off'ers thee her coronal of ba}s. Thine ear is cold and dead to eartlily j)raise. And Life's ambitious hopes aw worthless now. Within those silken pages lir enshrin'd Sweet, tender utterance of th\' thouglu And many a line with iiolirsi leaching fraught, Noble and pure — fair mirrors of t]i_\- mind. Yet what avails tlu' task that lovr has Ird ? — To la}- it on tli}' grave were idle meed — We gaze and pause for weeping, as we read The warm, bright, living words, for tb.ou art dead! Yet with a vain, fond warning we })roc]aim Thy worth and genius to attentive ears. As if we thought, e'en in the seraph-spheres, Our words could touch thee with the thrill of Fame. Our lives must still be met with toil and pra} ers. Thine, in the rest of deathless love shall last — And now we know tliat in the golden Past We entertain'd an Angel unawares I UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. \^u^0 Form L9-oUm-7,'54l5990)444 JQSIVERSITY OF^CALIFOKMil IX)S ANGELES ^'orshaw - 2i; Poers of Keighley 7P Af-^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000 105 573 o PR 12214 F77p