■ ■■':■} ABRAHAM STANSFJELD THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES cante -ft r> - I f w. v.s f\ F- o o 'CO HALL ,y TCM THE HUMBLE OFFERTNd OF A PROVINCIAL TO 18 c r Jfl a j c 5 1 n t h c ("J u c c n , IN THIS, THE SIXTY FIRST, B E I N J i THE DIAMOND JUBILEE V E A R V HER MARVELLOUS RElcX. Hail to the crown, by Freedom shaped — to gird An English Sovereign's brow ! and to the throne Whereon he sits ! Whose deep foundations lie In veneration and the people's love ; Whose steps are equity, whose seat is law. ssays and Sketches: BEING A FEW SELECTIONS FROM THE PROSE WRITINGS OF TWENTY YEARS. RY ABRAHAM STANSFIELD (Author <>k "Ground-Flowers and Fern-Leaves," •'Xici.,'' &c, and Ex-Editor of the "Manchester Monthly," \m> other Local Publications.) F 1 I! S T THOU s A X /> Printed for the Author r.v nil, Manchester ScholasTk Tradino Co., Lti>., Bridge-street, Deansgate, Manchester. 1> R E F A C £ The reader who takes delight only in fiction will be disappointed with this book, from which it has been the authors aim, so far as in him lay, to keep out anything and everything- partaking of that character. A humble lover of truth himself, and preferring- the poetry of real life, he has little to offer here in the way of ''popular reading" and nothing whatever in the zuay of pictorial illustration, in this age of luxurious photography. Op the //latter contained in the present volume it may be explained that one half has not pre- viously appeared in printers type. Should it chance that competent judges find the present " Selections ' sufficiently select, a fezu further '' Selections " may be forthcoming- in a second edition, which despite the books serious draw- backs as above described, and to the Author's real surprise, is already " called for." Kersal, Manchester \ Oct, jot//, iSgy. 1051509 CO X T E X T s . I'M. I'. .\ Neglected Manchestee Man: Thomas De Quincey 3 Robert Burns considered as \ Naturalist : A Centenary Memorial ' 24 Three Tributary Sonnets to Robert Burns 34 Moss-g itherers : A Lancashire Specimen ... ... ... ... 36 On Some Characteristics of the Time 48 Folk-speech of the Lancashire \m» Yorkshire Bordeb : A\ Obscure Lancashire Authob ... 57 A Manchester Book-hunter 95 * A Difficult Lancashire Place-name 101 Books that might be Written 113 Gilbert White, of Selborne 119 Robert Fergusson and Robert Burns 123 Rambles in the Country : By Aire and Wharfe 171 Down in Cheshire 222 Sweetness and Light fob the Manchesteb Slims: Window-gardening in Ancoats... ... ... ... ... 228 Window-gardening in Hulme ... ... ... ... 233 Town-Gardening uid Climate 237 Town Trees, with Special Reference to Manchester ... 242 Picturesque Planting 251 Reviews : Lancashire Dialect Poets ... ... ... ... ... 255 Rossendale Forest ... 276 Lectures : The Return to Nature in English Poetrjj 289 ESSAYS, CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN THOMAS DE QUINCEY* (THE "ENGLISH OPIUM EATER.") CHE lettered man, specially read in the English magazine literature of the century, who should enter for the first time the city styling herself the Metropolis of Northern Eng- land, would have awaiting him a great surprise. For the piebald appearance of our street frontages and fagades, and the general banal character of our public architecture, he might be prepared in this ungainly "city of gain."t For our thoroughfares ankle-deep in mud, under pouring skies ; for our air, thick with grime and a thousand abominations, under pouring chimneys, he might be prepared in the capital of Cottondom. And he might even be prepared for those direst days of all our dismal experience, when we Manchester men are compelled to grope and feel about, and jostle one another at midday in a more than Egyptian darkness— a darkness that may be felt in the concrete sense— that is bred of fog and tilth, and that blinds and chokes its victims at one and the same time. For fumes and brumes, for frequent total eclipse (quite other than astronomical) of sun and moon, and for long-enduiing glooms, our lettered visitor might be prepared. Still, he would * A Taper read before the Literal \ Club of Manchester in 1892. t It must be admitted that when the "Deansgate"' and other great improvements now in progress arc completed Manchester will present a \ ery different appearance. 4 A NEOLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: remember that even from brumous and fumous Manchester there did shoot forth, and that not so long ago — ex fumo lux — a luminous body, a brilliant star, that rose higher and still higher, and that now for ever shines in its appointed place in the literary heaven. And he would naturally look in this nether sphere for some sign or token — an institution, or a street, bearing the name of that luminary, a monument, a statue, a something at least by way of material proof that such a person as Thomas De Quincey had not only been born here but had been more or less honoured in the city of his birth. But he would look and search in vain ; he would not only find in Manchester no monument or memorial to Manchester's greatest literary son, but he would firid among her average citizens no traditions even, nor any but the vaguest knowledge of the man or of his works ; whereat he would wonder exceedingly, and pronounce our boasted "metropolis" a metropolis indeed, but the metropolis of Boeotia, the metropolis of fog and smoke, physically, morally, and intellectually. " But," exclaims the outraged citizen of " no mean city," "where in the world will you find the arts of music and paint- ing more patronised, or more in vogue, than in Manchester V If that be so, then Manchester's neglect of those pre-eminent in the sister art — the most diffusive, most enduring, highest and noblest of all — is rendered still more conspicuous. " But," argues the indignant citizen, " with respect to literature, where more than in Manchester does literature, as it relates to politics, trade, industry, applied science, and practical affairs, display higher power, or show greater excellence V Perhaps nowhere, but unfortunately nothing of this touches the proposition before us which concerns pure letters, and that letters are inadequately esteemed in Manchester we take the absence of any memorial to her greatest " man of letters " as the outward and visible sign. "But," it is further argued, "in this neglect of De Quincey, Manchester is not alone," and here we must reluctantly concur. Although in the city of his birth the neglect of De Quincey may be most conspicuous it must be admitted that there are other quarters also where he is little appreciated. And why ? THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 5 It is true that I >.; Quincey is one of our great English writers who wrote anonymously. It is true that up to forty years back, when the first, edition of his collected works was issued in America, De Quincey was comparatively unknown, even to the English public, while to the foreign student of English literature its appearance must have been a revelation. But forty years is a period of time representing more than a generation of men. In these forty years science has been revolutionised. Into forty years — into one year — how much is now compressed ! And if, as some would maintain, literary criticism has made commensurate progress, it is surely time, in this last decade of the century, that we saw in Ids true proportions a writer who has achieved so much, and who is not only an honour to England but an ornament and an honour to all literature. And by the same token, it is time, and more than time, that our own, and his own, Manchester should cease to stultify herself by witholding, as she has so long done, the honour and the homage due to her illustrious sun. The wide difference in the opinions held with respect to one who gave, and has left behind him, such undoubted and abund- ant proofs of power as a writer and thinker on an infinite variety of subjects is remarkable. By one critic "damned beneath all depths in hell," by another lauded to the skies, such is the singular fate of De Quincey. In view of this wide divergence, the question arises : Have the men who presume to sit in judgment on one of England's most accomplished writers, and especially those who decry him, read his works — read them carefully and thoroughly .' We beg leave most humbly to doubt this. There is a rule of criticism beyond all rules in criticism as at present enforced : in criticising, first read your author. Indeed the German critics admit that before reviewing a book there h a certain advantage in having read it, implying that the advantage is rarely availed of by the critic employed. Truth to speak, it often happens that the critics of a writer are far more numerous than his readers; if the number of the latter were increased the number of the former might be 6 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: diminished. It may appear that we rather " labour " this point, but really when people, speaking ex cathedra, gravely deny to De Quincey the possession of those very qualities for which he is pre-eminently distinguished, and which are conspicuous throughout his writings, we lose patience, and epithets become excusable To conclude that these soi-disant critics have not read De Quincey is, under the circumstances, the purest charity. Says one of these gentlemen, writing from the height of an imaginary wool- sack : " The Opium Eater is devoid of humour, and when he attempts a joke we are alwa} T s reminded of an elephant trying to dance." A pachydermatous pronouncement truby ! We are here reminded of the pregnant lines of the old dramatist : — wit is like a ball Held up at tennis, which men play the best With the best players. De Quincey devoid of humour !* As well may you say that Charles Lamb is devoid of humour. And in fact there are scat- tered through the works of De Quincey hundreds of sparkling pas- sages that might well have fallen from the charmed pen of Elia himself. Lamb and De Quincey had really much in common. Both had the faculty of subtle analysis, if in different degrees ; each * For a characteristic example of De Quincey's satirical humour the reader may be referred to the Essayist's paper on " War," in which, speaking of plagiarists, he denounces the Greeks as those who have most largely forestalled us by saying our good things before ourselves, and names Talleyrand "as having been extensively robbed by the Greeks of the second and third centuries, as may be easily ascertained by having the said Greeks searched, when the stolen jewels will be found 'upon them!" " But one," he adds, " and the most famous in the whole jewel case, sorry am 1 to confess, was nearly stolen from the Bishop, not by any Greek, but by an Knglish writer, viz., Goldsmith, who must have been dying about the time that the Right Reverend French Knave had the goodness to be born. That famous mot about language as a gift made to man for the purpose of concealing his thoughts is lurking in Goldsmith's Essays." The fact is that it will be found in "The Bee," in a paper "On the use of Language," which appeared in that publication October 20th, 17")9 ; and here is the sentence in which it occurs :- " Such an account as this may serve to satisfy grammarians and rhetoricians well enough, but men who know the world maintain very contrary maxims: they hold, and I think with some show of reason, that lie who host knows how to conceal his necessity and desires, is the most likely person to find redress ; and that the true use of /i< i ch is not .so much, to express our wants as to conceal th< m." THOMAS DE QUINGEY. 7 handled t lie English language as only a master can handle it ; both failed in the higher region of the imagination whilst possessing a most rich and curious fancy ; humour constantly welled up in both, with a difference in kind ; both were " past masters" in the art of literary persiflage; De Quincey wrote in what he calls " impassioned prose ; " Lamb, too, knew that "prose hath her cadences," and in that fine essay of his, entitled "The Confessions of a Drunkard," which was afterwards a source of so much trouble to him, will be found about as much impassioned prose as in the "Confessions of an English Opium-eater." In one respect there is a great difference between these two writers : Lamb wrote with a rare reserve, and is one of the few authors we could have wished more voluminous, whilst De Quincey too often suffered ivomfiuxe de plume, and has left us too much, i.e., too much in some kinds. But turn to Lamb, almost anywhere, and sel ct from De Quincey, and you will have in your hands a number of papers than which we know not if there be anything more delicately and delightfully humorous, or more perennially charming, in the language. Yes ; select from De Quincey, for he is a writer (for reasons not difficult to understand) of varying excellence. Under six- teen volumes of him do our shelves groan ! C'en est trop. "Tis a load to sink a navy." Far too many are sixteen volumes of any author of the second rank, at a time when the writing art has superseded the conversational. When everybody (indocti, dodique) husbands his ideas with an eye to the press, and the Cadmean madness spreads. But let not De Quincey be too much reduced : cut oft' the ten and keep the unit six, for into six stoutish octavos may be compressed the De Quinceyan cream and essence. There are critics who have suggested four volumes as adequate for this purpose. On the other hand, there will always be a scholarly few who, having quite early sniffed in the subtle aroma of the De Quinceyan style (imperceptible to the grosser literary sense), will stick out for "no reduction;" and this brings us back to the subject of the very various opinions held with regard to our author's literary merits. 8 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: Writing something under twenty years ago, one of our leading English critics did not scruple to condemn De Quincey's vaunted style and with emphasis ; Avhile as to his matter, he characterised it as only "up to the level of respectable padding for magazines !" On the other hand, a critic of equal eminence, writing a little later, considers that De Quincey has carried English style to its most perfect development, while with regard to his matter he observes as follows: "We hereby take upon ourselves most positively to declare that De Quincey's magazine papers are, as a Avhole, in power as well as in range, very far above those of any writer of the century." And we have this further testimony from Professor Masson that "the literary remains of De Quincey are to those of Lord Macaulay as a piece of delicately wrought silver is to a lump of copper and gold." That we hold the latter of these weighty pronouncements to be the truer we need not say ; but to dwell at any length upon these differences is not within the scope of this paper, the chief purpose of which is to call to the mind of forgetful Manchester one of her most distinguished sons, whilst sketching him in silhouette only, not in large. Not with all his varied qualities and accomplishments certainly, and the versatility of his genius is phenomenal. In an appreciative review of De Quincey's life-work which appeared some years after his death he is described as combining, in his single person, the following qualities, viz. : "An admirable writer, a grand talker, a strict logician, a mathematician, a meta- physician, a solver of every sort of intellectual puzzle, a well-built scholar, a sound political economist, an honest and ingenious critic, a philosopher, and finally a humorist ; not that his humour was of the rollicking sort, but a subdued under-current of irony, which runs through all his works " To treat of this literary and philosophical Proteus in all the above aspects were a transcendent task ; we shall not attempt it, but will dwell only upon a few of his qualities. THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 9 Do < A >uincey lias been called, and we venture to think not inaptly, if the phrase lie taken with certain limitations, the " Last of the English Platonists —that is to say, the last of our great English writers belonging t<> the idealistic as opposed to the materialistic school, "He had in him," says one writer, "almost everything that goe^i to make a Platonist in its higher sense — the enthusiasm, the keen dialectic power, ami the rue Platonic humour so prominent that hardly a sentence of his but is tinged with a species of Socratie irony, which is doubtless unpalatable t'> many readers." That his philosophy has the poetic, as distinguished from the scientific, east must he evident to every cultured reader of his works. Hut although in these last blazing decades Plato's methods have come to seem antiquated, let it not be thought that De Quincey, were he still with us, would quail, or stand abashed, before even the most august professor of positive science. On the contrary, we doubt not that, bunging to bear his acute logical faculty and subtle intellect on the questions propounded, he would know well how to keep his opponents within their own lines. And most surely would he score whilst pointing out the frequent want of logic in the arguments held by even our hardest heads, in first banning and proscribing Metaphysics, ami after- wards lugging her in, and reinstating the banished. Is the scientist's assumption of finality science or sciolism 1 he would ask. Has a single phenomenon of nature so far been explained ] Then he would proceed to test the soi-dimnt scientists by methods of their own choosing; he would In list them with their own petard; and many a pretentious and bumptious positivist would fall a victim to De Quincey's relentless logic. Even on the dry ground of utilitarianism itself, even on the plain principle of expe liency, one can imagine him arguing, Science, which you would raise into a cultus, has inherent and fatal defects. By it< very nature it is wanting in one essential quality, it is not diffusive. Eliminate all that clusters about the "word " heart," whatever it may be, and you can have no cult its that will serve your turn, even on your own principle-, such is the subtle and mysterious 10 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: nature of what you call the " human machine." Call the heart a figment if you like; still, being a factor in human affairs, no " practical " man will ignore the phenomena thence arising ; to do so is to be non-practical and non-scientitic, whatever you specialists may affirm. This is what one imagines De Quincey would say to the •scientists. Indeed, we venture to think that, bred in the school of Plato as he was, yet the tremendous intellectual storm of this wonderful age, which has blown down all the old landmarks of thought, and uprooted whole forests of superstitions, would really •not frighten De Quincey or appal him in the least, assuming he were still with us. Nay, one rather thinks that instead of being dismayed, or taking alarm, he would take a semi-demoniac pleasure in exercising faculties so well sharpened for the conflict ; for to De Quincey polemics were not merely congenial but the very breath of his nostrils. In the " art of abating and dissolving: pompous gentlemen " he had a great reputation, and one can readily picture this master of persiflage arguing, with mock gravity, that old Ennius, so quoted of Cicero, must have been an evolutionist, or he could not have written the famous line : — " Simia quam similis turpissima bestia nobis." And such a bright, cheery, versatile, and at the same time skilled and powerful champion of the higher philosophy could not fail to do good, were he here with us, in this whirling world of tottering faiths, broken creeds, and ruined systems, where no ardent, youthful spirit can find hold or stay for hand or foot- where the heart pines unfed, and the soul vainly yearns for a resting-point. To such a spirit — and there are thousands such- young in years, yet sick and old with the welt-schmcrz, how grate- ful would be the counsel of such a physician of the mind. We have dwelt upon De Quincey in this aspect because it is a pleasant aspect. In no single one of his numerous and multi- farious writings will be found that note of sadness, of melancholy, almost of despair, which makes so much of the higher writing of to-day such dismal reading. On the contrary, there breathes through all his works a sustained cheerfulness, a high and lofty THOMAS Hi: QUINCEY. II faith which, acting like a moral tonic, restores to its pristine health the world-wearied spirit. And if our author has this abounding faith and hope, and infects you with his own cheerfulness, so also has be charity, unless, indeed, when discoursing upon subjects purely political, and here he is himself infected with that partisan rancour of the time which numbered amongst its victims many an illustrious Englishman. But, politics and theology apart, De Quincey was a man of the widest sympathies. His motto was that of the noble Roman. To no man, however low and despised of his fellows, to none that wore the semblance of humanity, to nothing that concerned humanity, was he indifferent. To him "brother man" and "sister woman" were not mere phrases but brother and sister indeed. This kindly feeling, tlii< broad sym- pathy, of De Quincey's with all classes of men and women must strike every reader of his works, and may well add to his other titles to our regard that of a pure and genuine philanthropist. It cannot be claimed for De Quincey that his genius was of the highest, i.e., the creative kind. On the other hand, his intellec- tual receptivity was vast ; in this respect he rivalled his great master, the myriad-sided Coleridge. But whilst carrying a bigger load of learning than any Englishman of his time, Coleridge hardly excepted, no man was ever less overlaid by his reading; indeed his robust common sense, practical intellect, shrewd wit, and thorough knowledge of the world are constantly in evidence. He was perpetually analysing and testing his acquired knowledge by the light of a very varied experience, and whilst he could deal, in the dry region of the understanding, with the abstrusest subjects with a rare subtlety, no avenue leading to the heart was closed. A man of vast attainments, few have blended in a much higher degree love of learning with love of their kind. It has been stated that De Quincey was a grand talker. Yes, in a time when the conversational art was yet a living art he had probably only one master in that line, the brilliant Samuel Taylor Coleridge, his master in so many other lines, of whom, as regards talking, Hazlitt reports that when he (Samuel Taylor 12 .4 NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: Coleridge) first visited his father's (the elder Hazlitt's) house at Wem, " Coleridge did not cease talking while he stayed ; nor has he since that I know of." An eternal talker Coleridge was, hut not in the sense one might wish. For, alas ! of those " marvel" lous monologues," so splendid yet so involved, so interminably winding, so constantly widening, deepening, and extending, what remains 1 True, the stenographic era had not yet begun ; but how singular, and at the same time how tantalising that, of the hundreds of cultured men who were privileged to listen to this myriad-sided mind, not one should have left us an adequate specimen of his wonderful talk ! But if little or nothing remains to us of the mere word or letter of these tremendous harangues, how much of the spirit remains ? For even as old Nilus covers with his fertilising waters the parched lands, so did the broad and endless stream of talk from this great seminal mind fertilise and feed the minds of his wondering hearers. Brilliant talker, and expounder of philosophies old and new, as he was, then, De Quincey was the second, not the first, philoso- phical talker of his time. But he also possessed qualities usually regarded as opposite : he was a skilful mathematician, and here he beat his master. To Coleridge, pure mathematics were as distasteful as were pure metaphysical studies to Goethe. But metaphysics, equally with mathematics, was among De Quincey's strong points, and he was probably as widely read on the subject as his master aforesaid. With regard to Political Economy, although he had a thorough grasp of the principles, and could even write luminously upon that abstruse science — if science it can be called where the conditions are so shifting and the ground is so boggy — he had no views that could be called novel, or as materially adding to what had already been promulgated. All the same, he could project and plan to an extent only equalled by the redoubtable S. T. C, of whom Cottle tells us that when i. i Bristol in the year '96 he (S. T. C ) read over to him (Cottle) a list of eighteen works, several of them in quarto, which he had resolved to write ! So,. too, De Quincey could plan his famous "Prolegomenon to THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 13 all Future Systems of Political Economy," which he appears to have left in as finished, or unfinished, a state as his other greal work: " De Emendatione Humani [ntellectus." But it is not in hi* capacity of political economist,it is not as a mathematician, a logician, a metaphysician, a philosopher, that De Quincey is a great name among Englishmen, and one for ever to he held in special honour by English-speaking people ; it is in another capacity. But doubtless our author's accomplish- ments in the various and varied capacities named were all auxiliary factors in making him what he was and is— one of the clear-shining lights of English literature — "a master of style, one who has carried the rare and difficult ait of expressing his thoughts clearly, accurately, and persuasively in his own mother- speech in one and perhaps the right direction further than it had been carried by any English writer within the last two hundred years " And we say that if De Quincey has done this for a tongue which promises in the future to become the dominant tongue of Christendom, so far from his life being a wasted one, as certain critics maintain, there is really something of grand and imposing in the character of his total service to letters. Of the English magazine writers of his day admittedly facile princeps, among literary critics one of the most polished and incisive that ever wielded pen, of biographers one of the most brilliant, and, added to all this, the enormous service above rcferced to, pray what would our critics have : What are the conditions they would exact as establishing a claim to their respect, not to say admiration and homage 1 Js it for us to claim from De Quincey, or any other man of "■cuius, so much writing of a prescribed excellence, so much work of a certain quality done and completed? Is it not, in forming any comprehensive estimate, the truer way to judge a writer by what he has actually accomplished and left behind him, not by what he has left undone, or even begun and left unfinished 1 We affirm once again that, notwithstanding the imperfect and frag- mentary character of many of his contributions, the sum total of De Quincey's services to English letters is a large total, and that 14 A NEGLECT ED MANCHESTER MAX: to talk of his life as a wasted one is idle. Nay, by one only — by a single one — of these services is De Q.uincey assured of future fame, viz., by his masterly portraits in pen and ink of not a few of the men, poets and philosophers, who were among the greatest of his English contemporaries. How full-faced, vivid, and com- plete are the pictures here drawn ! The men breathe out of the canvas ; they talk, walk, poetise, and philosophise to the life in the pages of De Quincey. But where, in the meantime, is the painter of these masterly portraits 1 Where is De Quincey himself, the brilliant talker, the critic, the philosopher, the metaphysician — the rival in so many ways, and the master in some, of even the great, myriad- sided Coleridge 1 How comes it that none of De Quincey's contemporaries has left us, in turn, anything like a full portrait of one whose power and influence, by work and pen, were so great even in his lifetime 1 This is one of many points touching a distinguished figure in English literary .history that invite attention. It was a remark of (Swift's, and highly characteristic of the great dean, that when the blockheads are in league against a writer, it is a sure sign that he is a genius. Certainly, if judged by this test, De Quincey's "genius" is sufficiently demon- strated, for it would really seem as if, at one time or another, every " puny whipster " had had a cut at him ! Seeing, however, that there are other authors, not by any means to be classed in the above category, who write depreciatingly of the Opium- eater, it may be said that the question of De Quincey's actual merit as an English writer is one that remains unsettled. Among critics worthy of the name who decry our author, you will find not a few asking, in a tone of triumph — "Who quotes De Quincey 1 " and in the next breath answering their oavu question by the statement that " he is not quotable ! " As regards thej extent to which De Quincey is quoted, we have already pointed out that, in order to be quoted, an author must first be read ; and we hold that at least one reason why De Quincey is not much quoted is that he is not much read. And THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 15 why is our author not much read I There is a great deal to be said in the way of explanation. We have seen that until some forty yens ago De Quincey, except in purely literary circles, was pretty much of a myth. In 1851 a prominent London reviewer stated that it was very unlikely that a collective edition of De Quincey's works would ever appear. Nor probably would the world at anytime have had anything like a collective edition of the Opium-eater's writings but for the warm enthusiasm and dogged persistency of a Boston (U. S. A.) publisher, Mr. Fields (Ticknor and Fields), who never let De Quincey rest until he had engaged, by absolute " undertaking," to assist in the difficult task of collecting his various, unequal, and scattered writings. So much for the alleged " egotism '" and "vanity"' of one of the most polished and scholarly of English writers. "It is astonishing,' - wrote De Quincey to a correspondent, in the playful, bantering vein so characteristic of him, " how much more Boston knows of my literary acts and purposes than I do myself. Were it not, indeed, through Boston, and Mr. J. T. Fields, hardly the sixth part of my literary undertakings — hurried or deliberate, sound, rotting, or rotten, would ever have reached posterity : which, be it known to thee, most sarcastic of future censors, already most of them have reached." Let all honour be paid, therefore, to Boston, and to Mr. Fields in especial : and shame to that neglectful and laggard England which De Quincey regarded with a feeling of patriotic fervour hardly equalled among our national writers. " It is worthy of note," says a writer in Allibone, " that the occasional essays of a number of distinguished British authors have first been collected in America. We may instance Macaulay, Wilson, Carlyle, De Quincey, and Talfourd." Since then Charles Lamb and others have received similar attention in the same quarter. But for some forty }^ears, no longer anonymous, no longer a myth, De Quincey has been before the ordinary reading public. And how happens it, we ask again, that in the course of these forty years so eminent a writer has made so little headway ? The 16 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: matter is not so inexplicable as it might at first appear, living as ■we are in a time of what Byron would call Haste, and waste, and glare, and gloss and glitter. " Hurry " is now written upon everything. The world is spinning round upon its own axis, of course, as of old ; but everybody, now, seems revolving upon himself, insomuch that, should you by any possibility regain your balance and steady yourself, your friends legard you as a proper subject for inquiry by a commission de lunatico I An old divine thought that all the Avorld might go mad without anybody ever knowing the fact. And one has heard the question put whether the prevailing standard of sanity is not purely arbitrary, and therefore a possible mistake. Hurry, hurry, hurry, everywhere ! Science herself — and this is the age of science — is in a hurry, and has little patience with the scholar and silent brooder, forgetting that she distinctly owes her own birth and growth to silence and the strictest closet study. But she has no time to wonder over her own quick-succeeding wonders, and never — as one of our great poets most profoundly and prophetically observes — never magines, i.e., realises to herself, the half of what she knows ! How then should it fare with literature 1 What a vast, bewilder- ing chaos is the world of books ! If Aristophanes could com- plain of the great multiplicity of books in his time, how is it in these days, when the chief distinction for man or woman is, not to have written a book ! " In the grade of folly." remarks a humorous yet thoughtful American, " hard upon an explosion, lies modern literature. Nature has disappeared, and the mind withers. No other faculty has been developed in man but that of reader, no other possibility but that of the writer. The memory is made omnicapacious, its burden increases with every generation, and omniscience is becoming at once more impossible and more and more fashionable. The order of genius has been abolished bv an all-prevailing 'popular opinion.' The elegance and taste of patient culture have been vulgarised by forced contact with the unpresentable facts thrust upon us by the ready writer. Every- THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 17 body now sighs for the periodical, while nobody has read the literature of any age in any single country. Is this an exaggeration .' Hardly. Our English Do Quincey and he is intensely English : Eng in his preferences, English in his prejudices, all over English — is largelya moral and intellectual analyst, a subjective, introspective writer of the higher type ; and subjective writers of the higher type are now little read. Eventhegrand old Gascon, Michael de Montaigne, himself, gets dusty, while his English antitype, our very worthy Sir Thomas Browne, with his "Religic .Medici,'' and his " Urn Buriall," either lies buried beneath a load of modern rnbbish, or is relegated to the highesl shelf of the library. And yet, how full are the pages of these writers of fine thoughts and subtle searchings into the secret workings of man's heart and brain ! Paucity of words, and plenitude of ideas, are there in painful contrast to much of the writing of to-day, when if a man has one original notion it must needs fill not a page but an octavo volume. How very limited is the number of what have been called " working ideas ' ; in criticism I And how curious it is to trace and track up some of these ideas to their source, say, from Matthew Arnold to Ruskin, from Etuskin to Carlyle, from Carlyle to Goethe — who, by the way, is a very German Ocean of profound wisdom, and whose " Wilhelm Meister " is a sort of sublimated pons asinorum at which a hundred scholars and thinkers have, in turn, stumbled and come to grief. And what if, amongst these, brilliant scholar that he was, we must number De Quincey himself ! And hereby "hangs a tale " — the story of Carlyle and De Quincey — which, as it directly touches the question at issue, viz., the prejudices existing against our author in many minds, it may be permitted to narrate. The point will appear in the sequel. Carlyle had translated the " Wilhelm Meister" of Goethe. De Quincey had reviewed the book in the ''London Magazine," falling foul, not of the translator but of the great Goethe himself. Carlyle, remarking sub rosd upon the reviewer, described him in the most opprobrious terms; and afterwards, though openly 18 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAX: bearing himself with suavity towards De Quincey, was continually traducing him in secret. De Quincey, as Ave said before, had stumbled, along with so many others, at the sublimated pons aforesaid. But then Carlyle himself had stumbled at the same bridge ! Even whilst engaged in translating the book, he had written to his brother in the following terms : "I am occupied with a translation of the ' Wilhelm Meister ' of Goethe, the greatest genius that Germany has seen for a century past, and the biggest ass she has seen for three centuries." So the translator and reviewer were of the same opinion, after all ! " As to written reviews," says De Quincey, in his " Casuistry of Duelling," "so much did I dislike the assumption of judicial functions and authority over the works of my own brother authors and contemporaries, that I have in my own life written only two, and at the time I refer to only one, and that one, though a review of a German book, taking little notice or none of the English translator; for although he is a good German scholar now, he was a very imperfect one at that time, and was therefore every way open to criticism. I had evaded this invidious office applied to a novice in literature, and all that I said of a general nature was a compliment to him. Upon the German author I was indeed severe, but hardly as much as deserved." In the last sentence De Quincey undoubtedly writes stultus sum and very large indeed ; but at the same time the excellent heart of the man comes out very clearly, while the subsequent conduct of Carlyle, who no more than himself had been able to fathom the Goethean depths, shows lurid indeed. Though De Quincey, from the standpoint of the linguist, would have been quite justified in severely handling Carlyle, he was so gentle to the then " novice in literature," that he hud no hesita- tion, some time afterwards, in making his personal acquaintance, in visiting him at his Scottish home, and introducing him, in the literary sense, to several great German writers then totally un- known to him, notably to that Jean Paul Kichter who afterwards became one of Carlyle's greatest favourites, whom he so admirably THOMAS DE QUINCEY. L9 translates in part, and whom he so largely quotes — sometimes consciously, but also sometimes unconsciously. By the way, both Coleridge and De Quincey preceded Carlyle by many years in the great fertile German field which the Chelsea sage afterwards so diligently and so successfully ploughed. ( Ian it have been a twinge of that jealousy which so commonly afflicts our weak humanity that inspired Carlyle's contemptuous references whenever he had an opportunity of secret gossip about the men who had won early laurels in the German field — the field he was rather too apt to regard as his own special domain ? If not, then it must have been sheer rancour, without cause and without excuse. So the most picturesque and powerful of recent writers, the brilliant historian and critic, the painter in new and glowing colours of the warlike and crafty Frederick, and the rehabilitator of our English Cromwell, requires, himself, to be rehabilitated ! The great preacher and pretended lover of the " veracities " was not too veracious, himself — the hater of all " shams " could, himself, sham ; and whilst talking, with a monotonous iteration, of the "infinitely little," could act it on occasion only too successfully ! But the fact remains, that our scholarly De Quincey did stumble at Goethe, though in brilliant company, to wit, Carlyle's and others. And even yet Goethe is a stumbling-block to scholars, for not long ago we read in the pages of an English author of no mean rank the amazing statement that the greatest of the Germans was " merely a man of many talents," and not a genius after all ! The fact, however, that De Quincey failed to apprehend the profoundly allegorical character of some of the Goethean writings has undoubtedly injured his fame as a literary and philosophical critic, and has led many a thoughtful student to neglect reading him. Indeed, the prejudice against our author, founded on this incident, or mistake, has often faced the present writer in preaching the De Quinceyan crusade, b2 20 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN Another, and perhaps the strongest, common prejudice against De Quincey is founded on his long habit of opium-eating. In regard to this it may be said that moral weakness is not necess- arily synonymous "with moral degradation ; else how few, even among the greatest of the sons of men, but must be obnoxious to censure. Were our literary judgments to be thus coloured, hardly a genius would escape ! It would be difficult to formulate a plea justificatory for De Quincey's opium-eating ; and what there is to be said in the way of excuse he has himself urged in his works with an eloquence all his own. That he did not take the potent drug to the extent generally supposed is now made pretty certain. That he un- wound the fatal cord that bound him, "almost to the last link," he himself assures us ; and in the splendour of this moral triumph, and the charm and glamour of his style and manner of defending himself, one forgets the depth to which he fell. But to a lower depth fell his great contemporary, Coleridge, of whom, in his absolute helplessness — when the springs of his resolution had gone down, as Charles Lamb used to say, like the springs of a broken clock — even his fellow-sinner in opium-eating could make sport. Here is an anecdote, related with all the gay humour characteristic of one who has given us the best picture of Coleridge in his weaknesses and his strengths that has ever been drawn. The great philosopher had pressed into his service a certain poor but able-bodied man of the labouring class, whose prescribed duty it was to follow his employer about, whitherso- ever his erratic steps were bent, and by sheer physical force keep him out of drug shops ! For this special service he was to receive fifteen shillings per week remuneration. On one occasion (we quote from memory) Coleridge was gravitating towards his accustomed goal, and his bulk and weight were becoming too much for the poor labourer's strength. The philosopher was rapidly forcing a passage, and threatened to "run the blockade" successfully, when the touching appeal was made to him: "Oh, my dear sir, remember your wife — your poor wife ! " " My wife," THOMAS />/■: QUINCEY. 21 exclaimed the philosopher, abstractedly, in 1 1 j < ■ words of Othello, "What wife i I have ao wife!" But however weak and pitiable Coleridge may appear in the light of anecdotes of this character, and however abject De Quincey himself may appear in the light of anecdotes and in- cidents almost as damning related of him, we have, in these two wielders of that weapon which is so much mightier than the sword two of the acutest and most versatile minds, two of the keenest and subtlest intellects of later times ; and those who shall strive to make it appear that neither the one nor the other did much for English thought, or English literature -that, in fact, their lives were wasted, will succeed only in demonstrating the shallowness of their leading, and the rashness of their judgment. Both Coleridge and I>e Quincey, though in different measure, were minds of the very rare seminal class, and from their sowings we still reap. We shall not here go into the casuistry of opium-eating, but it were a fair question to put whether posterity lias the right to ask the conditions and circumstances under which are produced the literary treasures that come to her hands? Pending an answer, let us turn to another cause of prejudice against De Quincey, viz., his voluminousness. In reading the " Opium-eater," as we stated previously, selection is necessary ; and it is not to be denied that De Quincey's chance of future fame is appreciably lessened by his carrying too much weight ; the " Hill of Fame" is not to be clomb with so serious an encumbrance. But even assuming that I >e Quincey is read, many critics say he is not quotable. The style ofjour author is certainly not the epigrammatic; as a rule his sentences are long, and do not lend themselves to quotation. "He made no more attempt to shine in single pas- sages," says a friendly critic, "than a good painter cares to let one square inch of his picture be singled out for admiration. In his essays, long and short, the whole composition hangs together as a fine musical composition hangs together, lie did not care for 22 A NEGLECTED MANCHESTER MAN: display of epigram, or for short sententious utterance, but made in every case a deliberate assault on his reader's convictions. His essays are like broadsides fired simultaneously, and no piece of ordnance but does its appointed work." De Quincey is often prolix. But here he has the defects of his qualities. One of these cpxalities is perfect lucidity, absolute clearness of meaning ; the accompanying defect is, a tendency to be prolix in the expression of his ideas. But here the question arises, which of the two styles is best, the terse and epigram- matic, with a certain measure of obscurity and ambiguity, or lucidity, accompanied by a certain amount of prolixity 1 Now it appears to us that of the two the latter is the preferable, being accompanied by defects of less importance, for that which is clearly and intelligibly stated is at least capable of being ultimately comprehended, without any exterior aid, while that which is obscure may never be comprehended at all, without, or even with, aid from a superior intelligence. Many of the clearest writers, in almost all languages, have a tendency to be prolix in expression. Nor is rapidity of style by any means an indication of rapidity of composition. For instance, one of the greatest stylists in universal literature, Jean Jacques Rousseau, tells us that he composed slowly and with difficulty ; and he would appear to have followed always the advice of his astute countryman, Boileau — Polissez et repolissez, AbrOgez quelquefois, et souvent effacez. Yet notwithstanding this, so clear, fluent, and facile is Jean Jacques, that one who is equally familiar with the two languages — French and English — will read ;i work like the Nouvelle Ileloise much more quickly in the former than in the latter. The style of De Quincey, though prolix, is yet so clear and fluent, the arrangement of his matter is so logical — so sequacious, as Coleridge would say, the terms and the words he uses are so precise, his sentences are so admirably poised and balanced, that almost anyone who has the habit of reading will read his pages with a rapidity astonishing even to himself. Indeed, to peruse THOMAS DE QUINCEY. •_•:* this author continuously for a lengthened period is almost good a training for the reasoning faculties as if you had engaged for a similar period in a course of logic. In concluding this brief and imperfect estimate of the literary claims of De Quincey, we inns' reiterate the opinion already expressed— the opinion not of one or two only but of many. We say again, deliberately, that it is a reflection upon a city of the vast importance of Manchester, with her world-wide relations in almost every department of human thought and activity, that she should pay such scant homage to the memory of a man whose name will shed a lustre on his native region when all Manchester's engines are rusted and her chimneys smokeless. For while trade and commerce, driven by the necessities of the case, must shift their centres from one place to another, and from one country to another, and even nations be worn out, as the ages roll, the genius of literature is ubiquitous and her triumphs are perennial. Many and various, and powerful, and wonderful are the instruments created and perfected by the ingenuity and skill of our men of the North, and the great workers in iron and brass ; hut there is one instrument yet more powerful than all these — more mighty even than the sword itself — the pen ! "With this instrument did De Quincey work, and through his subtle genius extend and improve the powers of a language destined in the future to voice the thoughts and the feelings of universal man. " It is true," said the great Caesar, " that I have widened the boundaries of the Roman empire, but Marcus Tullius Cicero has extended the limits of human knowledge" — a larger service. Far distant be the time, yet assuredly will it arrive, when this "tight little island" shall have become too "tight" for its own children — when this brave and strenuous England shall have become eflete, when she shall no longer be a political factor, and when her voice shall have no force or weight in the councils of the nations ; yet then, even then, will remain to her the supreme, the splendid and glorious triumph of having given to humanity at large one common speech and one common tongue ! 24 ROBERT BURNS ROBERT BURNS CONSIDERED A 8 A NATURALIST A CENTENARY MEMORIAL. < ijf)URNS'S deathbed prophecy, that his fame would increase, (^7 has been fulfilled in measure far beyond anything the poet can either have expected or imagined. Not only is his poetry now read in all languages of the civilised world, but even in remote and obscure dialects of many of them ; for the lyric has this advantage over the epic and dramatic poet that he is more diffusive, since he strikes more directly, and in fewer and simpler words, at the heart of man. And where in human veins the red tide runs reddest there rules Burns supreme — the Master Singer of the world, rivalling, in his song, the sweetness of the nightingale, and awakening the slumbering echoes of man's being in all lands. Nay, thousands are at this moment singing his songs to whom the very names of the great epic and dramatic poets are unknown.* In very simple words did Burns reassure his Jean, but in the light of the poet's present wide and ever-widening fame the words are sublime: "Don't be afraid, Jean, I shall be more respected when I have been dead a hundred years than I am at present." The poet had an instinctive knowledge of his own value ; he felt that although he had written some things that would perish, and that deserved to perish, he had yet written others that the * A recent writer on this subject estimates that the songs of Burns are now read in some twenty European languages ; but if dialects are included that figure will be largely increased. CONSIDERED AS A NATURALIST 25 world would not willingly lei die ; and this was bis consolation. It has been the consolation ol master-spirits who have suffered obloquy, penury, persecution in ;dl ages. It was the consolation of the greal Dante, who in making a poem made a language, as Burns himself has immortalised a dialect; it was the consolation of our own great Milton -when neglected, old and blind : it was the consolation of our Wordsworth when, under a pelting storm of Obloquy, he wrote that deathless powers to Verse belong, And they like demigods are strong On whom the Muses smile. Many are the Sweet Singers of Britain, and numerous the choir of German Voices, with the melodious tones of a Goethe, a Heine, or an Uhland, heard above all ; but we venture to reaffirm that neither here, nor there, nor yet among the non-Saxon nations, shall we find one singer whose place in the world's heart is before that of the immortal ploughman ! There is nothing so common in these " Tit-bit " days of shallow leading, when every book, to have vogue, must be a picture-book, and ever}- magazine must have more pictures than pages, as to hear the most sweeping judgments passed upon this or that author by people whose acquaintance with the author pronounced upon is really of the slightest. As for Robert Burns, indeed, where is the Englishman of average reading wdio does not assume perfect familiarity with the poet, and full capacity to judge him and all his works ? Yet u<h'<[Uat< hi to know Burns is to be well acquainted with the idiom, or dialect, in which he wrote, in all its obscurities, the circumstances under which he wrote, and the sources whence he drew. This carries one over a wide field ; yet is it a field to be duly and patiently traversed before sitting down in judgment. Not only will the average reader assume familiarity with Burns, but, having his eye upon the multitude of books written on the poet, his life and works, he will tell you, with emphasis, that "Burns is threshed out, and threadbare." And, in fact, if books arc to be taken by numbers, and not quality, ;> threshed 26 ROBERT BURNS out " he is to the last grain, and " threadbare " all over. But are they ? Scribimus indocti, docfique. ' Our own conviction, and it is a growing one, is, that with respect to Burns, apart from his songs, the average reader knows almost nothing about him, and the average critic very little. This lamentable ignorance in regard to a lyrical poet of the first order is largely, no doubt, to be ascribed to the difficulties presented by that uncouth idiom for writing in which the Scotch poet has been so often blamed. Yet we hold that Burns Avas quite right in listening to the voice of his own genius. It is quite true that whenever the poet desired he could use the English language with masterly power, his magnificent poem, "Man was made to mourn," his immortal " Mary in Heaven," his matchless "Verses to Clarinda" (" Ae fond kiss,"&c), and many others, attest this. But his native Doric, after all, has most affinity with the poet's genius, and this he instinctively felt. It is the language of his bitterest satire ; for in Scottish it is that " lash in hand " Burns administers those blood-drawing strokes under which the great families of Bant and Cant must writhe, not in effigy like Laokoon, but in mortal agony for ever. It is the language of his keenest wit, and his richest hunfour ; and if Burns is in the fiont rank of poets he is also, in our opinion, in the front rank of humorists. At the very mention of Burns, indeed, the figure of " Laughter " rises up, holding both his sides. Burns's humour is irresistible, and with the arrow of his ridicule, in keenness rarely surpassed, he slays giants of superstition, bigotry, and prejudice that a world in arms might have striven against in vain. Scottish, too, in the main, is the language of his highest passion and his deepest pathos ; for in the dialect this marvellous writer storms all hearts, exciting the emotions to such a fevered passion of love and tenderness for man, woman, child, and all living things, that Ave come to regard him as very Pity incarnate. For ourselves, Avhen we think of this surpassing tenderness in Burns, combined Avith so much virility, manly dignity, and loft}- independence, avc are often reminded of the great German writer, "Jean Paul the Only," a contemporary of CONSIDERED AS .1 NATURALIST. 27 the poet, but of whom limns probably never once heard, who was at that time engaged on the first of those wondrous prose- poems that were at once to astonish the world and thaw the German heart, then freezing under an icy blast from France. This fervid Titan anion-- Teutons, a very " fountain of tears," and phenomenon in German literature, who always found the socict}' of Goethe and Schiller too cold for him, how he would have loved the perfervid Scot! How he would have hugged and pressed him to his deep-pulsing, high-swelling, mighty heart! Indeed, resemblances between Burns and Richter are not wanting; and both were idolised of woman to a degree the world has rarely witnessed. Oftener yet do we recall the poet's English contemporary, the grand innovator and poetical heretic, Wordsworth, who so bitterly laments that, while living a comparative neighbour, he should never have met one whom he constantly refers to as his honoured teacher and master. And of British poets it is certain that none more stimulated the great Lakist's genius, or exercised over it a more important influence than Robert Burns. This, with characteristic candour, the English poet acknowledges in language of a noble simplicity : I mourned with thousands, but as one More deeply grieved, for he was »'one Whose light 1 hailed when first it shone, Ami showed my youth How Wise may build a princely throne On humble truth. To all who have formed the low, vulgar estimate of Burns's character that we must always deprecate, let it be a sufficient answer that the purest-minded of English poets, the loftiest in sentiment since Milton, and the most original since Shakespeare, should have held him in such high honour, and have paid him those frequent tributes — as eloquent in expression as they are sincere in sentiment, and invariably breathing the deepest reverence — to be found in the pages of this poet. For of all "pronouncements," past or present, we may surely trust that of Wordsworth on him who walked in -lory and ill joy, Following his plough along the mountain-side. 28 ROBERT BURNS Eeturning to the subject of dialect, we may say that if Burns in choosing mainly the Scottish vernacular as literary vehicle did but listen to the voice of his own genius, and follow the instincts of a true and great poet, then it behoves us, on the other hand, to acquaint ourselves with the form of language he adopted under this high counsel. In a word,- Ave are bound to learn the Scottish idiom even in its obscurities. Absolution there is none for neglect of genius ; in quality it is too precious, and in quantity too sparsely scattered, for this. Wei- die Dichtung; will verstehen, Muss in's Land der Dichter gehen, in another sense besides that of Goethe's. For a man who has not fully mastered the idiom of the Scottish lowlands to pretend " familiarity" with Burns is absurd. It is as if one who had but an indifferent acquaintance with the Latin tongue pretended " familiarity" with Horace, and the thousand felicitous phrases to be found in that poet. Not to know the obscurities of the dialect is often to miss the very gems and precious jewels of the Scottish poet. What is the tenderest passage, perhaps, in the whole of Burns to the man who stumbles at "a daimen icker in a thrave !" Indeed, an obscure idiom is not unfrequently the very keynote to a song or poem. We seriously reaffirm, then, that, apart from his songs, Burns, instead of being " familiar," is not known to the ordinary English reader, and very insufficiently known to Messieurs the Gentle- men who write with ease. And if we have " shown cause," then the other position in controversy, viz., that Burns is "threshed out, and threadbare," goes by the board. In fact, so far from being "threshed out," there are whole aspects in which Burns has hardl}' yet been looked at ; or, if glanced at, has been dealt with most inadequately. His wide knowledge of natural history, for example, and the singular accuracy of that knowledge. Indeed, as regards observations in nature, and whether in the animal or vegetable kingdom, the eye and the ken of this poet are well nigh infallible. He knows intimately a hundred trees and plants, and will describe to you CONSIDERED AS .1 NATURALIST. 29 minutely the features of Flora's fair children. Ho is acquainted irith the peculiar habits and characteristics of each member of the tribe, feathery, tinny, or other, and stamps ;m<l fixes them in one or two happy words impossible to be forgotten. Hoc arc two stanzas from the remarkable "Elegy on Tarn Samson," by way of illustration. X<>\v safe tin' stately sawmonl sail, And fcrouta bedropp'd wi' crimson Iia.il, And eels weel kenned for souple tail, And geds for gi eed. Since dark in Dim I h's lish-creel we wail Tam Samson dead ! Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw ; Ye mail kins cock your fud fu' braw, Witlumtrii dread ; Your mortal foe is now awa' Tam .Samson's dead ! Note the felicity of the description: "trouts bedropped wi' erimson hail." We say nothing of the master-strokes of humour and pathos contained in this famous tour de force, for that opens out quite another aspect of the poet, viz., his infinite tenderness for the inferior animals, and boundless sympathy with all forms of life, even the lowest. In the intensity of this sym- pathy, and in the power of its expression, Burns stands unequalled among poets. Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless tiling. That, in the merry months of Spring, Delighted me to hear thee sing, What conies o' thee ! Where wilt thou cower thy cluttering wing, And close thy ee' ? Here is another example of the accuracy of Burns's natural history : Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; Ye >tatch foxgloves, fair to see ; Ye w Ibines hanging bonnilie, 1 □ scented bowers ; Ye roses, on your thorny tree, The firsl >>" flowers. Here we not only see the flowers, we smell the delicious odours of the woodbine and the rose. In fact, no botanist can read 30 ROBERT BURNS Burns without being struck by the poet's felicity of epithet and minute accuracy of description. Once or twice in the whole of his works he mistakes the colour of a flower ; but in describing the habits and characteristics of trees and plants and the situations in which they are found in nature he invariably looks with the eye and writes with the pen of a true naturalist. Listen to him in " The Humble Petition of Bruar Water : " Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, My lowly banks o'erspread, And view, deep-bending in the pool, Their shadows' watery bed ! Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest, My craggy cliffs adorn ; And, for the little songster's nest, The close-embowering thorn. Note the pathetic stroke in the two concluding lines ; the tender heart of the poet does not allow him to forget a home for the "little songster,' 1 even in giving a botanical description. And, again, in the " Lament of Mary Queen of Scots " (which, by the way, the reader should compare with the exquisite poem on the same subject by Wordsworth), listen to the botanist : Now blooms the lily by the bank, The primrose down the brae ; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae. By the "lily," Burns means the "Lent-lily," naturally rare in Scot- land; and note the careful distinction of situation — bank and brae. Observe, also, the accuracy of the poet as to seasons : the black- thorn, or "sloe," is a sheet of milk-white blossom, while the white, or "hawthorn," is as yet only "budding in the glen." In his botany, in his geology, in his zoology, and even in his astronomy — where so many fine artists come to ground, instead of being in the skies — Burns, with rare exceptions, is as strictly and absolutely true to Nature as if he looked at her with the eye of the scientist pure and simple. In the department of ornith- ology his knowledge is very wide, and as minute as it is extensive. Here is one example out of hundreds : the poet describes the approach of winter, when the groves are silent — Except perhaps the robin's whistling glee, Proud o' the heighl o' some half-lang (Tee. CONSIDERED AS A NATURALIST. 31 In these two lines are contained two notable facts in natural history: few birds except the robin are abroad at this season, and he affects low trees and bushes only. And what poet, except Burns, could have squeezed so much accurate ornithology into eight lines as we have in these : The partridge loves the fruitful fella ; The plover loves the mountains : The woodcock haunts the Lonelj dells, The soaring hern the fountains : Thro' lofty groves the cushal roves, Tin- pal li of man to slum it ; The bazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, The spreading thorn the linnet. Here yon have described for you, in as many lines, the exact habits and habitats of seven distinct members of the feathered tribe. This in one of his shorter pieces, but in the " Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson," from which we quoted one stanza above, you have at once a magnificent poem and a valuable treatise of natural history. Here are two more stanzas from the grand " Lament," in illustration of our position : Mourn, ye woe songsters o' the wood ; Ye grouse, that crap the heather-bud ; Ye curlews cuJ/iiKj thrii <i dud : \ e whistling plover ; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ! — He's gane for ever ! Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, Ye fisher-herons, watching eels : Ye duck and drake. H i' airy wheels, Circling the lake ; Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Rair for his sake. What accuracy of observation is here ! What fidelity to nature f What felicity of epithet ! Science and poetry indissoluble united. In short, we can conceive of no book more fascinating than one that should deal adequately with the poet under this aspect — "Burns as a Naturalist, with illustrative quotations from his works." Again, as a painter of natural scenery — of landscapes in little, of vignettes in words, and of the stream— the " toddlin-burn," in particular, in all its meanderings, what poet — British or other — is so minutely graphic, or has a touch so exquisitely delicate 1 32 ROBERT BURNS Match the following, if you can, in universal poetry : Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays ; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night. This photographic accuracy in Burns has not failed to strike even the foreign critics, who, by the way, find it much easier to get at our historical and descriptive than at our reflective and philosophical poets ; with regard to which last, indeed, they are often hopelessly at sea, nor near the shore, our Wordsworth and Shelley suffering the most cruelly of all, for reasons which had space permitted it would have been interesting to enquire. Among, recent French writers, in addition to the distinguished Taine, who deal with Burns with much critical acumen, we may adduce M. Andre Theuriet, himself an admirable word-painter, and whose splendid descriptions of many aspects of nature adorned the pages of the Revue des Deux Mondes for a series of years. M. Theuriet dwells especially upon Burns's exactitude in his description of nature and natural objects, and characterises it as " marvellous." And referring to the poet's remarkable closeness and terseness, he says that even in his smallest pictures there is not a stroke lost, every touch tells, f And yet, in face of all this, there are people who will ask you " Was Burns a poet of nature 1" Even men of great critical acumen will put the question. " The sentiment of external nature was not strong in Burns," says one sententious writer. "You call Burns one of the poets of nature," says another, "but where, in his works, does he exhibit any strong feeling for the sub- lime mountain scenery which often came under his eyes?" To put the latter question is to pay unconsciously a very high compliment t "Burns peint le paysage avec un merveilleux exactitude; dans les petits tableaux il n'y a une touche qui ne soit juste, et n'ait valeur.' CONSIDERED AS .1 -V I TUBA LIST. to Wordsworth. The fact is, we are so accustomed to find the f< ing for mountain scenery in our poets of later times that where it is. not strongly evident we note the circumstance. But in how many English poets preceding Wordsworth do we find frequent expression of an over-mastering sentiment as regards mountain uery 1 That Burns had the feeling for mountains is proved by occasional strokes so powerful that Wordsworth himself, the peculiar poet of the mountains, was impressed by them. Again, in the pas-inn for wind and storm, and the rage of elements, the two poets were alike, and to the one as to the other it was a frequent source of inspiration. In "The Vision," referring to himself, Burns says : — I saw tliee seek the sounding shore, I flighted with the dashing roar ; Or, when the North his lleee\ store Drove thro' the sky, I saw grim Nature's visage boar Strike thy young eye. And again in "Winter, a Dirge:" — The sweeping blast, the -ky o'ercast, The JOJ leS8 w niter <lay, l.i i others fear, to nie more dear Than all the pride of May. And in a roaring storm on the wilds of Kennmre it was that Burns composed his famous battle-song. So with regard to the varied forms of nature, animate and inanimate, we venture to affirm that very few poets have, in their works, made such numerous, and at the same time such accurate references. To the other titles, then, of Kobert Burns we can fairly add that of a "Poet of Natural History." In conclusion, we may be permitted to pay this personal tribute, that although we have read Burns for so lengthened a period that we cannot remember a time when his pages were unfamiliar to us, ; T et cur wonder over so stupendous a phenomenon does but increase with the growing years. For here, for the first time in literary history, was a poet of the first order who, writing mainly in a rustic dialect, and without help of the customary accessories and paraphernalia, without help of any but the smallest 34 ROBERT BURNS part of the vast machinery drawn from the Greek, Roman, and other mythologies, conld fling himself naked,, as it were, upon the brown bosom of Nature herself — could thence draw new milk of life, and pour out his entranced soul in deathless song — could prove to us that the title "man," rightly taken, is higher than that of "king,'' and that woman is worthy of being sung in songs so ravishingly sweet that the world is constrained to listen to them for ever ! THREE TRIBUTARY SONNETS. I. Three British Bards, high on the roll of Fame, Belong to Scotland : Scott, Buchanan, Burns ; And if you ask which is the greatest name, The glorious Triad will be claimed in turns. Some the great George will choose, the stately bard Who set the Psalter to the Roman tongue — Tutor of kings, who taught with scant reward, But with whose fame all Europe echoed long. Scott is the hero of a numerous band — The Avizard Scott, who wrote with wondrous power;. Peopling with Fancy's children the wide land ; And these are great ; but both must yield, in turns,. The supreme place to him of heavenly dower, The untaught ploughman-poet, Robert Bums. II. The ancient fame of Scotland had grown dim Before the coming of her glorious Barns ; But since the world has grown so full of him, To Scotland's self her former fame returns : A land of learning, filled with men of brede — E'en in the dawn of letters she stood high ; And lights were burning — " northern lights," indeed, More lasting than the aurora in her aky. CONSIDERED AS A NATURALIST. Yc;i, in the dark, and in ;i cloudy clime, The torch of learning burnt with lustre bright, Borne by heroic men, whose souls sublime Sustained them in the darkness of the night ; Bui all her lettered glories of the past Are by the unlettered ploughman's far surpast ! III. Sweet sang that Horace, in the olden days, When the " great world " and Rome were all the same j But though he sang so loud in Caesar's praise, His than great Caesar's shines a brighter name. And many a lyrist since, and some before, Have sweeter sung, and in a higher key ; But one alone hath rent the very core Of man's red heart, and Scotland's Burns is he ! Goethe serene, Heine so musical And sadly sweet, must both give place, in turns, To him who, with the music of the niLihtineale, Can voice the feeling of a heart that yearns ; And Love and Pity, hence, with old and young, Must speak the accents of the Scottish tongue I 36 MOSS GATHEREES. MOSS GATHERERS : A LAN CAS HIKE SPECIMEN.* 2^\ US Y with her giant industries, her wide commerce, and vast <?<* enterprises in so many fields, Lancashire is apt to forget that she is famous for something besides, viz., her Artisan Botanists. And the reason why these men, partially educated, and in- differently equipped in many ways, have given to Lancashire a reputation even beyond the three kingdoms is, that in the economy of scientific labour the function of seeking and finding new species is a no less essential one than the function of dissecting, of classifying, and of describing them. Of these working-men botanists — and they were long since numbered by hundreds — perhaps the most distinguished (up to the time of his lamented death, at least) was John No well, who, besides, was a man of so sweet and gentle a disposition that none could lock upon without loving him. Nowell was born at Todmorden, which place, as there are thousands of people scattered about the world who have never seen and probably never will see it, but who have heard a great deal about some of its people, we will here attempt to describe. Todmorden, then, is neither a Lancashire nor a Yorkshire town ; and yet it is both, being situated partly in the one county and partly in the other, and watered by the River Calder. It lies, as the historian of Whalley would say, in the very gorge of the English Apennines. It is, in fact, situated on the left flank of that great Pennine chain of hills so interesting to the British geologist. It is a place at once picturesque and unsightly, a * A Paper read before the Manchester Literary Club in the year J882. .! LANCASHIRE SPECIMEN. 37 combination of romance and vulgarity, a poem with prose inter- lineations. The town is of the dullest, the prosiest of the prosy — a cottony town, the neighbourhood pure poetry ! In the town itself, if the time be summer, amid clash and clatter of looms, whirr of wheels, and whizz of spindless, you are stunned and deafened ; amid its warps and wefts, and china clays, you are stifled, blinded : walk but a few paces, and you find yourself on the first steps of a ladder of green hills conducting, as it should seem, to the clouds. Mounting this ladder, you pass, in places, thigh-deep through fragrant ferns, under waving green- woods, and by plashing waterfalls. Beaching, at length, the lofty and it may be still verdant summit, your cheeks are fanned by the freshest breezes, while above you the weird clouds career in their own wild fashion, and you look down on what has often been described as " one of the most picturesque valleys in the north of England,'' and around upon moors (purple, in their season, with the blooming heather) stretching further, and still further, till lost in the misty horizon. It is a place where the lungs can dilate, the mind expand, the spirit soar ! But besides its attractions to seekers of health, and to lovers of the beautiful and the picturesque, and its interest to the geologist, Todmorden, with its innumerable doughs and mountain-gorges, and thousand dripping, cool recesses, offers the richest booty to the plant-hunter, and to the gatherer of ferns and mosses above all. Moreover, situated as it is on the borders of the two great counties before mentioned, it is a place of peculiar and special interest to the student of dialects ; and were our Waughs and Brierleys a nomadic people, and well-advised, the}' would at once strike their present tents, and make a journey due north, to find "fresh woods and pastures new " in the Todmorden neighbour- hood. These vast ranges of hills, too, constituting the Lanca- shire and Yorkshire border-country, are a rich mine of mother- wit, in the main caustic to a degree, and pitiless, smacking of the hills themselves, and of the rude storms that in winter howl around them. Even in the names given to places there is a dry humour discoverable that is highly noteworthy, such as " Back-o'- 38 MOSS GATHERERS : behund," for an out-of-the-way district, and " Xo-dale" for a very hilly quarter ! Sheltering in the far recesses of this mountain- ous region, remote from centres of population and of culture, and gradually reclaiming a stubborn soil from the limits of the marshy valleys upwards to the highest points available for cultiva- tion, these tenacious and sturdy Saxon settlers of the past, with slight Celtic and Scandinavian admixture, have, until now, pretty well held their own, and remained what they were in manners, and in language even to the accent. So much is this the case that hearing the patois on some of these hill-sides, you would think, for the nonce, you were listening to a German-born. And unhappy the man who shall lay himself open to the incisive mother-wit of the wide-awake men of " the tops," as almost every one, in these parts, more suo, calls the hills. At the commencement of this century, and in a modified degree now, a sturdy independence, and a distinct individuality, " each hero following his peculiar bent," were the marked characteristics of these hill-people, each of whom, by the way, failed not to rejoice in some strange nickname ; and no one took greater delight in recalling and describing their odd ways and uncouth manners than the subject of this sketch, in whose memory there hung a whole portrait gallery of " local characters" worthy of the pen of Scott. The Scandinavian admixture would seem to have added daring, the Celtic acuteness of mind, and a keener wit, towards the composition of a character in the main Saxon. How, as regards language, the three elements, Celtic, Saxon, and Scandinavian, have contended for a while, and gradually blended, is shown not only in the patois, but in the names of places throughout the neighbourhood — a study in itself full of interest, but one which we shall leave untouched for the present. Here, then, at Todmorden, on one of these wild hills, and amid the surroundings just described, to which he offered, in some respects, so strong a contrast, John Nowell was horn, beginning life almost with the century ; here he lived for some, thing short of the allotted span, viz., sixty-five years ; and here he died, more widely lamented than any other inhabitant of his A LANCASHIRE SPECIMEN. 39 native valley, which, with its neighbouring valleys, has produced, or has been the abode of, not a few who have become famous in the world of literature — witness Dr. Whitaker, the learned historian, Dr. Fawcett, who wrote upon "Anger," John Foster, the distinguished essayist, and others. Born on a hare hill-side, and in abject poverty, Nowell became early inured to toil, and his schooling was of the scantiest, never reaching beyond the three R's. While yet a mere boy, he was put to hand-loom weaving, whereby, at that time, a full-grown man, working while the sun shone in summer, might earn perhaps eightpence or tenpence a day. A little later, when the mule and the power-loom came into use, Nowell (who, as is the custom, had married young) was employed by Messrs. Fielden Brothers, of Todmorden, at their extensive works, as a twister-in ; and with them, labouring in this very humble capacity, he remained thence- forth and to within a few days of his death. For twenty laborious years, in all weathers, he daily made a journey of several miles from his little hill-side cottage on the rocky heights of Stansfield to Messrs. Fielden's works at Waterside, his family all the while steadily increasing, and making the problem "how to live " more difficult. An intimate friend of Nowell's was the late president of the Todmorden Botanical Society, whose character ottered to his own many points of resemblance, and some of contrast ; but both were ardent' lovers of Nature, and had the same strong bent towards the study of Botany. Nowell and his friend had been together from the first — from the period of earliest boyhood : They bwa had run about the braes, An' pu'd the gowans tine. And they afterwards rambled and botanized together over no inconsiderable portion of England, Wales, and Ireland, but chiefly over this and the sister count)' of York, the one paying special attention to the mosses, the other to the ferns, and both adding largely to our knowledge of the native species, and their variations under (littering conditions of growth and situation. While still youths the two had, by combined effort that is, by 40 MO>S GATHERERS: putting together their " sair-won penny fees " — contrived to pur- chase a copy of Culpepper's Herbal, and subsequently an Intro : duction to Botany, by one Priscilla Wakefield, at which rather slender fountain not a few of our self-made botanists, thirsting for botanical lore, appear to have drunk betimes. These two books formed the earliest botanical library of our two ardent youths ; and by their aid, and always rambling together, they gradually acquainted themselves with the wild plants of the neighbourhood, extending their explorations as the years went on. Nowell's fame as a cryptogamic botanist rapidly spread, and in the course of a few years he came to have direct intercourse with quite a number of working-men and other botanists as devoted to the study of the lower cryptogams as himself ; while at the same time he engaged in a correspondence with distant botanists which continued every year to increase, his correspon- dents being men in every station and condition of life, from the peer to the peasant, though the major part doubtless were people seeking botanical favours. And at no time did the good man appear so truly happy as when labouring for others : Sic vos, non vobis, mellificatis apes. Nowell's knowledge of British mosses, the department he made more especially his study, was as accurate as it was extensive. 'Unlike many self-made botanists, too, he was always most care- ful about the correct orthography of the Latin name of any plant unfamiliar to him : and although this will be regarded by many as a trifling circumstance, we hold that it is important, as showing the fine moral fibre of the man, and his delicate conscientiousness and scrupulosity. The self-educated man who is conscientious about his spelling is generally found to be conscientious in other and higher matters. With regard to the above trait in Nowell's character, we have heard one familial- with him from his cradle aver that he was never once known to tell a falsehood, or to be out of temper. In a time of sophistication, it is pleasant to think of a man like this, who to the character of savan and .student of Nature added excellencies so rare. Quietly and steadily working, through fifty years of sunshine and cloud — .1 LANCASHIRE SPECIMEN. 11 ever, ever working .it the mosses, &c, if fame reached Nowell at all it came wholly unsought, not to say un courted : He lived not with ambitious aim : But hath not died wit limit his fame. Enough for this gentle, quiet man the pleasure of seeking and finding those tiny hits of vegetation to whose investigation he devoted a long, laborious, and beautiful life. Here, in the pleasure of seeking, was reward enough for him ; let others bruit and noise abroad his diseoveries as they might. Among these was the important addition, in 1S40, to the Yorkshire flora of the rare and beautiful shining cavern moss (Schistostcga pemiata),* one of the most interesting mosses native to this country. In the same year, Nowell rendered valuable assistance to the late Mr. Henry Baines, of York (a botanist of the old school, and well known to the writer), in the compilation of his then much-looked-tor Flora of Yorkshire, in the introduc- tion to which work Baines acknowledges the great services rendered him by Nowell, whom he describes as "a most accurate and indefatigable cryptogamic botanist.'' And when, in 1854 (in conjunction with Mr. J. G. Baker, of Thirsk, now of the Royal Gardens, Kew), Baines republished his Yorkshire Flora, Nowell edited one portion of the work— "The Mosses of the County." With the late Richard Buxton, of Manchester, himself one of the most remarkable of Lancashire working-men botanists, and a man of the mildest and most retiring manners, Nowell was long- intimate ; the two were in every respect kindred spirits ; and in the preface to the first edition of his Botanical Guide to the Flowering Plant*, &c, of Manchester (1849), Buxton speaks of Nowell as being, so far as he knew, " the first among working men as a muscologist." Indeed, this opinion was held on all hands, and not seldom given expression to, even in high quarters ; and if praise, it pmierea nihil, could make the mare to go, Nowell would not have had to travel very long upon his feet. And if praise (sometimes indiscriminate enough) could have taken him * Schistostega otmundacta of authors. 42 MOSS (iATHERERS: •off his feet, in another sense, that also would have been clone. But by this man, noble by nature, and not to be spoilt : — Honour, that with such an alluring sound Proud mortals charms, and does appear so fair, An echo, dream, — shade of a dream, — was found Disperst abroad by every breath of air. The marvel of all Avas that, working as he did in these very minute investigations with only a small, common magnifying- glass, he should contrive to be so accurate ; for it was long, indeed, before he could indulge in the expensive luxury of a microscope. No doubt, if the praise of which he was on every side the subject had taken the form of a bill to be cashed at a date fixed, he might soon have equipped himself to the fullest extent— But Dis aliter visum est ! His fame for accuracy, in the investigation of British mosses, &c, spread, nevertheless, and very soon reached Sir William Hooker, at Kew, than Avhom none more eminent in botany ever directed those royal gardens of world-wide fame. To say that Nowell's claims to notice came before Sir W. Hooker is to say that a position was offered the rising botanist at botanical head- quarters ; this, in fact, was the case. But the shy, retiring man chose to remain in poverty, in his own little Lancashire nook, where, as toil remitted, he could botanize in freedom his native hills. And perhaps the good man was wise, since by this choice he escaped the thousand petty envyings and jealousies by which real talent is almost always pursued, however innocent and un- assuming, and apparent!}/ calculated to disarm such jealousies, the subject may be. Among Nowell's more distinguished foreign .correspondents may be mentioned the late Professor Schimper, of Strasburg (author, in conjunction with Bruch and Gumbel, of that magnificent work the Bryologia Europcea). And when, some thirty years ago, this famous moss-gatherer paid a visit to these islands, Nowell had the honour of showing the great professor over several of his old hunting-grounds in the north country. Srhimper subsequently passed into Scotland. Nowell himself, ardent botanist as he was, and familiar as he was with the British flora, never once set foot " ayont the Tweed f A LANCASHIRE SPECIMEN. 13 although (aa a devout Mohammedan yearns after Mecca) he was always cherishing the hope of sometime visiting the Perthshire islands, botanically so renowned. Hut ere that hope could lie realised he was called away, to botanize — we know not where ; but surely someiohere ! lie died, after several weeks' severe suffering, of heart disease, in the autumn of L 867, at Todmorden, and was buried in the shadow of a little church (Cross stone) which is perched on those rocky Stansfield heights so familiar to his feet, overlooking the Todmorden valley, and which serves as a landmark for miles around. Nor did any Itetter human mould ever mingle with its parent mould in that little hill-side church- yard. And in the "old" church-yard, in the valley of Todmorden, stands a monument to him (a handsome; granite obelisk) erected shortly after his death by a wide circle of his admirers. And thousands of busy feet pass daily by that church- yard wall where his for forty years had passed before, in the dreary and seldom remitting toil of a cotton operative's life. Novell's passion for moss-hunting was strong to the end. We spent with him his last night on earth, and all through that night, to the last moment, and to the last breath, his talk, in his delirium, was of mosses. And his knowledge in this peculiar branch of botanical science was undoubtedly vast; and if, in combination with it, he had possessed the ready faculty which some have of applying and spreading their knowledge, the mark he would have left would, we believe, have been both broad and deep. As it is, he has not died without a name— an honourable name— in the botanical literature of this country. As already stated, he is the author, in conjunction with the late Henry Baines, of York, and the distinguished J. G. Baker, of Kew, of a Flora of Yorkshire, published in 1854. To many other Floras, and to many botanical journals, he contributed much valuable matter, thus earning the gratitude not of one or two only, but of the world :it large; for we take it that whoever contributes to the world's stock of permanent knowledge is, in so far, its general benefactor. Finally, up to the time of his last illness, he had been engaged, in conjunction with his oldest friend before referred 44 MOSS GATHERERS : to, upon a flora of his native district, the MS. of which remains in the hands of the present writer. But Nowell will live in the world of science by another and stronger title, for the celebrated Mitten (author of several works on the mosses and lower cryptogams) has deemed him worthy of the very highest honour, by giving his name to a lovely genus of liverwort (Noivellia curvifolia), of which examples were found in North Britain, in 1876, by Dr. Carrington, himself one of the most distinguished of Lancashire moss-gatherers. Professor Schimper, also, before his lamented death, some years ago, named after Nowell a very beautiful species of moss ( Zygodon Nowellii). Whilst Moore, the eminent pteridologist, has connected the name of "Nowell" with the higher cryptogams by giving it to a very curious and distinct form of the fragrant mountain fern (Lastrwa montana Nowelliana), found by our friend in North Wales. So- long, therefore, as any one of these plants retains its present characteristics, Nowell's name, in the world of science, is destined to remain as green and fresh as his OAvn loved mosses. As an illustration of the zest with which Nowell searched for his tiny favourites, it may be mentioned that in one of his latest excursions — we believe his very latest — to North Wales, whilst botanizing on the banks of a river of some depth, he had the ill-luck to fall souse overhead into the water, whence emerging, drenched to the skin, he immediately stripped himself, spread out his clothes to the sun, and walked on, in puris naturalibus ! '•What to [do?" will be asked. To botanize, of course ; and walking thus, in the garment of our first parent, Nowell made the only real " find " yielded by that journey. His devotion to the science reminds one of the renowned Mellor, of Koyton, the so-called father of Lancashire working-men botanists ; and of the still more renowned Don, the Scotch botanist, who added the rare Ranunculus alpestris to the British flora. Mellor's enthusiasm for plants, especially mountain plants, knew no bounds, and in searching after his alpine darlings, in the course of his long life of eighty-two years, he must have tramped over the hills and dales of England and Scotland more than any other Lancashire I LANCASHIRE SPECIMEN. i"> mean of his time. < >l I > t • r * it is related that "such was his en- thusiastic love of alpine plants thai he spent whole months at a time collecting them among the gloomy solitudes of the Gram- pians, his only food a little meal, or a bit of crust moistened in the mountain burn." Of the excellent and estimable Lancashire working-men botanists contemporary with Nowell, in addition to those already mentioned, and who botanize no longer (under mundane con- ditions, though we would fain hope they still gather Mowers in fields elysian !) were the two Hobsons, Edward and William, Horsfield the elder, Percival the elder, ( Jrowther, Crozier, Tinker, Martin, Bentley, Shaw, and others ; though these were often engaged in the same field of research widely apart, and, for a time, totally unknown to each other. What the late Edward Hobson did for British botany the large herbarium he left behind him, and which is now accessible to the public of Manchester, sufficiently shows. As regards his cousin William, who in his latter years was personally known to the writer, he emigrated rather early to America ; but his botanical enthusiasm suffered thereby no diminution, and in addition to personal intercourse, we had much interesting correspondence with him in regard to several rare species of North American ferns. Besides his extreme fondness for botany, William was an ardent ento- mologist, and when anything like a butterfly, or even a moth, was on the wing, flew into ecstasies, more suo. He died, at a ripe age ; at Philadelphia, some twenty years ago.* How delightful it would be to continue to discourse of these old botanists — men of a type that is fast disappearing, that must disappear, and that cannot ever, in the altered condition of men and things, reappear. What a pleasant gallery of portraits they would make ! What striking similarities and what striking contrasts ! Jolly Jethro Tinker in this chair ; shy, retiring Buxton in that ! But our present concern is with one of them only — -John Nowell — who, without the demonstrative hilarity 1 The present -ketch of Xowcll was written in 1881. 46 MOSS GATHERERS: and ebulliency of men of the Tinker type, bad all their genial, cordial nature, and without the extreme sensitiveness of the gentle Buxton, had all his natural delicacy and modesty. He was retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noonday grove. His very memory brings healing, and faith, and hope. For as it required, according to the old story, ten just men to save from destruction the doomed Cities of the Plain, so it requires some- times, amid the din and strife of the world, the memory at least of ten just and upright men to save one's sinking faith in humanity, and, with us, Nowell is one of the ten ! " His extensive and accurate knowledge," writes Buxton (in 1849), referring to Nowell, "joined to an excellent disposition, has always made his company a source of pleasure to me." A source of pleasure to anyone was Nowell's " company," as all thus privileged will testify. To the writer of this sketch, who enjoyed that privilege for thirty years, he always appeared (we say it without the least exaggeration) as if encircled by a radiant halo of goodness — there seemed perpetually to exhale from the man an atmosphere of love and of peace. His mere presence was soothing and serlative ; one breathed about him the very spirit of tranquillity — a gracious influence, potent to exorcise evil genii ! Coming into the mild presence of Nowell, the wrathful man for- got his wrath, and took up the olive branch of peace ; the rancorous man forgot his rancour, and passed out rilled with kindliness and goodwill to men. Nor was Pope's noble line ever more truly illustrated than in this case. An honest man's the noblest work of God. And although Nowell has done much, as regards scientific work, in that branch of natural history which he made his speciality— although in his character of student of nature he has shown us what can be done by faithfully following the sublime Goethean maxim, Ohne Hast, ohne Bast, yet he has done still more in offering the example of a life, certainly not short, of the most singular modesty, of the most losing honesty, of the most .1 LANCASHIRE SPECIMEN". IT uncompromising veracity — ;i life, in fact, of its kind all but unique. It is often charged against onr "self-made botanists," that, generally speaking, they are botanists only— that, unless it be a plant, they are indifferent to almost everything. This has been charged against Nowell ; but we happen to know that he was indifferent to nothing, and that, so far from having read very little out of his particular walk of science, he had read — and not only read but thought — a great deal, though always in his own quiet, inobtrusive way. Careless people very often mistake fuss for force — the absence of fuss for emptiness. In these hurrying days (and some hurry is doubtless inevitable) it is thought if there is but little in the "shop window" there is next to nothing in the shop. Nowell was of all men the least fussy, the least showy ; he had always a full shop, but had next to nothing in the window ; so the hasty judged, as they judge always, hastily, and in this case quite erroneously. ^pr 48 OX SOME CHARACTERISTICS OE THE TIME. ON SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. AN ESSAY WRITTEN IN THE STYLE OF CHARLES LAMB— WITH A DIFFERENCE ! JUG of cold water, Jennie, fresh drawn.— Thanks." Nunc poculum alterum imple! Reader, we wish to thee and thine health and long life in a moderate potation, believing in. limited draughts even of that beverage which old Pindar tells us is the best. We drink cold water, but— moderately — est modus in rebus — but we drink it, which is more than can be said of some of our acquaintance, to whom a glass of cold water, pure and undiluted, would infallibly give the nausea. We drink it, reader, and with something'of the original relish of far-off days, when, at the mossy fountain, the innocent draught purling over the parched tongue would fall cool and grateful upon our youthful palate. Yea, something of that first smack and virgin gusto (even in this our twelfth lustrum !) still remains to us, for which, as for all other mercies, heaven be praised. Lamb — the frolic and the gentle Charles — who desired to be taken for no " washy fellow," was nevertheless wont to say that the man who had permanently lost his relish] for the pure element was in no very healthy condition, in which opinion we concur. And — O gentle and docile reader, if we mud be didactic — as is the physical so is the mental palate. Just as the former, under healthy conditions, retains its relish for the natural, simple, and elementary means of refreshment, so one's intellectual palate, under conditions similarly healthy, requires oidy the truthful and actual in nature and life, in contrast to those others that constantly crave for the sensational and high-seasoned. In order ON SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. 49 to be pleasantly and agreeably excited, the healthy mind do< not require to be strongly and grossly .stimulated ; and we hold that the prevalent craving for delirious excitement, and for strong-flavoured and high-seasoned literature, is as much to he deplored as the craving for strong physical stimulants. Ind< ed, we live in a time of high-seasoning all round; our foods and drinks are high seasoned, whereby our palates are depraved and our whole physical organisation damaged ; and our literary palates, by similarly high flavoured literature, are becoming equally depraved, whilst the digestive and assimilative processes are seriously deranged. An author, nowadays, in order to be popular, cannot be truthful ; he must needs dash in the condi raents, and deal in hyperbole to all limits. Where there is not absolute untruth there must be exaggeration; the truthful and natural are at a discount, and when they are both totally absent the writer is often described as readable and racy. Mill palates grown callous, almost, to disease, Who peppers the highest is surest to please ! To some of us the comic papers of to-day, with their laboured jokes, forced witticisms, and premeditated impromptus, seem very dreary reading indeed. The humorous Elia — Charles Lamb aforesaid — tells us that while he was free to crack his jokes at leisure, and as occasion called, they were of the most brilliant character, and never failed to "bring down the house," but that when he undertook, by distinct engagement, to supply so many jokes per week to a certain periodical, the manufactured article somehow missed fire, and he found his joke-contract beyond a joke. And it is just this stamp of "manufacture" apparent in the so-called comic writing daily turned out in such enormous quantities from our literary factories that gives the dreariness aforesaid. Hut did not the hired author find his readers his pen would stop ; clearly the drivel is in demand, the depraved palates nv pandered to, and truth is scattered to the winds. Again, the present popular taste runs all in the direction of the iioisy pleasures. Nobody, now, seems to enjoy himself, or herself^ unless there is an immense racket and tumult ; the rage for 50 OX SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. racket is universal, like the rage for athletics ; and truly between the two the world in which we live is pretty much of a pande- monium : noisy pleasures within, violent athletics without, and quiet nowhere, such is the order of the day — and of the night also, for the home-readings aloud, and the conversations at friendly parties, with the mutual exchange of ideas, are now alas, things of the past : Oh, this world is a truly crazy land ; A worrying, hurrying, mazy land ; We cannot stay ; We must all away. — The fine saying of one of our poets that " the serious may be happier than the gay " has startled many ; yet only reflection is needed to see that it is one of those profound utterances that de- clare the true votes. The serious not only may be, but often are happier than the gay ; and perhaps, on the whole, the serious life is the one most to be desired. It is certainly the truest, for the rushing life of to-day is, in strictness, no life at all, but a mere fevered and tumultuous existence. " Life," Maine de Biran says, "is to think; living is thinking." Your ordinary man, healthy and unreflecting, is really not conscious of the pro- cesses of life, and in order to rouse him to this consciousness either ill-health or some shock of fate — some startling and over- whelming crisis — must happen to him. We sail down the stream of time in common, but only one in ten thousand notices that the banks on either hand recede. The true and real life be assured, reader, is the reflective, and perhaps the happiest. For instance, "Wordsworth, the author of the pregnant phrase we have taken for our text, led perhaps the happiest life of modern days ; and this notwithstanding that in the whole of his too voluminous works you shall find scarce a gleam of humour. Here was a serious life, indeed ! Sustained as regards his inner life, and lifted high above the blind and battling multitude, by his own serene philosophy, and above the storms of criticism by a full consciousness of his own great powers, he was sustained in his outer life by a series of miracles, being literally "fed by the ravens." For when his fortunes were ON SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. :,\ «*itel)l>, what was it buta "raven," in the person of Etaisle} Calvert, that, flying down from the sky, dropped into the poet's pocket just the sum he wanted- -that noble Culvert who was moved by so wonderful a prescience of Wordsworth's latent powers ! Then followed the miraculous restitution by Lord Lonsdale ; and there- after, just as the poet's necessities required it, one stamp-dis- tributorship after another. In fact, if Wordsworth was ever in need, as his tormentor, J)e Quincey, facetiously puts it, BOmebody who held a fat sinecure was sure to receive notice from the Higher Powers either at once to fall sick unto death or to resign his post in favour of the poet! Thus miraculously provided for from without, and from within by his own high thinking, the great advocate of the quiet pleasures and the mild athletics (for Wordsworth himself was an athlete) must have led at once the most serious and the happiest of lives. But, alas, it is not reserved to many men, even of large powers, to be thus fed by the birds of heaven ! That the serious may be happier than the gay is a sentiment that the people to whom we have referred will hardly realise. To them a tranquil pleasure appears to be no pleasure at all, and to walk in quiet ways is impossible. Yet to lead back into these quiet ways, and to the enjoyment of the tranquil pleasures, a sensation-hunting, excitement-craving, whirling, rushing world were a ta>k worthy of the ablest pen. We have spoken of the rage for athletics—by some described as a "craze." Hut let not the reader suppose that we would declaim against, or decry athletics, perse. On the contrary, being essential to health, we hold them to be among the prime necessities and altogether indispensable ; nor has the fair goddess Hygeia a more devout worshipper than we. I In t that athletics are the all in all, the alpha and omega, the Hist ami last, the beginning, middle, and end of this our life below the moon, we do not think ; and that they shoidd occupy, as they do at present, the thoughts of young and old to the total exclusion of every other subject — that they should lill half our newspaper-, a ml half our book-, and be the one all-absorbing and universal topic of d2 52 OX SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. conversation, and theme of gossip, in cottage and hall, in kitchen and parlour, in street and mart, in the hotel, on 'Change, at church, and everywhere else, is absurd. C'en est trop ! And we say further, that to see our most ancient, grey-headed grand- mother (for it has really come to this\ mounting astride her bike, amid a jeering multitude, and flying through the astonished land like a winged dragon, is a spectacle to move the laughter of the the gods. That athletics should " hold the field " is indeed fitting and right, but not the whole field. Est modus in rebus. The bike is too much with us ; late and soon, Biking and triking, we lose all our powers. That is to say, our powers of natural locomotion, and acquire, on the other hand, very often, distorted limbs and curved backs. And no wonder, for your "scorcher" at full speed resembles nothing in this world so much as a monkey up a stick ! Is it not Lucretius who tells us that the noblest distinction between man and the lower animals is that the latter look downwards towards the earth, while the former holds his head " erect to heaven T So we note that the " scorcher's" gaze is not skyward, but, like that of the inferior animals, decidedly down- wards ; his eyes are fixed upon the ground, and for a good reason. Then why should we feel surprise that among cyclomaniacs per- manent curvature of the spine should be on the increase. Could it, indeed, be otherwise, when so many of our youths with half- developed physique are among the most determined " scorchers 1" These are some aspects of the universal cyclomania from the subjective side ; but what of the objective 1 Leader, did we tell thee the perils that we and certain of our non-cycling friends have passed through, the narrow escapes of which we and they have been the subjects at the hands of cyclomaniacs, "scorchers," "record-breakers," and limb-breakers, 'twould read like a romance of horror. Enough that we survive — and 'tis much that we survive — to tell, on some later day, the tale of the dangers we have passed, and the ninety-and-nine deaths we have escaped by the breadth of a hair. Note here only one week's unvarnished record from an authentic diary : — ON SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME 53 Monday — Close-pressed, to-day, by ;i young lady cyclist, while in town. Wednesday In crossing the street, grazed on the left leg by a fast young man, driving along, nes. an vent, on a large bike. Thursday — Ridden down by a damsel of doubtful age, whilst walking home. Saturday — -Narrow escape, to-night, from a " scorcher" without lamp or bell, but who did not stop to apologise though finable. Mind thee, reader, this is but one week's unvarnished record. Remember that there are fifty two weeks in a year, and then wonder, if wonder thou canst, at this bitter cry and prayer against riolent athletics: Of course, to be "close pressed," or even " ridden down," by a lady may sound very pleasant, but, although not wanting in devotion to the sex, and even prepared to shed a considerable amount of blood — of other people's —in their sweet behalf, we found the actual experience decidedly unpleasant. " Blind, perhaps ]" interjects one reader. " Deaf, probably ?" queries a second. •' Lame, I conclude,'' observes a third, whose "conclusion" is lame and impotent indeed. No, gentlemen; we are neither blind, deaf, lame, nor halt, thank you ; nor, as to the crown of the head, are we in the unfortunate condition — a condition shared by many of our modern athletes -of the great Ca-sar, who is said to have esteemed the privilege of wearing the laurel crown voted him by the Roman senate more highly than any other reward accorded him for his world-wide victories. And why ! because the leaves of the laurel effectually hid the shining pate of the western conqueror from a people accustomed to scoff at balddieaded gentlemen of any age. Furthermore, if to be able, in your twelfth lustrum, to travel on foot, over the roughest ground and in the roughest weather, at the rate of thirty miles a day — if to be able, even when winds blow chill, to laugh at the idea of flannels and drawers, and linings to outer garments — if this be to be athletic, then are we, also, who pen these lines, to be enrolled in the "noble army" of British 54 OX SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIM I:. athletes, and the voice that is here lifted against violent athletics is "A Voice from Within." But with all the e advantages, on the one hand, we are con- strained to confess, on the other, to our deep chagrin and humiliation, that we belong not to the flourishing and fat kine but to the lean and ill-favoured ; and it may be that it was for this reason that on a very black " Thursday " we were ridden down by the brazen amazon aforesaid, in whose icy bosom, certainly, there stirred no pity or relenting ruth whatever ! Mistake us not, ye cycling fair, nor deem that we condemn cycling in young ladies ; or even in ladies of the age that we would softly whisper in the softest Italian : nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita. We draw the line only at our most ancient grandmother, whom (having regard to the perils of cycling itself) we desire not as yet to take wing, but to remain a while in these lower airs ; and whom we would piously address, as some "ancient Roman" might have addressed his ancient grand- mother, in similar circumstances : Sew, non cito, in ruin redeas ! For the others, far be it from us to say, with Shakespeare (who evidently foresaw what cycling would come to) : Cyke no more, ladies, cyke no more ! Tis not the use but the abuse of the thing that we complain of. As stated previously with reference to our male athletes, 'tis not against athletics per se, but against violent athletics — athleticism run mad, that we here declaim. Cycle, by all means, ye Maids of England, and at your own sweet will ; but take your exercise in rational measure. Est modus in rebus. Do your cycling gently, as femininely as may be, and so, at least, as not to outrage — les convenances. Above all, do not "scorch," or strive to break " records," or bones- — of your own, or other people's. Scorch our poor, tender, susceptible hearts, if you like, and at your sovereign pleasure, while seated on your throne of beauty ; but while seated on your bike scorch not at O.V SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. all. Be assured that your lovely limbs were never made that you should " tear away" at that rate !* A- for the "scorcher " masculine— the male "scorcher," the champion record and limb-breaker, the monster who talks of his victims— the people he has "run down "—as a sportsman talks of the "game" he has "bagged" -the callous wretch to whose murderous hike — as to the car of Juggernaut — there have fallen hecatombs of victims of all ages, him we would relegate to regions beyond the pale of civilised society — him we would expel, as a rebel and an outlaw, from the world of men ! In the meantime the rage for violent athletics does not diminish, but grows and spreads daily ; and to crown all, has now infected those spirits, erstwhile so calm, dwelling in the high regions of science and philosophy ; and not a few serious students, sober savans, and profound professors — men so versed in matters occult, so learned in things recondite, that they bade fair to master the whole cycle of the sciences, are now wholly occupied in mastering the science of cycles and cycling : — Quo, quo, scelestis ruitis ' In which connection, and in sober conclusion, this much of our own intimate and personal knowledge we can affirm and assert, viz., that in many natural history societies (quorum parva pars fuimus), possessing vast collections of valuable specimens that were formerly the delight of a crowd of eager students, those vast and valuable collections are at this moment left over to the dust and the worm; and this directly through the causes already stated. That athletics should be divorced from the Study of natural philosophy one can barely imagine ; but that it should be found impossible to combine them with the study of natural history, the active pursuit of any one branch of which involves so large Note. Even in walking, it behoves our fair readers to remember that a hurrii d gait invariably detracts from the charm they were bom to iise upon the heart ol our sex. Nor, when the inhabitants of high Olympus trod the earth, was it difficult, according to Virgil, to detect the true goddess bj her measured step: Vera ince-stit paiuii ilea. 56 OX SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE TIME. an amount of the desired exercise, we find it difficult to under stand. Surely the divorce between these two is one of the most signal and striking proofs of the deep and wide-spread character of the athletic craze. Even the "hard words" of the late Matthew Arnold, in this matter, seem not too hard here, viz., that through its over-devotion to athletics the present generation of young men is, for all intel lectual jmrposes, practically lost to us. For ourselves, in the department of botany, when on far-off mountain-summits we bent in silent rapture over the lonely wild-flower, opening its blue eyes to the blue heaven, did we count the cost — the long leagues of mountain and morass traversed in search of the prize ? No ! and be assured, O reader, that health and strength in fullest measure, and perfect sanity, attend upon all faithful followers of fair Flora, with whom the blooming, health-goddess, and patron of athletes, fair Hygeia, goes hand in hand ! :ag^$fe FOLK SPEECH—LANCASHIRE a YORKSHIRE BORDER. 57 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE AND YORKSHIRE BORDER !! AN OBSCURE LANCASHIRE AUTHOR. jjjT has lately been attempted, and not unsuccessfully, to shew i*J that Lancashire is essentially a musical county. We shall not here undertake to show with equal conclusiveness that she is essentially a literary count)', since that might require not only treble the space at present available, but treble the evidence we should be able to adduce in support of the proposition : though doubtless, as regards certain departments, literature is pursued here with as much zeal and success as at the very centre of illumination — the great metropolis, itself. Hut whatever may be the actual claims of Lancashire to the title "literary," in the literature of dialects, at any rate, she stands pre-eminent. Dialect-literature, so called, is spread and read so widely over Lancashire that some have even been led to suppose it the peculiar and special product of the county ! The use of dialects for literary purposes, however, as is well known, is confined neither to Lancashire nor to England, though it has probably nowhere so extensively prevailed as in our county. I live the dialects been used too extensively? With respect to South Lancashire, that is possible; but as regards the picturesque district of the Lancashire and Yorkshire border, there are many curious dialects there prevailing which remain" to this day almost untouched by the crowd, now a somewhat motley one, who dig and mine in these quarries. These dialects make a most curious philological study, as the people who speak them, themselves, form a subject of unusual interest to the ethnologist. A mixed race at the best 53 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE no doubt we are, but these border people, shut up as they have been for long, long centuries in remote mountain valleys, without communication Avith the rest of the world, have retained their primitive character to a striking extent, while some of their superstitions have remained almost as firmlv planted as at first. Among these perhaps none is so fast fixed as the belief in " the Evil Eye," and Virgil, instead of writing some two thousand years back, might have been writing to-day, and directly of these people, when in the third eclogue of his charming Bucolics he makes Menalcas say : Nescio quis, teneros oculos mihi fascinat agnos. With respect to the prevailing dialects the variety is very great ; even at the distance of less than a couple of miles, as the crow flies, you have almost another speech — the difference is enormous. Within this distance, for instance, for the verb "to ask," we meet with as many as four different forms, viz. : as, ax, spier, and spurr. In illustration of curious minor dialectal differences which in respect to locality are marked by very sharp lines of demarcation, one may observe that the expression, " See, yonder man ! " becomes at Todmorden (just on the county border) " Sithee at yond' felley ! " while only two or three miles away it changes to " Sithee at yon' felley ! " the d in the adverb being as desperately and tenaciously retained at the one point as it is persistently cast away at the other. And whilst in the Burnley valley the final d in any word has almost invariably the full, prolonged sound of d, only a short distance away it is just as regularly pronounced t. On the other hand, and again only a mile or two away, viz., in the Rossendale valley, the final t becomes d, and for the phrase, " I will not do that," you hear the outrageous expression, "I'll nod do thad." Whilst the main body of the folk-speech is clearly Anglo-Saxon, there is quite an appreciable element of the Scandinavian ; and this is often found where it would least be expected, for instance, in the expression, than which none is more common in Lancashire generally, "He's gooan reaund abeaut fur th' gainst," " th' gainst " here dearly comes from the Icelandic " gegnsta." As for AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 58 the Scandinavian "addle," to get or earn, which one so often finds referred to as " peculiar to Lincolnshire," il not only prevails over all Yorkshire, bu1 on the Lancashire border is one of the commonest of words, ;is "Heaw mitchdoesta addle, lad ?" Aw addle five shillin' a week." If traces of the Norseman are frequent, there are also some tracer of the Norman, as for instance, in such quaint words as " squab," from the French escabeau, a cushioned seat or sofa. " Wheer muii aw lig, mother I" " Lig tin" deawn o 1 th' squab." With respect to the aspirate, it is never heard at all in these parts, either in or out of place, a circum- stance which recalls Thackeray's old lady, who had "led a very painless life through never having been troubled with ditches/'' But if the aspirate never troubles these people, its entire absence troubles the "inquiring stranger"' very often, and not the " stranger " only. " Aw'm ne'er 'eedin " was the favourite phrase of one of the " happy-go-lucky " type — a phrase sufficiently mysterious to the writer himself until translated into "Come what may, I am never heeding." As regards the dialect spoken in the Burnley valley, the locality with which at present we have to deal, a writer on the subject goes the length of stating that " it probably contains the greatest number of purely dialectic words or idioms of any folk- speech in England." Certainly in respect of its force, directness, expressiveness, terseness, and humour, we know none to surpass it. A sovereign, here, is not merely a sovereign, but a " gold sovereign."' " Si yo", chaps ! aw've gi'en him a gowld sovverin." An hour is not merely an hour, but a "clock hour," a not unim- portant distinction, as some people's hours are seldom measured by the clock. " Wau, bless yo' ! aw waited on him a full clock- heawr," the "on " here taking the place of "for," and illustrating the indefinite character of the preposition. Among the rarities of the folk-speech is " ayla," bashful, or shy. " Heaw wer't at teaw didn't come to thi teea yusthurday .' " "A'a, Mess thee, lass ! aw'm so fearful ayla."' The abounding humour of the folk- speech is remarkable, but rugged force is its chief characteristic. Nor is this force of the idiom anything but the direct reflection 60 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE of the character of those who speak it. It is a character full of energy — a quality, it is true, which too often shows itself in forms not to be commended. Even as far back as two hundred years ago the people of these parts had a sinister reputation all over the adjoining districts for their bullying and fighting propensities, frequent challenges being sent not only from hill to hill but from these hills to those of neighbouring counties. As a proof of the desperate character of these encounters, we are told that even the victor generally returned from them with an eye gouged out, or minus an ear, a nose, &c, bitten off by his antagonist in the brutal combat — details sufficiently revolting, no doubt, but which we give here in illustration of the fierce spirit, and fiery energy, at that time dwelling in our border-highlanders, in whose descendants there yet burns, in a modified degree, and happily exhibiting itself in forms less savage, the same fiery force, accompanied by a physique the most robust. Their mental idiosyncrasy, on the other hand, is full of individuality, and a more incisive mother-wit, or a slyer or more " pawkie " humour' we have never met with in a population so largely Saxon. In the border-down of Todmorden, before-mentioned, which sits astride the eastern, or Yorkshire, Calder, there were some years since a whole gallery of " originals,'' but few were more noticeable than A. S. , yeoman, sometime manufacturer, and constable of his township, better known as " Th' Old Buck ;" indeed, so generally known by this sobriquet that if you hud asked for him by any other name, very few would have known how, or where, to direct you. As " Th' Old Buck " he passed everywhere, and " Old Buck " he was invariably called, when spoken of, and very often, also, when spoken to. A tall, gaunt fellow he was, dark-grisly, and with thick, shaggy brows beetling over eyes that winked incessantly. A snuffling of the nose accompanied the winking, and a general sympathetic movement of all the facial nerves and muscles gave him tin; appearance of always making grimaces, insomuch that the children could never look upon him but with a sort of terror. Another peculiarity of the man was that he stammered frightfully ; and perhaps he was better known AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 61 by this failing than by any we have mentioned, for his failing passed into a proverb: when anyone stammered in his speech woiM' than common, the remark it called forth was, "thou stut> (stammers) war ner th' Old Buck!" Over his tall, lean, more than six-feet figure, winter and summer alike (for we do not remember ever to have seen him without it) was thrown a brown woollen cloak of antique pattern, with lamb's-wool lined collar, and fastened by some peculiar brass chain arrangement. This cloak fell short over so tall a figure, and generally discovered, dangling in the old gourmand's hands (for he was the very King of Beef-eaters) a leg of lamb, a couple of ducks, a fat goose, or a good lump of a hare, according to the season, carefully selected for his next day's dinner. Seldom, indeed, would you meet "Th ; Old Buck" but he was going about seeking what he might devour, and just as seldom would you find him sober. Under these circumstances it was that we last saw him. In one hand a fat goose, in the other a stout walking-stick, ami with the never- failing cloak over his shoulders, he was zigzagging his way home, in reaching which the difficulty before him was evidently not so much the length of the road as the h'eadth of the same ; and un- doubtedly, in the course of his journey, he must have cut (in Yankee phrase) a very considerable number of "snakes." Nor, as one who '-dearly liked his bally," as the phrase goes, was " Th' Old Buck " alone ; for, during the sixty years we have been acquainted with the above neighbourhood it was never wanting in a strong contingent of that class of warriors who are bravest at making war on the dumplings ! The "some new thing" which the Athenians were always seeking, the <iliijiti</ novi <>f the Romans, means here "a new taste i' th' heyting line ! " lint the stomachic capacity of "Th' Old Buck" was enormous and amaz- ing. On one occasion, having had placed before him a very large leg of mutton, and bets being taken whether or uot he could "clear the deck," " Th' Old Buck " polished off everything (except the bones) to the astonishment of the company. His potation- were in proportion, nor was he always quite content with the con- tents of his own glass but would too often help himself to his 62 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE neighbour's. In this connection, the following story is told of our hero, and is authentic. As a manufacturer, " Th' Old Buck " was under the necessity of making every week, at least, along with others, a journey to Manchester ; and of course, before the open- ing of the Manchester and Leeds Railway, coaches were the only " fast " mode of communication and conveyance between Tod- morden and Cottonopolis. These started from the "Golden Lion," in the former place ; and whilst stopping at various points on the way it was the custom of the passengers to refresh them- selves at the wayside inns. On these occasions it was that " Th' Old Buck's " habit of refreshing himself at the expense of other folks was noticed more particularly ; and his fellow passengers formed the resolution to " pay him out," or, in other words, to "jalap him!" With this object, on the very next journey, "coachee" was bribed at the proper juncture to turn a deaf ear, and drive on. The coach had stopped, as usual, the horses been baited, the passengers refreshed, and " Th' Old Buck " jalaped. The coach again started, but had not gone far when a voice was heard from the top, crying, with a very thick utterance : " St-st- st-st-stop, d-d-river !" but as the driver, being in the conspiracy, did not stop, in a few minutes the piteous appeal was changed to " Dr-r-ive on, now, d-r-ive on ! " spoken in the imperative mood. We have said that the mother-wit of these border-people is caustic to a degree. A thousand instances might be given. "Aw dooant speyk ta pooar fooak"! said one man, discharging a Parthian shot at an opponent who had beaten him in fair argument. " Wan, then, theaw doesn't say mitch at worn (home)" was the crushing reply. 1 'arson Atkinson, of T finding one of his parishioners, who was also a tenant of the glebe, busy at work in his garden on a Sunday when he ought to have been on his way t<> church, thought of rebuking him by the remark : " Well, Dawson, you're worshipping your God, I see ! " when Dawson suddenly turned the tables by retorting : "E'yah, an' aw've thine i'th' cnbbord ; aw'll bring t thee i'th' mornin' ! " alluding to the parson's eager- ness for his glebe rents. Indeed, if all the shrewd sayings of these AXD YORKSHIRE BORDER. 63 pcoj)lo were collected together they would make Buch a treasury of wit and wisdom as would certainly astonish anyone not acquainted with the district. But what would also surprise the stranger would be to find, along with this natural wit and shrewd- nesSj an all but child like simplicity and naivete, with instances of mental obfuscation more than Hibernian. Anecdotes connected with the attempts at cookery made by untried youthful housewives would of themselves form a long and most diverting chapter. A certain young damsel, newly- married and totally ignorant of the culinary arts, was presented with a goose, and being told, in the instructions how to cook it, that she must stuff it with some kind of "green stuff," astonished her adviser by applying apiece of green baize cloth to that pur- pose. Another youthful dame, equally innocent of cookery knowledge, was boiling a couple of eggs for her husband's break- fast when her spouse lost patience, exclaiming: "Are tbooa eggs nooan ready yet ?" "Now, they are not," she answered, "for si' thee, aw've booiled 'em aboon an heawr, and they're na softer yet ! Edwin Waugh, in his first-published "Lancashire Sketches," supplements this anecdote with another, equally diverting, about a certain " Owd Bun," of Small Bridge, who never having tasted a cucumber his whole life long, at length, out of curiosity, bought one, "curved like a Moslem scimitar," and being at a loss how to cook it, cut it into thick slabs lengthwise, and fried it in bacon-fat, exclaiming, as he ate up the last slab: " By th'mon ! fine fooak '11 heyt ought ; aw'd sooiner had a pottato ! " The reader may be familiar with the well-authenticated story of the Lancashire man who, having built a new cart in his ".-hop" without measuring the capacity of doors and windows, was com- pelled to pull down the " shop" in order to get out the cart ; but he may not have heard of the "yonderly" couple who had never possessed an umbrella, but who, being overtaken by a storm of rain near the town of Bury, were compelled to borrow a "gamp" from an acquaintance. On reaching home at night-fall the poor creatures could neither " put down" the umbrella, which was of .64 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE the expansive kind, nor get it into the house ; in consequence of which they felt themselves bound to "sit up" with "Mrs. Gamp' in turns till morning, when an early passer-by kindly showed them for the first time in their lives how to put an umbrella down. But these stories are all " capped " by the true story of the Lan- cashire man who, having lost his wife, was observed to start out each day with an empty wheelbarrow, which he diligently wheeled about the village with no apparent object. On being asked by an acquaintance the reason of this singular proceeding, he answered : " Theaw sees aw've lost th' owd woman, an' aw thought aw'd wheel th' barrow about for a bit o' company !" So that in these, as in other matters yet to be dwelt on, there is really immense booty awaiting the zealous hunter and explorer into these regions — regions which, though formerly remote and sequestered to a degree, are now accessible enough, and in fact, through railway facilities, may be said to lie almost at our doors, albeit to reach nooks and corners more specially referred to in this article considerable mountain climbing will have to be done betimes, and many rugged paths trodden. With regard to the ethnological puzzle, this, at least, may be affirmed without dogmatism, viz., that the Celtic element is here a somewhat more considerable one than writers on this subject usually allow. For the rest, inhabiting, as we have said, for so long a period these high hills and sequestered mountain valleys (whose wild and remote character is expressed by their very names, such as "Wyndy Harbour," "Back o' Behund," &c), much exposed to the weather, and living frugally, the people of this region are a hardy and long-lived race, insomuch that at a recent gathering of some four hundred of them, inhabiting a portion of the district certainly comprised within no large area, the average age was found to be between seventy and eighty years ! Healthy and hardy themselves, the admiration of the hill-folk is mainly excited by the same qualities in others, mere mental graces with them counting for little. Indeed the posses- sion of such would be likely to prove rather a drawback than Otherwise with anyone seeking to ingratiate himself with these AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 65 rturdy people, who, more than all perhaps, distrust the man w has got what is called, " Th' gift o'th'gab." " That'll gether e'now"(e'en now), ("That man will send the collecting-box round by : and by,") was the terse and characteristic remark of a stalwart hillsider, with reference to a sleek, plausible fellow who with glib tongue was "improving" a certain wayside incident in the moral sense. In these, as in some other parts, the common expression, " clivver fclley," or "clivver ohap," is by no means intended to nvey the idea of an acute-minded, or menially accomplished, but merely that of a physically robust and well built man. Our surroundings no douht largely make and mould ns. The my character of this border-region reproduces itself in the character of its inhabitants. Educated for the most part by Nature herself, and in no gentle mood, they take her impress: hence the hillside mother-wit is of the keenest and sharpest type. Few are the amenities that root in so thin a soil, and in a quarter so familiar to the winds, but those that strike they sprout and blossom indeed ; as when, on the mountains, we meet with the hardy rowan which, though scantily nourished in the rocky crevice where the chance breeze has cast it, yet blooms aloft in beauty and fragrance, and with its .clustering scarlet berries is the pride and glory of the hills. It is here that you meet with the sturdiest type of men and of women. It is here that you meet with the very warmest of welcomes. And also, it must be confessed, now and again with the coldest. Indeed, furtive as they are, and distrustful at all times of new comers, to the stranger these moorland folk must appear at once sly and shy, cunning and reserved; yet let him go amongst them duly accredited, or show that he is of their own "mack" (make or class), and, as a rule, the coldness soon changes to cordiality sometimes even to effusion, and the "fatted calf" is killed metaphorically if not actually. Within the writer's recollection it was the custom when a poor man killed his pig — his solitary pig, for if he had two he was scarcely deemed poor — to invite his irer neighbours to ions repast, accompanied by moderate 66 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LAXOASHIRE potations of "home-brewed," in celebration of the "event," a right pleasant and kindly custom but one long since disused. "We have said that these moorland folk are distrustful of new-comers ; they are equally distrustful of novelties and in- novations of any kind, whether moral or material. In no part of these kingdoms were the regulations of the "New Poor Law" enforced with more difficulty. Nowhere, until within the last few years, have those numerous stalwart fellows who rejoice in the common name of " Peeler " had so bad a time of it. And in no part are many ancient and obsolete customs destined to die so hard a death. In short, it is a people not so much devoted to what has been, as determined to be what it is ! It is a people that brooks but little let or hindrance from any person whom- soever. It is a people with a neck not supple, but, on the contrary, mosD plaguily stiff — that will not, according to a local tradition, even do a thing when it is made ! On the other hand it is a people by no means wanting in good moral qualities' Like the millstone-rock of its own hills, it abounds in grit Sturdily independent, it has a healthy horror of being " thrown upon the parish." It is a people that will pass through the hard- est times with a cheerfulness and a self-abnegation worthy of the best traditions of the Stoics. It is a people that, even when at the last extremity, will grin and abide rather than whine and groan. And when the sun shines out again, and there is where- withal, it is a people that bakes its own bread, and brews its own beer, and does not dislike the taste of it, or even the taste of its neighbours'!* If it is a people with a stiffish neck, it is also a people with "backbone," and certainly no ricketty fellow is ever likely to fare particularly well at its hands, or to get the better of it. It is a people that one might love as rare Charles Kingsley loved Eurus ! It is a people for bracing, strengthening, and kicking clean out of you all the " mewling and puking" business. * Until within a few years the practice of " home-brewing" was here universal ; and the practice of " home-bakinjr" still prevails. Nor is any more delicious wheaten bread to be tasted anywhere than the " home- baked" of your housewife of the Lancashire border. AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 67 We have known it drive men from the country by simply labelling them— by affixing to them, with its keen, caustic mother-wit, some nickname, based perhaps on some pestilent bit of coxcombry on their part, no doubt deserved, and which lias clung to them, and clung to them, like a cloak of Nessus, till they could bear it no longer. We remarked upon the admirable patience of this people in circumstances of hardship. Let us illustrate. In one of those severe commercial crises through which this district, with its valley populations mainly employed in the cotton trade, has passed of late years, and which have brought hundreds of respect- able families to the verge of starvation, a certain Tommy was observed to carry a tablespoon about with him wherever he went. On being questioned why he always carried a " spooin " in his pocket, Tommy laughingly explained, " Theaw sees it's this way : wheniver eawr owld woman calls out 'Porridge !' if aw've a spooin to seek, aw'm done !" Surely this cheerful spirit, surely this abounding good humour, in face of the possibility of missing one's sole bite for the day (for in these times people fasted even longer) is worthy of Epictetus himself. With an appreciable touch of the Celtic, and a more consider- able element of the Scandinavian (Danish), the type on these hills, as previousby hinted, is in the main Saxon (Anglian), and in the character of the people, as also previously hinted, there is much of the Saxon shrewdness, though curiously blended with a large measure of simplicity and childish superstition. Xow, however— in these later days — the schoolmaster is abroad in earnest. Surely, if slowly, the march of intellect proceeds, and must proceed, and the hill-tops themselves have got to be scaled in the end, no doubt ; but in the meantime, did one read in the blazing light of our scientific halls a full and particular account of the superstitions still lingering in certain nooks of our border-, he would be heard with incredulity. In the pages to follow we give the history, taken from the works of a late Lancashire author, of a highly-characteristic local craze — a true melodrama, several of the actors in which are still e2 68 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE living; and we give it with the object of illustrating at once the superstitions and the dialect of the border-region. Though the superstition, in this case, is of the milder kind, yet when the record comes to be read fifty years hence, it will doubtless appear in the luminous atmosphere of that day a wholly incredible and impossible state of things. We give the extracts, too, with the further object of engaging the reader's interest in the author in question, who died at a comparatively early age some years since ; and who, even during his lifetime, was little known beyond the narrow valley, with its encompassing hills, which forms the picturesque scene of his sketches — sketches which, for their grotesque humour, for the breathing, life-like character of the portraits they contain, for fidelity, dramatic force, and graphic power, have seldom been equalled by our best writers in the dialect. In fact, crude as these pen-and-ink sketches are in some respects, yet so completely do they hold the mirror up to nature, that their author was more than once, as he told me, the subject of attack at the hands of people whose sayings and doings he had so vividly pictured that they were convinced he had seen and heard everything, and " told tales " accordingly. With a view to the clearer understanding, on the reader's part, of the history to be presented, it may be permitted to enlarge yet a little more on the character of the people concerned. In this, as previously stated, there is much of the Saxon shrewdness and long-headedness. These hill-folk, indeed, are a cannie and a prudent people, who have known how to thrive on oatmeal, and to fill what is called an " old stocking," where the improvident would starve. Accustomed for centuries to a soil and climate giving but small returns for the labour expended, frugality with them has become so much of a habit that one can hardly call it a virtue. And having stood thus long at the " hunger fountain," as Kichter would say, and drawn thence, their grip on the "brass" (money), when they do finger it, is a tight one. The sad malady called "cromp i' th' hand," from which most of us suffer on occasion, and sometimes acutely enough, with these AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 69 hardy sons of the mountain too often assumes the chronic form ' When our moorland folk descend from the "tops" to "th' dale," as of late years they have dun,' in large numbers, now and again the contents of the "family stocking" are embarked in the staple trade of the district, and our mountaineer becomes what is called a "little cotton meystur." The cruel fluctuations in this trade, however, during the past few decades, have thrown most of these "little cotton meysturs " on their hacks; and hundreds of "old stocking-, clean emptied of their "gowld sovverins," are now floating among the waifs and strays of the great ocean of commerce. But the major part of the hill-folk, with charac teristic prudence, have declined such ri>ks. 'I hose are great patrons of the "Co-ops."' (Co-operatic' Societies), in which they invest, the "old stocking" fructifies, and all their talk is of "divvy" (dividends). A precocious instance of this kind of thrift was a girl — a very little girl— who gravely suggested to her mother that their "next baby" should be bought at the "Co-op.," becausr then they would get the "divvy '. " Mm. woman, and child, it is a "cannie,"a calculating, and a thrifty people, thoroughly believing, with the Lancashire poet, Bealey, that A pocket at's lined \\i' a l>it o' good brass '11 make a mon feel what a men is, And keep him from being an ass ! It was a saying of Montesquieu's, the distinguished author of the Spirit of the Laws, that if he had lived in England he should have been an unsuccessful man. On being questioned in the matter, the great Frenchman explained that what he meant by "unsuccessful " was that he should inevitably have been seized with the English passion for "getting on in the world;" and that consequently, instead of attaining to distinction, he should -imply have died rich and nameless -an obscure millionaire ! It is needless to say that Montesquieu's idea of a "successful " man would, in these part-, be very hard to understand. "Success,' here, means the accumulation of "brass;" nor, unless there i< "plenty o' brass," can the idea of "success" be entertained. But perhaps this all-absorbing worship of Plutus is too often 70 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE found elsewhere as well ! Here, at anyrate, the " brass " must be gotten, and to this end the people strive with all their native shrewdness. Unfortunately there is the proneness to superstition before mentioned ; and between this, on the one hand, and the strong disposition to " gether the siller,'"' on the other, our hill- sider falls a victim at last, though only to him who has duly studied the above strange blending of qualities. A diligent student in this field Avas he who figures in the following pages under the grotesque sobriquet of " Old Langsettle." This man was an adventurer, and came from a distance, but he soon found that for him the barren hillsides might be made to flow with "milk and honey," not indeed through the waving of a magic wand, but by means of a "magic glass" in his possession, looking into which he was able to see and learn all that was so ardently desired by a number of hillside folk who believed themselves heirs to vast properties in the neighbourhood, out of which they had been " wrangously kept " for two or three generations. And here we may draw upon the author in question : Owd Threedbare asked him if he thought they were heirs to Wycollar Hall. "Most certainly yo' are," said Langsettle, " though aw hav'nt looked i'th' glass perticularly for yo', aw find 'at aw've seen yo' theer scoores o' times. What, aw've had two or three families after th' Wycollar Hall an' th' Heptonstall estates, but aw could niver see ony on 'em 'at favvored th' families 'at th' glass showed as reytful heirs to 'em, so aw never gav'" 'em ony encouragement to go further into th' matter, for aw could see no chonce o' success, an' yo' known aw wouldn't be known to lead folk wrang. Yo' see it's this way — wheniver aw've looked abeawt th' owners o' yo're estates thers corned a lot ©' folk i'th' seet 'at aw didn't know, but neaw when aw meet wi ! yo' aw con sec at once yo're th' varry same chaps." At this, Owd Threedbare nudged Sorrow-i'th'-Dyke, and said, " Mon, what ha'nt aw olcz tcll'd thi 'at if we'd es reyts we'st be th' gentry o' this neighbourhood. What, we ought just neaw to ha' been huntin' i' Tiawden forest, an' we will be afoor long, too. Hey- AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 71 hough, tally ho ! mi brave heawnds, Tinker, Towler, Bowler." Then he would have got upon a chair, and sung Tommy-o'-th' Etaddler's song on Trawden Hunt and Wycollar Hall, but they stopped him, and all stared around one at another in wild astonishment. Finepins wished they had just been at Hilly-Toys- at-th '-Height-Top ; " he'd ha' stood an ox try quart o' knock- 'em deawn swuddle for Old Lani'settle." But Langsettle said — " \-> dooant need to bother abeawt anght o'th' kind, fur aw've so mony other cases i' hand 'at aw hav'nt a single minute to spare ; aw've just neaw several important Chancery cases similar to yor's. One case is for £250,000, 'at nobbut wants drawin' ; aw've the deeds i' my pocket, signed an' sealed ready for th' brass." When they saw that Langsettle's time was so very precious they stopped their joyous uproar, and made arrangements when and where the next meeting should be held, he saying that, in the meantime, he would seek out all particulars, and give them a thorough account next time he came, and that they must have family meeting during the time, and see who were intending to claim their shares of the estates. He then returned home, laughing in his sleeve at the simple credulity of those he was deceiving. After Langsettle had departed, the claimants resolved to have family meetings, to be held every Sunday forenoon at the chief claimant's house, where they would decide what steps to take. The meeting then dispersed, with every one at the highest pitch of joy and expectation. On their way home, Old Threedbare and Jacky-at th'-Moor-top called at a public- house, and ordered a crown bowl, saying, " We'st sup no moor cowd blow — that's nobbut for poor fooak — gret landlords nivver should drink aught under sixpence a glass ; an' for th' futur we'll ha' nought no less nor champagne, port wine, old torn, an' short stuff — noa moor fourpenny swill-swall and waist-coil pocket drink." When the landlord heard tins he was quite "capped," and said — "Heaw's that, 'at yo're gettin' soa ju'itic'lir ? What is th. op 'at naught no less uor sixpence a glass 11 fit yu' — two o'th' 72 THE FOLK -SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE leeast teydious chaps 'at usen comin' to this heawse 1 Yo' usen bein' ready for aught, thro' barrel-bothams deawn to weyshin-op waytur. An' as for thee, Threedbare, theaw'd drink a gallon o galker ony time, an' work it i' thi inside ; an' theaw artn't a pin better, Jacky, soa nivver name creawn-bowls here agean, for it'll be no use unless aw con see th' edge o' reythur moor brass nor aw fancy yo' con show to-dey." " What ! " said Old Threedbare* " an' han we to ha' naught — two landowners — heirs to Wycollar Hall 1 What, we'n a fortun' o' theawsands o' peaunds comin' to us, an' theaw'll rue if theaw doesn't tak' th' chonce o' chalkin' us a tothery shillin' op." "Rue or not rue," said the landlord, "awst find yo' no strap. If yo' con reyse th' price of a quart o' fourpenny aw'll find yo' that." By begging from persons in the place they managed to raised fourpence, and had to content themselves by turning again to "cold-blow." When the Sunday morning of the first family meeting came, it was an amusing sight to see the number of new walking-sticks Avith silver hoops that the Wycollar and Heptonstall claimants sported, the new dickeys and watchguards they wore, the airs they put on, and the figures they cut. Jim-o'-th'-Owd-Mon's said he didn't mean to be outdone by anybody that went down Burnley Valley that day, for in addition to having donned his best suit and spent two hours in rubbing his brass watchguard bright, he had bought a fancy dickey and two twopenny-half- penny cigars, and he meant to try for the first time in his life what smoking and acting the gentleman were like, for it would very likely be all he would have to do before very long. But there was one thing he rather doubted— about his dickey— that was, he didn't think it would be aught like as warm as a shirt He was afraid lie should catch cold by the change, still he "mud be like to chonce it," so he put it on, and oil' he went smoking a cigar for the first time. But before he got to the chief claimant's house he fell ill, and had to be led into a house on the w.iy, where he fainted. They gave him a glass of water, and unbuttoned his waistcoat to let him breathe more freely, when Hungry Bob's wife called AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 7S out — " A 'a', Jim, theaw mey wecl be sick ; what, theaw't beawt shirt- Aw con see what it is 'at's dm. in thee, it's that dickey rip it off, nion, an' aw'll leean thi one o' eawr Bob's shirts j what, theaw'U lie starved to th' deeath i' that thing — oil' wi' it, mon." "Ney, ney," said Jim, "it's nooen o' th' dickey, it's fchie smookin 'at's dooih me ; aw've nooen been used to 't, nor aw sholn't be yet awhile if this be th' way. An' aw know naught abeawt actin' th' gentleman, but if this be all th' pleeasur ther is in't, aw'll leeav my walkin-stiek an' dickey at worn for th' futur — be hanged if aw dooent." By the time Jim had recovered from his smoking, Old Threed- bare came swinging down the road. He had been running about all the morning trying to borrow a Saturday night suit, for he had nothing but his week-day suit to put on, and he had been sadly bothered for a fit ; however, he had managed at length to borrow Long Lawrence's every-day shoes, which were two inches too long, and Gret Sarah' lad had lent him his militia trousers, and well they looked too, oidy they were a foot too short. He arrived at his journey's end without any mishap, save that he forgot that his shoe-bands were loose until he legged-up on them ; and he would have fallen into a dirty place but for his new walk- ing-stick, which he broke by saving himself. When they arrived at the chief claimant's house the proceed- ings had been commenced. The chief claimant had taken the chair, and was making his opening speech, saying, "Aw guess yo' known what we're coined here for this morn in ; it's to see if we con reyse brass enough to pey Langsettle to get us some gret estates 'at's been wrangously kept thro' us for two or three generations. What, we ought just neaw to ha' been livin i' fine halls, an' had a pack o' heawnds a-piece." " Ilea, hea ! an' we will have, an' quickly too," shouted Threedbare and his brother Yollow-stockings. "Yi, hea!" resumed the chief claimant, "ther's rioa deawt o' that if we con reyse brass to get it, an' we'll try feyr for 't." " Nought else," they all then cried, "But we mun have all th' names ta'en deawn o' thoor 'at's claimin' ther shares, afoor we gooan ony further," said the chairman, "an'awm 74 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE just thinkin' we mun sattle -whoa are heirs, an' whoa aren't. Ther's two o' Ailse-i'-th'Choamer lads 'at's send word they connot attend to-day, but they're intendin' gooin shares i' th' estates. For mi own part, aw dunnot think they're aught at all akin to th' Mosscrop-hill family, for aw've known th' lot on 'em for fifty yer, .an' ther's nivver one on 'em owned to bein' akin to eawr family afoor." " Oh, make short wark on 'em, cut 'em off beawt a shillin," said Finepins, "all th' country 11 want to be akin to us neaw." It was then decided that Ailse-i'-th'Choamer lads should be objected to as relations of the Mosscrop-hill family ; then, after paying a half-crown each towards getting their estates, they set to reckoning up what each one would have when his fortune came. The next meeting was held at the Queen Hotel, at Todmorden. At this meeting Old Langsettle gave an account of his glass- looking since he last saw them. He said — " What, aw've seen gradely into th' matter this last fortnit : aw've seen th' old Squire of all 'at laft yo' th' property, an' he were huntin op o' th' Raw powl. He used to ride a black horse called 'Jewel,' 'at could clear th' heyest fence for miles areawnd, an' he had th' best pack o' fox-heawnds 'at ivver hunted Tormden dale, an' he were known all through England as a gret hunter. Aw thought one dey aw'ld look what gentry he hunted wi', an' behowd aw made eawt Scpiires Teawnley, Cunliffe, Greenwood, Sutcliffe, Hodgson, an' a lot o' gentry fro' London wey, one on 'em akin to th' king." "Theerneaw! that's it," cried YolloAv-stockings, "aw've olez seel we were off a noble breed ; aw could tell that bi mi likin huntin soa weel, and wark so ill. Neaw for heawnd dogs, knee- breeches, an' huntin. Tally ho, my brave heawnds ! Tinker, Towler, Bowler, Plunder, Ballymon !" Then there were as many glasses of drinking-stuff called for, to treat Langsettle with, as if he'd been a little shark, and had as much stomach- power as two or three like Threedbare. However, Langsettle had no idea of turning his inside into a cask, and proceeded with his narrative about what he had seen in the glass. Jone-o'-th' AND YORRSHIRE BORDER. 75 Lumbers asked him " If he'd seen aught of his feyther's uncle, Aby ; he were a long, lenock}- chap, wi' a hand like a bakin- spittle, a shough like a backstooan , ov a Sunday lie wore a reawnd jacket, an' knee-breeches, an' generally had a drop on his nooas eml }" "To be sure aw have,'' said Langsettle, "he were a regular softy ov a felly ; if he'd ha' look'd after his reyts yo'd ha' been gentry just neaw ; but he'd a heart like a chicken, an' were as good to persuade to be quiet abeawt his property as yo' arc to go an' get it, an' he could ha' cried as readily as ony young woman, an' laughed agean wi' th' tears ov his cheeks. What, aw've seen all th' family on yo'." "Then yo' con tell whether yond' long-chinned winter-legs of a Chelpy wife, thro' Worsthorne, be one o' eawr family?" said one: " Hoo coom ower, th' last week, pretendin 'at hoo're one o' th' better mack o' th' Mosscrop- hill family, an' 'at hoo were beawn shares i' eawr estates ; but aw (jitickly tell'd her hoo're tawkin tawk 'at'ld do untawked, for hoo noather wur nor nivver would be. An' afoor we'd let her ley claim to a single penny, we'd ware all th' estates i' law. What, an' hoo went whenly malancholy ; hei meawth twitched as if hoo'd fits, and went ail shaps— reawnd, square, an' like a coil-box ; an' hoo winked, and stamped, an' spit as thick as a witch, an' wished for peawr to wither all my limbs, an' said hoo'd a peyr o' good legs, an' hoo'd ware 'em to th' knees wi 'tramping after th'estate afoor hoo'd be done eawt on't, for hoo were as sure one o' the better mack o' eawr family as ivver Owd Nan-i'-Hurstwood rooad through Teawnley Holmes on a besom stail. ' What. moii,'hoo said, " aw con tell wheer th' lily grew i' th' hall-garden, an' heaw niony acre o' land ther' were in' all th' estate ; an' aw'll tak good care yo' dooant get a single farthin' if aw mooant go shares.' ' When Langsettle heard this he said, "Aw'll look i' th' glass abeawt this matter, an' tell yo' all abeawt it when aw come agean, but aw hardly think hoo's one o' th' family, for aw dooent remember seein ony body o' her favvor i" th' glass."' " Xough, nor yo' willn't do," sheawted Finepins, "for hoo's nought at all o' th' breed on us ; an' if hoo be o' eawr name al all hoo's changed her nunc to heir th' estate, an' that's what scoores '11 do if we'll 76 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE let m; but see yo' look i' th' glass, Langsettle." " Aw will, aw will," said he, and then he went on to say he had seen the wills,, and for a ten pound note a piece he could get them by the next meeting ; and in the meantime he would advise one of the claim- ants should be sent to Heptonstall Church to read up all their pedigrees. The chief claimant was then appointed to this office, and also to act as messenger to carrjr news of the proceedings to the different members of the family who could not attend the meetings, and collect their subscriptions, for which he should receive half-a-crown a day. In describing his researches for the Wycollar estate, Langsettle said he had seen the old Squire, in all his earthly glory, going for a day's sport down to Burnley, taking with him five cocks in "pooaks," dubbed, clipped, and steeled for a main, three bull-dogs to fight, and a bull to bait. When they heard this, several voices cried out " Yer him, yer him !" and Dick-i'-th'-Smithy jumped to his feet, and said he'ld " be his marro afoor two month end, for dog fey tin' an' cock setting were what he gloried in aboon aught else." Then he struck his neyve against the ceiling of the room and said, " hooa wants to feyt, for this makes me feel as if aw wanted to jingle my clogs agean som'dy's shins, and jowl mi yed agean theirs ;'' and his neck went as red as a turkey's. Langsettle then fixed a time for his next meeting, when he would bring " wills " for all their estates, and left the hotel in a hurry to attend another family for whom he was claiming an estate. At their next meeting Jacky-at-th'-Moor-top was appointed to the chair. Then Langsettle began to explain what trouble he had had in getting the will ; he'd had to get a number of coffins taken up to get at some old writings, which he had managed, after a deal of trouble, to secure; and he had found, as they had told him, that the estates were entailed upon heirs. " What, what," said Jacky, " sey that agean ; teyled up o' hairs 1 Oh, but we'll dock it," "Dock it? Yer yo," cried three or four; "that's it, Jacky, dock it, dock it !" Langsettle then showed a bundle of papers and said they were the wills for the Heptonstall and Wycollar estates, and he did not doubt but by the next time he came he AND YoHKsinin-; /!(>/:/>/■;/:. 77 uld have all ready for the estates being claimed. The chief claimant was then called on to state what he was doing al Ileptonstall Church. He said he had looked oxer .">00 names of their family, and so far as he had got there was every sign of cess. Just at this point a disturbance arose in one corner of the room. It was Bill-o'-George's making a row about Jacky being put in for the chairman ; he said, " Yo're putting Jacky a hale to soin ; aw should ha' th' first chonce, for aw'm th' nearest akin to th' heir but two." "What! what ar' to 5 Bill," cried Jacky, " th' nearest but two ? Theaw 'rt mi gronfeyther, artn't ta 1 See thi, Bill, theaw may tine op ony time, for theaw't ooather second, third, nor th' twenty-third heir th' long an' short on 't is, when theaw't reckoned op, theaw's noather lot Jior part i' th' matter; theaw con heir nought, so bundil eawt." "That's reyt, Jacky, that's reyt!" cried Threedbare. "Cross him eawt — cross him eawt." " Vhi, do !" sheawted three or four more, " cross him eawt, ther'll he soa mich moor a-piece for us." Then they bundled Bill-o'-Geoi iwt, which Langsettle said they were quite right in doing, for he'd long seen he was not entitled to a single farthing. Then he said, " ther's Ailse-i'-th' Choamcr lads; aw'vc looked in' th' glass for them, an' aw find they'll noather lot nor part i' th' matter; they're of another family of yo'r name." " Hea ! they're o' th' war mack," shouted Fine- pins, " soa cut 'em off ; cut 'em off." After the meeting closed, each of the claimants indulged his wild imagination in picturing the glories of a gentleman's life. Jim-o-th-Owd-Mon's said, "We'll ride this dale wi' a carriage an' two greys. Ther's eawr Boh yonder, he weant do a penny teaward gettin' th' estate : he'll wish he had done then, but it'll he to noa use, for mi feythur has made his will an 5 laft him beawt a penny, an' sarved him reyt, too; an' neaw he'll ha' to hag an' work who! we ride abeawt." The claimants went to the next meeting with very anxious minds, and for fear thai something might happen Langsettle in some of the railway tunnels, they took" a cab to meet the train al ion seven miles away, where he was taken out and conveyed, for greater safety, as they worded it. " eawt o' th' top < ' t h' greawnd." 78 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE When they arrived at the hotel they were soon delighted at see- ing Langsettle take out of his pocket what he had told them at the last meeting were the wills, and each one had a large red seal at every corner, and four or five down each side ; these he said were the Chancellor's seals, and had cost a sovereign a-piece. He had got every thing now ready for the estates being claimed, except that he wanted six seals more, which the Chancellor would not let him have till he got the number of the estates in the Chancery book, and one of the claimants had best go to London and get these numbers. Then they would have nothing to do but take possession by cutting up a sod, and they might then at once draw the rents, get their hound-dogs and hunt to their hearts' delight. While Langsettle thus dilated, the claimants sat with their eyes, ears, and mouths open to the back, and the men- tion of hound-dogs had such a power on their noble blood, that Finepins, Yollow-stockins, Threedbare and Jacky all thought they could see a pack, and began to shout, " Nudger, Tinker, Towler, Bowler, Plunder ; come in yet, Mountaineer, Merry man; ha, hey, ha, hough, ha, hoop, mi brave dogs ! " and made such a noise that the other inmates of the house turned pale with fear. Then they seized Langsettle on his chair, and carried him round the room shoulder-high. After they had settled down, Lang- settle went on to say he had made investigations respecting Chelpy wife, of Worsthorne, and had found she was very, very little related to their family, and she would have to prove it before she could claim aught. But he had discovered a large inn in London which was left to a woman of their name. "That's eawr Betty ; that's me, that's mi wife," stuttered John-o'Dickey's, and the tears started to his eyes for joy, "hea, that's eawr Betty," he said. " Then yo'n nought to do but go to London an' claim it," said Langsettle, " for it's yo'r's." " Aa ! meystur, yo' dunnot tell true, dun yo ' '? " said John, " whativer will yo' sey 1 " " Yhi, it's true enough," said Langsettle, "an' yo' mini go claim it at once." " Aa, well," said John, " aw nivver thought aw mud ha' gooan soa far thro' whom, for aw've nivver been further nor Stooidley Pike sin aw wur wick, an' aw nivver vrar a dey eawt AXD YORKSHIRE BORDER. 79* o' th' sect o' tli' Bill Nipe i' ;ill mi life ; an' aeaw yo'sen aw muii goa all th' wry to Loudon. Whativer will eawr Betty an' th' childer Bey?" Then he drew his sleeve across his mouth, and wiped a tear from nil' his check with his coat cape, and said, "aw nivver thought o' aught like this — whativer will eawr Betty an' th' childer sey .' " " Well," said Langsettle, " if yo' dooant want to goa aw'll give yo' a theawsand peawnd for't, and yo'st sign it owcr to me. ' When Finepins heard this he called out : " John, John, keep thi hand thro' papper ; sign thee nought off ; what- iver tha does beside, keep thi hand thro' papper, an' stick to what tha has — tiler's noa tellin heaw weel off west be yet. What we'n yerd a wind o' th' Mosscrop-hill — that's eawrs, and moor beside it; so keep thi hand thro' papper." Lmgsettlc having, thus gained his point, went on to state that " he was well acquainted with th' Queen, an' hoo'd gien him lief to claim th' estates ony time ; an he'st ha' had 'em just then but for th' Chancellor wantin ther numbers ; heawiver, one o' th' claimants mud at once be sent oft' to get 'em, an' goa to th' Chancellor abeawt it." So they pitched upon Finepins as the ripest of them, and collected a handsome sum to send him off to London. When this meeting was over, the chief claimant hurried oft' home as quickly as possible, and as soon as he got into the house shouted to their Billy, who was weaving by hand, " Billy, Billy, throw dcawn this minute ; not another pick shol ta wey ve ; an' if ivver thoor 'at belangs that warp have 't they'll booath fotch it and weyve it, for we'st nivver carry it." Then he threw his arms into the air, and shouted, " we dunnot need to work another strooak ; we'n brass enough ; we'll let 'em see hooas th' meystur neaw. Come on, Billy." Then they went into the wood close by, and began to cut down the boughs of the trees, and to stake out portions of land, when the gamekeeper came across them, and asked what they were up to. " Op to 1 " said the claimant, " if theaw stops theer two minutes aw'll show thi, for aw'll tak thi o' th' top o' yed wi' this axe. Aw'll let yo' know this land es eawrs." The keeper said he didn't know that, and walked off, for fear the claimant might be off his mind, when the SO THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE claimant cried out, " wobbut aw'll let thi know, an' aw'll doff them leggins for thi afoor two month to-dey, an' theaw may tell thi meyster aw'll shift him at the same time, an' his hall, too ; aw willn't be bothered wi' th' reek off it ; think o' that neaw, an' ■dunnut let me catch thee o' my greawnd again." The first thing Threedbare did when he left the meeting was to order a pack of flour, two baskets of red herrings, and a barrel of treacle, at which the shopkeeper was quite " capped," and said, "What, is your brass corned 1" "Nay, but it's as good as corned," said Threedbare, "we're as sure on 't as if we had it." "Wobbut," said the shopkeeper, "aw'm nooen as sure o' my treycle, an' yerrin, an' aw think aw sholl be afoor aw part wi' 'em. Aw'll see yo' wi' them heawnd dogs yo'n talked so mitch abeawt, an' that white horse, afoor aw trust yo' soa mitch stuff." " Wan, that weant be long afoor," said Threedbare. " Xoa moor parish pey thro' Billy Beaw. Noa moor going to bed beawt supper, and getting up agean to chell porridge, made off th' shakins o' th' fleawer pooak. Noa moor wearin owd thank yo', sir, clooas, and cammed shooin at's belanged to knock-a-kneed gentry. We'st be gentry uzsels directly, an' if yo' we'ant find me aught neaw yo' shoant do then," and away old Threedbare went. When Finepins had made arrangements about going to London, he went and bought four-and-twenty dickeys, a gold watchguard, and a gold key to wind up his watch with ; and the day following got off his work to have a day's practice at acting the gentleman. When he set off to London his " Uncle Ab " stood on the door-stones, to watch him off to the train, and said to the old shoemaker, " What, aw guess eawr Sally lad es goin after this brass ?" " Yhi, aw guess soa," said he. "Well," said Ab, "they're sendin a reyt un, for he's a ripe un is eawr Sail}'- lad, and he'll make yond' Chancellor turn op th' brass, an' teych 'em better nor keepin what they dooent belang." And Jincly he did, too, for he came back as wise as he went, only that lie had nearly seen the Queen one day, and sat in her chair the day after. Jle said, "Aw've sought dey after dey for th' Chancellor, an' aw couldn't yer o' sitch a AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. -1 spot ; aw dooent believe ther is one, beside. Aw've axed a scoor o' pleecemen abeaut that inn that belangs to John-o'-Dickey , s J but nil aw could get eawt on 'cm were, they axed rae if aw wanted h ticket for the 'syluni." This was rather a blank for the claimants . but when they told Langsettle at their next meeting, he said he could make all right by getting the numbers himself, which he would do by the next month. He was then preparing to leave again, when Slippyfeet called him back, and said he'd catched a back-tin full o' treawts, an' he had 'em wick an' whol as they coom eawt o' th' poand, an' he'd make him a present on 'em ; he could bring the tin back the next time he coom. Then the Boldcrer lad stepped up, and took a great pot out of his pocket, and gave it to Langsettle, saying, " It's a jar o' rhuburb presarves 'at mi mother's send yo' ; they're boiled i' th' best trcyele — hoo said aw were to tell yo'." Thus one and another made presents to Langsettle as many as he could well carry, among other things several rabbits and hares, and saw him off to Hollinwood, in full hopes that he would bring everything settled for claiming the ites next time he came. And so confident were several of them about this that they visited their reputed estates, and pretended to take possession by cutting up a sod, which they brought home Avith them. On the day of the next meeting the claimants were so anxious to see if Langsettle had started off from home that they engaged another glass-reader to look if he had left Hollinwood for Tod- morden. This glass-reader said he had : he could see him setting off with the wills and all else ready for the estates being claimed. At this news they were so delighted, and so confident it was true, that they threw down their tools and left their work, bidding good-bye to their fellow-workmen, and inviting them to look in on them now and then when they got into their new halls, and they should have plenty to go on with. Then they hastened off to meet Langsettle at Todmorden, but all in vain ; he never- appeared that day, and the chief claimant was also missing. This caused many wild speculations ; some felt convinced they had absconded with the deeds, and were intending roguing the F 82 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE claimants out of it. They had then to return home with their hearts nearer the lowest buttons of their waistcoats than when they came, to be laughed and jeered at by their fellow-men for their sanguine hopes and ridiculous conduct. However, Lang- settle and the claimant turned up again in about a week, and explained that they had been called away about another very important case. This explanation satisfied all the claimants with the exception of one, who began to see a possibility that they were being gulled, and he questioned Langsettle very closely on some particular point. At this he became quite vexed, and declared he would have this claimant turned out of the room before he proceeded any further, so they tumed him out. Langsettle then said : "Aw couldn't get all sattled off to-day, thro' th' Queen havin had a christenin', an' they're varry neglectful at London this week ; but aw'm sure to have all ready next time aw come." "Hear, hear," cried Threedbare, "aw've getten a basket o ; heawnd-whelps on th' speck on 't, an' aw've ordered Jack-o'th'- Naze to get his leggins an' his gamekeepin clooas agean th' time aw want him." They then separated as usual, and talked about having two drawings in one fortnight, and which of the farms they Avould occupy on their new estates. The appointed clay arrived when Langsettle should straighten all off, but when he had got about two miles up Burnley valley on his way to the Roebuck Inn, Portsmuth, a railway collision occurred. As soon as the claimants heard this they hastened off to see if Langsettle was amongst the rubbish. They found him all right, except he had received a slight shaking ; so they seized him by the arms and escorted him to his destination, where he explained to them that the Chancellor had gone into the north of England to survey an estate similar to theirs, containing a vast amount of minerals which had just been claimed, therefore he had not been able to get all settled off yet. Just then one of the claimants rushed into the room shouting, " Has he brought it, has he brought it?" "Ney, not to-day," one said. The matter was then explained to him, when he proceeded to say that a number of the claimants' wives had just requested him to ask Langsettle AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 83 to go to Burnley that day and have his likeness taken, and they would pay for it, and have one a-piece ; for, said one, "we con nivver forgive ussels if aught should happen him, and we hannot a likeness on him, an' ther's sure sommat to hefal him, Boiner or later, he's sitch an angel ov a felly — he's too good for here." So Langsettle got a number of photographs taken, to be looked at by the Wycollar Hall and Heptonstall estates' claim ants, some of which remain to this day. By this time it had become quite evident to the turned-out claimant, and many others, that Langsettle was a wretched knave. They had found that the seals were those of the Hollinwood United Order of Oddfellows ; that the pretended wills were false ; and that the whole affair was a piece of the rankest deception ever practised on a parcel of ignorant country people ; and very shortly after, Langsettle was taken into custody, tried, and sentenced to imprisonment in Manchester New Bailey, in which prison he ended his days, at the age of seventy-two years. Thus the wild dreamings of the claimants passed as a vision of the night : and after having paid a half-crown per week each for more than two years, they were left with their eyes opened to the stern fact that thev must work to live ; that their bunting dogs and horses were but fancies of the mind, and that they had been the foolish dupes of one of the blackest liars between the two worlds. The author of the remarkable sketch of local character we have just given, as of some other similar sketches hardly less graphic, was a young man named James Standing, a native of the Burnley valley before-mentioned. The name " Standing " would appear to be a corruption of the older Anglo-Saxon name Standen, or Standene, signifying a " stony valley." Standing was born at Todmorden, close to the Cliviger border, in June, 1S-48, his father being employed at the time in a coal-pit. The township of Cliviger (Clivachcr, rocky district) forms part of the romantic Burnley vale, which itself marks for a consider- able distance the division between Lancashire and Yorkshire. It is remarkable for three different rivers which all take their rise f2 84 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE here, viz., the East and West Calders, and the Irwell. It is as picturesque a region as is to be found within thirty miles of Man- chester, and its natural charms have been much enhanced by the extensive plantings made during his lifetime by the late Dr. Whitaker, the learned historian of Whalley, whose patrimonial estate of "Holme" forms part of the district, and who long resided here. We learn, with regard to Standing, that in his early youth he was distinguished for that restless activity which, when not directed to a proper end, frequently leads the subject into serious mischief; and that in consequence of this, and the res angusta domi, he was hooked into harness pretty early. Before attaining his eighth year he was set to work at a bobbin manufactory ; some time later he worked in a cotton factory ; and subsequently, his father having become a partner in a brickmaking business, young Standing went to assist in the brickyard. When in his teens studious habits developed themselves, and his natural parts being good, Standing's progress in certain branches of knowledge was rapid. His chief studies were linguistic and philological, though he made fair progress in several other branches ; and he not only attained to considerable proficiency in the French and German languages, but made a more than respectable acquaint ance with the two literatures. And by the way, in looking over his papers, we find that Standing, with the practical and calculat- ing turn of the people among whom he lived, was in the habit of summing up the money value (according to his own estimate) of his new intellectual acquirements ! — a trait intensely charac- teristic, and one which confirms all that we have previously stated in this regard. Very early, Standing began to write pieces in the local dialect, both prose and verse, these first literary efforts of his generally finding a place in the columns of the Todmorden Advertiser, the oldest paper of the district, and to which he contributed up to within a few months of his death. But his object being to make his literary attainments and abilities " pay" at the earliest possible moment, and in the most feasible fashion, he shortly hit upon the AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 85 idea of ;t kind of literary almanack, ;md at the end of 1*73 issued his first Lancashire and Yorkshire Comic, Historic, and Poetic Almanack — a sufficiently sounding and comprehensive title, the last issue appearing in 1877, the year preceding his death. The literary matter filling this almanack is mainly written in the vernacular, and includes some of Standing's best efforts, though these are sadly mixed with others very inferior. The Muses do not willingly serve Plutus, and very often when hooked into the household wagon the " fiery" Pegasus will not stir a foot ! Nor, unless in posthumous fame, has much of the world's best work ever been paid for. But present pence, rather than posthumous, or even present fame (which, after all, makes not the pot to boil) was wanted here ; and Standing, putting his literary wares into marketable shape, his almanack, with its sounding title, came to have a wide circulation, not only in the Burnley valley, but throughout the district. It is from one of these almanacks, viz.» that issued for 1874, that we have drawn the foregoing history of " Old Langsettle and his Dupes." Previously to the issue of this publication Standing had appeared before the Lancashire public as the author of a small collection of verse and prose pieces, in the local dialect, under the title of Echoes from a Lancashire Vale (publisher, John Heywood, Manchester). This little brochure, which reached a second thousand, contains cue or two things so very characteristic that we shall take the oppor- tunity of extracting them. Here is one, a true picture of a Burnley - valley interior, entitled " Wimmen's Wark es Niver Done," which Waugh confessed to us he had never surpassed : — WIMMEN'S WARK ES NIVEE DONE. Aw dunnot reckon aw con preytch, Aw ne'er were treyn'd to do t. Yet may lie aw cud make a speech If aw were reyt put to 't ; At leost aw've lang'd sometimes to try, An' neaw aw've like begun, An' this es th' text aw've taen i' hand — " Wimmen's wark es niver done." O'th' Monday morn aw yet up tired — A child tug, tug at th' breast ; Aw think sometimes aw'd lig whol eight, But really ther's no rest. 86 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE Bi th' workers get off to ther wark Another lot begin To romp abeawt, an' feight, an' heyt, An' make a weary din. One's sheawtin — " Mother do get up, An' come an' lick eawr John, He's makin' sugar-butter-cakes, An' leyin' treycle on ; Eawr Billy's been i'th' cobbenl top, An' brokken th' fancy plate Ut yo tell'd us we mudn't touch — Yo'd put it eawt o'th' gate." An' then eawr Betty's rooitin' up I'th' box ut should be fast ; Eawr Tommy's runn'd eawt in his shirt, An's makin' cakes wi nast. This way they carry on their pranks, An' make ther rows i'th' heawse, Whol aw'm plump foarc'd to get op too, For talkin's ov no use. Aw've then to buckle to mi wark, For aw've so micli to do ; Whol 't ligs i' yeps o' ivery side, An' plenty on't for two. Wi' th' young un skrikin' i' mi arms, Aw do th' jobs as aw con : Aw've the breykfast first of all to make, An' tli' childer's clooas to don ; Then two or three mun off to th' schooil, An' that i' time an' all ; Or else they'll say they dar not go, An' sit ther deawn an' bawl. Th' clock then strikes nine afoore aw've th' chonce To get a bite o' meyt : A mother's no chonce fur hersel Whol th' childer's eawt o'th' gate. It's reyk mi this, an' fotch mi t' tother, Gie mi that, an' bring another, This button stitch, that gallus sew, This shirt sleeve mend — it's all i' tew ; An' mony a scoor o' little jobs 'At aw con hardly mention, That all tak op a mother's time, Her patience an' attention. Bi th' time aw get mi child asleep, Aw've then to start an' shap To make a dinner o' some kind, Whol tli' babby gets a nap ; When in come two or three fro' th' schooil, An' start o' roatin' eawt — " Han yo' etten all t' parkin up ? Aw'll bet yo'n laft me beawt." Aw've then to grin, an' stamp, an' feight, An' jowl ther yeds together ; An' spite ov all they wakken th' child An' cause mi endless bother : AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. s7 So thai aw count 1 1 .■ i ' th' dinner made Bi th' tother lol come in ; Aw've then their freawnin' looks to tak', Beside tlieir plaguey din. They niver seem to think it aught Heawiver aw \ e i" run, An" niver seem to gie 't a thought L't my walk's niver done. Aw think sometimes aw should be made To do beawt rest or bed, Wi' double hands at oather side, An' een all round mi yed : Aw eudn't then mind ivery point, An' keep all corners reyt — Wheer ther's a rook o 1 childer kept Yo' connot keep things strej t. I'th' afternoiii aw'm thranged wi' wark, Aw've ne'er no time to levk ; Ther's weyshin' deys, an' cleanin' days, An' deys to rook and bake, An' mony a hundred bits o' jobs 'At mothers ban' to do : Ther's weyshin' up, an' niendin' stuff, An' th' bit o' nursin', too ; But th creawnin' point ov all, aw think, Is after six at neet : A'a ! what a pantomime ther is ! It'ld cap yo' ail to see 't : One sits i'th' nook, its face awry, An' makin' sich a din — It's yerd a hurdy-gurdy chap, An' neaw it's praetisin". Another's seen some huntin' dogs, An's looin' like a lieaund, Or sheawtin' like th' owld huntin' chap — It seems to fancy th' seawnd. Then one or two 'at's deawn o'tlv floor Are usin' all ther brains To puff an' blow, an' yell an' crow, Like whistlin' railway trains. Another batch o'th' bigger end Are jackin' o'er ther wark, Or playin' bits o' crafty tricks, To have a merry lark. At th' end of all they disagree, An" then, folks, a'a, what bother ! One turns to bein' ineysterful. An' starts o" cleawtin' t'other. Aw've then to start an' f eight, mysel', For tawkin's eawt o' date ; They've getten lioofed wi' 't, like th' owd chap, An' laugh to yer mi prate. An' as for him, he takes no part I' keepin' th' corners square ; Heawiver heedless th' childer be, He niver seems to care ; 88 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE An' 'steead o' leyin' on a hand, An' helpin' what he con, He leovs all th' bits o' jobs to me, Whol mi wark's niver done. At last ov all they get to bed ; Aw'm some an' feyn to see 't, For it's a comfort to be quiet An heawr or two at neet. Aw wish sometimes aw had been born Below a lucky star, Wi' all mi looaves an' muffins baked, Like th' gentle folks's are. But then ageon, aw think, for sure, All persons have ther ills ; We'd just as weel be killed wi' wark As dee wi' takkin' pills. Then when aw look at th' childer's cheeks, It brings joy to my heart ; Aw tak' a noble pride to think Aw act a woman's part. An' though aw ha' no halls nor lands 'At aw mi own con call, Aw'm blest wi' childer fresh an' fair, An' that eawtweighs 'em all. In 1876 Standing published what he calls his " Continental Run ; comprising a glance at the chief Cities of Europe," a stiffish brochure of some fifty pages, which attained a considerable local circulation. About the time that Standing began authorship he emerged from the brickyard and established a school at " Vale," in the Burnley valley, which he conducted for several years with marked success. But having married, and becoming seized with a fierce desire — " fierce " is the word — to " get on in the world," he gave up school-teaching, and started the business of a boot, shoe, and leather dealer, in the neighbouring town of Todmorden, in con- junction with his father. To this he shortly after added the trade of a tobacconist, which he carried on at Burnley eight miles distant. And, as if this were not enough, he engaged at the same time, in the profession of auctioneer and general appraiser in the two last-named towns ! In one of his poems in the dialect alreadv quoted, in one of those occasional strokes which prove his latent powers, and show what he might, with due patience and painstaking, have done and become, Standing- says : — AXJ> YORKSHIRE BORDER, But then ageon, aw think, for sure, All persons have bher ills ; We'djusl as weel b< killed > r >' warlt . I . ,1, , ,i-i' takkin' jiM* ! The sparkling wit and appositcness of this passage are worthy of Burns, the prince of dialect-writers, and iinding these occasional " miiruets " one is constrained to exclaim : si sic omnia ! We'd just as weel be killed wi' walk As dee wi' takkin' pills. Yes ! but only the healthy man can snap his fingers at the doctors ; and about this time poor Standing's health began to fail him to such an extent that he was fain to resort to what, in his provincial way, he always called " doctor's physic." All the above trades, businesses, callings, and occupations, with the accompanying turmoil and anxieties, were too much for even a strong man. The "pills " had to be "takk'n " at last ! To add to his difficulties and sorrows, his poor wife, whose health had never been robust, now suddenly fell sick and died ; his only surviving child soon followed : the bitter cup was charged to the brim. Worn out with grief and anxiety, as well as with sickness, Standing succumbed ; and within the brief period of eight months father, mother, and child were gathered in one common grave under the green-sward of the little Baptist Chapel at Vale — a sudden and tragical ending, indeed, to a career at one time not wanting in promise. It was some months before his death, which occurred in February, 1878, that we last saAV Standing, at Hurstwood, on the borders of romantic Cliviger — Hurstwood, for ever renowned as the sometime home of the poet Spenser — a quaint little village, near which the sparkling and wood-fringed Brun, whose source is in the wild moorlands above, comes tumbling with foam over mossy rocks, or glides silently in deep pools darkened by overhanging foliage. On the banks of this stream, so charming at this point, Standing, who was in poor health at the time, lingered in the twilight of a still, autumn day to rest awhile, for, along with a party of friends, we had had what he called a " heavy run " over the crags and fells of Cliviger. In the twilight he lingered <K) THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE long, muttering, if we rightly remember, those beautiful lines of Schiller's : — In des Herzens heilig stille Riiume Musst du rliehen aus des Lebens Drang ! and in the twilight we bade him good-bye — as it happened a last good-bye. And reflecting, now, upon the sad changes that so speedily followed, it seems twilight still, but a twilight deepening into darkness and night. Personally we were attached to Standing, for despite a some- what uncouth exterior, and manners that might be called " provincial," he was a person of the tenderest sensibility and the most delicate heart, who had read the poets carefully and thought- fully, and with one of the greatest of the moderns had heard The still, sad music of humanity ! In him the kernel of the nut was as sweet as the husk was rough. With Nature who, as Maine de Biran says, "ever whis- pers consoling secrets to attentive ears," Standing walked, as with a mistress whom he loved. To all her changing aspects his eyes were open ; and often in journeying, a solitary traveller, over the dusky moors that stretch for miles and miles around his home he had felt The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills ! As is often the case, though Standing's acquaintances were many, his friends were few ; but to those few he Avas singularly devoted, and one of them tells, with much emotion even yet, how when he had suddenly fallen a victim to an infectious disease of a most virulent character, and lay sick unto death, none daring to approach him, Standing loyally came to his bedside, at the risk of his own life, and nursed him into health again — a noble instance of that kind of moral grandeur and heroism which the poets have not too much dwelt on. Among Standing's friends above referred to were Dr. Spencer T. Hall, the late Mr. Wilkinson, of Burnley, Mr. Henry Nutter, of the same town, and others. Among his numerous acquaint- ances were not a few gentlemen connected with the Manchester AND YORKSHIRE BORDER. 91 Literary Clul», of which he w;is for several years a useful member. And when Messrs. Nodal and Milner began the com- pilation of their Glossary of Lancashire Words, Standing rendered them an assistance which was deemed worthy of public acknowledgment. With regard to Standing's writings, they have been thought by some to be more or less open to the charge of coarseness, but to this charge their author was wont to reply that he did but paint men and women as he found them — from the life, and as Crom- well desired to be painted — with the wart on his nose. To the writer of this memoir his translations from the French and German, and his compositions in the dialect, were sent up from the beginning. Nor was it long before we detected in the latter some traces of original power, some departures, welcome however slight, from the deep-worn ruts and grooves of the hackneyed, some variety from the eternal rfohauffement, and everlasting hash-up of things, though accompanied by every fault of execu- tion. And we enjoined him to follow Boileau's oft-quoted advice in similar circumstances. Had Standing survived, and found himself able to adopt the above friendly counsel, we believe that, with his undoubted originality, his keen insight into character, and his overflowing humour, he might have made a name in literature. As it is, and brief as must, from the very nature of the case, be the fame of writers in any dialect whatsoever (save in rare instances of supreme genius), we venture to think that one or two, at least, of these sketches of Standing's will live yet for some years, and this by the vivid and " fast " colours in which he has painted a condition of things phenomenal amid so much general enlighten- ment, but which is surely passing, and will in the course of another generation or two have totally passed, away. In the preceding pages we have given examples of Standing's dialectal powers, both in prose and verse, we conclude this article with a final specimen of his mastery over the latter form of expression : — 92 THE FOLK-SPEECH OF THE LANCASHIRE THE HENPECKED HUSBAND'S LAMENT. Let unwed chaps a warning tak', Thro' what aw here relate, Of numerous drawbacks that pertain To th' henpecked marriage state. By five at morn aw'm forced to jump, Or else my wife begins To make it war to lig i' bed Nor if aw wur o' pins ; Her elbows leet sock i' my ribs — " Does ta yer ? — weant ta stir ? — No matter heaw awm teaw'd wi' th' child, Theaw sleeps as though nought were. This varry neet theaw's snored asleep Whol aw've been teaw'd like aught, An' couldn't get a wink mysel ; But then theaw thinks that's nought. If theaw con get thi rest all reyt, Theaw niver seems to care. Aw'll bet theawld ha' moor thought for me, If theaw mud ha' thi share O' th' mooil an' th' toil, both day an' neet, At aw've to keep goin through ; But, then, it's here, theaw little knows, What thi' poor wife's to do. Just neaw aw feel as tired an done As when aw coom to bed. Poor lasses ought to stop an' think, Afooar they goa get wed. Go leet that fire, an' warm some milk, For th' child has supped it up ; An' make a sup o' good whot tay, An' let me have a cup. Then fill that tub wi' waytur, too, An' put thoor clooas to steep — Oh dear ! aw do feel feynt and ill, An' want to fall asleep. But then, aw say, theaw'm fotch some coils ; An' see theaw do'ant forget To wakken me at breakfast time, An' leave mi breakfast set." Aw've thought sometimes, if hoo'd a mind, Hoo'st don mi breeches reyt ; But then, aw durstn't tell her that — Aw h:mnot pluck to say 't. At dinner time, when aw get worn, Tilings lig upset o'tlf floor ; A dam o' weyshin' suds and slop Is sprad fro' th' fire to th' door. When theer hoo meets me—" Tak this child ! Aw'm nearly off' mi wits ! Sin' breakfast-time it's skriked so hard, Aw thought it wur i' tits. Aw've had no time to cook thi' nought— Oppen thi een, theaw'll see — So o'er thi meyt theaw needn't speyk— Theaw'rt just as sooin as me. AXD YORKSHIRE BORDER. 93 Theaw'm howd tliat child another )>it; An in wiring tlieer stockins through, Or else aw connot use mi .•suds, An' that "11 niver do." At last ov all mi dinner - made, Hut long befool- aw \c done Th' mill-whistle gooas, an' aw go too — An 5 thai beside at run. Then, when aw darken th' dore at neet, Her clapper starts " tin-, tang;" Aw think sometimea hoo isn't reyt, But darnut say hoo s w rang, " ( (ime John," hoo'll say. "an buckle too, A wve long been wantra thee, For though theaw's work'd hard all this day, Theaw'rt no.in as tired as me. • hi-t wring thooar bits 0' hipping through, An' fotch that pail fro' th' tap; Aw'll get this little powse asleep, An' giv't a drop o' pap. Neaw theaw'd besl sel that kettle on, An' make a sup o' tay. For oh ! aw do feel fearful feynt ; Aw'm in a curious way. Look ! dry thooar weet spots u r that eleawt, Then lay it hack to th' sink. Theaw'd better fotch sonic breead up now, An' toast a bit, aw think. An' when theaw's weyshed thysel, theaw's! try If theaw can nurse this chap, For 't doesn't seem 'at it's inclined Just neaw to have a nap." This way aw 111 used day after day — Awve all her snubs to tak', To blacklead th' bars, skeawer knives an' forks, An' th' booits an' shoes to black. Hoo sends me eawt as ragged as Troll, Mi treawsers so near done. There's rive or six ways in at th' top, Wheer ther' should be but one. Aw've ne'er a penny for mysel', Aw'm poor as 0113- meaw se : Hoo says wed folk should spend their brass O' things they want i'tli' heawse. Aw darn't tak' a stroll at neet For fear hoo'll make a brawl, For when hoo munnot have her way Hoo'll sit her down an' yawl, An' say — "Theaw promised me tine things If aw would be thi wife, But neaw theaw seems to care for nought But wearin' eawt mi life. But go on, lad, theaw 11 sooin ha' done, Aw'st -hurt 1\ pass away : Theaw'll happen then forthink for this When aw get laid i'th' clay." 94 FOLK-SPEEC H -LANCASHIRE db YORKSHIRE BORDER, Then, folks, aw connot stan' her talk, It goas deawn to mi heart ; Aw tell her then aw'll stop at worn, An' try to do my part. But still, aw think, if aw're unwed, Aw'll mind for th' time to come, An' be content wi' doin' weel, An' single, stop at worn. A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER. 95 A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER, A man of middle size and middle age, (From out the "middle ages" come, to see What this much boasted age of ours may be !) With flowing heard, and glittering eye, whose rage Is still to turn o'er some t plaint lettered paj^e : Deep in the ancients, you shall see him pore — A pensive statue 'mid the city's roar — Whilst you proceed upon your pilgrimage ! A man of learning, cold, impassive? No ; By nature gentle : tender si ill, his heart Hath pleasant places, where the sweet herbs grow Of Love, and Friendship, and all herbs of grace— A poet lie, without the |n»'t's art, Whom all must love that look upon his face ! 5ri\ the above sonnet, penned in the lifetime of its subject, the (Vj writer offered in silhouette what he now seeks to present in full face, viz., the portrait of Francis S , whom the wicked ceased from troubling less than two years ago, and who now sleeps soundly and well, and tolerably safe from risk of further trouble or disturbance of any kind, in a quiet nook of a subur- ban churchyard. Whilst Francis breathed this vital air, indeed, his life appeared to be one of almost continual trouble; he seemed born to trouble as the sparks fly upward ; misfortunes came to him not single file but in batallions. To be sure, there were those that knew him well who would hint, and sometimes openly assert, that many of our friend's troubles were largely of his own creating, through an inveterate habit he had of procrastinating and putting oft* the inevitable, and through a want of decision on those occasions when prompt decision is imperative. To tell the truth — and in this sketch we intend to tell nothing but the truth — Francis S was the most hesitating, vacillating, and irresolute of men ; his indecision was chronic, he was afflicted 96 A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER. with a most feeble will — " Francis Feeble" we might term him — and could never really make up his mind about anything, not •even as to which side of the road he should take when travelling along the Queen's highway. Nor was he ever seen, or ever known to have been, in a hurry. As his speech, though copious enough, heaven knows ! was slow and hesitating, so was his gait slow" and ambling. Once, indeed, he was caught jumping, but that was only at a " conclusion." If, in some moment of impatience, the words " make haste " escaped you, in speaking to him, you addressed yourself to deaf ears. In the Franciscan philosophy the word " haste " was relegated to the " Vocabulaiy of Fools.'' Only fire or flood would have hurried Francis, and in the case of flood he would inevitably have drifted with the current — such was his idiosyncrasy ! Yet these were but the defects of qualities which made him, at the same time, one of the gentlest, genialest, and kindliest of men, a nature at once transparent and guileless, a most sweet soul, and the delightfullest of companions on those occasions when the clouds lifted from the " House of Trouble," and allowed a little warm sunshine to stream in there. Though intended, as he himself often confessed, by his tastes and habits, and by numerous eccentricities of character all militating against conjugal happiness, to lead a celibate life, our friend early drifted into marriage, not once but twice, and in each case after brief courtship. He "drifted," through that paralysis of the will which was the bane of his life ; and almost as a matter of course both marriages proved unhappy, though the second union brought him some brightness in the shape of eight comely daughters, all of whom survive their father, and most tenderly cherish his memory, recalling, as they do, hoAv troubled a life he led whilst on this earth. But as an old Lancashire housewife was wont to say : " There's nothing but trouble and comfort in this world !" and so, if Francis had many troubles, he had some comforts. His chief consolations, in addition to the compassionate love of his daughters aforesaid, were a profound feeling for Nature, in all A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER. 07 her varied moods and in all her aspects, and a passion for books, especially for hunting up and ransacking old, or little-known, authors. Though in his early years the lifo of our friend had been one <>f hard and bitter toil, he had, by the time we made his acquaintance, raised himself to an important position in a local commercial hou>e. Nor were the duties of Ids position — latterly at least — other than light, so that he had abundant opportunity of pursuing his bent for bookdiuntin^ at least. And a great deal of very genuin^ pleasure he must have experienced in the course of his forty years' collecting of all sorts of works, old and rare, in half-a- dozen languages. He had all the passion for old English authors of the beloved Elia, as he was a devoted admirer of the genius and character of that unique writer. But whereas Laud), with characteristic humour, laments to his " Cousin Bridget " that he doesn't enjoy his book-purchasings half so much now that ho hasn't to "save up" for them, friend Francis had no such cause of lamentation ! Throughout life his was the exquisite pleasure of prelibation. To covet a book did not mean, with him, immediate possession of the treasure, it meant "saving up.'' Reader, hast thou ever glanced at Elia's description of his own feelings of joy and triumph — the very memory of which "brings the saliva to our lips" — when lugging home some "ragged veteran " of a volume for whose possession he had long yearned ! Then wilt thou realize that Francis, the man of many sorrows, was also a man of many joys. A hundred times have we found our friend quaffing the very topmost, foaming height of the joy- cup Lamb describes. A hundred times, again, yea, a thousand, have we seen him standing mute and motionless, tome in band, at our city book- stalls—a weird figure, with heavy beard, coming from out the middle ages as it were — and to all appearance totally unconscious of the tide of busy life surging around him. On the other hand, how often, when we have been rushins through the city, "on business bent," has our friend mildly 98 A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER. "button-holed" us in mid-career, and in the thick of the throng, or from lamp-post to lamp-post held us with his glittering eye — we could not choose but hear — whilst he discoursed on one of his many fads — political, theological, social, spiritualistic, hy- gienic — till the pair of us ran great danger of incarceration for obstructing the public footpath. But to stop the stream of Francis's talk was to stop the deluge ; and even to indulge the expectation was to play the innocent part of Horace's rustic, who stood on the river-bank expecting the stream would soon run itself dry. Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis ; at ille Labitur et labetur in orane volubilis sevum. Francis had an old womanish garrulity, and would still talk, inter ambulandum. As parliamentary reporters often break off their reports with the words : "left speaking," so with regard to these Franciscan monologues the report always ended : — " left Francis talking ! " But this was only with intimates. Our friend's dealings with the stranger were ever characterised by a sweet modesty and reserve — nay, with a maidenly shyness that was very beautiful ; indeed, his nature was essentially bashful, nor could his lips shape themselves to the utterance of an in- delicate word. Often, again, have we seen him at his own home, in a hilly,, northern suburb, gloating over his book-treasures like a miser over his hoard. And indeed a miser he was with regard to his books, though in other respects generous enough. His library was his sanctum. You might open his main artery, but not his books ; and did you so much as handle one, his eyes would follow the motion of your hands with a jealousy that made you smile. Our friend was a fellow of infinite humour, too, and did he happen on some rare occasion to allow himself to be persuaded to part with one of his precious duplicates — some tiny, ragged wretch of a copy — he was always careful to remind you of previous obligations of a similar kind by writing inside the volume : "Another book given to ." A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER, 98 And what an "olio of oddities" was his library — what ;i medley and a chaos! It was as if the Lord of Misrule had stretched his rod over parlour, bedroom, and attic. Out of thousands of books, to have found four consecutive volumes would have taken four consecutive hours ! While as to variety, ve have seen many miscellaneous collections of books, English and foreign, we have ransacked the bookstalls of London and Paris ; but a more promiscuous lot, or a lot to which one could more aptly apply the phrases omnium gatherum, and de omnibus rebus, et quibusdam aliis, than the Franciscan collection we have never seen. And all spread about in the most glorious confusion from cellar to attic, without bookcase, or shelf, or arrangement of any description ; so that each fresh reference to an author necessitated a fresh hunt through the whole library. But it is with our friend, not his library, that we have to deal. Unconsciously to himself, Francis came to be, with us, quit e early, a subject of profound study, as he himself was a profound student of human nature and human life — far more profound than many even of his intimates suspected, and to a degree which in a " book-worm " was astonishing. As "Wordsworth truly says, " strongest minds are often those of whom the noisy world hears least." Our friend had not only bought books, he had read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested them ; he had made practical application of his reading. The human wheel, with all its spokes and felloes, was well known to Francis. No anatomist ever dissected more closely this " mortal frame ; " no valetudinarian ever went deeper into hygiene, with himself for a subject. But Francis went further, he sought into the deeper mystery of the soul, he analysed the processes of thought with the skill and zest of a metaphysician ; and although the " works " he has left behind him, in addition to some " Books of Extracts " in French and shorthand, are entirely of the kind Charles Lamb describes as written in his own clerkly hand and adorning the shelves of the India House, Francis has left a " memory " which, despite his hundred fads and foibles, and his o2 100 A MANCHESTER BOOKHUNTER. invincible fluxe de boicche, commands the respect and theTaffection of all who really and truly knew him. Through a fearful accident which befel him finder his own roof-tree, our friend walked in the shadow of death for years before he died. And he walked in that awful shadow without fear. And now, after many troubles,, he sleeps soundly and well, and tolerably free from risk of future troubles, in a quiet corner of B churchyard. .1 himcri.T i.axcaxiiiiie pi. AGE-NAME. 101 A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. .•ill the various kinds of words, undoubtedly the most alluring, as subjects of study, are proper names — the names of persons and of places. But in proportion as the subject is seductive, so is the temptation to extravagant supposi- tion and speculation large, and the danger of error extreme ; in fact, no department of philology offers to the sanguine tyro such abundant opportunity of self-stultification. Though for many years a student, more or less diligent, of languages and dialects, we can by no means boast the full equip- ment for the scientific investigation of any chance English place- name of some whom we could mention ; yet with regard to the particular name to be brought under notice, we may at least claim to speak with whatever special authority is derived from a long and close acquaintance with the place itself and its people, as well as with the physical conditions and ethnical relations of the neighbouring districts. Nou jingo hypotheses was the motto of a great physicist of the past. (It is not the motto of our physicists of to-day !) We wish it were possible to adopt this wise maxim on the present occasion, but that is not permitted. Into the region of hypothesis we must perforce enter ; and out of the region of hypothesis, into clear daylight, it may be that we shall never emerge, with regard to the difficult place-name forming the subject of this inquiry. In the meantime, and as is often the case, what is offered is a balance of probabilities ; but this " balance " we submit with as much confidence as the circumstances warrant ; we tread the ground with as firm a foot as the very boggy and treacherous nature of the soil will allow. 102 A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. The discovery — a discovery whose importance is not to be exaggerated — made by philologists, now many years back, that the Celtic is but an older offshoot from the common Eastern parent, the venerable Sanscrit, besides clearing up much that was obscure in European ethnology, has undoubtedly given us far more comprehensive notions with regard to the origin of European place-names ; though the elements of possible confusion introduced by a vast synonymy is a circumstance that calls for the extremest caution in attempting to fix the actual etymology of a particular name. By this important consideration, in order as far as possible to avoid error, the writer has endeavoured to guide himself in the present investigation. The difficult name in question is that of a Lancashire town, peculiarly situated on the banks of the Calder, known as the "Yorkshire Calder," on the south-eastern border of the county, adjoining Yorkshire, that is to say — Todmorden. It is a name whose etymology has been much discussed, much debated, and much written upon, by scores and even hundreds of people, by the learned and unlearned, and which, despite much dogmatism, still remains obscure. The theory now offered in explanation has at least the merit of novelty, though did it possess only this negative merit its author might well have spared his ink. First, then, as regards the orthography of the name. The different spellings are numerous. The latest writer on the subject, whose voice may be taken as in any sense authoritative, gives the " oldest spelling" as Todmaredene. But a very old orthography is Todmordene. In a deed bearing date as far back as the 30th Edward III., that is to say 1365, is to found the following: — "John del Croslegh of Todmordene," &c. And in another deed, bearing no date, but apparently of the same reign, viz., Edward III., we meet with "Adam del Croslegh, de Todmordene, in Yill de Honerresfeld," &c. Another old spelling is given as Todmare- deane, and yet another as Tormorden, which last, while expressing the pronunciation of the word at the present day by the oldest inhabitants, recalls the several place-names, Tormore. A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLAi E-NAME. 103 In the year 1G40, as appears by an existing map of the district, the spelling was Todmeredene, and in l'ii>7 the adopted ortho- graphy of the name was that of to-day, Todmorden, which, by adding an e only to the final syllable, is exactly that of 1365, while the present pronunciation is still the ancient "Torniorden," shortened to "Tormden." With regard to pronunciation somebody has wittily remarked that " sound etymology has nothing to do with sound.''' But although the pun is a good one, and the position right in the main, it occasionally happens that sound dues help in etymology. In the present case, however, it will not be relied upon but will simply be regarded as an added and quite subordinate factor working in behalf of the theory propounded.* If the spellings of the name in question are many, the different suggested etymologies are more numerous still. Into a detailed account of these one need not here enter. One theory only shall be given, for the purpose of criticism, out of the multitude of suggested solutions of the problem. But this shall be one of the oldest, and at the same time one of the likeliest {prima facie), most tenable, and most generally accepted of the current theories : "Todmorden — ancient spellings, Todmaredene and T odi nor dene : The Valley of the Fox-mere or lake." The most authoritative of recent writers on the subject, in giving the above etymology, not only states that the meaning of the first syllable Tod is "a Fox," but that the root is Teuton, and not only Teuton but Anglo-Saxon. The medial syllable mare or ///"/, a mere or lake, and the last syllable, den or dene, a valley? according to him, are also Anglo-Saxon, the whole name signify- ing as above given, "The Valley of the Fox-mere or lake." Though our etymologist fails to give his " proofs " as to the f Anglo Saxon" origin of the word " Tod, a fox," it is well known * The tendency, in folk-speech, to revert to old pronunciations, and original sounds, is undoubted. For instance, the local name, Dearden, instead of being pronounced as spelt, is by the old inhabitants of this neigh- bourhood pronounced as if spelt Dut ?dt n, thus recalling, and giving almost the exact sound of, the original Celtic word forming the first syllable of the name. 104 A DIFFIC UL T LA XCA SHI BE PL A GE-NA ME. that this dialect is a still living dialect in Scotland. And also in the north of England, though Jamieson doubts whether it was ever used there, and calls Ben Jonson into court under the name of " Ben Johnson !" (see his Scotch Dictionary). Not only has the dialect " Tod, a fox," however, been used immemorially in the north of England, but, as just now stated, it still survives there. The southern limit, in fact, of the present vitality of this obscure dialect, in Britain, would appear to be the counties of Cumber- land and Westmoreland, and a part of north-west Yorkshire. It was because Tod occurs so frequently in place-names within limits that mark equally the vitality of the dialect Tod, " a fox," that the writer was in the outset, along with many others, led to a conclusion favourable to that interpretation of the first syllable in "Todmorden." The contention in the present paper, shortly put, is this : That the first and medial syllables of the name Todmorden, that is to say Tod and mor, derive from the Gaelic dialect of the Celtic, while the last syllable, den or dene, may or may not have been given to the valley by those Anglo-Saxon, or more strictly speaking Anglian, settlers whose practice probably was to settle themselves here or there when they could do so without fighting.* But to the first syllable, Tod, the writer has ventured, after a pretty close examination of the matter, to attach a quite different meaning from any hitherto suggested. For this different meaning it now remains to argue. That the Celtic clement in the older place-names of Britain is a strong element will be allowed without argument. That the same element is still stronger in the names of our rivers, and higher mountains, and of the various great natural features of th e country, will also be admitted. But the actual or approximate extent of the Celtic element in different localities is a matter of * It has often been complained that in our references to the Angles and Saxons we usually do less justice to the former, since we speak of them for the most part as " Saxons ' only. But surely it is forgotten by those who make this complaint that the Angles are compensated for all such slights and more by the fact that, after all, the greater honour has been reserved to them of giving a name to the whole country. A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. 10.> special inquiry, and for thirty years past it has been the endeavour of the writer, in the district under consideration, to fix and ap- praise this element. We have found it a study of peculiar interest. There is even an element of pathos and poetry in the matter, for in considering it thoughtfully the spectacle of an interesting and ancient race struggling for a last foothold on the verge of lands they once widely peopled cannot but rise vividly before the im- ag i nation, and so rising, can hardly fail to touch the chord of pity. The fact that these Celts continued to hold their own in certain parts of England proper long after the occurrence of the various Anglo-Saxon irruptions is now pretty well established ; and the result of all the attention we have been able to give to the subject is a firm conviction that in some of the more inaccessible portions of the north here, and notably in the district in question, the mountainous region of the Lancashire and Yorkshire border, the Celtic element is a much more appreciable element than it is usually taken to be, both ethnically and as regards language. In relation to language, the sort of test we have applied (inter alia) has been the following : we have taken the interesting word mill, the name of a machine of very old invention, and a word common in forms but slightly varying from the above to the Aryan peoples both before and since their migration westward. In a district strongly Teuton the tendency will be to pronounce the word as spelt above, from the form of the Teuton root. On the other hand, in districts where there is a strong Celtic element, there will be a tendency to pronounce the word as if spelt uiiln, from the form of the Celtic root. In the district under notice we have observed the above tendency in a marked degree. Another test is the prevalence of Celtic surnames (that is to say surnames derived from Celtic roots), the names of true " sons of the soil," people immemorially settled in certain nooks. This test, also, in the present case has been applied with success. And for these and other reasons yet to be stated we conclude that it was the Celts, and not the Angles or the Danes, who gave to this mountain- valley the peculiar name it bears to-day. 106 A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. We believe, indeed, that the Angles pretty early, and even before them some of the German mercenaries disbanded or deserting from the Eoman armies, managed, without very much fighting, to possess themselves of the lower slopes of the mountains, and that they made clearings in the thick camwoods there (certainly oak-woods), and named and cultivated them. And when, after- wards, those bold marauders, the Scandinavians, descended upon our shores, we believe that at any rate the Danes, advancing west- ward from the Yorkshire and Lincolnshire coasts, pushed pretty well into these mountain tracts. In fact, as regards the district under immediate notice, they probably contrived to fix them- selves somewhat strongly there. In confirmation of this it may be stated that in a certain valley, far up among the hills, but debouching on the valley of the Calder, there is to be found a population so strikingly Danish in character that one thinks in the past it must have been purely Danish ; and in place-names and folk-speech there is certainly an appreciable element of the Scandinavian. Nor, in considering the present problem, has the writer failed duly to appraise and weigh Scandinavian possibili- ties as regards etymology. We believe that the two last-named branches of the Teuton family — the Angles and the Danes — had fights hereabouts, but that they were able for the most part to make up their differ- ences, and that in view of their near racial affinity they readily intermarried. But we believe that long before the arrival of either of these branches of the great Teuton family in the district we are considering, and even long before the arrival of the Romans, both the valley of Todmorden and the narrow river flowing through it, called the " Calder," had received their respective expressive names from the Celts, though to go here fully into the origin of the word " Calder " would take up too much time and space. The second syllable of the name of this river, however — the " Calder " — unpromising as it may appear, is bound to furnish us with the material for constructing the first syllable of " Todmorden," though in the original not in the present form of .1 DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. 107 that first syllable — viz., in tlic last of these three forms : dur, dobhar, dothar (the second and third forms being pronounced do-ar). These are the Gaelic, as distinguished from the closely- allied Cymric root, divr, water or stream. That a Gaelic rather than a Cymric dialect should dominate in a high, mountainous, and inaccessible region is not singular when we remember that, according to the best writers, the Gaels were the first to people these islands, the later-coming Cymry having to light their way, and probably not succeeding in this in some of the more difficult parts of the country. "As dobhar," writes an authority on the Gaelic, "changes in compounds and combinations into dob, so dothar changes to dot and dod, both commutable villi tod." And the contention in this paper will be that Tod in " Todmorden " is a form, by the com- mutation of d and t (which, indeed, many philologists regard as the same letter) of the dot in dothar. By way of evidence* numerous dods and tods, with a watery connection (the latter sometimes softened to toads), in English place-names, will be brought from near and far. The Celtic root dur (water) in various Gaelic and Cymric forms, as is well known, is one of the commonest elements in the names of European rivers ; in fact, the forms it takes are past enumer- ating. Here are a few of them : dur, der, tur, ter, dor, tor, &c, &c. In this country it is an exceedingly common element in river-names; and among a crowd of other forms m;ij be men- tioned the following: dur, duir, thur, dour, der, dor, dore, dar' dare, dair, dear, and I venture to think also deer — Avitness several "deer-plays" near river sources. In the particular district under notice it is relatively the most common of all, since we find it occurring, in this form or that, half a dozen times in almost as many miles. There is even a DER-play, and this, too, quite near the source of one of the Lancashire Calders. So much for the material out of which we have now to con- struct the name Todmorden, pronounced by old inhabitants "Torniorden," and shortened to " Tormden." 108 A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. A word or two at this point as to the natural configuration of the district and the geological evidence. These in themselves are such as strongly to support the theory that the Celts were the real sponsors of the Todmorden valley. The situation must have been a striking one from the first : A narrow gorge ex- tending for some distance and then suddenly widening into a considerable valley ; high hills on either hand, often with picturesque contours, the most striking still bearing a Celtic name ;* the waters of the Calder, confined for a while, at length free to spread themselves in a mire or mere ; at flood-times an immense water-gathering space in the vast moors surrounding the gorge before mentioned ; in the gorge itself a limited water- carrying space, the inevitable result being a wide, marshy tract, interspersecbwith fallen trees and fragments of rock, the debris of frequent floods. That this condition of things must have pre- vailed in the not very remote past the geological evidence would seem to prove, and the voice of tradition is corroborative. The situation was far too peculiar and too striking not to have arrested the attention of the Celts who first peopled these parts, and they could not fail to give a name to so remarkable a valley —as we believe, the name it bears to-day, with perhaps some slight change of form. As for the Roman, making his imperial way through Britain, it is highly probable that he regarded these wild tangled valleys and impassable morasses with horror, since he so well contrived that his military roads should wind over the high hills com- manding them. And there can be little doubt that he looked upon the country as being quite as dangerous by the physical or natural obstacles it opposed to his progress as by the hostility of its inhabitants. On the other hand, wc believe, as before men- tioned, that not a few of the German mercenaries following the Roman eagles through Britain deserted, or were disbanded, and fixed themselves as cultivators of the soil in these savage parts. '' The hill called the Orehan, signifying boundary or limit. Doubtless so named because this hill seems to bound the valley to the north-west. A DIFFH ULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. 109 In support of this opinion, ii may be mentioned that several treasures of Soman coin have been met with in excavating in comparatively low-lying parts of the district. We repeat, then, our strong conviction that the same ancienl race who gave a name .so happily expressive as " Calder" un- doubtedly is to the numerous narrow rivers in Scotland and the northern parts of England, also gave its name, jusl a- expressive and compounded in part, as we believe, of the same elements, to Todmorden, where at the frequent flood times the river bed, with all improvements, is still so wretchedly inadequate to cany away the fast-accumulating wateis that the place presents all the appearance of a scene at Venice ! And what Byron said of that famous city the unfortunate Todmordian has often been able, with even more truth, to say of his native town — I saw from out the wave her structures rise, A- by the stroke of an enchanter's wand ! But if the situation is occasionally comical it is more often quite too serious and even tragical, the ever-recurring floods sometimes costing the inhabitants their lives. In fact, the recent history of the place is largely a record of disasters resulting from the attempt to bind and limit what nature intended to be free.* We have already mentioned the Gaelic words dob/mr and dothar, which, equally with the Gaelic dur, signify water or stream, and have also stated that dobhar in compounds becomes dob, whilst dothar becomes dot and clod, both c< immutable with tod. And we find, in fact, quite close to the source of the Yorkshire (alder, another smaller stream with the name dod affixed to it (wdiich compare with the river Duddon, in North Lancashire, and with the numerous watery " dods " in other counties) ; and a little further down the Todmorden-valley is a place, near the river-course, named Toad-car, which compare with the name of the Lancashire river Taud, and with the place-name JJodcar occurring in another county. The above two place-names are evidently identical in *lt should here be observed that there have lately been ,/VwA. r improve- ments etl'ected (by deepening the narrow river-bed, &c), which tend much to ameliorate the conditions above described. 110 A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. meaning, and thus clearly prove the com mutability of the letters d and t. There is also another clod further down the same valley, and a dob, where a stream rushes down the hill-side. Indeed, if writers on Celtic matters are correct, one is led to think that not a few of the Dods and Tods in English place-names might be reclaimed from the Teutons. In the counties of Northampton and "Worcester we have such place-names as Dodford, which not only distinctly connects dod with water, but points to a name of great antiquity, seeing that the word ford is derived, not from the Saxon, but from a dialect of the Celtic. In the first of these counties (Northampton), and probably in other counties as well, we have the notable provincial- ism dod, a bog, marsh, or watery place, with its adjectival form, doddy, marshy or boggy. Compare with the above Dodfords the numerous Ashfords, Dodbrooks, &c , in the Celtic shire of Devon and in other shires, and the name Dodwell. In the north of England and in Scotland, again, we find such place-names as Todbum and Dodbum, affording further evidence, if that were needed, of the perfect commutability (etymologically speaking) of d and t, besides proving the fallacy of the Tod "a fox" theory, as held in regard to "Todburn." These evident tautologies naturally class themselves with similar tautologies in English place-names, such as Ashbourne, Easeburn, corrupted into Eastbourne. Westbourne, a score or two of JVinterbournes and Winterbums, and hundreds if not thousands of other place-names, whose meaning is practically that of the Celto-Gothic Todbum, if authors on Celtic matters are correct. According to some of these last, the original meaning of Westmoreland is "water-source land;" and there are certainly other Westmores, signifying " water-source," in England, to support this theory. In Gloucestershire we have two or three forms of dothar, com- mencing with d and t, including Tormarton, in the first two syllables of which we find our present Todmare, or Todmore, changed phonetically as we have seen it changed. .1 DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. Ill Finally, \\o have in Celtic Derbyshire the place-name 7'<W- moor, which, in fact, would appear to be no < fcher than the verit- able Todmor, in Todmorden, corrupted as we have already found it corrupted in the very neighbourhood of the Calder water- source itself. Why should Todmorden have been "The Valley of the Fox- lake ?" So far as is known to the present writer, the theory tir.-t originatedjin a chance guess only, with a "perhaps'" attached, of a certain well-known author now deceased. Would foxes, then so common, be at all likely to strike the attention of the primitive people who first named this marshy valley ? Would a marshy valley be likely to be the favourite resort of such an animal 1 Not in the least. But even if it were so, would the prevalence of the above animal, in any number whatever, be a hundredth part as striking as the peculiar situation and hydrography of the place 1 With respect to the numerous different spellings of the second syllable in the name "Todmorden," that is a consideration of little importance ; for whether Celtic or Teuton, whether Gaelic or Anglo-Saxon, the syllable might be spelt the one way or the other, the Gaelic mathair (pronounced ma-er), being equal to the Teuton mare, and mothair (pronounced mo-er) equal to mor, more, or moor ; for instance, among Anglo-Saxon place-names, we have " Moreton-in-the-Marsh " and " Marton-on-the-Moor." As is well known to philologists, moor, more, mor, mar, mare, meer, and mere are but so many different forms of the same old and interesting Aryan root, signifying " the gathering place of waters," "the source and mother of streams." So in the Celtic shire of Devon, Exmoor signifies simply the source of the water or stream, the Celtic word Exe, water, having at first been a common, though now it is a proper, name. Thus Exmoor, Ash- more, Todmore, Tormar, and the several Tormores are the same. And similarly Dartmoor, in Devon, means the source of the stream, the Celtic root, in this case, being the very one from which we have been trying to educe the first syllable of the name "Todmorden," which root we also find in scores of river-names in 112 A DIFFICULT LANCASHIRE PLACE-NAME. this and other English counties, as the Dore in Hereford, the Darcnt in Kent, the Darwin in Lancashire, the numerous Derwents, &c, &c. So then, to conclude, if the Gaelic root dothar, water or stream takes, as we have seen it does, the forms tod, toad, tor, and der, among a crowd of others, then Todmor, Todmpre, Todmare, or Todmcre, in Todmorden, in Celtic Lancashire, Toad-moor, in Celtic Derbyshire, Tormar, in Tormarton in Gloucestershire, and the various Tormores, may be the same as dermere in 'Windermere, on the borders of this county, and otter similar names of water- sources. And this would seem to be the most reasonable theory, especially in view of the notable circumstance (itself an important factor in the present problem), that the names of places, all the world over, are so often determined by tbe hydrography, that is to say, by the hydrographical relations of those places. In fact, the proportion of such names is enormous. The interpretation, therefore, which is here humbly submitted of the peculiar place-name, Todmorden, is "The wooded valley of the water-source." Note. — We observed, some time ago, that a learned writer on these matters in the Edinburgh Review, in giving a list of English place-names, went the length of classing "Todmorden" with the place-name Todjield. But the two names really fall under two quite distinct categories. If in the study of place-names there is one rule more important than the rest, it is that the different syllables of a name shall be considered not only individually but in their relations to one another. Now, the watery connection of the second syllable in " Todmorden" has been denied by none who have closely examined the matter. When, therefore, it is shown by evidence that might be multiplied twentyfold that the first syllable has the same connection, the conjunction of the two at once suggests the hundreds of similar place-names scattered over the three kingdoms. BOOKS THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. 113 BOOKS THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. YKKY interesting book might be written, b\ r one who had tlir requisite learning and leisure, on those hundreds of proverbial sayings, wise saws, and choice sentiments, whose real authorship, though known to the learned, is merely guessed at by the multitude, including no inconsiderable proportion of the vast army of gentlemen who write with ease. When we say "real authorship," we speak, of course, relatively to the limits of literary history. Doubtless, if the whole mass of ancient wit and wisdom had hern preserved to us in literary archives, the claims of originality put forward on behalf of many extant authors would have to be considerably reduced. Even to such students as have been permitted merely to glance over the wider literary field, the frequent mis-ascription to recent authors of sentiments and ideas which have been in literary currency for hundreds — often thousands — of years, must be a source of unending amuse- ment. Another, and not less interesting, book might be written upon those fine ideas and sentiments — those diamonds of thought which, having been first cut and set by a master-hand in so cunning and perfect a manner as to defy improvement, are regarded as the stock-jewels of the intellectual cabinet, and are found from time to time shining in the works of authors the most original. Amongst these we may instance the well-worn passage in the Fifth Canto of the " Inferno " of Dante, where, in the incident of Francesca of Rimini, Francesca is made sorrowfully to exclaim : — nessnn maggior dolore ('lie ricordiirsi del tempo felice Nella miseria. H 114 BOOKS THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. which Tennyson, whilst borrowing, sufficiently acknowledges, in the lines of Locksley Hall : -this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. Apropos to this, we remember a London critic, some years ago, whilst reviewing the then published works of the late Laureate, pointing in triumph to the passage : " This is truth," &c, as stolen from Dante without acknowledgement, whereas in the above passage Tennyson clearly means by " the poet,*' not him " self, but the great Florentine who penned the original lines ' We might with more reason take Robert Browning to task, where that very original writer appropriates, in one of his later poems, the well-known passage in the "Prometheus" of ^-Eschylus " the multitudinous laughter of the waves." This Browning uses in his poem, in the words : — O laughters manifold Of Ocean's ripple, &c. A third book, of high and startling interest, might be written on literary parallels. Not such parallels as that between Mignon's song in the " Wilhelm Meister " of Goethe : Kennst du das land wo die citronen bluh'n, &c. and the commencement of Byron's "Bride of Abydos," for here our Byron distinctly imitates Goethe, but upon those particular passages of this or that eminent author which have been con- sidered as peculiarly his own, as the distinct outcome and product of his idiosyncrasy, as the very touchstone by which his originality is proven and yet which have their parallels in earlier authors. Very often, for instance, have we found the finest critics quoting this line of the exquisite " Bugle Song," or "Echo," in the "Princess :" O kark, hear ! so thin and clear, &c. as "peculiarly Tennysonian," and asserting that it could not possibly have proceeded from any other poet, whereas the same form of expression is to be found in a poem of Emma Yon Nindorf's, a German poetess who was not unknown in English lettered circles fifty years ago. HOOKS THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. 115 Again, and touching here on the sentiment more than on the peculiar manner, if ten men of wide reading were asked what passage of our poet Moore was the most characteristic of hi^ genius, and the most peculiarly " Mooreish," nine of them would probably give the oft-quoted lines : You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, Hut the scent of the roses will hang round it still ! Vet the very same idea occurs in the Ad Lcetam of St. Jerome, the saint himself deriving it from Horace, who has it in his 2nd Epistle, 1st Book, lines G9 and 70. Indeed, substituting " wine- jar " for " flower- vase," one may, by a slight periphrasis, trans, late Horace in the very words of Moore. Another book, certainly not of inferior interest, might be written on remarkable literary errors. "Speaking of errors," said Lessing, to an author not distin- guished for his accuracy, and who had come to consult the great German in regard to a " Table of Errors " to be appended to a work of his, " suppose you were to put the whole of your book in the ' Table of Errors.' ' Going upon this principle, the list of literary errors, committed even within the historic period, woidd no doubt be a very heavy one ! But with literary errors of this kind we are not at present concerned. Nor by " remarkable literary errors " do we mean those which blur and mar occasional passages in the very greatest authors, such, for instance, as that passage in the Odyssey where Homer makes all the four winds of heaven to be blowing at once — an absurdity in which he is followed by Virgil in a familiar passage of the yEneid ; or the few well-known errors in our Shakespeare, Avhich we need not indicate. Still less, by "remarkable errors," do we mean mere tropes and figures untrue to nature, as where Byron (who is more often at fault in this respect than many would think) describes Father Ocean as rejoicing in an "azure brow," &c. No; we mean, on the contrary, those much more important errors which, being closely connected, and interlaced as it were, with the lead- ing idea, are carried over many pages of the finest poetry, and h2 116 BOOKS THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. vitiate the whole, no unravelling or disentanglement being possible. ' Here, to give but a single instance, is one which we have never yet seen referred to in the pages of contemporary criticism, to be found in Keats — the Keats of golden promise, in whom certainly, if in any one, were gathered the elements of a poet of the very first order, and whose untimely death all men of finer mould must for ever mourn. We allude to that magnificent invocation to Pan, occurring in Endymion — a poem in which Keats piles up such mountains of nectared sweets as surely never poet piled up before. Here is the invocation, which it will be necessary to quote with some fulness in order to show distinctly the point at issue, which is that through adopting a certain popular notion, founded in error, with regard to the attributes of the god Pan, as fabled by the Greeks, Keats has seriously marred a magnificent piece of writing. "O thou, whose mighty pakace-roof doth hang From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death Of unseen fl iwers in heavy peacefulness ; Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken ; And through whole solemn hours dost sit, and hearken The dreary melody of bedded reeds — In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth ; Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx — do thon now, By thy love's milky brow ! By all the trembling mazes that she ran, Hear us, great Pan ! " thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles. What time thou wanderest at eventide Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side Of thine enmossed realms : O thou, to whom Broad-leaved fig trees even now foredoom Their ripened fruitage; yellow-girted bees Their golden honeycombs ; our village leas Their fairest blossomed beans and poppied corn ! The chuckling linnet its live young unborn, To sing for thee ; low creeping strawberries Their summer coolness ; pent-up butterflies Their freckled wings ; yea, the fresh budding year All its completions — be quickly near, By every wind that nods the mountain pine, O forester divine ! hooks THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. 117 " Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies For willing service ; whether bo surprise Tin- squatted hare while in half-Bleeping lit ; Oi- upward ragged precipices flit To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw ; Or by mysterious enticement draw Bewildered shepherds to their path again : Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, And gather up all fancifullesf shells Fnv thee to tumble into Naiads' cells, And, being hidden, laugh at their outpeeping ; Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping, The while they pelt each other on the crown With silvery oak apples, and fir cones brown — H\ all the echoes that about thee ring, Hear us, O satyr king ! "O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shears, While ever and anon to his shorn peers A ram goes bleating ; Winder of the horn, When snouted wild boars, routing tender corn, Anger our huntsman : Breather round our farms, To keep off mildews, and all weather harms : Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds. That come a-swooning over hollow grounds, And wither drearily on barren moors ; Dread opener of the mysterious doors Leading to universal knowledge — see, Great son of Dryope, The many that are come to pay their vows, With leaves about their brows ! " Be still the unimaginable lodge For solitary thinkings ; such as dodge Conception to the very bourne of heaven, Then leave the naked brain : be still the leaven, That, spreading in this dull and clodded earth, ( rives it a touch ethereal— a new birth ; Be still a symbol of immensity ; A firmament reflected in a sea ; An element filling the space between ; An unknown — but no more : we humbly screen With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bending, And giving out a shout most heaven-rending, Conjure thee to receive our humble p;ean, Upon thy Mount Lycean !"' It will be seen that one of the leading ideas in this splendid invocation, which one never tires of reading, is that Pan of the Greek mythology — who, by the way, has no cxac - , parallel in the Roman mythology, the Faun being his nearest analogue — besides being the tutelary deity of shepherds, the god of rustics, and the country — besides possessing those lesser attributes so exquisitely 118 BOOKS THAT MIGHT BE WRITTEN. described by the poet — had other more important and further- reaching functions, that he was the that he was Dread opener of the mysterious doors Leading to universal knowledge, A symbol of immensity ; A firmament reflected in a sea ; An element filling the space between, &c. Now the idea of these larger powers attributed to Pan is founded on a notion which, though general, is a mistaken one. Pan, as fabled by the Greeks, was invested with no such lofty attributes. He was a lesser deity, an inferior god, whose special care it was to watch over the simple shepherds of Arcady and their sheepfolds. Thence, naturally enough, he came to have a sphere somewhat more extended. By Keats and others his domain and his functions have been extended, indeed ; and we repeat that this unfortunate extension has, pro tanto, spoiled one of the finest pieces of writing in our language. The popular but mistaken notion referred to finds its explana- tion in the confusion of Pan, deriving from paon, a shepherd, or o Pdon, the shepherd, with pan, similarly spelt, which signifies "the whole of things," the universe.* A word in conclusion. It is not a little noteworthy, as some one has remarked, that Keats, who has reproduced — shall we say realized — in English literature the Greek spirit, who has allowed us to breathe the very atmosphere in which the earlier Greek poets wrote as no one has done before him, should at the same time have so completely adopted modern modes of working. In the " Endymion," as has often been pointed out, the landscape fills the whole framework of the picture, man being but a tiny figure in the background ; the Greeks stood at the opposite pole. A combination such as Keats presents is phenomenal in literature. * Vide " Les Dieux de la Grece Antique," par M. Albert Reville Revue Germxni'/ui , 1SC1. GILBERT WHIT/:, OF SELBORNE. 119 GILBERT WHITE OF SELBORNE (Born 1720, Died 1793.) "/T^HE Natural History of Selborne, by the Rev. Gilbert vi^ White, Master of Arts," but Bachelor by condition. There is a fascination in the very title! Amid the crowd of bachelors of science and lettered bachelors that have contributed to the world's pleasure and instruction, what bachelor is dearer to the English heart than Gilbert White, of Selborne 1 Not Charles Lamb, among the lettered, not Sir Joshua, among painters, not honest John Dal ton, or amiable Sir Isaac, among the scientists, comes so near to us. And, by the way, what a lot of work — good, permanent, lasting work — the bachelors, as a body, have done for the world — and involuntary bachelors, for the most part, take our word for it, for men of sterling metal do not " wear their hearts upon their sleeves for daws to peck at !" When dear, •old Doctor Dalton, who was so long fixed in Manchester here that we may fairly claim him as a ; ' Manchester Man," and whom indeed \vc have already honoured by giving his name to one of our streets, was asked why he had never married, the old wound bled afresh, and he could only evade the question by quietly replying that he " had had no time." Of course he had had time, for the doctor had a great admiration for the sex, as we know by looking through a side-door ; but he could not wear the blood-red flower openly in his button-hole — certainly not ! This by the way. " The Natural History of Selborne !" Was there ever a more delightful book on natural history written in the English or any other language 1 We know of none. Its charm, which is 120 GILBERT WHITE, OF SEL BORNE. perennial, is also a peculiar one ; and the secret of this charm is what ? Some say it is that the book brings us at once out into the open air — that we live, through this author, the free, glad life of the birds, and the life of all the animal world that run wild about us, and that we are stirred and refreshed thereby. Some say it is the author's absolute truthfulness and candour, and his infectious enthusiasm in the pursuit of natural science in its various branches. But in all this White is surpassed by the American Thoreau, than whom a more enthusiastic lover of wild nature, or more devout worshipper of Pan, never lived ! Thoreau was the very child of Nature, and to get nearer the great heart of her, to count her pulses, to get at the very kernel of things ; and to get, at the same time, at what are the absolute essentials, as apart from the accidents and accessaries of human life, he lived for a while in the American woods alone. Of this writer, who, be it known, was no mere disciple of Emerson, it is said that he has put on record more observations — more accurate observations — of natural objects, and natural phenomena, than any writer since Aristotle. But Thoreau was not merely a naturalist, he aimed at philosophy. He was fond of considering man in his relation to nature, and of condemning existing systems of society, without pointing out any adequate remedies for the diseases he rather savagely diagnosed. There was something of harsh and uncom- promising in his judgments ; and through much of his writing there runs a vein of irony Avdiich makes it unpleasant reading. The unrestjul spirit is too evident. Gilbert White, on the other hand, addresses himself directly to Nature herself, and to the facts before him, without philo- sophising; and through his clear, transparent style there escapes nothing acrid or harsh, but all is bathed in the sweet sunshine of a thoroughly genial and kindly nature. Above all there is calm. We come out of the hurly-burly, and whirl of things, to learn some more particulars about the old family Tortoise ! The author writes in absolute tranquillity, and to read him is to rest ; GILBERT WHITE, OF SELBORNE. )21 he perplexes and vexes us not by recurring to the ever-insoluble problem, and we feel not "the burthen of the mystery!' On the contrary, we are calmed and cheered ; and in this complexion of mind it is that we look out upon nature and upon man. All Europe may be labouring in the throes of a dire convulsion, hut no echo of this — not the faintest — reaches our ears. Emperors and kings may quake upon their thrones, and the rising peoples may topple them down, but Nature herself remains steadfast, calm, eternal — Nature's calm is on and in this book ! His beautiful style, amiable temper, and direct way of looking at and dealing with the facts of nature — these are at least a large element in the peculiar charm exercised by Gilbert White upon his readers ; and these are largely the element that will make a plain natural history book, written more than a century ago, to be read after much of the "science" it contains is old and out of date ; for, as a great German has wisely remarked : Science is nol like a house that is built and completed, but rather like a tree that continues to grow and develop. White's book, in fact, is one of our permanent Britigh classics — read wherever the Jhiglish language is read ; and an English library from which it was missing would be regarded as in- complete indeed. Even in this time of plenitude of books, the " Natural History of Selborne " is indispensable, for the reason that although there are many books, there is no super-abundance of good books ; and this is to pay a handsome tribute to the genius of Gilbert White. Of the new impulse the book gave to the study of natural history in this country, and how powerful an agent it has been in the spreading of those quiet, gentle tastes that are so much better than the noisy and violent pleasures, with their dregs of bitterness — often shame, we have not spoken ; nor of its large influence in leading men of similar tastes to publish the result of their observations made within the limits of their several localities, in the form of local floras and faunas. But in all this beneficent work, it will be admitted on all hands, that the " Natural History of Selborne " has been an enormous factor. 122 GILBERT WHITE, OF SEL BORNE. And thus the dear old Bachelor Parson, writing privately to his friends from an obscure Hampshire parish with a population of a few hundreds, in increasing the world's knowledge of the facts of nature, and widening the avenues to rational pleasure, is distinctly to be numbered amongst those benefactors of the race whose names are worthy of all honour. Nay, the parish of Selborne is already — every foot of it — -classic ground, and the annual goal of hundreds of devout pilgrims. And of the name and fame of good old Gilbert White we would say, from the bottom of our heart : Esto perjpetua ! ROBERT FEROUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 123 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. TWO PAPERS KEAD BEFORE THE LITERARY CLUB OF MANCHESTER.* First Paper. "V/N a previous article on the subject of Burns,! we stated that (Vj there was scarcely a single Englishman of average reading who, if appealed to, would not claim full acquaintance both with the "Life" and "Works" of Robert Burns. In the present papers, having regard to their inevitable length, it will be highly convenient to admit the above claim, and to assume familiarity on the reader's part with the " Works," at least, of Scotland's and Britain's greatest lyrical poet; for by pursuing this course we shall escape the necessity of quotation, reference alone being needed to those poems which we shall have occasion from time to time to bring under review. But as regards the Edinburgh poet, the once " famous Fergusson," the " writer-chiel, o' deathless name," we shall proceed on the contrary assumption, viz., that be is very little read, and that those who are familiar with his "Works" are few indeed. With regard to the subject of Burns's precursors, it is one that has been, [as yet, very insufficiently dealt with, and one that might, as we think, very worthily have occupied a pen of more acknowledged weight and power. But however inadequately the subject of one only of these precursors may here be treated, * J 885. t " Robert Burns considered as a Naturalist,"' page 24. 124 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. we cannot think that at a time of so much second-hand criticism) any contribution will be found unacceptable that shall throw even the smallest additional light upon so astounding a phenomenon. We say " astounding phenomenon," for that one so lowly born as was Robert Burns, so little helped of his fellows, or of fortune, writing for the most part in an obscure dialect, should within SO' brief a space have stormed the hearts not only of his own countrymen, not alone of all Saxon-speaking peoples, but of the world at large, is a matter that may well excite our special wonder, and lead us to Ask of Nature, from what cause And by what rules She trained her Burns to win applause That .shames the Schools ! Do we exaggerate ? No. To have revived a moribund dialect, — an uncouth dialect, and one, moreover, little suited, in- ordinary hands, to express the higher efforts of the imagina- tion ; to have firmly planted this dialect in literature ; to have imposed it on the world, and rendered it classical henceforth, insomuch that one could almost as readily dispense with his " Shakespeare " as his " Burns :" this is a stupendous achieve- ment, it is the labour of a Titan, but it is the work of the Ayrshire ploughman ; and to so great a poet, genius, and Master, we would here, before venturing upon any criticism of him, or of his works, pay our most ready, sincere, and grateful homage : Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays. If, as will be admitted, the Common Heart of Man be the poet's peculiar domain, then he who most strongly and powerfully storms that heart is Lord indeed. And where, in what language written or spoken of men, shall we find a more passionate and penetrating voice, a more stormy appeal to the great Heart of Humanity, than in the poems and songs of Burns ? Well might he be apostrophised as the " Spirit fierce and bold " by his great successor, Wordsworth, in those impressive lines written at the poet's grave seven years after his death : ROBERT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 125 I shiver, Spirit fierce and hold, At though) of what I uow behold : As vapours breathed from dungeons cold Si tike pleasure dead, So sadness conies fnnn out the mould Where Burns is laid. A "Spirit tierce," indeed, our poet was — fierce in his loves, fierce in his hates, fierce in his joys, fierce in his griefs — always aflame, always glowing at white heat, and possessed of — say rather by — a lyrical passion ] v intense than ever yet burned in human breast. This perfervid feeling, this intensity of passion, this tremendous fire of the soul, it is that enables Burns to carry us all — cold and ardent alike — literally by storm and assault. "We are uplifted in spite of ourselves, we are wrapt as in a whirlwind, and borne away by and with the poet whithersoever he listeth Be it pathos, be it humour, the stroke of Burns declares him Master ; it falls direct as the bolt of heaven, and glows with the flame of his matchless genius. Hence it is that, "although he has left us," as Carlyle very justly observes, " with scarcely any exception, mere occasional effusions, poured forth with little premeditation, expressing by such means as offered the passion, opinion or humour of the hour " ; we say although Burns has left us but these, yet is he, by virtue of the great qualities above described, to be numbered — and the tribute is an enormous one— among the most powerful, not of British poets oidy, but of all poets. Through busiest street and loneliest glen Are felt the Hashes of his pen ; He rules 'mid winter snows, and when I let- till their hives ; Deep in the general heart of men His power survh es. His power survives; and the secret of this power, as we have seen, consists in the poet's directness of stroke, and in the tremendous and all-consuming fire of his own tierce spirit. Bui it consists in more than this, for this is not the whole secret; it consists in an understanding of marvellous strength and clearness that recalls the great objective poets, and in an infallible shrewd sense, reminding one of Emerson's observation touching Shake- speare, that it would have taken a very sharp business man indeed 126 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. to have got the better of him in any bargain whatsoever ; or in other words, that the Bard of Avon would have been hard to cheat. So with poet Burns. The fact is that imagination — a disciplined imagination — so far from being a hindrance in the conduct of affairs, is an important auxiliary ; nay, in many departments of business a large measure of the imaginative faculty is just as valuable as so much capital or stock in trade ; and we are convinced that more men fail in their undertakings through a deficiency than through an excess of this too much decried faculty. As somebody has acutely remarked, if Robert Burns had but given his mind to farming, success could not have failed him, bad seasons apart; for Burns, though as true a poet as ever struck lyre, was essentially a practical, hard-headed and long- headed man, taking full and intimate cognizance of all that was happening around him, and passing upon men and things a judgment, as we said just now, well nigh infallible. Above all poets, he is near to us, not remote ; he is mundane, he walks the earth, not the clouds ; he is intimate, familiar, fraternal, brimming over with love of his kind; the fervid flood of sympathy welling up from his mighty heart, as the very sweetest milk of human kindness, laps us and heals us ; we cannot speak of him but caressingly, he is "Robin," "Rob," " Rab," " Rabbie." Not a social gathering of Anglo-Saxons, the wide-world over, but he is an element in that gathering. He is a distinct power, binding and cementing nations ; he is a declared factor in the solidarity of peoples. The measure of the world's indebtedness to him, who shall estimate or assess ? How, by his matchless songs of love and friendship, to which the whole world's heart vibrates, in every land and clime, he has made life — our common, human life — sweeter and richer — infinitely sweeter and infinitely richer; and how he has ennobled the lives'of the countless toilers of the world ! As the genial, jolly, Flaccus, the delight of the Rome of his time and of every age since, is to the Latin poets, so is Burns to our modern poets. The wisdom of the one, as of the other, is a mellow wisdom; and the extremely human weakness of both, self-acknowledged and confessed in broad day, bring ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 127 them nearer to us — often very near indeed. About Burns we have how strong a savour of the earth ! and the wonder is that, with so strong a savour, he should carry so much of heaven in his heart. Never, surely, since Shakespeare, has Nature compounded in these islands so happy a mixture of strong sense and fine sentiment as is found in this poet, to whom, as regards his in- tellectual side, one might aptly apply the expression of James Russell Lowell touching a great writer of the west, whose head was as a well-balanced sphere, with One pole on Olympus and t'other on 'Change. Hence it is that Burns's power is felt nob only amid the solitudes of nature, where his mighty muse is thoroughly at home, but in the crowded places of the earth — in the streets and alleys of our towns and cities, teeming with busy life. Having thus paid worthy homage to this Prince of Song- writers and King of Men, one may be permitted to turn here and look at the spots on the sun ; but only for a moment, for to consider our poet at any length from the moral standpoint is beyond the scope of these papers ; one or two points only shall we refer to. That Burns, the fearless and the bold, whose complete sincerity, thorough independence, and generally clean moral health, breathe like a rich essence from his pages— that Burns who, with his scathing satire, so shattered and shivered the Shams and the Shoddies of his time, as of all time ; who so snubbed the Snobs, and hustled the Humbugs, and punished the Pinchbecks, and ousted and routed the great families of Rant and Cant, should, himself, have preached false doctrine, is to be regretted. But the fact is as indubitable as it is regrettable ; we allude to that brilliant, and only too memorable, lapse in the "Vision ": I saw thy pulse's maddening play Wdd send thee pleasure's devious way, Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, By passion driven ; But yet the light that led astray Was light from heaven ! 128 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. No doubt the sophism is splendid — splendid in its expression, splendid in its very audacity, insomuch that the ordinary reader is blinded by the splendour, and but half perceives the fallacy it gilds and covers. Yet is the doctrine here enunciated pregnant with mischief, and most pernicious ; and well is it that another great poet* should so nobly have controverted and demolished the brilliant sophism — a sophism but too obviously intended as a cover for the poet's own excesses in the convivial circle. And this brings us to a matter which has been much and hotly dis- cussed, viz., Burns's intemperance, upon which a "last word" here, Ave hope not an intemperate one. A propos to this subject it may be remarked that no intelligent Frenchman could possibly read our Scottish dialect poets with- out being reminded of his great countryman, Rabelais, and above all of the humorist's giant-hero, Gargantua, who, following veracious records, came into this world shouting : ii boire / a boire ! In fact, a great part of the Scottish anthology what is it but a splendid apotheosis of John Barleycorn ! " The fuddlin' bardies, nowadays " says Fergusson, who unfortunately was one of them, though he did write a poem on "Cold Water"! — a once famous poem, and still unique as the most considerable tribute ever paid by Scotchman to the pure element ! The fuddlin' bardies, nowadays, Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus's praise ; And limp and stoiter thro' their lays Anacreontic, While each his sea of wine displays As big's the pontic. But, as we remarked, of these " fuddlin' bardies " unhappily Fergusson was one, and the learned Dr. Geddes, whilst writing handsomely of him in other respects, in dialect, gives prominence to this fact. As contemporary references to the poet are not too numerous, and by way of illustration, we may quote Geddes's words, which indeed are so characteristically quaint that they recommend themselves : * Wordsworth. + " Cauler Water." ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBKHT BURNS. \-29 W'hare noo, the nyinpli< that weent to feed Their Hocks upon the lt;uik.s of Tweed ; And sang sae moiiy a winsome ail- About the bus abooq Traquair? Wae's me ! sin Ramsay disappeared, Their tunefu' voice is na mail hear'd : Nor hae their charms sinsyne been shown Except to FeiLMis-on alone. W-wierded wight ! wha would prefeer A learning bicker o' Bell's beer To a' the nectar that (list il> Frae Phoebus 1 munt in sucar't rills ; And loe"d Auld Reekie's boussom lasses Mair than the Maidens o' Parnassus. Yet lie had ilka art to please, And \\ in t lie dint iest even of these : His was the reed sae sweet and shrill That sang the " Lass o' l'atie's Mill'' ; To him belang't the weel-strung lyre That tempered Hammie's native me; And Forbes' fife, >ae feat an' trim, Was left but onv doubt to him. But nouther reed, nor lyre, nor fife Regarded he, but drank thro' life, And leugh, until the cauld o' death < 'hilt his heart -blude, an' stapt his breath. He died, puir soul ! and wi' him died The relict Muse o' mither-lied ! How far our "fuddlin' bardies" may have contributed to swell the vast sum total of national drunkenness by the added charm of the Muse to what was already sufficiently alluring, and by their terrible anathemas breathed against non-drinkers, such as May gravels round his blather wrench, And gouts torment him inch by inch, Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch O' sour disdain Out owre a glass o' whisky punch Wi' honest men ! is a question we shall not here stop to discuss. But to deny Burns's intemperance, at one unfortunate period of his life, is as impossible as it is to justify it, and to attempt to excuse it would be folly ; for if brilliant social and intellectual qualities are to be pleaded in excuse in Burns's case, so in others : once grant the principle and it becomes a question of degree only. Yet the feeling of pity will, and must, creep in ; and if pity be to be invoked, what voice more eloquent than the poet's own ! Listen to him, conscious of his backslidings, pleading in his self-elected capacity as " counsel for poor mortals " at the bar of Eternal 130 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Justice. Surely it is the voice of that other sweet singer, the " Sweet Singer of Israel," a man described as " after God's own: heart," and who was yet "a man not without blemish"! But no ; the tones we hear, though worthy of the Royal Psalmist himself, in a moment of highest exaltation, are none other than those of the unlettered ploughman, Robert Burns : Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decided!}- can try us; He knows each chord — its various tone, Each string — its various bias ; Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it : What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. But enough from the moral standpoint, and enough of pre- amble ; proceed we now to the more immediate subject of this paper : Burns's literary obligations to Robert Fergusson. We said at the outset that the theme had almost the character of novelty; and so far as concerns the majority of readers such we hold to be the case, though no doubt to the occasional thorough student of English literature these obligations have long been known, whilst by the few critics who have dealt with the matter they have been variously and unequally assessed — under- estimated we venture to think, for the most part, but also now and again placed at too high a figure. On the European con- tinent, on the other hand, not only the general readers of Burns — and Burns's readers there are now very numerous — but literary students and critics are, as a rule, either ignorant of, or they ignore, this certainly very appreciable element in the building up of Burns's splendid genius. It becomes important, therefore, to present Fergusson's claims, so far as may be, in their true and just proportions. Even on this side the channel very few have taken the trouble to carefully compare for themselves the work of the two authors. How rarely in the libraries even of literary Scotchmen is a copy of Fergusson to be met with. Does anybody read him at all 1 One is almost tempted to put the further question: Has anybody ever read him, except a few special students 1 Is the poet Fergus- ROiiEitr n:i:<;rssox and i;oi;i:i:t r.rnxs. i;ji son "The writer-chiel o' deathless name," of whom Burns wrote so eulogistically, and of whom Gcddes could sing in the above handsome strain, already forgotten "J Impossible! Whilst the fame of Burns survives so long must that of Fergusson. Nor is Fcrgusson's importance to British literature a mere relative importance ; indeed, it may be said, conversely, that the smallness of his stature, considered as a Scottish poet, is but a relative smallness: for had there not arisen immediately after him a giant called " Burns" the elder poet's stature would have been so considerable that he must inevitably have been placed in the front rank of Scottish poets, or at any rate in the front rank of those writing in dialect. And this is surely the fairest and fittest way of estimating this amiable, if erring, genius, that is to say, without any reference to the Titan who succeeded him. In what relation would Fergusson have stood to the other poets of the Scottish dialect had there been no Burns 1 And what would have been Burns's development had Fergusson not preceded him % These are the questions at issue, and this the light, undoubtedly, in which they should be considered and studied. And first a word on the important subject of dialects — im- portant always, but of paramount importance in relation to the present article. "A man speaking in his native dialect," says Goethe, "speaks out his very soul." "Whatever may be the language of a man's thought " says L)e Quincey, " the language of his heart, of his emotions, will be his mother-tongue." In this expression of the German Master, and this sentence from an English writer of vast critical acumen, lies a great truth of which, if one seeks an illustration, none will be found more conspicuous than Robert Fergusson, whose p >ems in English, as compared with his poems in the Scottish dialect are, to use Tennyson's phrase : — As moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine. In fact, with a few notable exceptions, Fergusson's poems in English are very uninspired productions indeed ; and were it not that they serve purposes of comparison, and that they happen to be the writings of a poet whose fevered career ended at the early 12 132 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. age of twenty-four, they would hardly repay perusal. His poems in the lowland Scotch, on the other hand, apart from their relative interest as having to a considerable extent served Burns's turn, are all readable, many of them delightful, while some are altogether admirable. The same contrast, though much less marked, is observable in the works of the Ayrshire poet. How this contrast comes about let us further seek to enquire by the light of Goethe's Aveighty position above quoted. It is a noteworthy fact that Burns was often urged by his friendly correspondents and critics to abandon his favourite literary vehicle, the lowland Scotch, and take to pure English. One is heartily glad that he declined to be guided — or rather misguided — -by any such mistaken if well-meaning people. The cases of Burns and Fergusson, both of whom so largely adopted the Scottish idiom as a literary vehicle, proves the unerring character of their several instincts in choosing the mode of expression having, so to speak, most affinity with the genius of each. Had Fergusson written in pure English only, it is questionable if his fame as a poet would have survived his own generation. Had Burns not written in the Scottish idiom, with his vaster powers of imagination and humour, as of expression and adaptation, he might, indeed, have made a name in poetry, but most certainly Ave should have missed a full half of that Avhich to-day makes the Avhole world's delight. His happiest sallies of wit Ave should have missed ; his keenest strokes of satire Ave should have missed ; his finest touches of pathos Ave should have missed ; and Ave will even venture to add that Ave should have missed some of his noblest Mights into that high region of the imagination to which usually the Doric is considered an insuper- able bar. And an insuperable bar it usually is ; but Avhat bar is known to genius 1 Have Ave not often found genius to overleap seemingly impossible barriers? Nay, is it not the high privilege of genius to achieve that Avhich to ordinary people must always seem impossible ? Having thus launched upon the stormy sea of theoretical and tentative criticism, let us dare the high Avaves of controversy a ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 133 little further by hazarding the opinion that in regard to the above mutters the commanding voice of a great poet's genius must always direct him the way he should go. Whatever language, or dialect, therefore, a genius shall choose in which to speak and appeal to our hearts and minds, we who are thus spoken and appealed to are not absolved from the task of ac- quainting and familiarising ourselves with that language or that dialect. Indeed, were the principle of objecting to idioms, per se, to be established, what would become of the great masters of the past, each of whom writes in idiom. Does familiarity with Ovid, for instance, assume, or imply, familiarity with Horace, or with Virgil, though all three were contemporary and wrote in one common language 1 And similarly with the great moderns, each of whom writes in his own idiom, that is to say, in his own peculiar manner and phrase, requiring more or less of time, patience, and skill in the reading ; often a very large measure of all these, as witness the involved and difficult sentences of the eccentric Jean Paul ; not to name our English Carlyle, whose much-reading of eccentric German writers ended in making his own style and phrase almost equally eccentric. These and others of the world's widest-famed authors may really be said to write in dialect; but in such dialects that the world, were it not to learn and get them by heart betimes, would be how much the poorer ! What picturesque and powerful writing ! How the heart of humanity has thrilled to the stroke of the Ivichters, the Efcuskins, and others. To forbid the use of idiom, then, is to stifle individuality ; to forbid the use of dialects is to kill genius. It remains for us — nous autres — to take without demur " the good the gods provide us;" for the gods, or some occult power, it assuredly is that guides true genius in all these matters We have hitherto spoken of the Scottish tongue — the mode of expression chiefly affected by Burns and Fergusson, and which had such close affinity with the genius of each— as a dialect ; but is it a dialect, or is it a language'? " Most decidedly a language,' says a recent writer on the subject, "and not a dialect, as many English people believe." "Scotch," says this writer, "is no 134 ROBERT FERGUS SON AND ROBERT BURNS. more a corruption of English than the Dutch or Flemish is of the Danish, or vice versd ; but a true language, differing not merely from modern English in pronunciation, but in the possession of many beautiful words which have ceased to be English, and in the use of inflections unknown to literary and spoken English since the days of Piers Ploughman, and Chaucer."' But into a discussion of this matter we must not at present enter. In the meantime, for purposes of expediency, and of this article, we shall continue to speak of the Scottish as a dialect. Of this dialect, then, we have already remarked that it is one little suited, as a rule, to express the higher efforts of the im- agination. But in the case of Burns this imperfect instrument was not in ordinary hands ; on the contrary it was handled by a genius capable of bending to the purpose of his muse all forms and modes of expression. All language within Burns's ken is plastic and pliant to his hand, taking the shape and form that he wills, save and except the dramatic. Mark, how, in his Address to the Deil, in a poem distinctly humorous, he starts the imagina- tion careering away through boundless regions by a single pen-stroke ! Great is thy power, and great thy fame ; Far ken'd and noted is thy name ; And tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame, Thou travels far ; And, faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, Nor blate, nor scaur. Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, For prey a' holes and corners tryin' ; Whyles, on the strong-winged tempest flyin', TirhV the kirks ; Whyles, in the human bosom pryin', Unseen thou lurks. I've heard my reverend granny say, In lonely glens ye like to stray ; Or where auld ruin'd castles, grey, Nod to the moon, Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way Wi' eldritch croon. "What splendid power do we see here over the Scottish idiom in a department where it might well be the despair of the poet. We know not three verses in the world's literature in which, ROBERT FERGCSSOX AXD ROIiERT BURNS. 135 while the sense is distinctly humorous, there is given to the imagination an impulse so grand, so powerful. Note the force and sublimity dwelling in the three simple words, "Tirlin the kirks," in the middle stanza, and in "Nod to the moon" in the third. Into these high regions Fergusson rarely, or never, pene- trates ; his muse has not the stiength of wing to mount so high j nor, indeed, has he, at any time, anywhere near so large a measure of the peculiar vivida vis of the poet as his great successor, Burns. Still, in the lower regions of the imagination, •or, if we must nicely discriminate the faculties, in the region of the fancy, he is much at home, as we hope a little later to show. And in the department of humour, in the " slee, pawkie art," he excels above all ; here he has power, here he is a master, at times not inferior to Burns himself. In this respect, how ever, for the present, we must not consider him ; for this occasion it will suffice that we occupy the reader's attention whilst exhibiting him as a descriptive poet and writer of pastorals. Not that we are about to speak of Fergusson's pastorals written in English. Oh, no ! With these we have little concern ; and really it is a pleasure to pass them b}^ ! For the present we are concerned only with those written in the Scottish dialect — a ■dialect which, by its vast vocabulary, its extreme flexibility, pliability, and facility of elision, is particularly suited to descrip- tive poetry, as it is, also, to the pathetic and the humorous. Of Fergusson's Scottish pastorals, undoubtedly his best known, though now little-read work, is the Farmer's In</Ic, which besides 1)eing in its conception one of the most original is, in our opinion at least, one of the most delightful of pastorals ; and more per- fect, we venture to say, considered strictly as a Scottish pastoral, than even Burns's Cottar's Saturday Night, though this pronounce- ment may sound to certain ears very like heresy. And why is the Farmer's Ingle a more perfect Scottish pastoral than Burns's magnificent idyll 1 Because it is written wholly and entirely in ,the Scottish dialect, while in Burns's famous pastoral both the 136 ROBERT FERGUSSUN AND ROBERT BURNS. dialect and pure English are used, and not only used but unfortunately somewhat mixed. It will be remembered that in the Cottar's Saturday Night the- author distinctly states to Aitken, in the proemial part, that he is. about to simr The lowly train in life's sequestered scene, in simple Scottish lay, the distinction between English and Scottish' "lays "having been previously duly marked. But does he do this i On the contrary, out of the twenty-four stanzas contained' in the pastoral only nine partake of the dialect, the remainder being written in English ; though in such English, it is true, that we hardly regret it is not Scottish. Yet, as before hinted, to the poem, considered strictly as a pastoral, and distinctly purporting to be written in the Scottish idiom, this mixing of the two — the English and the dialect— must be regarded, critically speaking, as a drawback. That Burns could have avoided this, and made the poem a homogeneous one — that he could have adopted the idiom to the didactic, as well as the descriptive parts of the poem goes without saying, for, in sooth, what could he not have done ! To the above criticism it will, no doubt, be objected, in the first place, that to judge by the strict rules of art the composi- tions of one placed in the circumstances of Burns is unfair and unwarranted. But to this we would reply that neither here, nor subsequently in the course of these papers, is it intended to set up any standard of criticism save the poet's own, as exhibited in the majority of his dialect poems, in which defects of the kind referred to are not met with. Nor will anything be pointed out as an incon- gruity that is not so clearly and obviously such as to force us to the conclusion that its occurrence must have resulted solely from want of care, and not from want of skill, on the part of a writer of Burns's enormous powers. And in regard even to this particular composition of the Cottar* Saturday Night, there are doubtless those who will be disposed to urge that if in it Burns did mix the English with the Scottish idiom, he did it with a purpose, using the idiom in the descriptive part, and falling back ROBERT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 137 upon the English only in the didactic and declamatory portions. But no j at least five out of the fourteen descriptive stanzas are DOt written in the dialect at all but in pur.- English. One is warranted, therefore, in saying that, considered strictly as a Scot/i.</i pastoral, the Farmer's Ingle of Robert Fergusson is a more perfect production than Burns's world-famed idyll. To tin- former also is due the splendid merit of originality and first con- ception. The creative faculty how precious, how rare ! The imitative, how common ! After Robert Fergusson, with his Farmer's Ingle, came Dr. Charles Keith, with his Farmer's Ha\ a long, exceedingly readable, and in many respects, very meritorious poem. After both came Robert Burns, with his Cottar's Saturchnj Night, a composition which had it ten times the drawbacks above indicated would still remain and be a magnificent poem and a glory to the nation which has produced it. Need it be here (pioted from to verify the defects alleged 1 We prefer to assume perfect familiarity on the reader's part with so renowned a masterpiece ; let us rather quote at length the poem with which we have assumed him to be unfamiliar — the Farmer's Ingle of Fergusson, — upon the plan of which Burns notoriously and admittedly based his famous pastoral : — THE FARMER'S INGLE. Et multo imprimis hilarans convivia Baccho, Ante focum, si frigus erit. — Virg. Bur. When gloamin' grey out-owre the welkin keeks ; When Batie caws his owsen to the byre ; When Thrasher John, sair dung, his barn-door steeks, And lusty lasses at the dightin' tire : What hangs fu" leal the e'ening's coming cauld, And gars snaw-tappit winter freeze in vain ; Gars dowie mortals look baith blytbe and bauld, Nor rley'd \vi' a' the poortith o' the plain, Begin, my muse ! and chaunt in hainely strain. Frae the big stack, weel winnow't on the hill, Wi' divots theekit frae the weet and drift ; Sods, peats, and heathery trutl's the chimney till, And gar their thickening smeek salute the lift. The guidman, new come haine, is hlythe to find, When he out-owre the hallan flings his een, That ilka turn is handled to his mind ; That a' his housie looks sae cosh and clean ; For eleanlv house lo'es he though e'er so mean. J38 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Weel kens the guidwife that the pleughs require A heartsome meltith, and refreshing synd O' nappy liquor, owre a bleeezin' fire, Sair wark and poortith downa weel be ioin'd. Wi ] butter'd bannocks now the girdle reeks ; I' the far nook the bowie briskly reams ; The readied kail stands by the chindey cheeks, And bauds the riggin het wi' welcome streams, Whilk than the daintiest kitchen nicer seems. Frae this let gentler gabs a lesson lear : Wad they to labouring lend an eident hand, They'd rax fell Strang upon the simplest fare, Nor find their stamacks ever at a stand. Fu' hale and healthy wad they pass the day ; At night in calmest slumbers doze fu' sound ; Nor doctor need their weary life to spae, Nor drogs their noddle and their sense confound, Till death slip sleely on, and gie the hindmost wound. On sicken food has mony a doughty deed By Caledonia's ancestors been done : By this did mony a wight fu' weirlike bleed In brulzies frae the dawn to set o' sun. 'Twas this that braced the gairdies stiff and Strang, That bent the deadly yew in ancient days ; Laid Denmark's daring sons on yird alang ; Gar'd Scottish thristles bang the Roman bays, For near our coast their heads they doughtna raise. The couthy cracks begin when supper's owre ; The cheering bicker gars them glibly gash O' simmer's showery blinks, and winter's sour, Whose floods did erst their mailin's produce hash. 'Bout kirk and market eke their tales gae on ; How Jock woo'd Jenny here to be his bride ; And there how Marion for a bastard son, Upon the cutty stool was forced to ride, The waefu' scauld o' our Mess John to bide. The feint a cheep's amang the bairnies now, For a' their anger's wi' their hunger gane : Aye maun the childer, wi' a fastin' mou, Grumble and greet, and mak' an unco mane. In rangles round, before the ingle's lowe, Frae guidame s mouth auld warld tales they hear, •0' warlocks loupin' round the wirrikow ; 0' ghaists, that win in glen and kirk-yard drear ; Whilk touzles a' their tap, and gars them shake wi' fear ! For weel she trows, that fiends and fairies be Sent frae the deil to fleetch us to our ill ; The kye hae tint their milk wi' evil e'e, Ami coin been scowder'd on the glowin' kill. Oh mock na this, my friends, but rather mourn, Ye in life's brawest spring, wi' reason clear ; Wi' eild our idle fancies a' return, And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly fear ; The mind's aye cradled when the grave is near. SOBER T FL RQ USSOX A ND HO HER T li URNS. 1 39 Yet thrift, industrious, bides her latest days, Though age her sair dow'd front wi 1 runkles wave ; Yet frae the russet lap the spindle plays, Her e'ening' stent reels slit; as weel's the lave. On some feast day, t he wee things busket braw, Shall heeze her heart up wi' a silent joy, Fu' eadgie that her heail was up and saw Her ain s]nin eleedin' on a darling oye :* Careless though death should niak the feast her foy. In its auld lerroch yet the deas remains, Where the guidman aft streeks him at his ease ; A warm and canny lean for weary banes 0' labourers dyolt upon the weary leas. Round him will baudrons and the collie come, To wag their tail, and cast a thankfu' e'e To him wha kindly throws them mony a erum 0' kebbuck whang'd, and dainty fadge to pree ; Tli is a' the boon they crave, and a' the fee. Frae him the lads their mornin' counsel tak — What stacks he wants to thrash, what rigs to till ; How big a birn maun lie on Bassie's back, For meal and mu'ter to the thirlin mill. Neist, the guidwife her hirelin' damsels bids Glow'r through the byre, and see the hawkies bound ; Tak tent, case Crummy tak her wonted tids, And ca" the laiglen's treasure on the ground ; Whilk spills a kebbuck nice or yellow pound. Then a' the house for sleep begin to grien, Their joints to slack frae industry a while ; The leaden god fa's heavy on their een, And haHlins steeks them frae their daily toil : The cruizy, too, can only blink and bleer, The reistit ingle's done the maist it dow ; Tacksman and cotter eke to bed maun steer, Upon the cod to clear their drumly pow, Till waken'd by the dawnin's ruddy glow. Peace to the husbandman, and a' his tribe, W hase care fells a' our wants frae year to year ! Lang may his sock and cou'ter turn the glebe, And banks o' corn bend down wi' laden ear ! May Scotia's simmers aye look gay and green ; Her yellow hairsts frae scowry blasts decreed ; May a' her tenants sit fu' snug and bien, Frae the hard grip o' ails and poortith freed — And a lang lasting train o' peaeefu' hours succeed ! Here we have a composition enormously inferior to Burns's pastoral, as a whole, it is true, but fulfilling on the other hand all the conditions and requirements of a genuine Scottish pastoral, and in which the didactic and declamatory elements arc not too * (irandchild. HO ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. prominent. Here we have a picture breathing the very air of the country — redolent of the farm and of all things rural, written in the very language of the farmer himself. The picture of the tottering and superstitious uld grandmother, in the middle stanzas, is not only one of the most vivid pictures, but also one of the most pathetic strokes, in literature. In this well-balanced poem, too, we find a new stanza bent to the purposes of the pastoral muse of Scotland, and manipulated with a skill not to be surpassed. Here Fergusson distinctly leads and teaches Burns. It has often been complained of Ferguson that he has left us no poem of any length — that, however much he planned, he achieved and finished no work clc tongue haleine. Neither did Burns. But who calls, nowadays, for long poems, or reads them if produced, or even reads the great masterpieces of the past T And can it be doubted that one who could apply the lowland Scottish to the purposes of the rustic muse with a skill so con- summate, could, had he been so minded, have given us longer strokes of equal beauty and power ? And as for urging, as some have done, that the secular character of the poem is a defect and a deficiency, the thing is too absurd to need the expenditure of any ink in its condemnation. One is led to think of Miltonr with his grand organ-tones hushed in silence through drawbacks of an opposite character ! Having given the above charming idyll of Fergusson in its entirety whilst assuming on the reader's part perfect familiarity with the far grander idyll of Burns, to enter into a comparison of the two poems would be supererogatory. But it may be pointed out that, in writing his Cottar's Saturday Night, Burns had other poems of Fergusson's besides the Farmer's Ingle, both in his mind and at his hand, from which on occasion he failed not to draw. The splendid first line of the second stanza, for instance : November chill blows loud \vi' aagry sough, is distinctly adapted from a line in a poem of Fergusson's of con- siderable power entitled The Ghaists : A Churchyard Eclogue, where, ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 141 in a feigned " douff discourse" between two great public institu- tions, Heriot's and Watson's, the latter opens the dialogue with the words : Cauld blaws the nippin' North wi' angry sough. Again in the fine seventeenth stanza of his pastoral, in dwell- ing upon the religion of the cottage, Burns says : Compared wi' this, how poor Religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, Where men display to congregations wide / ), votion's i very grac( except tin In art. Wc have always regarded the last line of the above passage as one of the happiest in the whole poem, but we have also remembered that Fergusson expresses the same idea in his poem entitled Auld Reekie, though in a manner much more diffuse; and, in fact, as regards conciseness and terseness of expression, Fergusson is vastly inferior to Burns almost always, as well as in fire and intensity of feeling. In a passage of the last named poem, sufficiently caustic, in which Buckle's famous attack upon the gloomy Scotch Calvinist, with his rigid righteousness and relaxed morals, is anticipated by a century, will be found the foils et origo of this happy thought : On Sunday, here, an altered scene O' men and manners meets our een : Ane wad maist trow some people chose To change their faces wi' their clo'es, And fain wad gar ilk neibour think. They thirst for goodness as for drink ; But tJiere's an mien' dearth o' grac< That has nat mansion hut flu fw< , A ml in ri r en a nli/niii n pari 1 11 hi ii 1110*1 i-oriu i- 11' I In heart ! AVith these pungent words, in which the reader has a foretaste of the Edinburgh poet's satirical humour, we conclude our first paper on Burns and Fergusson. 142 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS Second Papek. /j] HE opinion has often been expressed that, although it may ^■^ be interesting to trace the elements out of which great poems have been built, yet there is a danger of thereby depre ciating genius. But surely if the genesis of a great work of genius is an unworthy subject for the critic, a very large pro- portion of the world's best literary skill has been thrown away ! We hold, on the contrary, that it is not only interesting, but that it is most important, and in every sense desirable, that the genesis of any considerable work of genius whatsoever should receive as thorough and searching an investigation as it is possible to apply to it ; and on these lines we intend to proceed in these papers. The main proposition submitted in our first paper was this : Does genius— poetical genius — in seeking expression, choose intuitively, and by its own instinct, the verbal vehicle having the closest affinity with itself 1 We hold that it does. If that is so,, then the poet, be he scholar or otherwise, who chooses to write in any dialect whatsoever knows perfectly well what he is about, and is not to be censured on that score. Now, as we said before, we know not in the whole wide range of poetry, a more conspicuous illustration of the above argument than Robert Fergusson, the poet of all others, writing in the Scottish dialect, whom Burns delights to honour, and his obliga- tions to whom he not only acknowledges but loudly proclaims telling us repeatedly that it was at Fergusson's flame that his own genius first kindled. ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 143 Fergusson was, bo to speak, college-bred, an educated and a cultured man, a scholar, a learned man in so far a.s that epithel can 1m- applied to a young person, but was, at the same time, in constant relations with the Scottish peasantry, and conversed familiarly with them in their own language. He had easy- command, for purposes of literary expression, of both English and the dialect ; and he was emphatically a genius. But that he was such, did you confine yourself to his purely English poems, you would, as we have before hinted, hardly discover. To the critic who looks below surfaces, indeed, it might appear that there was something of original about the poet's mode of treating his subjects, and even about the choice of titles for them. And this, undoubtedly there is. Witness such poems as " The Bugs" and " The Sow of Fading," the first of which, in its humbleness may have suggested much to Burns, whilst the second must, one thinks, have been read by that delightfullest of English humorists*- Charles Lamb, between whom and Fergusson, so far as regards temperament and general complexion of mind, there is some resemblance. Moreover, throughout Fergusson's English, as throughout his Scotch poems, there breathes a noble feeling of candour and independence, of boldness without presumption, that must impress the most casual reader. <; No fleechin', rletherin' dedication " — no sycophancy, no truckling, or pandering what soever — less even than in Burns. The lines To Sir John Fielding on his attempt to suppress " The Beggars' Opera," of Gay, has all the incisiveness, with much of the freedom and vigour of Pope; and the Epilogue, spoken at the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, is a happy effort. But planted in the English garden, the flowers of Fergusson's wit put forth their blossoms sparsely ; albeit of such a respectable handful might be gathered. Here, in My last Will, is an important consideration and consolation for the " ragged followers of the nine." Thanks to the gods who made me poor ! No lukewarm friends molest my door, Who always show a busy can' For hein^' legatee, or heir : Of this stamp none will ever follow The youth that's favoured by Apollo ! 144 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. And how near to the humour and the touch of Lamb do we come in the following lines : To Jamie Rae who oft jocosus With me partook of cheering doses, I leave my snuff-box to regale His senses after drowsy meal, And wake remembrance of a friend Who loved him to his latter end ; But if this pledge should make him sorry And argue like memento mori, He may bequeath 't 'mong stubborn fellows, To all the finer feelings callous, Who think that parting breath's a sneeze To set sensations all at ease. The idea of the pinch of snuff " waking remembrance " of the defunct owner of the box is Charles Lamb all over. In his poems in the Scottish dialect it is that we find the real Fergusson. Here his genius shines out so clear and bright in the poetic heaven that not even the effulgence of that near, and greater star, Burns, can w holly eclipse its brilliancy. But as in the physical heavens no star, save one of surpassing splendour, catches the vulgar eye, so Fergusson shines on unnoticed among the minora sidera of Scottish poetry. This as regards the present ; in the past it was otherwise. Indeed, as concerns the Scottish people, in whose language the genius of Fergusson found its own language, no sooner had he written than they saw and felt his power. Fergusson's Scotch poems obtained, as they deserved to obtain, immediate popularity ; they were in all mouths within a circle restricted only by the want of means of communication ; and until Burns wrote and published— let this be especially noted — were the best of their kind in the Scottish dialect ; and what is more, had Burns not arisen, would have been the best of their kind to this day ! It is therefore of the last importance that, when we come to consider Fergusson, we should consider him strictly on his merits, and for the nonce keep entirely out of view, and out of mind, the great poet who immediately followed and in part obliterated him. In what department, then, was it that Fergusson's genius made itself thus powerfully felt with the Scottish people in the Scottish dialect ? Undoubtedly as a descriptive poet, and above all as a ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS, 145 poetical humorist and satirist Fergusson possesses a vein of satirical humour which is none the less incisive for being what the Scotch call " ' pawkie." If his satire lacks the force and vigour of Burns's, it is hardly less powerful through the absence of any soupcon of rancour or bitterness ; though certainly when he avoids personalities Burns takes no unkindly view of human nature, but on the contrary an eminently sympathetic one. But unfortunately Burns avoids personalities too seldom, and indeed it is impossible to deny — let us not be blinded by the splendour of his genius — it is impossible to deny that his nature was a vindictive one. A thousand suppressions of personal allusions are sufficiently conclusive as to the existence of this serious defect in the character of the Ayrshire poet. And further, it is impossible to deny that his poetry very often discovers a querulous spirit wholly unworthy of a great writer, and which is rendered the more conspicuous by the admirable lessons he in- culcates, in some of his very earliest poems, of the many and various compensations attending the poor man's lot. It should seem, in fact, that despite his splendid preachings to others, Burns himself never really attained to that philosophic state of mind which enables a man to see how very much that human medley we call " society " is the result of mere accident, merit being quite as often at the bottom of the ladder as at the top. As Coleridge puts it : — How seldom, Friend ! a good, great man inherits Honour or wealth, with all his worth and pains ! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains. Yet the philosophic eye sees, even amid the confused and whirling medley, a kind of moral order ; hence that beneficent doctrine of compensation which Burns, of all poets, preaches the most powerfully and splendidly to mankind. Vet it should seem unconsciously preaches, since the poet himself, who most needs it, fails to take the benefit of his own preachings ! "What matters it to the philosophic mind whether a man be worth a mite or a million, whether his coat be threadbare or j 146 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. gilded, whether he wear a cap or a coronet, whether he live in a hut or a palace : The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man's the go\rd for a' that. The philosophic mind knows and knows to allow for this, that Fortune herself has placed the million or the mite in this or that man's hand ; and it knows, further, that Fortune is not so blind after all, seeing that nine times out of ten the man with the mite is the happier of the two, and poor as he is can afford to laugh at his millionaire brother. Undoubtedly this great poet, and idol of the world, is less great by the fact that in his character and conduct he is so often false to his own principles and preachings. That Burns had much to complain of must be admitted ; but while, as a poet, he was much better treated, as a man he was certainly not worse used than Fergusson, from whose poetry the querulous spirit is almost entirely absent. Not that the ultimate fate of either could have been averted, considering Burns's enormous pride, and the prone- ness of both to yield to the allurements of conviviality. To Fergusson Hope told tales as flattering as they proved to be fallacious. On leaving the University of St. Andrew's, where, largely by his own efforts, he had been able to pass a three years course, he Avas tantalised for some time by prospects of advance- ment. The advancement never came ; on the contrary, from the the very quarter whence it was expected came insult and positive injury. Moreover, his poems in the Scottish dialect, though from the first highly popular, brought him no appreciable emolument. The publication of Burns's second edition, on the other hand, placed the Ayrshire poet for the nonce in a position of compara- tive independence ; and had he but been true, as we said before, to those principles whom none have taught and inculcated with more power or impressiveness than himself, he might have led a long, happy, and honoured life. But with his eyes wide open — far wider open than those of ordinary mortals — he obstinately passed, to use his own admirable phrase, "douce Wisdom's door ROBERT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 147 for glaiket Folly's portals," and rushed upon his fate. Fergusson was similarly self-deluded, and fell the victim of his own folly. One uses the language of censure perforce, though far less in anger than in sorrow — perforce, because not to censure is to excuse the inexcusable ; for that which is vice is vice, even though gilded and approved by the Master-singers of the world. Away with the sophism, so unworthy of a great teacher and Master, that " the light which leads astray" is, or can be, at any time or under any circumstances, " light from heaven." Between Burns and Fergusson there are some parallels and some contrasts. Of the parallels, perhaps this is the most note, worthy that both were conversationalists of extraordinary brilliancy. Indeed, all who heard Burns's conversation during his first sojourn in the Scottish metropolis agree that if he was a living wonder in poetry he was a still greater marvel in the convivial circle and in conversation. And some who had the rare privilege of knowing both poets incline to think that the conversational powers and convivial charms of Fergusson sur- passed even those of Burns ? " There was such a richness of conversation," says one of these last, referring to the Edinburgh poet, "such a plenitude of fancy, and attraction in him, that when I call the happy period of our intercourse to my memory I feel myself in a state of delirium. I was then younger than Fer- gusson by eight or ten years, but his manner was so felicitous that he enraptured every person around him, and infused into the heads of the young and the old the spirit and animation which operated on his own mind. That Mr. Robert Burns has refined in the art of poetry must readily be admitted, but 1 am yet to learn that he inherits Fergusson's convivial powers." Again, both Burns and Fergusson — but Fergusson first, be it always remembered, conceived the design, a most noble and patriotic one, of writing a pastoral poem — a poem descriptive of Scottish country life, which should be at once thoroughly racy of the soil and a true national idyll, and both succeeded admir- mirably, each executing his design in his own fashion, Fergusson showing the true artistic instinct, by employing throughout his- j2 148 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. charming idyll the Scottish idiom exclusively. We say the true " artistic instinct," for the genuine pastoral is assuredly not the mixed kind, but that which well describes the country and country manners and things in the actual language of country folk. Burns using both mediums, i.e., both English and the Scottish dialect, and indeed somewhat inartistically mixing the two, but yet using both with such splendid total effect as almost to disarm criticism, and leave us filled only with wonder and admiration at the genius which could accomplish so much. " Of the manifest beauties of The Farmer's Ingle, says Dr. Irving, Burns seems to have been fully aware ; it undoubtedly suggested to him the subject of his Cottar's Saturday Night. Each of these poems claims our decided approbation. The merit of an original design rests with Fergusson ; but the praise of exciting the highest degree of interest is due to Burns." Again, both Burns and Fergusson were struck with the poverty of Scottish literature in the department of dramatic poetry, and both conceived the patriotic design of supplying the deficiency by the composition of a tragedy based on some great event in Scottish history. And both chose the same hero for their tragedy — Sir William Wallace ; and both failed in the execution of their design, though both made an effort in the direction of its accomplishment. Two acts of his tragedy Fergusson is said to have completed when he abandoned his pro- ject, while the only traces of Burns's effort are to be found in sundry speeches of his hero written on sundry " blank leaves," Again, both Fergusson and Burns had command, for purposes of poetical expression, over pure English as well as over the Scottish dialect, and each felt — we have ventured to say instinc- tively — that his strength lay in the use of the latter. Again, both Fergusson and Burns discovered quite early a strong proclivity for mathematics, and became pretty proficient in certain tranches ; and hence, as we think, that robustness of intellect, that vigour of understanding, and that soundness of judgment, which is largely the secret of Burns's extraordinary power over ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 149 the cannie Scot, and the shrewd, calculating Teuton, wherever he may be. Of the contrasts between the two poets, from the moral stand- point, the most notable is the one already referred to, viz., that whilst Burns's satire is very often bitter, scathing, relentless, that of Fergusson is of the mildest, whilst also of the slyest and pawkiest kind. Though essentially a satirical genius, the Edinburgh poet, as previously hinted, has all the smviter in modo of the genial Flaccus, whose mellow wisdom he was even better qualified to have conveyed into the Scottish dialect than Allan Ramsay, happy as are some of Ramsay's efforts in that direction. And there are contrasts between Burns and Fergusson as strong on the intellectual side as on the moral side. In the former, we see a poet who knew his powers, and weighed them well from the beginning ; himself was his own severe critic from his youth upward, and how splendid the result ! Here is a lesson, if they would but learn it, for all aspirants in the held of poetry — a field in which the very gods, according to Horace, abhor mediocrity. In the latter, we see a man of undoubted genius within a certain range — a genius within that range of far greater power than had previously appeared in the literature of the Scottish dialect — but as an artist indolent, and devoting little attention to the polishing and finishing of his productions, at least with one or two exceptions, which is the more to be regretted that he was a man of the very quickest conception. Fergusson was as quick in his conceptions as he was original in his inventions. In the latter respect very insufficient justice has been done to him ; and we believe that had this most amiable, if erratic, genius lived to mature his powers, he would have made very large and valuable contributions to Scottish poetry. Not that his imagination would ever have acquired the strength of wing of Burns's ; not that, as a lyrist pure and simple, he would ever have approached Burns ; nor that the pro- 150 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. ductions of his muse would ever have discovered that fiery energy, and overwhelming force of stroke — the stroke of Jove himself — which renders Burns unique among the world's poets. Still we repeat our belief that had Fergusson's life been pro- longed, and his powers of genial satire become matured, quick and original as was his genius, and possessing as he did so com- plete a mastery over the two stanzas peculiar to the Scotch, the Christ's Kirk of the Green, or King James stanza, and the Piper of Kilbarchan, or Semple stanza, he would have ranked at this moment as the co-equal of Robert Burns as a Scottish poetical humorist. In dealing with the poems of Robert Fergusson there is the difficulty before mentioned, that one cannot, as in the case of Burns, assume his readers to be familiar with them, the Edin- burgh poet now being seldom read even by Scotchmen. We propose therefore to quote with tolerable fulness each poem of Fergusson's as it is here passed in review. And our attention shall first be devoted to those humorous pieces of the poet which are written in the peculiar stanza first used, so far as one is able to ascertain, by Robert Sempil (or Semple), about the middle of the seventeenth century in his once so popular "Piper of Kilbar- chan," and thence called the " Kilbarchan Stanza." Of this stanza Fergusson was a thorough master. Xo Scotchman up to this time had employed it with equal success, not even Allan Ramsay. And had the Edinburgh poet dealt by his productions as Burns was accustomed to deal by his, that is to say, had his subsequent corrections been as painstaking as his conceptions were rapid, the results would have been very different. But Fergusson was wanting in the true artist's patience, nor can we imagine him as painfully correcting anything that proceeded from his rapid but fitful muse. One poem, however, he did finish in the spirit of a true artist, and the result is the delightful Scottish pastoral already referred to. In a mildly satirical humour it is that Fergusson excels, and here is one of his earlier efforts in a department where the Scottish dialect-literature is singularly rich. ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 151 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ME. DAVID GREGORY (Late Professor of Mathematics in the University of St. Andrew's). Now mourn, ye college masters a' ! And frae your een a tear let fa'; Famed Gregory death lias taen awa, Without remeiil. The tkaitli ye've met wi's nae that sma,' Sin Gregory's dead. The students, loo, will miss him sair ; To school them weel his eident care ; Now they may mourn for ever mair ; They hae great need : They'll hip the maist feck o 1 their lear, Sin Gregory's dead. He could, by Euclid, prove lang syne, A gangin' point composed a line. By numbers, too, he could divine, When he did read, That three times three just made up nine: But now he*s dead. In algebra weel skill'd he was, And ikent fu' weel proportion's laws : He could make clear baith B's and A's Wi' his lang head ; Rin owre surd roots, but cracks or flaws : But now he's dead. Weel versed was he in architecture, And kent the nature o' the sector ; Upon baith globes he weel could lecture, And gar's tak heed ; 0' geometry he was the Hector : But now he's dead. Sae weel's he'd fley the students a', When they were skelpin' at the ba', They took leg-bail, and ran awa' Wi' pith and speed : We winna get a sport sae Draw, Sin Gregory '.s dead. Great 'casion hae we a' to weep, And deed our skins in mournin' deep, For Gregory's death will fairly keep, To take his nap • He'll till the resurrection sleep, As sound's a tap. The reading of the above poem will al once call to mind Burns's "Elegy on Poor Maillie," and his still more famous " Tarn S imson's Dead." As examples of Fergusson's maturer powers in this direction may be named his Daft Days, Tin King's Birthday 152 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. in Edinburgh, Braid Claith, Elegy on the Death of Scots Music, Carder Water, and The Tron Kirk Bell, each of which contains stanzas worthy of Burns at his best, while others are worthy only of Pennycuik. Indeed the unequal character of Fergusson'a productions must strike the most cursory reader. This inequality is itself a proof that our poet rarely took pains to polish and improve*: his verses ; though, on the other hand, it behoves us always to remember that the poet died whilst his powers were really but developing. In the poem bearing the humorous title of Daft Days we get an excellent idea of the kind of winter-comforts and solacements- held in store for her sons by " Auld Reekie," whom the poet thus apostrophises : Auld Reekie ! thou'rt the canty hole, A beild for moiiy a cauldrife soul, Wha snugly at thine ingle loll, Baith warm and couth ; While round they gar the bicker roll, To weet their mouth. ***** Ye browster wives ! now busk ye braw, And fling your sorrows far awa ; Then, come and gie's the tither blaw 0' reaming ale, Mair precious than the Well o' Spa, Our hearts to heal. Then, though at odds wi' a' the war!'; Amang oursels we'll never quarrel ; Though discord gie a canker'd snarl To spoil our glee, As lang's there's pith into the barrel, We'll drink an' gree ! In the last two lines of the above quotation the reader will see from whence Burns drew that happy idea, happily phrased, and a thousand times quoted : It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee To taste the ban el ! The whole poem is very animated and well sustained, and con- tains many admirable passages. The contrast, at the beginning, of bleak winter with the comforts ollercd by city-life is well 1 drawn : ROBERT FERGU880N AND ROBERT BURNS, 153 Frae naked grove nae binlie Binge : To shepherds pipe nae hillock rings; The breeze nae odorous Savour brings Frae Borean cave, And dwynin' Nature droops her wings, \\Y visage grave. Mankind but scanty pleasure glean Frae snawy lull or barren plain, When Winter, 'midst his nippin' train, Wi' frozen spear, Sends drift owre a' Ids bleak domain, And guides the weir. The King's Birthday in Edinburgh, as its title implies, offers a picture of "Auld Reekie" in holiday time — one of those pictures which Fcrgusson is so fond of drawing, and in which he so excels : O Muse be kind, and dinna fash us To flee awa' beyond Parnassus, Nor seek for Helicon to wash us, That heath'nish spring ; Wi' Highland whisky scour our hawses, An' gar us sing. Begin then, dame ! ye've drunk your fill ; You wouldna hae the tit her gill ! You'll trust me, mair would do you ill, And ding ye doitet : 'Troth, 'twould be sair against my will To hae the wyte o't. Cauler Oysters gives us a further picture of Edinburgh life, the subject being one that affords free play to Fergusson's peculiar humour. We give the poem in its entirety, in order that the reader may form his own judgment as to the powers of genial satire we have ascribed to the Edinburgh poet. CAULER OYSTERS. ()' a' the waters that can hobble A fishing yole or sa'mon coble, And can reward the fisher's trouble, Or south or north. There's nane sae spacious and sae noble, As Frith o' Forth. In her the skate and oodlin sail : The eel, fu' souple, wags her tail ; "\\" i* herrin', fleuk, and inackaiel, And whitens dainty ; Their spindle-shanks the (abaters trail, Wi' partans plenty. 154 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Auld Reekie's sons blythe faces wear ; September's merry month is near, That brings the Neptune's cauler cheer, New oysters fresh ; The halesomest and nicest gear 0' fish or flesh. Oh ! then, we needna gie a plack For dand'rin mountebank or quack, Wha o' their drogs sae bauldly crack, And spread sic notions, As gar their feckless patients tak Their stinkin' potions. Come, prie, frail man ! for if thou art sick, The oyster is a rare cathartic, As ever doctor patient gart lick To cure his ails ; Whether you hae the head or heart ache, It never fails ; Ye tipplers ! open a your poses ; Ye wha are fash'd wi' plukie noses, Fling owre your craig sufficient doses ; You'll thole a huncler, To fleg awa your simmer roses, And naething under. When big as burns the gutters rin, If ye hae catch'd a droukit skin, To Luckie Middlemist's loup in, And sit fu' snug Owre oysters and a dram o' gin, Or haddock lug. When auld Saunt (Tiles, at aught o'clock, Oars merchant lowns their shopies lock, There we adjourn wi' hearty fouk To birle our bodies, And get wherewi' to crack our joke, And clear our noddles. When Phoebus did his winnocks steek, How aften at that ingle cheek Did I my frosty fingers beek, And prie guid fare ! I trow, there was nae hame to seek, When stechin there. While glaikit fools, owre rife o' cash. Pamper their wames wi' fousoni trash, I think a chiel may gaily pass, He's nae ill bodden, That gusts his gab wi' oyster sauce, And hen weel sodden. At Musselbrough, anil eke Newhaven, The fisherwivcs wi 11 get top livin', When huls gang out on Sundays' even To treat their joes, And take o' fat Pandores a ptieven, Or mussel brose. 110 B /:/: T FERO I SSON A X/> ROBER T B UBNS. I 56 Then, sometimes, ere they Hit their doup, They'll aiblins a' their Biller coup For liquor clear frae cutty stoup, To weet t heir wizen, Ami Bwallow.owre a dainty soup, For fear they gizzen. A' ye wha canna Btaun sae sicker, When twice you've toom'd the big-niou'd bicker, Mix cauler oysters wi' your lienor, And I*ni your debtor, If greedy priest or dronthy vicar Will thole it better. In Braid Claith the poet attacks a branch of the great Snob family — the Snobs of low degree— with as much humour and incisiveness as ever Thackeray attacked the Snobs of high de- gree. The poem is too characteristic of Fergusson to be withheld from the reader ; we therefore i^ive it entire. That the Edin- burgh poet coidd write tersely when he took the pains is proved by the caustic penultimate stanza, in which the whole Snob family are impaled in six close and powerful lines. BRAID CLAITH. Ye wha are fain to line your name Wrote i' the bonnie book o' fame, Let merit nae pretension claim To laurel I'd wreath, But hap ye weel, baith back and wame, In guid braid claith. He that some ells o' this may fa', And slae black hat on pow like snaw, Bids bauld to bear the gree awa, Wi' a' this graith, When beinly clad wi' shell fu' braw 0' guid braid claith. Waesucks for him wha has nae feck o't ! For he's a gowk they're sure to geek at ; A chiel that ne'er will be respeckit While he draws breath, Till his four quarters are bedeckit Wi' guid braid claith. On Sabbath-days the barber spark, When he has done wi' scrapin' Mark, Wi' Biller broachie in his sark, ( rangs trigly, faith ! Or to the meadows,* or the park,+ In guid braid claith. * A promenade to the south of Edinburgh. t The King's Park — another promenade. 156 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Weel might ye trow, to see them there, That they to shave your hatfits bare, Or curl and sleek a pickle hair, Would be right laith, When pacin' wi' a gawsy air In guid braid claith. If ony mettled stirrah green For favour frae a lady's een, He maunna care for bein' seen Before he sheath His body in a scabbard clean 0' guid braid claith. For, gin he come wi' coat thread bare, A feg for him she winna care, But crook her bonny mou fou sair, And scauld him baith : Wooers should aye their travel spare, Without braid claith. Braid claith lends fouk an unco heeze ; Makes mony kail-worms butterflees ; Gies mony a doctor his degrees, For little skaith : In short, you may be what you please, Wi' guid braid claith. For tho' ye had as wise a snout on, As Shakspeare or Sir Isaac Newton, Your judgment fouk would hae a doubt on, I'll tak my aith, Till they could see ye wi' a suit on 0' guid braid claith. The two poems, entitled The Sitting oj the Session and The Rising of the Session, give us an insight into the lawyer-world of " Auld Keekie," and contain many excellent stanzas, such as the following : — But law's a draw-well unco deep, Withouten rim fouk out to keep ; A donnart chiel, when drunk, may dreep Fu' sleely in, But finds the gate baith stey and steep, Ere out he win. Blythe they may be wha wanton play In fortune's bonny blinkin' ray : Fu' weel can they ding dool away Wi' comrades couthy, And never dree a hungert day, Or e'enin' drouthy. ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 157 Ohon the day ! for him that's laid In dowie poortith's cauldrife Bhade ; Aiblins owre hones! for his trade, He rack- hi- \\ it 8 How lie may gel his buik weel clad, And till his guts. Caulcr Water is u poem that is not to be classed with the " Bruar Water " of Burns, which last refers purely to the scenery of the river Bruar ; the theme, here, is " Fresh Water," and the poem, besides being peculiarly Fergussonian, is, as we said before, about the most considerable tribute ever paid by Scotch- man to the pure element. The second line of the first stanza will bring to mind one of the later stanzas in Burns's "Address to the Deil," "Langsyne in Eden's bonnie yard," &c. We give the first five stanzas : — When father Adie first pat spade in The bonnie yard <>' ancient Eden, His anny had nae liquor laid in To fire his mmi ; Nor did he thole his wife"s upbraidin', For beintf' fou. A cauler burn o' siller sheen Ran cannily out-owre the green ; And when our gutcher's dn.uth had l>een To bide righl -air, He loutit down and drank bedeen A dainty skair. His bairns had a', liefore the flood, A langer tack o' flesh and Mood, And on more pithy shanks they stood Than Noah's line, Wha still liae been a feckless brood, W'i' drinkin' wine. The fuddlin 1 hardies, now-a-days, Kin maukin-mad in Bacchus' praise; And limp and stoiter through their lays Anacreontic, While each his sea of wine displays As big's the Pontic. My Muse will no gang far frae hame Or scour a' airths to hound for fame ; In troth, the jillet ye might blame For thinkin' on't, When eithly she can find the theme O' aquafont. The address To the Tron-Klrk Bell is sometimes quoted as Fergusson's masterpiece in the way of humorous writing. It is 158 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. certainly characterised by a spiritedness and a vigour not too often found in the works of the Edinburgh poet. The reference to a probable improvement in the wool trade, a propos to ear- stopping, is especially " pawkie." But almost always, in reading Fergusson, one has the sense that the poet, if he had wished, could have done better. TO THE TRON-KIEK BELL. Wanwordy, crazy, dinsome thing, As e'er was fram'd to jow or ring ! What gar'd them sic in steeple hing, They ken themsel ; But weel wat I, they couldna bring Waur sounds frae hell. What deil are ye ? that I should ban ; You're neither kin to pat nor pan ; Nor ulzie pig, nor maister-can, But weel may gie Mair pleasure to the ear o' man Than stroke o' thee. Fleece-merchants may look bauld, I trow, Sin' a' Auld Reekie's childer now Maun staup their lugs wi' teats o' woo, Thy sound to bang, And keep it frae gaun through and through, Wi' jarrin' twang. Your noisy tongue, there's nae abidin't ; Like scauldin' wife's, there is nae guidin't ; When I'm 'bout ony business eident, It's sair to thole ; To deave me, then, ye tak' a pride in't, Wi' senseless knoll. Oh ! were I provost o' the toun, I swear by a' the powers aboon, I'd bring ye wi' a reesle down ; Nor should you think (Sae sair I'd crack and clour your crown,) Again to clink. For, when I've toom'd the meikle cap, And fain would fa' owre in a nap, Troth, I could doze as sound's a tap, Were't no for thee, That gies the tither weary chap To wauken me. I dreamt ae night I saw Auld Nick : Quo' he—" This bell o' mine's a trick, A wily piece o' politic, A cunnin' snare, To trap fouk in a cloven stick, Ere they're aware." RORKRT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BCRXS. 159 '• As lang's my dautit bell hinge there, A' body ;it the kirk will sk.iir : Quo' they, it be that preaches there Like it can wound, We downa rare a single hair For joyfu' sound." If magistrates wi' me would 'gree, For aye tongue-tackit should you be ; Nor Heg wi' anti-melody Sic honest funk, Whase lugs were never made to dree Thy dolefu' shock. But far frae thee the bailies dwell, Or they would scunner at your knell ; Gie the foul thief his riven bell, And then I trow. The byword hands, "The deil himsel Has got his due." Fergusson's Elegy on the Death of Scots Music is a strong pro- test against the neglect in his time of native Scotch airs, and the preference given tu Italian airs, which he stigmatises as a " bastard breed." In this poem are several stanzas conceived and executed in the poet's very best manner. Three may be selected which undoubtedly supplied Burns with a keynote, and some- thing more, for his "Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson," — a magnificent composition, which can perish only with the language, and upon which we may be permitted for a moment to dwell. The first thought on reading this sublime lamentation is that before Burns wrote sorrow had never found adequate voice — that the extreme agony of human grief had remained unexpressed. How artificial and glittering, in comparison, are many of the world's "masterpieces' in this kind ! Not to this or that my- thological figment does the poet make his appeal, but directly to Nature herself, "pity being exiled from man ;" and in language how grand and impressive! To the cloud-capped hills of his native Scotland he speaks ; and who that reads the sublime invocation contained in this one stanza can doubt — as some have doubted — the feeling of Burns for "Nature's sturdiest bairns," the mountains ? Why, the six lines to follow contain imagination enough to "start in business " half-a-dozen poets of a sort. 160 ROBERT FERGUS SON AND ROBERT BURNS. Ye hills ! near neibours o' the starns, That proudly cock your crested cairns ; Ye cliffs, the haunts o' sailing yearns, Where Echo slumbers ! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, My wailing numbers ! And we can quite understand that some writers should be inclined to place the " Lament over Henderson " in serious competition with the world's masterpieces in this kind, such as Horace's "Lament over Quinctilius," Tennyson's " In Memoriam," Shelley's "Adonais," and even Milton's " Lycidas." Horace's "Lament" is absolutely not to be translated, and as a terse expression of pro- found sorrow has never been, and never will be, surpassed ; but Quinctilius was known, and known as a person of distinction, while " Matthew was a poor man," in fact, so poor and obscure that he was only with difficulty identified ; and this, as in the case of Gray's nameless hero, immensely adds to the pathos of the situation. Milton's exquisite " Lycidas " is one of the most beautiful poems not only in English but in universal poetry ; but by its allusive character, and the constant use of the mythological machinery, the pathos is lessened ; while the subject of " Adonais," John Keats, has reclaimed for himself his immortal heritage, and now sits high enthroned among the "Sons of Light." And here, in the pages of poor, neglected, and almost forgotten Fergusson, is the pitchnote, and more, of this supreme effort of the Muse to express man's grief for man — man without his tinsel — so far surpassing man's grief for woman. Listen to the Edin. burgh poet, in the "Elegy on the Death of Scots Music." Mourn, ilka nymph, and ilka swain, Ilk sunny hill and dowie glen ; Let weepin' streams and naiads drain Their fountain-head ; Let Echo swell the dolefu' strain Sin' Music's dead. Is it Burns, or is it Fergusson, that sings 1 Ninety-nine out of ;i hundred would say, at a venture, that it was the former ; but no, it is Fergusson, and here is the echo in Burns's immortal Elegy : ROBERT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Kil Mourn, ilka grove the oushal kens | Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens : Vr burnies, wimplin down your glens, Wi' toddlitf din, Or foaming strung, wi' hasty stuns, Frae lin to lin. " Let Echo swell the dolefu' strain," says Fcrgusson. Ye cliffs, the haunts <>' Bailing yearns Where Echo slumbers ! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, My wailing numbers .' says Burns more powerfully ; but when does Burns not give when he takes'? Seldom indeed. Here is another prett}- stanza from Fergusson's " Elegy " — When the saft vernal breezes ca' The -icy-haired Winter's fogs awa', Naebody then is heard to blaw, Near hill or mead, On chaunter, or on aiten straw, Sin' Music's dead. And lastly here is the very lovely penultimate stanza of the poem : Could lav'rocks, at the dawning day, Could linties, chinning* frae the spray, Or toddlin' burns, that smoothly play O'er gowden bed, Compare v>V " Birks o' Invermay? " But now they're dead. We have hitherto chiefly concerned ourselves with those poems of Fergusson's written in the Kilbarchan stanza, and considered the poet in the light of a humorist and satirist — therefore as a poet of Man ; but he was also, as we said before, a poet of Nature, and could paint her, on occasion, with uncommon power. We shall give some samples of this power ; and here the Kilbarchan stanza will be found to have been exchanged for the octosyllabic measure. * In the word "chinning" one recognises the old English word to "charm," or " chirm,'' found in the pages of no English poet, so far us we know, since Milton, who uses it in the 4th Book of his "Paradise Lost," Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds, a passage which has puzzled a thousand readers, and not a few critics. K 162 ROBERT FERGUSSON AXD ROBERT BURNS] ODE TO THE BEE. Herds ! blythesome tune your canty reeds, And welcome to the gowany meads The pride o' a' the insect thrang, A stranger to the green sae lang. Unfauld ilk buss, and ilka brier, The bounties o' the gleesome year, To him whose voice delights the spring ; Whose soughs the saftest slumbers bring. The trees in simmer oleedin' drest, The hillocks in their greenest vest, The brawest flowers rejoiced v.e see Disclose their sweets, and ca' on thee, Blythely to skim on wanton wing Through a' the fairy haunts o' spring. When fields hae got their dewy gift, And dawnin' breaks upon the lift, Then gang your ways through night and how.. Seek cauler haugh or sunny knowe, Or ivy craig, or burn-bank brae, Where industry shall bid you gae, For hiney, or for waxen store, To ding sad poortith frae the door. Could feckless creature, man, be wise, The simmer o' his life to prize. In winter he might fend fu' bauld, His eild unkenn'd to nippin' cauld ; Yet they, alas ! are antrin fouk That lade their scape we' winter stock. Auld age maist feckly glowers right dour Upon the ailings o' the poor, Wha hope for nae comforting, save That dowie, dismal house, the grave. Then, feeble man ! be Mise ; tak tent How industry can fetch content : Behold the bees where'er they wing, Or through the bonnie bowers o' spring, Where violets or where roses blaw, And siller devvdraps nightly fa', Or when on open bent they're seen, On heather hill or thristle green ; The hiney's still as sweet that flows Frae thristle cauld, or kendlin rose. Frae this the human race may learn Reflection's hiney'd draps to earn, Whether they tramp life's thorny way,. Or through the sunny vineyard stray. Instructive bee ! attend me still ; Owre a' my labours sey your skill : For thee shall hineysuckles rise W'i' ladin' to your busy thighs, And ilka shrub surround my cell, Whereon ye like to hum and dwell : My trees in bourachs owre my ground Shall fend ye frae ilk blast o' wind; Nor e'er shall herd, wi' ruthless spike, Delve out the treasures frae your bike, ROBERT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 1G;{ But in my fence be safe, and free, To live, an>l work, and sing, like me. Like thee, by fancy wing'd, the .Muse Scuds ear' and heartsome owre tlie dews, Fu' vogie and fu' blythe to crap The winsome flowers frae Nature's lap, Twinin' her livin' garlands there, That lyart time can ne'er impair. Here, as in almost all the compositions of Fergusson, the mild satire which characterises his muse makes itself apparent. How- pretty is the passage : The hiney's still as sweet that flows Frae thristle cauld, or kendlin' rose. ON SEEING A BUTTERFLY IN THE STREET. Daft gowk ! in macaroni dress, Are ye come here to shaw your face, Bowden wi' pride o' simmer gloss, To cast a dash at Reekie's cross, And glower at mony a twadegged creature, flees lira w l»y art, though worms by nature? Like country laird in city cleedin', Ye're come to town, to lear guid breedin' ; To bring ilk darlin' toast and fashion In vogue amang the flee creation, That they, like buskit belles and beaux, May crook their mou fu' sour at those Whose weird is still to creep, alas ! Unnoticed, 'mang the humble grass ; While you, wi' wings new buskit trim, Can far frae yird and reptiles skim ; Newfangle grown, wi' new-got form, You soar aboon your mither worm. Kind Nature lent, but for a day, Her wings to make ye sprush and gay ; In her habiliments a while Ye may your former sel' beguile, And ding awa' the vexin' thought O' hourly dwynin' into nought, By beengin to your foppish brithers, Black corbies dress'd in peacocks' feathers. Like thee, they dander here and there, When simmer's blinks are warm and fair, And loe to snuff the healthy balm When e'enin' spreads her wings sae calm ; Bui when she girns and glowers sac dour Frae Korean houffin angry shower, , Like thee, they scour frae street or field, And hap them in a lyther bield ; For they were never made to dree The adverse gloom o' fortune's e'e ; Nor ever pried life's pinin' woes ; Nor pud the prickles wi 1 the rose. k2 M34 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS Poor Butterfly ! thy case I mourn ; To green kail-yard and fruits return, How could you troke the mavis' note For ' ' Penny pies, all piping hot ?" Can linties' music be compar'd Wi' gruntles frae the city guard? Or can our flowers, at ten hours' bell, The gowan or the spink excel ? Now should our sclates wi' hailstanes ring, What cabbage fauld wad screen your wing? Say, flutterin' fairy, were t thy hap To light beneath braw Nanny's cap, Wad she, proud butterfly of May ! In pity, let you skaithless gae ? The furies glancin' frae her een Wad rug your wings o' siller sheen, That, wae for thee ! far, far outvie Her Paris artist's finest dye ; Then a' your bonnie spraings wad fall, And you a worm be left to crawl. To sic mischanter rins the laird Who quats his ha'-house and kailyard ; Grows politician ; scours to court, ** Where he's the laughin'-stock and sport 0' ministers, wha jeer and jibe, And heese his hopes wi' thought o' bribe ; Till, in the end, they flae him bare, Leave him to poortith and to care. Their fleetchin' words owre late lie sees, He trudges hame — repines — and dies. Sic' be their fa' wha dirk there-ben In blackest business no their ain, And may they scaud ther lips fu' leal, That dip their spoons in ither's kail. Note the above passage. Say flutterin' fairy, were 't thy hap To light beneath braw Nanny's cap, Wad she, proud butterfly of May ! In pity, let you skaithless gae ? The furies glancin' frae her een Wad rug your wings o' siller sheen, That, wae for thee ! far, far outvie Her Paris artist's finest dye. These lines, and the poem entitled, " The Bugs," previously- referred to, taken together, may well have suggested to Burns the idea of his immortal satire, "To a Louse," the concluding stanza of which is more universally quoted than any passage in British poetry.* * In the light of this suggestion — if a suggestion — we would request the reader who is curious in the matter to read through Fergusson's little-known poem of " The Bugs," above referred to. ROBERT FEROUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 168 Like the Prince of Adapters, Shakespeare, Burns had enormous powers of intellectual digestion, as of assimilation and absorption, and metaphorically speaking, could eat up a full half-dozen ordinary authors at a meal! His stomach was that of an intellectual Gargantua. Bricks would he make from seemingly impossible straw, and raise you therefrom a structure " beautiful exceedingly." As from the English play of King John, existing before Shakespeare's time, that marvellous alchemist) could evoke the "King John" we so much admire, so out of Burns's wondrous alembic all that goes in dross seems to come out gold. Witness the new life — the immortal life — he has infused into the " auld sangs " of his native Scotland. Returning to Fergusson, here is another example of his powers of natural description, and one which contains many beautiful passages : — ODE TO THE GOWDSPiNK. Frae fields where spring her sweets has blawn \\Y caule verdure owie the lawn, The gowdspink comes in new attire, The brawest 'inang the whistling choir, That e'er the sua can clear his een, Wi' glib notes sain the simmer's green. Sure nature herried mony a tree, For spraings and bonnie spats to thee : Nae mair the rainbow can impart Sic glowin' ferlies o' her art, Whose pencil wrought its freaks at will On thee, the sey-piece o' her skill. Nae mair, through straiths in simmer (light , We seek the rose to bless our sight ; Or bid the bonny wa'-llowers sprout On yonder ruin's lofty snout. Thy shinin garments far outstrip The cherries upon Hebe's lip, And fool the tints that nature chose To busk and paint the crimson rose. 'Mang men, wae's heart ! we aften find The brawest dressed, want peace o' mind ; While he that gangs wi' ragged coat Is weel content it wi' his lot. When wand, with glewy birdlime set, To steal far oil your dautil mite, Blythe wad you change your cleedin' gay In lieu of lav 'rock's solar grej , In vain through woods you sair may ban The envious treachery o' man. That, wi' your gowden glister ta'en, 166 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Still hunts you on the simmer's plain, And traps you 'mang the sudden fa's O' winter's dreary, dreepin' snaws. Now steekit frae the gowany field, Frae ilka fav'rite houff and bield ; But, mergh, alas ! to disengage Your bonnie buik frae fetterin' cage, Your freeborn bosom beats in vain For darlin' liberty again. In window hung, how aft we see They keek around at warblers lree, That carol saft. and sweetly sing Wi' a' the blytheness o' the spring ! Like Tantalus they hing you here, To spy the glories o' the year ; And though you're at the burnie's brink, They downa suffer you to drink. Ah, Liberty ! thou bonny dame, How wildly wanton is thy stream. Round whilk the birdies a' rejoice, And hail you wi' a gratefu' voice ! The gowdspink chatters joyous here, And courts wi' gleesome sangs his peer ; The mavis frae the new bloom'd thorn, Begins his lauds at ear-est morn ; And herd louns, loupin' owre the grass, Need far less fleetchin' to their lass, Than paughty damsels bred at courts, Wha thraw their mous, and tak the dorts : But, reft of thee, fient flee we care For a' that life ahint can spare. The gowdspink, that sae lang has kenn'd The happy sweets (his wonted friend), Her sad confinement ill can brook In some dark chamber's dowie nook. Though Mary's hand his neb supplies, Unkenn'd to hunger's painfu' cries, Even beauty canna cheer the heart Frae life, frae liberty apart : For now we tyne its wonted lay, Sae lightsome sweet, sae blithely gay. Thus, Fortune aft a curse can gie, To wile us far frae liberty ; Then tent her syren smiles wha list, I'll ne'er envy your girnel's grist : For when fair freedom smiles nae mair, Care I for life ? Shame fa' the hair ! A field o'ergrown wi' rankest stubble, The essence of a paltry bubble ! As we have before stated, the highly original character of Fergusson's genius is not only shown in the choice of his subjects, but often, also, in the very titles he affixes to his poems. What a world of humour, for instance, lurks in the simple words "Daft Days," "Braid Claith," "To my Auld Breeks," &c. ROBERT FERQUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 167 And who but Fergusson would have chosen the theme and title of " Cauler Water ¥' — all of which things could not, and did not escape the attention of his great follower and imitator, Burns. Yes, " follower and imitator," for the great Ayrshire poet's obligations to the Edinburgh poet are more serious than some critics would be prepared to admit, notwithstanding Burns's own acknoAvledgment. How serious they are, he only can fully assess who happens to possess an intimate acquaintance with the state of Scottish dialect poetry at the time Fergusson took up the pen. In the preceding pages, indeed, with one notable exception, we have left on one side those poems of Burns's which most indicate this indebtedness, and for the simple reason that they are the most known. Nobody, for example, who reads Burns's " Holy Fair," written in the King's James's stanza, with its fine commencement, but is aware that it has its antitype in Fergus- son's spirited poem of Leith Races. We quote here the initial stanzas of each of the two poems, placing them in conjunction by way of reminder only, and first Fergusson : In Jul} - month, ae bonny morn, AY hen Nature's rokelay green Was spread o'er ilka rig o' corn To charm our roving e'en ; Glowrin' about I saw a queen, The fairest 'neath the lift ; Her een were o' the siller sheen, Her skin like snawy drift, Sae white that day. The " fair queen " puts in her word, when the poet retorts : " And wha are ye, my winsome dear, That tak the gate sae early ? Where do ye win, if ane may speir ; For I right meikle ferly That sic braw buskit laugh in' lass Thir bonny blinks should gie, And loup, like Hebe, owre the grass, As wanton, and as free Frae dool this day ':"' The "braw-buskit, laughin 3 lass " turns out to be " Mirth " .herself, and to the races she and the poet proceed in company. 168 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. Now listen to Burns in the commencing stanzas of Holy- Fair : — Upon a simmer Sunday morn, When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn An' snuff the cauler air. The rising sun owre Galston muirs Wi' glorious light was glintin' ; The hares were hirplin' down the furs,* The lav'rocks they were chantin' Fu' sweet that day. As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, To see a scene sae gay, Three hizzies, early at the road, Cam skelpin' up the way ; Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, But ane wi' lyart lining ; The third, that gaed a wee adjack, Was in the fashion shining, Fu gay that day. An equally spirited production, and one tolerably well known' is Hallow/air, written also in the King James stanza. Nor had Burns conned this lively and suggestive poem without taking up impressions which afterwards served him in good stead. More- over, few will read " The Brigs' of Ayr " without recognising that very original poem of Fergusson's which served the Ayr- shire poet as model : Mutual Complaint of Plainstanes and Cawsey. And similarly with regard to other poems of the Edinburgh poet ; in fact, in Burns the Fergussonian echo is recurrent. But if Burns was a borrower, he was a self-acknowledged borrower; he was also one of those rich and bounteous borrowers who insist on paying tenfold interest — whose cheques, drawn upon the Bank of Immortality, are duly honoured ; and fortunate indeed the author that can lend to so supreme a genius ! Robert Fergusson, who is so lauded by more than one of his contemporaries for his brilliant convivial and conversational powers — who was an " acquisition " to every circle he chose to * "Furs" signifies "furrows." This is one of those masterly word- pictures in a single line that characterise the great Scottish poet. It is impossible for anyone imperfectly acquainted with the dialect to under- stand the singular felicity of tie word " hirpling," as here used. ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. 169 enter, and the idol and magnus Apollo of many — must have been ;i very striking personality, with his slim figure, large dark eyesj and white hair. No authentic portrait, however, so far as is known to the present writer, remains of the poet, and the evi- dence is consequently hearsay. His address is described as having been "genteel, and free from all affectation." Bred at a famous university, he was led, quite early, by a well-to-do uncle, to entertain sanguine hopes of advancement in the world. These sanguine hopes having been utterly shattered, he was compelled, in order to keep the pot boiling, to undergo the miserable drudgery attached to the position of a "writer's Avriter," or copying-clerk, than which no situation could have been more irksome, or intolerable, to so free-born and jocund a spirit as all agree in describing the Edinburgh poet to have been. Though not without a relish for the country, Eergusson was as- fond of his native Edinburgh — the " Auld Reekie" of his poems — as was ever Charles Lamb of old London and the inns of court ; and is never so happy as when describing the various- quaint nooks of the quaint "auld toun" and the matters therein transacting, more especially at holiday times ; insomuch that in his pages we are able to get a very fair idea of Edinburgh life in the third quarter of the eighteenth century — that is to say, among people of the middle and lower grades. Often — as often as possible — we can imagine our lively poet and humorist furtively stealing from the scene of his dreary labours— some dingy writer's-den of "Auld Reekie " — to an adjacent and con- venient tavern, brightened by the presence of congenial and applauding spirits. We can picture the youthful poet seated there— the presiding genius and " bright particular star ' of the company — discussing with his companions a dish of those " cauler oysters" whose praises he has sung so loudly, and washing down the same with copious potations — not of that "cauler water" in whose praise he has been equally loud, but of the renowned "Bell's beer," or haply a " reaming bicker " of the porter, or "stout," then so much in vogue. We cm hear yet the echo of the laughter evoked by some sparkling sally from 170 ROBERT FERGUSSON AND ROBERT BURNS. the lips of the 3 7 oung genius whom so many could applaud with the tongue but so few could help with the purse ! Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 111 suited law's dry, musty arts. My curse upon your whunstane hearts, Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! The tithe of what ye waste at cartes Wad stow'd his pantry. Then rises up the reverse picture — a sad one indeed. The precocious genius — he died before attaining his twenty-fourth year — whom all admire and love, is borne to the grim mansion, the "Public Asylum," and on his straw pallet there perishes miserably — a raving maniac ! And how many a genius, born to be the world's delight and joy, has perished in circumstances equally miserable ! Truly, as Wordsworth says : We poets, in our youth, begin in gladness ; But thereof cometh, in the end, despondency and madness. EAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY, ETC. RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY. 173 i:V AIRE AND WIIAKFi:. The works of human artifice soon tire The curious eye, the fountain's sparkling rill, And gardens, when adorned by human skill, Reproach the feeble hand, 1 1 1 * " vain desire. I ;m oh ! t lie free and wild magnificence Of Nature, in her lavish hours, doth steal, In admiration silent and intense, The soul of him who hath a soul to feel ! Tlie river moving on its ceaseless way, The verdant reach of meadows fair and green, And the blue hills that bound the sylvan scene, These speak of grandeur that defies decay — Proclaim the Eternal Architect on high, Who stamps on all his works his own eternity ! -fllROM grimy Manchester to the green dales of Yorkshire, (^ from a forest of tall chimneys to the glorious woods of Bolton, from muddy Medlock and inky Irwell to pellucid Aire and the clear-flowing Wharfe, from prosy Cottonopolis, with its noisy traffic, its striving and driving, its hustle and bustle, to a region of tranquil beauty, hallowed and glorified by the genius of the poet — such was the change, such the delightful transition, offered us by the invitation of some very hearty Yorkshire friends of ours to spend a few days with them at S , in the West Riding. Native ourselves of the broad-acred shire, and familiar enough with not a few of the romantic hills and dales on its western borders, we had never yet visited that lovely region forming the scene of "Wordsworth's immortal poem. Who has not read " The White Doe of Rylstone ?" The most ethereal of its author's creations, it is also a poem unique of its kind in the language. Fifty times had we read the poem, and just as often had we been seized with a great longing to visit the beautiful 174 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: country which it celebrates and consecrates. But still by us it remained unvisited. And wherefore 1 We had a vision of our own ; Ah ! why should we undo it ? " Alas ! " we thought, " when we are there " — . although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow ! On the present occasion, however, our Yorkshire friends having sketched out a programme including the "White Doe" country, we accepted the invitation ; and now, having been and seen what until lately we had seen only in dreams and visions, we can truly say: But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation. But besides those of poetry and sentiment, we had other motives to visit the West Riding. As loyal knight of the spud and vasculum, that we have carried, not always to much purpose it is true, over many a long league of Irish bog and Scotch mountain, we were desirous of seeing, once more, the, flora of a district where the scar-limestone and the millstone-grit exhibit each their characteristic plants side by side. Accordingly, on a certain dry day in the wet June of the past year,* having shaken off the Manchester dust, and ensconced ourselves in a smoking-carriage of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway (inured to smoke though non-smoking, as what Man- cunian is not !), we were soon speeding through the picturesque country which forms the border-land of the two sister counties. Well do we love our native shire of York, with her hundred dales so deliciously green, and her wide-spreading wolds, here dotted with browsing herds, there waving with the ripening corn ; and sincere is our attachment to her sister of Lancaster; but above all do we love the rocky region — rocky yet verdant — of the borders ; and as we looked out, in passing, upon the infinite * This was written in 1882. BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 17& diversity of hill and dale, meadow and moor, wood and stream, we contrasted them; in our minds with the dreary Hats and "dead levels" of more southern counties, and for the moment could not repress a glow of enthusiasm for the cold north with all its drawbacks. Commend us to a land of hills ! In fair weather or in foul, our face was ever turned toward the mountains : They beckon us — the giants from afar, They wing our footsteps on ! And well may we love the mountains, for in their far recesses and silent fastnesses, where the silence is broken only by the rush of torrents, or the wild wind's voice, have been spent our goidenest moments : We know their deep glens, where the eagles cry, We know the freshness of the mountain breeze, Their brooklets gurgling downward ceaselessly, The singing of the birds among the trees, Mingling, confused, a thousand melodies ! We know the lone rest of their birchen bowers, Where the soft murmur of the working bees i toes droning past, with scent of heather flowers, Ami lulls the heart to dream even in its waking hours. We know the grey stones in the rocky glen, Where the wild red-deer gather, one by one, And listen, startled, to the tread of men, Which the betraying breeze hath backward blown. And high above the sea-level tower many of these hills of the Lancashire and Yorkshire bolder, that appear, when the clouds hang low, as if storming the sky, like Titans of eld. While not seldom on their summits, blackened with age and abraded by the storm, or by the elements working more silently, are found hu^e blocks of the millstone-grit, the characteristic stone of this range, which being thus weatherworn into an infinite variety of grotesque shapes and figures are tumbled about in confusion, as though Hung from the hands of the Titans aforesaid. Especially is this the case in the parish of Halifax-, by which, coming from South Lancashire, the traveller generally enters the West Riding, and which archaeologists tell us formed in the main the western portion of the Roman Brigantia proper. Several of the higher- lying townships of this interesting parish present such a succes- sion of these grotesquely-tumbled and weather-worn masses as, 176 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: we believe, is hardly elsewhere to be found ; as in the township of Stansfield, for instance, which doubtless from this circumstance derives its Saxon name. Here one meets with group after group of huge blackened masses, exhibiting the most fantastic forms it is possible to conceive ; nor is it surprising that tradition should have been busy, amid so much that is strange and weird, casting its glamour over a rocky wonderland. Standing on these heath- clad heights on a clear summer day, many a scene of enchanting loveliness unfolds itself to the eyes of the adventurous climber, Avho thenceforth loses all sense of fatigue in the ravishment of the sight. Indeed, we know of no part of England, the Lake District hardly excepted, where within an equal area there is to be found the same variety of wild mountain, picturesque crag, and sweet pastoral landscape, with richly-wooded gorge, foaming torrent, or winding stream. Moist and murky as is our northern climate, and rough and unpolished as are many of our popula- tions, there want not compensations in the varied physical •character of the country, in our ever-changing skies, and in the greater individuality, and increased force and energy of the people. To what extent the physical character of this or that district, apart from ethnical and other influences, reacts upon its inhabitants, were a not uninteresting question to pursue. But here, after a three hours' ride, is Bradford, the great worsted •centre of that vast " clothing trade " whose seat is the West Biding, and where certainly, if anywhere, are to be found illustrations of that increased force and energy lo w T hich we have alluded. Bradford was en fete for the Prince of Wales, and a distinct odour of royalty filled the air. But His Boyal Highness having given us a mauvais quart d'heure, by keeping our train waiting on the road, our loyalty to the throne was considerably shaken, while C. actually threatened to turn republican on the spot (Tantcme animis, dec.) ; and we verily believe would have carried this terrible threat into execution, thereby endangering the peace of the three kingdoms, but for the soothing power of a ■certain weed, or dried specimen, at which he assiduously sucked, BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 177 and one of the other remarkable properties of which [a that when 0. makes it his theme his speech rises into eloquence, reminding one of the famed ginseng of the Chinese, that potent herb ! But if the delay was a cause of railing against royalty, and the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway Company, it was at least favourable to botanical inquiry ; and we, had been much pleased to observe, as the train crept along (one of the creeping things that creep upon the earth D. called it !), immense quantities of the yellow toad-flax (Linaria vulgaris) as also of another plant, the rosebay willow-herb (Epilobiiun angustifolium), described by Sir W. Hooker as "rare in England." But this beautiful species, which with its lofty stature rising sometimes to six feet forms a strange contrast to its lowly congener, the alpine willow-herb (often gathered by us on the Scotch mountains at elevations of 3,000 feet and upwards) though somewhat locally distributed, is hardly to be called "rare." We meet with it in Yorkshire not unfrequently ; and in many a sweet Lancashire " clough," and on many a "moss" is it found, also; while at least one mountain-valley, otherwise wild enough, and gloomy even under the shadow of impending cliffs, is, or was until lately, <piite lit up with the purple glories of this splendid willow-herb. The valley in question is a tremendous u-onrein the Lancashire hills, between Todmorden and Iiossendale, bearing the ominous name of "Devils-gate," or Dules-gate — a ravage quarter indeed, and one not unfamiliar to the steps of our Lancashire Waugh. This habitat of a not very common and yet very beautiful plant we have here given half unwittingly ; but in future we shall avoid mentioning exact localities, having before us the sad fact of the ever-diminishing number of our rarer- species through the nefarious agency of that band of botanical free-booters, pirates, and robbers who spread themselves over our beautiful country, and worse than the Goths and Vandals of old, invade the remotest nooks, robbing sweet Nature's self of her choicest treasuers. No mountain so wild and lone, no bower so M'ljuestered, no sylvan recess so sweetly hidden, but these pseudo- botanists will penetrate there, and " with crash and merciless ITS RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: ravage " steal the very fairest gems from Flora's casket ! Their footsteps have we often tracked by the spoils scattered by the way, in the shape of plants cruelly uprooted and withered, over which the outraged nymphs and dryads wept ! In how many a sweet nook of "West Yorkshire have we gathered, in other years,. the lovely wood-vetch and the vivid wintergreen where now we- might search in vain for either. Do not mistake us, reader; we are travelling by the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway, and doubtless the length of our remarks " by the way " will indicate and explain, much better than any direct statement of the fact, that this polite " company " are always careful to give their confiding passengers time for deliberate observation of the districts (often beautiful and Avorthy of observation) through which their lines pass ; which lines are the safest to travel by in the three kingdoms, if we may stop by the way to say so ! However that may be, one must hope that the rosebay willow- herb will long escape the raids of the above-named pirates, for few will deny that it is one of the very handsomest of British wild plants, rich as is the flora of these islands ; and how rick our flora is few of us, in our hurry, ever stop to think. But where is the other European country presenting, within the samJ3 limits, so great a variety of beautiful forms and colours 1 In the Alps and Pyrenees, and in the Scandinavian lowlands indeed, where it must be remembered essentially the same climatic conditions prevail as in the high Alps, there are splendid sheets of bloom, here and there, while the great Hungarian plains present, during their brief season, some gorgeous floral spectacles; but most of these regions are little accessible. England, on the other hand, opens before us — almost at our doors — one vast wild garden. And what of Wales, of Scotland, and Ireland 1 They are each a garden and fern-paradise in one. Let us step into the garden and into the paradise. But in order to do this we must first step out of the railway carriage ; and we are still at Brad ford, and still waiting for His I^jyal Highness to "move on. ; ' Before he did so, and our train slowly crept into the station, C.'s /. > AIRE AND WHARFE 179 republican tendencies broke oul afresh, the very last remnanl of his available stock of the magic weed having run out. But if C.'a loyalty failed to reach beyond the length of his last cigar, it was otherwise with the Yorkshiremeii, whose banners Boated high, and whose bunting was everywhere. Since the occasion of our first visit, thirty years ago, the great worsted centre has greatly "changed face." Changed indeed is it since that fine old Yorkshire worthy, Dr. Richard Richardson, F.R.S., botanist and antiquary, went " a-simpling " hereabouts, and prescribing gratuitously for the ailments of his friends, but especially for the ailments of such as could offer him any botanical or antiquarian notions. Though of late Bradford has fallen on evil days, through the many rivalries and fluctuations of trade, yet during the past thirty years the town itself has developed amazingly ; and the magnificent new town hall, and lofty palace-like warehouses, built of clean Yorkshire stone, convey an idea of solidity that is most impressive, and even imposing, and which certainly redounds to the honour and tame of the West Riding. To us, however, on this occasion, Bradford was a mere calling point and place of passage, and taking train north, we soon left her behind us, and in less than a couple of hours more had reached the pleasant village of S , "the wished for port to which (for the present) our course was bound," having passed Shipley and Bingley en route. In botanical annals, the latter place will long be renowned as the sometime habitat, or alleged habitat, of the bristle-fern, a plant no longer found wild in Britain, and rare in Ireland, but which, we are told, was "once" found by the above Dr. Richardson in this neighbourhood. And surely it is pleasant to think that the good man's name will live in human memory by this innocent title. The village of S is situated in one of the numerous forks of the beautiful valley of the Aire, which is formed, as are also the valleys of the Swale, Ure, Wharfe, Calder, and Don, by the many branches, stretching eastward, of that vast chain of hills known to the Romans as the Pennine Alps of Britain, and l2 180 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: which we still call the Pennine range, or, more familiarly, " the Backbone of England." At S the houses, as in the case of all Yorkshire hillside villages, are entirely built of stone, the material which is everywhere at hand ; and the place is not wanting in some features of interest, while the neighbourhood is altogether charming. On every side softly-swelling hills, sloping woods, green meadows, and pleasant streams — Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in ; For manhood to enjoy his strength ; And age to wear away in ! Though geologically well within the millstone grit, S is so near the scar-limestone that the lime-loving plants are occasionally met with ; on a fence-wall, for instance, almost in the heart of the village, we found the brittle bladder-fern ( Cystopteris fragilis) in quantity. Poorer in phamogamus plants than the lime, the millstone-grit is rich in ferns and mosses and the lower forms of cryptogamic life, the abundant moisture which characterizes it affording to these last the element they so delight in. Everywhere around S you happen on some sparkling rill, or foaming beck — every where a rush of water, and the pleasant sound of waters, flowing or falling over rock and through ghyll on their way to the Aire which, already swollen by a hundred such tributaries, becomes at S— — ■ a considerable stream. Crystal clear, too, is Aire as yet, though later, like so many of his northern peers, to be pressed into the service of Commerce, and made to put his shoulder to the wheel — crystal clear, reminding us in many a lovely reach of his sinuous course of his poetic namesake who — . gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wildwoods, thickening green. How different from our inky-faced, hard-worked Lancashire li'well, lifting his hand, almost at his fountain, to a thousand lathes, putting his shoulder to and driving ten thousand wheels, and condemned (Heaven knows for what fault of his own !) to "hard labour" all his days ! Nor was it enough that he should be compelled to assist in making the world's clothing ; now, BY AIRE AND WHARFE 181 forsooth, lie is to l>e made to curry it, also, far out into the wide sea ; and very shortly, they say, Commerce will place on his back, already so patient, her countless bales. Alas, poor Irwell ! With regard to the botany of S , perhaps the most striking feature is the exceeding abundance of the meadow cranes-bill (Geranium pratense) and the giant bell-flower (Cam- panula latifolia ), with both of which plants several lanes in the neighbourhood were literally choked. Never before had we seen the giant bell-flower in such abundance as to require cutting down with the scythe — not even in Scotland where it occurs most commonly ; in the south of England it is comparatively rare. " The beauty of its flowers," says one author, " frequently procures it a place in our gardens." And no wonder, for of all our native bell-flowers it is by far the stateliest, often attaining a height of four feet, or nearly. Hooker gives a maximum of three feet. With its noble port and huge blue corollas, it makes a tine spectacle, either in the cultivated garden within or in the wild garden without. The white variety, mentioned by our Manchester Buxton as occurring in our neighbourhood near Tyldesley Banks, is here met with not unfrequently. Among water-loving phcenogams, you find at S that handsome and very interesting aquatic, the arrow-head (Sagittaria sagitti- jolia), which is gathered in the Aire, and more abundantly the flowering-rush (Butomus umbtllatus). But the botanical glory of S is its cryptogamic vegetation, whose luxuriance is explained by the geological circumstances we have described. Here, amid the characteristic " ghylls " and " becks " of the millstone grit and Yoredale series, where the sandstones and shales easily abraded form a thick detritus, and where there isj abundant shelter and constant humidity, the ferns and mosses hold high festival, while streams that never fail, being fed per- ennially from a hundred sources in the wild moorlands above, " discourse sweet music " all the summer long. In fact, no nook of Yorkshire is more ferny than this, where within narrow compass, and almost at your hand, you find growing a full half of our British species. 182 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: We had reached S , which is some little distance from a railway station, almost at midnight ; but if we came unseason- ably late, our welcome was none the less hearty. Our host, Mr. B., was a hale Yorksbireman of sixty, stalwart, yet of gentle bearing, full of quiet humour, and withal shrewd — the very best type of Yorkshire yeoman ; a genuine lover of nature, too, prepared with or without notice to ramble with you " from morn till dewy eve " — Over hill, over dale, Over park, over pale — in quest of anything ivild, plant or animal ; a delightful com- panion, in short, and a real "heart of gold." Of his handsome but invalid wife and amiable family we may not here speak; but " Cousin Mary," who lives apart in rooms of her own, is altogether too remarkable a personage not to be introduced here to the reader. " Cousin Mary '' is a grey-haired, but otherwise well-preserved, and indeed handsome and jolly-looking spinster, about fifty you would say, though she is really over seventy, thick-set, stoutish (Procul, procul este, profani !), and her sitting- room might pass for a museum, or rather a menagerie, containing as it does quite a zoological collection, with animals feline, canine, canaries in cages, parrots in ditto, et hoc genus omne. But chief of her pets is " Snap," a thorough-bred English terrier, who, to tell the truth, is the apple of our cousin's eye, under which he per- formed for our diversion some of the oddest tricks in the world. Balzac, in Les Cclibataircs, writing with that caustic pen of his says : " Quand il y a une vielle fdle dans une maison, les chiens de garde sont inutils !" Wicked Balzac ! " Cousin Mary," however, is no prying or over-inquisitive, still less a cantankerous or spite- ful, old maid ; but on the contrary, a thoroughly healthy, hearty little woman, bright and cheery, with merry-twinkling eyes — one of those pleasant figures that we carry in the memory entirely dissociated from the faintest notion of sickliness or decay. Nor, as before hinted, although our cousin hath entered on her eighth decade, would you ever suspect so stupendous a fact ; everlastingly young she seems, eternally juvenile, as though washed in the BY AIRE AXD WHARFE. 183 1 Fountain of Youth." On her brow Time writctli' no wrinkle. (This is literally so, for at seventy-two she presents a forehead without a furrow!) Age and Disease pass her by: and pallida Mors, who is reported to knock at every door, whether of palace or cottage, appears entirely to have forgotten " Cousin JMary !" And idle is she never, as the walls of her sitting-room bear ■witness, tapestried as they are with innumerable " samplers," ancient and modern, the work of her own diligent, deft, and ever- active fingers. Be it known to thee, reader, that the needle hath its triumphs no less than the sword or the pen ; and to these triumphs of her needle ''Cousin Mary" is wont to point with much pride. Long-lived are the people in these Yorkshire dales, and on the breezy hillsides. In another part of the Riding we came upon a yet more remarkable lady, who at the advanced age of ninety- four (mirabile dictu !) was still active, washing and baking with her own hands for herself and two of her offspring, about the "rearing" of one of whom — a juvenile of sixty-four — she expressed an anxiety that was most touching ! The day following that of our arrival at S was,as regards weather, "perfect.'' It was one of those days that in the north here we count by units rather than by tens in the course of a season, every hour of which, so full of sweet change in the aspects of earth and sky, is worthy of golden record. During the night rain had fallen, and over the whole landscape there breathed a delicious freshness — the freshness born of copious showers followed by sunshine — that soft, mellow, all-pervading sunshine, which bathes and floods the landscape as it were, so characteristic of our English climate, at its best. The time and the scene were alike calculated to refresh the spirits, and renew the jaded frame of one "long pent in populous city ;" and C, whose cruel fate immures him for fifty-one out of the fifty-two weeks in a year in a dingy quarter of one of our busiest hives, finding himself under the gracious influences we 1S4 UAMBLES IN TOWN AXD COUNTRY: have described, and in his native air and old haunts, seemed suddenly to have become young again : Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years And ^Eson stood a youth, 'mid youthful peers ! Under the friendly guidance of B. and C. rejuvenized, we pro- ceeded to explore the neighbourhood. Our goal was the " Bracken Hill," at the very mention of which the lips of one of our party visibly overflowed with the saliva of longing. It was I)., to whom at all times the odour of even a dried fern is as a gale from Arabia Felix, while for green ones he will risk any- thing, scaling the most impossible cliffs, and braving dangers the most incredible, in ways the most absurd. "Fern on the brain ,r is his disease, and it is feared the complaint is incurable. But had a commission de lunatico been issued, Ave suspect there would have been other "subjects " for examination, besides poor D., on " Bracken Hill " that bright summer's morning ! Our way led through green lanes winding over green hills, with hedgerows flanked by dry ditches on either hand — those delightful hedgerows where Nature, with a wild freedom and abandon, scatters a thousand delights to poet, painter, botanist, and shall Ave say geologist 1 But where, in this moist land, is the bit of rock or stone that is not shrouded in botanical drapery, that is not painted Avith lichen or liverwort, and fringed Avith moss or fern— that is not clothed in a garment of perennial beauty ? Nothing of bare, or naked, is here ; nor is any scar or Avound, but Nature comes softly, Avith "a hand of healing," and touches it Avith a Parnielia, a Lecidea ■! And Avith Avhat exquisite grace she flings over the hedges her lovely garlands of brier and bramble ! Never Avere Avild roses and campions so roseate, never forget-me-nots so blue ! So, too, thought the village children Avho, Avith laughter and jubilant shout, came trooping through the lanes, from their morning foray into Flora's domain, each Avith his little hands filled Avith the red, Avhite, and blue of Lychnis, Stellaria, and Myosotis. What child is not, in some sense, a botanist ? Are Ave not, Avhen children, all botanists 1 /;>' AWE AND WHARFS. 185 Dear, quaint, old Izaak Walton, of whom, as of our friend •' IVter Boncour,"' it might be said that — Mischief to nothing but fish lie designed, speaking of his favourite pastime, says : "God never did mako a more calm, quiet, and innocent recreation than angling." Yea, verily, Master Izaak, for he that goeth a-simpling worketh woe to none ; nor designeth mischief to any living thing — not even the finny. Moreover, your true botanist, he that searcheth the wilds for pure love of plants, looks upon nature not alone with the comprehensive or poetic eye, as an angler might; he not only sees — The fountain's fall, The river's flow, The woody valleys, &c, but looking with the eye of the scientist as well, he sees, at every step, a thousand wonders, insomuch that to him a mere hand- breadth of ground opens out into a vast field, almost without bound or limit. But not to lecture, let us climb " Bracken Hill " ere the sun climb to the zenith. "Bracken Hill" itself is a part of the high ridge of rock, several miles in width, lying between the picturesque valley of the "Wharfe and the wider valley of the Aire, which ridge, rising at its centre as high as 1,300 feet above the sea-level, presents an unbroken sweep towards the dales of undulating moorland, glorious in the late summer with the rich purple of the ling ; and offering, also, the fine and cross leaved heaths, the bilberry and crowberry, sometimes the cowberry and cranberry, and other plants of the heatherland type. In swamp)- places the cotton- grass abounds, and occasionally l he curious sundew, and the pretty Lancashire asphodel. Up the hill we go : and at every step of the ascent, as we turn our faces, the prospect widens, till at length one-half of the great valley of the Aire opens before us, apparelled in the fidl beauty of the spring. But nearer at hand lies our happiness. Oh, the glorious tufts of plumy lady-fern, of male-fern, and buckler-fern ! And what is here? the black maiden-hair spleenwort, with its- 186 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: glossy fronds (well might Gray name it the "shining spleenwort"); sparingly though, not as in wild and ferny Wales, where you have miles of it ; as between Dolgelley and Barmouth — Barmouth the beautiful, where exactly twenty years ago we gathered the largest example of the lanceolate spleenwort ever collected in Britain, and where we found thisrarespeciesgrowingin the greatest abundance and luxuriance — a sight never again to be witnessed in these islands. Before reaching the crest of the hill, we descend its side into S beck, which flows from it through one of the ferniest ravines we ever explored, even in ferny Yorkshire, a county which has given us more varieties of our native species than any other, save and except that fern-paradise, Devon. Nor among the four or five hundred named forms of Athyrium Filix-fcemina is there any more beautiful variety, all things considered, than the one named plumosum, and found by a botanical companion of ours at Skipwith in Yorkshire. Think of it, reader, four or five hundred varieties of one British species alone ! Assuredly " Bracken Hill " is no misnomer, for in the course of our morning ramble we observed no less than eighteen species of ferns, all within the limits of one narrow gorge, including (inter alia) first of all, and next to the moorland brakes, the sand- loving hard-fern, with its vivid green and elegant habit, in abundance ; next the fragrant mountain-fern, the male-fern, and its variety with huge scaly fronds, the beautiful soft, prickly, and lobed shield-ferns, the wide-spreading buckler-fern, and where the humus lay thick the beech-fern, and glorious golden patches of the oak-fern, making sunshine in the shady place ; and the damp-loving lady-fern everywhere. And lower down, where in spring the gorge is lit up with the soft, tender light of a thousand primroses, even the hart's-tongue. What a ferny gorge ! Seldom that the lime-loving hart's-tongue and the lime-hating blechnum are found in such close proximity. And other pleasant rambles did we have whilst at S . One lovely afternoon, in especial, shines out in the memory, and, indeed, in our journal is recorded in red letters, on which we BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 187 spent three golden Bummer hours in tracing the windings of H Beck, where innumerable peaty rills on the I moors converging form a stream that dashes, in a hundred cascades, through the wood-fringed gorge, one of the most romantic in the West Hiding— a lovely scene of lock, wood, and water, in all those magical combinations by which nature steals away the soul in ravishment beyond the power of weak words to express ! Well might a great English painter choose his landscape-subjects from a region so abounding in the Beautiful and Picturesque. One feature of a scene that remains for ever photographed on the memory we must here describe. It was a wide stretch of upland pasture which, rising sheer from the woody anil ferny ravine through which we were passing in a steep acclivity, and sheltered on all other sides by belts of wood, was purpled throughout its whole extent with foxgloves, in the full pomp of their summer beauty. There they stood, stately, in thousands upon thousands countless, till, under a slanting sun, the whole hillside blushed again — a sight unparalleled in our experience. It was the flower-goddess, according to D., who was calling over her foxglove-roll, and every Yorkshire foxglove had mustered at the summons ! However that might be, it was a gorgeous floral spectacle, unique of its kind, and never to be forgotten : In spots like these it is we prize Our memory — feel that she hath eyes ! Through receiving letters from home, written in the imperativt mood, our further pilgrimage into the " White Doe" country was for the present postponed. But a little later we found ourselves again at S , and in the same pleasant company. It was full, ripe summer, and the landscape offered another flora. On the upland pastures where, a month or two before, the stately fox- gloves had mustered in their countless thousands, purpling the hills, now, in early August, we brushed through " golden groves of yellow ragwort," while all the vast moorlands around were ablaze with the blooming heather. On this occasion it was the village-wakes, or " feast " as it is called at S , and crowds of farmer and grazier folk from far- 188 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: off Yorkshire dales were paying their annual visit to friends and kinsfolk, as also their annual tribute to Bacchus at the village- inns, where every room was filled to overflowing Avith people of the bucolic class, drab as to vesture, wearing pot-hats, and with round, rubicund faces, who — Drank to the saints and martyrs Of the dismal days of yore ; And as soon as the horn was empty, They drank to one siint more ! Jolly fellows these Yorkshire graziers ; and with reason, since their lands, as a rule, are low-rented. Moreover, the risks of your beef and mutton-feeding are as nothing compared with those of your corn-growing farmer ; and three-fourths, or nearly, of the West Riding is pasture only. Clearlv we had come to the "feast" too; there could be no other motive in the opinion of the good folks of S ! But no ; we had come, as the reader knows, to resume on the morrow our pilgrimage into the "White Doe Country." In the meantime, the weather was of the loveliest, inviting the more familiar members of our party to revisit their old haunts, whom, nothing loath, we accompanied, botanizing by the way. In the evening, striding over dewy pastures and through pleasant by-paths, in the warm summer air, to H , near S , we paid a visit to our host's trusty and well-beloved' friend, Mr. Thomas B., the farmer. And a fine specimen of the stalwart Yorkshire yeoman we found him, dwarfing in stature as he did even the tallest of our tall party ; and with manners as mild and gentle as the man himself was hale and strong in appear- ance ; with that soft "couthie," caressing accent in his Saxon speech we have often observed in " north country " people, and in those of the Scottish lowlands. Mr. Thomas we found to be one of those " nature's gentlemen " with whom the cultured and the uncultured are equally at home and at once ; and a man of unbounded energy withal, not merely " looking after " his men, but lifting a hand here, putting a shoulder there, and, generally' bearing with them the heat and burthen of the day. For /;>' AIRE AND WHARFS. 189 centuries have his family held wide lands from the same immemorial owner; nor want they now, themselves, in broad acres held in fee— the reward of long and patient industry. But if Mr. Thomas is of a thrifty family, and himself one of the thriftiest of men, he has one extravagance. We do not mean that he has taken a wife, for, although somewhat beyond middle age, Mr. Thomas still holds with that very ancient adage which Yll'tliuu he yonge, then marie not yett, YlF then be old, thou ha I i <■ wytl : For yonge menne'e wyves will not be taught, And old nienne's wyves are good for naught. At any rate, if unmarried, Mr. Thomas is not desolate, for over his household there presides a gentle spirit, a right comely house- keeper — Miss L. — most helpful of women, with a freshness about her, and a sweetness, as of the fields themselves, who dis- penses Mr, B.'s hospitality with a natural grace and goodness • of heart woin^ far bevond mere refinement. Mr. Thomas's one extravagance, if such it can be called, is a fondness for carved furniture — richly, elegantly, artistically carved furniture — of which he possesses some specimens that would delight the heart of our friend Mr. Hamerton. Indeed, we doubt if royalty, anywhere, sleeps on bed more richly adorned with the carver's art than the couch of this modest Yorkshire 3^eoman, living in a plain farm-house, in a Yorkshire dale. Of Mr. Thomas's penchant we had heard before, but it was not to see his famous furniture that we had on this occasion called upon him, nor yet to taste his famous home-fed beef; but to solicit the pleasure of his company on our drive into the " White Doe " country on the morrow. Once on the spot, however, his furniture we must see, and his beef we must taste — and we did. Of the furniture we have already spoken ; let us now speak, so jar as we may venture on the unspeakable, of the beef. It was a Craven heifer, and being a heifer, it follows that its years were tender; but that its flesh was marvellously tender also, we call upon the epicurean C. to make affidavit, who, having eaten his till thereof, on the above memorable occasion, deponeth as follows, viz, : — 190 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: First. That lie verily believes said heifer was descended, in a direct line, from the " Golden Calf " worshipped of old, and a cultus as modern as it is ancient ! Second. That he believes said heifer had pastured in the elysian fields themselves, and been fattened there. Third. That he believes the ancient worship of the " Sacred Cow," in Egypt, India, and some other countries, not forgetting Ireland, is a subject worthy of more thorough investigation than it has yet received, &c, <vc. — the rest of the affidavit being too long to quote. Pending the inquiry our friend thinks so eminently desirable and whilst awaiting " the coming of that glorious time " when Beef shall receive its full apotheosis in England — a time not remote if we may judge by John Bull's intense admiration of his own portrait as drawn by Punch — we may say that, if our heads overniidit were filled with dreams somewhat mixed — with O carvings of furniture and beef — with shadows of aesthetic emotions and material cravings, and mysterious adumbrations of gigantic Craven heifers, they were at least clear on the morrow when we started, under favouring skies, for the " White Doe Country," taking with us our host of the previous evening, and where also, if he wishes, we will take the amiable reader. It was on a lovely mid-August morning, and in the midst of the stirrings occasioned by the annual "feast" at S , that we started forth from that village on a drive through the classic — and hitherto by us unvisited — region indicated by the title of BY AIRE AND WHARFE. I'.U the -'White Doe Country." To use Wordsworth's phrase, it was the morning of & i daj Willi Bilver clouds, and sunshine on the grass, Ami in t he sheltered, and the sheltering grove, A perfect stillness. Nor in the grove, as vet, wasvany sign of autumn, though already in smoke-begrimed towns of our work-a-day north the pines and planes had yellowed. Pleasant thus to catch up, as it were, a season that is passing : decay in the town, life and fresh. ness, still, in the country: So, at least, thought C, who had but lately escaped From the vast city, where lie long had pined A discontented sojourner. But indeed, who would not, if he could, spend his days where summer reigns longest — where the trees retain their rich garni- ture till far into the autumn, casting broad shadows over the land, nor dream of decay till the setting of October suns : Ferreus est, eheu .' quisquis in urbt maud* In towns such as the above, where almost constantly the air is laden with those sulphurous and other acids so much more fata] than mere smoke-clouds to vegetable life, what have we of summer 1 A few short weeks only, certainly not months — a greening in dune, a yellowing in July, a browning in August,, and at the beginning of September — the end of the leafy reign, and of the summer — the bare anatomies, and mere twiggy out- lines of trees whose congeners in the country still revel on in the plenitude of their vigour, and the fulness of their foliage. Up the pleasant valley of the Aire lay our w;iy, and after a journey sufficiently long to take us sheer out of the millstone grit into the heart of the limestone, we entered the quaint old market- town of Skipton — the "Town of Sheep," as etymologists have jt, "the chief town of the wild and mountainous district of Craven," "the metropolis of Craven," as a local writer euphemis- tically terms it, with its ancient church, and its castle famous in Yorkshire story and in national history. * Tibullus. 192 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: A " mountainous district " truly ; and many a bloody battle, here among their native hills, must the brave Brigantes have sustained, ere they fell before the " all-conquering " Roman. Indeed, in describing the progress through their country of the Roman Commander, Petilius Cerialis, Tacitus admits this. (Agricola, cap. xvii.) Multa prcelia, et aliquando non incruenta, the words of the historian in this connection, are words that may well be taken as signifying even more than they express. And to-day, the indomitable pluck and energy of your West Yorkshireman, the " Nobbut " and " Never heed !" spirit which he carries into affairs, attests how much yet survives in him of the fiery spirit of those sturdy Celts once peopling this elevated region, and who, it is probable, were never really subdued by the Roman cohorts, however numerous or skilfully handled. The last circumstance is more than probable, for whoever has penetrated into the wilder and less accessible nooks of West Yorkshire and the Pennine range generally, will have found, ever and again, a people, or, at least, people, if not unmixedly Celtic, at any rate with all the Celtic characteristics, and with that fierce independence of spirit betokening a race never wholly conquered. But this Skipton, which so often in the past must have resounded with the shock of arms, and witnessed many a bloody fray between Briton and Roman, and Briton and Saxon, and in the later centuries, even between contending English factions, sits here, now, peaceful enough, the important centre of a wide pastoral region — a pleasant bucolic country, abounding in fat oxen, in , sheep, and in horses. And little changed, in sooth, in comparison with its pushing peers of the West Riding. We say "peers," but no peer has Skipton in the estimation of its people ; and a right hearty people they are, and a hospitable : nodes, ccenceque How many libations have we not poured out, on Yorkshire soil ! How many suppers have we not left untasted, from shere reple- tion (vino ciboque gravatus), at the groaning tables of those jovia West Riding farmers ! BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 193 A quicker humour has your West than your East, or North Riding man, for the reason that into his composition (of course, in the main Teuton) there enters more of the Celtic element, no doubt derived from sources already hinted. Mbeit not so quick a humour as is met with in your average Lancashire man, in whom the Celtic factor works yet more strongly ; and indeed constitutes largely, in our humble opinion, the fons et w^oofthat rich stream of humour which turns the wheels of Messrs. Waugh, Brierley, and Co., the well known*' 1 Lancashire Dialect" firm, and spinners "of long yarns. Of North Riding humour, perhaps the most characteristic sample is the song, popular in Yorkshire some half century ago, recording the adventures of a runaway lad from Wensleydale, which, as it happens to be the "putative father "of some other north country songs of a similar character, it may perhaps be allowed here to transcribe When 1 were at home, with my fay t her ami mother, I never had no fun. They kept me going from morn nil night, so I thowt fra them I'd run. Leeds Fair were coming on, and I thowt I'd havea spree; So I put on in) Sunday cooat, and went right merrily. First I saw were't factory ; I never saw one before : There were threads and tapes, and tapes and silks to sell by monya score ; There were a strap turned iveiy wheel, and ivery wheel a strap ; " llegor," says I to t' maister mon, " owd Harry's a rare strong chap !" Next I went to Leeds auhl church : I were niver i' one i' my days ; And I were maistly ashamed o' myself, for I didn't know their ways; There were thirty or forty fooak in toobs and boxes sat ; When up comes it .saucy old fellow, says he : " Noo, lad, tak' off thy hat !" Then in there comes a great Lord mayor, and over his shoulders a cloob, And he got into a white sack-poke, ami got into t' topmost toob ; And then there came anither chap, 1 thinks they called him Ned : And he got int' bottomest toob, and moch d all /' otht r chap said ! So tiny began to preach and pray— they prayed for (ieorge, our king ; When up jumps t' chap in t' bottomest toob, says he : "Good fooaks let's sing." I thowt some sang varra well, while others did grunt and groan ; K\ cry mon sang what he could, but I sang Darby and Juan! When t'preaching and praying were ower, and fooaks were ganging away, 1 went to t'chap in t' toppermost toob, says I : " Lad what's to pay." " \\ hy now t " says he, " my lad." Begor, 1 were right fain ; So I clickt baud o' my great cloob-stick, and went whistling oot again. As regards Skipton, we hardly need stop to describe what has been so often described already, but wo may say that we found the town, in its older part, with its streets of motley but alwa M 194 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: stone-built houses, disposed in the form of the letter Y (the ancient church and castle being conspicuous), its quaint market- place, and numerous inns and hostelries, famed for centuries for their "good entertainment" of "man and horse,*' the very ideal of a bucolic town, and a most refreshing contrast to the grimy- towns we had left behind us. Very abundant are some of the above hostelries in long, dark passages, the ambages of which you might hesitate to explore were it not that you invariably perceive, in the distance, a sort of Pharos, or beacon-light, to guide the benighted traveller, in the shape of bright fire, gleam- ing crockery, or better still, ruddy-faced Yorkshire matron, or maiden, " on hospitable thoughts intent." One word as to the town-botany of Skipton. The phrase " town-botany" may be a little startling, but in remote quiet- going towns and villages, built on, and out of, the limestone, the urban, apart from the garden flora, is often considerable ; and where disintegration is in full progress, as in the case of buildings in ruins, the botanist will sometimes enter upon a veritable Bus in urbe. Occasionally, quite in the middle of a town, and where was no apparent dilapidation, we have found the beautiful ivy- leaved toad-flax, and the wall-pellitory, among flowering plants, and the wall-rue and maidenhair spleenworts, among ferns, staring out from corners and crannies in a manner that would have been perfectly disgraceful if it had not been so perfectly and super- latively graceful. But seldom have we seen the "rambling sailor," as the above toad-flax is often termed, so entirely at home as he appeared to be on the walls of Skipton castle, though rambling "aloft," as is the custom of sailors. And if the before- mentioned pretty little spleenworts peered out upon us from sundry niches very coquettishly, and rather impudently, could we snub them, or grub them up 1 By no means. Apropos to spleenworts, was it not — it was — on the walls of Skipton that Samuel Gibson, the West Riding man, once found, or stated he had found, that very rare British species, the fountain spleenwort ! And it was our Lancashire Nowell (" Clarus Nowellius," of the German botanists) who gathered on the same walls, somo thirty BY Aim: AND WHABFE. 195 years ago, fruiting examples of that interesting "extinguisher- moss," Encalypta streptocarpa. And here is the moss-gatherer of our own party, with his lynx eyes, and superhuman agility, searching for another illustration of the same rare phenomenon — a fruitless search. And now we have started north : Skipton is behind us, the mountains are before us, and the pages of Wordsworth fly open of their own accord. We tend to Rylstone, and are on the track of the "White Doe." At the distance of two miles north from Skipton, on the edge of the fells, stands a solitary inn, where hangs aloft That ancient sign, "The Craven Heifer" — an inn widely known through Craven for its hospitable cheer, and which has sheltered from the howling blast many a belated and many an early traveller. Ot the latter were we, on the present occasion, though not too early to find the broad hearth warm, and " neat-handed Phillis " at ready call. The "Craven Heifer" of blessed memory! but blessed unto us by a double token, for here, on a subsequent day — a tranquil sabbath, in the decline of summer — One of those heavenly days that cannot die ! it was our privilege to witness surely the most magnificent " sky-pageant " that ever met the gaze of astonished mortal — (Jlory beyond all glory ever seen By waking sense, or by the dreaming soul ! The sun was sinking in the west, amid golden and amber splendours; but on the orient it was that the Master Painter had lavished the wealth of his palette. Standing on the hillside, with our faces to the east, the immense panorama of cloud land opened before us, lit up with all the colours of the spectrum, in every conceivable and inconceivable combination, gold, ora-i^e, bronze and ultramarine predominating, the whole scene taking the character of a vast archipelago: sea in ultramarine, islands m2 196 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: in gold, orange, and bronze — many a tempting isle, With groves that never were imagined, lay 'Mid seas how stedfast ! While at the extreme eastern horizon rose lip tall cliffs of dun r or silvery grey, bounding, as it seemed, a vast continent that stretched beyond. Oh ! 'twas an unimaginable sight ! Clearly denned and steadfast for a while, the splendid picture slowly dissolved before our eyes. AYordsworth, who, on a certain notable occasion, witnessed from the Yorkshire hills one of these pageants, says of them : they are of the sky, And from our earthly memory fade away ! But surely never from our memory, or from the memories of those who with us witnessed the unparalleled spectacle, can those marvellous combinations of all gorgeous colours fade ! From Skipton to Rylstone, journeying north, through the hills, is some seven miles ; and after passing the " Craven Heifer," which is not only an important local land-mark but is shown on most maps, you at once find yourself in the midst of the Yorkshire highlands, or " fells " as they are here called, the prevalence in the west of which word "fell," itself deriving from the Gaelic British " fels," is one of the many Celtic traces to be found in this riding, as are also the words "scar" and "crag" which occur so much more frecpiently than in other parts of Yorkshire, in place-names. On our right, as we proceed, rise hills of considerable elevation and of rugged outline, affording in their lower reaches wide pasturage for cattle and sheep, and already, in their higher slopes, flaming with the purple heather. At intervals, the wayside was brightened with the red Bartsia (Bartsia Odontites), and at much shorter intervals with a species of ragwort (Senecio eruccef alius), with flowers of the most vivid yellow. A white harebell was occasionally met with, varying the blue ; and here and there, at sheltered points, a belated foxglove, not towering BY AIRE ASK WHARFE. 107 up in a single stem, or stalk, but branching oul in numerous sidespikeSj and ultimately forming a real floral cathedral, with centra] spire, whereat any rate the bees, if still abroad, might profitably enter were no sermon preached. The beautiful family of the glasses— a family far too much neglected by British botanists -was abundantly represented ; nor, on the present occasion, did we find any of its representatives more charming than the sweet floating-grass (G i fluitans), whose stums were to be seen floating in many a wayside pool, while the slender and graceful panicles rose fully two feet above the water. Very abundant also, if limited in variety, were the mosses, whose lovely tapestry covered every wall : here bright bits of Didy- modon rubellvs, there great masses of the beautiful cypress-moss, varied by hoary tufts of Ghimmia, and long, shining patches of the silky Leskea, while the beard-moss, in three or four species, was everywhere. We were entering upon Iiylstone Fell : and, marvellous to relate, immediately we did SO one of our party saw a "milk- white doe :" " Where .' " the reader asks. In his "mind's eye," most courteous reader. It was 1)., the Wbrdsworthian, into whose moral and intellectual texture the great Lakist — great despite serious limitations — has been slowly soaking for forty years ; and who, thus soaked and saturated, intus et in cute, drops " Wordsworth " as fast a* the Arabian trees Their medicinal gum 1 But I), did certainly hear of a "White Doe" shortly after, for we had no sooner come in sight of "Norton Tower," which as every reader of Word-worth knows is standing (in ruins) Higli on a point of rugged ground A ng the wastes of Rylstone Fell, Above the loftiest ri<l_'e or mound Where foresters and Bnepherds dwell — than we had a very pleasant encounter, that is to say, we met with a stalwart man of the fells, who volunteered as cicerone, and gave us much interesting information the most important item of which was that "the late Duke" — an expression, in these 198 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: parts, which always means His late Grace of Devonshire — had assiduously sought, but vainly, to naturalise on his Bolton estate another White Doe ! How many attempts were made, how many White Does, after varying fortunes, found their way to Bolton, we forget, but the result was uniform : utter failure to naturalise so rare an animal ! The above history, which some may think has been purposely and of malice aforethought concocted, as a travesty of the age, is as authentic as it is interesting. We say a " travesty " of the age, for in these hurrying, unmeditative days, how few would linger by " St. Mary's shrine " till penetrated by the deep pathos of Wordsworth's story — in our sense, with all its faults, one of the most ethereal, subtile and spiritual creations in the language — subtile and subjective, and therefore directly opposed to the dispositions, tastes, and tendencies of the time. But this some- what too boastful, if brilliant age, with its weltering chaos of opposing elements, what is it but an age of transition ? In the meantime, whatever difficulties His late Grace of Devonshire may have encountered, in his interesting attempts to naturalise a White Doe at Bolton, one " White Doe " is there already naturalised, yet is it not a Child of Time But Daughter of the Eternal Prime ! Under the kindly guidance of our voluntary cicerone, we explored the neighbourhood, but did not on this occasion climb to the " Tower," leaving that for a later day, that is to say, almost the last in the month of August, 1883, when we returned to Rylstone to find Nature still flaunting her summer robes, and the sheltering dimples and depressions of the hills gorgeous with the fruiting rowan (Pyrus Aucuparia), the clustering scarlet berries of which so abounded that the trees were bending with the weight — a feast for the eyes, and a real banquet for the birds. What lovelier sight in English landscapes, in later summer, than this most graceful tree, with its richly indented, plumy, fern-like leaves, and scarlet berries in hanging clusters ! Let English poets, and English painters, render to the rowan, so graceful in BY AIRE AND WHARFS. 199 outline, so lovely in leaf and blossom, so rich in scent, so glorious in fruit, and Autumn-queen of English woods, the honour due. After climbing, on the occasion referred to, knee-deep in odorous brake-fern, Wordsworth's "point of rugged ground," for all the land about here is his, by poetic right, at least, And they like Demigods are strong On whom the Muses smile ! we attained the height, so bleak and bare, and seldom free, As Pendle-hill, or Pennyghent, From wind, or frost, or vapours wet, to find, indeed, the four corners of "Norton Tower" standing, but little more. The " pleasure-house," where the youthful Nortons met To practice games, and archery, is "dust" or nearly so. Despite the "vapours Avet " so seldom absent, as the poet says, from this high point, and which on this occasion were decidedly present, we obtained a splendid vieAV from the " Tower " which fronts all quarters, and looks round O'er path and road, and plain and dell, Dark moor, and gleam of pool and stream, Upon a prospect without bound. It is an admirable point of observation, admirably chosen for the purposes of a " watch tower," commanding as it does, or at least must have done when standing, not only the surrounding fells, but considerable portions of Airedale and Wharfedale ; and in the perfect silence and stillness that prevailed the scene was impres-ive : a "land of hills," hill beyond hill— niente die montagnc, as the Venetian said of the Morea. The foreground, however, was brightened with the mountain-ash, or rowan before referred to, which was gleaming out like a veritable "burning bush " from many a dell and dingle. Below us, at some distance away, stood Rylstone church, to which we descended with a pre- cipitancy that possibly had some connection with the " vapours wet " now in process of condensation. Rylstone church, though of no architectural pretensions, is one of those interesting old structures with which Craven is dotted, 200 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY : and which make this quiet nook of old England so inviting to poet and antiquary. Indeed, moss-and-lichen-covered, and grey and hoary with age as they are, each one is a poem in stone. " Could words come forth from those time-honoured walls," how quaint a language would they speak ! We love these ancient churches, and delight to wander, in the brief intervals permitted, within their quiet precincts, so favourable to meditation. They are dear to our heart, as they were dear to the heart of the genial Irving, most English of American writers, and dearer still to that of the shy, retiring Hawthorne, whose quaint fancy revelled amid their ivied walls, and mossy niches, and crumbling stones. How Nature, in this humid clime, delights to trace her rich scroll- work in living forms on all that is bare ! And what grace of outline, what delicacy of structure, what glory of colour, in the minute vegetable organisms with which she paints ! But Rylstone church has an interest, a charm, and a poetry beyond this, carry- ing us back, as it does, in imagination, to the time when The bells of Rylstone seemed to say, While she sate listening in the shade, With vocal music : God us ayde ! Nor in the surroundings is there anything to jar with the feel- ings thus prompted, or to disturb the train of one's musings. The situation itself is poetic, the churchyard looking out upon the hills, with nothing between but green pastures, and here and there a solitary bush or tree. From the hills we entered : ( treen was the churchyard, beautiful and green, Ridge rising gently by the side of ridge, A heaving surface . How often, in our experience, does the grotesque, and even ludicrous, element obtrude itself, and mingle with the grave and solemn ! And so it happened here ; for C, who is so thoroughly " Yorkshire " that almost every face he saw was but his own reflected, whom every casual passenger in the road greeted as "brother" or "cousin," and the bones of whose ancestors (as D. avers to have been proved by exact analysis) form an essential element of the soil of every Yorkshire burying-ground, had no sooner set foot in the sequestered graveyard, than, to his own BY AIRE AND WHARFS. 201 astonishment, he trod upon family mould/ Of this he was informed by the first head-stone over which he stumbled. The thing was inevitable ; and Hie et ubique .' \v,ls the remark, equally inevitable, of the desperate D. In the churchyard so romantically situated and poetically associated we did not linger j for why! like all the world we were pursued by the <lemou "Hurry" — "the 'Black Death' of these modern days !" — and hurried and hurrying, we sought " the hall " — " Rylstone's old sequestered hall" a vain search, the only trace of its former existence being now a few stones that serve for wall in a farmhouse hard by : Thai mansion, .•mil those pleasant bowers, Walks, p'xils, and harbours, homeMrail, hall the blast to which the poet refers (so, at least, one is constrained to think) has swept them all away, One desolation, one decay. "Rylstone Hall" is now only to be found in the pages of Wordsworth, but " Emily " — exalted Emily, Maid of the blasted family, and "Francis," her devoted brother, are still living — in every gentle heart. Lingering for a while — a little while -where "once the garden smiled," did we ? — we could not — fail once more to recall, in detail, that pathetic story of the Nortons, as told by Words- worth, or to picture the sorrowing Lady, and above all the bright ethereal Presence that did a very gladness yield At morning to the dewy field, and brought at length divine soothing to .\ Soul, by force of sorrows high, Uplifted to t he purest sky Of undisturbed humanity ! Meanwhile (1., who flourishes amid "ruin," and wherever are mossy walls, or mossy wells (muscosi fontes as Virgil puts it), had been improving hi- opportunities; and had even— must we con- 202 B AMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNT BY : fess it ? — regarded with unhallowed eyes certain " mossy stones " within hallowed precincts ! He had now gathered — what had he gathered ? — " exceedingly fine specimens of Leucodon sciuroides (Schwdgrichen) Neckera sciuroides (C. Midler) /" Fearful words, poor B. thought, to proceed from so mild a mouth, but with whose meaning we shall not insult the reader by assuming him unacquainted. The mossy trunk of a gnarled ash, standing by Rylstone church, was the El Dorado whence G. had dug his precious " specimen." May that ash survive, is B.'s prayer, not so much the hard blows of G. as his hard words. Green and pastoral is the neighbourhood of Kylstone, though on one hand rise up hills of considerable height, on the bald summits of which are to be seen masses of rock, single or in groups, and of every uncouth shape and outline, resembling many others in West Yorkshire, and reminding one of Words worth's simile : As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence ; Wonder to all who do the same espy, By what means it could thither come and whence, So that it seems a thing endued with sense : Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf Of rock, or sand, reposeth, there to sun itself. Though the geologist will hardly wonder " how they thither came and whence," yet are these groups of stones most striking, nd weird even when seen in the gloaming, or when magnified by the mists that so often hang about these hills. As regards the botany of the district, among the characteristic flowering plants are the meadow and shining crane's bills (the latter on walls), and the giant bell-flower, with its lavender and also its white variety, the last-named in greater quantity than we have ever elsewhere seen it. The hemlock (Conium viaculatum) is also to be met with ; while, besides the commoner ferns,' the wallrue spleenwort, so characteristic of the lime, is abundant. As touching shells, Conchologicus reported most of the Helices ordinarily found in these districts. B. was " under the impres- sion they were snails." sancta simplicitas ! Hard by Rylstone, in the direction of the Wharfe, is the BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 203 pretty village of Cracoe, where we had arrived the evening before ; thither, now, we return. At Cracoe are two respectable inns: the "Bull's Head" and the "Devonshire Arms." At the former is Miss B. (Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita .'), and at the latter may be found Mrs. T., a widow lady, diligent in business, polite in her attentions, and worthy of honourable mention. On our first visit to Rylstone and Cracoe, we had been so well entertained at the "Bull's Head," at the Skipton entrance to the village, that on this, our second visit, the reflection naturally occurred to us we might go further and fare worse. But unfortunately arriving late, and after darkness had set in, that is to say, at a quarter to ten of the clock, we found that Miss B. and her whole household had retired to rest. Nor could the united efforts of our party, though abundantly calculated to have roused the famous "seven," rouse one sleeper at the "Bull's Head!" In this emergency, I)., who it seems is a "man of resource," humbly suggested that as the fortress was not likely , to capitulate, " till daylight did appear," the besieging party should " camp out " m the neighbourhood ; and in the meantime, threatened to favour Miss B. with the " Sabine Farmer's serenade," in the original Latin! (Vide Father Prout, of facetious memory.) D.'s " humble suggestion " not being approved by officers of commissariat, the order w r as given to "move on to the other end of the village," where at the " Devonshire Arms " all our troubles suddenly ended, thanks to the open doors, open heart, and kind attentions of the Widow T. Calling, now, at the " Bull's Head," on our return from Kylstone, we were effusively met by "mine hostess," whose explanations of, and apologies for, the contretemps of the night before were as profuse as her regrets were poignant. It appears that outside Cracoe the true principles of acoustics and dynamics are very imperfectly understood. It was on this occasion, and from Miss B. we learnt, for the first time, that it is possible for a whole "storming party," armed with the most forcible battering rams and other engines of great mechanic power, 204 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY : according to the ordinary estimate, to appear at the door of a house whose inmates are asleep, and to pound and hammer away at said door for an indefinite period without being heard inside ! Our mistake of the evening before had clearly resulted from our having based our calculations on scientific principles. Let science couch somewhat her lofty head, after this most conclusive proof of her fallibility. But a great trouble had fallen on the neighbourhood, in contrast with which our own chagrins of the previous evening seemed small indeed. A sad tragedy had been enacted a few miles away, in Wharfedale, and of this our hostess of the " Bull's Head " was full. Mr. I)., a Yorkshire gentleman residing at Linton, universally respected, and who had been for some time " missing," had been found, a day or two before, drowned in the Wharfe under most distressing circumstances A fortnight previous, the Wharfe, whose name, signif\ 7 ing "rough" in Gaelic British, is certainly no misnomer, had been, as is too often the case, swollen by long rains to four or five times the usual volume — a circumstance which had alarmed the neighbourhood. Going out at night, from his residence close by the river, in the rain and darkness Mr. L>. had accidentally slipped into the water, and been instantly swept away by the raging torrent ; nor, as before stated, had the body been recovered till near a fortnight after, when it was found miles away down the stream. Such, put in few words, was the story put in many by Miss B. of the " Bull's Head." And there was no exaggeration, as in proceeding from Cracoe into Wharfedale by way of Linton we had abundant opportunity of proving. The dales were full of the painful tragedy; and the lamentations were all the louder that the drowned gentleman had been one of those benefactors to the poor whose right hand does not always know what their left hand does. An hour later we were passing through a green and open country, characteristically pastoral, and after a journey of some three or four miles we entered the quaint little village of Linton — quaint and old-fashioned, despite its one factory now disused. BY AIRE AND II EARFE. 205 Here we struck the Wharfe whose romantic course we were to follow, by Burnsall and Bard en, on to Bolton, with its glorious woods. Here the moss-gatherer made his 6rs1 acquaintance with this beautiful, if capricious and often fatal, stream. Here, too, or rather in the neighbourhood, he made his first importanl "find," viz., the beautiful hepatic, Mttia Taylori, in full fruit, a phenomenon witnessed only once previously in this country. Here at Linton is the famous, or at least locally famous, "Tin Bridge," over the Wharfe, which boiling and chafing below has carved its bed in lines the must grotesque, each great mass of limestone above water being clothed with the dark, trailing stems of the water screw-moss (Cinclidotus jontin I, the whole forming a very striking and unique picture, well worthy of an artist's pencil. Strange to say, the day and the hour appointed for the funeral of the drowned gentleman, at Linton, was the day and the hour of our visit to the village ; and we were touched by the general mourning, for not only were the blinds drawn in every cottage, but all the villagers, man, woman, and child, appeared to have Mocked to the funeral — the place was deserted. Mr. I), was buried at Linton church, an ancient structure of peculiar archi- tecture, situated scarce a hundred yards from his late residence, the soil of its graveyard washed b}^ that Wharfe whose angry waters had to him proved so fatal. The coincidences w r ere as striking as the circumstances were touching ; and the surroundings were in harmony. All untimed and uninvited as we were, and neither hurrying nor delaying, the carriage conveying us " fell in " with the others forming the funeral-train of the drowned man, even to the very gate of the churchyard, where, by a common impulse, we one and all descended, entered churchyard and church, joined in the funeral service, saw the coffin with its sad freight, wreath-covered, followed it to the grave, heard the "Dust to dust and ashes to ashes! " and remained till the last man of the funeral train and the attendant crowd had departed. Quiet were the hills and woods around ; quiet, now, was 206 BAUBLES IN TOWN AND COUNT BY : Wharfe or softly murmuring, in relenting murmurs, as he flowed by the silent graves. We thought of another of his victims — " the Boy of Egremond " — and of Wordsworth's noble lines : Now there is stillness in the vale, And 1 >ng unspeaking sorrow ; W harfe shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow ! We thought of another funeral, occurring under similar circumstances, in another churchyard — that of Grasmere, and of the above poet's sublime tribute, on that occasion, to the victims of another storm — among the wild, Westmoreland hills : Now, do those cold, unpeopled hills Look gently on this grave ; And silent now are the depths of air As the sea without a wave ! The next stage of our itinerary was Linton to Burnsall ; and as one of the objects of our journey was to botanise and naturalise, we took the line of the Wharfe. One of the charms of this river is its picturesqueness, its banks, in the upper part of its course especially, being well wooded ; and to us who pen these lines trees are as necessary an element of landscape beauty as the colour of green itself. Awaking to consciousness the first time in this world within the shadow of the woods, we have ever since regarded trees as in some sense " relations " of ours ; and (parvis componere magna) like that Persian monarch avIio was so seduced by the beauty of an eastern plane-tree that he delayed the march of his army to the point of losing the battle, so have we spent furtively many a summer hour in admiration of some giant of the woods, to our personal loss ; and assuredly if the ban against those who "worship in the groves" were presently in force, we should be "doubly cursed !" " All the original wild nature of a man awakens," says a French writer,* "when he snuffs in the odour of the forest." And what more delightful than to botanise, on a glorious summer's day, along the wooded banks of a swift-flowing stream ! One drawback only there was on this occasion, but a serious one to the senior member of our * On redevient sauvage ;L l'odeur des forets. Sully Prudhomme. BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 207 party. Over the Wharf c the bridges are not too numerous, and as the necessity of crossing was recurrent, we had to fall back upon the only available alternative- -stepping stones ; but of this anon. We were no sooner underway for Burnsall than our whole party were arrested and taken into friendly custody by one of the rural police — Sergeant , who proved a very interesting and instructive companion — at once guide, guardian, philosopher, and friend, and "guardian" most especially to our ancient friend C, whose ardour in pursuit of " the things of nature" happens to be out of all proportion to his agility and strength of limb. Sergeant turned out to be a naturalist, and displayed an acquaintance with certain branches of natural history that would have astonished us had we not often met with people in humble positions equally advanced in this or that department of natural science, or philosophy. Doubtless there were mute, inglorious Rousseaus before Rousseau's time, and we have known fully a dozen Gilbert Whites who were certainly not able to pen delightful letters on natural history subjects to their friends. In fact, it would appear that the "leisured classes," so-called, are the classes who have no leisure, or at least no leisure for the epiiet studies, but rather that this is the privilege of the poor toilers of factory and field. Some men to business, some to pleasure take, But every woman is at heart a rake. Says Pope, ceternum scrvans sub pectore ruin us — the vulnus intlicted by that inflexible and cruel "Lady Mary." But noAvadays, whether men take to business or whether they take to pleasure, their lives seem equally rushing and strenuous, and your idle man is as full of what he chooses to call " engage- ments " as your " man in business." It remains then, for the most part, for the humble labourer who is able to count the hours that are his own, and who lives perforce outside the " vortex " and whirl of pleasure, to pursue at leisure the " paths of peace " and the quiet study of outward nature ; hence the number of working- men botanists and naturalists, whose acquired and acknowledged 208 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: fame is all the more merited that it has been unasked for and unsought. This homily is a propos to our policeman-guide, whose pleasant and instructive conversation touching wild birds and their habits, and other natural history matters, beguiled us until we arrived at the second series of stepping-stones on our riverside journey. Three of the party had safely passed over, including the desperate D. who, as his manner is, must needs quote Virgil, in the well- known words cf the always " pious " hero of the ./Eneid : socii,- O passi graviora, dabit Deus his quoque finem. But the words, though encouraging enough to some of us, were lost upon C, who at that moment had attained the middle of the roaring Wharfe. At this critical point our ancient friend struck upon " the stones," and would inevitably have fallen in — another victim to the cruel genii of the stream — -but for the Avatchful eye and strong, protecting arm of our policeman-friend. The " genii " of this rough and rapid but picturesque river, which swollen by torrents from the hills often bears and tears down, in its impetuous course, tall giants of the woods, and some- times even bridges, have much to answer for, both before and since that " day of dim antiquity," the fatal day When Lady Aiiliza mourned Her son, and felt in her despair The pang of unavailing prayer ; Her son in Wharfe's abysses drowned, The noble boy of Egremound. An ancient tradition which Wordsworth, with that subtile pen of his, works up so powerfully in his poem entitled " The Found- ing of Bolton Priory " that henceforth and for ever Wharfe shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow. After a pleasant walk of several miles by wood and stream, ever to be remembered, on the loveliest of summer afternoons, we arrived at Burnsall. Here the impetuous Wharfe is spanned by a goodly bridge of solid stone, but which nevertheless has often, when old Wharfe has been in a temper, felt the impact of his BY AIRE AND WHARFE. •JO-.) watery power ; the bridge, in fact, through this cause, was in process of rebuilding at the time of our visit. The "Beauties of Bumsall " have been said, or sun-, so frequently by local writers who took a pride in their theme that to dwell upon them here would be superfluous. Nor is it our intention to enter upon the topography or history of the place, or of any part of the district, our purpose on this occasion being to write only in the character of poetical pilgrim, glancing lightly by the way at the characteristic flora of the country-side. But we may say, if we do not insult our readers by telling them what they already know, that there are few places more delight- ful in Upper Wharfedale than this ancient village, with its antique church, and its beautiful surroundings. At the best inn of the place, whither we betook ourselves for needful refreshment after a lengthened ramble, we had the opportunity of making acquaintance with sundry disciples of "Old Isaak," Bumsall being a favourite resort of gentlemen- anglers fishing in the Wharfe. And that there should still be a number of well-to-do people who can find their diversion in the quiet pleasure of angling is a consoling reflection, to say the least, in these days of feverish excitement. As the time after dinner did not allow of our making the next stage (Bolton) while the light endured, we " took our ease in our inn" for the night at Burnsall : and the following morning were up betimes and climbing the hills towards Barden, with the Wharfe on our left. And if the botany of the neighbourhood offered us nothing beyond the ordinary mountain-plants, at least the aesthetic sense was gratified by many an enchanting group of floral wildings having for base the lovely purple of the heather-bloom (Cattuna, or Erica* vulgaris), and the heavenly blue of the hare-bell — the " blue-bell " of Scotland — (CamiMnula rotundifolia) than which what British wild-flower is more graceful ! 1 For full}' forty years we have heen trying to teach gardeners and others the true pronunciation of this botanical name, which, in view of its (ireek radical, must be sounded with the i long; but all in vain: an error once deeply rooted in the popular mind is difficult to eradicate. 210 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: On the other hand, the valley of the Wharf e, which lay far below us on our left, with its woods and meadows and numberless quiet farmsteads bathed in the all-pervading sunlight of the morning, presented one of those sweet pictures of luxuriant verdure which are the peculiar pride and boast of our rainy north, contrasting as they do with the often parched and burnt-up landscapes of southern counties. And now, leaving the moors to our right, we arrive at Barden — "Barden Tower," charged with a thousand romantic memories? and on approaching which the Wordsworthian D. became visibly excited. But Barden is now only an old grey ruin : Time, Time his withering touch hath laid On battlement and tower ; And where the banner was displayed Now only waves a flower. Yes, a thousand high and stirring memories cluster around Barden ; but in view of our resolve not to be either historical or topographical, or to go on the guide-book line (having no present engagement of that character !) we shall not here recall those memories. But the "Shepherd Lord" — the "Good Lord Clifford,' we can not forget ; nor the noble and enduring tribute paid him by Wordsworth : Love had he seen in huts where poor men lie ; His daily teachers had been woods and rills : The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills. ****** Clad were the vales, and every cottage hearth, The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more ; And ages after he was laid in earth, " The good Lord Clifford " was the name he bore. Nor can we pass without at least one word of grateful homage to that Lady Anne Clifford, "whose pious actions and benevolent endowments," to use the language of one of her historians, " have given a sanctity and an odour to her name which will last through all generations." Besides repairing we know not how many castles belonging to her house, we are informed that this gracious lady repaired no less than seven churches, and that she founded two hospitals- BY AIRE AND WHARFS. 211 Of the strong family seats restored by Lady Anne, this Rarden Tower was one, the restoration taking place in 1658, which fad is recorded upon h tablet fixed to the southern wall of the build. ing in the following terms : "This Barden Tower was repayrd by the Ladie Anne Clifford, Countesse Dowager of Pembroke, Dorsett, and Montgomery, Baroness Clifford, Westmorland and Vescie, Ladj of the Eonor of Skipton in Craven, and Sigh Sheriffessi by inheritance of the Countie of Westnierhind, intheyeres 1658 and 1659, after it had layne ruinous ever since about 1589, when her mother then lay in itl and was greal with child with her till aowe that it was repayrd by the said Lady. Is., chapt. 58, v. 12. ' < rod's Name he Praised.' " From Barden to Bolton the distance is short; and very soon we stood once more on the banks of the rushing Wharfe, winding through woods in which the towering, leafy pyramids of the sycamore, or false plane (Acer Pseudo-platanus) were still verdant ; while the lofty ash, the most beautiful tree of the forest accord- ing to Virgil (Fraxinus in silvis pulcherrima), was in the full pomp of its summer garniture. How to describe the charms of Bolton, enhanced as thev are — and in what subtle fashion ! — by the lofty imaginings of the poet, whose magical pen has for ever consecrated these scenes and all this lovely valley. Wordsworth was wont to complain, though never with any bitterness, that his contemporaries did him less than justice with regard to one peculiar faculty which he certainly possessed above most poets, viz., that of spiritualising and etherealising the sceiM- of his poems. And with reason ; nor, in our opinion, has adeipiate justice been done him even yet in this particular. Then, dearest maiden, move along these shades In U'cntlciit'ss of heart ; with gentle hand Touch — for there is a spirit in the wood-. ^ es ; but that " spirit " is the poet's own ! Wherever our errant steps are bent, on the banks of the Upper Wharfe, Wordsworth is with us, we breathe the Wordsworthian atmosphere; and with Rylstone, and Barden, and Bolton, the name of the great Cumber- land poet is for ever joined. n2 212 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND [COUNTRY: Arriving at the famous Strid, " where lordly Wharfe is pent in with rocks on either side," we were reminded once more of the old tradition so nobly and so touchingly worked up by the poet ; and we could not prevent ourselves from repeating the verses which in their tone of deep solemnity always sound to us like the pealing of an organ in some dim cathedral. Listen to a few of the later stanzas, reader ; and believe, Avhile Wordsworth tells the story of the sorrowing lady, that you hear an anthem pealing under a lofty dome : Now there is stillness in the vale, And long, unspeaking sorrow : Wharfe shall be to pitying hearts A name more sad than Yarrow. If for a lover the Lady wept, A solace she might borrow From death, and from the passion of death ; Old Wharfe might heal her sorrow. She weeps not for the wedding-day Which was to be to-morrow : Her hope was a further-looking hope, And her's is a mother's sorrow. He was a tree that stood alone, And proudly did its branches wave ; And the root of this delightful tree Was in her husband's grave ! & i Long, long in darkness did she sit, And her first words were, " Let there be In Bolton, on the field of Wharfe, A stately Priory !" The stately Priory was reared ; And Wharfe, as he moved along, To matins joined a mournful voice, Nor failed at even-song. And the Lad}- prayed in heaviness That looked not for relief ! But slowly did her succour come, And a patience to her grief. Oh ! there is never sorrow of hearts That shall lack a timely end, If but to Ood we turn, and ask Of Him to be our friend ! But Wordsworth apart, the natural charms of the Bolton Woods may well draw to this lovely nook of West Yorkshire the crowds that are to be found there whenever the weather favours. BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 213 What a picture in himself is rushing, roaring Wharfe who, at more than one point of his impetuous course, might well echo the words of his roaring not them brother, the Bruar : Here, foaming down the shelvy n»-ks, In twist Lng strength I rin ; There, 1 1 i j_rl 1 my boiling torrent smokes, Wild roaring o'er a linn. And how they riot and revel in the moist atmosphere these sturdy giants of the woods : oak, ash, sycamore ! What charm- ing vistas! And how ferny the woods: lady-fern, male-fern, buckler fern, and polypodies on every hand '. Well may the plant-lovers scatter themselves when every step is a revelation of beauty. But His Grace of Devonshire, who has done so much to convenience the public by placing seats for necessary rest, and to command the numerous •' views," is quite warranted in firmly interdicting any trespass by plant-grubbers (and grabbers/) especially in view of the fact, lamentable enough, that many notable species which were formerly abundant in the "Woods'' are now totally eradicated.* This, of course, implies a reflection not on the "simpler" proper, who is usually "simple" and harmless enough, but on the rapacious " collector " who has no botanical interest in plants whatsoever but merely looks at them with a mercenary eye. Emerging, a little later, from the " Woods," we arrived at a point where the valley widens, and lo ! before us, sleeping in tranquil beauty, lay the once stately and still famous "Bolton Priory." The "Beauties of Bolton," as of many other places on the banks of Wharfe, have been so often and so well said, so sweetly * Among a croivd of other species formerly met with hereabouts may be named the rare Eerh True-love (Paris quadrifolia), the Wood Crane's- bill (Qeranium sylvaticum), the Globe-flower (Trollius Europeans), the Little Bock Bramble (Rvbus saxatUis), Lily of the Valley (ConrxUlaria majalis), the Mossj Saxifrage {Saxi/raga hypnoides) near the Strid, and, among ferns, the Hart's-tongue (Scolopendrium vulgare) in abundance. The most notable " find " made by our moss-gatherer on the above occa- sion was Fitsidens rufuliis, a very rare mo", and one comparatively new to British bryology. 214 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: sung and so vividly painted by so many master-hands (besides a crowd of dii minor es in literature and art) that for us to attempt here another description would be to play the fatuous part of trying to "gild refined gold."* It remains only for the present writer to record, in all humility, his own individual impressions. And that there are such things as " individual impressions " — that two men may be differently affected by one and the same thing — even the most bumptious positivist will admit ; and hence, we suppose, the raison d'etre of so much writing on the same subjects. Sir Walter Scott said of the Abbey of Melrose, If thou would 'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight. But poetry that requires "moonlight" is often very near to " moonshine " of another sort, and we are not surprised to learn that Sir Walter afterwards confessed he had " never seen Melrose in the moonlight at all " when he penned the oft-quoted lines ! But whether seen under the light of sun or moon, the ruined Abbev of St. Marv, at Bolton on the Wharfe, offers a scene of most •enchanting loveliness. The whole Vale of Bolton is charming, and for natural picturesqueness will compare with any valley in England, east or west, north or south ; but at the point where stands the ruined Priory the scenery is ravishingly beautiful, and most truly could we repeat the words of the poet already quoted at the beginning of this article : But thou that did'st appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival, in the light of day, Her delicate creation. 'Of course the reader will remember the tradition connected with the founding of Bolton Priory. He will recall that young Komilly — the "Boy of Egremond," to Avhom we have previously * Among those who have written familiarly and fondly of this most picturesque corner of the broad-acred shire, may be mentioned the Rev. B. J. Harker, who is himself a native of pleasanl Grassington. Mr. Marker's little book, entitled " Rambles in Upper Wharfedale, with the Historical and Traditional Lore of the District," is the work of a loving hand ; and in regard to its contents compares favourably with some more pretentious "hand-books" of the district. /;> AIRE AND WHARFE. 215 referred, in attempting bo leap the storm swollen Wharfe at the fatal "Strid," while on a hunting expedition, was pulled back into the seething abyss by a hound which he held in leash, and drowned in the roaring waters. Ami he will further recall how the bereaved parents, sorrowing over the death of the sole hope and pride of their house, gave to the monks of Embsay, for the purposes of a Priory, and by way of memorial to the departed, '•that beautiful situation at Bolton (we have fallen into the jaws of an open guide-book, after all— /aci/w est descensus Avcrno .') around which the river (Wharfe) sweeps in graceful curve, and the rocky Scar rises above, crowned with wood and falling waters." " And no doubt," archly observes this writer of guide- books, " the monks would rejoice at the removal from the bleak mcors of Embsay to this earthly Paradise."* The stately Priory was reared, And Wharfe, us he moved along, To matins* joined a mournful voice, Nor failed at evensong. We arc told that the translation from Embsay Priory to Bolton took place in 1151, and we ipiite agree with the above writer of guide-books that it must have been at once a translation and an agreeable transition from the former to the latter place, where indeed the jolly friars would find, in the near-flowing Wharfe, fish rising to their hands in a way that would have rejoiced St. Peter himself. Before the reader visits Bolton, if in these days of excursions and quick travelling he has not already done so, we would advise him to turn over once more the pages of his Wordsworth. Not all of them, indeed, for they are rather numerous, ehea ! but those * We have quoted from the above guide-book, which indeed is a tinely- illustrated and very handsome one. not without malice we must confess, though purely of the French sorb; for the author, who is clearly a gentleman of talent, makes the rather amusing mistake of using the word "vespers" under the idea that it means "matins," his quotation from Wordsworth's well-known poem running as Follows ; The stately Priory was reared, And Wharfe, a> he moved along, To Vi V r- joined a mournful voi Nor failed at evensong;. 216 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: in which the great (but too wordy) poet gives us in poetic form and in most touching phrase that tradition of the " White Doe " which must for ever connect itself with the Abbey of Bolton. The " Doe " is a creation at once spiritual and unique, and the whole poem one of the most pathetic in the language. A picture of more utter desolation and hopelessness than that which the poet offers us in " Emily," the last remaining scion of the once power- ful family of the Nortons — Maid of the blasted family ! it is impossible to conceive. Listen to Wordsworth, where the loyal Francis addresses his devoted sister, soon to enter on that period of martyrdom which ended only in her death ; and during which her chief companion and comforter was the gentle "Doe," but whom the poet subtly clothes with more than mortal attri- butes, and fills with a more than human s\ r mpathy for the stricken maid : For thee, for thee is left the sense Of trial past without offence To Ood or man ; such innocence, Such consolation, and the excess Of an unmerited distress ; In that thy very strength must lie. Sister, I could prophesy ! The time is come that rings the knell Of all we loved, and loved so well : Hope nothing, if I thus may speak To thee, a woman, and thence weak : Hope nothing, I repeat ; for we Are doomed to perish utterly : 'Tis meet that thou with me divide The thought while I am by thy side, Acknowledging a grace in this, A comfort in the dark abyss. But look not for me when I am gone, And be no further wrought upon : Farewell all wishes, all debate, All prayers for this cause, or for that ! Weep, if that aid thee ; but depend Upon no help of outward friend : Espouse thy doom at once, and cleave To fortitude without reprieve. For wo must fall, both we and ours — This Mansion and these pleasant bowers. Walks, pools, and arbours, homestead, hall- • Our fate is theirs, will reach them all ; J The young horse must forsake his manger, /;>' AIRE AND WHARFE. 217 And Learn to glorj in a stranger; The hawk forgel his perch ; the hound Be parted from bis ancient ground : The blasl h ill Bweep as all away One desolation, one decay ! And even this Creature ! which words saying, Hi- pointed to a lovely I >or, A feu steps distant, feeding, straying ; Fair creature and more white than -now ! Even she will to her peaceful woods Return, and to her murmuring Hoods, And be in heart ami soul the same She was before she hither came ; Ere she had learned to love us all, Herself beloved in I !y 1st one-hall. But no ; the gentle Doe will not ret urn, save for a brief space, to her "peaceful woods" or to her "murmuring floods ; M she will not forsake her sainted mistress. The " radiant creature " that as a milk-white fawn was the constant companion and playmate of Emily's happy childhood will remain faithful and become her constant companion and comforter in her last sad years ! Nol only so, but even after the death of the sainted Emily she will grieve with a more than human sorrow for her departed mist' She " partakes," the poet tells us in language of serene beauty, ■in her decree, Heaven's grace; And bears a memory and a mind Raised far above the law of kind : Haunting the spots with lonely cheer Which her dear Mistress once held dear : Loves most what Emily loved most— The enclosure of thi> churchyard ground ; Here wanders like a gliding ghost, And every Sabbath here is found ; Comes with the people when the bells Are heard among the moorland dells, Finds entrance, through yon arch, when- wa\ Lies open on the Sabbath-day ; Here walks amid the mournful waste Of prostrate altars, Bhrines defaced, And floors encumbered w ith rich show Of fret work imagery laid low : Paces softly, or makes halt, By fractured cell, or tomb, or vault ; By plate of monumental brass Dim-gleaming among weeds and grass, And sculptured Forms of Warriors brave: Hut chietly by that single grave, That one >eijuestered hillock green, The pensive visitant is seen. There doth the gentle creatiye lie With I hose adversit ies unino\ ed : 218 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: Calm spectacle, by earth and sky In their benignity approved ! And aye, methinks, this hoary Pile Subdued by outrage and decay, Looks down upon her with a smile, A gracious smile, that seems to say — " Thou, thou art not a Child of Time, But Daughter of the Eternal Prime !" We say deliberately, in the face of those who are so accustomed to scoff at Wordsworth, that there is nothing more spiritual, ethereal, or subtile in the language than the concluding cantos of this poem. After the above description — a description which "will serve in the main for to-day — couched in language of the purest poetry, .any further description of the ruined abbey of St. Mary is need- less, even if we were disposed to venture upon lengthy descrip- tions of famous places, which we are not. And for the reason that Ave are apprehensive of being "found guilty," however innocent, of purloining from some one of the hundred guide-books that always lie so "temptingly " open. Into the open jaws of one of these guide-books, as the reader will remember, we have already tumbled, and only to be "misguided !" Topography and history we have forsworn ; nor have we in this record referred to either, unless by way of " reminder," certain as we were of being fore- stalled here, also, by some omniscient writer of handbooks who takes "vespers" to be the latin for " morning service." To botany, indeed, we have had an eye ; but remembering, as a devout Wordsworthian, the poet's mild ridicule of dry-as-dust scientists — how they will even go the length of " peeping about and botanising upon their mother's grave," we move about apprehensively within the sacred precincts and enjoin upon our companions to do the same. One plant, however, obtrudes itself too prominently to be passed unnoticed — the beautiful wallflower* (CheirantKus Cheiri) which has still a settlement on the ruined shell of Bolton — and a safe settlement, being too high up on the * On no British ruin probably has the wallflower a sturdier hold than on the Abbey of Sawley, in Easl Lancashire. Here it holds absolute possession of the walls, the place being literally smothered with its delicious flowers each recurring season. BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 219 walls for human interference. The Cheiranthus is one of the sweetest <f liritish wild flowers, as it is a plant with the most melancholy associations, being now only found mi the crumbling walls and rootless towers of ruined castles and church As I stood by yon rootle-- bower, Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air, Where the how let mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care ; says Burns, compressing into one masterly verse all the sweetness and melancholy associated with the flower. The wallflower, from its situation, has become the symbol of decay ; but to us it is infinitely precious, and if its preservation as a British wild flower were dependent absolutely on the existence of crumbling walls, we should almost, feel inclined to play Cromwell's part — a part somewhat exaggerated in the popular mind — and lay another score or two of castles in ruins ! Another interesting wall-plant — and the mural plants are quite a large section — is the Parietaria officinalis, common pellitory-of- the-wall so called, but "common" it is not, being now rarely met with, like the wallflower, except on the crumbling walls of ruined, or ruinous, castle, church, or mansion. This we also found at Bolton, along with the wall-rue spleenwort (Asplenium Ruta- muraria), and the brittle bladder-fern (Cystopteris fragilis). An interesting study would be the pecular habits and prefer- ences of different plants, and how one affects this situation, that another. Pursuing this study to its length, indeed, one might be driven to the conclusion of certain sarans that the vegetable world is only in a less degree sentient than the animal. How- ever this may be, it is certain that many plant-subjects are amenable to no set treatment of man's, but only to their own " sweet wills !" And with this not very profound observation we will bid the reader who has had the patience to follow us through the preceding pages a grateful good-bye ! 220 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: Many times since have we visited Bolton, and with an ever- increasing admiration of its tranquil beauty and unique charms, the last occasion being but a few years ago, at full summer-tide, when we were accompanied by a numerous party. But when, in exploring the famous "Woods," some of our companions decided to employ carriages and guides, what wonder if Old Wharfe laughed hoarsely from his rocky bed ! More familiar with these scenes, ourselves, we preferred to wander — like Wordsworth's river. And right pleasant was it to retrace the old paths winding amid tumbled rocks, green and moss-grown, by the rushing stream. Rushing, but not raging, for Wharfe was in his normal mood, which is not tranquil; and a sky of sun and shifting cloud made a magical chiaro oscuro over banks that, under any light, are to us unspeakably lovely. Glorious were the woods of Bolton in their full summer robes ; and beautiful on this occasion, beyond all the trees of the forest, were the fruited sycamores, offering to the soft light a thousand pendulous racemes of orange and gold ? in perfect harmony with the mellow foliage — a picture of grace- and elegance to which as yet no artist has done adequate justice. Nor were there wanting to the occasion incidents and accidents worthy of humorous comment ; as for example, when the mighty P., one of a race of Titans, and whose smiling face, like that of Sterling's, is "an open love-letter to all mankind," while fording the Wharfe stumbled and tumbled into the rushing stream. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless Wharfe chose for another victim our smiling friend 1 Negligent hussies ! But P. survives, And when he next doth ford the Wharfe, May we be there to see. And not only to see, but to guide and guard him, with friendly hand, in his passage of that perilous stream ! Returning, on the above occasion, to the well-appointed "Devonshire Arms" Hotel, in the village of Bolton, for necessary refection and refreshment, we found our way into the inn-garden, moved by "botanical views," and here we were pleased to recognise the faces of several old plant-friends, among BY AIRE AND WHARFE. 221 which the Spiraea Arwncus was 1 dooming gloriously. Our host, too, was evidently a fernist, for in a snug corner we discovered quite a collection of British filices, including not a few of the choicest varieties. It was delightful, afterwards, to explore botanically tin- farm-house and cottage-gardens of the neighburhood. A notable feature of these was the abundance of climbing plants on the walls, including the " Gloire de Dijon" and " Crimson Boursault" roses, the Cotoneaster and the Honeysuckle, with which last several cottage - fronts were literally smothered, while the delicious fragrance of their creamy blossoms loaded the air. The brilliant red of the Centranthus (C. ruber) and the glorious yellow of the Welsh Top])}' (Mccanopxi* Cambrica) were also there, lighting up many a quiet nook. 222 RAMBLES IX TOWiV AND COUNTRY: DOWN IN CHESHIRE. April comes, And lightly o'er the living scene, Scatters her freshest, tenderest green. /t%V"^ ^ ac ^ a ^ wa y s thought that Elia's oft-expressed dislike of V1\^V the country — like so many others of his expressed likes and dislikes— was in part affected and humorous; but when we saw with what unction he could speak of those " pretty pastoral walks *' about Mackery End, and of " the green lanes of pleasant Hertfordshire," we felt that his expressed dislike of the country was all "sham." And indeed his friend Wordsworth was of the same opinion when he could write — Thou wert a scorner of the fields, 1113' Friend, But more in show than truth ; No ! the London-loving Lamb was no more a hater of things rural than was the Rome-loving Horace, who amid the fumum strepitumque of the mighty city could heave so profound a sigh for the country : O rus, quando ego te aspiciam ? No, no ; swear off from the maternal breast as we will, the fond mother still lures us to her ample bosom — still pours into our depleted veins fresh blood, new milk of life — still, amid our sorrows and troubles, whispers to us consoling secrets, which in the poetic ear are more than " whispers !" As Horace, from that famous Lome which he has so vividly pictured, sighed for the delicious quiet and rusticity of his Sabine farm, or the lucus Tiburni ; as Lamb, writing from the depths of Cockneydom, sometimes longed for " the green lanes of pleasant Hertfordshire," so we, amid the fumum strepitumque of prosy Manchester, have often longed for a ramble through the °reen how X TN CHESHIRE. 223 lanes, and pretty, rural walks of pleasant Cheshire And at rare intervals — far too rare for ourselves — we have indulged thai longing, but never in the early season. Once, indeed, we dis- tinctly caught Flora at her toilet ; but our most cherished desire was to see the fair goddess open her lovely eyes, whilst awaken- ing from her winter sleep. Not but that her list winter's slumbers were light enough — so light, in fact, that sometimes we thought we saw her slying peeping from beneath eye-lids half open. What else were those whitening buds of the daisy and mayflower, amid the dry grass of low-lying meadows, in February ! " Pleasant Cheshire." "Well might we use the phrase '"pleasant," for a right pleasant shire is Cheshire, and in the main a picturesque one. Originally in great part forest land, the county is still fairly well wooded, while another picturesque feature water, is represented not only by numerous rivers and brooks, but by many tiny lakes, or meres, as they are called, dotted here and there; and these list have often a very picturesque effect indeed. Without being a hilly county, like neighbouring Derby- shire, Cheshire comprises several tracts not a little elevated, while there are many undulations even in the lowdands. Altogether, Cheshire may fairly lay claim to the title we have assigned her. Cheshire, too — the county famous for good cheese — is a "homely" county, and above all a gardening county. As Surrey, in the main, is to the gardendoving Cockney, so is Cheshire to the gardendoving Mancunian. When you talk to this latter about big vegetables, large fruit, or brilliant flowers, he tells you that be has seen " quite as good before, or even better ;" and when you ask where, the answer comes quick ; "Down in Cheshire." Everything that is horticulturally, or floricultu rally super-excellent, and of surpassing merit, is to be found "down in Cheshire" — the biggest fruit, the best vegetables, and the finest bloom ! Cheshire, indeed, is the county of la petite culture, and so far as the North of England is concerned, is seriously and par excellence the gardening county. But our object on the present occasion, as previously hinted, 224 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY was not to visit the gardens of Cheshire ; nor, indeed, was our goal any part of the famous "Cheshire plain." We desired an hour or two's run — or rather walk — through the so-called " high- lands." We would see if Flora was awake on the mountains. Accordingly, on a day when this present month of April was very young, we started with a congenial companion for the Cheshire border. Noon had merged into afternoon before we were under- way, and as we attained the banks of the Govt at Marple, five .had struck by the bell ; and we walked through that picturesque village beneath a sky that boded rain, a cloud-prophesy that • quickly arrived at fulfilment. But what day of the "opening" .mouth (Aperilis !) was ever certain as to weather ! Besides, the ■ rain was a boon long wished for, and was greedily licked up by the thirsty land, while to ourselves and companion, long used to storms, the shower came only as a grateful cooler, whilst refresh- ing the air and all nature around. As the shower ceased, how Nature smiled upon us in true April fashion ! And as we ascended the wide-famed Werneth Low, and looked back upon 'Compstall, Marple, and the valley below, how delightful it was to note the blossoming fruit-trees — chiefly pear and cherry — - • clustering in snow-white masses about the old farm-houses built of the hillside stone. Did ever fruit-trees so blossom before ! At every step, as we ascend, how the panorama widens — hill beyond hill, with sloping, verdant pastures, and fruitful vales below. But why are we staring so widely about us when our object is to explore the mountain-flora at our feet, the day being far spent, too, and the dusk upon us ! As we toil up the steep, winding road, from the Derbyshire side, some hundreds of feet above the sea level, we note that the fence on either side consists of dense bushes of the holly-tree, and on many parts of the "Low" the holly offers its pleasant green to refresh the climber's eye. On either side of the road, too, flames out in full flower the gloriously hardy, as gloriously beautiful gorse, or whin, which might well inspire the poets to speak its praise. DOWN IN CHESHIRE. 225 Let Burns and old Chaucer unite In praise of the Daisy to sin:.' : Lot Wordsworth of Celandine write, And crown her the queen of the Spring ; Tin- 1 1 \ acini h'a classical tame, Let Milton embalm in his verse ; Be mine th.- glad task to proclaim The charms of the untrumpeted Furze. sang Horace Smith ; but Horace was mistaken in the notion that the charms of the Furze had been "untrumpeted" before his time ; and it would have been strange indeed had this " British l>cauty " been overlooked, flowering as it does (with its dwarfer variety) from earliest spring till far into the first month of winter. Besides the well-known tribute of Cowper, and Thomson's pretty reference, have Ave not the flower loving Hurdis : And what more noble than the vernal furze, With golden baskets hung ? Approach it not, For every blossom has a troop of swords Drawn to defend it. Tis the treasury Of fays and fairies. Here they nightly meet, Each with a burnished king-cup in his hand, And quaff the subtile ether. No wonder that the great German botanist, Dillenius, when he first visited this country, should have fallen into an ecstacy of admiration when he saw "whole commons covered with the gay flowers of the furze-bush." And here, behind a sheltering wall, is the bracken, or brakes, in the first stage of vernation — just beginning to unfold its wide- spreading fronds — hardiest and sturdiest of the mountain-loving ferns, and generic-ally represented, in this form or that, all over the world. But we are not yet half up the hill. Up, up, we go. " Excelsior !" is the word ; and we have mounted high. And now — ah, yonder is a dimple in the hills, a depression in the mountain-side, where surely Flora must shelter, if anywhere ? And there, sure enough, we found her, and wide awake ! And first, the Spring-herald, the pilewort, or lesser celandine — Ficaria verm — literally covering the ground with its shining Jeayes and golden flowers, that still glisten as if fresh from the ±26 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY- bunds of the great Painter — beautiful flower, and Wordsworth's favorite — so he tells us — There's a flower that shall be mine, "lis the little Celandine. And yonder — ah yes, indeed— the frail wind-flower of the groves, Anemone nemorosa, with leaves so delicately divided, and lovely white flowers, swaying in the breeze. We hasten forward, and stoop to gather this darling of the spring, and the flower blushes — really and truly. Modest flower ! Would it might stay longer with us to grace our English wilds ! And here is the perennial mercury, Mercurialis perennis, with blossoms as yet half developed only. But most surprising and most grateful sight of all, behold the wild hyacinth, blooming in full beauty, and in colour not azure but the very deepest blue. In the pure air of the mountains what an intensity of colouring is taken on by the pale children of the lowlands ! — Tracking sonie^channel on its journey wild, Where dripping bluebells on its border weep : O what a lovely scene to Nature's child ! And all these beautiful flowers in one moist little dingle on Werneth Low ! Our object had been attained : at this early period we had found Flora wide awake, not in the valleys only but on the mountains ! "The time is phenomenal. Daft Nature is confounding the seasons, and Spring and Summer are one !" This to our companion, whilst turning from the dingle to continue the ascent of the hill. Of the lower forms of vegetation — the beauty of which makes the botanist wonder how we should ever consider any season a '• dreary " season — we have not spoken ; but the lichens, cover- ing the hard stones with a garment of beauty, and the mosses, with their varied [and soft-hued verdure, were well worthy of study. As we attained the summit of the hill we turned round to view the extended prospect. It was dusk, the infant moon was already up, and much in the form of a sea-tossed skiff was riding through a clouded sky. The line of the horizon was DOWN IN CHESHIRE. 227 vague, Kinder Seoul being barely discernible; but clear and distinct on our right stood out Marple church, and on our left the old church of Mottram — both notable Landmarks, and endeared by many a token to the people of these hills and vales. In the dusk we rounded the "Low," descending almost in dark- ness : but very striking were tin- lights of the towns and villages below us, piercing the gloom of night and storm. o2 228 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: SWEETNESS AND LIGHT FOR THE MANCHESTER SLUMS. WINDOW-GARDENING IN ANCOATS. ^WEETNESS and Light. This phrase, which has so often <y^ been ascribed to the late Matthew Arnold — -for the reason, we suppose, that he was so fond of using it — is from the pen of Swift, the great ornament of Queen Anne's reign, though personally in little favour with that monarch. Swift, though safe amongst the immortals, is so little read at the present time that literary or other folk may purloin his "big phrases " with impunity. But Swift was not a man of mere " phrases " ; he generally looked for a thing behind a word, and subordinated literary grace to the sense of what he wrote. And so here ; it is not words that we seek, but the things those words express : Sweetness and light. But how to brighten the dingy dwellings of the toiling masses? How to bring sweetness and light, in the concrete sense, into the slums 1 An ancient friend of ours, who has passed by several years the allotted span, and the nature and exigencies of whose business •compel his residence in the very centre of the grimy region, has practically solved the problem which has puzzled so many. We are told by a delightful old Scotch poet that Bessie Bell and Mary Grey were " twa bonnie lasses," and that They biggit a bower on yon green brae, And covered it ower wi' rashes. But our ancient friend has " biggit a bower " literally in the heart of the Manchester slums, and rilled it with all lovely things gathered from wood and wild. Oh, such a bower ! We WINDOW-GARDENING IN ANCOATS. 229 saw it on a sweltering day in August last, when it was said to lie " not at its best," through the effects of an unfortunate stone thrown by one of those juvenile marauders who have got to be "reckoned with" everywhere. But was ever a pound of sweet in this world without an ounce of sour? Was there ever a pol of ointment without a fly in it ? And who grudges the discount .' With regard to the alleged marauder, on reflection we prefer to think that the above deed was done by some puny Pariah rather through obliquity of vision than any moral obliquity! Or was the culprit of the feline " persuasion " 1 — or the canine ? However it may have been, our friend's glass icas broken, and when we called, his " bower " was " not at its best " in consequence. What its "best " may have been we know not, but this we know, that our eves have seldom been gladdened by a more beautiful picture of healthy plant-life — flower and foliage. It was like a miniature forest — woodland and flowery dell, under glass — a veritable Rus in wbe. Never oasis in desert offered to eyes of tired traveller a more grateful refreshment than was ours when peeping into our friend's bower in grimy Ancoats on that sweltering August day ! And yet he inhabits but an ordinary cottage — two small rooms below, and two above, with a back- yard going barely a yard back. In fact, so narrow is the avail- able space that when he built his "bower," which is now some 3 r ears since, he was compelled to build it literally over the coal- hole — a green paradise over a coal-hole ! And what are the dimensions, you ask, of this little paradise, for "little" it must be 1 It is an ordinary kitchen-window of two frames, "let out," as the phrase goes, just over the coal-place, whose roof forms its base. But the arrangement is so far different from the ordinary that the front is, so to say, the back, i.e., the part which usually consists of glass is in this case a four-and-a-half inch brick wall, raised to the height of three feet, with a glass-roof sloping to 230 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: catch the sun. Height of front, so called, four feet six inches. Aspect, south-west. What is usually the back is here, as we said before, the front, and either, or both, the two frames of the window can be opened, letting, or " giving " as the French have it, on the kitchen itself ; and the one or the other frame is generally so opened, during the day, but is carefully closed when the gas, of .which our friend burns a good deal, is lit at night. Against the back-wall, three feet high, are fixed, by means of cement, the empty shells of that largish mollusc called the whelk in quantity, and in picturesque arrangement where surface is exposed. Then between this and another row, or pillar, of whelk-shells occurs a deep layer of loam and leaf-mould, the whole rising to some height and forming a tinv terrace. Then a second and similar'' terrace at a lower elevation and filled in with similar material. On the base-line a layer of loam and leaf-mould, with shells of the whelk, and small fragments of sand and limestone, picturesquely dis- persed and distributed, the whole arrangement giving one the idea of a rocky hill-side in the country, overgrown with graceful ferns ; for with ferns chiefly has our ancient friend peopled his little paradise. Here 3^011 may see, though in tiny examples for the most part it is true, nearly all the ferns that are to be found growing within a dozen miles of Manchester. The robust, and "persistent" Male-fern (Lastrea Filix-mas) ; the moisture-loving and graceful Lady-fern (Atlnjrium Filix- fcemina), the fern enamoured of the dew, of which Sir Walter eings : Where the grass is growing gi'eenest, Where the sunlight glistens sheenest, Where the mountain dew lies longest, There the Lady-fern grows strongest. The broad-leaved, verdant Hart's-tongue (Scolopeudrium vulgare) amorous of the chalk; the fragrant Mountain-fern (Lastrea montana), gathered in some Lancashire clough, ash and rowan- fringed, where a mountain-torrent comes tumbling down over rocky boulders, making a wild music heard only by the nymphs WINDOW-QARDENINO IN IXGOATS. 231 and dryads; the Broad Buckler-fern (L lata) with its wide-spreading fronds of intensest green, recalling the damp woods it inhabits, rich in humus formed by the decayed and decaying leaves of fifty seasons ; the Osmund Royal (Osmunda regalis) nobles! of all our ferns, and which, as seen by Words worth, on the shores of his beloved Grasmere, reminded him of Naiad by I he side Of Grecian brook, or Ladj of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of oM romance.* The little lime-loving Spleenworts, too, are heir, and even Hard-fern, which dislikes the lime. And running over the upper .terraces may be seen that pretty pet, the Cornish Moneywort (Sibthorpia Europcea) with its countless tiny leaves of a yellowish green. And near to this — yes, really and truly ! — the Mos Stone-break (Saxifraiji hi/pno/'hs) [ And between, and amongst, and creeping everywhere, that " rare old plant, the Ivy green," but the small-leaved English Ivy (Hedera Helix) not the largi leaved Irish kind. And in front of all, depending gracefully from above, in character of window-drapery, elegant festoons of the favourite and ever beautiful Virginian Creeper (A mpelopsis .hederacea). Nor have we exhausted the list — oh, no ! — we had quite for- gotten — but how could we forget 1 — the tender green of the lovely Wood-sorrel (Oralis Acttosella), often called the " English Sham rock," which shines out here and there like a precious emerald. * The whole passage runs as follows : — Many such there are, Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall fern So stately, of the queen Osmunda named ; Plant lovelier in its own retired abode On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the .Nlere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance. This De Quincey pronounced to be the most beautiful passage in whole wide range of English poetry. Buckle, on the other hand — "Civilisation" Buckle — thought the finest passage was to be found in Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice :" Look ! how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid w ith patines of bright gold, &c. : while other literary oracles prefer the splendid conclusion of oui •dramatist's " Tempest." 232 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: Who has not, when rambling in the woods in May, stooped to pick up this gem and admire the tender veining of its delicate blossoms ! As for the foreign ferns, we have left them out altogether, because we are " so English ! " And yet the graceful Ribbon- ferns are worthy of a tribute, and these make a notable feature of the Ancoats fernery. On the zonal Geraniums and Golden Pyrethrums, introduced for colour-effect, we will not dwell. All this contained within the limits of an ordinary kitchen- window, five feet by three feet, "let out" over a coal-hole, in Ancoats ! And at what cost, in money, has our ancient friend built this paradise, which might be repeated in almost every detail in every dingy dwelling of every slum of every great manufacturing town and city in the kingdom, and so bring "sweetness and light'' where before was only grime and gloom 'I Thirty shillings, all told, and all things being included, save the labour, which in the case of our friend was "a labour of love." Would that every dweller in the " Slum* " could be induced to- follow his bright example ! How immense would be the change there, physically, morally, and intellectually ! WINDOWQARDEXIXO IX WI.Mi:. WINDOW GARDENING IX II II, ME. CHOSE who live in rural, or semi-rural quarters, amid rustling greenery, and within .sound of murmuring streams, warbling birds, and lowing kine, wonder that people pent up in the populous city shotdd find life at all tolerable. On the other hand, your city born man, immured from birth, will often be heard expressing pity for such as are condemned to live what he calls "the dull life of the country " — "so far removed," as he thinks, " from all sources of amusement." But hard is the lot of those- -and they are many — who, born in the country, and with a passionate love of all things rural, are yet fated to spend their whole lives in the dry, hard world of brick and mortar — in a murky atmosphere, and between grimy walls that " stare upon each other.'' This reflection occurred to us the other week — it was in early April — whilst walking through the wilderness of Ilulme — an immense residential quarter of our great cotton city, inhabited largely by artisans, warehousemen, and clerks, and where lite would appear to be as flat and dreary as the ground is low and the atmosphere stagnant — street beyond street in endless succes- sion, and of unvarying uniformity. We had just returned from ( Iheshire, where the whole beautiful Spring was bursting and unfolding with a fullness and a splendour most unwonted for so early a period of the season, and the con- trast between town and country was at once striking and pitiful. But there are compensations even for the Hulmeans. As we paced the endless streets, we glanced in passing at each window. " What !" says the reader, "staring in at the window .'" But how could we do Otherwise, when we found in the front- 234 11 AMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY: window of almost every other dwelling the imperative notice : " Look here !" The notice, though of uniform purport, was in a hundred forms. It was sometimes a window plant — an Aspidistra, with its large, broad, green, or variegated, drooping leaves, a gracefully spreading palm, or a shining leaved Aralia (commonly, hut erroneously, called the "Castor Oil Plant"), some- times a simple pot of musk, sometimes a small fernery in the form of a hanging basket, or even a solitary fern, sometimes a tiny aquarium, or a globe containing gold-fish, sometimes a mere handful of flowers- — a bunch of violets, or wallflowers, or white Arabis, or — most touching of all — the common daisy of the fields. Very often it was a spray — a single sprig — of white or purple lilac. And where the natural failed came in the artificial. But in each and every case the invitation : " Look here, and .admire !" was plain and unmistakeable. Nay, if that was not so, why were these things always placed in the front, why not in the back, window? Why not in the window of the "living-room," where their beauty and fragrance could be enjoyed 1 Besides a most amiable vanity, what did we see in all this ? We saw — most clearly declared — a great love and longing for the country and things rural, and a desire to satisfy that longing. But with what meagie material ! How pathetic ! how we pitied these denizens of dreary Hulme, and wished for the means to empower every milkman to deliver, each morning, at every door, along with the fresh milk of the country, the fresh flowers of the country, to brighten the lives of the weary toilers. Accompanying us was a friend familiar with the district and its people, and by him we were introduced to a most remarkable couple, long resident in one of these bald streets, and whose •dwelling we entered. It was a most ancient tailor, and his loving spouse, to whom our friend had brought us, the husband a small man, still diligently working, though bearing on his heid the snows of eighty winters, his wife some dozen years his junior, below the middle size and stout and comfortable-looking. Most leonine was the man's aspect, the, head being large — not bald, but covered with thick, shaggy locks of iron-grey, while the WINDOW-GARDEMNQ 'X HULME. face as pallid aa it was full of expression, and intellectual- looking — was surrounded with whiskers still more shaggy. Truly ;i most striking figure, and one not to be described by any other word than "leonine." "Cheshire-born," lie said he was, and a "freeman of Chester city," and proud of the title, though now compelled to labour for his daily bread as a common tailor, in a dingy back-room in the dreary Hats of Hulme. But the direct object of our visit to the cottage of this ancienl tailor was to see his loving spouse, and the special subjects of her care— her window plants. These were what she called the "French Water Elder," and of them she had a plenitude! "Window-plants" did we say? Planted in flower-pot-, and ranged on tables, they almost filled the front room of the cottage ! No flowers — only greenery pure and simple, and of one kind ; but this appeared as if drinking tip and absorbing the whole available light We wondered that the small measure of sunshine heaven vouchsafed to this dingy dwelling was not reserved for the poor toiling tailor. Why not place his board in the sun 1 But the good woman, although a devoted spouse, was a still more devoted plant-lover, and the "French Water Elders," forsooth, must have it all. On another occasion, very early in the season, the same devout "body" was "raising" the loveliest greenery imaginable, by placing and keeping in water ordinary carrots until they sprouted and threw off at different points of the root tiny plantlets, with foliage of the most exquisite delicacy. Wonderful the devices, marvellous the ingenuity, of Flora's devotees when battling on her behalf in the din-v regions of our crowded cities ! Poor old body ! with her " Water Elders " and her carrots, she had, in her own idea, changed their gloomy abode into a veritable bower ! In her sense it was both a struggle and a triumph. One plant — always beautiful, very easy to procure, very easy to cultivate, and particularly patient of the smoke and dust of towns — we saw but seldom in the windows we peeped into while wandering in the " wilderness " aforesaid. We mean the Irish Ivy (Eedera Canariensis), not the English Ivy (Redera Hdix) t 236 RAMBLES IN TOWN AND COUNTRY. which is at once smaller in leaf, weaker in constitution, and less patient of the dry, and often heated atmosphere of rooms, than the Irish kind. Had we. at this moment, twenty sovereigns available for philanthropic purposes, we should proceed incontinently to- purchase one thousand Irish Ivy plants, ready established in pots of convenient window size, and distribute them through the "slums" of the city. For by this means, and at this small cost, we should be able to brighten and enliven one thousand dingy * rooms, and cheer and sweeten the lives of five thousand poor people. One condition only should we impose on the recipients of our bounty, viz., that the plants should be placed not for show but for effect, that is, in the living-room of each cottage. For the Irish Ivy is so patient a subject that it will grow almost any- where, and under conditions seemingly the most hostile. We have known it to flourish in gas-lighted rcoms, in the dingiest dens of the city, for a dozen years running ! And at what^ original cost to the cottager 1 — the price of one quart of common ale at the " corner pub." Another window-plant, equally cheap, and equally patient of hostile conditions, is the Virginian Creeper before mentioned, which, though deciduous, endures from early spring till late autumn, producing a mass of the most elegant pendent foliage,, which changes from a lovely green in spring to a beautiful crimson, or scarlet, in autumn. Why is it not used by the thousand ? TOWN GARDENING AND CLIMATE. J.i7 TOWN GARDENING AND CLIMATE. % OWN-GARDENING is a relative thing. Town-gardening here is not town-gardening there, and town gardening there is not town-gardening yonder. Town-gardening in London, or Edinburgh, is not town-gardening in Manchester, or Salford. Town-gardening on the banks of the classic Isis is not town- gardening on the banks of the inky [rwell. And yet, judging by the opinions that have been expressed, even by people of intelligence, what has been done in every one of these places might have been done in the others ! Town-gardening is largely a question of climate, and climate igain is a relative thing. A climate, as we use the word, may be natural or artificial. Climate is not, as some think, a question of latitude ; it does not merely depend on the amount of sunlight, or heat, received by the earth at any given point, and the prevalence of this wind or that. That is no criterion. The myrtle and the camellia, which are grown out of-doors in the South of England, where broadly speaking, the vine does not ripen its fruit, not only survive the winter, but sometimes bloom there, while in the middle of Germany they perish, although in the same quarter the vine ripens its fruit to perfection. Now the question of climate is so highly important, and goes so near to the root of town-gardening dilKculties, that no apology need be offered here for pursuing the matter in some detail. It is the so-called chemical rays of the solar-spectrum that affect plant life, and it is in the presence, or absence, of these particular rays, in this or that degree, that the secret of success in town, as well as all other, gardening lies ; ami there is, as we have seen, an artificial as well as a natural climate. 238 TOWN GARDENING AXD CLIMATE. As regards natural climate, the development of plant-life is facilitated, or retarded, in proportion as the humidity of the atmosphere is less or greater, because this humidity has the quality of absorbing, or extinguishing, the important rays referred to ; but so far as regards artificial climates, such as the climate of Manchester, in addition to the effect of this humidity there are a thousand impurities in the atmosphere, all obstructing the solar rays, not to name the direct contact of so much that is injurious to plant-life, as sulphurous and other acids. As regards the effects of humidity on what may be called chemical climate, under natural, not artificial conditions, we ma} T quote a French writer of some note on the subject. "Two stations," says M. Radau. " with the same mean annual temperature, or the same mean summer-temperature, may nevertheless present a very great inequality in the development of plant-life. Thus the annual temperature of Thorshavn, a station in the Faroe Islands, 62 degrees, north latitude, is very little lower than that of Carlisle in England. Notwithstanding this, the amount of light received at these two points during the year is very different, and a similar difference is manifested in their respective climates. The damp and foggy atmosphere of the Faroe and Shetland Islands absorbs a large proportion of the sun's chemical rays, and so plant- life has a struggle for it. At Carlisle, on the other hand, under a clearer sky, we find a luxuriant vegetation." " Similarly, if we compare the mean summer-temperatures of London, Edinburgh, and Reykiavik in Iceland, we shall be quite unprepared for the differences presented by the vegetation at these three stations. From London to Edinburgh the difference is scarcely observable, notwithstanding the lower temperature;, at Reykiavik, where the mean summer temperature is only two degrees lower than at Edinburgh, the country is practically tree- less. It is that the northern position of Iceland offers a chemical climate much less favourable to vegetable life than that of the British Isles." So there is what is called a chemical climate. Where you have a dry atmosphere, there the chemical rays — those rays of the solar TOWN GARDENING AND CLIMATE. 239 spectrum which excite the vegetative organs and tend to build up plant life — can strike direct, and straightway fulfil their function > but where you have a humid atmosphere, these chemical rays are largely absorbed, or extinguished, and vegetation proceeds under difficulties. WC1I, here in Manchester we have not only an unusual amount of humidity in the atmosphere, resulting from our proximity to a hilly country, against which the rain clouds, driving from the south-west, are broken and condensed, hut we have, in addition, the densest smoke-clouds, and a thousand other impurities in the atmosphere, all obscuring that blessed light which is the fountain of all life in the world, animal and vegetable. Then there is the direct contact of noxious matters, and the choking up of the fine mouths, or pores, in numbeis beyond computation, of each leaf upon each tree. This it is that makes horticulture, and especially floriculture, such uphill work in the neighbourhood of our great manufacturing cities. Unable to obtain the due allowance of yearly warmth and light, and due sustenance, the plant, or tree, is prevented fiom fulfilling its annual life-cycle, and so gradually perishes. The problem, when clearly put, is simple enough,. and ought to be thoroughly understood. But it is not understood, and hence we constantly hear sugges- tions of the most impracticable and Utopian character ; and trees and shrubs arc recommended to be planted in and about Man- chester, and other great manufacturing centres, which can succeed only when the electric, hydraulic, and pneumatic forces have superseded steam as motive powers, if even then. Again and again the plant-doctors, and sometimes the quacks, have been called in, to prescribe for the sick and moribund ; and if the doctors have sometimes been wrong, the recommendations of the quacks have almost invariably led to complete and ignominious failure. Many of our readers will call to mind the heroic and desperate attempt made some years ago by a benevolent Mancunian to change tin' dreary aspect of the Cathedral graveyard, by plant- ing some promiscuous twigs, with a minimum of root, in the 210 TOWN GARDENING AND CLIMATE. interstices between the grave-stones. From these twigs was to .arise a miniature grove, and within its protecting shade, treading lightly over the dust of his ancestors, the tired and jaded citizen was to find refreshment and soothing. It will be remembered how suddenly those twigs disappeared. In this instance, the underground conditions were as unfavourable as the conditions overhead. In order to make headway, a tree must first make rootway. But in our Manchester atmosphere it too often happens that whatever rootw&y a tree may make, its head, which by natural habit is tapering, pyramidal, or conical, becomes square, or horizontally branching, like a stag's-head. This at once shows not only that the tree is striving against the impurities in the circumanbient air, but that it is being beaten in the struggle. The prevalence of " stag-headed " trees in our midst is conclusive .proof of the cruel nature of the battle that is being waged. The fact is, as we said at the outset, the climatic conditions of .every large town differ more or less from those of every other ; and the man who ignores this important fact is pretty sure to stultify himself. Height above the sea-level, aspect as regards the prevailing winds, amount of humidity in the atmosphere, and the nature and extent of the impurities making the artificial climate of the place, all these are elements in the complex problem. "Well, then," remarks the intelligent reader, "is the climate of Manchester, on the whole, improving, or is it not ?" Speaking for ourselves, who have been pretty close observers of the Manchester climate for some forty years past, and have had abundant opportunity of witnessing its effects on vegetation, also of paying somewhat dearly for experiments in connection with it, we are constrained to say, with deep regret, that so far as regards the artificial atmosphere, there is no improvement on the north and north-western sides of the city, but a continued and continuous deterioration, despite the commendable efforts on the part of sundry to put down noxious vapours. Near to our place of residence — a couple of miles, as the crow flies, from the Manchester Exchange — there happens to be a TOWN GARDENING AND CLIMATE. 241 ■considerable wood, containing some thousands of full-grown trees, largely beech, and the beech is an excellent subject for testing purposes. Quite close to us, again, there is an old plantation, consisting of elm, ash, beech, and sycamore, exposed to all the "noxious vapours" of Sal ford and Manchester, brought by the prevailing winds. Now, in the wood above-mentioned* the trees are every year dying in great numbers, while in the plantation they are positively <md literally being decimated — one-tenth part die annually. The beech go first, then the elms and sycamores. The ash strives and fights against the enemy most bravely, and though coming late into leaf, bears aloft its crowns of elegant foliage comparatively fresh into October ; but even the ash-tree suffers. So then, in this vitiated and ever-deteriorating climate of Manchester, it is a question not of what trees and shrubs are desirable to be grown — not of what we should like to be, but of what can be done: it is a question of what, under the difficult circumstances of the case, is practicable and feasible. We shall not be able, however skilful may be our local gardeners, to reproduce in Manchester and Salford the bowery and flowery pictures presented by many of the London suburbs. But by a judicious selection, and a freer use of the more patient and long- suffering subjects, we may at least effect a considerable change in the dingy aspect of things, and some " Sweetness and Light " may be imported even into the " Slums." * In order to prove to a demonstration the position above assumed, we may say that it lately devolved upon the present writer to mark and condemn to the axe the decaying trees in the wood above-named, when as many as 12(11) giants of the forest had to fall — trees once beautiful and still sturdv limbed enough, but surely and steadily sinking into a condi- tion in which they would have been utterly worthless. Y 242 TOWN TEEES: WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO MANCHESTER AND OTHER SMOKY TOWNS OF THE NORTH. ^TT'HE lover of trees who wanders through the wide labyrinth *£U of dingy streets we call " Cottonopolis," and sees ever and again such rural names as "Grove Terrace," "Woodland. Terrace," " Woodland Avenue," &c, without a trace of any " wood," or even tree, near or far, must be touched with a tender pity. These names, alas ! indicate only where woods and groves have been. Scenes rural once ! ye still retain sweet names That speak of blossoms, and the wandering bee. Then again, but here the case differs, to see " Lime Streets," without a single lime-tree, "Beech Streets," without a beech, " Sycamore Streets," without a sycamore, "Elm Streets," without an elm, is sad indeed. One large and populous suburb we know — a residential suburb — where you have all the trees of the- f ores t — but in the names of its streets only, no single forest-tree, except a few newly-planted saplings, being to be found in the whole wide district ! Yes, one ! One solitary ash-tree, rising as it were out of the stones of the stony path-way, lifts up to the light its shining crown of graceful foliage — offering, in the leafy season, a picture at once delightful to the eye and soothing to the mind, a veritable oasis, though but a single tree, amid the stony wilderness. And as years go by, unless there be an amelioration of our climatic conditions, the ash is destined, in many a suburb, to be the sole and single survivor of the older-planted trees. On the north and north-western sides of Manchester city, it is the ash, and the ash alone, that stands out green and fresh, amid a crowd of trees all within a measurable distance of the last stage of decadence. TOWX TREES, 243 The Common Ash is thus proved to be the most patient and long-suffering of all the taller-growing trees, in the vitiated atmosphere of our manufacturing towns. But in saying this we do not mean that the ash will actually flourish in the very heart of a manufacturing city such as ours ; and he who plants it in that- huge expectation will find himself egregiously deceived. Yet for planting in the murky atmosphere of our Manchester suburbs, we say that, of all the long-aged trees, it is the best, for the ash, as is well known, lives many hundred years. The common elm endures, as a rule, between three hundred and four hundred years, the common maple lives five hundred years, the common lime over a thousand years, and the common oak fifteen hundred years, broadly speaking. On a fine day, during a recent autumn, we took a walk of many miles through a murky but well-planted suburb of Man- chester ; and while the limes, beeches, horse-chestnuts, sycamores* and elms were one part leafless, and the other part brown and sere, the common ash stood out everywhere apparently as fresh and green as ever. To be sure, the ash is late in putting in an appearance at the court of Flora — later even than the oak nine years out of ten ; but for this she makes ample amends by carrying her leafy honours untarnished till far into the autumn. Besides, the question is not as to how long a tree flourishes during the season, but as to the comparative healthiness of different subjects, and we declare again that under existing con- ditions the ash is the healthiest of all. And what single spec- tacle in Nature's -wide domain can greatly exceed in beauty an ash-tree of say fifty years' growth, with its wealth of graceful, almost fern-like foliage, of a green sometimes as fresh as that of the acacia ! In autumn, when hung with its bunches of keys — " kitty keys" as they are called in Yorkshire — the tree is positively fascinating ; and we say deliberately that artists have never yet,. in the true sense of the word, painted an English ash-tree. Neither have they yet painted a sycamore. But our native ash has won our affections above all by the per- sistence of its foliage — by sticking to its colours ; and by the i>2 244 TOWN TREES. brave straggle it wages against a constantly deteriorating climate. Thus it is that we are impelled to pay this beautiful tree a special tribute. In August — we are speaking of Manchester — amid the limes, beeches, chestnuts, sycamores, and elms, before-mentioned, with their leaves of yellow, and red, and brown, showing the touch of decay's effacing finger even while the summer is with us, it is not only consoling but positively inspiriting to look upon the still unfaded green of the ash ; the picture actually breeds in us new faith and hope, and Ave go on our way rejoicing. The ash-tree, too, is as useful in commerce as it is ornamental in the landscape. Its timber, when felled, is readily converted into a hundred useful articles, and from the county of North- ampton, where the ash-tree mostly abounds, a very large quantity is yearly exported. There is sometimes, in the minds of people, confusion between the Common Ash and the so-called Mountain Ash, sometimes even to the extent of supposing the two identical, and very often to the extent of regarding them as congeners ; but the two trees are not only not congenerous they belong to two wholly different families of plants, the common ash belonging to the olive family, while the mountain ash, on the other hand, is relegated to the ever-charming rose family ; it is really one of the pears. It may be thought that we have dwelt somewhat too long on one single tree, and that if we dwell in equal detail on all trees it will be a lengthy business ; but we shall dwell in detail only on such trees as can be recommended for the decoration of our dingy suburbs, and this we fear will be only too short a business ! But in speaking of the Common Ash of these islands, we speak of the type of a class — we speak of other Ashes from other countries which share largely the characteristics of our native species, and which so far as we have proved them are equally suited for fighting against the impure atmosphere of large towns. Above all, the North American species, such as the Lentisk-leavcd Ash, which, with its light and graceful frondage — recalling the elegant foliage of the American Weeping Willow — is really a picture of beauty, though one upon which we cannot at present dwell. TOWN TREES. 245 THE PLANE (Platanus). — Those of our readers who, like ourselves, have a forty bo fifty years acquaintance with London will recall the wretched and ragged appearance of Old Father Thames, and our great mother city, forty years ago ; and will admit how immensely the Thames Embankment has changed the whole aspect of the metropolis and practically made a new city, as Been from the river. The Embankment, on its completion, was planted with the Plane-tree, the true Plane, not the " Plane-tree " so called here- abouts, which is of a wholly different family, viz., the Acers, or Maples. The Embankment was planted with the Plane in emulation of the Parisians with their boulevards so planted ; and marvellously those plants have succeeded, and a splendid sylvan promenade is- thus offered to the Londoners of these latter days undreamt of by the Londoners of fifty years ago. Now, it has been thought that this very pleasant picture can be reproduced on the banks of the Irwell, and under this idea there has been much writing to the local papers. But such a thing is totally impossible ; and we believe it would be impossible even if Manchester were not a manu- facturing city — even if she had not one single tall chimney. We believe that the natural, not to name the artificial, climate of Manchester would prevent the Plane ever making a large growth. The humidity is too extreme. In the meantime, on some sides of the city, in the less smoky directions, it is possible the plant may here and there make considerable growths; but in the end the experiment of planting it will be found to be essential!}'- an experiment. Neither the eastern (P. orientalis) nor the western plane (P. occidentalis) is capable of contending successfully against the atmospheric conditions — natural and artificial — prevailing in this district. Most curious and most instructive has it been to the present writer to watch the Plane — a splendid tree, the glory and the pride of many countries — in the course of its struggle with our humid and vitiated atmosphere. 246 TOWN TREES. Twenty years ago we planted a healthy young subject, four to five feet high, simultaneously with a Tulip-tree (Liriodendron tulipiferum) of the same height ; and at the present time the Tulip-tree is about as tall as the Plane, for whilst the often very considerable growths of the latter have again and again been destroyed through the tree's inability to ripen its wood before the autumn frosts, the tiny growths of the Liriodendron have been spared. It is quite evident therefore that in our humid, smoke-laden and sulphurous atmosphere, the Plane cannot get that direct light and heat from the sun which would enable it to battle successfully in its own and in our behalf. And to recommend it for planting in the very heart of Manchester, as has been done by certain dilettanti, is in the highest degree absurd. THE LIME (Tilia Europcea). — Let us now consider the Lime — the glorious Linden-tree, around which cluster so many pleasant associations. We have heard the Lime — both the red and the yellow-twigged species — recommended for planting in Manchester. And so beautiful is the tree, such a delight is it, in the vernal season, to every eye, and such a special refreshment — with its vivid, yellowish-green foliage — to people pent in the populous city, that no wonder it should be recommended to be tried and experimented upon in the less smoky directions ; but for planting in the near neighbourhood of the city it is quite unsuitable. No ; the beautiful Linden-tree, we are grieved to say, can no longer be recommended by the conscientious planter for city planting. But for the reasons above stated it will no doubt be planted in some of our suburbs all the same. Moreover town dwellers, as a rule, are more migratory than country ones ; and your townsman will often direct such trees to be planted as he likes best, in the notion that at any rate they will last his time out. Perhaps they may ; and the incoming tenant, on the other hand, will find that he has moved into the fashionable quarter of " liotten Row," for a row of rotten trees it was that gave its somewhat malodorous name to London's famous promenade. TOWN TREES. 247 HOKSK-CHESTNUT (.Esculus Hippocastanum.)—We have even heard the Horse-chestnut recommended for town planting ; but for smoky cities like Manchester it is certainly not fit. In the meantime let us enjoy to the fullest extent the delightful picture presented in the early season by the chestnuts planted in years past on several of the great roads leading out of the city. We shall he wise to do this, for unless there he some amelioration of the atmospheric conditions it is a picture that is hound in the not remote future to be lost to us. The Horse-chestnut must not be confounded with the Spanish, or Eatable Chestnut (Castanea vesca), which is not only a large •element in the landscapes of many countries of Southern Europe but whose fruit is largely availed of for food purposes by the populations of those countries. BIRCH (Betula alba). — The Birch, too, has been named by sundry arboriculturists as eligible for city planting. As regards the Common Birch the idea is not to be entertained ; but the Silver Birch is somewhat more patient. The extreme elegance of the latter species — than which few things in the way of a tree are more lovely — will lead to its being tried yet for some years ; but no single member of the Birch family has any " future " in the climate of Manchester. BEECH (Fagus syhatica). — With respect to this beautiful and favourite tree and its many handsome varieties, all our city planters, we think, are now agreed that it is unsuited to the atmosphere of towns, and especially to that of a great manu- facturing city such as ours. THE ELM.- — Of the Elms it may be said that none of them will allow of being planted so near our smoky centres as the Poplar, or the Ash, though the choice of subjects within the outer circles is considerable, including the beautiful Broad-leaved, or Wych Elm (Ulmus montana) and its varieties. MOUNTAIN ASH (Pyrus A ucuparia).— One is loth to put the beautiful Rowan, or Wicken tree, also in the Index 248 TOWN TREES. Expurgatorim, but sad necessity constrains. Not but this, and also the White Beam (Pynis Aria), often, though quite erroneously, spoken of as the " Service tree," will endure for years in suburban quarters ; but they have, neither of them, any " future " if the present atmospheric conditions prevail. LOCUST TREE (Acacia).— The lovely light-green-foliaged Locust tree has been much vaunted as a town tree ; but for damp and cloudy Manchester it is emphatically not suited ; yet in the less smoky suburbs one is still tempted to try so beautiful and elegant a tree. Of the tall-growing trees the most persistent in the smoke are the Ash and the Black Italian Poplar, and we are confident that these will be largely used in the future for town-planting. There is, as we said previously, a great future for the Ash family, which itself is so numerous that it would take many columns to do it justice. MAPLE FAMILY (Acer).— As before stated, fortunately there are several members of the beautiful Maple family which may still be planted in smoky regions, including the favourite Sycamore, or false-plane. But we warn here all whom it may concern that even this cannot with impunity be planted so near the smok}^ centres as the Ash and the Poplar. Still, as there is said to be an exception to every rule, we may say that we have found the Norway Maple (A. platanoides) in large examples,, and after a lengthy sojourn, to all appearance healthy at a little over a mile only from the Manchester Exchange. POPLAR FAMILY.— One of the most patient trees for town-planting is the Poplar, of which the rapid-growing and vigorous North American kinds are the most manageable. Planted even in the heart of the most smoke-stricken town, these will make headway for a time ; but people who use them must be prepared to replant at intervals of some years ; which of course it is quite worth their while to do, in view of the TOWN TREES. 249 abundant mass of refreshing verdure they afford to the eye in summer. The Al teles old and new (Populus alba), may be used also; and for a mass of persistent foliage, delightful to look ni)on in the late summer, the Black Italian Poplar, before mentioned, is indispensable for smoky cities. As for the upright, or Lombardy Poplar, it is out of the question, and very few now make the mistake of using it in these situations. THE THOKN FAMILY.— For the smoky parts of Man chestcr, the vigorous-growing, large, and smooth leaved North American species of Thorn will he found to supply the greatest number of eligible subjects ; and several of these, including the cockspur and plum-leaved thorns, have already been extensively, but not too extensively, planted about the city. And while the rich reds and purples of the very persistent leaves of these make a fine spectacle in the autumn, what more glorious, in the early season, than the picture, in our smoky suburbs, offered by the blossoming pink and scarlet thorns in the single and double varieties ! For town planting, the numerous Thorn family has a future, although the Common Hawthorn of our hedges, which in spring makes of this little England of ours a blossoming paradise, must unfortunately be left out of the list ; and the prudent town- planter is now substituting for it, as a hedge plant, the more- patient and long-suffering Privet. THE LABURNUM (Cytisus Laburnum).— As regards the Laburnum — the " Golden-rain," or " Shower of Gold " of the Germans — we think our readers will agree that there is no more charming feature of suburban Manchester, in the spring and early summer, than the abundance of this beautiful member of the Broom-family, which flings its wealth of golden tassels with an incomparable grace over every wall and paling. But we seldom see the Scotch Laburnum hereabouts ; and still more rarely the purple and sulphur kinds, both of which (grafted on the common laburnum) are capital town-subjects, while more lovely objects in the plant-way are not to be met with in any nobleman's garden. A twenty years-old Sulphur Broom in the 250 TOWN TREES. smoke-stricken grounds of the present writer is, when blossoming, the admiration of all who see it. The fact is, there are about our small suburban residences too many unsuitable forest-trees, and too few of the better-suited ornamental kinds. For town- planting there is a great future for the Broom family ; and a more beautiful picture, in the early season, than a combination of Scarlet Thorns and Laburnums it would be difficult to imagine. Of the Double-blossoming Cherry, the Pear, the Mespilus, and other deciduous town trees, and of evergreen subjects, we shall speak in another article* * In a later edition of this Book. PICTURESQUE PLANTING. 201 PICTURESQUE PLANTING: A GLANCE AT ITS HISTORY. |OW old is the idea of the Picturesque ? and, Who was the first Landscape Gardener 1 These questions are sufficiently difficult to puzzle not only the cleverest gardeners but the most learned archaeologists. " It is not a little curious," says the versatile De Quincey, who was never so happy as when enquiring into these and similar matters, " to find that the ancients — whether Greeks or Romans — had no eye for the picturesque (strictly so called) ; nay, that it was a sense utterly unawakened amongst them ; and that the very conception of the picturesque, as of a thing distinct in itself, is not even alluded to through the whole course of ancient literature, nor would it have been intelligible to any ancient critic." On the other hand, we quite agree with a more recent writer, who very justly observes that to suppose that sites could be so exquisitely chosen as were those of the Roman villas, except by men who had a strong perception of beauty, is impossible. Cicero's villas, as is well known, commanded charming views. But the sense of the picturesque, as of a thing distinct from the beautiful, if felt, was left unexpressed. The question, as has been said, is a very curious one, and well worth enquiring into by those who have the interest and the leisure to pursue the matter. We would refer these last to a work, published some years back, by a learned Frenchman, M. Eugene Secretan, who deals with the subject, so far as concerns the Romans, very instructively. The book is entitled " 1 »u Sentiment de la Nature dans l'antiquitc romaine." With regard to the second question, the fust Landscape Gardener, according to some, was the Roman Emperor, Nero. 252 PICTURESQUE PLANTING. Tacitus informs us that the ruins of Rome, after the fire, let in views of the distant country, and supplied bold masses of fore- ground, which pleased Nero's cultivated eye. To enjoy this new pleasure, he built a house, and surrounded it with what has since been called a " Landscape." Again, we are told that the Emperor Hadrian, in the grounds attached to his gigantic villa at Tivoli, endeavoured to reproduce all that he had admired in the course of his ceaseless journeyings, and that he even contrived an imitation of the Yale of Tempe. Next to Heiodotus, the Father of History, this emperor has the reputation of having been the greatest tourist of ancient times. But — alas, for our British pretensions — is it not likely that the first landscape gardener will have to be sought for in times still more remote 1 Not to name Assyrian gardeners, what about the Chinese 1 How many years — how many thousands of years — have the Chinese been landscape gardening % Is it possible to tell to a thousand ! Two hundred years back, Sir William Temple, in his pleasant " Essay on Gardening," referring to the management of pleasure grounds, says : " There may be other forms, wholly irregular, that may, for aught I know, have more beauty than any of the others Something of this I have seen in some places, but heard more of it from others who have lived much among the Chinese, who scorn our way of plant- ing, and say a boy that can tell a hundred may plant walks of trees in straight lines, and over against one another, and to what length and extent he pleases. But their greatest reach of imagination is employed in contriving figures where the beauty shall be great, and strike the eye, but without any order or dis- position of parts that shall be easily observed. And though we in England have hardly any notion of this sort of beauty, yet they hare a particular word to express it ; and where they find it hit their eye at first sight, they say the Sharawadgi is fine, or it is admirable." — E. on G., p. 1S6.) So much for John Chinaman; to whom it would seem that we owe a good deal besides The cups that cheer but not inebriate. PICTURESQUE PLANTING. 25.S Truth to speak, wo English are not quite the universal pioneers and first discoverers we sometimes think ourselves. For instance, the Dutch were before us in Australia, which gardeners in par- ticular call New Holland to this day. The Dutch were before us, too, in South Africa, where the Briton is comparatively a new corner ; and it was only by the fortune of war that Cape Colony passed under our domination. The French, again, were before us in Canada, where, in many parts, a bastard French is still spoken. Through our triumphs by land and sea, and by diplomacy, rather than by colonising, have we acquired not a little of that vast empire upon which the sun never sets. But we are excellent people to follow, and improve upon, others. So in horticultural matters ; if, for instance, Ave were much later than our continental neighbours in forming public botanic gardens, we very soon overtook them, and have now, in Kew, the finest and richest public Botanic Garden in the world. And as regards the special matter of Landscape Gardening, as somebody has remarked, just as we see Chinese landscapes within the narrow compass of a tea-cup bottom, so is the Chinaman's system of landscape gardening cramped and narrow, in comparison with the breadth and amplitude of our English system. It is now some three hundred years since the subject of plant- png, that is to say, picturesque planting, was first treated of in English books. We are told that one of the earliest authors on the subject was a Mr. Robert Church who, writing in 1612, expatiates on the delight to be had from a judicious arrangement of plants, with their variety of greens, and their pleasant colours, in parks and gardens. With regard to the pleasure of planting, it is one in which royalty and nobility — here in England, especially — have often indulged; and a very interesting, and also instinctive, book might be written on the great, or distinguished, planters of present and past times. We are told by the amiable John Evelyn, the author of " Sylva," and himself a great planter, that with our second Charles of England, the " Metric Monarch," planting was a very favourite diversion indeed : and not the least notable 254 PICTURESQUE PLANTING. of last century planters was the poet Shenstone, who is said to have made his demesne of "Leasowes," in Shropshire, the envy of the great and the admiration of the skilful ; but, unfortunately, we are also told that he spent his estate in adorning it ! With respect to the great professional landscape gardeners who have made England famous in this department the wide world over, many interesting chapters might be written on them; and the history of their lives would almost be the history of English garden- ing. Most of them were men of unusually strong character and of marked individuality. We refer to Brown, Eepton, Loudon, and others. With regard to the two last-named, n ot only were they landscape gardeners, in the practical sense of the word, but copious and admirable writers on the subject, Loudon in especial, whose industry was perfectly phenomenal. And although he was hardly a botanist, strictly speaking, his Labours in the field of botany as it relates to horticulture were such as to make him the benefactor of the English gardening fraternity to an extent equalled by no other writer on the allied subjects. As respects Lancelot Brown, who was much earlier in the field than Repton and Loudon, his career was a most remarkable one. Beginning life as a simple kitchen-gardener, we are told that he raised him- self to the position of the most eminent landscape gardener of his time ; and that after acquiring a large fortune, and serving as high sheriff for an English county, he died in 1773. We remarked that the men of whom we are writing were people of great individuality of character. Brown's eccentricities alone would make a most entertaining chapter. Whenever he was " called in " for professional consultation by the noblemen and gentlemen of England who desired to have their grounds trans- formed by the gardener's magic art, Brown's invariable remark- appropriate or inappropriate, in season and out of season — was : " My lord, the place has great capabilities ! " And as " Capa- bility " Brown he was universally known and spoken of in his own time, and as " Capability " Brown he is spoken of to this day. Very congenial would it be to ourselves to continue this sort of gossip, but for the present we must conclude. EEVIEfS. 257 LANCASHIRE DIALECT POETS.* TiTiT' hold, an d have always held, that every writer of great ^I^V and original power who seeks a verbal vehicle, so to -peak, for what he has to give to the world will, if he listens to the voice of his -ruins, be instinctively led to choose exactly that vehicle which has most affinity with that genius. If this proposition lie correct, the dialect writer has his raisou d'rtre at once ; and compels us, always assuming that he possesses genius, to acquaint ourselves with whatever dialect he chooses to write in. When Robert Burns (called, like Cincinnatus, from the plough) was seeking the opinion of his chief literary friends, they advised him to forsake the " barbarous " idiom of the south of Scotland for good, honest English, though what is "honest" English it might be difficult to say. The poet Cowper, too, who was Burns's contemporary, and was much interested in the poetic star which had suddenly appeared on the northern horizon, thought the Ayrshire poet's light was contained in a "dark lantern," referring to the obscurity of the dialect. But the high voice of the great poet's genius spoke in other terms and gave a * " Spring Blossoms and Autumn Leaves." By Ben Brieiley, author of " Tales and Sketches of Lancashire Life." Manchester: J. Andrew & Co., 1893. "Warblin's fro' an Owd Songster." By Samuel Laycock. Oldham: \V. E. Clegg, 1893. 2s8 REVIEWS: different counsel ; and hence it is that a poor ploughman's pen is- at this moment, and probably will for ever be, more potent over smiles and tears than any ever dipped in ink. We laugh, or weep, as the poet wills, and wonder over the secret of his power. The secret, in part, is that Burns combined a masterly knowledge of English with a perfect command of the Scottish idiom ; for dialects afford innumerable shades and delicacies of expression that might vainly be sought in dictionaries, and thus enable him who has mastered them, and who possesses at the same time the requisite genius, to reach the very inmost recesses of the human heart. Thus it is, in our opinion, that Burns, besides being the acknowledged prince of song-writers, and therefore a master of pathos, ranks amongst the world's greatest humorists. The reason we have given above explains also the sudden and wide popularity of the genial Fritz Renter, who made his first appearance as a dialect-writer, now many years ago, in North Germany. The innovations of Reuter, who was a Mecklen- burger with a very romantic history, raised a great storm in the German literary woiid, but his writings increased in vogue all the more and were read by millions of even cultured people. With regard to writers in the Lancashire dialect, although we have had a plentiful crop of these during the last forty years, there are who think that not many of them, so far as prose is- concerned, have greatly surpassed, in point of genuine broad humour racy of the soil, the first man who obtained a name in this department, viz., the Lancashire-born John Collier, better known by his nom de plume of " Tim Bobbin," author of " Tummus and Meary." Those who are familiar with this admirable master of local humour will recall the singular adven- tures of " Tummus " in the neighbourhood of Littleborough, on the Lancashire and Yorkshire border. We have read these " adventures " to people who on hearing them have rolled on the floor in helpless convulsions of laughter. Nor if read with any dramatic force, maugre the obscurity of the dialect, can they be otherwise than " irresistible " to a man with any sense of humour — and what Lancashire man is devoid of this quality 1 LANCASHIRE DIALECT POETS -27? It is charged against Collier that his dialect is considerably mixed with Yorkshire, and in a less measure with Cheshire and Derbyshire idioms, and the charge holds good ; but nevertheless) up to the appearance of Edwin Waugh, it will be admitted that "Tim Bobbin " was facilr princeps as a Lancashire dialect-writer. And how deep-rooted were his language and quaint humour among the sturdy mountaineers of the Lancashire and Yorkshire borderland fifty years ago we are personally able to attest. It must be admitted that much of Collier's humour is not of the refined or delicate kind ; it must be allowed that his main- characters are boorish, if not clownish ; but had the portraits been " varnished " they would have been distinctly false to the people and the time. Returning for a moment to the proposition with which we started, we may give an illustration of its truth coming from nearer hand. When Edwin Waugh, whom many of us knew from his earliest literary beginnings, published his first volume of verse, it will be remembered how remarkably unequal was that collection. The poems written in dialect at once showed us that the Lancashire idiom had found its greatest master, while the non-dialect pieces of the same collection were, in the main, about as wretched attempts at poetical expression as were ever made by the veriest tyro. Waugh 's genius had found its natural voice. Touching his native soil, Antaeus-like, the poet derived thence strength and power, and has given to Lancashire a collection of dialect poems and songs which are justly treasured, and a portion of which are not likely to perish even when the dialect has ceased to be a spoken language. Of these songs we cannot here deny our- selves the pleasure of quoting one sample — in Waugh's own opinion one of his very best performances in the dialect : " Enoch o' Dan's." It is a powerful picture, full alike of the richest humour and of the deepest pathos, but unfortunately the song has been set to a tune wholly out of keeping with the character of the subject : Q2 260 REVIEWS: ENOCH 0' DAN'S. (Tune, " Dkbry down.") Owd Enoch o' Dan's laid his pipe deawn o' th' hob, An' his thin fingers pla}'ed i'th' white thatch of his nob, " I'm getten done up," to their Betty he said, " Dost thou think thae could doff me an' dad me to bed !" Deny down, &c. Then who ge.^t him to bed, an' hoo happed him up weel, An' hoo said to him, " Eaoch, lad, heaw doesto feel ?" "These limbs o' mine, Betty — they're cranky an' sore, — It's time to shut up when one's getten fourscore." Derry down. As hoo potter't abeawt his poor winterly pate, Th' owd fellow looked dreawsily up at his mate, — " There's nought on me left, lass — do o' at thou con, — But th' cratchinly frame o' what once wur a mon." Deny down. Then he turn'b hissel o'er, like a chylt tir't wi' play, An' Betty crept reawnd, while he're dozin away. As his e'e-lids sank deawn, th' owd lad niutter't : " Well done ! I think there's a bit o' seawnd sleep comin' on." Derry down. Then hoo thought hoo'd sit by till he'd had his nap o'er, If hoo'd sit theer till then, hoo'd ha' risen no more ; For he doze't eawt o' th' world, an' his een lost their leet, Like a cinder i' th' firegrate, i' th' deod time o' th' neet. Derry down. As Betty sit rockin' bi' th' side of his bed, Hoo looked neaw an' then at Enoch's white yed, An' hoo thought to hersel that hoo'd not lung to stay, If ever th' owd prop of her life should give way. Derry down. Then, woncVrin' to see him so seawnd an' so still, Hoo touched Enoch's hond, an' hoo fund it wur chill : Says Betty, " He's cowd I'll put summat moor on !" But o' wur no use, for Owd Enoch wur gone. Derry down. An' when they put Enoch to bed deawn i' th' greawnd, A rook o' poor neighbours stoode bare-yedded reawnd ; They dropt sprigs o' rosemary, an' this wur their text : " Tii' owd crayter's laid by, — we may haply be th' next." Derry down. So Betty wur laft to toar on bi' her«el ; An' heaw hoo pood through it no mortal can tell ; But th' doctor dropt in to look at her one day, When hoo 're rockin* bi' th' side of an odd cup o' tay. Derry down. " Well, Betty," said th' doctor, " heaw dun yo get on ? I'm sorry to yer at yo'n lost yer owd mon. What complaint had he, Betty?" Says hoo, " I caun't tell, We ne'er had no doctor,— he deed of hissel." Derry down. LANCASHIRE DIALEOT POETS. 2ftl «< All, Betl j ," aid th' doctor, " there's "in- thing quite sure : ( >wd age is a thing I hat no physic c in cure, Fate will have her way, lass ; 'In <.' that we con, When th" time's up we's ha" to Bign o'< r an' begone." Derry down. " Both winter an' summer t h' owd mower's al wark, Si.liu' folk eaM t o 1 th 1 seet, both by dayleel an' dark ; He's sluvin' aw i\ while we're Bnoring i' bed. An' he'd slash at a king, if it coom in his yed, Derry down. These soldiers, an' parsons, an' maisters o' lond, He lays 'em i' th' greawnd \\i' their meawths full o' sond : I: kga <>r riches, an' owd greasy cap or a creawn, — He sarves o' alike, for he switches 'em deawn. Deny down. "The inou that's larn't up, an' th' mon that's a foo, — I' makes little odds, for the3''n both ha' to goo, — When they come'n within th' swing <>' his scythe they mun fo' ; If yo'n root amung th' swathe, yo'n find doctors an' o' !" Deny down. Nor are Waugh's prose-writings, as regards local portraiture, and whether of people or places, less than masterly. It is true that his plots ate about as poor and as thin as it is possible to find — a mere series of episodes, in fact, very loosely con nected ; but in individual pictures of local scenes and local character Waugh leaves all his Lancashire rivals far behind : and in descriptions of hillside people and moorland scenery leaves all England behind. In this department, we do not hesitate to affirm that our Lancashire Waugh is absolutely unsurpassed. So perfect, indeed, are some of his pictures of local character that we who pen these lines can turn to them for the fiftieth time and read the pieces with undiminished relish ; and for this reason, that every stroke of the writer — even the most grotesque — is " true to the life.'' What a Dorsetshire parson has done for the dialects of that county is pretty well known. And with regard to what can be accomplished in dialect in the wider held, have we not had, " ayont the Tweed," even " Hot; in Homespun !" Nor is this the first time the lively Roman lyrist has appeared in Scottish trappings, as scholars are aware. Could anything, for instance, be happier, or more in the lloratian 262 REVIEWS: vein, than dear old Allan Ramsay's imitation of Horace's 9th Ode, 1st Book, commencing : Vides, ut alt a stet nice candidum Soracte : Be sure ye dinna quat the grip Of ilka joy wiien ye are young, Before auld age your vitals nip, And lay ye twafauld o'er a rung. Sweet youth's a blyth and heartsoine time, Then, lads and lasses, while its May Gae pou' the gowan in its prime, Before it wither and decay. The capacities of a dialect in the hands of a master and a genius are great indeed. But our immediate concern is with Lancashire Dialect Poets. Among these the most important name, after Waugh's, is undoubtedly that of Ben Brierley — " Lancashire's Ben," as one of his encomiasts describes him — the founder, and for some time editor, of " Ben Brierley's Journal," and the author of innumer- able tales and local sketches, written chiefly in the vernacular. Under the quaint sobriquet of " Ab o'th Yate," Mr. Brierley has amused and diverted the homely, hardworking folk of the great cotton county for fully a quarter of a century ; and if it be true that every Lancashire lane has echoed to the songs of AVaugh, it is no less true that thousands of Lancashire firesides have been cheered and brightened through the merriment evoked by " Owd Ab's " quaint humour and genial satire, as expressed in prose. And not Lancashire firesides alone, for the wide circula- tion of his "Journal " has made Ben Brierley's name a household word over a great part of Yorkshire, Cheshire, and Derbyshire, as well. Our first acquaintance with Mr. Brierley's writings in the vernacular was made in the year 1866, through reading his " Marlocks of Merriton " which appeared in the late Charles Hardwick's too short-lived " Country AYords " (published in the November of that year). Since then he has written so volumin- ously in prose that his works at this moment number some fourteen or fifteen volumes. LANCASHIRE DIALECT P0ET8. 363 But besides writing in prose, Mr. Brierley has occasionally. Luring the above period, had visi tings of the "divine afflatus," .and like a "layrock" has burst into song. These occasional poems and songs have appeared either in his own " Tales," or "Stories," or in various local journals ; and he has now collected tlicni together in a slim but handsome little volume of some 150 pages, of which we doubt not his very numerous admirers will hasten to possess themselves. We have said that Mr. Brierley has "occasionally" written poems, but we quite agree with one of his friendly critics that ■"Ben has an undeniable poetic temperament," and that much of his so-called " prose " is pure poetry. As is wisely, and at the same time humorously, remarked by Sir Philip Sidney, " Verse is but an ornament and no cause to poetry; since there have been many most excellent poets that have never versified, and now swarm many versifiers that need never answer to the name of poets." Mr. Brierley, in his degree, is a poet; and we are delighted to peruse once more those of his poems and songs which have always pleased us. Among these are his " May," after " L'Allegro ' •of Milton, which it is high praise to say is a piece not unworthy of its distinguished model, " The Waverlow Bell?," the fine " In Memoriam to Charles Swain," and the touching lines entitled " At my Daughter's Grave ; " and in the dialect : " Owd Pigeon," ■"Fotchin th'Keaws up,*' "Jone o' Greenfilt*s Ghost," and the incomparable " Wayvor o' Wellbrook." " Owd Pigeon " is easily recognised as the type of a very large " squad," and we are not surprised that the piece should be a popular favourite. OWD PIGEON. "Till: RULING r\vs|,,\ STRONG IN DEATH." Owd Pigeon wur as dry a brid A- e\ er sw iped Ids drink ; He liked to see a frothy pint Smile at his nose, an' wink. At morn or neet, "twur alus reet, A quart, or pint, or gill Win- th' same to him ; if tlf pot wur full Ih never had hi- till. 264 REVIEWS: If e'er he geet his breeches' knees Beneath a taproom table, He'd sit, an' drink, an' smook, an' wink As long as he wur able. He'd grown so firm to th' alehouse nook, An' swiped so mony mixtures, That when it coom to changin' honds He're reckoned among th' fixtures. Whene'er their Betty brewed a " peck," If he could find a jug, He wouldno' wait till th' ale wur " tunned," He'd lade it eawt o'th' mug. One neet Owd Pigeon flew to'ard whoam, Wi' a very wobblin' flutter ; Sometimes he'd tumble into th' hedge, An' sometimes into th' gutter. He knew he're late, an' didno' want Their Betty t' see a leet ; So crept upstairs to bed i'th' dark, An' in his stockin' feet. He groped abeawt i'th' sleepin' cote, An' felt for th' drawers an' th' bed ; But nowt he touched till th' bedpost flew, An' banged again his yead. " Theigher," sa id Pigeon, " that's a goo : There's someb'dy bin working charms ; For it's th' fust time e'er I knew my nose Wur longer than my arms." But poor Owd Pigeon's time had come, An' when his will he'd signt, He said he ailed nowt nobbut " drooth," An' begged for another pint. His " rulin passion" stuck till death, An' as th' Slayer raised his dart, He licked his lips, an' faintly said, " Just mak' it int' a quart. I wouldno' care a pin for th' grave, Though I'm totterin' upo' th' brink, If T could come back wi' th' buiyin' folk, And ha' my share o'th' drink." "One neet Owd Pigeon flew to'ard whoam wi' a very wobblin' flutter," is a very graphic .stroke indeed, and seldom has the ruling passion in death been so powerfully, and at the same time so humorously, depicted as in the last verse. In fact, Mr. Briorley is so good in verse now and again that we wish he had written more. Although the tragic ending of poor "Owd Tigeon's " damp LANCASHIRE DIALECT POETS. 265 career inculcates a strong moral lesson, and makes the readei resolve to clasp his teeth, and ne'er undo 'em To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em! converting him, for the nonce, to downright teetotalism, he is soon converted buck again by such humorous and genially-moisl poems as " Whoam-brew.ed," and the author is evidently of the same opinion as a greater dialect-poet that in case of a quarrel It's aye the cheapesl lawyer's fee To taste the barrel ! when he says Bui ii needs no hard feightin' to keep eaut a foe When I truce wi' a mug o' whoam-brewed ! And again Care once coome a-neighbourin', an' pottert at th' dur ; An' his nose into th 1 keyhole he screwed, But he soon scampered hack to his feyther, the dale, When he smelt I'd a mu^ o' whoam-brewed ! Another popular favourite is " Fotchin' th' Keaws up;" and no wonder, for it is as bright and sweet a little idyl as one could meet with — fragrant as a spring-blossom, sly,Vpawkie," and so brimming with healthy fun that we cannot help giving it in it- entirety. Here it is — FOTCHIN' TH' KEAWS UP. One summer e'enin When the screenin Cleauds drew o'er the settin sun, Madiie went trippin' Eaut, o'th' shipp'n, Fotchin th 1 keaws, as of! hood done. In th' owd lane Hoo met a swain Pluckin blossoms from the spray. •• Madge," said he, " It's si range to see Thee fotchin' th' keaws so late i'th ] day. Madge said now I , Yet 1 1 iily t howt Ther summat wicked in hi- e'e : I'.ul w hen her waist He tightly pressed Heaw could hoo Longer silent he? Hoo said " Jim I >aw -on, Eh, t heau taw se un, What do'st think my mam'll say, It hoo sees thee < >ffer t ' squeeze me Fotehin th' keaws up late i'lh day ! 266 REVIEWS "■ Let me goo, Jim ; Neaw then, do, Jim — Aw've no time for stoppin here." But the youth. To tell the truth, Wi' cobweb could ha' held her theere : Then the gate Was not too strait For two to pass, an' goo ther way : But who could pass A bonny lass, When fotchin' th' keaws up late i'th' day ? "Madge," said Jim — Whilst hoo to him As closely clung as he to her — " It's strange if time I' th' summer's prime An heaur to lovers conno spare. If th' owd sun's gone, Ther's th' young moon yon, Stringin' silver beads on th' hay ; An' thoos bits o' Leet that flit so, Are keaws hoo's fotchin' late i'th' day. " Two cleauds meetin', Neaw are greetin' ; See 'em kissin' as they pass ! " Madge, not thinkin' 111, said, shrinkin', " Which is th' lad, an' which is th' lass ? " " That," said Jim, " Ut's breet an' slim, Must be the lass, neaw on her way, Spreadin' charms O'er heaven's farms, Whilst fotchin' th' keaws up late i'th' day." 'T had been a wonder, An' a blunder, Had the skies their lessons lost ; If two cleauds, meetin', Did o'th' greetin', Why did Jim the maid accost ? But oh ! the kisses, And the blisses, That took Madge's heart away ! Neaw hoo's fain Hoo met a swain When fotchin' th' keaws up late i'th' day. And here is a companion-picture, which we make no apology for " annexing " in full. LANCASHIRE DIALECT POETS. 267 THOU'RT LONELY, MY JAMMIE. Thou it lonely, my Jammie, art ill, or i' love? Thou goes mopsin, an' sighin' aboul : \n' thy clooae don'l lit thee as weel as tliey did — Thou'rt like ii poor leet goin' out. II. hi they vexed thee, or what make thy lip hang so low? Or bast' lost o' thy marbles again ? But they sigh noane o'er marbles nor fret when they're lost- Thou'rt i' lovt : that to me is quite plain. Thou'rt (piiek goin' out, but thou'rt slow eomin' in, An' thy clogs seem too big for thy feet; They're too heavy to trail when thou'rt gooin' t' thy wark, But leetsome an' limber at neet. An' thy nose aulus points to'ard Owd Johnny Brooke's farm, As if pigeons wur flyin' o'er th' roof ; But I think Johnny's lass has moore likins to thee, At neet, when hoo's trippin' deawn th' cloof. Thou'rt noane like thy feyther when he coome to me ; He did no' stood starin' at nowt, He'd ha' stood at th' heause-end, an' ha' whistled an' sung, Till thy gronfeyther'd ha' punced him deawn th' fowt. Then ha' shown up th' neet after as brazen t as brass, An' into eaur heause chuckt his hat. \i.iw , Jammie, if t' wants to get th' heart of a lass, Show some pluek, an' hoo'll like thee for that. Neaw go thy ways off, lad, an' come noane again, Till wi' Jennie theau's made it o reet. I know ut th' lass likes thee, but connot for shame To ax thee t' walk eaut of a neet. Owd Johnnie '11 no' like it when he gets to know ; He thinks daisies an' mayfleawers o' .lane. He'll grumble an' swear, but he'll hardly say "No," When he comes to his senses again. Jammie's off like a greyhound ut's just seen a hare, An' what time he 11 come back nob'dy know-. It Im's gone i' good yearnest 1 dunno' mich care, Lesl owd Johnnie an' he come to blows. Eh, this coortin's rough wark, hut I'd rayther twur so Than this makkiif th' heause nice for him t' come: There's honester sweethearts stood whistlin' at th' (\u\\ Than are welcomed as if they in awhoam. It s reet ! There's eaur Jammie. I know by his foot ; < latch a mother not know in' by th' seaund. An' he's managed his job ; suimnat towd me he'd do't, An' we're gladsome an' happy o' reaund. Come, Jammie, an' lutss thy owd mother i'th' nook, There's nowt like a good, hone-t face; 1 knew if tlieau gan th' lass a fair lovin' look, In her heart, lad, hoo'd lind thee a ]ilace. 268 BE VIEW S.- Mr. Brier! ey's "Go tak' th' Ragged Childer an' Flit," the reverse side of the picture to Edwin Waugh's "Come Whoam to thi Childer an' Me," is certainly amusing, and a clever parody. In turning over his volume we notice that Mr. Brierley is- rather fond of parody. Parody is always tempting, because it is so easy ; but, like punning, it should be indulged in moderately. We like better the pathetic pieces, in some of which the author strikes a very deep chord, as in " The Fall of Sebastopol," " We are on our journey home," and especially in " The Waverlow Bells," illustrated by a very pretty vignette ; and with this we must conclude our notice, congratulating Mr. Brierley, and regretting only the typographical errors iri his pretty volume. These, however, he will be able to correct in the next edition, which we feel confident will very soon be called for THE WAVERLOW BELLS. Old Jammie and Ailse went a-down the brookside, Arm-in-arm, as when young, before Ailse was a bride ; And what made them pause near the Hollybank wells'.' 'Tvvas to list to the chimes of the Waverlow bells. "How sweet," said old Jammie, " How sweet on the ear Comes the ding-donging sound of yon curfew, my dear ! " But old Ailse ne'er replies — for her bosom now swells — Oh, she loved in her childhood those Waverlow bells ! '• Thou remember'st," said Jammie, " the night we first met, Near the Abbey Field gate — the old gate is there yet — When we roamed in the moonlight, o'er fields and through dells,. And our hearts beat along with the Waverlow bells. " And then that wakes morning, so early at church, When I led thee, a bride, through the old ivy [torch, And our new home we made where the curate now dwells, And we danced to the music of Waverlow bulls. " And when that wakes morning came round the next year, How we bore a sweet child to the christening font there ; But our joy-peals soon changed to the saddesl of knells, And we mourned at the sound of the Waverlow bells." Then in silence, a moment, the old couple stood, Their hearts in the churchyard, their eyes on the Hood ; And the tear, as it starts, a sad memory tells — Oh ! they heard a loved voice in those Waverlow bells." "Our Ann," said old Ailse, " was the fairest of girls ; She had heaven in her face, and the sun in her curls ; Now she sleeps in a bed where the worm makes its cells, And her lullaby's sung by the Waverlow bells." LANCASHIRE DIALECT POETS. 289 " Bui her soul," Jammie -aid, " she'd a soul in her eyes, And their brightness is gone to it- home in the skies ; We may meet her there yet, where the good Spirit dwells, When we'll hear them do more those old Waverlow bells. Once again— only once— this old couple were seen >,, pping "in in the gloaming across the old green, And to wander adown l>.\ the Hollybank welis, Jusl to list to the chimes of the Waverlow bells. Now the good folk> are sleeping beneath the cold sod, But their souls are in bliss witfi their daughter and <iod, And each maid in the village now mournfully tells How old Jammie and Ailse loved the \Va\eilnw hells. About the time that Ben Brierley began to sing there began to sing another Lancashire "layrock," in the person of Samuel Laycock, whose " warblin's " have continued up to the present; and it is not a little remarkable that the two friendly rivals for the Lancashire laureateship, equal in age as they are, should have published their "warblings " simultaneously. As just now hinted, the less intermittent of the two " Songsters " has been Mr. Laycock, whose "Warblin's fro' an' owd Songster " make a bulky, well-printed, and " taking "volume ■of something under four hundred pages. The book is also illustrated, though we fail to discern in the pictorial part any striking merit. The best illustration is undoubtedly Mr. George Perkins's "Bonny Brid," and here the " Brid " appears to us of phenomenal size for a " new arrival ! " The poet must have misled the painter, for there is an incongruous element in Mr. Laycock's " Bonny Brid "that we shall have the less hesitation in pointing out to him that we have an extreme admiration for this poem in most other respects. Indeed, we are inclined to think that there is no short poem in the dialect which has gone so straight to the heart of work-a-day Lancashire; and certainly there is not, in Mr. Laycock's very thick volume, a poem in which we find his peculiar excellencies so conspicuous. These excellencies are : transparent simplicity as regards expression, directness of stroke, and humour of the slyest ; but here is the poem : 270 REVIEWS: WELCOME, BONNY BRID ! TV art welcome, little bonny brid, But shouldn't ha' come just when tha' did ; Toimes .are bad. We're short o' pobbies for eawr Joe, But that, of course, tha didn't know, Did ta, lad ? Aw've often yeard mi feyther tell, At when aw coom i' th' world misel' Trade were slack ; An' neaw it's hard wark pooin throo — But I munno fear thee, if aw do Tha'll go back. Cheer up ! these toimes '11 awter soon ; Aw'm beawn to heigh another spoon — One for thee ; An', as tha's sich a pratty face Aw'll let thee have eawr Charley's place , On mi knee. Cod bless thee, love, aw'm fain tha'rt come, Just try an' mak' thisel awhoam : Here's thi nest ; Tha'rt loike thi mother to a tee, But tha's thi fayther's nose, aw see, Well, aw'm blest ! Come, come, tha needn't look so shy, Aw am no blamin' thee, not I ; Settle deawn, An tak' this haupney for thisel, There's lots o' sugar-sticks to sell Deawn i' th' teawn. Aw know when furstaw coom to th' leet Aw're fond o' owt at tasted sweet ; Tha'll be th' same. But come, tha's never towd thi dad What he's to co' thee yet, mi lad — What's thi' name ? Hush ! hush ! tha musn't cry this way, But get this sope o' cinder tay While it's warm ; Mi mother used to give it me, When aw wur sich a lad as thee In her arm. Hush-a-babby, hush-a-l>ee, — Oh, what temper ! dear-a-me Heaw tha skrikes! Here's a bit o' sugar, sithee ; Howd thi noise, and then aw'll gie thee ( >wt tha likes. LANCASHIRE DIALECT POETS. 271 We've nobbut jjetten coarsish fare, But euwt o' this tli.i'll get tlii share, Never fear. Aw hope tha'll never want a meal, Butallis till thi bally weel While tha'rt In re. Thi feyther's noun heen wed so long, And vet tha sees he's middlin 1 throng \\\ yo o. Besides thi little brother Ted, We've one upsteers, asleep i' bed Wi' eawr Joe. I Jut tho' we've childer two or three, We'll mak' a bit o' reawm for thee, Bless thee, lad ! Tha'rt prattiest brid we have i' th' nest, So hutch up closer to mi breast ; Aw'in thi dad. Iii the fifth stanza of the above poem it will be seen that Mr. Laycock addresses his newly-arrived baby as if the infant were capable of understanding the value of money and what it will buy ; in this consists the incongruous element referred to, and we very sincerely regret this blur upon a poem in which humour and pathos are so delicately and beautifully blended. Even as it is, the author so powerfully awakens our interest in his " Bonny Brid " that we mentally follow the " lad's "career, and are anxious about his welfare. But we find in the sequel that the " lad " who arrived in the world so untimely has developed into a hand- some young woman, and become the worthy spouse' of a worthy husband. (Sec " The Bonny Brid's Wedding Day.") But these are only " spots on the sun ;" and this reminds us of Mr. Laycock's fine tribute in the dialect to that glorious orb. We refer to his " Ode to th' Sun," which is so widely and justly admired. Mr. Trevor, in his appreciative and sympathetic preface to the " Warblin's," states that the Lancashire dialect does not readily lend itself to descriptions of the grand in nature. That may be so, but who knows what a genius of the first order might do in that direction, even with the homely folk-speech of Lancashire. See how Burns, in his "Address to the Deil," overcomes the apparently insuperable difficulties presented by the homely 272 REVIEWS: Saxon idiom of the south of Scotland. Was ever a more sub- lime picture drawn, in so few words, than in the fourth and fifth stanzas of that extraordinary poem 1 But the difficulty of combining the humorous with the sublime is a serious one, and in attempting the task all but the greatest poets are constantly treading on the verge of anticlimax. Mr. Laycock, in the " Ode " referred to, effects a very happy com- promise, and has given us, in the Lancashire dialect, a poem which does him great honour. We quote it in full. ODE TO TH' SUN. Hail, owd friend ! awm fain to see thee ; Wheer has t' been so monny days ? Lots o' toimes aw've looked up for thee, Wishin' aw could see thi face. Th' little childer reawn abeawt here, Say they wonder wheer tha'rt gone ; An' they wanten me to ax thee T" show tinsel' as oft as t' con. Come an' see us every mornin' ; Come, these droopin' spirits cheer : Peep thro' every cottage window ; Tha'll be welcome every wheer. Show tinsel' i' o' thi splendour ; Throw that gloomy veil aside ; What dost creep to th' back o' th' cleawds for ? Tha's no fau'ts nor nowt to hide. Flashy clooas an' bits of finery Help to mend sich loike as me : Veils improve some women's faces, But, owd friend, they'll noan mend thee. Things deawn here 'at we co'n pratty Soon begin to spoil an* fade ; But tha still keeps up thi polish, Tha'rt as breet as when new made. Tha wur theer when th' hosts o' heaven Sweetly sang their mornin' song ; But tha looks as young as ever, Tho' tha's bin up theer so long, An' for ages tha's bin shinin' — Smilin o' thi* world o' eawrs ; Blessin' everythin' tha looks on, Makin' th' fruit grow— oppenin' th' fieawers. It wur thee at' Adam looked on, When i'th' garden hi' hissel' ; An' tha smoiled upon his labour- Happen helped him— who can tell •> /. [NCASHIRE DIALECT POETS. 273 It wur thee 'al Joshua -poke to On hi- way to th' promised laud ; When, as 1 1 1 " good owd Bible tells as, Tlu-iiw obeyed his strange command. I'lia'll ha' seen some curious antics Played deawn here hi' th' human race ; Si itne tha couldn't hear to look on, For tha shawmed an 1 hid thi' face. Mon\ a toinie I see thee Muslim' When tha'it Leavin' usatneet: An' no wonder, for tha's noticed Things we'n done 'at's noan been reet. After o' tha comes to own us, Tho' we do so mich 'at's wrong ; Even aeaw tha'rt shinin 1 breetly — I Llpin' me to write this song. Heaw refreshin' ! heaw revivin' ! Stay as long as ever t' con ; We shall noan fee] haw ve as happy, llawveas leetsome, when tha'rt gone. Oh ! for th' sake o' foak 'at's poorly, Come, an' cheer us wi' thi' rays ; We forgetten 'at we ail owt When we see thy dear owd face. Every mornin' when its glooim Lotso' foak are seen aheawt ; Some at th' door-steep>, some at th' windows, Watchin' for thee peepin' eawt. There are others of Mr. Laycock's poems we should like to -consider, such as " Bowton's Yard," — a popular favourite, and " Thee and Me," but we must leave them for the present. In glancing at the titles of many of the pieces one is painfully reminded of that time of dire distress in the cotton districts caused by the civil war in America — a time burnt into the memory of thousands still living, but the trials of which served only to prove, and place in clear light, the sterling metal of which our Lancashire people are made. Some finical and fastidious critics are apt to despise "dialect - of all kinds, and also all writers who clothe their ideas in what these eclectics pronounce to be " vulgar language." There are among them, indeed, those who carry their fastidiousness to the point of censuring all writers who deal with so-called "low life" in any form. Nay, we have even heard this complaint urged against authors of the highest rank, and of European fame. R 274 REVIEWS: And as it is in the present, so it was in the past. When Jean Paul the Only was giving forth to the astonished Germans those singular compositions of his which, for want of a better word to- describe them, we are in the habit of calling " novels," it was objected by his critics that the author had this great fault among a crowd of others, viz., that he drew his characters almost exclu- sively from the lowest ranks of society, and that his works were consequently little more than the "annals of the poor." The same objection has often been taken by English critics to the novels of Dickens. But surely in neither case can this objec- tion be upheld, for seeing that the " annals of the poor " must always be the history of the great mass of the human family, so must they be of account and importance in proportion. More- over, the function of the novelist, in these days above all when the novel is the popular literary vehicle, is, or ought to be, not merely to amuse but to teach, instruct and elevate mankind. As a great poet says : He serves the Muses erringly and ill Whose aim is pleasure, light and fugitive. And as the lowest ranks of society are usually assumed to be those who stand in most need of teaching, it follows that the writer who chooses his themes and draws his characters from among the common people thereby shows his superior judgment and special aptitude. This being assumed, it becomes of the first importance to get as near as may be to the hearth and heart of these common people (the phrase, of course, being used here in no invidious sense). To this end undoubtedly contributes the use of dialects so-called, that is to say, the very mother-speech of the people themselves. Messrs. Brierley and Laycock have mainly written in the humble language of the cottage of the humble joys of the cottager ; but it is the cottagers that make a nation. Therefore Let not the rich deride, the proud' disdain, These humble blessings of the lowly, train. To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm than all the gloss of art. LAX' AS ////:/■; DIALECT POETS. 273- Mr. Brierley is a Lancashire man, ;m<l is claimed by Fails worth, near Manchester. Mr. Laycock, though claimed by Lancashire, is a Yorkshireman by birth, having first seen the light in the hilly and romantic district of Marsden ; and indeed his writings breathe all the sturdy independence and self-reliance of the men of the Yorkshire highland-. We heartily congratu- late both the " Owd Songsters," and Lancashire upon having two such singers. 5% r2 276 REVIEWS : ROSSENDALE FOREST.* ^TfHLS is a book of a sort we want more of, written by a vl^ gentleman of a class we could wish more numerous — the class, namely, who show to the world that it is possible to combine — an impossible combination in the view of those of narrow comprehension — a large capacity for affairs and the practical business of the world with literary tastes ; and not only literary tastes but literary accomplishments. And well it is for Manchester that she should have such men in her midst, in face of the charge so often levelled against her, that she is wholly o-iven over to the sordid and the grovelling. Even one of the more distinguished of her own sons — Mr. Hepworth Dixon — could say, thirty years ago : " In no other place is a man so estimated by the mere amount of money he happens fco possess as in Cottonopolis." All honour, then, to those who help in so large a degree to clear Manchester from the aspersions of her own children. And why should we neglect the cultivation of faculties which, under due discipline, do not militate against, but are con- tributive rather, to success in affairs, in so practical a city as that in which we are now writing 1 This by the way. Singular it is that so large a proportion of our local histories should be written by people not native to the districts they take .such pains, and apparently such loving pains, to describe and make known to the world. Should you happen to be travelling through the country and mks your way, of a surety the first man you meet and ask to set you right will tell you that he is * " History of the Forest of Rossendale," by Thomas Newbiggiug, 2nd Edition, Illustrated, J. •). Riley, Ravvtenstall, 1S93. ROSSENDALE FOREST. 277 "a stranger in that p;u-t," and can give you "no directions!'" This indeed happens with ludicrous, and even provoking, frequency. But on paper, and in books, it is different : seek for information as to the geography, topography, or history of thi- ne that locality, and the chances are the information you seek, and a good deal more, will be supplied you either by somebody who is an entire stranger, or by some mere temporary resident in that particular district. Witness, for a near example, the Histories of Prestwich and Blackley, by the Rev. Mr. Hooker. And now we have the second edition, got up in most luxurious style as to paper, type, and illustration, of the " History of the Forest of Rossendale," by Mr. Thomas Newbigging, who is him- self no "Forester," but who, through the accident — fortunate for us — of a temporary residence in Rossendale, has been enabled to give us a fairly complete, and certainly interesting history, past and present, of the "Forest," and of its past and present inhabitants. We say " fairly complete," for of course to give a complete history would be impossible. Hardly could Mr. New- bigging have taken greater pains in dealing with Rossendale history— place and people — had he been native to the soil. This at first seems strange, as we remarked in the outset, but on reflection the wonder lessens ; for the peculiar and special characteristics of any given district, whether as to soil or people,, are more likely to strike a new comer than one who has been familiar with place and people from his birth. Xor is the advantage small to us of thus being made to see ourselves as folk see us from the outside. Mr. Newbigging, however, though not a "Rossendale Forester," is scarcely to be classed as an " outsider," for a residence of something like twenty years in the "Forest" has given him opportunities of studying at considerable leisure both place and people ; and the result is, as we said before, a very interesting history of a very remarkable district. Remarkable indeed, for on the verge of this region of rugged rock and brown heather — trees being conspicuous by their 278 REVIEWS: absence — bubbles forth the infant Invell — a spring at first, a torrent, a stream, a wide river, and then the sea — feeding and serving, in his winding course, the mightiest industry in the world. Interesting indeed is Mr. Newbigging's history, but interesting above all to those of us who have been familiar with the region he describes, as likewise its people, for half a century — who have trod the treeless " Forest " under every light of sun, and moon, and stars, and under all the changing conditions of storm and shine — who remember in the flesh the Holts, the Heyworths, the Hardmans, and the Hoyles (including "old Joshua,") the Munns and the Madens, a legion of Lords j and more than one notable character that we miss even from Mr. Newbigging's pages. But as we read these pages, what a crowd of " old, familiar faces " of Bacup and the Rossendale Valley rise up before us ! Stalwart of build, sturdy of limb, round and ruddy of visage, simple in habit and in speech, largely hospitable at home, but steady, shrewd, and sagacious at business, were those old Rossendale folk as we knew them fifty years ago ; and to wish that their descendants should resemble them in the possession of the above sterling qualities were the best wish for them as for ourselves. As above hinted, Mi. Newbigging has sketched Avith hand well-skilled, and an imagination well reined-in, the Rossendale of the past — when the whole district from Rawtenstall to Sharneyford was marsh, or wood, or both ; and later, when the "Forest" was the resort of mighty hunters of the wild boar and the deer. But one of the chapters likely to be of special interest to Manchester readers is that on the River Irwell and its mountain-source ; and from this chapter we purpose to draw at some length. The honour of giving birth to this famous stream, though claimed by Rossendale, remains with Cliviger, from which rocky region flow also the East and West Calders : and Tim Bobbin's " Rosscnda' man " must have referred to this when, being asked where he wunned (lived), replied : " I wun at th : Riggin' o' th' Woarld— at th' Riggin' o' th' Woarld— for th' weter o' th' tone R0S8ENDALE FOREST. 278 Xeosing Eawa into th' Veeost, on th' tother into th' Wesl Seo." "The River [rwell," saya Mr. Newbigging, bakes its rise in Cliviger (<t) in a large tract of moorland, to the righl of, ami including Derplay Hill, the whole of which originally constituted a part of tlif Forest. Owing, however, to the carelessness or indifl of tin' proprietors residing in Bacup Booth, which at one time embraced what is now a port ion of ChA iger, «>r probably to thr superior cunning or unscrupulousness of those of the latter, this extensive tracl was lost to Rossendale and became a partoi Cliviger. It would appear thai in the earlier years of the reign of Edward IV., tin- meres marking the boundaries between Cliviger and the Forest bad been wrongfully extended into Bacup Booth : and although the pro- prietors of the latter during the reign of Elizabeth instituted a suit for the recovery of this part of the common, a prescriptive righl was established against them. The original boundary between divider and the Forest of Rossendale (states Dr. Whittaker) was uii<|iiestiunal>ly the old dyke which traverses the ridge of the hill nearly from east to west, by Pikelaw. The free- holders of Cliviger, however, are now possessed of a large tracl of moor- ground on the other side; a poor compensation for the loss of their freehold rights in all their ancient commons, which the acquirement of this occasioned. In the earlier part of the reign of < ( >ueen Elizabeth, a suit was instituted by the proprietors of the vaccary of Horelaw Head, otherwise Bacop Booth, against those of Cliviger, to recover this parcel of common, on the following grounds : — In the suit referred to— It appeared from the evidence of several ancient persons, who remembered the boundaries before the disforesting of Rossendale, thai the meres (/>) lay from Tower Hill (near Bearnshaw Tower) to Hag-gate, or the old road along the Ilaia Dominicalis, still called old Dyke, thence to Routandclough Head, thence to Pike Law, and thence to Derplay Hill. And this division nature as well as tradition pointed out. But on the other hand, it was proved on the behalf of Cliviger that, about sixty years before, certain marked stones then remaining, and including the disputed ground, had been laid as Meres by Sir John Towneley, knight, in the presence of Sir Peter Legh, steward of the llomn of Clitheroe, and Sir John Booth, receiver. Secondly, it appeared from court-rolls, that two acres of land, parcel ot the tw o hundred and forty acres in dispute, had been granted to Kolicri Whitaker, of Holme, as part of the common of Cliviger within Dirpley Graining, Anno 17 Edward IV., and two acres more to Thomas, his son, Anno . . . Henry VII. To all these things the people of the vaccary replied, that they were done without their knowledge or privity. On the whole, there can lie no doubt that the Old Dyke had been the original boundary of the forest, bul that the meres of Cliviger had been wrongfully extended at some indefinite period before the 17th of Edward [V., in consequence of which a prescription was established against the Foresters. " Formerly Clivacher (Anglo-Saxon) rocky field. (I>) Mere- or Meers : lakes or other waters: but the term i- often applied to dykes or stones set up to mark the bounds of property. 280 REVIEWS: Under this impression, therefore, they abandoned the suit, and con- sented to enclose along the meres which Sir John Townley had laid : and the outfence then built forms the present boundary, (c) The quaint reference to the Irwell, by Harrison, in his- Description of England, quoted by Mr. Newbigging, is worth reproducing here : Harrison, in his Description of England, remarks: — "The Irwell is a notable water which riseth above Bacop, and goeth thence to Rossendale, and in the way to Aytentielde it taketh in a water from Haselden. After this confluence, it goeth to Newhall, Brandlesham, Bury, and above Ratcliffe joineth with the Rache water, a fair stream. Being therefore past these two, our Irwell goeth on to Clifton, Holland, Edgecroft,. Strangways, and to Manchester, where it uniteth with the Yrke, that runneth thereinto, by Royton, Middleton, Heaton Hill, and Blakeley. Beneath Manchester also it meeteth with the Medlocke, that cometh thither from the N.E. side of Oldham, and between Clayton and Garrett Halls, and so between two parks falling into it about Holm. Thence our Irwell goeth forward to Woodsall, Whicleswijc, Eccles, Barton, and Denelham, it falleth near unto Flixton in to the waters of the Mersey. Yrke, Irwell. Medlock, and Tame, When thej' meet with the Mersey, do lose their name !" In giving the speculations of a number of writers, living and dead, as to the origin of the names "Irwell," and "Rossendale," Mr. Newbigging has refrained from pinning his faith to any one of them. And in doing so he has acted wisely. The etymology of place-names is indeed an alluring study ; but like the ignis fatnus, it lures the student, as a rule, only to his own destruction — into a quaking bog in which, nine cases out of ten, he is bound to sink beyond all help or hope. The double source of the famous river — famous at least by its- associations— -is thus referred to : — The Irwell, it should be not3d, has really two sources or springs, separated by a few hundred yards, on Derpley Moor, down which the rivulets flow, uniting near to the present boundary of Bacup Booth. Its five principal tributaries within the confines of Rossendale are (1) Tong Brook, which rises in the moors of Tooter Hill and Sharneyford, flows down Greave Clough, and joins the Irwell at Bacup Fold. (2) Coupe Brook, rising in the Brandwood Moors and falling into the main stream at Waterfoot. (3) The river Whitewell, having its source on the hill slope overlooking the dinger Valley, and not far distant from the spring of the Irwell. It flows down the Lumb and Whitewell Valleys, and falls into the Irwell also at Waterfoot. (4) The Limy Water, which rises in the moors above Dunnockshaw, and, traversing the Crawshaw-booth valley, joins the Irwell at Rawtenstall. (5) Balladen Brook, which forme the boundary of Rossendale to the south-west ; this, coming down from the adjacent heights, falls into the Irwell near to Townsend Fold. {<■) Hist. Whalley, pp. 365, 366. ROSSES DALE FOREST, 231: Wc spoke of the "associations" of the [rwelL Inspired by these, Mr. Newbigging writes eloquently : — Fitting emblem of true greatness, the river springs from its parent bed on tlie bleak hillside : no enchanting scenery di-t inguishes the place of its rise; it is tlie sole fruitful offspring of a »terile and uninviting tract of country. Neither throughout its whole course does it meander through delicious wildernesses of rural beauty, fringed by overhanging foliage, 01 embroidered with wide-reaching acres of velvet lawn. Far other scenes the bounteous river affects : the abodes of men, the forests of piled -ton. -. where Labour lives and thrives, and where the incense of Vulcan's fires continually ascends > where the busy hammer is heard to reverberate ; where the endless whirr of the spindle, and the unceasing tumult of the loom, with all their generous produce, bring gladness to the pale mechanic's hearth, and light up with cheerful glow the humble fireside of the thrifty operative. Having more of the useful than the ornamental in its com- position, the Irwell is a coble work-a-day river, with smutty face, winning the children's bread. But there are occasional landscapes still to be found of great beauty by Irwell's banks, even near the giant city ; as, for example, between Clifton and Agecroft, where for some distance the " sable stream " runs all but parallel with the Drinkwater woods, and forward to Kersal Cell: and again where it flows in its sinuous course through the green meadows of lower Kersal and under the red sandstone of Broughton Cliff*, making a salient figure in a landscape of surpassing beauty, and one not to be dreamt of b} r a stranger to north-west Manchester. In the meantime, as to omissions in this History, we must regret that both the chapter on the geology of the district and that on the botany, appearing in the first edition, shotdd have been left out of the present one. Mr. John Aitken's sketch of the geological features of Kossendale is of permanent value ; but as to the chapter on the botany of the district, it could only have had a relative value at best, for the floras of the different areas in our manufacturing districts are changing, in the sense of dim- inishing, to an extent that may well make the heart of the local botanist sink within him. Not oidy are the once sturdy trees of the forest disappearing but even the lowest and tiniest forms of vegetable life ; and the diminution proceeds among the marsh plants of the high moorlands as well as among those of the hill- slopes and valleys. Incredible, indeed, to those unfamiliar with The geological formation of Broughton Cliff is the New Red Sandstone. 282 REVIEWS: these regions, and the climatic influences operating, is the destruction of species that has taken place within the past half century. Hundreds of rare species have been entirely ex- tinguished, while numbers that were once common have become rare. To plant the larch now where five-and-forty years ago it flourished would be madness ; and the curious sun-dew of the v high moors is getting ever rarer and rarer. To the botanist who is curiously disposed and has the requisite leisure, Ave commend this as an interesting subject of study, viz., the effect upon our local floras, in their different areas, within given dates, of the smoke, sulphurous acids, and other impurities in the atmosphere, resulting from our wide-spread manufactures. The result of such enquiry could not fail to be most instructive- In turning over the pages of this " History " (with its noble- list of nearly a thousand subscribers) a second time, the thought recurs to us : " Why have we not more histories of a similar character? Are the many other teeming ' dales ' that surround Rossendale, on the Lancashire and Yorkshire border, absolutely void of historical interest ? Are the sayings and doings of their past and present inhabitants wholly unworthy of record 1 Are the people, generally speaking, less energetic, less enterprising, less ingenious 1 " e>> Whilst denying, on their behalf, the charge last hinted, we are yet afraid that the final explanation would be little flattering to the inhabitants of these valleys. The inevitable conclusion is that there is no amor patrice, no public spirit, no strong local attachment prevailing among them ■ but on the contrary a quite mercenary spirit, and a cold and culpable indifference as to what their country may at any time have been, or what their fore- fathers may have done. The more honour to those, like the good folk of the " Rossendale Valley " (to use a common pleonasm) who, though inhabiting a region the physical aspect of which is bare and bald, and "stony " to a degree, being as the Rev. John Wesley described it in his day, " little more than a chain of ROSSENDALE FOREST. 283 mountains,"* and with a raw and damp climate, 1 * have yet the public spirit, and the worthiness, to help in the production of a "History" of their native "dale," and its pasl and present inhabitants, though it proceed from the pen of one who is himself not native to the soil of the " Forest." We intended, at the outset, to give an imaginary outline-sketch of "Rossendale Forest" in those earlier ages when stalked the huge deer*** to hi* shaggy lair, Through paths and alleys roofed « iili somb a ; Thousands of years before the silent air Was pierced by whizzing shaft of hunter keen ! but not only do exigencies of space forbid this, but Ave are afraid our imagination might run away with us; besides, for a sketch of the primaeval " Forest," the leader need only turn to Mr. N < ■ wl n'ggi ng's pages. To resume our notice, it is well-known that Rossendale has long been a seat of woollen manufacture. Mr. Newbigging informs us that this manufacture was introduced there in the latter years of the reign of Henry the Eighth; and we are told that in lieu of oil, which was difficult and expensive to procure, the wool was greased with butter raised from the farms. There was also some silk-weaving done in the dale in the early part of this century, and gingham-weaving. As to the cotton manu The hills in the neighbourhood ot Rossendale, according to Mr. Newbigging, have the following elevations above the sea-luvel : — Pendle Hill, 1831 : Top of Leach, 1550 ; Whittle Pike, 1534 ; Higher Hill, 1500 ; Trough Edge End, near Hogshead Law, 1475 ; Thievely Like, 1474; Ih.U'shead Law, 1460 ; Coupe Law, 1438 ; Derplay Hill, 1429 ; Tooter Hill, 1420; Heald Moor, 1417: Flower Scar Hill,' 1380; IV Edge, 1350; Holcombe Hill, 1162 ; and Musbury Tor, 1115— Tow qs a- Follows : Bacup (St. John"s Church), 849; New Church, 794: Haslingden (Commercial Inn), 794; Kawtenstall (Church), 557; Ramsbottom, 433; Todmorden, 409 ; Burnley (Church), 388. Mr. Newbigging has some interesting references to the heavy rainfall in Rossendale. He sums up his obsen at ions as follows : " Taking the rainfall, as stated, at 40 inches, no less a quantity than 2,592,844 tons of water is thus deposited annually on every square mile of surface in Rossendale ; or for its entire area, the enormous total of 79,003,956 tons ! *** Wordsworth here refers to the " lei t li, " a gigantic species of deer long extinct. 2S4 REVIEWS : facture, our historian thinks there is good reason for conjecturing that no cotton goods were manufactured in Rossendale prior to the year 1770. How enormously that trade has since developed, and especially since the introduction of railways, the presence of a forest of chimneys where was once a forest of trees bears witness. But whatever material prosperity may have accrued to the " Foresters " through the introduction of the so-called "mighty engine of progress," there are, along with ourselves, those who delight to recall the preceding period, when Rossendale— a sequestered valley among the mountains of the Lancashire border — presented a picture of almost complete isolation, while its inhabitants offered a rare gallery of " character studies." Blowsed and ruddy of visage, they rise up before us in long succession. Eccentric they were not, for their characteristics were the direct and natural outgrowth of their surroundings ; and as that deli- cate flower, the heather-bell, offers a strong contrast to the brown moorlands it adorns, so was the rudeness of these primitive people often relieved by traits so soft and tender that one loves to dwell upon them in memory. Speaking even of a later time than that to which we refer, Mr. Newbigging can say : "To me, when I first knew them, the old people of Rossendale always seemed to differ in many respects from the people of other dis- tricts. . . . The older representatives of whom I speak are- fast dying out, and the younger generation has lost, or is losing, the distinguishing characteristics of the race." For the reason above stated, old Saxon customs that had long been obsolete elsewhere survived in Rossendale till quite lately ; and Mr. Newbigging describes as " the last of the Ale-tasters " one Richard Taylor, or " Spindle Dick," as he was usually termed,, from the nature of his calling, spindle making. " In Dick's hands there was nothing incongruous or far-fetched in the office of ale-taster. Its duties, incrusted with the antiquity of centuries, came as naturally to him as though he had been living in the time of the Heptarchy, and was 'to the manner ROSSENDALE FOREST. 285 born. 5 The incongruity was when he forsook, as lie occasionally did, his ale tasting labours, and applied himself to his business of spindle-making. "At one time in his career Dick kept a beer-house, the sign oyit thr door being a representation of the globe, with the head and shoulders of a man protruding through it, and underneath it the legend, ' Help me through this world ! ' By way of counter- acting any bad moral effects that arose from his vending of beer on week-days, he taught a Bible class in a room over the beer- shop on Sundays. He christened one of his sons 'Gentleman' — Gentleman Taylor— being determined, as he said, to have one gentleman in the family, whatever else." Another Rossendale character was " Ab' o' th Yate" — not our lively " Lancashire Ben," but quite another person. In connection with "Old Ab'," it is related that when he was being baptised, by immersion in the waters of the river Irwell (at Lumb-head), an irreverent wag placed a prickly thorn at the bottom of the pool ; and when "Ab"' complained of the injuries he had sustained in the process of immersion he was consoled with the assurance that it must have been his sins that were pricking him ! Speaking of baptism, we are reminded that the Baptist body were settled very early in Rossendale, viz., in 1672 ; indeed, prior to the establishment of the Baptist Denomination there, so far as can be gleaned, no place of worship of any kind existed in Bacup. Methodism — the " Xew Sort of Preachers," as they were then termed, for the name "Methodist" had not yet been applied to them— was introduced about the middle of the next century. In the year 1774, we are told that a certain leader of the "New Sort," Mr. William 1 >ai ney, " preached for the first time in that part of the country at Heap Barn, situated in the fields, a little to the northwest of Sharneyford, on the Todmorden road." In 1761, John Wesley opened the first Methodist Chapel in the "Forest." as witness the entry in his "Journal '': — "Tuesday, July, 1761. — About noon. I preached at Bacup, a village in Rossendale. The new preaching-bouse is large, hut not large enough feo contain the congregation. " 286 REVIEWS: Another extract from the same Journal refers to a previous visit : — " Thursday, May 7th, 1747. — We left the mountains (around Todmor- den), and came down the fruitful valley of Rossendale. Here I preached to a large congregation of wild men ; but it pleased God to hold them in chains. So that even when I had done, none offered any rudeness, but all went quietly away." And again, at a much later period : — " Wednesday, August 30th, 1766. — I rode (from Padiham) to Rossen- dale, which, notwithstanding its name, is little else than a chain of mountains. The rain in the evening obliged me to preach in the new house near a village called New Church. As many as could crowded in, and many more stood at the door ; but many were constrained to go away.'' It will be noticed that Wesley, in one of the entries above given, describes Rossendale as a " fruitful valley," and in another, as "little else than a chain of mountains." Here is Mr. Newbigging's description of its present aspect : — Notwithstanding the presence of the numerous tall chimneys there are some charming bits of scenery in Rossendale. Amongst these may be mentioned the view of the Waterfoot and Hareholme Valley, and the village of New Church, obtained from the opposite hill-sides below Coupe Law ; of the Dean Valley from Seat Naze, or from the ridge above Broadclough ; and the Sunnyside and Crawshawbooth Valley from the slopes of Chapel Hill. But, indeed, the panorama that extends on every side, as viewed from any of the hill summits in the district, is of an agreeable and imposing character. " It is somewhat of a reflection," he continues, " on many people living in the district, that they do not realise what Rossendale really is. They burrow and grub in the valleys, cribbed, cabined, and confined, all un- conscious of the glory of the hills, and the wide, breezy moorlands by which they are environed. The breezy hill-tops, indeed, are a veritable sanatorium, as well in the mental as the physical sense, and far too little availed of by the toilers in the valleys. It was otherwise in other days, and the long age attained by dwellers in the " pot-ball country," as Rossendale is called in East Lancashire and "West Yorkshire, attests the healthiness of the locality. One inhabitant, Mary Harrison, who died in 1818, lived to the remarkable age of 108 years. Here is a reference to her in the diary of Dr. Raffles of Liverpool :— " July 22nd, 1814.— Rode with Mr. Mather to Tod- morden, in the centre of the beautiful valley of that name. On our way, called on Mr. Maden near Bacup, where I saw and con- versed with Mary Harrison, aged 104. She has been in the EOSSENDALE FOREST. 287 family ever since she was twelve years old, and is in possession oi every faculty, except that of bearing." We have mentioned that Rossendale is known all over E Lancashire and parts of West Yorkshire as the " Pot-ball Country." A " pol Kail," we believe, is a sort of round suet dumpling, of the kind that the "Krah-winkel Guardsmen" were bo partial to when "marching to the war "; but why this kind "t' dumpling, which is nut peculiar to liossendale, should have given a name to the " Forest " we have never been able to ascertain. "Bull-baiting," says Mr. Newbigging, "was formerly a common sport in liossendale. The baiting ground at Bacup was on 'Hammerton Green' as it was called — the site of the present corn-mill yard, and near to a low building known as the ' Witching hoile.'" The mention of "Witching hoile" recalls to us the fact that the darker superstitions have scarcely even yet been eradicated from the "Forest," and Mr. Newbigging's account, following that given by the people, of the strange pranks of sundry local warlocks and witches, makes an amusing chapter of his history. A strong characteristic of the Rossendale folk, as we first knew them, Avas the prevalence among them of lengthy patrony- mics. Of these many diverting instances might be given. That the following was in actual use in the "Forest" not long ago the reader will doubt, but the doubt is unfounded, viz. : — "Henry o' Ann's o' Harry's o' Millot's o' Iiuchot's o' John's o' Dick's thro' th' ginnel, and up th' steps, and o'er Joseph's o* John's o' Steen> ." In bringing to a conclusion this rather desultory notice of an admirable local "History," let us take a final glance at place and people. The sturdy and robust character, generally speaking, of the latter (deriving from a stock coming, as Mr. Newbigging thinks, from Pendle way) strikes us as equalled only by their skill and ingenuity in regard to industrial appliances ; and the general air of comfort and well-to-do-ism prevailing through the valley is equally striking. This Mr. Newbigging accounts for by the fact that absenteeism is little known in Rossendale. The 288 BE VIEWS. men who, by their ingenuity, industry, or special capacity for business, have amassed wealth, instead of turning their backs upon the scene of their labours, and scouring the world from China to Peru, are for the most part content to dwell quietly at home, and spend the autumn of their days among their own people. And may they long dwell there, " none daring to make them afraid ! " Doubtless if this home-staying and home-loving spirit were more prevalent we should have more local "Histories" of the character of the one which it has given us so much pleasure to peruse. The production of such a book is equally honourable to its author, to the people who have encouraged him in his task, and "to the press from which the book issues. The luxurious paper, the clear typography, the admirable illustrations, and the elegant •"' get up " of the work are a " revelation " of liossendale taste and skill, as the "History" itself is a proof at once of Kossendale home-love and liossendale enterprise. LECTUEE8 THE mrrrns to satchi: is i:s<;i.isii poetry, km THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY.* /( HE poetry of ;i people, says a recent French critic, with that ^-^disposition to generalise so characteristic of his nation, tends with the lapse of years to become more and more personal — to turn its gaze upon and to deal with man, rather than with out- ward nature. And there is a kernel of truth in the proposition ; hut it is for genius to stem streams of tendency, and to create epochs, whether in this department or that. The personal tendency referred to is certainly apparent in- English poetry in the seventeenth, and up to the middle of the eighteenth, century. Pope, whose fame alone casts a splendour over the literature of the first half of the last century, gave to English poetry its highest polish, whilst leading men further and further from nature. But very early in the century the painted windows, if we may use the figure, which had distorted and shown things in false colours, swung open, and men looked out and saw once more the very face of Nature herself, felt the genuine warmth of the sun, and the freshness of the breeze. The Return to Nature becomes very perceptible in the second and third decades, between 1710 and 1730; and the impulse .seems in large measure to have proceeded from Scotland, and from Scotchmen. During this period there came upon the scene at least four writers all more or less disposed to look Nature in the face. These were the English .John (lay. the Scottish Allan Ramsay, the Scotch-English Mallet, and the Scotch English Thomson, the last named being the largest figure of the group. A Dieest of four Lectures delivered in Manchester on the al>ove Millet. a2 292 LECTURES: But Gay shows up as no inconsiderable figure. It was he who first opened the painted windows aforesaid in his " Rural Sports " and "Shepherd's Week," published in 1713 and 1714, the latter consisting of six English pastorals in which the images are drawn from real life, such as it appears among the rustics in parts of England remote from London. We are told that these pastorals at once became popular, and that they were everywhere read with delight. In 1727 was acted for the first time Gay's cele- brated play, The Beggar's Opera, written in ridicule of the musical Italian drama, and which Pope himself tells us was received with greater applause than was ever known, not only in London but all over the country. The play had been offered to Gibber at Drury Lane, who had rejected it. Rich accepted it, and it was so successful that it was said to have made Rich gay, and Gay rich ! Gay was a friend of the Scottish Allan Ramsay, whom he used to visit in Edinburgh, taking " wrinkles " in character from him ; and there can be little doubt that these two writers reacted upon each other favourably for British poetry. Indeed Ramsay, the well-known author of the "Gentle Shepherd," put himself in relations with his English poetical contemporaries quite early ; and the probability is that before the Gentle Shepherd appeared in its complete form, his Patie and Roger, and Jenny and Meggy, were already familiar characters to readers of poetry as well south as north. Allan Ramsay is a second-rate poet, but a genuine one within his limits. Relatively considered, he is a very important figure. Himself drawing more or less from old Scottish sources, there can be no doubt that his influence upon contemporary and succeeding verse-writers was very considerable ; but above all he was a distinct and important factor in the building up of his great successor, Burns, a poet of supreme genius, and one with fifty times the force and fire of Ramsay. In our youth, which was spent on the Lancashire and Yorkshire border, we remember that a number of Ramsay's songs were on everybody's lips, which shows how successful he was in reaching the popular heart. THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY. <L93 The Gentle Shepherd, in its complete form, was published in 1725 j lmt Ramsay had written much and published several notable things before thai time. He collected and published quite a multitude of old Scotch songs, lmt was unfortunately too much addicted to taking liberties with their authors. Ramsay is said to have been the first who established a circu lating library in Scotland. He began life as a wig-maker, was afterwards a book seller, and is one of the few poets who have been equally successful in poetry and trade. Though a mere mannikin in person (o feet 1 inches) he was a great favourite with the ladies, as he does not fail to tell U3 : and ijiiite early — while wig-making, in fact-carried off as a wife a young Edinburgh belle of some position, in face of a whole crowd of more likely candidates for the lady's hand and heart. We now come to the two poets whom we have termed Scotch - Englishmen ; David Mallet and .lames Thomson. Both were born Scotchmen, both came to England, and both tried so strenuously to denationalise themselves that they succeeded: but Mallet was so anxious about his success in the matter that he earned the reprobation of his countrymen. 1 hinging with him from Scotland the name of Malloch, he changed it for .Mallet, as being more agreeable to English ears ; nor was this the first change his name had undergone. Mallet's first production was the well-known ballad of William and Margaret. He also wrote, later, the once popular ballad of Edwin and Emma, the delight of our youl h. In 1 728 he published the Excursion, a somewhat shorter poem than that of Words- worth V under the same title. Referring to this work, one of Mallet's biographers says: "II is uot devoid of poetical spirit. Many of the images are striking, and many of the paragraphs are elegant. The cast of diction seems copied from Thomson, whose Seasons were then in their full blossom of reputation. Mallet wrote many other things, including plays, with which we are not now concerned. We mention him as exhibiting something of the natural, and as acted upon, and to some extent reacting upon the writers of his time. He is held in no very high estimation by 294 LECTURES : literary critics, but his writings have both exercised some influence and given some pleasure. Nor, although Mallet has been charged with moral delinquencies as well as literary faults, must we for- get the kind service he rendered, when that service was sorely needed, to him who now stalks before us as a large and full figure. But no ; he does not " stalk," he enters lounging ; his gait is more than easy and unconstrained, it is slouching ; and who is he 1 The "Bard of the Seasons," the "Bard of Indolence," the " fine fat fellow, more fat than bard beseems." Who void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, On Virtue still, and Nature's pleasing themes Poured forth his unpremeditated strain : The world forsaking with a calm disdain, Here laughed he careless in his easy seat ; Here quaffed, encircled with the joyous train ; Oft-moralising ^age ! his ditty sweet He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat : and with him comes A little round, fat, oily man of God, Who has a roguish twinkle in his eye, That shines all glittering with ungodly dew, If a light damsel chance to trippen by. The Keverend Patrick Murdoch, the close friend of Thomson's youth and manhood, and his biographer after death. And whither wend they, this notable pair 1 To the " Castle of Indolence " aforesaid. Hear Thomson's description : In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round, A most enchanting wizard did abide Than whom a fiend more fell is nowhere found. It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground ; And there a season atween June and May, llalf-prankt with spring, witli summer half imbrowned, A listless climate made, where, sooth to say, No living wight could work, ne cared even for play. Was nought around but images of rest : Sleep-soothing groves, ami quiet lawns between ; And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest, From poppies breathed ; and beds of pleasant green, Where never yet was creeping creature seen. Meantime, unnumbered glittering streamlets played, And hurled everywhere their waters' sheen ; That, as they bickered through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made. THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY. .Joined to the prattle of the purling rille Were heard the lowing herds along the vale, And Hocks loud bleating from the distant hills, And vacant Bhepherds piping in the <lale ; And, now and then, .sweet Philomel would wail, Or stock doves plain amid the fofesl deep, That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale : And still a coil the grasshopper did keep ; Yet all these sounds yhlent, inclined all to sleep. A pleasant land of drowsy-hed it was. Of dreams that wave hefore the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pa--, For ever flushing round a summer sky : There eke the soft delights, that witchingly Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast, And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh ; But whate'er smacked of noyance, or unrest, Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest. In the above, and the verses that follow, we have a picture of luxurious ease unique in the language. One writer calls it the sweetest piece of poetic seduction in the world. But Thomson Eails not to point the moral, and an impressive one it is. Some critics have held that the "Castle of Indolence" is the poet's masterpiece. We do not so regard it ; but it is certainly his most equal and most finished work, though now but little read. Still odd, detached lines of it are constantly falling from our lips, or dropping from the pen, without our knowing or remem- bering the authorship, and one glorious stanza (the third stanza ■ of the 2nd canto.) will be familiar to every one :— I care not, Fortune, what you me den}- : N mi cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot liar my constant feet to trace The woods and law ns, by living stream, at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the e-rcat children leave : Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. But our more immediate concern is with the Seasons, Thom- son's real masterpiece, despite some serious faults. The date of the appearance of this work — a prelibation of what was to follow from other fountains late in the century- — is a red-letter day in the annals of English literature. It came out in instal- 296 LECTURES : merits, " Winter," which is said at first to have had a reception as frigid as the name could suggest, appearing first, i.e., in March, 1726. "Summer" came out in 1727, "Spring" in 1728, and " Autumn " in 1730, in which year appeared the complete edition of the Seasons. Novelties as a rule are hated, although the last new thing is what we are all asking for. But in our humble opinion that precious quality or thing called originality is never valued at its full price ; though originality in the absolute sense is, of course, as Emerson says, only possible to absolute ignorance. Well, here was a novelty with a vengeance — a long poem written in blank verse, and in any style but the popular one ; dealing only with the simple, common facts of outward nature — smelling not of the dusty study, or the musty chamber, but redolent of the sun- shine and the breeze, of the newly-turned furrow and the quickening woods. The delight and admiration which the seasons gave rise to with the appreciative of Thomson's day we may well imagine. Though we find that in style Thomson had not wholly emancipated him- self from the faults of that era, yet so ardent is his enthusiasm for external nature that, in reading his descriptions, Ave are en- thralled by a double spell — the charm of wood and field and the wide landscape, and the infectious joy of the poet himself. In the pages of few English writers is natural history taught more delightfully than in those of Thomson, and that for the reason already given, that is to say, on account of the fervid enthusiasm of the teacher. Turn only to the influence of spring upon the feathered world, and the poet's description of the way in which they build their nests. Thomson's Seasons " took," they became very popular ; and we have been informed by a man who travelled much over Eng- l.uid sixty years ago, that even so lately as that period, if there happened to be three or four books lying in the window of a country cottage, wherever he went, one of those four books was certain to be Thomson's Seasons ! So the great, good- natured, amiable Scotchman of whom Lord Lyttleton says that THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY. 297 be never wrote a line that, dying, he could wish bo blot, obtained bis desire : be became ;i popular English poet. We say " English " poet, tor it i> noteworthy thai nobody can ever think of the author of the Seasons as a Scot ! Was evei poet so denationalized .' ( >t' the other works «.f Thomson, the Hymn following upon the Seasons is the most praised and perhaps the most read of all. Ilui thr Miltonic echoes are too recurrent for us to join fullv in the praise bestowed upon it. Not only is the key obviously Struck from Milton's Morning Hymn in Paradise, but even the hitter's pli rases are borrowed. As regards the drama, few now ever connect Thomson with dramatic literature. Who, indeed, would ever think that he had written "Sophonisba," "Agamemnon," ''Edward and Eleanora, "Tancred and Sigismunda," Coriolanus," &c. As it originally appeared, his " Sophonisba " contained one unfortunate line upon which the wits of the period at once fastened, and their parody of it will be found repeated by every biographer of Thomson, viz., O Sophonisba, Sophonisba <> ! which was facetiously turned into O Jemmy Thorns 11, Jemmy Thomson ! But to return to the "Seasons." In almost every considerable poet following Thomson, up to and including Wordsworth, one distinctly finds the breezy influence of the •• Seasons." And not the influence merely: it were a labour of love, did time permit, to point out how even the phraseology of Thomson has stuck in the memory of some of our most original poet-, and been unconsciously reproduced in those parts of their works which are most quoted. The question has often been put to us: " How did Thomson stand in the moral aspect?" We have also been frequently asked : " Was not Wordsworth a great egotist :" which is also a question Of morality. And these questions will be asked again and again. Do what we will, the moral element musl enter into our judgments of all men, and especially of men greatly 298 LECTURES : intellectual, who play upon this human heart of ours as the skilled musician fetches music from his instrument. We must, .and we do, speak of Charles Lamb — the frolicsome Lamb — with the deepest affection ; we cannot help ourselves. And it is because we know that his heart beat tenderly for humanity, that he excelled in human qualities. We know that he was kind, gentle, loving, and deeply self-sacrificing. We know that he devoted his whole life to his lonely and unfortunate sister. We know that he often squeezed out of his own hard earnings to help his helpless friend, the intellectual giant, Coleridge — -a giant struggling in the grip of poverty, who could never repay him. On the other hand, Ave must speak doubtingly of Laurence Sterne, of " Tnstram Shandy "and " Sentimental Journey" fame. And yet Sterne is one of the great writers not only of England but of the world. He was a favourite in France and Germany more than a century ago. And more than all, he has created one of the kindest, gentlest, purest, and loveablest male characters in English literature — "mine Uncle Toby." These are very mixed questions indeed, and their unravelment would take long. But Avith regard to the author of the ever- popular " Rule Britannia," James Thomson, Ave may be assured that his heart beat right. He had no doubt some failings that did not " lean to A'irtue's side ;" but he Avas not only a great patriot and a man of independent character, he Avas an affection- ate son, a devoted brother, a staunch friend, and a delightful companion, beloved in a Avide circle, and respected by all the eminent men of his time. In private life he Avas, as Ave said before, a great, good-natured fellow, void of rancour as of guile, .and one that, in the same situation, would have acted to the poor fly as did " mine Uncle Toby :" "Get thee gone, poor fly ! there's room enough in the Avorld for thee and me." As the scope of these lectures demands that we should be .eclectic, and select only those Avriters who have most strongly contributed to the " Return to Nature" movement, Ave must here pass by a number of charming poets, each of whom in his degree, and sometimes in an important degree, was also contri- THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY. 299 butory to the same movement. Nor can we dwell upon the " Old English Ballads," collected by Dr. Percy, and the republication of which there c;ui be no doubt had a large influence in the sanic direction. Come we now to a more important figure than any yet men- tioned — the "Bard of Olney," the gentle, delicate-minded, meek yet bold Cowper — a thoroughly English poet, a thoroughly original and a very delightful one ; but whose latter years were unfortunately clouded by distressing intervals of insanity. With Cowper we come fairly into the daylight. The painted windows, already part-opened, are thrown clean back, and we step forth into the light of things, with Nature herself for our teacher. At length we have a poet who is wholly untrammelled by the conventional ideas that have so long held in bondage many a mighty " Sou of Song." As Nature is so Cowper describes her, though with occasional lapses. His images are at once truthful and natural, though he does not quite arrive at the unerring accuracy of his great successor, Wordsworth. But Cowper's style and diction are a marvellous advance on those prevailing in his time. He is lurid too transparently clear, and so distinctly individual that when- ever quoted he is certain to be recognised by at least the man of reading. And there is always some important fact of nature or " vital kernel of philosophy" behind his words. Hear him as a word-painter, and something more, on the old " Yardley Oak " — monarch of the forest, fallen into decay : Time made thee what thou wast— king of the woods, And Time hath made thee what thou art — a cave For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs ( Cerhung the champaign, and the numerous flocks That grazed it st I beneath that ample cope [Jncrowded, yet safe-sheltered from the storm. No (lock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived Tin popularity , ;i ml art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. Though one is constrained to place Cowper in the second rank of English poets yet he has done first-rate service to English poetry. He freed himself, as we have said, from the fetters of 300 LECTURES literary tradition, he cast away the trammels of conventionality and custom, and as a word-painter betook himself, with his pencil, to wo ;d, and field, and brook, where he could see with his own eyes the trees and flowers, and hear for himself the delightful murmur of the waters. He came and took Nature not at second but at first-hand, like a true poet. He came as a mild yet pro- nounced revolutionist of poetic methods, and as a mild yet fear- less — meek yet bold — satirist of social manners. Cowper is as true a poet of the " hearth " as he is of " nature ;" for example, was ever the idea of home-comfort " brought home " to us more faithfully or vividly, at One graphic stroke, than in the following delightful picture : Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round ; And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups Which cheer but not inebriate wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in. It is this faithfulness and '"homeliness," above all, that makes Cowper so dear to the English heart, and so delightful to read, to all save those whose taste has been vitiated, and their palates rendered callous, by the high-seasoned literature of the day. In Cowper there is nothing of meretricious; and far distant be the time when Englishmen shall cease to read with relish the faithful delineations of men, as of nature, to be found in the pure pages of the most English of English poets. The complaint i.s sometimes made that Cowper is wanting in humour, and that he has written " but one fun-provoking thing " —"John Gilpin." But it is a mistake to suppose that Cowper is wanting in humour. On the contrary there is a delicate humour running through and finely flavouring no small portion of his verse, while in his prose it declares itself at once. His sense of contrast was of the keenest ; and it is likely that, but for his unfortunate predisposition to hypochondria of a particular character — a predisposition diligently fostered by one of his own intimate friends -the so-called "melancholy Cowper" would have given us some of the most delightfully humorous sketches in our language. His humour, in fact, was kept under cork and THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY. 301 seal, ami "John Gilpin" (with 01 r two lesser things) was but an accidental effervescence ol the rich liquor remaining undecanted. And many are the poets whose benl is thus burnt 1. ^Ye can only hope that what Literature has losl in one form she has gained in another. Would that Cowper's succes Wordsworth, had possessed a tithe of the humour of the " melancholy bard." Had he done so, many a fine poem had been saved from damnation. Happily the Woidsworthian stores are ample, and after flinging out of window a heap of ''spoiled pieces " we shall still have a larger Stock of "good things" on hand than is supplied by any other one of the great Georgian poets. Cowper has been described as " the poet of the middle classes," and with some reason. And those poets who are mainly the mouthpiece of a "class" are, for obvious reasons, lessened in their usefulness and service to mankind. The same " crust of respectability " has been said to attach to Wordsworth ; and it must be admitted that this is one of his limitations though less pronounced than in Cowper's case. Perhaps it could not have been otherwise. With Cowper, at least, it is hard to see how it could have been helped, bred as he was, surrounded as he was, and invalid and hypochondriac as he was, so that Ave must even take the " good " provided by the gods. That the "crust of respectability " is of considerable thickness with Cowper will be seen by every careful reader. It declares itself sometimes in a single word, or phrase, as when referring to the supervision necessary in the case of his "factotum " he speaks of " lubbard labour :" if the garden with its many cares, All well repaid, demand him, he attends The welcome call, conscious how the band Of Ivbbard labour needs his watchful eye. Hence summer has her riches, autumn hence, And hence e*en winter tills his withered hand With blushing fruits and plenty not his own. So one can hardly think that a full sense of the real dignity and honourableness of labour was felt by William Cowper, amiable and respectable — highly respectable — man as he was, 302 LECTURES and beautiful and delightful poet as he is, in the numerous rank of poets. About the time when the " very respectable " Cowper was writing of " lubbard labour," a Scotch " labourer," who was any- thing but a " lubber," was engaged in ploughing two fields at once — his father's field, which yielded but a scanty harvest, and another which yielded such a harvest that not the most illustrious king or emperor but might well envy the poor ploughman. We mean, of course, the poet Burns, before whom the names we have previously given from the poetic roll wax pale — Eobert Burns, a literary phenomenon that even yet puzzles and shames the very' Schools themselves. A phenomenon and a mystery is Burns the solution of which has baffled many of our acutest intellects. But his great poetic successor, Wordsworth, could, and did, take in the full stature and intellectual bulk of him whom he so finely describes as- walking J & -in glory and in joy, Following his plough upon the mountain-side, and it is Wordsworth — the so-called egotist — that, of all our poets, has paid to Burns the most enduring tribute of admira- tion and love. Yes, very sure we may be that of all men living at the time of the poet's death, Wordsworth could best appraise the weight of that stupendous loss to literature and the Avorld at large. Hear him once again, as with reverent and awe-struck mien he stands by the grave of the Scottish poet : 1 mourned with thousands, but as one More deeply grieved, for he was gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone, And showed my youth, How Verse may build a princely throne On humble truth. • Did the poet whilst penning this solemn tribute ever hope, or expect, that he himself should live to build a throne hardly less princely on the same humble but lasting foundation 1 If not,, where was that stupendous egotism with which he is so often THE RETURN TO NATURE IN ENGLISH POETRY. charged ? "A princely throne on humble truth," there is the text. Here was a man, a common soldier we may say, who stepped straighl out of the ranks, and Btormed and took, single- handed, the doultle-towered Castle of Prejudice and Bigotry — who, single-handed, routed the vast armies of Kant and Cant in such a manner that they have never since been able fully to rally their scattered forces. Nay, one single verse from the pen of this lmmlile ploughman even now falls like a bond) when cut into the allied camps of Sham and Shoddy, spreading around devastation and ruin ! And why 1 Because although, like Heine, he had a thousand nightingales singing in his heart, Burns, the poet of Man and of Nature, had the unfailing instinct of the horn satirist, and could snufi'and scent a hypocrite as infallibly as the bloodhound tracks his quarry. Upon whomsoever it falls, his stroke is mortal; and notwithstanding that he strikes only at the guilty yet in reading him, as in reading of the individual combats in old Homer and Virgil, our sympathies are not seldom on the side of the quivering victim. For instance, who that has read Virgil has not pitied Tnrnus, fated to perish under the god-directed stroke of .Eneas, when he exclaims : Non me tua fervida terrent Dicta fcrox ; di me terrent, et Jupiter hostis. Nor is it to be denied that in his retributive and murderous onslaught upon the Pinchbecks and the Knaves, Burns, with hi> strong, passionate and fierce nature, sometimes goes too far — the punishment exceeds the offence. To the candid and ingenuous soul, indeed, whose study of humanity has been but limited, it will be a matter of wonder that such strange extremes should ever have existed in one and the same person — that such fierce and passionate hatred should ever have been combined with such intense love, and such melting and all but divine tenderness, nol alone for man, woman, and child, but for the least living thing that moves upon the earth. But the philosophic mind knows that extremes meet, that man at his highest is but a bundle of inconsistencies. And if Pope could say that Woman, at best, is but a contradiction still, 394 LECTURES it must be confessed, on behalf of woman, that man is "a •contradiction " also. In Burns, the intensity of his hates was in proportion to the fierce intensity of his loves ; but he hated only the hateful as he loved the loveable ; and if He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small, none ever prayed more eloquently or acceptably at the Throne of Grace than Robert Burns. Of all the world's love-poets Burns is perhaps the greatest, at least of those whose writings remain to us (for as Montaigne wisely speculates, perhaps the best pieces in every department are now non-extant) from " burning " Sappho to Catullus, and from Catullus to " Tommy " Moore. And this not alone from the ravishing harmony of his numbers, but from the high moral pedestal upon which he places woman, as woman, and the absence of all meretricious accessories drawn from the mythologies. In English poetry up to Cowper's and Burns's time, except in the writers we have previously dwelt on, and a few others, the baggage and impedimenta of the poet were something tremendous. If a man " opened shop " in the poetic line, he was bound to have in stock a large and choice assortment of " set phrases," and a thousand mythological figures. But Burns " started business " with a bare table, and the mythologies of Greece and Rome were not scattered to the winds but only for the reason that to him they were an " unknown quantity." And we are heartily thankful that such was the case, since for the first time a lyrical poet of the first order was thus compelled to work without the eternal grinding of the mythological machinery, of which, to tell the truth, every free-born spirit was getting a little sick. It was a saying of Wordsworth's that Burns had "put Poetry in its proper place." It may also be said of him that he put Woman in her proper place — and a high one it is — for the first time in the history of our race. And this he did by so subtly associating her charms with the charms of external nature, in a thousand beautiful images and in words that cannot die, that her fill; RETURN T<> NATURE tN ENGlISM POETRY. power over man's heart Is henceforth and for ever increased how- many foM ! I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair ; 1 hear her in the tunefu bii I hear her charm the air : There's not a bonnie flower that spring By fountain, shaW, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean. And this large and permanent increase to the world's happiness is but a part of the stupendous debt owing by humanity to the immortal ploughman : For deathless powers to Verse belong, And they like demigods are strong On whom the Muses smile. Up to now we have made, within the time, very considerable progress. Putting on the " seven-league boots " we have stridden over the greater part of a century, meeting on the way some very notable people. It will be remembered that we traced the Return to Nature movement much further back than is usual with those who discourse upon these subjects, showing that the recoil began rather with the beginning of the last century than the end of it. It has been seen that even before Thomson there were British poets who wrote in defiance of the literary con- ventionalities of the period, and who became, relatively speaking, very popular. Thomson, himself, we found fairly lifting up the windows, and letting the sun and the breeze into rooms that had lung been stuffy and fusty to all w 7 ho were longing for the natural and the free. We saw Thomson not only looking upon the face of Nature but delineating her features with a tolerably free hand — a hand, that is to say, comparatively free from the trammels and clogs imposed by the literary canons of the time. We found him divine in blank verse, and in a diction of his own, fine, broad pictures of English landscape, so fresh and vivid that we can relish and enjoy them even at the present time. We found x 306 LECTURES : Thomson's successor, Cowper, in still more open revolt against the conventional, casting away all trammels, and bringing us at once into the free, open country, with a charm of style that still makes him the favourite poet of not a few cultured readers. While as to the glorious ploughman-poet, Burns, we found him " starting business " in the poetical line without any stock-in- trade whatever of the conventional kind, and putting to the blush the very " Schools " themselves. Now all these we must regard as precursors of, and leading up to Wordsworth, in one sense, though in another sense Wordsworth had no precursors, but was a whole epoch-maker in himself. But of the poets named he was influenced by none so powerfully as by Burns, who had just then so splendidly proved to him and to the world at large how a great genius can build -a princely throne On humble truth. Of all modern English poets that one could write upon, with perhaps one exception, Wordsworth is the most difficult to convey an adequate idea of to those who themselves have not read him. And who now reads Wordsworth, the grave and solemn poet who is wholly devoid of humour 1 Who, in the present rushing, impatient, and impetuous age, will dive through oceans of bathos to fish up occasional pearls, even though those pearls are beyond all price and the glory of our English literature. Who, if we may change the figure, will be inclined to enter upon a vast desert, dry and arid, in which the nearest oasis,' 1 or even common well-spring, is ever so distant ? " Talk not to me of Wordsworth," remarked a witty contemporary of the poet, " call him ' Words ! Words !' ' And even the greatest admirer of the Cumberland bard must to-day admit that if Wordsworth, when at his best, can give us as much precious thought and wisdom in as few words as the best of English writers, yet no poet, living or dead' of his rank, ever yet possessed the capacity for giving so little meaning in so many words ! And yet he is one of the truest and greatest of English poets — "since Milton, the very greatest," in the opinion of one of England's most eminent critics. 77//: nirrrux to nature in ENGLISH poetry. 307 "Appreciation of Wordsworth we take to be the very touch- stone and test of a man's capacity for knowing and feeling what true poetry is," we remarked the other day, in words a little sententious we must confess, to the brilliant editor of a London daily, who in his utterances has always a strong bias towards antithesis. "And I, on the other hand," he replied, in tones not less oracular, "am entirely of the opposite opinion!" "But have you read the poet V we enquired. " That would be a large order, indeed," was the retort, " I have looked at him." "At, but not into" we rejoined, " prepositions are sometimes of importance, in English at least, and alter the proposition itself even." Yes, in order to be known at all, Wordsworth is a poet who must be looked info above most poets ; and not only looked into but diligently and patiently read — oh, how diligently ! oh, how patiently ! And as we before hinted, in this hasty and unreflecting age he is not read. Happily he has been read by not a few of our leaders of thought aforetime, and has thus — like Shakespeare — become largely absorbed not only into the language but into the intellectual life of the nation. Though dead he yet speaketh, and is every day, and almost every hour, unconsciously spoken, even by those who scoff at the mention of his name. In certain departments of reflective poetry Wordsworth made an epoch, but from this point of view we shall not at present consider him. Despite his inequalities, and he is the most unequal of poets, he is yet a vast draw-well of the purest poetry into the jM'ofound depths of which many even of the greatest and most original poets, his contemporaries and successors, have not scrupled at times to let down their buckets. He came in the character of a law-giver to the poets of his time ; but the pcetical laws which he somewhat arbitrarily laid down he did not himself always follow — the theories he propounded he failed largely to carry into his own practice. And fortunate it is that he so failed. Had not the truer poetic instincts asserted them- selves in Wordswoith one shudders in contemplating what the consequences — in Idiot Boys indefinitely multiplied — might have t2 308 LECTURES : been to a long-suffering world ! Wordsworth asserted, and endeavoured to impose upon his brethren the opinion, that the language of true poetry differs in no essential particular from the language of ordinary life ; and riding this theory to death, was led to push upon the world an amount of drivel under the name of poetry which surprises every reader at first, and often turns away many in permanent disgust. But as we said just now, happily Wordsworth's theory and Wordsworth's practice were often two wholly different things ; and from this poet we have, in consequence, a body of poetry which, taken altogether, makes perhaps the most important con- tribution to English poetical literature, not since the " glorious John " Dryden but since the still more " glorious John " Milton. Unequal as Wordsworth is, and inconsistent as he is, in practice, with his own poetic dicta, no poet is more amenable to critical dissection and censure ; nor has any poet of his high rank ever been the subject of so much obloquy at the hands of shallow and incompetent men. But if Wordsworth has suffered almost more than any other English poet from the pronouncements of soi-disant critics, he was himself, on the whole, an admirable critic of others ; and he points out, as indeed our great poet, Milton, had done before him, one important drawback to the use of mere rhyme which is too often overlooked. He reminds us that a skilful jingling is very frequently made to cover a paucity of ideas, and baldness and triviality of thought, as with the man who Faggotted his notions as they fell, And if they rhymed and rattled all was well. But on the other hand, Wordsworth, who at his best has given us the most exquisite gems that were ever contributed to any literature, and who, when he wished to take the pains, could handle blank verse as it has not been handled since Milton, olten forgot, at any rate in his practice, one very serious drawback attaching to the use of the form of poetry which he most affects, viz., this, that it readily lends itself and tends to prolixity, the intervals between the closes being optional. Thus not the most TI1K RETURN TO NATURE IX ENGLISH POETRY. 309 ardent admirer of the great poetical law-giver but must admit that in blank verse he is often not only prolix but downright prosy. His writings, in great part, remind one, as we said before, of a dry, sandy dest it. with here and there a green oasis to refresh the weary traveller. It is this obvious and staring fault that makes one of our greatest — because one of our most creative and original — poets so amenable to the criticism of even the most cursory and careless reader, who will open the book for a few minutes and shut it again ; ami thereby shut himself out of a whole blooming paradise of the most exquisite poetry. At the same time, it is this inequality in Wordsworth that makes it so difficult to appraise and estimate his work as a whole, without reading him, as few people now-a-days read any author, i.e., patiently, studiously, and thoroughly. We conclude these lectures by quoting the opinion of one much more competent than ourselves upon the subject of Wordsworth's poetical theories, and upon his pretensions to be considered a really true and great poet. It is the pronouncement of Algernon ( harles Swinburne : " It is with poetry — though few seem practically inclined to admit tins— as it is with any other art : the fewest possible touches, the slightest possible shades of colour or of sound, suffice to show, what all the explanation and demonstration in the world will fail to demonstrate or explain, the rank and character of the genius which inspired them. If there were no more left us of Wordsworth than is left us of Sappho, but if these relics were fragmentary examples of the poet at hi* best, it would be A\aste of breath to argue, when none who knew any thing of poetry could choose but see, that there had been a poel in time past, the latchet of whose shoes a Byron or one greater than Byron would not have been worthy to unloose " Witness the first casual instance that may be chosen from the wide high range of Wordsworth — Will no one tell me what >.\\r Mugs ': Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappj , tar oil things, And battles long ago. 310 LECTURES : " If not another word were left of the poem in which these four lines occur, those four lines would suffice to show the hand of a poet differing not in degree but in kind from the tribe of Byron or of Southey. In the whole expanse of poetry there can hardly be four lines of more perfect and profound and exalted beauty. But if anybody does not happen to see this, no critic of all that ever criticised, from the days of Longinus to the days of Arnold, from the days of Zoilus to the days of Zola, could succeed in making visible the certainty of this truth to the mind's eye of that person. And this, if the phrase may for once be used with- out conveying a taint of affectation — this is the mystery of Wordsworth : that none of all great poets was ever so persuaded of his capacity to understand and his ability to explain how his best work was done, his highest effect attained, his deepest impression conveyed ; and yet there never was a poet whose power, whose success, whose unquestionable triumph was more independent of all his theories, more inexplicable by any of his rules There is hardly in any literature a poem of more perfect power, more awful and triumphant beauty than The Affliction of Margaret and in the quality at which Wordsworth forbade his disciples to aim, as he abjured for himself all pretention to aim at it — in sublimity of poetic diction and expression he is here so far above Tennyson, in Bizpoh, as to recall and indeed to rival the very loftiest magnificence of Milton or of Shakespeare." Wordsworth, as before stated, has been charged with egotism, and with jealousy of more popular poets, his contemporaries. And considering his own vast superiority to some of the most admired of them, that would have been a very excusable circumstance. But many of the most damning of the anecdotes related of the poet in this connection are to be taken cum grano salis. And at any rate his writings, unlike those of so many others, are not stained by personal abuse of his rivals. Moreover, in the pages of no other great English poet of the time are there to be found so many tributes of admiration to contemporary writers and men of eminence as in the pages of the "jealous" Wordsworth! THE RETURN TO NATURE IX ENGLISH POtfTRt. 3ll Nor can universal literature produce a finer, or more loftily. expressed, homage by one poel to another than the noble sonnet addressed by the Cumberland poet to Sir Walter Scott, on his leaving his native shores for Italy, in search <>f that health which unhappily the great Wizard never found. Listen, once more, to Wordsworth, and tell us if any unworthy envy or jealousy inspire the strain : ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, FROM ABBOTSFOKI), FOl! NAPLES. ■ A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon'a triple hight: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight ; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners ! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings, and prayers in nobler retinue Than sceptered king or laurelled conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenopc ! 312 Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been- a sound which makes us linger, yet— farewell ! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. FonnL9-50m-9,'60(B3610&4)444 PR 5473 Stansfield - 312 9e Essays and sketches — PR 5473 .J129e UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY III I I . AA 000 378 035