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 yNIVERSITY OF CALlK;Ri\iA. SAN DirCCT 
 
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 D» 53fc B2 A25 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF t»n'',2!',r'if,||f,nii'n?ii 
 
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 3 1822 01206 5546 
 
 CENTRAL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 University of California, San Diego 
 
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 presented to the 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY CF CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. John Galbraith
 
 BAMFOED'S PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF 
 A RADICAL
 
 THE REFORMER'S BOOKSHELF. 
 
 Large Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. eac/j. 
 
 The Labour Movement. By L. T. Hobhouse, M.A. Preface by 
 R. B. Haldane, M.P. 
 
 51xty Years of an Agitator's Life. G. J. Holyoakes Autobiography. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 Bamford's Passages in the Life of a Radical. Edited and with an 
 Introduction by Henky Dunckley. 2 vols. 
 
 The Economic Interpretation of History. By Prof, Thorold 
 Rogers. 2 vols. 
 
 The Industrial and Commercial History of England. By Prof. 
 
 TaOROI-D ROGERS. 2 vols. 
 
 Charles Bradlaugh : A Record of His Life and Work. By His Daughter, 
 Hyfaihia Bradlaugh Bonner. 2 vols. 
 
 The Inner Life of the House of Commons. Selected from the 
 
 \Vrituii;s of William White. 2 vols. 
 
 The Qladstone Colony. By James Francis Hogan, M.P. 
 
 Life of Richard Cobden. By John Morley. 2 vols. 
 
 The Political Writings of Richard Cobden. A New Edition. With 
 Preface by Lord Welby, and Introductions by Sir Loi'is Mallet 
 and William Cullen Bryant, and a Bibliography. With Frontis- 
 pieces. 2 vols. 
 
 British Industries under Free Trade. Edited by Harold Cox. 
 
 Labour and Protection. Edited by H. W. Massing ham. 
 
 Labour Legislation, Labour Movements, Labour Leaders. By 
 
 George Howell. 2 vols.
 
 BAMFORD'S PASSAGES 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LIFE OF A RADICAL 
 
 AND 
 
 EARLY DAYS 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY DUNCKLEY 
 
 ("VERAX") 
 
 SECOND IMPRESSION 
 VOL. I 
 
 Xondon 
 T. FISHER UN WIN 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 MCMV
 
 «
 
 CONTENTS OF "EARLY DAYS." 
 
 Introduction ...... 
 
 I. Birth, Parentage, and othee Matters . 
 
 II. Of m^ Forefathers ..... 
 
 III. Middleton ...... 
 
 IV. Earlt Impressions — Middleton REFOEiiEBS, &c. 
 
 V. First Impressions of Manchester . 
 
 VI. Living beside the Dead— A Norse . 
 
 VII. A New Governess — Playmates, &c. 
 
 VIII. A Timely Retreat — The Free Grammar School — Books 
 
 IX. Another Great Change .... 
 
 X. A New Life ...... 
 
 XI. Sunday School — Correction — Prayer 
 
 XII. A Home-Bearing — A Master Indeed 
 
 XIII. Prayer Meetings— A Boggart — Christian Instruction 
 
 XIV. Pastimes and Observances .... 
 
 XV. The Wakes— Games .... 
 
 XVI. Bonfires — Superstitions — Apparitions . 
 
 XVII. Love Dawnings — Valentines — Singular Characters 
 
 XVIII. Hope Deferred — New Employment — New Books 
 XIX. The Woodlands — Limpin' Billy — Catherine 
 
 XX. Other Scenes ...... 
 
 XXI. Old Feelings Awakened — A Visit, and other matters 
 
 XXII. Self-Disposal, but not Self-Control — Further DerogA' 
 
 TioN — Trouble ..... 
 
 6 
 
 TAOE 
 
 9 
 
 27 
 
 32 
 
 41 
 
 50 
 
 58 
 
 66 
 
 70 
 
 77 
 
 90 
 
 96 
 
 100 
 
 106 
 
 114 
 
 119 
 
 130 
 
 140 
 
 148 
 
 160 
 
 107 
 
 176 
 
 18 i 
 
 189
 
 6 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A Long Journex — A New Life — An Absconding — Press 
 Gang — Travels ..... 
 
 JouENEY Pdesuei; — Adventukes — DiFncuLTiEa — Home . 
 
 Warehouse Work again — PiEadingb — Catherine 
 
 BoBERT Burns — A Wedding — A Riot 
 
 XXVII. A Criticism — Middletos Fight — A Parting — Conclusion 
 
 PASS 
 
 195 
 
 209 
 226 
 234 
 243
 
 NOTE. 
 
 In revising Bamford's " Early Days " and " Passages in the 
 Life of a Eadical," with a view to the present publication, it 
 has been judged desirable to omit some portions which were 
 but of trivial or passing interest, and occasionally to compress 
 the narrative by leaving out formal documents and lists of 
 names, and throwing together a number of short chapters 
 dealing with the same group of facts. A few personal ani- 
 madversions, which after the lapse of fifty years it was hardly 
 worth while to repeat, are also omitted. But beyond the 
 correction of obvious errors no other change has been made, 
 nor hardly a sentence altered. The works are reproduced 
 exactly as Bamford wrote them. One other point may be 
 mentioned. The " Passages," &c., was published some years 
 before the " Early Days," but in reprinting both as parts of 
 the same publication, it seemed proper to reverse the order. 
 The two together form a continuous piece of autobiography.
 
 INTEODUCTION. 
 
 On the last day of March three-quarters of a century ago a 
 coach drew up at Bow Street conveying a batch of poUtical 
 prisoners from Lancashire. There were eight of them, and 
 one of the number was a young man named Samuel Bamford, 
 a native of Middleton and a weaver by trade, whom we wish 
 to introduce to those of our readers who may not yet have 
 heard of him. It was a time of much excitement throughout 
 the country. The close of the war had not brought with it 
 the blessings which had been expected. There was a sudden 
 stop to Government expenditure on a great scale. The world 
 was impoverised by a twenty years' struggle, and had little 
 left for trade. Our manufacturers were substituting machinery 
 for manual labour, and this meant for the moment the throw- 
 ing of a large number of " hands " out of employ. There was 
 great distress in the manufacturing districts of the north, and 
 much discontent. The people threw the blame upon the 
 Government ; they had no voice in Parliament, and they were 
 persuaded that if they had there would soon be an end to their 
 misery. At any rate a House of Commons which fairly 
 represented the nation would never have passed the infamous 
 Corn Law for keeping up agricultural rents by making bread 
 dear. With or without reason the workpeople in the north 
 looked upon their hardships as wrongs for which the men in 
 power were responsible. They petitioned Parliament, and 
 finding that their petitions were not listened to they began to 
 conspire. Secret meetings were held in almost every town 
 and village. Wild schemes were broached ; though ministers 
 
 9
 
 10 INTBODUCTION. 
 
 turned a deaf ear to the cries of famishing multitudes, they 
 were not beyond the reach of vengeance. A few desperate 
 men might easily make London or Manchester " a second 
 Moscow." It was behoved that Government spies were abroad, 
 and that in the furtherance of their trade, in order to have 
 sometliing to disclose, the most violent suggestions came fi'om 
 them. It is certain that the Government were greatly alarmed. 
 Detective measures were set in motion, and the Habeas Corpus 
 Act was suspended to give them free play. 
 
 The party who arrived at Bow Street were supposed to have 
 been engaged in these secret meetings, and they had been 
 arrested on suspicion of high treason. They had been travel- 
 ling since five o'clock of the morning of the day before; they 
 were poorly clad ; they were chained to each other, and in this 
 plight most of them, and Bamford for one, made their first 
 acquaintance with London. But they were brimful of Lanca- 
 shire humour. At an hostelry opposite Bow Street, where 
 they were lodged for the night, they had a heartier meal than 
 had fallen to their share for many a day, and after supper they 
 amused the " King's messengers " and the Bow Street ofQcers 
 in whose charge they were with songs and recitations. The 
 next day they were taken before the Privy Council, where 
 Lord Sidmouth presided, with Lord Castlereagh by his side. 
 After a few questions asked of them separately they were sent 
 by way of detention to Coldbath Fields prison. They were 
 brought up several times before the Privy Council, and at the 
 end of a month their fate was decided. Some of Bamford's 
 companions were more or less implicated in proceedings which 
 micfht be held to convey a suspicion of treasonable designs. 
 These were sent to distant gaols till the Privy Council might 
 choose to release them. Bamford had not gone so far. He 
 shared their political ideas, but he shrank from acts of violence. 
 He was of an ardent temperament, he could not long brook 
 the monotony of ordinary life, and was always ready for an 
 adventure of any sort. But he was good-natured, kind-hearted, 
 and open as the day. There was nothing of the stuff of a 
 conspirator in him. He was also shrewd enough to see 
 through the itinerant agitators who were taking advantage of
 
 l^mODUGTlON. 11 
 
 the general discontent and endeavouring to instigate the work- 
 ing classes to desperate measures. He had early taken alarm 
 at what he heard ; he had warned others against having any- 
 thing to do with secret meetings, and had kept aloof from them 
 himself. The Privy Council had no doubt plenty of evidence 
 good and bad in their hands, but none of it told against Bam- 
 ford. His personal appearance, his manner and style of 
 address, appear to have made a favourable impression upon 
 the Council. Naturally frank and fearless, he was not the man 
 to be cowed by the sight of the "green cloth" and of the 
 great people round it. He was rather fond of figuring as a 
 " freeborn Englishman," and of magnifying the prerogatives 
 which belonged to him in that capacity. He questioned their 
 lordships about his right to petition Parliament, and among 
 other favours asked to be allowed the use of pen, ink, and 
 paper, that he might keep a diary. Would they let him have 
 books and a supply of clean linen ? Delighting in his native 
 Doric, he could speak fluently in language which had in it 
 something of a literary flavour. Lord Castlereagh eyed him 
 curiously. Lord Sidmouth treated him with perfect courtesy 
 and bestowed some compliments. At his last appearance 
 before the Council Lord Sidmouth said he had great pleasure 
 in restoring him to his family, and, trusting that he would not 
 be seen there again, assured him that he wished him well. 
 
 Bamford did not appear again before the Privy Council, but 
 two years later he was involved, most undeservedly, in more 
 serious trouble. It was in connection with the famous meet- 
 ing of Eeformers held at St. Peter's Field, Manchester, on the 
 16th of August, 1819, generally known as " Peterloo." The 
 measures taken by the Government had not put a stop to 
 agitation, but the proceedings were of a more open and public 
 character. Sir Charles Wolseley, Major Cartwright, and Mr. 
 Hunt, were at the head of the movement, and great care was 
 taken to keep it within lawful bounds. Perhaps one of the 
 plans adopted was open to misapprehension. The people were 
 exhorted to drill, not, it was said, with any view to an armed 
 outbreak, but merely that they might appear at public meet- 
 ings in better order. Drilling went on at Middleton, as at
 
 12 iNTBOnuCTION. 
 
 other places, and Bamford was one of the leaders. At night- 
 fall, or in the early mornings, they would betake themselves to 
 the moors, form themselves into companies, march, and face 
 about at the word of command. The day appointed for the 
 Manchester meeting was coming on, a great procession was to 
 set out from Middleton, and all were anxious that they should 
 acquit themselves with credit. When the day came Bamford 
 headed the procession. They carried banners, but no weapons, 
 not even walking sticks. Many of the men had their wives 
 and sweethearts with them. It was a great holiday " turn 
 out," the prevailing merriment being a little subdued by a 
 sense of patriotic aims, and it was moreover a grand thing to 
 march and pause at the sound of the bugle. The magistrates 
 were in a state of alarm. They had communicated with the 
 Government and received instructions. Special constables 
 were sworn in, the Manchester and Cheshire Yeomanry were 
 stationed near the spot where the meeting was to be held, and 
 a company of the 15th Hussars was within call. Everybody 
 knows how the meeting was broken up, and at what cost ol 
 violence and bloodshed. A few days after the meeting Bam- 
 ford, along with Hunt and others, was apprehended. The 
 charge was again one of high treason, and Nadin, an historical 
 personage in the Manchester police, whispered to him that he 
 would certainly be hanged this time. The accused were com- 
 mitted to Lancaster Castle, but the trial was appointed to 
 take place at York, the charge being reduced from high treason 
 to one of seditious assembly. Bamford and three others were 
 found guilty. Sir John Bayley summed up strongly in Bam- 
 ford's favour, but prejudice carried the day. They were libe- 
 rated on their recognisances to appear at the Court of King's 
 Bench in the ensuing Easter term to receive judgment, which 
 in Bamford's case was that he should be imprisoned in Lincoln 
 Castle for twelve months, and afterwards give securities for 
 good behaviour. 
 
 His year's imprisonment was a turn in Bamford's life. He 
 took it with his usual good humour. He held the verdict to 
 be infamous, but he had done that which a jury found to be 
 a crime, and he had a sort of proud wilHngness to pay the
 
 INTBODUCTION. 13 
 
 forfeit. His maxim as a prisoner was to submit himself cheer- 
 fully to discipline and pay implicit obedience to orders. He 
 soon became a general favourite. The governor treated him 
 with the utmost kindness. He and an old comrade shared 
 the same room, his political friends supplied him with a 
 moderate allowance of cash, and he was permitted to provide 
 for himself. His only hardship was detention, and this had 
 many alleviations. The visiting justices took an especial 
 interest in his case, and from the conversations they had with 
 him they seem to have come to the conclusion that he was in 
 many ways deserving of respect. It came to be understood 
 that Lincoln Castle had not often opened its gates to a better 
 or more intelligent man. He took with him the reputation of 
 being a poet, and his claim was acknowledged. He could sing 
 his own songs and tell capital stories. Indulgence in his 
 favour was carried to unusual limits. He wished to see his 
 wife, and she was allowed to visit and stay with him, a room 
 being fitted up for them. She stayed with him several 
 months, going in and out as she pleased, and doing her 
 marketing as at home. No wonder that on the day of his 
 discharge he thanked the magistrates for the kindness which 
 had been shown to him. Mr. Scarlett, afterwards Lord 
 Abinger, who had conducted the prosecution, singled him out 
 for special attention. The " King's messengers " who took 
 charge of him on his way to London to appear before the 
 Privy Council, surprised him by their civility. He found that 
 people in the upper ranks and those they employed, whom he 
 had been accustomed to denounce as tyrants and oppressors, 
 were not so bad as he had imagined. The discovery told upon 
 him, and had some permanent results. It modified to a 
 considerable extent the colouring if not the texture of his 
 opinions. 
 
 Perhaps the truth is that as a politician Bamford is not to 
 be taken too seriously. His politics were a part of his 
 temperament, and varied with its changing moods. His 
 character was essentially romantic, and he leaned to the 
 sentimental side of everything. The result was a sort of 
 every-day idealism, a dream of something brighter and in
 
 14 INTBODUCTION. 
 
 every way more desirable than the present moment happened 
 to have brought with it. In his youth he had been left pretty 
 much to himself. There had been an actual lack of discipline, 
 though it is very likely that if the yoke had been forced upon 
 him by parental or other authority, he would have shaken it 
 off. He had fair opportunities for making his way in the 
 world. He had plenty of ability, everybody liked him, and 
 patient application would have enabled him to reach what is 
 usually understood by " a good position." It was certainly 
 his own choice, or the result of a series of voluntary failures, 
 that he took to silk-weaving as a permanent occupation. 
 Who shall say that his choice is to be regretted ? Who 
 shall say that he was not on the whole happier and better 
 than if he had kept to the beaten track which leads to success 
 and made a fortune ? At any rate, we should have been the 
 poorer. Hundreds of Lancashire men, then and since, start- 
 ing where he did, and with talents smaller than his, have 
 attained to great wealth, and have passed away without 
 leaving a vestige of anything to remind the next generation 
 that they had lived at all. Bamford escaped a common-place 
 career. He followed the bent of his inclinations. He lived 
 his own life, proud as an aristocrat and gay as a bird. It was 
 not given him to attain to a high place in literature. The 
 wonder is that he found a place in it at all. But he was not with- 
 out culture. He had read some of the best books, he was fond of 
 poetry, and believed himself to be a poet. In this persuasion he 
 no doubt flattered himself too highly, but he had a gift of versi- 
 fication which was a source of constant delight. In prose he 
 succeeded better. The narrative he has left us of his " Early 
 Days," and his " Passages in the Life of a Eadical," need no 
 apology. If allowance be made for some technical defects due 
 to an irregular education, they may be said to reach a high 
 level in point of style. He knows how to use his mother 
 tongue. His diction is copious and unfettered, and not wholly 
 of the homely cast, which might have been expected from the 
 pen of a hand-loom weaver. There is enough of homeliness 
 to give an agreeable flavour, but the more cultivated forms of 
 expression come naturally to him. He is at home in telling a
 
 INTBODUCTION. 15 
 
 good story, and overflows with humour in describing a gro- 
 tesque situation, or in painting the foibles of his friends, while 
 his love of nature supplies his imagination with illustrations 
 which err only on being at times perhaps too exuberant. All 
 may read him with pleasure. They will find in his pages 
 such pictures of Lancashire life and manners, of from fifty to 
 a hundred years ago, as are hardly to be met with elsewhere. 
 
 In the work by which he is best known, Bamford describes 
 himself as " a Eadical," and the designation is no doubt cor- 
 rect, especially when used retrospectively. But his political 
 attitude underwent a change after his release from Lincoln 
 Castle. He was not on the best of terms with his old friends, 
 and the fault was probably not wholly theirs. Often modest 
 and even humble in his professions, he nevertheless thought a 
 good deal of himself, and any failure to recognise his claims 
 was noted down and resented. The habit of self-assertion 
 must have made him an inconvenient colleague. He was 
 sensitive and suspicious, apt to take offence where none was 
 intended. He was quick to imagine himself the victim of 
 some intrigue engaged in for the purpose of lowering his credit 
 or impeaching his integrity. By way of reprisal he turned his 
 back upon the offenders, would have no more to do with them, 
 and played the part of a Eadical in retreat. In referring to 
 his past experiences, he spoke as one who had been for a time 
 deluded, but whose eyes had been opened and was thenceforth 
 half-repentant. To some extent this was due to his closer 
 acquaintance with Mr. Hunt, the principal figure at the 
 Peterloo meeting, who had been arrested and tried along with 
 him. He had looked up to Hunt as a leader. He was awed 
 by his oratory, and taking him on his own terms, believed him 
 to be a patriot of the loftiest type. On coming to know him 
 better this flattering estimate gave way to disapproval and 
 contempt. Eightly or wrongly, he came to the conclusion 
 that Hunt was a vain-glorious, self-seeking demagogue, willing 
 to sell his soul for the cheers of the mob. He resented the 
 deception, and resolved to take good care never to be deceived 
 again. In pursuance of this resolution he extended the infer- 
 ence drawn from the single example of Hunt to all who took
 
 16 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 a prominent part in agitating for political reforms. He had 
 done with agitators for ever. He fancied that he understood 
 their craft, and he was not going to be victimised a second 
 time. Looking back upon his own exploits, he regarded them 
 in the light of escapades, the outcome of untaught and undis- 
 ciplined sentiment, and such perhaps they were, though| 
 influenced by a good deal of honest feeling. In his own 
 opinion he had grown wiser, and he made it thenceforth a 
 part of his duty to warn others against the false lights which 
 had led him astray. 
 
 There was another feature of Bamford's character which 
 helped towards this result. He had an amiable desire to be 
 thought well of by others. He was a good deal less than 
 indifferent to approbation, and he valued it according to the 
 social heights from which it descended. "When it was known 
 that he had separated himself from those who were supposed 
 to aim at accomplishing political changes by violent methods, 
 and that he viewed his own past conduct wdth some degree of 
 reprehension, he became an object of interest to local men of 
 the wealthier class. They praised him for what they naturally 
 described as his moderation and good sense. In turbulent 
 times they pointed him out as a laudable example. If their 
 own workmen, striking perhaps for higher wages and even 
 threatening to break their machines, would only follow the 
 advice of Bamford, everything, it was suggested, would go 
 well. The workpeople did not care to be confronted with such 
 an example, and they gradually came to look upon Bamford 
 as a renegade from the class to which he once belonged. The 
 severance became wider when it was known that he no longer 
 depended for a living upon the work of the loom. His promi- 
 nence as a politician and his literary talents had been the 
 means of procuring employment on the press. He was the 
 correspondent of a London newspaper, and he acted as 
 occasional reporter for papers in the neighbourhood. He 
 removed to a better house. He could make verses, moreover, 
 and a corner was sometimes found for them in the newspapers. 
 To counsel men not to break machines might well be regarded 
 as easy talk for one who had ceased to weave at all, and to
 
 INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 whom, therefore, the question of machinery was a matter of 
 indifference. The outcry against him served only to confirm his 
 isolation, and though he was always the zealous advocate of what 
 he took to be the real interests of the working classes he liked 
 quite as well to play the part of their critic and candid friend. 
 He had no sympathy with the Chartist agitation. The objects 
 aimed at by the Chartists were the same as those for which he 
 had gone to prison ; but he denounced them and their leaders 
 with a hearty virulence which would have won the praise 
 of any Tory. When special constables were called out to 
 put down disturbances, he took up the truncheon. If there 
 are any of the Conservative school who may fancy that their 
 time would be thrown away in reading " Passages in the Life 
 of a Eadical," they need not be deterred by any such con- 
 sideration. They will find a good deal in him that is in entire 
 harmony with their own views. The spirit of much that he 
 has written, detached from particular expressions of opinion, 
 can hardly fail to command their sympathy. All this did not 
 disqualify him for the place he held in the ranks of local 
 Liberalism — then rather Whig than Eadical — and there can be 
 no doubt that he was sincere and honest throughout. 
 
 Bamford took naturally to the press. He was communi- 
 cative, and, having something to say, he did not rest till he 
 had said it. He published in pamphlet form an account of his 
 first arrest and of the subsequent proceedings connected with 
 it. This was soon followed by a small volume of verses, 
 entitled "The Weaver Boy, or Miscellaneous Poetry." His 
 poetical reputation went with him to York and London on his 
 second arrest. Mr. Scarlett, the prosecuting counsel, had 
 heard of the " Weaver Boy," and asked Bamford to send him 
 a copy. We have said that he was known as " a poet " at 
 Lincoln Castle. That circumstance probably influenced the 
 magistrates in his favour, and procured him more indulgent 
 treatment than he would otherwise have received. The 
 Peterloo meeting was a great event in his personal history. 
 For his share in it he had been, as he believed, unjustly con- 
 demned and imprisoned. It was also an event of national 
 importance. It had attracted the attention of the wholo 
 
 voii. I. 2
 
 18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 country, and had led to animated debates in Parliament. 
 Bamford could not help feeling that the whole affair was the 
 result of a deplorable misunderstanding. The " upper classes " 
 were unacquainted with the condition and wants of the poor ; 
 they were badly informed as to the character of their political 
 aspirations ; and perhaps the poor were to some extent pre- 
 judiced in the view they took of the attitude of the "upper 
 classes" towards them. Bamford was also impressed with 
 what seemed to him a certain hollowness of the agitation on the 
 popular side. He had been brought into close acquaintance 
 with the leaders, and was on the whole disgusted. Here, 
 then, was something to be told. The epic almost demanded a 
 narrator. It seemed to him a duty to give to his countrymen 
 the benefit of his experiences. His first attempt was a failure. 
 He wrote an introduction and sent it to Mr. Tait, of " Tait's 
 Magazine," together with an outline of the proposed work, and 
 offered to supply "copy" monthly. Mr. Tait declined the 
 offer, but gave him advice. He urged him to go on with the 
 work, and when he had finished to suTamit it to some intelligent 
 and sensible friend — naming Ebenezer Elliott — with full per- 
 mission to cut out all its redundancies. Mr. Tait's judgment 
 was no doubt correct, but it was based upon an unfortunate 
 specimen. The introduction, which Bamford loved too well to 
 give up, was the worst part of the work as it afterwards 
 appeared, and if the whole had been written in the same high- 
 flown style it would have been unreadable. Bamford did not 
 relish the experienced publisher's advice, and abandoned the 
 project for a time. 
 
 It was resumed in 1839. The Chartist agitation was then 
 in full swing. The scheme of a "Sacred Month" was pro- 
 posed, during which all work should be abandoned. A friend 
 had furnished him with a prose translation of Berenger's " La 
 Lyonnaise." This he had thrown into verse, and he now 
 published it as a pamphlet, together with a stirring and 
 eloquent address. It is said to have had some considerable 
 influence in dissuading the working men of the neighbourhood 
 from taking part in the questionable proceedings then contem- 
 plated. His former project was now revived. He saw the
 
 INTBODVCTION. 19 
 
 bookseller's windows filled with numbers of " Pickwick," 
 "Nicholas Nickleby," and "Jack Sheppard." Surely he 
 could do something better than "the trashy, unreal novels 
 which the press deigned to extol." But he could not find a 
 publisher. One to whom he applied v/ould not take the work 
 even with a present of the copyright. It was clear that if it 
 was to be done at all he must assume the sole responsibility. 
 Accordingly he engaged a printer, got five hundred copies of 
 the introduction and the first chapter printed off, and paid for 
 them. His wife stitched them into covers, and then his busi- 
 ness was to sell them. By the time the ninth and tenth sheets 
 were published he had twelve hundred subscribers, and the 
 earlier sheets had to be reprinted. The work was a success 
 and the profit it yielded was highly acceptable. It was noticed 
 in the " Athenaeum " and the " Quarterly." His friend 
 Ebenezer Elliott sent him warm congratulations. Mr. Scar- 
 lett, then Lord Abinger, took copies, and mentioned the work 
 to Lord Campbell, Lord Brougham, the Duke of Buccleuch, 
 and others who showed a warm interest in promoting its circu- 
 lation. " The head of the great Tory Lowthers," the Earl of 
 Lonsdale, wrote to assure him that he had " read his works 
 with great satisfaction." Bamford speaks rather bitterly of 
 the very different treatment he received from " some Liberals." 
 With the general result he had every reason to be satisfied. 
 He was now a public character. He was appealed to as an 
 authority on working-class politics. His writings were made 
 to furnish lessons of reproof as well as instruction for those 
 who were being led astray by " the wiles of the agitator." The 
 position was in some respects unfortunate, but he had no 
 great difficulty in maintaining the character thus pressed upon 
 him. 
 
 In 1848 Bamford published his " Early Days," giving us his 
 own history down to the time of his first arrest, and recollec- 
 tions embracing the whole life of the district as far back as his 
 memory carried him. This is a delightful production, abound- 
 ing in idyllic pictures and romantic adventures, and in passages 
 of genuine pathos. He had something in the way of ancestry 
 to boast of. His family had long been rooted in the soil, and
 
 20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 but for an ancestor's Puritan scruples, he might have been a 
 country squire instead of a hand-loom weaver. A fine oppor- 
 tunity was thrown away when his father took him from the 
 Manchester Grammar School. If he had been permitted to 
 reap the full advantages afforded by that institution, even as it 
 was then, his natural talents would have found their proper 
 scope, though in that case the Peterloo meeting would have 
 missed one of its heroes, and we should not have had the 
 " Passages in the Life of a Kadical." Bamford's autobiography 
 has the stamp of truthfulness. He lays his heart open and 
 tells us everything. His youth was wild and stormy, and it 
 must be said that he was anything but exemplary in point of 
 morals. He had to run away from the parish constables to 
 escape the pecuniary consequences of one of his indiscretions. 
 A little girl whom he had loved as a boy, after some temporary 
 transfer of affection on his part, became his wife. But the 
 nuptial knot was tied too late for his reputation. Their only 
 child, then "just beginning to take notice," was placed in his 
 arms with some ceremony at the wedding festival, and he 
 speaks of her constantly as his " love child." But having said 
 this we have said the worst, and never was a wrong more 
 amply atoned for. He was the most faithful of husbands, the 
 most loving of fathers. The three were bound together by the 
 tenderest ties. His wife shared his trials with uncomplaining 
 devotion, and he lavished upon his " Mima " the treasures of a 
 homely but passionate poetry. A more beautiful picture can 
 hardly be imagined than that presented by their domestic life. 
 His narrative is full of interest in other respects. He gives us 
 a graphic portraiture of a state of manners which has passed 
 away. We see modern Lancashire in its first making, before 
 the period of big factories set in, when the weaver fetched 
 his materials from Manchester, wrought them up in his own 
 cottage, and took them back again when the task was finished. 
 Five minutes would take the weaver from his loom into paths 
 that led soon into the loveliest solitudes. He was thus 
 enabled to live in close companionship with nature. Usages 
 which had come down unchanged for centuries were still in 
 full vigour, and life, though laborious, and in hard times
 
 INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 pinched with poverty, was nevertheless full of joy. The tra- 
 ditions of a distant time had floated down unbroken. There 
 were stories to be told of Flodden, and the events of '45, 
 when the local Jacobites were blessing the Pretender, seemed 
 a thing of yesterday. All this Bamford gives us in his raciest 
 style and with never-failing humour. The historian who 
 wishes to present us with certain aspects of English life at 
 the beginning of the century can hardly afford to miss his 
 pages. 
 
 From some remarks which occur in one of the chapters 
 subsequently added as supplementary to his " Passages in the 
 Life of a Eadical," it would seem that a time came when 
 Bamford thought himself entitled to some recognition from the 
 Government. It appears that Mr. (afterwards Sir Benjamin) 
 Hawes said in the House of Commons how desirable it was 
 that "rewards and encouragements" should be bestowed upon 
 those of the working classes " who distinguished themselves 
 by attention to reading and the cultivation of their minds," 
 and that Sir Eobert Peel, in expressing his approval of the 
 suggestion, " pointed out a mode by which such individuals 
 might be rewarded without bringing an additional burden 
 upon the country." Bamford's comment is this : " If studious 
 readers, then, and self-cultivators among the working classes 
 are to be distinguished and rewarded, what shall be done to 
 those of the same grade who not only have read a deal and 
 thought a deal, but have also written good books for others to 
 read ? Aye, books that mayhap have not only been read by 
 working men with advantage, but also with profit as well as 
 pleasure by some whose robes have brushed the throne, if not 
 by the fair one who sits upon the throne herself ; what shall 
 be the reward of these men?" He says a page or two later 
 that he had been led into these remarks by a strong desire 
 to do justice to others rather than to benefit himself. He was 
 "tainted with the irredeemable sin of political leadership," 
 and was " prepared for the consequences." " An independent 
 but unassuming spirit, and contentment with the humblest 
 fare " had rendered him "almost impervious to vicissitude," 
 and had made him the sort of man and his wife the sort of
 
 •za IJSTMUDVUTIUN. 
 
 woman " to smile at things and at the want of things which to 
 many would be an affliction." Whatever may have been 
 Bamford's intention, there can be no doubt as to the interpre- 
 tation which his friends would put upon those professions, and 
 there were some who were in a position to help him. In 1852 
 he had the offer of an appointment in Somerset House, and it 
 was accepted. It was that of doorkeeper or messenger. He 
 was then sixty-four years of age. The hours were easy and 
 the duties light, but he did not keep it long. It is said that 
 he pined for old scenery and old friends. This may be true, 
 but it is also true that he thought the position beneath him. 
 He was too proud for the place, and he soon gave it up, pre- 
 ferring a precarious livelihood in the midst of his old haunts 
 to a certainty which seemed +.0 him to be associated with some 
 degree of degradation. It was also to some extent the out- 
 break of a constitutional foible. He had never from the days 
 of his youth been able to endure the monotony of fixed and 
 regular employment. 
 
 As time went on Bamford took a sort of historical position 
 among the Liberals of Manchester. Minor incidents were 
 forgotten. He was regarded as a relic of a past around which 
 legends began to gather. His tall and erect form, his rugged 
 and massive features, a flowing beard, and locks of grey hair 
 that were left to fall upon his shoulders made him a con- 
 spicuous object everywhere. One could almost fancy him a 
 Druid in modern garb. His friends delighted to do him honour. 
 His portrait hangs in the Manchester Eeform Club, along with 
 those of Cobden, Bright, Gladstone, the Duke of Devonshire, 
 and the Earl Grey of the first Eeform Bill. At private gather- 
 ings he would often be present as the lion of the night, but 
 he was gruff, and often growled at those who tried to stroke 
 him. When his infirmities increased with advancing years a 
 "syndicate" of admirers supplied him with a modest income 
 sufficient for all his wants. He died on April 13, 1872, at the 
 ripe age of 84. A flat stone in Middleton churchyard marks 
 the spot where his remains lie interred, along with those of his 
 wife and daughter. Beneath each of their names is an epitaph 
 in verse of his own composing. Beneath his own is a brief
 
 INTBODUCTION. 23 
 
 record of what he was and did. A short distance off, where 
 the churchyard hill overhangs the town, a stone obehsk, bear- 
 ing his effigy in bronze, has been erected to his memory ; but 
 his works will prove a more enduring monument.
 
 EARLY DAYS.
 
 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BIRTH, PARENTAGE, AND OTHER MATTERS. 
 
 My parents were a worthy and honest couple, residing, when 
 I was born, in the town of Middleton, near Manchester. My 
 father was a weaver of musUn, at that time considered a fine 
 course of work, and requiring a superior hand ; whilst my 
 mother found plenty of employment in occasional weaving, in 
 winding bobbins or pins for my father, and in looking after 
 the house and the children, of whom I was the fourth born, 
 and the third then living, I have always been given to under- 
 stand that I was brought into the world on the 28th day of 
 February, in " the Galhc a3ra — eighty-eight," when, certainly, 
 many of the world's troubles, as well as my own, had a begin- 
 ning. My parents were religious, of which further will appear 
 hereafter. My father, for his station in life, was a superior 
 man. He had many talents, both natural and acquired, which 
 in those days were not often possessed by men of his condition 
 in society. He was considerably imbued with book knowledge, 
 particularly of a religious kind ; wrote a good hand ; understood 
 arithmetic ; had some acquaintance with astronomy ; was a 
 vocal and instrumental musician, singing from the book and 
 playing on the flute ; he had a deep taste for melody, as I can 
 recollect from the tunes he played ; he was likewise an occa- 
 sional composer of music, and introduced several of his pieces 
 amongst the religious body with which he was connected ; he 
 was also a writer of verses of no mean order — so that, take him 
 for all in all, he stood far above his rustic acquaintance in the 
 
 27
 
 28 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 village, and had to endure the usual consequences — envy, and 
 detraction from the meanest of them. During the hot blood of 
 his youth few young men could stand before him, either in the 
 wrestling bout or the battle. I have heard it told that, in 
 those days, notwithstanding his taste for books, and music, 
 and other means for true enjoyment, he at times associated 
 with the wild rough fellows of the neighbourhood at the Church 
 Alehouse, or at the Boar's Head Inn, and drank, danced, or, 
 when nothing less would do, fought with the moodiest or 
 merriest of them. He stood six feet in height, with a good 
 breadth of chest, a powerful arm, a strong, well-formed leg, 
 and a neat, compact foot that could either spring over a five- 
 barred gate, or deal a bone-breaking kick to an adversary. 
 Such, however, was not his wont ; when he did fight it was 
 almost certain to be either in self-defence, or in behalf of right 
 which some bully would be trying to domineer over or coerce. 
 At one of these battles, which were forced upon him, the 
 contest took place in a room called " the thrashing-bay," at 
 the Boar's Head, Middleton ; it lasted two full hours, up and 
 down fighting, and at the end of that time his adversary, a 
 very powerful man from a neighbouring township, lay helpless 
 on the floor, and had to be carried home by his companions. I 
 mention these feats of my father's youth not in a spirit com- 
 mendatory of their mere featship ; with him, his physical power 
 was never a matter of boast, but rather led him to a pacific 
 guardedness of its use ; whilst with me the dominance of mere 
 muscle and bone never was, never will be, held in honour, 
 except when exercised in the repression of other brute forces 
 employed in the perpetration of wrong, or in the maltreatment 
 of right. In such a case I would say, " Let physical power 
 bend the full weight of its vigour to its work, and not give over 
 too soon, not leave off when part done." 
 
 But irregularities like these of my father's young days, 
 violent probably in proportion to their unfrequency, could not 
 be indulged in without producing their natural consequences. 
 His health was impaired ; he took cold after cold, and disre- 
 garded them, and at length a violent fever laid him prostrate 
 at the verge of the grave. On his recovery he was an altered
 
 BIBTH, PABENTAGE, AND OTHEB MATTEBS. 29 
 
 man. His own natural sense, supported by the serious advice 
 of relatives and friends, determined him on endeavouring to 
 lead a different life. Being convinced that the course he had 
 pursued was fraught with evil as well as folly, he sought divine 
 aid in abandoning it, and he joined a society of Methodists, of 
 which his parents and several individuals of the family were 
 already members. 
 
 When his health had become re-established, neither his good 
 resolutions nor God's help forsook him. He continued a member 
 of the religious society he had joined ; became " a burning and 
 a shining light," as the Methodists term an exemplary young 
 member; and soon afterwards marrying my mother, he set 
 forward, as we may say, on his pilgrimage through this world, 
 and " Zionward." In due time a young family began to sprout 
 about his heels, and, with a view to meet increasing expendi- 
 ture, he and a brother of his named Thomas adventured a small 
 capital of money in the spinning line, which was then done by 
 jenny, and in weaving their yarns into grey cloth. They suc- 
 ceeded in proportion to their most sanguine expectations, for 
 there was then a market for anything which the spindle or the 
 hand-loom could make, and they were about to realise all they 
 had dared to hope, when a member of their religious body, one 
 of their "brethren in Israel," piqued, as they supposed, by 
 their increasing influence in a religious as well as worldly sense, 
 suddenly called on them for the repayment of a sum which he 
 had lent them for the purpose of commencing their business, 
 and persisting in his demand, they sold off their stock of cloth 
 and machinery, paid every farthing they owed, and closed their 
 concern, my father sitting down to the business of school- 
 master, and my uncle resuming the manual operations of a 
 weaver and small farmer. Difficulties still increased with the 
 wants of our family ; my father's school profits were not suffi- 
 ciently steady to be depended upon, and he relinquished them 
 and returned to the loom. The throes of the French Eevolu- 
 tion and the excitement they created in England soon afterwards 
 deranged both money transactions and mercantile affairs. 
 Banks stopped, payments were suspended, and trade was at a 
 stand. Woe to the poor weaver then, with his loom without
 
 30 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 work, the provision shop without credit, and his wife and weans 
 foodless, and looking at each other, and at him, as if saying — • 
 Husband ! father ! hast thou neither bread nor hope for us ? 
 
 It was at about such a period as this tliat my earhest 
 recollections of my parents and our family commence. My 
 father, as I have said, was a huge-framed body of a man, but 
 at that time he was pale, stooping, and attenuated, probably 
 from scanty fare, as well as repeated visitations of sickness. 
 My mother — and I have her image distinctly before me — was 
 a person of very womanly and motherly presence. Tall, up- 
 right, active, and cleanly to an excess : her cheeks were fair and 
 ruddy as apples ; her dark hair was combed over a roll before 
 and behind, and confined by a mob cap as white as bleached 
 linen could be made ; her neck was covered by a handkerchief, 
 over which she wore a bed-gown, and a clean checked apron, 
 with black hose and shoes, completed her every-day attire. 
 Her name was Hannah — a name I shall always love for her 
 sake ; she was the youngest daughter of Jeffrey Battersby, a 
 master boot and shoemaker, of whom more hereafter. She 
 had two sisters married, one to a tradesman named Healey, 
 residing at Eochdale, and the other to a woollen-draper living 
 at Manchester ; consequently they were both doing compara- 
 tively well in the world, whilst my poor mother's dark cloud 
 was ascending and spreading over herself, her husband, and 
 her five children. Small and fitful was the comfort she received 
 from her kindred; but her sister Clemmy (Clementine), at 
 Manchester, treated her with a coolness and indifference which 
 cut my mother to the soul. I perhaps should not have men- 
 tioned names in connection with these circumstances had not 
 the recollections of my mother's sufferings divested me of every 
 wish for reserve. Oh ! how immeasurably superior was my 
 poor, but noble-hearted parent, to her proud, mean, sordid 
 sister. I remember as it were but yesterday, after one of her 
 visits to the dwelling of that " fine lady," she had divested 
 herself of her wet bonnet, her soaked shoes, and changing her 
 dripping outer garments, stood leaning with her elbow on the 
 window sill, her hand up to her cheek, her eyes looking on 
 vacancy, and the tears trickling over her fingers. She had
 
 BIBTH, PABENTAGE, AND OTHER MATTERS. 31 
 
 been all the weary way to Manchester and back — and it was a 
 loDg weary road in those days; she had knocked at her "great" 
 sister's door, a servant had admitted her, and, more humane 
 than her mistress, had ventured to ask her to a seat by the 
 kitchen fire, where her proud sister saw her in passing, and 
 scarcely deigned to notice her. The servants, however, in 
 whom the impulses of common humanity had not been sup- 
 pressed by pride, offered her refreshment ; but her heart was 
 too full, and back through the rain, and the wind, and the 
 stormy weather, less inclement than her misnamed relative, 
 did she return to her young and anxiously waiting family, to 
 whose caresses and tender questionings her only reply was, for 
 a while, unrestrained tears. 
 
 The recollection of my heart-wounded, but noble-minded 
 and forgiving mother, as she suffered under that trial, is still 
 vividly before me ; and never, I believe, will it be obliterated 
 from my memory so long as consciousness remains. Ever 
 since I had the faculty for reasoning on these recollections I 
 have cherished an unmitigable contempt for mere money pride, 
 much of it though there be in the world, and as thorough a 
 contempt have I ever felt for the unfeehngness which mam- 
 monish superiority too often produces. Samson said, " Out 
 of the eater came forth meat " ; and in application of the 
 parable I may truly say that, out of the unnatural conduct of 
 my mother's sister, arose the very natural and self-sustaining 
 disdain of that mother's son towards all pretension not based 
 on worth, towards all superiority not exalted by goodness. To 
 rank, of&ce, or to station arising from office, suitable concedence 
 would I make ; to the man filling that office or station such 
 deference as were commensurate with his known worth would 
 I tender; but to the poor human hull, irrespective of self- 
 desert, would I not concede anything. Before the mere 
 man-husk, however large his money-bag — nay, though he were 
 " plated with gold," not one hair of my head should be abased. 
 Thus the germ of this feeling of repulsion (calculated for evil 
 or for good, according to its right or wrong application) became 
 interwoven with my existence, and part of my being, for all my 
 after life.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 OF MY FOREFATHERS. 
 
 Having thus, as it were, identified myself and my parents, 
 it may not be improper to give some account of my pro- 
 genitors, especially as two of them were connected with the 
 historical events of their country; and the religious tenacity 
 of a third was said to have decided the fate of his descendants 
 with respect to worldly condition. 
 
 It would be about a hundred and thirty-two years since, or 
 the year 1716, that my father's grandfather, James Bamford, 
 lived at Hools Wood, in Thornham, keeping there a small 
 farm, and making cane reeds for weavers of flannel and coarse 
 cotton. Of his children I know not anything, save that he 
 had many sons from whom the Bamfords of Middleton, 
 Alkrington, Tonge, and some other neighbouring places are 
 descended. According to what was handed down in our 
 branch of his posterity, he was the next heir to the estate 
 of Bamford Hall, where he used to visit and be on terms of 
 intimacy with William Bamford, the last male of the old 
 family, who resided at the hall. My ancestor was, it seems, 
 fond of the chase, and on hunting and shooting days, he was 
 frequently at the hall and dined with the other guests. At 
 this time the property was said to be entailed ; though for 
 the truth of that I vouch not any more than I do for other 
 traditionary matters which follow. My aunt, who was, I 
 believe, a contemporary of some of the parties, narrated the 
 story to me as I give it. This William Bamford had no 
 offspring save two daughters, and as they could not inherit 
 the property, when he lay on his death-bed, he sent for my 
 
 32
 
 OF MY FOBEFATHERS. 33 
 
 ancestor, and by much entreaty, and many solemn promises, 
 backed perhaps by a douceur, he induced my ancestor to forego 
 his claim in favom' of the young ladies, on condition that at 
 their decease the property should revert to the next heir in 
 his family. The entail was accordingly cut off; Bamford, of 
 Bamford, made his will and died ; and his daughter, " Madam 
 Ann," as she was titled, held the property. The other sister 
 married, and went to reside in Yorkshire ; but Madam Ann 
 lived and died a spinster at Bamford Hall. And thus, 
 according to traditionary accounts, were the rightful heirs 
 cut off from the property, which had descended through their 
 ancestors from the time when the Saxon wrested it from the 
 Celt. 
 
 My grandfather was Daniel Bamford, the youngest son 
 of James Bamford. He came to reside at Middleton, and 
 was a small farmer and weaver. He married Hannah, the 
 daughter of Samuel Cheetham, who was a watch and clock 
 maker, and was, consequently, considered something better 
 in condition than common in those days. My grandfather 
 had a family of, I beUeve, six sons and two daughters ; and 
 Daniel, my father, was the youngest of his children. The 
 house in which my grandfather lived was situated at Back 
 o'th' Brow. It was an old timber and daub house, with 
 thatched roof, low windows, and a porch. I saw it after it 
 was abandoned and was tottering to its fall. There had been 
 a garden beside it, but the fences were then tore down, the 
 beds trampled, and a few stumps of trees, with sprouts of 
 sweet herbs shooting amongst struggling weeds, marked what 
 it had been. The door of this ruined dwelling was the first 
 that opened at Middleton for the reception of Methodist 
 preachers ; and John and Charles Wesley, John Nelson, 
 Thomas Taylor, and many of the first promulgators of their 
 doctrines, had addressed their humble and simple hearers 
 on the floor of that ruined dwelling. The house stood about 
 some three score yards from the arched bridge over the Irk, 
 in the direction towards the Free School, and the cart road 
 now passes over its site. My grandfather and all his family 
 had been strict church-goers, but on their joining the Metho- 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 84 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 dists, their attendance at church was less constant than it 
 had been. The rector one day in conversation with my 
 grandfather expressed his regret at the change, and wondered 
 what made him dissatisfied with his rehgion. He replied that 
 he was not certified as to the state of his soul, nor with the 
 way in which he was bringing up his family. Why, asked 
 the rector, what did he desire or expect on the score of 
 religion? He came regularly to church; he took the sacra- 
 ment, and paid all dues and oblations ; and what could he do 
 more ? He thought that my grandfather would scarcely mend 
 that religion, whatever party he joined. He might consider 
 himself quite as safe in returning to the church, as he would 
 be in remaining with his new friends. No argument, however, 
 could satisfy my grandfather, who had become " convinced of 
 sin, of righteousness, and of a judgment to come ; " who felt 
 the necessity of "justification by faith," of "saving grace," 
 and of " being born again." In short, my grandfather ex- 
 hibited so much of the " new light," that the worthy pastor, 
 dazzled, probably, if not illumined, gave up the attempt at 
 reclamation, and my grandfather and his family remained 
 Methodists. 
 
 Whether or not Madam Ann Bamford, the lady before 
 mentioned, had given up all thoughts of marriage, or whether 
 she ever entertained any, does not appear ; but, as if she were 
 wishful to do some justice to the ancient stock, she came 
 to my grandfather's house at Middleton, saw his family, and 
 conversed with them. It was even added, that she expressed 
 a particular preference for my father, then a child, and pro- 
 posed to adopt him, and make him her heir, but that my 
 grandfather, whose views " were not of this world," declined 
 the lady's offer ; alleging that the possession of wealth would 
 only lead this child into temptations, and might perhaps cause 
 the loss of his soul eternally. It was after this incident, as 
 was said, that Madam Ann directed her attention to another 
 quarter in search of an heir and successor. Certain it is, that 
 at her death she willed the estate and property to a William 
 Bamford who was not at all of the old stock, but was said 
 to be descended from a family settled in Staffordshire.
 
 OF MY FOBEFATHEBS. 35 
 
 My grandmother, in her mature years, acted as a midwife ; 
 and herself and another dame at HoUinwood were the only 
 two on this side of the country who then practised the 
 obstetric art. Surgeons were never called to act in those 
 days, except in perilous cases ; for wives and mothers of the 
 humble classes had not as yet become reconciled to a custom 
 which one cannot but wish should be repugnant to their 
 private feelings. 
 
 My great-grandfather, Samuel Cheetham, was a thorough 
 " King's man." During the troubles in 1745, he loaded his 
 gun, and swore he would blow out the brains of any rebel who 
 interfered with him ; and judging from his conduct on several 
 other occasions, there is but small reason for supposing he 
 would not have been as good as his word. On the approach 
 of the Scottish army towards Manchester, the Assheton family 
 at Middleton Hall retired into Yorkshire, leaving my pro- 
 genitor and one trusty servant to secrete the plate and the 
 other valuables which the family had not had time or con- 
 venience for carrying with them. These articles were placed 
 in a chest, and buried by the two confidants in the stable- 
 court at midnight, the place being afterwards paved and 
 strewn over with hay seeds. The Scotch army having entered 
 Manchester, lost not much time in proceeding to ascertain 
 what good things lay within their reach in the surrounding 
 districts. Middleton received a speedy visit. My ancestor 
 and his assistant were on the premises when a party of 
 horsemen entered the hall yard, and the commander, leaping 
 from his steed, flung the reins to the poor waiting-man, who, 
 on receiving them, sighed deeply. " Hoot, mon ! wot d'ye 
 sigh for?" asked the Scot, as if he were surprised to hear 
 such an escape of feeling from an English retainer. " It's mi 
 way, sir," replied the servant, meekly taking charge of the 
 steed. The party having searched the hall, without finding 
 either money or plate, which they seemed mostly to be in 
 pursuit of, they came forth to take their departure, when the 
 officer espying my great - grandfather, demanded of him — 
 " Waur's the heed inn in the toon?" " Gullook ! " was the 
 immediate reply. Supposing that he had not been understood,
 
 36 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 the question was repeated more distinctly ; " I say, mon, 
 waur's the heed inn in the toon?" " Gullook ! " was as 
 promptly replied as before ; and in a tone and manner which 
 left no doubt with respect to the feelings of the individual 
 who had been questioned. The officer and his party, how- 
 ever, rode off without stopping to parley with the sturdy 
 Southron. 
 
 At this period, and for some time after, party feeling would 
 naturally be in a state of exasperation, and but few oppor- 
 tunities for displaying it would be permitted to pass by the 
 adherents of either the Stuart or the Guelph. If, as we see, 
 during evanescent political squabbles, a bitterness is engen- 
 dered which would, if it could, give a mortal thrust to its 
 opponent, what must be thc^ deadly hatred of rude minds and 
 stormy hearts alternately suffering and inflicting irreparable 
 wrong, when a population are in a state of civil war, when the 
 sword is made naked avowedly to cut down, to kill, and when 
 neighbourhood and brotherhood are no longer recognised 
 except side by side in camp, or in battle? During such a 
 state of things, many would be the outrages and insults 
 perpetrated by individuals of each party, when one of the 
 other happened to come in their way ; and that this zealous 
 forefather of mine was less overbearing than the rudest, I 
 have not much reason to suppose. It was customary in those 
 days for Scotch hawkers to travel slowly and laboriously from 
 town to town, not affecting the gentleman, as they do at 
 present, but carrying huge and weighty packs on their backs, 
 some four feet in length and two or more in depth, as large, 
 in fact, as a family meal ark, and stored with hosiery, drapery, 
 and other necessary articles ; tea, coffee, and sugar, not being 
 then in much use amongst the working classes. These packs 
 being securely locked, were generally deposited in some con- 
 venient place — the corner of a street, or the side of a friendly 
 door — whilst the chapman went round to a few customers 
 close at hand. Well, my great-grandfather, one day, ere the 
 exasperation of feeling consequent on the rebellion had sub- 
 sided, met one of those useful and self-minding tradesmen, 
 crossing over the causeway by the mill doors, at Middle ton;
 
 OF MY FOBEFATEEBS. 37 
 
 and laying hold of him, demanded that he should say — 
 " Deawn wi'th' Eump " (down with the Eump) ; an offensive 
 phrase signifying, " Down with the Scottish party." The 
 Scot, of course, would utter nothing of the sort — how was he 
 likely — and he tried to argue with the unreasonable fellow 
 who had him in hand, but to no purpose. " Sithe," said the 
 latter, "ifto dusno say, 'Deawn wi'th' Eump,' theawst goo yed 
 fost into that dam ; " pointing to the deep mill-stream just 
 below them. The Scot still would not : my progenitor griped 
 him firmer ; and happy should I have been to have recorded 
 that the traveller had soused him into the water head first. 
 But it was otherwise. Might overcame right on that occasion, 
 as it has on others, both before and since; and the traveller, 
 probably calculating on the loss of time and money which 
 a regular contest might cause him, said at length, " Weel, if 
 it mast be so, it mast be so ; doon with the Eamp then." And 
 so he got rid of his pertinacious opponent. 
 
 Whilst this surly and stalwart English Saxon was bearding 
 the Scottish ofl&cer in the hall yard, as before narrated, my 
 mother's father, Jeffrey Battersby, who was quite his opposite 
 in person, manner, and sentiment, was with the Pretender's 
 party at the Boar's Head, assisting them in the collection of 
 King's taxes, and in the levying of contributions; in which 
 his local knowledge, and his quick perception, would, doubt- 
 less, be very useful. He was, when I knew him, a little old 
 man, with sharp features and ruddy complexion. He wore 
 a black coat, of the old-fashioned cut of the time ; a waist- 
 coat and small cloths of the same material ; with black stock- 
 ings, and silver buckles at the knees, and on the shoes ; on his 
 head he wore a grizzled full-buttoned wig, and a small square- 
 set cocked hat. He walked with a quick short step (toes 
 turned inward), as shoemakers often do; a silver-headed cane 
 steadied his forward gait, his waistcoat was dusted with snuff, 
 and a small leathern apron flapped against him as he tripped 
 on his way. 
 
 This quick and lively person, at the time of the appearance 
 of the rebels, would be about twenty-nine years of age; an 
 active, lightsome, free-company keeping young fellow, no
 
 88 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 doubt. He was a native of Bui-y, whence he had probably 
 but recently removed to Middleton, and being an excellent 
 hand at his boot-making, he was employed by most of the 
 genteel families in the neighbourhood. The Ashtons of 
 Alkrington ; the Asshetons of Middleton ; the Eadcliffs of 
 Foxdeuton ; the Hortons of Chadderton ; the Hopwoods of 
 Hopwood ; the Starkies of Heywood ; and the Bamfords 
 of Bamford, were each, at that time, living in their own 
 paternal mansions, and were severally, as their requirements 
 occurred, the patrons and employers of the young craftsman 
 at Middleton. He was, consequently, personally well known 
 to the heads of these old families; with several of them he 
 was on such terms of freedom as we find frequently existed 
 betwixt the old race of gentry and the better sort of their 
 tenants and tradespeople. Gentlemen then lived as they 
 ought to live ; as real gentlemen will ever be found living ; in 
 kindliness with their tenants ; in open-handed charity towards 
 the poor; and in hospitality towards all friendly comers. 
 There were no grinding bailiffs and land- stewards in those 
 days, to stand betwixt the gentleman and his labourer, or his 
 tenant ; to screw up rents, to screw dov.'n livings, and to invent 
 and transact all little meannesses for so much per annum. 
 Mercenaries of this description were not then prevalent on our 
 Lancashire estates. The gentleman transacted his own busi- 
 ness ; he met his farmer, or his labourer, face to face. When 
 he did that which was wrong, he was told of it in unmistakable 
 language ; or, at any rate, he stood a good chance of being so 
 told. When he did that which was right — which was noble- 
 hearted — he got blessings, no doubt, and made friends who 
 stood by him whilst living, and spoke well of him when dead ; 
 and that is a kind of speaking of which one does not hear 
 over-much nowadays. There was no racking up of old 
 tenants ; no rooting out of old cottiers ; no screwing down 
 of servants' or labourers' wages ; no cutting off of allowances, 
 either of the beggar at the door, or the visitor at the servants' 
 hall ; no grabbing at waste candle-ends, and musty cheese 
 parings. Gentlemen were gentlemen indeed; as ladies were 
 what they pretended to be, — loaf-givers — dispensers of good.
 
 OF MY FOBEFATHEBS. 39 
 
 If they lived carefully, they were not mean. If they lived 
 sumptuously, their waste was scattered at home — on the spot 
 whence it was derived ; and those who toiled to produce it 
 had the benefit of it. The treasure and all the fatness of the 
 land was not carried out of the country, to be wasted and 
 thrown away like dust, in the pride and big-babyism of courtly 
 life, nor in the brothels and gambling hells of London, Paris, 
 or other Babylon of the world. 
 
 At such a time, and amongst such a race of English gentle- 
 men, was it the lot of this my grandsire to be cast. He was 
 an agreeable person to converse with; droll, witty, and a 
 rhymster also ; and as he had not much disinclination to a 
 pipe and a jack of ale, he was frequently, when he went with 
 his work home, called from the servants' hall into the parlour, 
 where his budget of wit, verse, and country news, made him a 
 welcome guest. It will not be presuming too much, if we 
 suppose that some of the gentry of those days were imbued 
 with Jacobitical principles ; and to such, in their moments of 
 conviviality and confidence, the following verse, which I have 
 heard sung as one of my grandfather's productions, would no 
 doubt be responded to. 
 
 •' Jammy sits upon the throne ; 
 He bears the gowden sceptre ; 
 He is the darlin' of our hearts ; 
 He is our right protector. 
 Ween tak' yon cuckud by his hums. 
 An' poo him deawu to Dover ; 
 An' stuff him full o' turmit-tops. 
 An' pack him to Hanover." 
 
 In joining the Pretender, and taking the active part he had 
 done, my grandfather had sinned too far to be slightly passed 
 over. On the retreat of the Scottish army, and the reinstate- 
 ment of the former authority, he was denounced with many 
 others ; was arrested, and placed in Lancaster Castle for trial 
 on a charge of high treason. Happy was it then for him that 
 he had made friends of some influential persons, and that 
 neither his ready genius nor his friends forsook him. Many 
 of his fellow-prisoners were taken out of their cells for trial ;
 
 40 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 and trial was then almost synonymous with conviction, con- 
 Adction with death. At last it was his turn to be called, and 
 they called him, but the man was raving mad ; and the keepers 
 stood aghast, not knowing what to do with the lunatic. He 
 had been expecting his trial from day to day, and had acted 
 his part accordingly ; and on the morning on which he was 
 certified it would take place, he thumped his elbow against the 
 bedstead until his pulse beat a hundred and sixty a-minute, 
 and the doctor, on his being sufficiently coerced, and ascer- 
 taining that such was his actual condition, declared that he 
 could not be tried. He was consequently passed over, some 
 poor fellow thus meeting his doom before the time, and when 
 the next jail delivery took place, his friends at Middleton and 
 the neighbourhood had so far used their influence that he was 
 amongst those discharged by proclamation. He returned 
 home, probably somewhat wiser for his mad fit, but certainly 
 to take his pipe and potation ; to write squibs, satires, and 
 rhymes ; and to make the best boots and shoes in the whole 
 country side. Years rolled over him ; the blithe young fellow 
 became mellowed down into the more sedate head of a family, 
 though he had always a fund of wit and humour at command. 
 At the age of seventy-eight, he was the little old man I have 
 described; and in the year ninety-six came the finale to all 
 his fancies. He died in the eighty-first year of his age, and 
 was interred in the old yard at Middleton Church. Such were 
 the men and women from whom I derived my being. The 
 rebel blood, it would seem, after all, was the more impulsive ; 
 it got the ascendency — and I was born a Kadical.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 OiT MIDDLETON, AT THE TIME I HAVE BEEN WHITING 
 ABOUT. 
 
 Eeader, having thus described to thee the persons, and con- 
 ditions, and habits of my forefathers, it may not be going too 
 far from my personal history, if I give thee an idea of the sort 
 of place Middleton was at the time they inhabited it. Begin- 
 ning with the chm^ch, thou must know that externally it was 
 much in the same state as at present. Internally, the chapel 
 of the Asshetons would be somewhat different. The staircase 
 mounting to that piece of " pride " in a place of " humility," 
 the Suffield's pew, did not then cover up and obscure the 
 grave- stone of Colonel Assheton, who commanded the Parlia- 
 mentary forces of Lancashire during the Civil War of the 
 Commonwealth. The monument of "Old Sir Eaphe," the last 
 of the Asshetons of Middleton, was not then in existence, nor 
 were the pennons and flag-staffs, the sword, helmet, and spurs, 
 which always accompany the last of an ancient house to the 
 grave, then suspended in that chapel. Those unsightly things, 
 the pews, more like show-cribs than anything else, a modern 
 invention of sordid pride, lest a poor woman's kirtle should by 
 chance touch a " fine lady's " gown, were not then cumbering 
 and disfiguring either this chapel, or the body of the church. 
 The whole floor was strewn with rushes in winter ; and the 
 whole congregation sat on plain oaken benches, the poor and 
 the rich faring alike in the presence of that Being to whom 
 they were taught to pray — " From all blindness of heart ;
 
 42 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy ; from envy, hatred, and 
 malice ; Good Lord, deliver us." 
 
 The appearance of the chancel was also much different 
 from its present one. A large v^^indow with open traceries 
 shed a cheerful and plenteous light on the communion-table, 
 which was surrounded by a curious and quaint-looking oaken 
 railing of spiral staves, carved from the solid piece. The said 
 window then exhibited in its lower compartment, the arms 
 and crests, in stained glass, which now adorn the side 
 windows. Where the benches now stand, were large oaken 
 pews, with carvings and quaint devices. The stalls were in 
 their present state ; and the Archer, the Haughton, and the 
 Tetlow monuments, were not on the walls. In a window of 
 the northern aisle was a representation of a band of archers 
 kneeling, each with his bow on his shoulder, his quiver at his 
 breast, and his name above his head; tradition representing 
 them as parishioners who were slain at the battle of Flodden 
 Field, under the command of the Black Knight, who won his 
 spurs that day. This emblazonment is now placed in one of 
 the side windows of the chancel, a situation where it certainly 
 is more likely to be preserved than in its former one. There 
 was not then an organ in the singer's gallery ; a tall arch, 
 with zig-zag tracery, sprung from antique pillars at the base 
 of the steeple, and spanned high above the heads of choristers 
 and musicians. A large and bold emblazonment of the Eoyal 
 arms, with the initials " A. E." at the two upper corners, and 
 the motto, " Semper eadem," at the bottom, hung in front of 
 the singers' gallery. On the walls betwixt the aisles hung 
 several large tablets containing lists of benefactions to the 
 poor, which have recently been removed to more fitting places. 
 The font then stood beneath the said gallery : the pulpit, a 
 plain oaken one, was placed against the centre pillar on the 
 north side of the middle aisle ; and the congregation, as I 
 before said, were arranged on seats, their feet in the rushes ; 
 and neither hassocks, nor foot-boards, nor lolling cushions,, 
 were then deemed indispensable to a becoming discharge of 
 religious duties. The galleries, on neither side, would pro- 
 bably then be placed ; nor would that piece of gim-crackery,
 
 MIDDLE TON. 43 
 
 the painted and pannelled pew, be stuck out above, more like 
 a garish ball-room than a place for repentance and humilia- 
 tion. But this has also passed away. 
 
 Outside of the yard wall, towards the north, stood an old 
 thatched timber and daub house, which one entered down a 
 step, through a strong low door with a wooden latch. This 
 was " Old Joe Wellins's," the church alehouse, a place par- 
 ticularly resorted to by rough fellows when they had a mind 
 to a private drinking bout. The sacred edifice itself is dedi- 
 cated to Saint Leonard, the patron of thieves, and whether 
 or not thieves and outlaws felt more assured than common 
 under the wing, as it were, of their saint, it was a current tra- 
 dition in my younger days, that more than one of " the gentle- 
 men roadsters " who lived by levying contributions on the 
 northern highways, made it his "boozing ken," or place of 
 concealment and repose after their foraging expeditions : 
 Nevison and Turpin were especially mentioned as having 
 frequented this house. When this old building was pulled 
 down several curious antique coins were found ; of what date 
 no one who saw them could tell. On the other side of the 
 church, the space which is now occupied as a burial-ground, 
 was a large and excellent bowling-green, which was much fre- 
 quented by the idle fellows of the village, who preferred ale- 
 bibbing in the sun before confinement on the loom or at the 
 lap-stone. At last it was broken up and the games put a stop 
 to, chiefly, it was said, because the late steward under the Suf- 
 fields could not, when he resorted to the place, overawe, or 
 keep the rustic frequenters in such respectful bounds as he 
 wished to do : and from this statement I cannot withhold my 
 belief ; for it was just such an action as those who knew him 
 would expect from the man. 
 
 The bridge over the Irk, at Back-o'th'-Brow, was a wooden 
 one with hand rails. On the other side of the stream, on the 
 right hand, were three or four thatched cottages, in the usual 
 style; a barn and shippon stood on the left; whilst the Irk itself, 
 then a stream like crystal, rippled and dimpled away over a 
 channel of smooth sand beds, and dark gravel mingled with 
 white pebbles which, like drops of unmelted snow, lay shim-
 
 44 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 mering beneath the ripples. Trout were to be found then in 
 the dark old stockholes, where the water was deep and quiet ; 
 and loaches lay basking and wallowing their green backs 
 scarcely distinguishable from the dark pebbles. 
 
 Owler Bridge, which a little further eastward crosses another 
 branch of the Irk, was to be much dreaded. The field along 
 which the path lay betwixt Back-o'th'-Brow and Owler Bridge, 
 was said to be thronged by spirits, whilst " fairees " were fre- 
 quently seen dancing and gambolling on the bridge, and the 
 bank of the stream on either side. Woe to the wight or the 
 wean, who had to pass that way on a starless windy night ! 
 My father, when a boy, went to take lessons from a wise-man 
 at Hilton-fold, and consequently he had to traverse the haunted 
 field, and to pass the perilous bridge ; but he seldom forgot 
 to hum a psalm or hymn tune whilst on his way. It was 
 rumoured that a murder had been committed in that field, and 
 if a strange looking bone was found, it was supposed to have been 
 one belonging to the murdered person. A dreaded place was that. 
 
 The Free Grammar School was also a haunted place. The 
 endowment, for those days, was liberal, and the establishment 
 possessed an extensive reputation. Gentlemen's sons, from 
 many parts of the country, were sent to Middleton to receive 
 their education preparatory to going to college. Some, around 
 the neighbourhood, came to school on ponies, which in summer 
 time they turned into the paddock opposite the school, until at 
 night they were again mounted to return home. Some of these 
 youths were wild and reckless, no doubt ; and others were said 
 to be more " deeply learned " than the master supposed them 
 to be. On one occasion when they had the school to them- 
 selves, they set about raising the devil ; and after a due course 
 of conjuration the " dark being " appeared, and stamping a 
 hole into a flag with his foot — the mark of which was 
 shown in my days — he asked what they wanted. The con- 
 jurers, being terrified, wished him to retire as quietly as he 
 came, but that he would not do, so they then demanded that 
 he should make a rope out of the sand which lay in the sand- 
 bed at the foot of the church-bank, and he was busy at the 
 work, when the head master fortunately came, and with the
 
 MIDDLE TON. 45 
 
 highest ceremonial dismissed him and saved the scholars 
 whom he fain would have taken, whereupon he became so 
 enraged, that he flew away in a flash of fire, breaking down 
 an entire window, and part of the wall of the school. The 
 school was conducted by a head master and an usher ; the 
 former generally teaching at the northern end, and the latter 
 at the southern one. It was also customary for each to reside 
 in a spacious chamber over the part of the school in which he 
 taught, to which chamber access was gained up a flight of 
 wooden stairs, by a door at the back, and through a dark place 
 with which the scholars were wont to associate many super- 
 stitious terrors. One of these head masters was a Mr. Dean, 
 a curate, who on a certain day, as the story narrated, on en- 
 tering his room at the noon-hour of dismissal, met a clergyman 
 in full canonicals, with a book open in his hand as if he were 
 going to read a funeral service. The appearance passed Mr. 
 Dean, who, in great surprise, turned and looked at it. It went 
 out at the door, and apparently towards the stairs, but on Mr. 
 Dean's returning to watch it down, it was not to be seen, nor 
 could anything whatever be heard of any such person having 
 been seen by others about the place. Mr. Dean took it as a 
 warning to himself, and soon afterwards he sickened and died. 
 The school-lane was also haunted by an apparition which came 
 sometimes in one form, and sometimes in another. Two men, 
 it was said, of adverse parties met here during the Civil 
 Wars, when one killed the other, and the deceased's spirit 
 had ever since haunted the place. 
 
 StanicHffe was frequented by a demon which has but very 
 recently quitted his haunt. At an old gloomy looking house, 
 — partly of timber and partly of brick work, — situated on the 
 brow of the hill, and looking, as it were, over the rindle 
 towards Boarshaw, lived, during the Civil Wars, one of the 
 Hopwood retainers, named Blomoley. He would seem to 
 have been a man of ferocious disposition, since his name has 
 been handed down in traditions, the fearfulness of which time 
 has not diminished. Several men he was said to have wan- 
 tonly put to death with his own hand, during those lawless 
 periods ; one he shot on his farm yard, and the bullet, after
 
 46 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 quitting the man's body, passed through two of his own barn 
 doors. Ever after, until a comparatively recent date, the house 
 and premises he occupied were haunted by "fyerin" (boggarts 
 or apparitions) which came sometimes in the form of a calf, 
 sometimes in that of a huge black dog, and sometimes in the 
 human form, but hideous and terrible. A heavy nailed door, 
 which was hung in such a manner that it shut to with violence, 
 would at times open of itself before a stranger, or one of the 
 family. A dog, or a calf, would at times trot along the passage 
 before a person seeking admittance ; the door would open 
 wide ; the person would enter the dwelling part, but nothing 
 could be seen or heard of the mysterious appearance. At the 
 dead of night, sounds would be heard as if persons were hold- 
 ing a conversation in whispers ; doleful cries would break forth, 
 or a crash would resound as if every piece of crockery in the 
 dweUing was broken, when, in the morning, everything would 
 be found in its place. I am not saying that I credit these ac- 
 counts, but they were certainly narrated to me by one who had 
 lived in the building during many years : one who could not 
 gain anything by stating that which he did not believe to be 
 true ; and whose account was furthermore subsequently cor- 
 roborated by another of the same family. It was even added, 
 and confirmed in like manner, that other members of the 
 family, besides the narrator, whilst sitting by the fire at night, 
 had seen the cream-mug, or the drink bottle, move from the 
 hearth to the hob, or from the hob to the hearth, without any 
 visible being touching the vessels. Other things in the house 
 were also frequently shifted, but nothing was ever broken; and 
 the noises, appearances, and displacements, at length became 
 so little thought of, that the common observation would be, 
 " Oh ! it's nobbut Owd Blomoley ; " or, " Th' owd lad's agate 
 agen." The house subsequently underwent some alteration, 
 and about fourteen years ago it was pulled down, and another 
 was rebuilt on its site ; since which time, I have not heard of 
 any disturbance at the place. The clough or dingle at the base 
 of the meadow on which the house stood, retains the name 
 of "Blomoley Cloof." 
 
 The noticing of these supposed supernatural appearances
 
 MIDDLE TON. 47 
 
 may seem puerile to some readers. The suppositions in them- 
 selves may be so ; but taken in connection with, and affecting 
 as they did, in a degree, the minds and manners of the rural 
 population of the period, they are of more consequence than 
 may at the first glance be apparent. At all events, in giving 
 an account of a place and its inhabitants in past times, one 
 cannot well refrain from alluding to whatever might have in- 
 fluenced their actions, any more than one can remain silent 
 with respect to the actions themselves. I will, therefore, once 
 for all mention, that but few of the lonely, out-of-the-way 
 places — the wells, the bye-paths, the dark old lanes, the 
 solitary houses — escaped the reputation of being haunted. 
 " Boggarts," " fyerin," " witches," " fairees," *' clap-cans," 
 and such like beings of terror, were supposed to be lurking in 
 almost every retired corner, or sombre-looking place ; whence 
 they come forth at their permitted hours, to enjoy their noc- 
 turnal freedom. EufQan Lane — the old road to Hopwood Hall 
 — was one of these haunted places : haunted once, as its name 
 would purport, by less harmless beings than "boggarts." Afoot- 
 path, leading through certain fields belonging to the " Black 
 Bull" public-house, was notoriously the resort of "fyerin' 
 (spirits) : and here, indeed, there was reason to be shown why 
 it should be so, since that ominous and awe-creating plant, 
 Saint John's Wort, grew there in its pale, feathery pride. The 
 present road — then a retired one, and overshadowed by a tall 
 hedge and spreading trees — which leads from the bottom of 
 Church Street to the Free School, was then nightly traversed 
 by the appearance of a large four-footed animal, sometimes in 
 the likeness of a dog or a bear, with great glaring eyes ; at 
 other times it would start up like a beautiful child, and moving 
 before to a certain place, would disappear. The churchyard 
 could not, of course, be free from supernatural appearances ; 
 and of the few who ventured through it after night-fall — the 
 road then leading that way — not many left it whose hair was 
 not standing on end. The path leading from the southern 
 steps of the churchyard, down to the " Gypsy Croft " and the 
 highway, was another haunt of these appearances ; whilst the 
 solitary footpath, which led from the same steps along the
 
 48 EABLY DAYS 
 
 Warren, beneath the tall elms and sycamores, past the lonely 
 smnmer-house, and down the wooded bank to the highway, 
 seems to have been a favom'ite promenade to the beings of 
 another world. 
 
 The Eectory was then an old irregular-looking edifice, built 
 partly of brick and partly of stone, with a moat around it, 
 and shot holes in the walls for musketry or cross-bows. The 
 present unsightly brick wall, fronting the highway, was not 
 then in existence. In place of it was a green sod rampart, 
 planted with hawthorns and hedge-shrubs, which were pro- 
 tected by a low neat palisading, so that passengers, whilst 
 walking under the beech trees, could enjoy a look at the fields, 
 and into the shrubberies skirting the garden. Gentlemen in 
 those days were not afraid, it would seem, of the poor man or 
 woman enjoying a look through their hedges, nor catching a 
 sweet wind-waft of their rosebuds, or apple-bloom, as they 
 travelled the droughty dusty high-road. 
 
 The old Hall was perhaps one of the finest relics of the sort 
 in the county. It was built of plaster and framework, with 
 panels, carvings, and massy beams of black oak, strong enough 
 for a mill floor. The yard was entered through a low wicket, 
 at a ponderous gate ; the interior of the yard was laid with 
 small diamond-shaped flags ; a door led on the left into a large 
 and lofty hall, which was hung round with matchlocks, swords, 
 targets, and hunting weapons, intermingled with trophies of 
 the battle-field and the chase. But all disappeared before the 
 spirit of Vandalism which commenced with the Harboard 
 accession to the property, and their transference of power to 
 one whose chief thought seemed to be how he might by any 
 means increase the amount of remittances to his employer. 
 Not a vestige of the edifice now remains. The exact site is at 
 present unoccupied, but is understood to be let for the erection 
 of a cotton-mill. A couple of factories and a gasworks are 
 already close to the spot. The great oaken barn, before men- 
 tioned, and a cottage or two, and a remnant of the stabling, 
 are the only vestiges remaining on the place. And so passes 
 the vain stability of this world. 
 
 Having thus, as it were, led the reader, not only into the
 
 MIDDLETON. 49 
 
 presence of my later ancestors, but also into the country 
 which they inhabited, giving him ghmpses of the manners 
 legends, and superstitions of those days, and thereby enabhns 
 him to perceive the great change which has come over the 
 inhabitants of these parts, as well as over the country itself— 
 having thus, in a measure, discharged a duty to some who are 
 no more, and to scenes and things which have departed with 
 them, I may, with a less divided retrospection, take up the 
 narrative of my own life, and to that task-craving the reader's 
 kind indulgence— I now address myself. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTE3 IV. 
 
 EARLY IMPRESSIONS — MIDDLETON REFORMERS — MEETING AT 
 ROYTON — DENIAL OF JUSTICE. 
 
 Many of the earliest of my impressions were calculated to 
 make me feel, and think, and reflect, and thus I became, 
 imperceptibly, as it were, and amidst all the exuberant 
 lightsomeness of childhood, impressible and observant. 
 The notice I took of my mother's anguish and her tears (as 
 before mentioned), whilst it made me hateful of all wrong — 
 hateful so far as my young heart could be so — disposed me, at 
 the same time, to be pitiful towards all suffering. It was the 
 means of calling into action two of the strongest and most 
 durable impulses of my heart — justice and mercy. Hence I 
 was, in my infantile degree, a friend to every living being that 
 suffered wrong, and an enemy to, or rather a disliker of, every 
 living being that inflicted it. The cause of the unfortunate 
 was mine own cause, from that of the crushed worm, which I 
 put aside from my path, to that of the more noble animals, the 
 dog, the steer, and the horse, when they suffered outrage at 
 the hand of ruthless man. Everything which could not plead 
 its own cause had a pleader in my heart. The horse had an 
 especial one, inasmuch, probably, as whatever pain he might 
 suffer, the expression of it was almost denied to him. The 
 dog could howl, the steer could bellow, but the noble horse 
 was mutely endurant ; and these impulses, notwithstanding 
 all that reason, and convenience, and necessity, as we term 
 our palliatives, have at times suggested, and would still 
 suggest, I never could put aside, never could subdue. So iu
 
 EABLY IMPRESSIONS. 51 
 
 this instance again, " Out of the eater came forth meat " ; out 
 of the evil came forth goodness. 
 
 The first book which attracted my particular notice was 
 " The Pilgrim's Progress," with rude woodcuts ; it excited 
 my curiosity in an extraordinary degree. There was "Chris- 
 tian knocking at the strait gate," his " fight with Apollyon," 
 his "passing near the lions," his "escape from Giant Despair," 
 his perils at "Vanity Fair," his arrival in "the land of Beulah," 
 and his final passage to " Eternal Eest " ; all these were matters 
 for the exercise of my feeling and my imagination. And then, 
 when it was explained to me, as it was by my mother and my 
 sister, how that Christian was a godly man, who left his wife, 
 and his children, and all he had in the world, to go forth and 
 seek the blessed land afar off; and that, through many trials, 
 and perils, and hardships, he arrived at that land, and entered 
 another life, never to return; that his wife and family, in 
 hopes of joining him, also left their home and journeyed the 
 same weary and perilous way, my heart was filled with pleasing, 
 yet melancholy impressions. The whole pilgrimage was to me 
 a story mournfully soothing, like that of a light coming from 
 an eclipsed sun. 
 
 Others of my early impressions were also of a saddening 
 nature, and I mention them, not because I would be under- 
 stood to have been less joyous and playsome than were other 
 children of my age — for I was probably quite as much so as 
 the generality of my playmates were — but because, with me, 
 the bright moments are but dimly remembered now, whilst the 
 more sombre impressions remain distinctly present as I now 
 write. The reader, however, need not be afraid of my drawing 
 a totally darksome picture ; there may be some strong clouding 
 nere and there. There must be if truth and nature are adhered 
 to, and from them we assuredly will not depart. 
 
 And now came to myself and my childish playmates strange 
 and alarming rumours of a dreadful war. " The war," we 
 heard, was coming afar off; the French people were bringing 
 it, and "the war" would come to Middleton, and kill all the 
 fathers, and mothers, and children that it could find. This 
 was a sad prospect to me, and I pondered it over until I hit
 
 52 EABLY DAYS 
 
 on a scheme which I thought would avert the danger. This 
 was that I and all our family, at least, should hide in the 
 wooden coal-shed at the Free Grammar School, and there I 
 was quite certain " the war " could never find us. 
 
 One incident of my childhood will serve to show the sort of 
 daily, fireside education which my parents bestowed on their 
 children. I mention it to their honour, and not from a wish 
 to claim any precocity of intellect, which indeed I did not 
 possess. I was probably about three years of age when some 
 one made me a present of a little tin can, as a plaything, and 
 to sup my porridge and milk from. I slept with Sally Owen, 
 a young woman who, having been left an orphan and brought 
 up in my grandfather's family, was now living more as a sister 
 than as a servant with my uncle Thomas. Well, this little 
 tin can nothing could prevail on me to part from, and I was 
 allowed to take it with me to bed. Probably Sally Owen would 
 find it a rather sharp article to turn upon at night. However 
 that were, when I awoke in the morning Sally Owen was gone, 
 and my little bright plaything was gone also. I then cried 
 out, and when the kind-hearted creature came to the bedside, 
 I learned from her replies that she had taken my can, and that 
 if I was not a good boy I must not have it any more. So, 
 looking in her face, I said, " Sally, whot dus Katekiss say?" 
 " Say? why wot dus it say? " asked Sally. " Dus it no say, 
 thou shalt not steal?" "Aye, it dus," replied Sally, "an' 
 wotbi that?" " Well, then," was my rejoinder, "thou shalt 
 not steal my little can." Her tender eyes were brimming full ; 
 she snatched me out of bed, gave me my little can, and took 
 me to my mother, who also shed tears of joy when she heard 
 what I had said. " Oh ! " she would sometimes ejaculate, 
 " theaw shud habin kess'nt Jeffrey or Daniel." 
 
 My father, as before stated, was a reader, and amongst 
 other books which he now read was Paine's " Eights of Man." 
 He also read Paine's " Age of Eeason," and his other theolo- 
 gical works, but they made not the least alteration in his 
 religious opinions. Both he and my uncle had left the society 
 of Methodists, but to the doctrines of John Wesley they con- 
 tinued adherents so long as they lived. At the commencement 
 
 i 
 
 I
 
 MIDDLETON BEFOBMEES. 53 
 
 of the French Eevolution a small band only of readers and 
 inquirers after truth was to be found in Middleton. They 
 were called "Jacobins " and " Painites," and were treated with 
 much obloquy by such of their bigoted neighbours as could not 
 or would not understand that other truths existed in the world 
 than " were dreamt of in their philosophy." This band of 
 thinkers included Edmund Johnson, a druggist and apothe- 
 cary ; Jacob Johnson, his brother, a weaver and herb doctor ; 
 Simeon Johnson, another brother, weaver ; Samuel Ogden, 
 shoemaker ; Thomas Bamford, my uncle ; and Daniel, my 
 father. They met at each other's houses to read such of the 
 current publications as their small means allowed them to 
 obtain, and to converse on the affairs of the nation, and other 
 political subjects. They were also supporters of Parliamentary 
 Eeform, as it was then advocated by the Duke of Eichmond, 
 Mr. Pitt, and other distinguished characters. This notice will 
 explain the rancour which they had to endure, some traits of 
 which I shall proceed to describe. 
 
 One Middleton wakes, as I remember, I, a mere child, sat 
 on the steps of my father's dwelling, watching the holiday 
 folks draw their rush-carts towards the church. They went 
 close past our door ; very grand and gaudy the drawers and 
 carts were, with ribbons, and streamers, and banners, and 
 garlands, and silver ornaments, and morrice bells, and other 
 music, quite joyous and delightful. At length came a cart 
 more richly decked than others, on the flake of which behind 
 was placed the figure of a man, which I thought was a real 
 living being. A rabble which followed the cart kept throwing 
 stones at the figure, and shouting, " Tum Paine a Jacobin ! " 
 "Tum Paine a thief ! " " Deawn wi' o' th' Jacobins! " " Deawn 
 wi' th' Painites ! " whilst others with guns and pistols kept 
 discharging them at the figure. They took care to stop when 
 they came to the residence of a reformer ; the shouting and the 
 firing were renewed, and then they moved on. Poor Paine 
 was thus shot in effigy on Saturday, repaired, re-embellished, 
 and again set upright on Sunday, and " murdered out-and-out " 
 on Monday, being again riddled with shot, and finally burned. 
 I, of course, became a friend of Thomas Paine's. Such was
 
 54 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 one of the modes of annoyance and persecution to which the 
 few who dared be honest were subjected by the sires and 
 grandsires of the present race of reforming Englishmen. But 
 this was perfect amenity compared with what took place at 
 Boy ton. 
 
 That village was in those days looked upon as the chief 
 resort of Jacobins on that side of Manchester. A few clever, 
 sensible men lived there also, as well as at Middleton, but 
 those of Eoyton would seem to have taken more active measures 
 for the promotion of reform than did others living in the neigh- 
 bouring districts. I well remember, in the dolorous days of 
 ninety-two, or three, a small band from Eoyton perambulating 
 our secluded nook of the town, and singing a piece, one verse 
 of which was as follows : — 
 
 •» Our masters play us roguish pranks ; 
 Our bankrupt bankers close their banks ; 
 Wliich makes our wives and children cry. 
 But times shall alter by and by." 
 
 One forenoon we were alarmed by the appearance of men 
 armed with thick cudgels and bludgeons, who passed by our 
 house in groups, swearing and threatening what they would 
 do at the " Painites" when they returned. They came from 
 Eingley and Eadcliffe, and other places ; desperate and ruthless 
 men they seemed, and we children were so terrified that we 
 crept into the hen-roost as a place of the greatest safety. 
 Many eventful hours of anxious expectation succeeded ; my 
 father did not remove his family, but I believe he made pre- 
 parations for self-defence if attacked. The ruffians, however, 
 returned past our house without offering any serious molesta- 
 tion, my father not being a man slightly to be put aside ; my 
 uncle also being at hand. Not so, however, did the scoundrels 
 withhold from poor Samuel Ogden ; for there they broke open 
 his door, pulled him out of the house, broke his windows and 
 some furniture, and maltreated his person ; for none of which 
 outrages did the law ever afford him any satisfaction. The 
 occasion on which these brutes were let loose in the country, 
 was as follows.
 
 MEETING AT BOYTON. 55 
 
 On the 21st of April, 1794, a public meeting, for the pro- 
 motion of Parliamentary Eeform, was appointed to be held 
 at Thorpe, near Eoyton. It was called by a few friends to 
 reform who were correspondents of the society in London ; * 
 and the purpose of the originators of the meeting was to get 
 a petition adopted, praying Parliament to grant an amend- 
 ment in the representation of the people. Previous to the 
 commencement of the proceedings, a number of well-wishers 
 to the cause, who had come from a distance, together with 
 several promoters of the meeting, were assembled at " The 
 Light Horseman " public-house, in Eoyton Lane. They were 
 taking refreshments, and arranging the proceedings, when a mob 
 of several hundred people, led up by one Harrop, of Barrow- 
 shaw, an atrocious ruffian, came in front of the house, and 
 with shouts of " Church an' King for ever ! " " Deawn wi' th' 
 Jacobins ! " began to smash the windows, and break open the 
 doors. As many of the mob were armed with clubs and 
 staves, and there was a supply of stones in the lane, the few 
 inside could neither make effectual resistance to their 
 entrance, nor defend themselves from violence. The mob 
 broke everything down before them. The windows were 
 smashed ; the doors and shutters were kicked into splinters. 
 The loyal sign of the old pensioner was torn down ; every 
 article of furniture was broken ; the glasses, jugs, and other 
 vessels, were dashed on the floor, and trampled under foot ; 
 the bar was gutted ; the cellars were entered, and the ale and 
 hquors were drunk or poured on the floor ; and such being 
 the violence committed on the property, it may be supposed 
 that the obnoxious persons would not be suffered to escape. 
 Oh, no ! — this was a real " Church and King mob," and was 
 too faithful to its employers to suffer the " Painites " to escape 
 without punishment. Whilst some of the brutes were 
 guzzhng, and others were breaking furniture, others again 
 were beating, and kicking, and maltreating in various ways 
 the persons found in the house. Several of these were lamed ; 
 others were seriously crushed and injured in their persons. 
 
 * The Corresponding Society formed in 1792 for the promotion of 
 ParUamentary Beform.
 
 56 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 The constables of the place had been called upon by the 
 peaceably disposed inhabitants to act, but they declined to 
 interfere, and the mob had their own way. Mr. Pickford, of 
 Eoyton Hall, a magistrate, never made his appearance, though 
 he lived within a few score yards of the scene of riot, and was 
 supposed to have been at home all the time during which the 
 outrage was perpetrated. He was afterwards known as Sir 
 Joseph Eatcliffe, of Milnes Brig, in Yorkshire. Such of the 
 Eeformers as had the good fortune to escape out of the house, 
 ran for their lives, and sought hiding-places wherever they 
 could be found ; whilst the parson of the place, whose name 
 was Berry, standing on an elevated situation, pointed them 
 out to the mob, saying — "There goes one; and there goes 
 one ! " " That's a Jacobin ; that's another ! " and so continued 
 until his services were no longer effectual. A few stout- 
 hearted reformers who had possession of one part of the 
 house would not be beaten like children ; they retahated 
 blow for blow, and kick for kick, until the cowards who 
 assailed them were fain to pause. The strife outside was then 
 nearly over, and these few reformers consented, at length, to 
 go with their assailants before the magistrate above mentioned. 
 About half a score of reformers, in the whole, were conducted 
 as prisoners to Eoyton Hall, where they were placed in a 
 stable, and treated with every contumely, until the great man 
 was ready to receive them. They were then shown into his 
 presence, and were ultimately held in bail to appear at 
 Lancaster, to answer a charge of rioting. At the August 
 assizes, the case was traversed ; and in the spring assizes of 
 1795, the Grand Jury having " found a true bill," the 
 " rioters " were arraigned; but as the fourth witness for the 
 prosecution was under examination, the judge stopped the 
 trial, and the defendants were discharged. The reformers 
 caused bills of indictment to be presented to the Grand 
 Jury, against a number of the real rioters ; but, as in the 
 case of the later affair in Manchester, the same Grand 
 Jury which could find true bills against the unoffending 
 people, could not find any bills against the guilty parties. 
 The persons who had been so shamefully maltreated could
 
 DENIAL OF JUSTICE. 57 
 
 not obtain any redress at law; even the poor old soldier, 
 whose house had been broken into and plundered in open sun- 
 light, never received compensation. Everything he had in the 
 world was destroyed or carried away ; he was a ruined man, 
 and a ruined man he remained to the end of his days. 
 Such was a specimen of " Justice of the Peace " justicing, of 
 "Church and King Parsons" parsoning; and of "Grand 
 Juries " jurying, in the blessed times of 1794 ! With such an 
 example as this on the records of the county, need we wonder 
 at what took place in 1819 ?
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 " straight is the lane that has never a turning : 
 Long is the joy that has never a mourning." 
 
 It must have been when I was in the sixth year of my age, 
 that one day as I was rolhng on the floor with my younger 
 brother and sister, we were surprised and checked by the 
 appearance of a good-looking, fresh complexioned gentleman, 
 who asked for my father. My mother respectfully attended 
 on the visitor, and my father was called up from his loom in 
 the cellar where he was at work. My father, my mother, and 
 the gentleman had some conversation, after which my father 
 put on his better coat and hat, and went out with the gentle- 
 man to the place, as I have since understood, where his horse 
 was put up. My father returned, after being absent a short 
 time, and I recollect well, having noticed a change in the look 
 and manner of both my parents, my mother frequently ap- 
 plying her apron to her eyes, whilst my father was quite 
 cheerful. The visitor who had caused this change was one of 
 the churchwardens for the township of Manchester, and his 
 business at our house was to induce my father to undertake the 
 management of a manufactory of cotton goods at the work- 
 house for that township. The terms offered were such as my 
 father accepted, and on a day appointed, after appearing 
 before the board of parish officers, and being by them approved 
 of, the agreement was ratified, and my father thence-forward 
 applied sedulously to his new avocation, sleeping at the work- 
 house, boarding at the governor's table, during the week days, 
 and spending his Saturday evenings and his Sundays with his 
 family at home. He must have discharged the duties of his
 
 UNCLE THOMAS. 59 
 
 office in a manner which gave satisfaction, inasmuch as some- 
 time after his appointment, he became governor of the work- 
 house, and my mother governess ; my uncle Thomas at the 
 same time being appointed to succeed my father in the manu- 
 factory. 
 
 And now, with respect to that beloved relation, let me say a 
 word. He was to all the children of his brother a second 
 father, whilst to their father he was a true brother indeed. A 
 provident counsellor in adversity, what his head advised his 
 hand would assist to effect. In temper he was equable and 
 calm ; steadfast in purpose, and unbendingly upright in his 
 dealings. His religion was that of a devout, but unostenta- 
 tious Christian, and his outward ceremonial of it was that of 
 John Wesley. In stature he was tall, and of a powerful 
 solidity, whilst the clothed appearance of his person and 
 limbs, indicated symmetry united with the fastness of great 
 strength. His features were such as are generally deemed 
 handsome, their expression was indicative of a calm, thought- 
 ful, and benevolent mind. His complexion was that of raven 
 dark ; and his black glossy hair hung slightly curling over the 
 front of his shoulders. Eeader, hast thou ever beheld a half- 
 length " Salvator Mundi," by Bartolozzi ? If thou hast — and 
 deem me not impious, for the engraving itself is but the idea 
 of a human genius — if thou hast seen such engraving, then hast 
 thou beheld as good a likeness as could be drawn of the 
 features of my ever-dear uncle Thomas. And, with such a 
 wife as I have described my mother to be ; with such a 
 brother as this, and with five healthy, joysome children, did 
 my father wend his way from Middleton, and take up his 
 abode in his new situation at Manchester. 
 
 This was to us a vast and surprising change in life. At our 
 little country home, everything was conducted in that plain 
 thrifty way, by means of which a good house-wife renders her 
 cottage so comfortable, and her family so well provided, out 
 of comparatively very small incomings. Our fare was of the 
 simplest kind, and far from profuse, whilst our clothing, 
 though cleanly and well mended, was such as would raise a 
 smile amongst the mothers of these days ; big boys, as well as
 
 60 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 big girls, very frequently wearing their infantile skirts until 
 they became kilts, and those too not of the longest. Then, 
 in summer days, we spent much of our time out of doors, 
 digging holes in the sand, or making little gardens and houses 
 in the hollows amongst the fern, or on the green banks of the 
 Irk where the sweet willows, and the hazels, and gorses 
 formed natural harbours, sheltering us from the passing 
 showers. Or we would form wading parties, and a dozen of 
 us together, big girls and boys, taking the little ones on our 
 backs, would thus go wading up the stream, maybe laying 
 hold of a trout now and then, or bringing up a few loaches : 
 or we would go a bird-nesting, or a moss-gathering, to deck 
 our peace-egg baskets ; or a primrose-plucking towards Little- 
 green and " Owd Hall-cloof," until, when we turned home — 
 our cheeks brown and ruddy, bare-footed, bare-legged, bare- 
 headed, and bare-necked — our milk and bread, or our meal of 
 solid dumpling, was, to us, a repast so entirely delicious, that 
 of anything more excellent we could not form an idea. Then 
 in schooling, I learned the alphabet from my father at his 
 loom ; I afterwards went a short time to the parish clerk at the 
 Free School, but I learned not anything there ; I was not, at that 
 age, quick at imbibing instruction. On Sundays I went with 
 the bigger children to the chapel school, which was next door 
 to our house, until another was built on the road to Boarshaw, 
 but neither did I profit by my Sunday tuition. On Sunday 
 evenings we often sang hymns ; and we always said our 
 prayers before going to bed. At meals my father never 
 omitted asking a blessing before we partook the food, nor did 
 he omit returning thanks afterwards. Bending reverently 
 forward, and with his hands clasped, he would say, " Merciful 
 God ! bless this food to our temporal use, and sanctify our- 
 selves to Thy service, for Christ's sake." In returning thanks 
 he would say, " Lord ! for the blessing we have received at 
 Thy hands, accept our thanks, for Christ's sake." And these 
 devout customs were continued so long as the family remained 
 together. 
 
 But now we had entered a far different &cene of hfe. My 
 parents and the younger part of the family removed first to
 
 MY FIBST JOUBNEY. 61 
 
 Manchester, leaving myself and a brother at Middleton until 
 some clothes which the tailor was making were finished. In 
 a few days my father came for us, and leading me by the 
 hand, I went trotting by his side, full of busy imaginings, and 
 asking all kinds of questions about " the great town," and 
 " the big house," I was going to live at. The sound of the 
 old church * bell came booming through the closing day, as 
 we hastened across Smedley fields ; and I thought I never 
 heard so deep a tone in all my life. Next we passed over 
 " The Butter-style," and turned on our left, a vast gloom 
 darkening before us as we advanced. Then we heard the 
 rumbling of wheels, and the clang of hammers, and a hubbub 
 of confused sounds from workshops and manufactories. As 
 we approached the " Mile-house," human shouts and cries in 
 the streets became distinguishable ; and on the top of Eed 
 Bank, the glare of many lights, and faint outlines of buildings 
 in a noisy chaos below, told us we beheld Manchester. We 
 descended the hill, and the lamps which were burning in the 
 Mill-gate excited my attention, whilst the huge pile of the old 
 church — blackest amidst the blackness — inspired me with 
 feelings of disquietude and wonder. The Irwell darkly rolled 
 towards our feet, whilst, on our right, the walls and pinnacles 
 of the old Baron's Hall t were dimly visible ; and before us, 
 washing the base of the ancient edifice, hurried another stream ; 
 my father, pointing towards it, told us it was the same which 
 whimpled so brightly and merrily past our door at Middleton. 
 I looked over the battlement, wishing to behold it as I would 
 a dear companion, but it was lost in the darkness, and a 
 slight murmur was the only response to my fond regret. After 
 proceeding a short distance, we began to ascend a brow. My 
 father knocked at a gate ; a bolt was presently shot back, and 
 we proceeded along a flagged walk, until we came to a flight 
 of steps, when my father opening a folding door, we entered 
 a large hall, flashing with light, and before we had time to 
 
 * The present Cathedral. 
 
 f Purchased in 1654 by the trustees of Humphrey Chetham, for the pur- 
 pose of founding the Chetham Hospital and Library.
 
 62 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 recover our surprise, my dear mother, my uncle, and the 
 children were enfolding us in their arms. 
 
 Here was a theatre for the active habits and kindly feelings 
 of my dear parents and my uncle. A new life, a confiding 
 spirit, was infused into the poor inmates. The men found 
 friendly advisers in all their difficulties and vexations, and 
 there were such even in this sheltering place. They found 
 also encouragers and assistants in the prosecution of every 
 good purpose, as well as power which would be obeyed in 
 whatever was right and necessary. The poor orphans, as well 
 as ourselves, had now a kind father, mother, and uncle ; the 
 sick were tenderly nursed and provided for ; the aged were 
 treated with indulgent regard, whilst the healthy were put to 
 useful employment, and continued at it day by day. My 
 mother's quick eye was everywhere ; her active step was un- 
 wearied ; no dust, or slop, or sluttishness, would she tolerate : 
 there was a place for everything, and everything would she 
 have in its place. Moving about in a morning in her skirted 
 bed-gown, the long sleeves turned up, and with her milk-white 
 mob-cap fringing the healthy bloom of her cheek, she enforced 
 activity and cleanliness in the servants, and nurses, and 
 attendants ; there was a movement to work whenever her 
 step approached; a stirring to industry, whenever her voice 
 was heard. 
 
 Thus everything being adjusted, and the routine of manage- 
 ment and subordination working in regularity, my parents 
 would probably hope that a long day of prosperity was before 
 them. Who can tell the fond anticipations in which they 
 would indulge ? Who could estimate the depth of gratitude 
 which in fervent thanks they would endeavour to express 
 towards " the Giver of all good?" He alone to whom those 
 thanks were addressed — He alone could know how truly 
 grateful were my poor parents for this gleam of prosperity. 
 But even now, the fiat which makes mute all joy had gone 
 forth. God would have His own when He would. The 
 death-smell was amongst us ; the doomed were moving towards 
 their unseen grave. 
 
 Several cases of virulent small-pox broke out amongst the
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 63 
 
 children of the house. My little sister Hannah, then in the 
 fourth year of her age, and as lovely a specimen of child-like 
 beauty as I ever beheld, took the disorder and died ; and in 
 twenty-eight days afterwards, my little brother James, then in 
 the second year of his age, followed her to eternity. A few 
 weeks only had passed, when my grandfather Battersby died, 
 at Middleton ; and we were mourning, after mourning, three 
 persons of our family and kindred having thus been called to 
 another world. But further trials were yet at hand. 
 
 My mother bore up like a Christian heroine ; my father 
 submitted in silent resignation ; whilst my uncle was probably 
 as much affected as any of the three. Weeks, however, wore 
 away, grief was mitigated, and tears were again almost dried, 
 when a female whose manners and conversation indicated that 
 she had seen better days, was announced to be ill of the fever. 
 Everything was done for her which good nursing and the 
 medical skill of those days could eiiect, but she continued to 
 get worse and her recovery becoming hopeless, she wished 
 some one to make prayer for her. My uncle, as humane as 
 he was trustful in God, knelt down by her beside, as had been 
 his wont in other cases, and prayed with a solemnity and feeling 
 which softened and comforted her heart, and she begged he 
 would visit her again before she died ; he did so, and with 
 thanks on her lips, and an assurance of a joyful hereafter, she 
 expired. In a few days my uncle became unwell ; his indis- 
 position increased; the strong man was prostrated by the 
 infecting disorder; and his last words were, "Hannah, I'm 
 coming ! Jimmy, I'm coming ! " 
 
 I slept in the same room with my uncle during the former 
 part of his illness, and I took the disorder, which was now 
 pronounced to be fever of a malignant kind, or what would be 
 called in these days, a typhus of the worst type. My mother 
 would nurse me herself as much as her other pressing duties 
 permitted ; at all events, she was determined that I should 
 not suffer from want of attendance during the night, and she 
 had me removed to her own room and her own bed, my father 
 going to sleep in another apartment. She was tenderly 
 assiduous, nursing me as a dove would its young; but I
 
 64 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 sank and sank, until at last consciousness departed and I 
 knew no more. How long I remained in this condition I have 
 no knowledge, but it must have been during a considerable 
 time, probably a week or two ; and when consciousness 
 returned, I was in another bed in the same room, and my 
 mother was delirious and raving in her own bed beside 
 me. 
 
 Some days and nights passed in this manner, my mother at 
 times insensible, and at other times praying on behalf of 
 herself and family; my father also frequently knelt at her 
 bedside, praying God, "if it so pleased Him, to let this cup 
 pass away : nevertheless, not his will but God's be done." At 
 length, one night, as I recollect, my father, my brother, my 
 sister, and the nurses stood around my mother's bed. She 
 was conscious of her approEuehing end, and wished to take 
 leave of us all. That was a solemn time : she would have me 
 wrapt in blankets and brought to her. Every one was in tears. 
 My father besought God to sustain and comfort her now that 
 all human aid had failed ; and she invoked blessings on the 
 husband and children she was about to leave. As the nurse 
 held me I stretched out my arms towards my dying parent, 
 when, blessing me with a fervent blessing, she said I should 
 soon be better when she was gone. I remember no more of 
 this sad scene. My father went back to the bed from which 
 he had arisen to take this last farewell ; and the next thing 
 that I recollect was my awakening one night, and becoming 
 aware of a terrible stillness. I listened to hear my mother 
 breathing, or praying, but nothing could I hear, and I lay some 
 time in a state of sad foreboding. After gazing long in the 
 darkness, I thought I could perceive that the curtains of my 
 mother's bed were drawn back, and that something white and 
 perfectly still lay there, which I concluded was my mother's 
 corpse, and I began to cry. In a short time there was a light 
 in the next room, and a sound of feet, and doors were opened 
 and shut, and there was much passing and repassing, with the 
 clatter of tea-things ; and the persons began to talk, some of 
 them in a very cheerful strain ; and they seemed to be sitting 
 down to tea. I then called out and one or two came into the
 
 A LAST GLIMPSE. 65 
 
 room, and spoke comfortingly to me. They also wrapped me up 
 in blankets and carried me into the room they had come from, 
 and in passing my mother's bed I saw her lying dead and 
 covered with a sheet. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 LIVING BESIDE THE DEAD — A NUESE. 
 
 In the next room were the nurse and several women, with a 
 young man who, since the death of my uncle, had superin- 
 tended the manufactory. There was a good fire in the place ; 
 the kettle was on the hob, and they were preparing to have 
 " a comfortable cup of tea," with " something in it," previous 
 to washing and laying-out my mother's corpse. I was warmly 
 wrapped up, and placed in as easy a position as my weakness 
 would allow, in a two-armed chair by the fireside. This was 
 another trial to me; the time was midnight, or early morning; 
 the room was the one in which I had been accustomed to meet 
 my father, mother, uncle, and other members of our family. 
 It had been our household room, but none of our family were 
 now present ; the voices I heard, the faces I beheld, were 
 mostly those of strangers, and I felt a sense of loneliness such 
 as I never before experienced. The women, stout, hardy 
 working women, who had probably been early and late, toiling 
 in the dangerous task of attending the sick and dying, and 
 more especially my poor mother and father, partook of their 
 refection with a zest and a cheerfulness of conversation, which, 
 however natural it might be in persons of their situation, pre- 
 sented such a contrast to the silence of the other room, and 
 was so little in accordance with my present feelings, that I 
 burst into tears. The kind-hearted creatures no sooner saw 
 my distress than they did everything they could to console 
 me, telling me my mother was now happy, that my father 
 would soon be better, and that I should quickly be able to run 
 about again ; and so kind and assiduous were they in their
 
 LIVING BESIDE THE DEAD. 67 
 
 endeavours to mitigate my grief, that at length the feehng of 
 desolateness which had afflicted me passed away. I felt that 
 all friends were not yet lost to me. i thanked them with 
 renewed tears, and with expressions of trustful confidence ; 
 and after partaking their refreshment — which their hearty 
 enjoyment of it made me think must be very good — they put 
 me to bed in another room, and went to perform their neces- 
 sary offices to my mother's dead body. The funeral took 
 place on the day following at the old church ; and my father 
 was unconscious of her decease, being himself at the time in a 
 delirium of the fever. 
 
 As my mother had foretold, soon after her death I began 
 rapidly to recover, and my father being placed in the same 
 room with me, one nurse attended to both of us during the 
 night. This night-nurse was an elderly female, whose name 
 I will not mention, because, although during years and years 
 afterwards the very word inspired me with horror, it is the 
 distinctive appellation of many worthy persons. She was a 
 tall, brown, bony, hard-featured woman, with long tanned 
 arms, and wearing a dark dingy bed-gown, and with a profu- 
 sion of snuff on her face and on her soiled cap. She had a 
 callous and unfeeling way of performing whatever offices our 
 situation required ; and she was probably assigned to this 
 duty more from a belief of her capability to sustain it than 
 from any other qualification. At first the old hag was very 
 attentive, giving us our medicine, or wine, or whatever was 
 necessary, at their prescribed seasons ; soon, however, she 
 became neglectful, and somewhat rude, and my father being 
 delirious and incoherent at times, she over-awed and terrified 
 me. At length, one night as I remember, my father being in 
 his better mood, asked her to give him his wine ; she said 
 there was none, and when he questioned her as to what had 
 become of it, she straightway opened upon him a torrent of 
 oaths, curses, and abuse, such as I had never heard. She was 
 quite drunk, and he had the strength to tell her audibly that 
 she was " a vile woman"; whereupon she went raving mad, 
 and swore she would murder us both in our beds, and she 
 looked round the place, seemingly for a weapon with which to
 
 68 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 dash our brains out. I thereupon called as loudly as I could, 
 but it being midnight, and no one being awake in our part of 
 the house, it was a considerable time, or, at least, so it 
 seemed, before any person came to our assistance ; and during 
 that interval, the words, looks, and gestures of the old crone 
 were those of a perfect demoniac. She had drunk every drop 
 of the wine we should have had, and when at length the 
 desired help arrived, she was dragged out of the place, and 
 went blaspheming and yelling down the long corridors and 
 passages, doors closing after her one by one, until her bowlings 
 were no longer heard. 
 
 After this we had very good nurses, and though my father 
 had a crisis almost as perilous as myself had had, he at length 
 gradually recovered, and we both turned, as it were, though 
 wearily and feebly, into a world, oh ! how different from the 
 one we found on our first arrival at this once inviting, but now 
 dolorous place. Brother, sister, grandfather, uncle, mother, 
 five persons out of nine, parts, as it were, of our own being, 
 torn from us in the space of a few brief months. What a 
 change we felt ! What a void was around us — and what a 
 diminished and unsheltered group we seemed to be ! Surely 
 " the bitterness of death " is in the lonesome desolation of the 
 living; and this bitterness, notwithstanding my naturally 
 cheerful temper and all which kindness could do to console 
 me, was long my portion, until it began to be feared whetlier 
 or not I should ever be called from " the valley of the shadow 
 of eternity." We had our sympathisers, however, and though 
 they were of the humblest station of their race, their friend- 
 ship was probably not the least sincere, nor, consequently, 
 ought it to be the least regarded. When I got strong enough 
 to falter into the yard, I was surrounded by the pleased 
 countenances of children who accompanied me with every 
 demonstration of joy, singing at times a rude rhyme somewhat 
 like the following : — 
 
 " Here's a health to Daniel Bamford, 
 Who is so kind and true ; 
 When he gets better we'll write him a letter, 
 And send it to Middleton too.'
 
 A NVBSE. 69 
 
 The mature and elderly paupers also would stop, look at me 
 and walk away invoking blessings on " the poor motherless 
 boy." 
 
 When my father had completely recovered, he was grieved 
 that my mother had not been buried at Middleton, with her 
 children, as it was her expressed desire to be. He accordingly 
 took measures with a view to having her wish complied with, 
 but Doctor Ashton, who was at the time rector of Middleton 
 and warden of the Collegiate Church at Manchester, refused 
 to grant permission for the removal of her remains, alleging as 
 his reason — and that perhaps a proper one — that the infection 
 of which she died might be communicated to persons attending 
 the ceremony. She therefore remained in her grave, on the 
 north side of the steeple at the Collegiate Church, where my 
 father caused a stone to be placed, with a suitable inscription ; 
 but in the alterations which some years ago were made in the 
 churchyard, my mother's gravestone, like many others, dis- 
 appeared.
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 A NEW GOVERNESS : PLAYMATES — STRIKING CHARACTERS — 
 DIETARY. 
 
 Whilst my father was recovering from his illness, a new 
 governess was appointed in the place of my deceased mother. 
 She was the wife of a Mr. Eose, who had been recently 
 unfortunate in the grocery business. She was a tall, fat, 
 heavy-footed woman, about fifty years of age, I should think, 
 and had once, no doubt, been a fine-looking person. She was 
 well acquainted with all kinds of cookery, and was industrious 
 and managing enough in her way, but that way was quite a 
 different one from the simple housewifery of my mother. She 
 was, however, I believe, good at heart, since she was generally 
 kind and considerate towards us children, whose waywardness 
 at times would probably be quite sufficient to try even a 
 mother's temper, much more that of a mere friendly stranger. 
 "When her husband's affairs were arranged, he took the situa- 
 tion of schoolmaster in the house, and as such had his meals 
 at the governor's table with his wife, my father, the superin- 
 tendent of the manufactory, the apothecary or dispenser of 
 medicine, and sometimes the governor's three children. Mr. 
 Eose was a quiet, mild, elderly person, inclined to corpulence, 
 and apparently satisfied with an easy life. The dispenser of 
 medicine was a little cheerful old man, dressed in black, with 
 thin grey hairs on his head, a white cravat, and a dusting of 
 snuff on his waistcoat ; his walk was almost a kind of dance, 
 it was BO lightsome, and he went tripping round to his 
 patients, as he called them, every morning, with a small 
 saying or a cheerful word for every one. He was a native of
 
 A NEW GOVERNESS. 71 
 
 London, and had moved there in a respectable mercantile 
 sphere, but being suddenly ruined and abandoned by those on 
 whom he thought he had claims of gratitude, he left the place 
 in disgust of mankind, and almost of life, and having, scarcely 
 knowing how or why, wandered into Lancashire, he took a 
 humble situation in a tea warehouse at Manchester, when, his 
 health failing, he was transferred to the workhouse, and on 
 his recovery became the attendant on the physician, and a 
 kind of house apothecary, in which situation, having a small 
 salary and comfortable maintenance, the old gentleman seemed 
 to have become quite happy, and forgetful of his former condi- 
 tion, seldom indeed even alluding to it. The superintendent 
 of the manufactory was the young man I have before men- 
 tioned, a native of Middleton, and on his leaving after a short 
 stay, the place was filled by John Haworth, a native of the 
 Forest of Eossendale, who, having in the hey-day of his youth 
 enlisted into the dragoons, had spent the best part of his life 
 as a soldier in the Flanders wars. John was quite an original 
 in his way ; he was huge in stature, massively bony, with but 
 a small portion of fleshy texture to round off the sharp points 
 of his frame. He was very serious and staid in his manners, 
 superstitious in his notions about witches, apparitions, and 
 beings of another world, and equally sincere and credulous in 
 his religious opinions. Yet at times, when something very 
 adverse and unexpected amongst the workmen tried his 
 patience, he would rap out a round regimental oath, and as 
 instantly call it back, as it were, with a " Lord, help us ! " 
 " God, forgimmi ! " and then he seemed to suppose all was 
 right again. Poor John — he was a true specimen of the 
 fearless, sword-hewing English dragoon, engrafted on the 
 simple, credulous, ineradicable rusticity of the old Lancashire 
 moorlander before the hill-streams were poisoned by dye-vats, 
 and the valleys were studded with smoke funnels. Besides 
 the persons I have noticed who formed my father's more 
 immediate associates, he had a stout assistant also, who helped 
 him in the management of the lunatics, and the refractory 
 paupers, when there were any ; and who also brewed, and did 
 the other cellar and porter's work of the house ; so that on
 
 72 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 the governor's side there was no lack of power for coercion 
 when it was necessary, but that was seldom the case, except 
 with the unfortunate insane. 
 
 My father's health having been re-established, he resumed 
 the duties of his situation, and the management of the house 
 was carried on with regularity and mutual satisfaction betwixt 
 my father and the governess, who was very kind and atten- 
 tive to me. I continued in a weakly and a feeble state, and 
 that was probably the reason why I was more indulged than 
 I otherwise should have been, and certainly more than was 
 conducive to my quick recovery. I was allowed to run about 
 the place, almost when and where I chose, and I was not 
 long in selecting a few especial playmates from amongst the 
 pauper children. The big boys carried me on their backs ; 
 with the girls I played at ball, or at hide-and-seek, or the 
 old-fashioned game of " Blackthorne ; " and when a group 
 of girls came around me as I sat to recover breath, the con- 
 versation would often be allusive to my mother, and then to 
 parents generally, and next to such parents or relatives of the 
 children as had died, or had deserted them, or were unknown. 
 And thus we often chatted in our childish way until our young 
 hearts got too full, and, forgetful of our play, we sat in tears. 
 With these poor children I was an immense favourite ; a kind 
 of little brother to those who had none other in the world. 
 Besides, I always divided amongst them any trifle or choice 
 bit of delicacy which I happened to be pampered with at the 
 time. Pip Brown, who was my big horse, thus got my toasted 
 cheese ; Bill Jordan, who ran races, and leaped furthest, had 
 my buttered toast ; little Nelly, whose father had been 
 pressed and sent to sea, came in for my pie crust or my 
 currant dumpling ; whilst the pale and desolate-looking Alice, 
 who was always alone, and who had not a relation in the 
 world, was often cheered by my kind word, and was sure to 
 get a share of my custard or my plum cake. The women also 
 would confide to me some little message to Mrs. Eose when 
 they wanted a trifling favour : the old men would get me 
 to mention their being without clogs, or their want of a new 
 doublet for the winter time, whilst if any punishment was to
 
 STBIKING CHABACTEBS. 73 
 
 be inflicted, any penance undergone, I was ever a pleader for 
 the suffering party, and was often in some degree successful ; 
 I perceived that neither my father nor Mrs. Eose were dis- 
 pleased with my interference ; and I had, consequently, 
 friends in every part of the house. The old women would tell 
 me strange stories of ghosts and hobgoblins; the old men 
 narrated shipwrecks and battles, or they would chant the song 
 of the famous outlaw, how 
 
 " He blew so loud and shrill ; 
 Till a hundred and ten, 
 Of Kobin Hood's men, 
 Came tripping over the hill." 
 
 And I was quite delighted with the idea of a free life in " the 
 merrie green-wood." 
 
 Even amongst the lunatics, where I would sometimes pre- 
 vail upon the keeper to let me accompany him, unknown to 
 my father, I felt very little apprehension, and had several ac- 
 quaintance. Some who were fierce and dangerous towards 
 all others would permit me to approach them, and seemed 
 pleased by my confidence. Others would be entirely mollified 
 and disarmed of their frenzy by a trifling kindness, or a 
 soothing word ; and for such as these I generally had secreted 
 some little present, such as a pinch or two of snufi", a quid of 
 tobacco ; or for the women some female ornament, with a 
 word or two cf hope and persuasion that they would soon 
 return to their friends. Some were unmitigably mad, and 
 untamed as wild beasts ; and from these I was kept at a 
 proper distance. One who had been an extensive trader in 
 Manchester, but was ruined by gross dissipation, was loath- 
 some to behold, and frightful to hear ; whilst another, old 
 Sally T., whose sons were then in business, and have since 
 retired with princely fortunes, was invariably lamenting, and 
 shedding tears ; she was beyond the reach of consolation in 
 this world. But there was one who, having been once seen, 
 was not soon to be forgotten. She was a young girl, an Irish 
 girl I think, of perhaps seventeen years of age. Whilst her 
 features were of the most beautiful outline, her person appeared
 
 74 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 to be of faultless symmetry, and whilst her face and neck 
 were pale without a streak, her hair, which hung over her 
 bosom and shoulders, was black as jet ; her head, and the 
 upper part of her bust, were mostly bare ; and at first glance, 
 she looked like one who had come amongst us from some 
 unknown sphere — so strange, so unearthly, so hopeless, so 
 deathful, seemed the very life within her. Her features were 
 immovable as the marble from which they seemed to have 
 been chiselled. If pressed into a seat, she sat, if lifted to her 
 feet, she stood, mute and motionless from sunrise to simset 
 would she have so remained if permitted. No tear fell from 
 her eye, no sigh broke from her heart, no word escaped from 
 her lips, save once, and that was " Edward ! " the name of 
 him who had betrayed and abandoned her. The poor thing 
 lingered in this state some weeks, taking no food except when 
 compelled to do so. All the natural functions were suspended, 
 and at length the only indication of life which she had re- 
 tained ceased also, and she no longer breathed. 
 
 Amongst the harmless lunatics who were suffered to go 
 about the yards, was one who imagined himself to be the Duke 
 of York. My father rather humoured his innocent whim, and 
 he soon appeared in a cocked hat, and with various coloured 
 stripes and shreds on his shoulders and across his breast, to 
 the great amusement of the boys, whom he enlisted, and 
 formed into a regiment to conquer the French ; a business 
 almost as feasible and wise as some of those in which the real 
 Duke was at the same time engaged. Paddy Hamilton was 
 another lunatic, who, though not so entirely harmless as " the 
 Duke," was allowed the run of the yards. The boys used to 
 tease and irri*-ate him, when he would sometimes turn upon 
 and chase them, striking such as he caught unmercifully, 
 and as they durst not complain, for fear of further punishment, 
 my father was kept in ignorance of these proceedings. On 
 one of these occasions, the boys had teased the poor young 
 fellow until he seemed to have become all at once conscious 
 of his wretched condition, and instead of throwing stones, or 
 running after the children, he sat down on the edge of the 
 stone pump trough and burst into tears. We were all sur-
 
 DIETARY. 75 
 
 prised to see him sitting so quiet — for I was one of the party 
 — and on going near cautiously, we found him weeping 
 bitterly, and exclaiming, "Why did you do this, boys?" 
 " Oh, what did I do to you, that you thus ill-use me? " The 
 other lads stood around, some laughing, some inclined to be 
 sorry ; but as for me, my heart smote me instantly ; I felt 
 that I had been committing a great wrong, and going up to 
 the poor fellow, I took his hand, and cried with him for 
 company, telling him we would never do so any more, inducing 
 also the other boys to promise the same ; and to make the 
 peace lasting, and somewhat satisfactory to my own con- 
 science, I went into the kitchen and asked for some bread and 
 cheese, as if for myself, and coming out again I gave the 
 whole to Paddy. Ever after that I was Paddy's protector, 
 and he was my devoted friend. 
 
 Such was the sort of life which I passed amongst these poor 
 children and poor people. It is true I saw and heard some 
 things of which it perhaps would not have been any disadvan- 
 tage had I remained ignorant for the time. But my heart 
 was never corrupted, never beguiled of its childish simplicity. 
 Nor did any of these poor people, and I will do them the 
 justice to state it, ever by word or deed, throw in my way an 
 inducement that might lead to vice. 
 
 The great mass of the poor and unfortunate are not, in my 
 opinion, so vicious as by the "well-to-do" multitude of the 
 world they are supposed to be ; and judging from what I have 
 seen of them, from my childhood to the present time, which 
 has not been a little, I should say they are more entitled to 
 pity than condemnation. Some, we know, are thoroughly 
 vicious and debased ; but that the main body of them, 
 struggling as they do, daily and hourly, with want on one 
 hand and the allurements to vice on the other, still lean, nay, 
 hold strongly, by "virtue's side," and cast from them tempta- 
 tions of which those who judge them severely know nothing, 
 appears to me a truth so undeniable, that although my humble 
 testimony may increase its acceptance, I cannot expect that it 
 will add to its force. 
 
 I may, before closing this chapter, observe that the dietary
 
 76 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 of the paupers, according to my best recollection, was water 
 porridge and milk for breakfast, and sometimes drink por- 
 ridge : boiled beef and vegetables, broth, hash, pea-soup, stew, 
 and bread for dinner ; the dishes in succession, of course, or 
 as convenience might require — the bread at dinner always. The 
 suppers were water porridge and milk, or drink porridge, 
 except on Sunday evenings, when each adult had a pint of 
 good ale, with a slice round a loaf and a decent lump of 
 cheese, served to them. The sick and very aged and infirm 
 had bread and butter, or buttered toast, with tea or coffee, 
 morning and evening ; their dinners were cut from the meat 
 on the governor's table. The spade-men working in the 
 grounds had bread and cheese and ale every afternoon, and 
 the smokers and snuif-takers were each gratified every Friday 
 with an allowance of their favourite luxury. Married couples 
 did not live together ; they were separated ; they could not be 
 otherwise, unless a separate apartment could have been 
 found for each family, and that was out of all question. The 
 men, therefore, lived in the men's ward, and the women in 
 that of the women, taking with them infants at the breast, 
 and perhaps one of the very youngest of the children, if they 
 had a number. The men and their wives might see and 
 converse with each other in the day time, especially when 
 going to or returning from their meals in the public eating 
 room ; it was not considered an offence to do so ; they were 
 not, however, to remain conversing, but to depart to their 
 respective wards, or avocations, when the other paupers did 
 the same.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 BAD HEALTH — WORSE DOCTORING — A TIMELY RETREAT — SGBOOL- 
 MASTEES — THE FREE GRAMMAR SCHOOL. 
 
 I CONTINUED in a very lingering condition, and my health 
 having been consigned to the care of the worthy apothecary, 
 who undertook my cure with the utmost confidence, he almost 
 finished me by continual doses of a nauseous and sickly drug, 
 called syrup of buckthorn, which the cheerful old gentleman, 
 whom I almost began to hate, prevailed on me by coaxing or 
 threats to gulp down every other morning. I scarcely need 
 to say I got no better ; the physic I took, such was my 
 disgust towards it, would have made me ill had I been in 
 health. I had a feeling of tightness or weight upon the chest, 
 with a lowness and weariness of mind and body, which 
 increased as it continued ; I had also an ever-present wish to 
 be at Middleton, an earnest longing to return to what I con- 
 sidered my true home, and to play once more with my earliest 
 comrades. This longing, no doubt, had more to do with my 
 illness than either my father or the apothecary had ever 
 dreamt of ; it was, in fact, the " home-sickness " which has 
 carried multitudes to the grave. On one fine Sunday after- 
 noon, as I well remember, my father took me to have a walk 
 in the country. Our course was up Strangeways, and across 
 Cheetwood to Cheetham Hill, where, with a relish I had not 
 experienced for a long time, I partook of bottled porter and 
 biscuit and butter. After having rested, my father would 
 have returned through another part of Cheetwood, but learnino' 
 that the highway we were upon led to Middleton, and that the 
 
 77
 
 78 EAliLY DAYS. 
 
 field-road to that place turned off a little further down, I 
 prevailed on him to go past that spot, that I might once more 
 behold the path that led to my Paradise on earth. We 
 accordingly returned by the end of Smedley Lane, past the 
 " Eagle and Child " — I hobbling as well as I could — and coming 
 to Butter Stile, I prevailed on my father to go over it, and let 
 me rest on the sweet green grass of those meadows, which to 
 me appeared more brilliantly green than any I had seen 
 during a long time. Here i luxuriated amongst the butter- 
 cups and daisies, and the glent of a little peeping primrose or 
 two cast a whole stream of sunny thoughts and pleasant feelings 
 into that happy moment. The trees seemed to wave a broader 
 and richer foliage ; the air was balmy and refreshing ; the sun 
 itself was more life-fraught than when I felt it shining against 
 the high walls and the flagged yards of the workhouse. Here, 
 also, were birds the very same in appearance with those I had 
 seen at Middleton ; the bonny white wren, whose nest I so 
 often found ; the golden wagtail, and the lark too, singing just 
 as he used to do during the field rambles of myself and play- 
 mates. I was now in a happy mood, and I made known to 
 my father how very agreeable this country walk was to me ; 
 how much better I already felt, and that I was sure I should 
 soon be well if 1 might only go to Middleton for a short time. 
 My indulgent parent listened with attention : he seemed 
 struck for the first time, with an idea of one cause, at least, of 
 my illness, and he promised that I should go to Middleton, as 
 soon as he could make arrangements for my reception in the 
 family of his sister, or that of his nephew. Bhthely then 
 did I rise from the grass, though sadly tired, and very weak. 
 My father was not forgetful of what he had learned with 
 respect to my illness, and the Saturday following I was com- 
 mitted to the care of Betty o' Booth, an old neighbour of ours 
 who kept a shop at Middleton ; she took me to the apple 
 market, and stowed me away in a manner which, above all 
 others, 1 should have chosen, namely, on a cart, amid 
 hampers of apples, pears, and other fruit, which to me was 
 not forbidden. By her I was safely delivered into the hands 
 of my relatives, one of whom, a second mother, was more dear
 
 BAD HEALTH. 79 
 
 to me than all the rest, and this was Sally Owen, who had be- 
 come the wife of my cousin William, before we left Middleton. 
 
 I need not dwell longer on this passage of my life than to 
 say that the habits of this family were strictly regular, my 
 cousin was a Methodist of the old primitive earnest cast. 
 Every morning a portion of Scripture was read, after which 
 followed extempore prayer. Blessing was asked and thanks 
 returned at every meal ; and the day closed with another 
 prayer. Other concerns were transacted with the same 
 regularity which governed the devotions ; and though the 
 family was a rather large one, everything was carried on with 
 the exactitude of clockwork, I alone being allowed some indul- 
 gence with respect to my incomings and outgoings, for as I 
 had a home at Betty o' Booth's, as well as here, and only 
 the brook divided them, there was less need of my keeping a 
 strict attention to the meal times. But though I was happy 
 myself, enjoying former scenes and associations with relish, I 
 found I did not inspire others with the pleasure I hoped to 
 have done. My " trindled shirt," which lay all white and 
 nice with the collar and ruffles on my shoulders, was a cause 
 of envy to one or two of my comrades. Neither did my speech, 
 which during my twelve-months' absence had become a little 
 polished, entirely meet with their approval. " Yerthe," 1 
 could hear them whispering to each other, " Yerthe, he ses yis, 
 an' no." Some shyness was at first caused by my altered 
 appearance and speech, but we soon became friends, and after 
 a month of unrestricted freedom, and of continual action in 
 the open air, with a diet at once simple and nourishing, I 
 returned to Manchester with roses on my cheeks and quite 
 restored to health. 
 
 I was now sent to school, and my first essay was with a 
 master in Hanover Street, from whom I learned nothing, save 
 a knowledge of the severe chastisement to which he subjected 
 his unhappy scholars when they chanced to arouse his un- 
 governed anger. John Holt, who kept a school near to the 
 Methodist Chapel, in Oldham Street, was my next tutor. He 
 was a Methodist local preacher, and opened school every 
 morning with singing and prayer; he was a person of low
 
 80 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 stature and quick action, and wore a full-bottomed grey wig, 
 and a " cock and pinch'd hat." I attended his instructions a 
 considerable time, without much advancement, for, notwith- 
 standing all he could do — and he was an industrious and 
 ingenious teacher — I only got to spelling and reading words of 
 one syllable ; in fact, I must either have been very dull, or so 
 taken up with play, with objects of mere feeling and impulse, 
 that the faculty of thought and attention had remained 
 inactive. After a time I was sent to the Free Grammar 
 School, with the almost forlorn hope that at a place of such 
 high repute something would be done, or would accidentally 
 occur, to awaken my dormant faculties, if faculties at all for 
 the acquirement of book knowledge I had. The house apothe- 
 cary, who could assume a most polished address, undertook to 
 introduce me to the respected master of the lower school, at 
 this venerable and useful institution. All the rules and 
 customs of such occasions the old gentleman would, of course, 
 be careful to observe. He first, therefore, took me to a con- 
 fectioner's shop in Smithy Door, where, having purchased a 
 couple of pounds of the best gingerbread, he toddled, and I 
 after him, across the churchyard and down Long Mill Gate, to 
 the school ; and having gained admittance, he respectfully pre- 
 sented me to the master, with a request, on behalf of my 
 father, that he would be so kind as to afford me the benefit of 
 his instruction. The master, receiving us courteously, asked 
 what were my present requirements, also my name, age, and 
 place of residence, which latter replies he entered in a book ; 
 and my conductor, depositing the gingerbread in a parcel on 
 the table, together with a shilling, bowed and withdrew, 
 leaving me abashed and confused amid the gaze and observa- 
 tion of the scholars, which I did not expect would be much in 
 my favour, as I was weakly and ill-looking enough, and the 
 more so from wearing a white linen cap, which tied under my 
 chin. On a sign from the master a boy approached, and, 
 taking me with one hand and the packet of gingerbread with 
 the other, he led me to his class, which was that of the 
 spellers, into which I was joyfully received. The boy who led 
 me hither, and who was the head one of his class, now went
 
 FREE GRAMMAR SCHOOL. 81 
 
 round and delivered to each boy of the class sitting in his 
 place a cake of the gingerbread, and continued so doing until 
 the whole I had brought was distributed. This was a very 
 acceptable introduction to the boys ; it was the invariable 
 custom of the lower school, and was always productive of a 
 friendly greeting towards the fresh comer ; for my part, in five 
 minutes I had a score or two of new acquaintance, asking 
 questions, giving me information, and ready to lend me a help- 
 ing hand in anything, especially so long as my gingerbread 
 was sweet in their mouths. Such was my introduction to, 
 and thus I became the lowest scholar in the lowest class of, 
 the Free Grammar School. 
 
 My present instructor was a gentleman of probably thirty 
 years of age, well-formed, above the middle height, with his 
 powdered hair turned back from his free open countenance, 
 and his face somewhat coloured by irruptions. His dress was 
 such as became his station, that of a curate of the Church. 
 His coat, vest, and breeches were of fine black cloth, the 
 latter article of dress being held below the knee by a brace of 
 small silver buckles, his stockings were dark grey speckled, his 
 shoes were also fastened with silver buckles, and his cravat 
 and linen were neatly adjusted, and very white. Thus did the 
 Eeverend John Gaskell appear on that well-remembered morn- 
 ing when he took me under his care ; such was also his 
 general mode of dress on other ordinary occasions. The 
 school was a large room of an oblong form, extending north 
 and south, and well lighted by large windows. At the north- 
 ern end was a fireplace, with a red cheerful fire glowing in the 
 grate. The master's custom was to sit in an armed chair, 
 with his right towards the fire and his left arm resting on a 
 square oaken table, on which lay a newspaper or two, a 
 magazine or other publication, a couple of canes with the 
 ends split, and a medley of boy's playthings, such as tops, 
 whips, marbles, apple-scrapers, nut-crackers, dragon banding, 
 and such like articles. The scholars were divided into six 
 classes, namely, accidence, or introduction to Latin, higher Bible, 
 middle Bible, lower Bible, Testament, and spelling classes : 
 the accidence class sat opposite the master's face, and the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 higher Bible one was at his back. Each class sat on a strong 
 oaken bench, backed by a panel of the same, placed against 
 the wall, with a narrow desk in front, so that all sat around 
 the school in regular gradation. The spellers only had not a 
 desk, they sat on forms outside the desk of the higher Bible 
 class, they being considered as children amongst the boys. 
 The boys of each class were placed according to their pro- 
 ficiency, and the first and second boys of the class exercised 
 considerable authority over the others. The school hours were 
 from seven to half-past eight at morning, from half-past nine to 
 twelve at noon, and from two till five afternoon. The master 
 was seldom more than five minutes beyond the time, and on 
 coming in, he first pulled off his hat, and his extra coat or 
 handkerchief, if he brought such ; he would then probably 
 give his hands a warming at the fire, stamp the wet from his 
 shoes, and turning his back to the pleasant warmth, he would 
 take a survey of the muster already arrived. Every boy who 
 now entered the school was bound to go up to the table and 
 present his shoulders for a correction, and they in general got 
 off with a slight cut or two of the cane, except frequent 
 defaulters, and those were hit more severely, being often sent 
 to their class writhing, to the amusement of their more orderly 
 comrades. The mustering and flogging being over, the classes 
 were severally called up, arranged round the table, and went 
 through their lessons, the boy who in spelling or reading could 
 readiest make out a word when those above him were at fault, 
 moving up to their places, and thus the quickest spellers and 
 readers were always towards the upper end of their class. 
 When a boy had been at the head of his class some time, and 
 especially if he happened to have some acquaintance amongst 
 those of the next class above him, and they wished to have 
 him amongst them, their head boy would take him by the 
 hand, and leading him to the master, would say, " If you 
 
 please, sir, must (mentioning the surname) go into my 
 
 class?" when a brief intimation, as a nod, a "yes," or "no," 
 would decide the application, and the parties withdrew either 
 elated with success or abashed by failure. The boys of the 
 accidence class had a singular, I may say an anomalous, pri-
 
 FBEE GEAMMAB SCHOOL. 83 
 
 vilege at this school. Betwixt their lessons, and when, as one 
 might suppose they should have been, studying their books for 
 another lesson, they were allowed, two or three at a time, to 
 perambulate round the school, in front of the other boys, when 
 if they saw any one playing with a top or a ball, or other 
 trifle, or showing one to a comrade, the privileged scholar 
 would seize it and deposit it on the master's table ; or if the 
 boy who had it were more than a match for the other, he 
 would inform the master that so and so was at play with a 
 top, or other thing, when the offender would be called up, 
 compelled to lay down the toy, and would perhaps get a cut 
 or two with the cane for his contumacy. These articles of 
 plunder lay on the master's table until the school broke up, 
 when, the moment the master put on his hat and stepped 
 towards the door, the boys being previously all ready for a 
 start, a rush was made from every corner of the school, a 
 regular scramble ensued, and he who could fasten on a prize 
 and keep it had it for his pains. Thursday and Saturday after- 
 noons were play-times, and at Easter, Whitsuntide, and 
 Christmas we had holidays of longer duration. Such were 
 the customs of the lower department of the Free Grammar 
 School, and the manner of conducting it at that time. What 
 were the systems of the middle and upper schools — which were 
 in other parts of the same building — I never knew, and conse- 
 quently cannot describe. I may as well say, however, that it 
 was understood amongst the scholars that the system of the 
 lower school, with all its irregularities, was such as had pre- 
 vailed a long time, and that our instructor was not at liberty 
 to depart from it in any material degree. 
 
 At that time the Rev. Joshua Brookes * lived at the house 
 adjoining the school. He was not a very great favourite with 
 the scholars, or with any one that I ever heard tell of, though, 
 excepting a Uttle uncontrollable irritability of temper, I never 
 knew why he should not have been so. His father, however, 
 
 * An eccentric but learned divine and chaplain of the " Old Church," in 
 which capacity he is said to have baptised, married, and buried more 
 persons than any other clergyman in the kingdom.
 
 84 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 was still less esteemed than himself.* He was a little old 
 deformed cripple, with his features as crumpled and knitted as 
 if he were a living alegar cruet. His up-cast face was a clear 
 healthy brown, and on his head he wore a little old round hat, 
 with a broad girdle and buckle in front of it. His knees were 
 rigid, and his legs were doubled backward, so that when he 
 stood upright he was on his knees ; and in that posture, with 
 a pair of short crutches under his arms, his knees protected by 
 thick leathern sockets, and the toes of his buckled shoes by 
 plates of brass, he used to hobble about the streets, dragging 
 his feet after him. On fine sunny days he would often be 
 sitting at his son's door, when woe to the boy at play who 
 chanced unthinkingly to get within the reach of his crutch, 
 especially if at any former time the youth had not treated him 
 with that respect which he thought was his due. 
 
 My especial companions amid the varied crowd of these 
 scholars were John Pilkington, son to the clerk at the old 
 church ; Jim Torkington, whose parents kept a hat shop in 
 Church Street ; Dick France, whose father kept the " Sir John 
 Falstaff," in the Market Place; Henry Woodhouse, whose 
 father kept the "Bull's Head"; and Dick Lyon, the occupation 
 of whose father I have forgotten. Jim Torkington I respected 
 because I had beaten him once and he did not get me flogged 
 as he might have done. Henry "Woodhouse was agreeable, 
 being always willing to do as the others did. Dick Lyon, 
 with his bold, honest face, would undertake anything, and 
 stand by any cause that I did. He it was also who first got 
 me advanced in the school by " asking " me from the spelling 
 into the Testament class ; and poor Dick France I was partial 
 to because I thought he was rather severely treated, being 
 flogged more than any other boy in the school, not because he 
 was more vicious than other boys, but because he was more 
 thoughtless and unlucky — inattentive, not having the power 
 to be otherwise, and continually in scrapes for which others 
 deserved the punishment. He was a fine, good-looking lad, 
 however, as brave as he was thoughtless, and as kind-hearted 
 
 * According to Mr. W. E. A. Axon (" Nat. Die. Biog.") he went by the 
 name of " Pontius Pilate,"
 
 FBEE GBAMMAB SCHOOL. 85 
 
 as he was brave. Many and many were the rambles I took 
 with this gang on our hoUday afternoons. Cheetwood, Ker- 
 sall, Crumpsall, and Broughton, were most frequently the 
 scenes of our wanton frolics — our runnings, and leapings, and 
 tumblings, and boxings. For in those hilarious outbreaks we 
 were all life, laughter, and kindly joke. The sweet breath 
 of the earth, coming up through the sod, we felt and inhaled, 
 as we rolled over each other amongst the flowers : then the 
 gusty wind blew our wild hair into each other's faces ; when 
 the sun broke we sung aloud; when the rain came we un- 
 covered our dewy foreheads to cool them with the welcome 
 drops. Then there was bird's-nesting to be done, and stick- 
 cutting, and flower-culling, and earth-nut digging, and cress- 
 gathering, — and when gnawing hunger came, as it did full 
 soon, we sat down by the first clear riadle or dimpling spring 
 that fell in our way, and each one pulling out his store of 
 eatables, we fell to and feasted as joyously as if our fathers 
 were the kings of those sweet solitudes. 
 
 Sometimes I and my companions would visit the " Giant's 
 Castle " at Castle Field, after which we generally made the after- 
 noon away by watching the boats on the Duke's Canal, or 
 rambling around Hulme Hall, or on the dangerous brink of 
 the Irwell, leaping like young kids. The remains of the 
 ancient fortress at Castle Field embraced a level plot of ground 
 almost of a circular form : the turf was quite smooth, and the 
 grass where not trodden was very green. The centre of the 
 plot was lower than the circuit, along which, here and there, 
 might be seen grey stones and lumps of mortar. In one part 
 of the area was a spot elevated above the rest, a small green 
 mount, and around this also at intervals, foundations and 
 ruins were seen jutting above the surface. But even these 
 small remains of old Mancenion, hoary in tradition of untold 
 years, are not now to be found. 
 
 Sometimes we would spend an hour or two in going through 
 the College (the Old Baron's Hall), in playing in the pump- 
 yard above the Irk, here all sadly metamorphosed and defiled; 
 and in ever-recurring astonishment at the vast length and bulk 
 which the fish must have been, which opened and shut^
 
 86 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 awful idea — the huge jaw-bones which spanned the arch of 
 the eastern gateway. Or we would climb the tower of the old 
 church when the bells were ringing a peal, and the more 
 daring would grasp a comrade's hand and stand upon the edge 
 of the parapet, the steeple vibrating at the time almost like a 
 stout oak in a breeze. This feat was done by more than one 
 of our party ; and in truth, if there were a place to which we 
 ought not to have gone, or a feat we ought not to have at- 
 tempted, to that place we were nearly sure to stray, and that 
 exploit was almost certain to be tried. 
 
 And now, as is often the case, for the most important thing 
 last, namely, my progress in learning at this celebrated school. 
 When I entered the school, as already stated, I was one of the 
 spelling class, and when the day for general promotion came 
 at Christmas I was the first scholar in the first Bible-class, 
 and consequently was the first English speller and reader in 
 the school. I first discovered that I had made some progress 
 in learning one Sunday morning at home, when conning, as 
 usual, a chapter in the Testament, I unexpectedly found that 
 I could read slowly verse after verse, almost without spelling a 
 word. This was a joyful event to me ; I read to my father 
 when he came into the room ; I read to the old apothecary, 
 and the latter, patting me on the head, gave me a silver six- 
 pence, and encouraged me to get on with my learning. I had 
 some time before made myself master of the awful tale of 
 "Brown, Jones, and Eobinson," in the spelling-book, but then 
 I had only got through it by the help of numerous spellings ; 
 whereas, now, being able to read, I had almost continually the 
 Testament in my hand. I read all the wondrous accounts in 
 the Eevelation, and my father, not a little pleased, would at 
 times sit down, and in his way explain the meaning of the 
 strange things about which I read. After I had gone through 
 the Eevelation, I began with the Gospel of St. Matthew, and 
 was deeply interested by the miracles, sufferings, and death of 
 our Lord. The New Testament was now my story book, and 
 I read it all through and through, but more for the interest 
 the marvellous passages excited, than from any religious im- 
 pression which they created. The gentle and benign character
 
 FBEE GBAMMAB SCHOOL. 87 
 
 of Christ filled me with admiration and awe : His sufferings 
 excited my deepest sympathy, His persecutors my strongest 
 hatred, and I only wished that Peter had chopped off one side 
 of Judas's head, instead of merely cropping "the servant of 
 the high priest's " ear. 
 
 And now a wider range was opened to my assiduous quest 
 after the wonderful. At the corner of Hanging Bridge, near 
 the Old Church yard, was a book shop kept by one Swindells, 
 a printer. In the spacious windows of this shop, which is now 
 "The Wedding-Eing " coffee-house, were exhibited numerous 
 songs, ballads, tales, and other publications, with horrid and 
 awful-looking woodcuts at the head ; which publications, with 
 their cuts, had a strong command on my attention. Every 
 farthing I could scrape together was now spent in purchasing 
 histories of " Jack the Giant Killer," " Saint George and the 
 Dragon," " Tom Hickathrift," " Jack and the Beanstalk," 
 " The Seven Champions of Christendom," tale of "Fair Eosa- 
 mond," " History of Friar Bacon," " Account of the Lanca- 
 shire Witches," " The Witches of the Woodlands," and such 
 like romances, whilst my metrical collections embraced but 
 few pieces besides " Eobin Hood's Songs" and "The Ballad 
 of Chevy Chase." Of all these tales and ballads I was soon 
 master, and they formed the subjects of many a long study to 
 me, and of many a wonder-creating story for my acquaintance 
 both at the workhouse and elsewhere. For my part I im- 
 plicity believed them all, and when told by my father or others 
 that they were " trash " and " nonsense," and " could not ba 
 true," I, innocently enough, contrasted their probability with 
 that of other wondrous things which I had read in books that 
 "it were a sin to disbelieve." So I continued reading, and 
 doubting nothing which I read, until many years after, when a 
 more extended acquaintance with men and books taught me 
 how better to discriminate betwixt reason and unreason, truth 
 and falsehood. When I first plunged, as it were, into the 
 blessed habit of reading, faculties which had hitherto given 
 but small intimation of existence, suddenly sprung into vigo- 
 rous action. My mind was ever desiring more of the silent 
 but exciting conversation with books, and of whatever was
 
 88 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 conveyed to it from that source, small was the portion that 
 did not remain. My attention was quick, and my memory 
 was very retentive of what I read. 
 
 Whilst I thus made myself acquainted with the New Testa- 
 ment, the Bible, and all the other books that fell in my way, 
 the day had come round when, previous to the Christmas 
 holidays, a general promotion took place of such scholars as 
 were qualified for higher classes, and I being the first boy in 
 the first English class, should have been promoted to the 
 " accidence.'' But, alas ! when called upon I could only 
 inform the master, with blushes on my cheeks and tears in my 
 eyes, that my father did not wish me to go into the Latin class 
 at present, but desired that I might remain in the class to 
 which I then belonged. My master, I can recollect, looked at 
 me incredulously; studied, questioned me again, and, with an 
 expression of disappointment, motioned that I should return 
 to my place. This was a sore humiliation to me. My com- 
 rades Pilkington, Woodhouse, and others, passed over to the 
 Latin side, whilst I remained in a class lower than theirs, and 
 consequently stood in a situation inferior to that of those 
 whom I had been in the habit of leading. Henceforward I 
 thought meanly of my position, and never glanced at my 
 former comrades without a feeling which lowered the zest of 
 my future school-life. 
 
 This as it regarded my welfare was probably the most mo- 
 mentous and ill-advised step which my father could have 
 determined upon. Had the threshold of the classics been 
 once crossed by me, great must have been the difficulties in- 
 deed which would have prevented me from making the whole 
 of that ancient lore my own. I was just at the right age, and 
 in the right frame of mind, with faculties as it were newly 
 come to life, and with an instructor who I have since had 
 many reasons for supposing would have done all he could 
 towards helping me forward into the upper schools ; and, had 
 I once got fairly introduced to the learning of the ancients I 
 should not have stopped short on this side of the university I 
 think. But my father had more humble views, founded on 
 serious and conscientious reasons I have no doubt. He said
 
 FREE GBAMMAB SCHOOL. 89 
 
 Latin should be learned by such only as were intended to 
 become doctors, or lawyers, or parsons ; and as I should never 
 be any of these, the time spent in learning it would only be 
 thrown away. A knowledge of English grammar, he said, 
 was worth more than Greek or Latin to an Englishman, and 
 he wondered why, in the name of goodness, English grammar 
 was not taught at this English grammar school ; and so he 
 concluded he would not buy me an "accidence." Such were 
 the homely views and the determination resulting from them, 
 which kept me at my English rudiments another year, and 
 thrust me from that portal of knowledge which I never after- 
 wards had an opportunity of approaching. Had my mother 
 been living, such would probably not have been the case, and 
 a course of life, far different from the one I have pursued, 
 would have been marked out before me.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 ANOTHEE GKEAT CHANGE. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Eose, the schoolmaster at the workhouse, died, 
 and his place was filled by a Mr. Pickering, who, like his pre- 
 decessor, had been in business and failed. Mr. Pickering was 
 about fifty years of age, a quick and rather haughty kind of 
 man, who endeavoured to maintain a remnant of the authori- 
 tative manner of his former state, though it was greatly out of 
 place in the situation he then occupied. My father, I recollect, 
 was under the necessity of setting him right once or twice, 
 after which, as he came round to understand his position 
 better, he was not an unpleasant associate. His wife had 
 died some time before, leaving him two children, a son and 
 a daughter, to provide for. The latter, who was a sweet- 
 looking, affectionate young woman, probably from sixteen to 
 eighteen years of age, lived in the family of a Mr. Eichardson, 
 who kept a large glass and china shop at the top of Smithy 
 Door : and the son, Samuel, who was a fine lad about my own 
 age, and had a great resemblance of his sister, came to live 
 with his father at the workhouse. Sam and I were, of course, 
 inseparable companions; we ate together, and when not at 
 school, played together from morning to night. He was as 
 great a blockhead in books as I had ever been, and in our 
 walks outside the gates, which were not unfrequent, I read to 
 him my twopenny histories, and narrated all my stories, until 
 he was as great an enthusiast as myself. At length, " Eobinson 
 Crusoe," that ever exciting day-dream of boys, fell in our way. 
 I read it to him, as I had done the others, and for a long time 
 both Sam's ideas and mine were awed and fascinated by the
 
 ANOTHER GREAT CHANGE. 91 
 
 descriptions of sea-dangers, shipwrecks, and lone islands with 
 savages, and far-off countries teeming with riches and plenty. 
 In a field close to the gates was a large and deep reservoir of water 
 which accumulated from a small rindle which came through 
 the wood I have before mentioned, and supplied the extensive 
 brewery below, which afterwards belonged to Messrs. Fray, 
 Hole, and Potter. In one part of this reservoir was a small 
 island covered with vsdllows and other shrubs, and Sam and I 
 had often explored this island when the water was sufficiently 
 low for us to wade it — our reward being sometimes a couple 
 or so of duck- eggs. We had also taken a goodly number of 
 fish, chiefly perch and bream, with which we stored a circular 
 pond in the garden of the workhouse. Now, however, we 
 assumed other characters than those of mere idling school- 
 boys : we were henceforth " Eobinson Crusoe," and his " Man 
 Friday." The cock-clod was our " desert island " ; the brush- 
 wood was our means of concealment ; the duck-eggs and the 
 fish were as much our lawful right as was anything which 
 Crusoe possessed in his place of solitude; we had "savages " 
 also, whose "footprints" made us pause and look around; 
 those savages being the men from the brewery, who sometimes 
 discovering us when they came up to let off the water, gave us 
 chase and made us carry our heels quickly towards the wood. 
 Nor were we without our perils and " shipwrecks " ; for 
 getting some old planks and a split board or two, we made 
 a raft, on which, whenever we found it necessary to " go on a 
 voyage," we paddled the length or breadth of this our "ocean," 
 often getting ashore, only just at the time when our timbers 
 were dispersing, and our craft was " a total wreck." Poor 
 Sam ! I had a great affection for him. I sometimes went with 
 him to see his sister ; and I could perceive that she was not at 
 ease, for her employer looked very crusty when he found her 
 otherways employed than in dusting glasses or arranging 
 china. Both Sam and his sister often shed tears at parting 
 after their brief interviews. He stopped not long at the work- 
 house ; his father, I think, sickened and died there. But 
 however it was, Sam went to sea, and in a voyage or two 
 news came that he was lost. I was years and could not
 
 92 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 believe that he was dead. I had a notion that he had been 
 sold to slavery in some foreign land, and would certainly 
 return. But poor Sam never came back again ; he was lost 
 sure enough. 
 
 It must have been about this time that I was taken to see 
 that unfortunate youth, George Eussel, pass through Man- 
 chester, on his way to the place of execution at Newton 
 Heath. The impression left by that sad spectacle will never 
 be eradicated from my mind, unless reason fail.* 
 
 My father, judging it expedient, as I suppose, to enter again 
 into the married state, took to wife a widow with four children, 
 who earned a frugal livelihood by doing needlework for saddlers. 
 Her children were three sons and one daughter, and the oldest 
 son was at sea in the African slave trade. After this event, 
 the business of the workhouse was conducted in a less agree- 
 able manner than it had heretofore been betwixt my father 
 and the governess. It is only reasonable to suppose that my 
 father had been induced to take this decided step by the per- 
 suasion that his wife would fill the situation held by Mrs. 
 Eose ; he probably had some grounds for a supposition of that 
 kind ; promises and pledges to that effect were probably given 
 by the parish officers, or some influential portion of them, but 
 however that might be, disagreements betwixt my father and 
 the governess became of almost daily occurrence. Crimination 
 and recrimination followed ; the parish officers became parti- 
 zans in the dispute ; we children were sent away — my sister 
 to a friend in town, and I and my brother to our relations at 
 Middleton. From that time I never resided with my father, 
 and soon after both he and Mrs. Eose were discharged from 
 their situations. 
 
 My father had lost a wife, a brother, two children, and 
 nearly his own life and that of a third child, in the service 
 of the township of Manchester ; and though, as I have good 
 reasons for supposing, no valid impeachment was made against 
 either his capacity or his integrity, he got nothing by way of 
 "indemnity," when a party in the town's office thought fit to 
 dispense with his services. There was no "retiring pension" 
 * See " Passages in the Life of a Padical." 
 
 I
 
 ANOTHER GEE AT CHANGE. 93 
 
 for him ; no " compensation " for his irreparable losses. If 
 this was scarcely just towards himself, as an individual, it was 
 still less so towards his children who were turned into the 
 world, "shorn to the quick"; fatherless noW; as well as 
 motherless ; for in most essential matters he was no longer 
 a guardian to them. Two of the three never afterwards had 
 a home under the same roof with him. 
 
 It was a cold winter's afternoon when my brother and I, 
 with our bundles under our arms, took our way up Eed Bank 
 on the road to Middleton. We had been instructed to keep 
 on the high road, for there had been a heavy fall of snow 
 followed by a strong wind, and the snow was now drifting in 
 clouds. Over Cheetham Hill we hobbled along, knocking the 
 thick snow-clogs from our shoes, our hands thrust into our 
 pockets, and our jackets buttoned up to the chin. Coming to 
 the summit of Bowker Bank, where the wind swept fast and 
 cold, I asked my brother why he kept wiping his eyes ? He 
 said it was only the snow he was wiping off, but I knew better, 
 and though not exactly in a joyous mood myself, I endeavoured 
 to rally him out of his gloomy bodings of the future. 
 
 It was towards the close of the day when we arrived at the 
 house of my uncle William, which was in High Street in the 
 town mentioned. We presented a letter from my father, and 
 were received with kindness by the worthy couple, whilst their 
 three children looked on us with a bashful and pleased reserve. 
 We joined the circle at their homely meal, and my uncle and 
 aunt not having convenience for lodging us, we were accommo- 
 dated temporarily at the house of another relative. 
 
 The row of houses in which my uncle lived faced the morn- 
 ing sun ; a neatly paved footpath, and a causey for carts, lay 
 in front of the houses from one end of the row to the other ; 
 and separated from the houses by the causey and footpath was 
 a large green, used as a playground. My uncle's domicile, 
 like all the others, consisted of one principal room called " the 
 house " ; on the same floor with this was a loom-shop capable 
 of containing four looms, and in the rear of the house on the 
 same floor, were a small kitchen and a buttery. Over the 
 house and loom-shop were chambers ; and over the kitchen
 
 91 EAIiLY DAYS. 
 
 and buttery was another small apartment, and a flight of 
 stairs. The whole of the rooms were lighted by windows of 
 small square panes, framed in lead, in good condition ; those 
 in the front being protected by shutters. The interior of this 
 dwelling showed that cleanly and comfortable appearance 
 which is always to be seen where a managing Englishwoman 
 is present. There were a dozen good rush-bottomed chairs, 
 the backs and rails bright with wax and rubbing ; a handsome 
 clock in mahogany case ; a good chest of oakcu drawers ; a 
 mahogany snap-table ; a mahogany corner cupboard, all well 
 polished ; besides tables, weather-glass, cornice, and orna- 
 ments ; pictures illustrative of Joseph and his Brethren, and 
 various other articles indicative of a regard for convenience as 
 well as ornament. And though last enumerated, not the least 
 to be regarded by a hungry youth of my age, was a largo 
 bread-flake well stored with oaten cakes. 
 
 My uncle's family consisted of himself, my aunt (Elizabeth), 
 their son Thomas, and their two daughters Hannah and Dolly. 
 Thomas was a rather thoughtful and clever lad, a year or two 
 older than myself ; Hannah was a neat, good-looking girl of 
 my own age ; and Dolly was a fair, delicate, and sadly spoiled 
 child. My aunt, that sister of my father whom I have before 
 mentioned, was rather tall for a woman ; dark complexioned, 
 middle aged, somewhat corpulent, fresh coloured, intelligent 
 looking, and with an arch and penetrating manner of conversa- 
 tion. She took snuff, wore a mob-cap, a bed-gown, a stiff pair 
 of stays which stood out at the bosom, a warm woollen petti- 
 coat, white knitted hose, and shoes with patten clogs to keep 
 her feet warm. She was asthmatical, and consequently often 
 in delicate health, but as her chief employment was to sit at 
 the wheel winding bobbins for the weavers, her complaint was 
 less embarrassing than it would have been had she been neces- 
 sitated to do the heavy drudgery of the house, much of which 
 her daughter Hannah performed. My uncle was of the middle 
 height, rather corpulent, about fifty years of age, good looking, 
 a quiet, sententious, equable tempered man, who took his 
 work, his meals, his pipe, and his repose regularly, and seldom 
 troubled himself about aO'airs out of his own house. Not but
 
 ANOTHEB GEE AT CHANGE. 95 
 
 he had opinions and wishes, both rehgious and political, and 
 they were all on the right liberal side, but he did not make 
 a parade of them. He was both in theory and practice a 
 Christian patriot of the old, simple, unpretending class, who 
 not being gifted with a multiplicity of words, gave lessons to 
 his family by example. His mind was, I believe, as intention- 
 less of wilful offence as that of an infant ; but he possessed 
 a sturdy resistance to wrong or menace, which would have 
 verily held him to be martyred sooner than give way. This 
 worthy couple were Methodists of the old John Wesley caste, 
 which prevailed in those days ; their children were brought 
 up in the same religious tenets, and with this family of 
 humble but respectable condition my lot was cast thus once 
 more in the place of my birth.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A NEW LIFE. 
 
 My brother was now set down to the loom at once, whilst my 
 employment was to fetch milk every morning, to run to the 
 well for water when wanted, to go errands generally, and to 
 assist my aunt at times in the bobbin-winding department — 
 all of which suited my disposition and habits most pleasingly, 
 except the latter piece of bondage, which on account of its 
 monotonous confinement soon became abhorrent to my feelings ; 
 and had not my frequent escapades in the way of errand 
 running allowed me many sweet snatches of freedom my 
 situation would have been far from happy. 
 
 In the performance of my task of fetching home the milk 
 every morning I soon became acquainted with several children 
 of my own age who attended the same place on the same 
 errand. During my loitering perambulations to and from 
 HoUin Lane, where the milk-house was, I had sometimes the 
 attendance of two or three such companions, who caught every 
 word I spoke, as I described the strange things to be seen at 
 Manchester, and the still more wondrous ones of which I had 
 read, and which accounts I was quite sure were true. But 
 soon my most constant attendant on these occasions was a 
 little smiling, rosy-cheeked child, who was almost certain to 
 be found standing alone by the highway side, or loitering 
 slowly until I appeared. I took not any particular notice of 
 the girl ; I was a tall, straight, pale-looking boy, whilst she 
 appeared to me nothing more than a kind of little human 
 cherry-bud, who was always the first to join my company, and 
 the last to leave it. 
 
 96
 
 A NEW LIFE. 07 
 
 At the milk-house we often found an assemblage of a dozen 
 married women, two or three young ones, an old man or two, 
 and some half-score or so of children, all come on the like 
 errand as ourselves, and waiting until the milk arrived. Mean- 
 time there would be some snatches of scandal turned over — 
 sly insinuations respecting "this body's character" and "that 
 body's conduct." Some would treat themselves and neighbours 
 to snuff; others would take a whiff or so of tobacco, " just to 
 keep the wind off," whilst the woman of the house, "Owd Beet 
 wife," sat croning at her wheel, and her daughter, a flashy 
 lass, was on her loom weaving napkins, and singing love ditties 
 like a nightingale. When the milk arrived, all the persons 
 waiting surrounded it, and there was much pressing and 
 entreating to be served early by those who were impatient ; at 
 such times I was often useful to my little cherry-bud, and my 
 other youthful companions, in making a way for them through 
 the crowd, and when they had got served with milk they would 
 retire, and wait until I joined them ; and then we all returned 
 together, interchanging our childish observations as before. 
 But the little cherry-bud was nearly always on the road with 
 me, going and coming, whilst I had the company of the others 
 only incidentally. 
 
 Her name was Jemima, but I knew her only by that of 
 Mima, and by that alone shall I distinguish her. Like myself 
 she lived with an uncle and aunt, who had taken charge of her 
 when only an infant. What I was virtually also, she was in 
 reality, an orphan, and when I became aware of her condition 
 in that respect, I felt a greater interest in whatever concerned 
 her — I was more desirous of pleasing her, and of rendering 
 her any little service which lay in my power. Nor was she 
 indifferent to anything which affected me ; when in moments 
 of sadness I sometimes reverted to my mother's well-remem- 
 bered fondness, or the kindness of my uncle Thomas, or to my 
 father's tenJ regard, whose absence I deeply felt, and whom 
 I now seldon saw, she, who had never known either father or 
 mother, would often be moved until her full heart overflowed 
 from her eyes. She became a very agreeable and always 
 welcome companion on the road — a child to whom, because 
 
 VOL, I. 7
 
 08 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 she had no parents, I felt bound to be kind, but nothing 
 more. 
 
 The mode of Hving at my uncle's was of the simplest country 
 style. At breakfast, a brown earthen dish being placed on a 
 low beaufet * near the middle of the floor, a boiling of water 
 porridge was poured into the dish, hot from the pan. A mess- 
 pot of the same material as the dish was placed for each one 
 about to partake of the breakfast, a quantity of milk and a 
 spoon were placed in each pot, my uncle took a seat and asked 
 a blessing, each of the children of the family standing around ; 
 we then took our several messes of milk, and helped ourselves 
 to the steaming porridge as quickly as we chose, and mixing 
 and eating in the manner we liked best, not a word being 
 spoken all the time. The porridge being scraped up, which 
 theyt in general were rather quickly, each would take a piece 
 of hard oaten cake and eat it to the remainder of his milk, 
 after which a Httle butter, or a small piece of cheese, with 
 more oaten bread, would finish the meal, and in a few minutes 
 work was resumed. My aunt would shortly after make her 
 appearance, her face red, and herself distressed with coughing ; 
 the kettle would then be set on for her, and when the asthmatic 
 paroxysm had sufficiently abated she took her breakfast and 
 sat down to her wheel. Our dinners consisted generally of 
 butcher's meat and potatoes, or potato-pie, or meat and broth, 
 or barm dumplings, or drink porridge, or hasty pudding, and 
 in each case the food was partaken in the same primitive 
 manner. When we had meat and potatoes each had an allow- 
 ance of the meat on a piece of oat-cake, and the potatoes being 
 poured into a dish placed on the beaufet as before, we all stood 
 round, and with spoon or knife, as we chose, ate from the dish 
 so long as the potatoes lasted, after which we stole out to play, 
 eating our remnant of butcher's meat and cake the while. 
 There was not a word heard until we got out of doors, and 
 then we were as noisy as others. When we had potato-pie for 
 dinner an allowance of the crust was given to each ; the potatoes 
 
 * A low three-legged stool, called in the north buffet-stool. 
 f Porridge used to be described in the plural uumber.
 
 A NEW LIFE. 99 
 
 were then eaten out of the dish as before, and the crust, as 
 being the most dainty, was eaten afterwards. When we had 
 broth each received a mess for himself, to which he added as 
 much oaten cake as he chose ; the potatoes were eaten out of 
 the dish, and the meat being served in portions, each ate it 
 with cake at his leisure. When we had dumplings they were 
 set on the beaufet in the same brown dish, or one of the sort ; 
 a little dip was made from tl^e water the dumplings had been 
 boiled in, a lump of butter and a little sugar or treacle being 
 added ; the dip was then poured upon the dumplings, and we 
 fell to and ate as we liked, the only restriction being that there 
 was not to be any talking at meat. How different was this 
 sententious and becoming manner at table from the one which 
 now prevails around fashionable boards, where, if a person 
 cannot, or will not, both gabble and gobble at the same time, 
 he is looked upon as vulgar, and where the highest test of good 
 breeding is to keep both chin and tongue — the latter especially 
 — in motion, it matters not on what subject if it only elicit not 
 a thought. Such is one of the puerilities by which insane pride 
 seeks to be distinguished from the thoughtful and earnest 
 portion of society. Our bagging, or afternoon lunch, consisted 
 of half an oaten cake, with butter, treacle, cheese, or milk, as 
 circumstances rendered most convenient, and our supper was 
 generally the same as breakfast. On Sunday mornings we 
 had mint or balm tea, sweetened with treacle, and oaten cake 
 and butter ; on Sunday afternoons we had tea of the same kind, 
 and a slice of buttered loaf was added, which was an especial 
 dainty.
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 SCHOOLING — COKBECTION — PEAYER. 
 
 At this time the Methodists of Middleton kept a Sunday school 
 in their chapel at Bottom of Barrowfields, and this school we 
 young folks all attended, I was probably a far better speller 
 and reader than any teacher in the place, and I had not gone 
 there very long when I was set to writing. " I soon mastered 
 the rudimental lines, and quitting "pot-hooks and ladles," as 
 they were called, I commenced writing " large-hand." For 
 the real old Arminian Methodists, the immediate descendants 
 of the Wesleys, the Nelsons, and the Taylors, thought it no 
 desecration of the Sabbath to enable the rising generation on 
 that day to write the Word of God as well as to read it. Had 
 the views and very commendable practice of these old fathers 
 been continued in Sunday schools generally, the reproach 
 would not have been cast upon our labouring population, as 
 it was on the publication of the census of 1841, that a greater 
 proportion of the working classes of Lancashire were unable 
 to write their names than were to be found in several counties 
 less favoured by means of instruction. The modern Methodists 
 may boast of this feat as their especial work. The Church 
 party never undertook to instruct in writing on Sundays ; the 
 old Arminian Wesleyans did undertake it, and succeeded 
 wonderfully, but the Conferential Methodists put a stop to 
 it ; other religious bodies, if I am not mistaken, did the same, 
 and in 1841 it was a matter of surprise to many that our 
 working population was behind that of other counties in the 
 capability of writing names. Let the honour of this stoppage 
 be assumed by those who have earned it, by the " ministers of 
 
 100
 
 SCHOOLING. 101 
 
 religion," so called, generally, and by those of the Conferential 
 Methodists especially. 
 
 Every Sunday morning at half-past eight o'clock was this 
 old Methodists school open for the instruction of whatever 
 child crossed its threshold. A hymn was first led out and sung 
 by the scholars and teachers. An extempore prayer followed, 
 all the scholars and teachers kneeling at their places ; the 
 classes, ranging from those of the spelling-book to those of the 
 Bible, then commenced their lessons, girls in the gallery above, 
 and boys below. Desks which could either be moved up or 
 down, like the leaf of a table, were arranged all round the 
 school, against the walls of the gallery, as well as against those 
 below, and at measured distances the walls were numbered. 
 Whilst the Bible and Testament classes were reading their 
 first lesson the desks were got ready, inkstands and copy-books 
 numbered, containing copies and pens, were placed opposite 
 corresponding numbers on the wall ; and when the lesson was 
 concluded the writers took their places, each at his own num- 
 ber, and so continued their instruction. When the copy was 
 finished, the book was shut and left on the desk, a lesson of 
 spelling was gone through, and at twelve o'clock singing and 
 prayer again took place, and the scholars were dismissed. At 
 one o'clock there was service in the chapel, and soon after two 
 the school reassembled, girls now occupying the writing desks, 
 as boys had done in the forenoon, and at four or half -past the 
 scholars were sent home for the week. 
 
 My readers will expect hearing that the school was well 
 attended, and it was so, not only by children and youths of 
 the immediate neighbourhood, but by young men and women 
 from distant localities. Big collier lads and their sisters from 
 Siddal Moor were regular in their attendance. From the bor- 
 ders of Whittle, from Bowlee, from the White Moss, from 
 Jumbo, and Chadderton, and Thornham, came groups of boys 
 and girls with their substantial dinners tied in clean napkins, 
 and the little chapel was so crowded that when the teachers 
 moved they had to wade, as it were, through the close-ranked 
 youngsters. 
 
 My father having been appointed to the situation of governor
 
 102 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 of the workhouse of Salford, with his wife as governess, I was 
 placed as a half-day scholar under the tuition of the Eev. James 
 Archer, at the Middleton Free Grammar School. I soon began 
 to improve in writing. This indulgence of schoohng lasted, 
 however, only during a very brief space, for my aunt, in con- 
 sequence of her own ill-health, becoming more and more exacting 
 in the hateful drudgery of the bobbin-wheel, I was not able to 
 perform my allotted task in time for school attendance, which, 
 therefore, soon became irregular, and was next discontinued. 
 
 As before intimated, my connection with this school was 
 brief, and then, with the exception of Bible lessons at the 
 Sunday school, all my reading was done at home, after the 
 daily task was finished. Wken not strongly tempted to play 
 I was almost certain to be reading by the summer's twilight, 
 or by the red embers of the winter's fire, my books being 
 chiefly " Wesley's Journals," and " The Arminian Magazine," 
 wherein I found " Maundrell's Travels from Aleppo to Jeru- 
 salem," which I was very much interested by ; " An Account 
 of the Inquisition in Spain," which filled me with a dislike of 
 Popery; "The Drummer of Tedworth;" " Some Account of 
 the Disturbances at Glenluce ; " "An Account of the Appa- 
 rition of the Laird of Cool " — and other most marvellous 
 narratives, which excited my attention, and held me poring 
 over the ashes until the light was either gone or I was sent to 
 bed. I also got hold of an old superstitious doctoring book, 
 which gave me some unexpected information relative to the 
 human frame, and equally surprised me as to the occult powers 
 of certain herbs and simples, when prepared under supposed 
 planetary aspects. A copy of Cocker's Arithmetic soon after 
 set me to writing figures and casting accounts, in which I 
 made but slow progress ; and part of a small volume of " The 
 History of England," which I found in rummaging an old 
 meal ark, gave me the first insight into the chronicles of my 
 native country. 
 
 Whilst my life at the bobbin-wheel was wretched on account 
 of the confinement, my poor old aunt had generally a sad time 
 with me. It was scarcely to be expected that a tall, straight, 
 round-limbed young ruffian like myself, with bare legs and
 
 COBEECTION. 103 
 
 feet, bare neck, and a head equally denuded, save by a crop of 
 thick coarse hair, should sit day by day twirling a wheel and 
 guiding a thread ; his long limbs cramped and doubled under 
 a low wooden stool. For I may observe that the clothes with 
 which I left Manchester having been worn out, I went in the 
 week-days of summer time never hosed, and but scantily 
 draped, except Sundays, when a decent suit was at my service. 
 I accordingly at times, from a sheer inability to sit still, played 
 all kind of pranks, and threw myself into all kinds of attitudes, 
 keeping my wheel going the while, lest my aunt should have it 
 to say I was playing and neglecting my task. I generally sat 
 near her at work, and I must confess that I sometimes ex- 
 hibited these antics from a wish to provoke rather than amuse 
 my observant and somewhat irritable overseer. On these 
 occasions I frequently got a rap on the head from a weaver's 
 rod which my aunt would have beside her, whereupon I would 
 move out of her reach and continue " marlockin " until I got 
 either more correction, or was despatched on an errand, or 
 banished into the " loom-house " amongst the weavers. Then, 
 when my uncle went into the house to smoke his pipe, which 
 he generally did in the forenoon and afternoon, my aunt half 
 diverted, half provoked, would give him the history of my 
 pranks and my " flitting," as she would call it, when he would 
 laugh until tears filled his eyes, or his pipe snapped in twain 
 — for he used to sit quite at his ease, with the tube pendant 
 from his mouth — and on his returning to his loom, he would 
 admonish me sharply, or more commonly would question me 
 as to the cause of the rupture — pretending not to know about 
 it, — and would conclude by advising me to be submissive to 
 my aunt, and by all means to keep on good terms with the 
 mistress of the house wherever I dwelt. I was certainly so 
 good tempered and cheerful they scarcely could be long dis- 
 pleased with me for all my faults, and so these little darkenings 
 passed like cloud spots, and presently all was bright again. 
 The most serious rupture which I had with my aunt was 
 occasioned by an act of wilful disobedience on my part. She 
 dealt out to me a certain number of hanks and cops which I 
 was to have wound by " bagging-time," in the afternoon, or
 
 104 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 beaten I certainly should be. I sat at my wheel and made not 
 any reply, determining not to wind them, as I thought the 
 task unreasonable, and that she was, in this instance, acting 
 arbitrarily. I continued, therefore, to turn the wheel very 
 deliberately, indeed, rather carelessly, until the time appointed 
 had expired, when my aunt, laying hold of a stout rod, began 
 to lay it upon my back and across my shoulders, which she did 
 until she was spent for breath, I but little flinching all the 
 time ; she seemed rather puzzled by my coolness, whilst I was 
 equally diverted by her embarrassment ; at length, being quite 
 exhausted, she stood looking at me with an air of vexation, 
 and suddenly began to hit me on the legs, which set me a 
 capering, and made me run out of the house, and remain 
 away until the storm was blown over. With a determination 
 to incur the beating, and a knowledge that I should have it, 
 I had got two thin boards, part of an orange box, which I put 
 under my waistcoat, so as to cover each shoulder blade, and 
 buttoning waistcoat and jacket over them, I was well encased 
 against my poor aunt's weak blows, so long as they were 
 applied to the defended parts. My comical expedient caused 
 more suppressed laughter in the family than anger ; and when 
 I returned into the house again, looking rather dolorous of 
 course, I could perceive that my aunt had got quite enough 
 of the beating as well as myself, whilst my uncle at his next 
 smoking bout, — I being banished as usual into the loom-shop, 
 where I could see but not hear him, — sat and laughed until 
 his corpulent frame shook as if he would have fallen out of 
 his chair, and then he came to his work without reprimanding 
 me. 
 
 About this time I had a sincere desire to become religious ; 
 and I earnestly prayed, in my way, that God would awaken 
 me to a strong sense of my " sinful and lost state," and would 
 make me cry out as in agony for my " manifold transgres- 
 sions " — amongst which losing my Bible once, when I went a 
 bee-hunting instead of coming home from school, covert dis- 
 obedience to my uncle and aunt, and carelessness after prayer, 
 were to me the most prominent. I wished, like Saul, to be 
 convinced and converted whether or not ; to be "arrested in
 
 PBAYEB. 105 
 
 my career " by an irresistible arm, for I felt almost certain 
 that if I never forsook sin until I did so voluntarily, and from 
 my very heart, there was great danger of my never doing so. 
 I was as sincere, however, as I could be — as I well knew 
 how to be, and often I expected to have " a call," like my 
 name-sake of old, when I would reply, "Lord! Thy servant 
 heareth." But there was no call for me ; my obdurate heart 
 remained " unbroken by the hammer of the word," and some- 
 how it happened that my longest and most fervent prayers 
 were made on my visits to the little chamber upstairs, when 
 instead of being on my knees, I ought to have been looking out 
 cops and hanks to wind for my weavers. Thus it was, I would 
 have either sung, or prayed, or I believe, I should have done 
 any other thing, sinful or devout, that would have kept me from 
 the hated wheel. I came to the conclusion that God never did 
 nor ever would take the trouble to convince one of my con- 
 dition, and that there was no rehgion in the world that could 
 ever make a bobbin-winder content with his lot ; — and so 
 ended, at that time, my efforts for obtaining grace.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 A HOME-BEAEING, A DINNER, AND A MASTER INDEED. 
 
 As I was getting rather too unmanageable for my aunt at the 
 bobbin-wheel, fortunately in this respect for both her and my- 
 self, my brother went to reside at Manchester, and a vacancy 
 thus occurring on one of the looms, I was transferred to it, and 
 became a weaver. At the Sunday school also I was promoted 
 from being a scholar to a ruler of copybooks, a cutter of pens, 
 and an attendant generally on the writers ; one of whom being 
 Mima, " the little cherry-bud," I took care she should always 
 have a clean copy and a new pen. She had become a frequent 
 visitor at our house, and a close companion to my cousin 
 Hannah, who for some time had slept with her at her uncle's. 
 Having now become an active lad, and, from my good 
 temper and willingness to perform any service, now that the 
 abhorrent wheel was not in the way, had made some advances 
 into the kindly feelings of my aunt and uncle, I was at times 
 chosen to assist the latter when he took the work home to 
 Manchester. The family were, at that time, chiefly employed 
 by Messrs. Samuel and James Broadbent, of Cannon Street, 
 and as the work was for the most part "pollicat" and "romoll" 
 handkerchiefs, with a finer reed, occasionally, of silk and 
 cotton "garments," or handkerchiefs, the "bearing-home 
 wallet " was often both bulky and heavy ; and when it 
 happened to be too much so for one person to carry, a neigh- 
 bour's wallet would be borrowed, the burden divided into two, 
 and I would go with one part over my shoulder, behind or 
 before my uncle. He being, as already stated, rather heavy in 
 person would walk deliberately, with a stick in his hand, bis 
 
 106
 
 A HOME-BEABING, A DINNER, A MASTER INDEED. 107 
 
 green woollen apron twisted round his waist, his clean shirt 
 showing at the open breast of his waistcoat, his brown silk 
 handkerchief wrapped round his neck, a quid of tobacco in 
 his mouth, and a broad and rather slouched hat on his head. 
 So would he appear when setting out on a " bearing-home " 
 journey ; whilst I, with my smaller wallet, with my rough 
 jacket, my knee breeches, my strong stockings and shoes, my 
 open collared shirt, and pleasure and glee in my heart and 
 countenance, footed the way as lightsomely as a young colt. 
 
 The warehouse of Messrs. Broadbent was nearly at the top 
 of Cannon Street, on the right-hand side. We mounted some 
 steps, went along a covered passage, and up a height or two of 
 stairs, to a landing place, one side of which was railed off by 
 the bannister, and the other furnished with a seat for weavers 
 to rest upon when they arrived. Here we should probably 
 find some half-dozen weavers and winders, waiting for their 
 turn to dehver in their work and to receive fresh material ; 
 and the business betwixt workman and putter-out was gener- 
 ally done in an amicable, reasonable way. No captious fault- 
 finding, no bullying, no arbitrary abatement, which have been 
 too common since, were then practised. If the work were 
 really faulty, the weaver was shown the fault, and if it were 
 not a serious one he was only cautioned against repeating it ; 
 if the length or the weight was not what it should be, he was 
 told of it, and would be expected to set it right, or account for 
 it, at his next bearing-home, and if he were a frequent de- 
 faulter he was no longer employed. But very rarely indeed 
 did it happen that any transaction bearing the appearance of 
 an advantage being taken against the workman by the putter- 
 out was heard of in those days. 
 
 It would sometimes happen that warp or weft would not 
 be ready until after dinner, and on such occasions, my uncle 
 having left his wallet in care of the putter-out, would go down- 
 stairs and get paid at the counting-house, and from thence 
 go to the public-house where we lunched on bread and cheese, 
 or cold meat and bread, with ale, to which my uncle added 
 his ever-favourite pipe of tobacco. This house, which was 
 the "Hope and Anchor," in the old churchyard, was also
 
 108 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 frequented by other weavers ; the putter-out at Broadbents 
 generally dined there in the parlour, and when he had dined 
 he would come and take a glass of ale, smoke his pipe, and 
 chat with the weavers, after which, my uncle would again 
 go to the warehouse, and getting what material he wanted, 
 would buy a few groceries and tobacco in the town, or 
 probably, as we returned through the apple market, to go 
 down Long Mill Gate, he would purchase a peck of apples, 
 and giving them to me to carry, we wended towards home, I, 
 by permission, making pretty free with the apples by the way. 
 Before leaving the town my uncle would probably call at the 
 "Queen Anne," in Long Mill Gate, to see if there were any 
 suitable company going our way ; if there were, we took a 
 glass until all were ready, and then we walked on together. 
 Another calling house was Schofield's, at Scotland Bridge, and 
 the last in the town was the "Flower Pot," on Eed Bank. In 
 winter time, and especially when day was closing, the weavers 
 preferred thus returning in groups, for the road was not 
 altogether free of foot-pads any more than at present. In hot 
 summer weather, the weavers would sometimes indulge them- 
 selves by a ride in a cart, or they would leave their heavy bur- 
 dens at the "Three Crowns," in Cock Gates, to be forwarded by 
 Abraham Lees, the Middleton carrier. When a party of 
 weavers returned in company, they would generally make a 
 halt at Blackley, either at the "White Lion," or at Travis's, the 
 " Golden Lion," over the way. There the wallets, or " pokes " 
 as they were mostly called, were piled in a heap, ale was 
 ordered, seats drawn round the fire, pipes were soon lighted, 
 news interchanged with the host or some of his company ; 
 half an hour, or sometimes more, was thus spent, when the 
 shot being called and paid, the travellers took their wallets 
 and climbing the Hill lane, were soon at home. Such was " a 
 bearing-home day " to Manchester in those times. 
 
 But even those days, advantageous as they certainly were 
 when compared with the present ones which are devoted to a 
 similar errand, were considered as being greatly altered for 
 the worse since the days which could be spoken of from 
 remembrance. The two classes of workmen and employer
 
 A HOME-BEABING, A DINNEB, A MASTEB INDEED. 109 
 
 were already at too great a distance from each other, and it 
 was a subject of observation that the masters were becoming 
 more and more proud and uplifted each day. Some had seen 
 the time when, on taking their work home, and material not 
 being ready, a dialogue like the following would take place. 
 
 Master. — Well, William, there will be no piece for thee till 
 afternoon. 
 
 Weaver. — Very well, I'll wait for it then ; wot time munni 
 come, think'n yo ? 
 
 Master. — Why, it's nearly dinner time now, and if thou'll 
 go an' have a bit o' dinner wi' me, th' work will, mayhap, be 
 ready when we come back. 
 
 Weaver. — Thank yo, mester, I'll goo wi' yo then. 
 
 So master and man would walk together to some decent- 
 looking house, in some decent, q liet street, where the master, 
 his wife, his children, and the guest, would sit down to a 
 plain, substantial dinner of broth most likely, with dumpling 
 and meat, or roast beef and baked pudding, or a steaming 
 potato-pie ; after which, master and workman would sit with 
 their ale and pipes, talking about whatever most concerned 
 themselves ; and it were no undue stretch of imagination to 
 suppose that a conversation somewhat like the following 
 would take place — the lady of the house also being present 
 with her knitting. 
 
 Master. — Well, William, an' how are you going on at your 
 side o' th' country ? 
 
 Weaver. — Pratty weel, mester, only they're begun a screwin 
 op rents, and ar reyther niblin' at wages. 
 
 Master. — Aye ; who's screwin' up rents ? 
 
 Weaver. — Yon new felley ats comn to th' Hoe ses he mun 
 ha' three shillin' a acre moor fro his Middlet'n tennants th' 
 next hawve yer. 
 
 Master. — That's a bad beginnin' ; but I always thought yon 
 Norfolk landlord would alter th' strip of old Sir Eaphe's cloth. 
 An' what do the tenants say about that ? 
 
 Weaver. — Wot con the say? they're ill enoof obeawt it 
 yomay besure. They grumbln confoundedly, an' sen iv Lady 
 Mary had nobbut wed Sir Asht'n isted o' yon Sir Hury 
 Byert, Middlet'n had nere ha lookt behind it agen.
 
 110 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 Master. — And who has been nibblin' at wages, as thou wert 
 saying ? 
 
 Weaver. — Why, Snidgers yonder, at th' Hedgelone. They 
 sen, at-te bated a hawpenny a peawnd th' last Setturday, at 
 ther broad-ribb'd fustian ; an' Hook-thum an' Son, o' Hollin- 
 wood, bated sixpence a cut th' Monday afore. 
 
 Master. — These are two very bad moves i'th* way o' 
 business, and I hope the examples will not be followed, 
 William; it's not the way to "live an' let live," which ought 
 to be the rule always betwixt master and workman. 
 
 Weaver. — It ought so to be, indeed, mestur; yo sen true, 
 an' I only wish at o' mesters wurn o' yore mind ; th' warkman 
 wud then be sure o' havin' a just consideration for his wark. 
 An' iv th' mesturs did'n but know wot a peawer they han for 
 makin' bad things an' marrin' good uns, they'dn stop, an' look 
 afore 'em, ere they gan way to sitch a grabbin' o' money. 
 
 Master. — What thou says is right, William ; and I am glad 
 to hear that one of my weavers has so much good thought in 
 him. " Live an' let live," is accordin' to Jesus Christ's rule, 
 and whatever master gets his money by a rule different from 
 that — rich, beyond measure, though he become — happy he 
 never can be either in this world or the next ; an' that is an 
 awful consideration, is it not, William ? 
 
 Weaver. — It is, mester ; it's awful to think that a mon 
 shall be tryeadin' o' carpets an' ridin' in coaches to-day, an' 
 tryeadin' o' brimstone an' rowlin' i' hell foyer to-morn. 
 
 Master. — And yet it must be so, with unjust employers, or 
 truth in God's Holy Word there is none. Hitherto, however, 
 we cotton masters and our workmen have gone nearly hand in 
 hand together. There have been blamable characters on both 
 sides certainly, but generally speaking, they have acted pretty 
 fairly towards each other. Has it not been so, William ? 
 
 Weaver. — It has bin mostly as yo sen, mester. 
 
 Master. — And I do greatly wish it may so continue. But 
 I am afraid, William — I am afraid this insatiable thirst after 
 money and power, which is now making great progress 
 amongst mankind, will, in the end, divide the masters and 
 workmen of this country, making the former into a set of
 
 A HOME-BEARING, A DINNEB, A MASTER INDEED. Ill 
 
 tyrants, and the latter into a fearful multitude of moody, 
 hateful slaves. 
 
 Weaver. — I hope thattle not be i' yore days, nor mine 
 noather, mester. 
 
 Master. — I hope it will not come to pass soon, William ; but 
 I fear it will come eventually. I hear almost every day a new 
 dogma quoted, namely, that the great principle of commerce 
 is " to buy at the cheapest, and sell at the dearest, market." 
 I cannot act upon it. It is not honest — it is not Christian 
 like — it is not wise. Let us try this vaunted principle, 
 William, by the test of honesty — by the test of " Do thou 
 unto others as thou wouldest they should do unto thee" — 
 and there is no bettor test of right and wrong under heaven. 
 Suppose thou and thy family were distressed from want of 
 employment ; and thou came to me asking for work, and I, 
 knowing thy situation, purchased thy labour "at the cheapest 
 rate at which I could get it," and sold it again at the dearest, 
 putting the profit screwed out of thy necessities into my 
 pocket — suppose I did so — should I be acting like a Christian? 
 like an honest, conscientious man ? 
 
 Mistress. — Dear Thomas, I know you will never act in that 
 manfier : it would cover us with self-reproach ; and neither 
 you, nor I, nor the children, would ever become rich in the 
 true riches of contentment, whatever were the wealth in gold, 
 which we obtained by such unworthy means. 
 
 Weaver. — Kind Madam, yo're very good and considerate 
 tord us worchin' fokes, and God will, I hope, bless yo and 
 yores, for the worthy use 'at yo mak'n o' yore prosperity. 
 
 Mistress. — Thank you, William; come take a little more ale, 
 and help yourself to tobacco. I assure you, I am always glad 
 to see a honest working man or woman at my table. 
 
 Weaver. — Yore good yealth, mam ; and yore good yealth, 
 sir ; an' happiness to yursels an o' yur family. 
 
 Master. — Thank you, William; and the same to you and 
 your family. 
 
 Weaver. — I'm oblig'd t'yo, sir. An' neaw I'm thinkin', 
 Suppos', as yo sed'n afore, 'at yo bo ight'n my necessitous 
 labour at th' lowest price 'at yo cud'n get it at, an' sowd'n it
 
 112 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 at th' heeist, an' isted o' puttin' o' th' profit i' yore own 
 pocket, yo gan me th' tone hawve on it — wudno that doo ? 
 
 Master (laughing). — "Why, yes, WilHam, that would do 
 very well, I should think ; but then thou knows, the principle 
 of " buying at the cheapest," would be in that case given up, 
 and I should be paying thee more for thy labour ^than I bar- 
 gained for, and there would be an end of the vaunted dogma 
 of trade which we have been talking about. There are other 
 dogmas, however, William, which, though they are not so 
 plausible, nor so much in vogue as the one we have been 
 discussing, are, in my opinion, quite as practicable, and far 
 more just. 
 
 Weaver. — I shudbe fain to yer 'em explaint, sir. 
 
 Master. — We will say at once, then, that " the labourer 
 ' should be deemed worthy' of his hire," and that he should 
 have it also. 
 
 Weaver. — Good, sir. 
 
 Master. — That the hire of the labourer should never be less 
 than what was sufficient to feed him, to clothe him, and to 
 furnish him with the necessaries of a comfortable existence. 
 This should be an inevitable condition of all labour. 
 
 Weaver. — ^Very good. 
 
 Master. — The cost of labour being thus immutably deter- 
 mined, all other costs would depend on supply and demand. 
 With this condition, trade would be an honest and respectable 
 vocation. Without this condition, fair trade cannot exist, for 
 it ceases to be trade, and becomes spoliation, ruin, and dis- 
 honour. 
 
 Weaver. — That's graidly true. A trade 'at dusno pay th' 
 warkmon for his wark is no trade at o, but a robbery an' a 
 disgrace to th' country. 
 
 Master. — Just so. When, therefore, our commercial men 
 talk about "buying in the cheapest, and selling in the dearest, 
 market," they should always except human labour in their 
 calculation. It is the bread and the means of existence of our 
 fellow-beings, and it ought not, under any circumstances, 
 to be placed in competition with mere money making, nor 
 wantonly exposed to vicissitude. Sacredly inviolable it ought
 
 A HOME-BEABING, A DINNEB, A MASTEB INDEED. 113 
 
 ever to be held. It is the source of all wealth, of all national 
 strength and vitality, and the least price that should ever 
 be given for it ought to be an ample sufficiency of all the 
 necessaries of life. "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that 
 treadeth out the corn." Now, William, thou knowest what my 
 "cheapest market" for wages will ever be; for if it happens 
 that I can no longer give my workpeople the means for a 
 comfortable subsistence in return for their labour, I will cease 
 to employ them. 
 
 Weaver. — I wud 'at that mornin' may never oppen it een, 
 at ony rate. 
 
 Master. — Now we will go back to the warehouse, and I will 
 find thee a warp and weft at the old price. 
 
 Mistress. — Farewell, William, and give my respects to your 
 good-wife at home. 
 
 Weaver. — I will, Madam. An' mony thanks for yur kynd- 
 niss. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 PEAYEK MEETINGS — A BOGGAET— CHRISTIAN INSTEUCTION. 
 
 My companions at this time were about half a dozen of as wild 
 
 and gamesome beings as could be found in our neighbourhood. 
 
 Very demure and reserved were we whilst under the eyes of 
 
 our guardians or parents, but the moment we were beyond 
 
 their ken our license for gambol and mirth was as great as 
 
 had been our restraint. At Sunday school we were regular 
 
 attendants, and each went away with his crumb of instruction. 
 
 At the sermons we were frequently present, but from those 
 
 meetings we generally departed as unregenerate as we came. 
 
 What could our young heads or hearts make of the mysteries 
 
 and creeds of the pulpit ? They were strange, certainly ; 
 
 wonderfully incomprehensible were these matters which the 
 
 preachers tried to impress on us ; undeniable also as the fact 
 
 of our own existence appeared to our unreasoning minds — the 
 
 certainty that we must be either " born again," or damned 
 
 eternally. So we sang when others sang, we prayed when 
 
 others prayed, we sat out the sermon, sang and prayed again, 
 
 when, hungry and impatient, we ran home to our meals, and 
 
 then stole out to play. Sometimes the religious observances 
 
 of the Methodists were sought by us as opportunities for rude 
 
 sport. One place was in particular a favourite resort of ours. 
 
 About once a month, a number of the most gifted members of 
 
 the Methodists' society went over from Middleton to hold a 
 
 prayer meeting at the house of Samuel Hamer, in Grunsha 
 
 Lane. Mr. Hamer was a small farmer possessing some little 
 
 property ; he and his wife had recently become converts to 
 
 Methodism. That respectable and very loving couple, with 
 
 m
 
 PBA YEB-MEE TINGS. 115 
 
 their only child, a son, were constant attendants at the chapel 
 at Middleton, and were as exemplary in their duties as they 
 were zealous in the propagation of their new religion. Mrs. 
 Hamer was a clever, talented, good-looking woman ; one likely 
 to be influential, for she had an uncommon " gift of prayer," 
 and as the house in Grunsha Lane was in a district bordering 
 on Tonge, Alkrington, and Chadderton, where " Satan had as 
 yet many strongholds," these prayers were looked on as so 
 many assaults on " the powers of the Prince of the Air." The 
 leaders of the meeting generally assembled at Samuel Smith's, 
 who lived at the corner of Union Street, Middleton. There 
 would perhaps be half-a-dozen of men, a woman or two, and a 
 party of us lads. With coats buttoned up, lanthorns lighted, 
 and sticks in hand, the men led the way, the women following, 
 and the boys hovering sometimes before, sometimes behind. 
 When, however, we were fairly in the fields, one of our party 
 of lads would be missing ; a whistle would be heard through 
 the darkness, and loitering behind until the men and women 
 were at a distance, we would set off as we could, helter-skelter, 
 over hedge and ditch in quest of the whistler. This, especially 
 on dark gusty nights, when we could scarcely hear each other's 
 voices, and often became lost for a time, was fine, exciting 
 sport. A low yell, like that of a hound, would occasionally 
 recall us to the pack, or to some comrade thrown out of the 
 way like one's self. Then there were particular places where 
 one did not like to be quite alone, lest we fell in with company 
 other than mortal. Such were Babylon Brow, going up to the 
 heights of Tonge, and Tonge Wood, a thick dark plantation, 
 and Tonge Springs, fairy-haunted, and its brook-bubbling 
 sounds, like human words. On fine moonlight nights also, 
 during the chase, things would be sometimes seen, and sounds 
 heard, which one could not exactly make out ; and as these 
 added to the spirit of adventure, and were seldom of a 
 decidedly terrific character, they served but to increase our 
 excitement and relish of the pastime. When at the meeting, 
 a hymn having been sung, and a prayer or two made, on 
 a signal being given, we would slip out without exciting notice, 
 and have another hunt over the fields and across the hedges
 
 116 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 after which we returned, joined in the concluding devotions, 
 and came home, our good guardians httle dreaming of the 
 sinful manner in which we had spent the holy Sabbath evening. 
 On one of these night adventures I was certainly rather startled 
 by what took place. My comrades had set out and left me 
 behind, and in order to overtake them, I began to run, and 
 had not run far, when I saw one before me running also, 
 whom I seemed to be gaining ground upon fast. I soon made 
 him out to be a lad of our party whom I knew I could easily 
 outrun, and I chuckled at the idea of mortifying him by 
 passing him at full speed, as I intended to do. "When I got 
 nearer I called out, but he still kept onward, making no answer. 
 When close behind him I shouted, " Bill ! Bill ! why so fast ? " 
 but there was no notice — no reply — which I thought rather 
 strange, and when I came abreast of him, I said in a tone of 
 defiance, " Come on, then, and see whot theawrt short of," 
 and darting past him like an arrow, I turned my head with an 
 air of triumph, and saw a face — not Bill's, but that of one who 
 had been dead many years. I now ran in earnest to get rid of 
 him, but on looking back, saw he was within a few yards of 
 my heels. He seemed almost to sweep the ground, whilst I 
 passed the low fields betwixt Tonge Springs and Grunsha Lane, 
 I know not how, but at an incredibly swift pace. In the lane 
 he was still close behind me, and when I turned towards the 
 door of the meeting-house, there was nothing to be seen or 
 heard, save the tone of one in earnest prayer, and the frequent 
 responses of " Amen, Amen." The lad whom I had set out to 
 run against was inside on his knees, and I crept beside him 
 and prayed more really in earnest that night than I had done 
 during a long time before. I never mentioned the circumstance 
 to my comrades lest I should get laughed at by them, or be 
 seriously questioned and admonished by the elder Methodists if 
 it came to their knowledge. Poor Bill was afterwards killed 
 at Talavera ; as good a specimen of dogged straight-forward 
 John Bullism was he, as ever left England. Mr. Hamer died 
 suddenly in the hayfield ; his widow, on a rather short court- 
 ship, became the wife of our friend Samuel Smith ; and her 
 young son in process of time became a leading character
 
 CHBISTIAN INSTBVCTION. 117 
 
 amongst the Methodists, and is now, I believe, one of their 
 travelling preachers. 
 
 Methinks I hear one Sanctimonia exclaim — " And a pretty 
 way of bringing up the rising generation was that of the old 
 Methodists at Middleton." 
 
 To which I reply by asking : " How would you bring them 
 up better? " 
 
 "Oh," says Sanctimonia, "parents or guardians should 
 always accompany their youthful charge to places of public 
 worship, or should commit them to the care of vigilant elders 
 who would reprehend every indication of levity or inattention." 
 
 "But could you govern the eye? Could you restrain the 
 wanderings of the mind or of the heart ? " 
 
 " No, but the bodily positions could be regulated, leaving 
 the rest to God." 
 
 "You would exact 'the outward and visible sign,' then, 
 whether or not ' the inward and spiritual grace ' were 
 present ? " 
 
 "I would." 
 
 " A very easy method that, of manufacturing devotees, but 
 let me say that, in my opinion, you would begin at the wrong 
 end, and that the article after all would be spurious. We have 
 plenty of it nowadays, and I believe it is produced by a process 
 very much like that which you recommend." 
 
 " What sort of an article, as you call it, would you 
 produce? " 
 
 " I would, with God's help, try to produce a genuine one, a 
 true Jesus Chi-ist's own Christianity." 
 
 " And how would you set about it ? " 
 
 " In every heart there is at least one germ of goodness. I 
 would cultivate that by every gentle, and kind, and appropriate 
 means ; making its practice and development become a plea- 
 sure, not less than a duty. For instance, a child may be very 
 impatient or drowsy over a sermon, whose heart would leap, 
 and whose eyes would gush with tears on being addressed 
 with words of kindness, or on seeing a fellow-creature or a 
 dumb beast unworthily treated. Another who is less susceptible 
 of tender feelings would colour with indignation on witnessing
 
 118 EABLY DAYS, 
 
 an act of dishonesty or ingratitude. Another would perish 
 sooner than be guilty of an untruth. A fourth shall battle 
 for the weak in right, against the strong in might, whilst his 
 neighbour shall be lion-brave in the endurance of injuries. So 
 one is merciful — cultivate that mercy, and other virtues will 
 arise vsdth it. Another is just — by all means encourage that 
 spirit of justice, and mercy shall be thereby impartially dis- 
 pensed. Another shall be indignant of wrong — nurture that 
 young heroism, and both justice and mercy will grow up with 
 it. A fourth shall be nobly magnanimous, and is he not so 
 far a Christian? I would, with God's help, train up the 
 tender-hearted child to be just, the just one to be merciful, the 
 veracious one to add graciousness to truth, the heroic one to 
 be moderate in triumph, and the magnanimous one to be 
 powerful as well as endurant. In every assemblage of youth, 
 all these good qualities are to be found, like gems strewed in 
 darkness. Why should they be left to be lost? Precious 
 emanations are they of God's own being. Let us worship 
 God by deeming His gifts worthy of our care — most solicitous 
 care. Children would understand this kind of religion better ; 
 they would love it better, they would imbibe it sooner, than 
 the present one 
 
 " Of sermonising and catechising. 
 And bell-ringing, and drone-singing, 
 And knee-bowing, and pride-showing, 
 Of vain finery, and mock shinery." 
 
 I would not have it all lip- worship, and f orm- worship ; but 
 heart-worship, coming from the heart, and heart-penetrative, 
 wherever it was introduced. I would, in fact, have less of 
 priestianity, and more of Christ's own Christianity ; less of 
 creeds and dogmas, and more of the living faith which bringeth 
 forth works, testifying to the reality of a true belief.
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 PASTIMES AND OBSEEVANCES. 
 
 As my wish is to give a true description of the life which I 
 led in my early days, and consequently of the manners and 
 customs to which that life would be conformable, I shall only 
 be proceeding with the proper end in view, if I give an account 
 of the games, pastimes, and observances, which were prevalent 
 amongst both the youthful and the more mature classes of the 
 working population of my neighbourhood at the time I am 
 writing about ; and this may be considered as less irrelevant, 
 inasmuch as that most of the pastimes and diversions which 
 I shall describe are no longer practised — some of them not 
 even known — by the youthful population of the manufacturing 
 districts at the present day. Thus we are enabled distinctly 
 to perceive the great change which, in a few years, has taken 
 place in the tastes and habits of the working classes. And, 
 seeing these alterations clearly set forth, we shall be better 
 able to determine whether or not the labouring classes have 
 been advancing in, or retrograding from that state of mind, and 
 that bodily habit, which are meant by the term. Civilisation. 
 
 It was always a custom with the Methodists to hold a 
 pubhc prayer-meeting or " watch-night " at the chapel, and 
 to continue in prayer or singing from the eve of Christmas 
 day to the following morning ; when the leaders, and such of 
 the attendants as chose to accompany them, perambulated the 
 town, singing hymns and carols, and stopping to sing before 
 the dwellings of individuals of their own society, or of any 
 other individual who was of their congregation, or who was 
 generally respected. On the forenoon of the following day, 
 
 119
 
 120 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 they also generally held another prayer-meeting, unless there 
 was service at the chapel, whilst in the evening there was 
 generally a full service. On New Year's Eve there was a 
 prayer-meeting again. And these were the chief Christmas 
 observances of the rehgious body with which I was associated 
 in worldly matters. 
 
 Some two or three weeks before Christmas it was the custom 
 in families to apportion to each boy or girl weaver a certain 
 quantity of work, which was to be done ere his or her holidays 
 commenced. An extra quantity was generally undertaken to 
 be performed, and the conditions of the performance were such 
 indulgences and gratuities as were agreeable to the working 
 parties. In most families, a peck or a strike of malt would be 
 brewed ; spiced bread or potato custard would be made, and 
 probably an extra piece of beef, and some good old cheese 
 would be laid in store, not to be touched until the work was 
 done. The work then went on merrily. Play hours were 
 nearly given up, and whole nights would be spent at the loom, 
 the weavers occasionally striking up a hymn or Christmas 
 carol in chorus. A few hours of the late morning would 
 perhaps be given to rest ; work would be then resumed, and 
 the singing and rattle of shuttles would be almost incessant 
 during the day. In my uncle's family we were all singers, 
 and seldom a day passed on which several hymns were not 
 sung. Before Christmas we frequently sung to keep ourselves 
 from sleep, and we chorused " Christians, awake," when we 
 ourselves were almost gone in sleep. 
 
 I recollect, on one of these occasions, my aunt had a very 
 nice brew of ale in the buttery, and as we were working extra 
 hours, I suggested that an allowance of it should be served to 
 us whilst so working, instead of its being reserved until the 
 work was done, when we should no longer require it. My 
 aunt, however, would not give way; not a drop must be 
 tasted until the work was finished. I determined, therefore, 
 on helping myself, deeming it no dishonesty to obtain a part 
 of my good fare when it was most wanted. I got a hollow 
 straw, therefore, and whenever I went into the buttery, which 
 was not unusual with any of us, I introduced my tube into
 
 PASTIMES AND OBSERVANCES. 121 
 
 the bung hole and sucked until I was satisfied for that time. 
 This was repeated on several other occasions, and at last I 
 heard my aunt say to my uncle that she thought the ale was 
 not working so well as she could wish it to do. He told her 
 to fill it up, and it would be prime ale, no doubt. So she filled 
 it up, and I sucked it down ; she filled it again, and again the 
 barm was below the bung-hole. I, chuckling with mischievous 
 glee at my poor aunt's embarrassment, who no doubt began to 
 have surmises that something not exactly " of this world " 
 might have interfered with it, at last one day, as I was 
 having a most refreshing draw, a bump on the back drove my 
 nose into the barm, and there stood my aunt, crying out, "Ah, 
 I've catch'd him ! I've catch'd him i' th' fact ! " She brought 
 me forth, and narrated my trick to my uncle, who sat smoking, 
 and though he endeavoured to look angry, could not help 
 laughing until tears ran down his face. 
 
 Christmas holidays always commenced at Middleton on the 
 first Monday after New Year's Day. By that day every one 
 was expected to have his work finished. That being done, the 
 cuts were next carefully picked and plated, and made up for 
 the warehouse, and they having been despatched, the loom- 
 house was swept and put in order; the house was cleaned, 
 the furniture rubbed, and the holidays then commenced. The 
 ale was tapped, the currant-loaf was sliced out, and lad and 
 lass went to play as each liked best ; the boys generally at 
 football, and both boys and girls at sliding, when there was 
 ice on the ground. In wet weather we should have a swinging 
 rope in the loom-house, or should spend the day in going from 
 house to house amongst our playmates, and finishing at night 
 by assembling in parties of a dozen or a score, boys and girls, 
 where on some warm, comfortable hearth we sat singing carols 
 and hymns, playing at " forfeits," proposing riddles, and telling 
 "fyerin tales," until our hair began to stiffen, and when we 
 broke up we scampered homeward, not venturing to look 
 behind lest the "old one" himself should be seen at our 
 heels. 
 
 At this season also it was the custom for the sexton of the 
 church, and the ringers to go from house to house wishing
 
 122 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 their neighbours " a merry Christmas," when they were 
 generally invited to sit down, and were presented with a jug 
 of ale and a present in money. This was done at most of the 
 houses, especially if trade was going well ; dissenters as well 
 as church people gave, for religious differences had not so far 
 divided the people into sects as to make them forget good 
 neighbourship. It must have been a very furor of religion 
 indeed which could have made my kind and simple-hearted 
 uncle entertain one disparaging feeling towards his fellow 
 townsmen of any party. Nor were the hard-working colliers 
 shut out from the Christmas festivities. They also made it 
 a custom to visit their neighbours, and were treated with ale 
 or money, or both, as the circumstances of the family per- 
 mitted. The poor sympathised with the poor, their sympathy 
 not being of that description which in these times froths out 
 in rabid speeches to starving multitudes, but was expressed by 
 action as well as by word. " Come, Jim, have a slice of my 
 loaf. Now, Bill, tak' a cup of my ale. Thou deservest what- 
 ever thou canst get. I live and work here in cheerful day and 
 sunlight ; thou spendest thy life in constant danger, and in 
 little dark cells under ground. Come, don't need inviting. 
 Thou art heartily welcome, and thou canst never be too 
 greatly paid for thy labour." Thus the weaver and the collier 
 would reciprocate their good wishes, which is better after all, 
 more manly, and more in the old English way — more respect- 
 fully kind than the vaunted French mode of fraternisation. 
 
 At Shrove-tide we had always a holiday on Tuesday, when 
 we went to each other's houses to turn our pancakes, and 
 " stang " such as incurred the penalty by not having eaten 
 their cake before the next cake was ready. The person to be 
 stanged was placed on a pole, and being held on each side, 
 was carried by others to middin £und there deposited, amid the 
 laughter and jokes of all present. On one of these occasions 
 my little companion Mima, having to be stanged, and there 
 being no poles at hand, I lifted her like a child and carried her 
 towards the appointed place, she struggling and making a 
 great show of resistance the while, which caused her to fold 
 her arms round my neck, and to hold so closely, that had I 
 
 «1
 
 PASTIMES AND OBSERVANCES. 123 
 
 not discovered that she had the sweetest breath as well as the 
 prettiest cheek in Middleton, I must have been a blockhead 
 indeed. 
 
 Midlent Sunday, with us called " Cymbalin Sunday," was 
 another of our feasts, when it was customary to eat cymbalin 
 cake,* and drink mulled ale. This was more particularly the 
 custom at Bury than at any other town in our neighbourhood. 
 Latterly the inhabitants of Heywood and Koyton have set up 
 as special observers of this day, though on what pretence I 
 know not, except it be with the view of bringing strangers to 
 their town, whereby shopkeepers may get purchasers of their 
 cake, and publicans of their ale. I know not how to account 
 for the origin of this ancient observance, except by supposing 
 that it is in some way or other derived from the heathen 
 " feast of cymbals." That it has in its very name and manner 
 an allusion to the instrumental cymbal, there can scarcely be 
 a doubt ; the name itself, which I here spell as it is pro- 
 nounced, directly points to such meaning, whilst the form of 
 the cake — the cymbalin — is a more positive indication of its 
 origin. A cymbalin is not a merely round spiced cake — such 
 an one would be a spiced cake only, and would be so termed — 
 but let the maker raise a lump in the middle, like the ball of 
 a cymbal, and turn up the edges like those of the instrument, 
 and any native of South Lancashire will call it a cymbalin. 
 There have been many disputations and surmises about the 
 orthography and derivation of the name — some of those by 
 persons who probably did not know a cymbalin from a cake ; 
 but this definition, I think, may be allowed to set the matter 
 at rest. The name is Cymbalin ; the form is exactly that of a 
 cymbal : but when or by what means this custom, so directly 
 allusive to a musical instrument, became connected with a 
 Christian observance in our part of the country, some one 
 
 * Usually known as " Simnel Cake" and " SLranel Sunday." Bamford 
 ■wrote the name as he heard it pronounced. It occurs in Herrick's "Hespe- 
 rides"(1647)— 
 
 " I'U to thee a simnel bring 
 'Gainst thou go a-mothering," 
 
 Mid-Lent being Mothering Sunday.
 
 124 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 more learned than myself must determine, if it can be deter- 
 mined at all. 
 
 Easter was a more important holiday time at Middleton. 
 On Good Friday children took little baskets neatly trimmed 
 with moss, and went " a peace-egging," and received at some 
 places eggs, at some places spiced loaf, and at others half- 
 pennies, which they carried home to their mothers, who would 
 feel proud that their children had been so much respected. 
 On Easter Monday, companies of young men grotesquely 
 dressed, led up by a fiddler, and with one or two in female 
 attire, would go from house to house on the same errand of 
 " peace-egging." At some places they would dance, at others 
 they would recite quaint verses, and at the houses of the 
 more sedate inhabitants, they would merely request a " peace- 
 egg." Money or ale would in general be presented to them, 
 which they afterwards divided and spent. Meantime, the 
 holiday having fairly commenced, all work was abandoned, 
 good eating, good drinking, and new clothing were the order 
 of the day. Men thronged to the ale-houses, and there was 
 much folly, intemperance, and quarrelling amidst the pre- 
 vailing good humour. On Tuesday night, some unlucky fellow 
 who had got so far intoxicated as not to be able to take care 
 of himself, would be selected to fill the post of lord mayor for 
 the year ensuing, and as — for the sake of the drink and the 
 sport which it afforded — there were always parties on the 
 look-out ready to secure some one suitable for their purpose, 
 the town was seldom at a loss for a lord mayor. Their mode 
 of election, most certainly, was not of so courteous nor so 
 grave a character as are the proceedings of mayoral elections 
 in some of the recently created neighbouring boroughs, but 
 " the Middleton Charter " having been in existence " time out 
 of mind," granted no doubt by some king or lordly ruler, 
 whose very name is lost in remote antiquity, the electors were 
 not very strictly circumscribed in their operations, and they 
 generally went to work without consulting either town's-books, 
 town-clerk, statute, or charter. The individual pitched upon 
 would generally be found in the nook of some ale-house, in the 
 state which has been before described, or if by a more lucky
 
 PASTIMES AND OBSEHVANCES. 125 
 
 accident he were picked up from the gutter, he would be 
 conveyed to some friendly tap, where the necessary prepara- 
 tions could be carried on without interruption. The electors 
 who undertook this important duty for " the good of the 
 town " would be mostly of that class of "free burgesses" who, 
 on festive occasions, are always the first at the ale-house and 
 the last to leave it ; the first to leave work, and the last to 
 return to it ; such as weavers who, disdaining slavery and 
 being for the Charter, are always at leisure to look after their 
 favourite 'pints, with a determination to get, by hook or by 
 crook, as many toward the six * as they can ; — cobblers, 
 " Souter Johnnies," "droughty cronies," who'd — 
 
 *• Eather be a hobble in, 
 Than bend to their cobblin' ; " 
 
 hedge joiners, whose chief hedging is that which edges 
 towards the drink mug; and dusty-throated colliers, who 
 certainly, of all the working classes, have the greatest apology 
 for a good wash-down of ale. Such being the electors, what 
 might be the mode of election ? 
 
 First of all, then, if the candidate happened to have a some- 
 what decent coat on his back, it was stripped and given into 
 the care of the landlord, or his equally obliging wife. The 
 face of the candidate was next well daubed with soot and 
 grease, his hair would be dusted with both soot and flour, a 
 pig-tail made from a dish-clout would be appended behind, a 
 woman's kirtle, a cap, a hat without crown, an old jacket, an 
 old sack, or any other shred of dress which the imagination of 
 his lordship's robers could construe either into an article of 
 adornment or deformity, would be placed upon him so as to 
 have its greatest effect. He would then be taken into the 
 street, placed on a chair, or in an armchair if too far gone to 
 sit upright, and proclaimed " Lord Mayor of Middleton," with 
 every demonstration of drunken and mischievous glee. If the 
 landlord, for reasons best known to himself, declined the 
 honour of furnishing one of his old chairs for the procession, 
 
 * Written in 1848, when the Chartist agitation collapsed. The charter 
 consisted oi " six points."
 
 126 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 as most likely he would do, his lordship would probably be 
 hoisted on a pole, with attendants balancing him on each 
 side ; or he might be laid upon a ladder, or mounted upon 
 some poor strayed donkey; and so, amid shouts, laughter, 
 yells, and oaths, would be conducted through the streets and 
 lanes of his new dominions. It was generally somewhat past 
 midnight ere his lordship commenced this his first survey, and 
 the noise which accompanied his approach was such as per- 
 mitted but few of his subjects to remain in repose. A loud 
 knocking would be heard at every door, whilst many voices 
 called cut, "Come deawn, milord wants his dues," "Milord 
 wants his dues." If the window were opened and one within 
 said, " Well, yo' met'n make a less din, an' behange'd to yo' ; 
 heer's tuppence, an' be off wi' yo' ; " the response would be, 
 " Hur-rey ! milord's gett'n his dues; come, let's try this next 
 dur. Hur-rey ! Hur-rey ! " And so was chosen, elected, 
 installed, and paraded, the lord mayor of Middleton. 
 
 On the forenoon of the following day his lordship might 
 perhaps be seen, half washed and not yet awaken, on the form 
 of the noisiest tap-room of the town. His conductors of the 
 over-night drinking, smoking, dancing, and singing, in the 
 same place. Some having been fighting, some ready to fight, 
 some with black eyes, others with torn and bloody clothes, 
 some with scarcely any clothes at all, whilst anon, constables 
 would be peering about and making inquiries as to who it was 
 that kicked open such a door ? who smashed such a window ? 
 who stole this body's can ? who broke that body's mug ? and a 
 woful reckoning being promised for next week, some of the 
 marauders would look serious. And, in truth, if the affair 
 got over without some damages having to be made good, some 
 law having to be hushed up, it was considered a very peaceable 
 and exemplary election, and the " free burgesses " were in good 
 heart for a repetition next year. 
 
 This custom was analogous to one which prevailed at 
 Ashton-under-Lyne on Easter Monday, and which was called 
 " Eiding the Black Lad." At Ashton, however, the ceremony 
 took place in the day time, when the figure of a man dressed 
 in black was paraded through the streets, mounted on a horse,
 
 PASTIMES AND OBSERVANCES. 127 
 
 Or a sorry nag of any kind. The origin of these customs is 
 involved in obscurity. Both customs seem to have had one 
 origin, and to have been held in derisive commemoration 
 of some member of the Assheton family, as no such cus- 
 tom prevailed except in the two townships connected with 
 the Asshetons. At Ashton the figure was ignominiously 
 paraded in the day-time ; at Middleton, as we see, " The Lord 
 Mayor," all blackened and soiled, and, in fact, disguised, was 
 paraded at midnight, and with mock authority demanded " his 
 dues." The ceremony at Ashton would seem to be expressive 
 of hatred and contempt, that of Middleton to indicate the 
 cause of it, namely, severe and arbitrary exaction. Another 
 supposition also arises, namely, that the Ashton ceremonial 
 would scarcely have been allowed to take place, had the 
 object of it been on the spot in the person of a powerful chief ; 
 and we may thence infer that he was gone thence to some 
 other place. At Middleton, however, the ceremony was per- 
 formed at midnight, in comparative secrecy and obscurity; 
 and on the night but one following the day exhibition at 
 Ashton. And this circumstance seems to indicate that the 
 object of distaste was present at the latter place, with the 
 power as well as the will to punish those who incurred his 
 displeasure ; hence it might be that the ceremonial took place 
 at midnight. Ealph Assheton, Esquire, a son of Sir John 
 Assheton, Knt. of Ashton-under-Lyne, having married a 
 daughter of Eichard Barton, Esquire of Middleton, in 1438, 
 became lord of the manor of Middleton, and left Ashton to 
 reside at the latter place. He was called the " Black Knight," 
 and tradition points to him as the original of the " Black 
 Lad." 
 
 On Easter Wednesday, what was called " The "White Apron 
 Fair," was held at Middleton. It was merely an occasion for 
 the young wives and mothers, with their children, and also for 
 the young marriageable damsels, to walk out to display their 
 finery and to get conducted by their husbands, or their sweet- 
 hearts, to the ale-house, where they generally finished by a 
 dance, and their inamoratos by a battle or two, and their 
 consequences, bruised hides and torn clothes.
 
 128 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 The night of the 1st of May was " Mischief-neet," when, as 
 "there is a time for all things," any one having a grudge 
 against a neighbour was at liberty to indulge it, provided he 
 kept his own counsel. On these occasions it was lawful to 
 throw a neighbour's gate off the angles, to pull up his fence, to 
 trample his garden, to upset a cart that might be found at 
 hand, to set cattle astray, or to perform any other freak, 
 whether in the street, house-yard, or fields, which might sug- 
 gest itself or be suggested. The general observation in the 
 morning would be, " Oh, it's nobbut th' mischief-neet." If a 
 young fellow wished to cast a slur on a lass, he would hang a 
 rag containing salt at her parents' door, or he would cast 
 some of the same material on her doorstep, as indicative of 
 gross inclinations. If he remained unknown he escaped punish- 
 ment, but if he were detected, or his secret became divulged, 
 he generally got thrashed, as he deserved, by a brother, or 
 some favoured swain, or he might get his face channelled by 
 the fair one's nails the next time she met him, or a mop 
 slapped against his cheek, or a vessel of odorous liquid poured 
 on his clothes as he passed the desecrated threshold ; all or 
 any of which retaliations would earn for him but small 
 sympathy with his neighbours — the men chuckling oi 
 laughing and saying nothing : and the women all agreeing, 
 " Aye, it sarves him quite reet, th' wastril." A gorse bush 
 indicated a woman notoriously immodest ; and a holly bush, 
 one loved in secret ; a tup's horn intimated that man or 
 woman was faithless to marriage ; a branch of sapling, truth 
 in love ; and a sprig of birch, a pretty girl. If a house floor 
 wanted cleaning, a mop would be left for that purpose ; and if 
 a dame was notorious for her neglect of needle-work, a ragged 
 garment of some sort would be hung at her door. The morning 
 after "mischief-neet" was generally prolific of gossip and 
 some laughter, as it generally became known by breakfast-time 
 what "lumber" (mischief) farmer So-and-so had had done, 
 and what this young girl, or that young widower, found at 
 their doors when they opened them. 
 
 The feast of Whitsuntide was not attended by any particular 
 local customs, except the relics of the old " Whitsun ales,"
 
 PASTIMES AND OBSEBVANCES. 129 
 
 which consisted in what were termed " main brews " of ale ; a 
 number clubbing to purchase malt which was brewed by one 
 selected from the party, and drunk at one of the houses. 
 Dances and ale-house fuddles were also common, and latterly 
 races attracted vast crowds to the scene of their operations, 
 sticks were indispensable to pedestrians on these occasions, 
 and hazel^ or holly sticks, with the peel taken off in a spiral 
 form, were considered the very example of a country "some- 
 body." Oldham pedestrians went to the races by hundreds, 
 and were designated as " Owdham Brewis ; " whilst Eochdale 
 folks, still more numerous, were known as "Katchda Koof- 
 yeds." The inhabitants of Blackley were " Blackley Lions," 
 perhaps from the circumstance of their having lions for the 
 signs of their two public- houses ; people who come from 
 Bowlee were " Bowlee Tups"; whilst the inhabitants of 
 Middleton were retaliated upon as " Middleton Moons," a 
 term indicative of a notion that, with all their wit, they were 
 not more wise than their neighbours. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WAKES. 
 
 But " The Eush-bearing " was the great feast of the year, and 
 was held on the anniversary of the dedication of the church. 
 At Middleton it is held on the third Saturday in August, or if 
 there be five Saturdays in the month, it falls on the fourth. 
 From tradition, as well as from custom itself, we may con- 
 clude that at first it was a simple offering towards making the 
 church floor comfortable during the winter services. Every 
 family having then its separate bench to sit upon, some one or 
 two of them would at first strew their own floors with rushes 
 to promote the warmth of their feet during the stormy months. 
 Others perceiving how snugly and cosily their neighbours sat, 
 would follow the example. Probably the priest would 
 encourage the new luxury, and it would soon become common. 
 Thus Nan and Dick, and Bob and Bet, would be seen carrying 
 bundles of rushes to the church at the feast of the dedication, 
 and the church would be littered for the winter. Next, 
 families forming small hamlets of the parish would unite, and 
 pitching each their quota of rushes into a cart, would send 
 down a load. Some of these hamlets in order, probably, to 
 ingratiate themselves with the priest, by rendering extra 
 homage to the church, would arrange and decorate their 
 rushes with green boughs ; others would excel them ; and a 
 rivalry as to which hamlet could bring the neatest formed and 
 the most finely decorated load of rushes would ensue, and 
 thus the present quaint and graceful " rush-cart " would be in 
 time produced. Music, dancing, and personal finery would 
 accompany and keep pace with the increasing display ; the 
 
 130
 
 THE WAKES. 131 
 
 feast would become a spectacle for all the surrounding 
 districts, and the little wood-shadowed village, would annually 
 become a scene of a joyous gathering and a hospitable 
 festivity; and thus, the wakes, as they existed in my early 
 days, would be gradually produced. 
 
 The folds or hamlets which mostly sent "rush-carts" to 
 Middleton, were Boarshaw, Thornham, Hopwood, Birch, 
 Bowlee, and Tonge. About a month or six weeks before the 
 wakes, the young men of the hamlets, as well as those of the 
 town, would meet at their respective rendezvous, which was 
 some ale-house, where the names of such as wished to join the 
 party during the wakes were given in, and the first instalment 
 of money was paid. These meetings were called " enterings," 
 and they always took place on Sunday evenings, when each 
 one paid a certain sum towards a general fund, and a trifle 
 more for drink at their meetings. It was the interest of these 
 young fellows to raise as strong a party as they could, not 
 only with a view to a plenteous fund, but also in order to 
 repel — if necessary — aggression from other parties ; for as these 
 little communities were seldom without a few old grudges to 
 fall back upon should an opportunity offer, it was very extra- 
 ordinary indeed if a quarrel did not take place amongst some 
 of them, and half-a-dozen battles were not foughten before 
 the wakes ended. It was consequently an object with each to 
 get as numerous a party and as heavily bodied an one as 
 they could, agility and science not being so requisite in 
 Lancashire battles as weight, strength, and endurance. These 
 young fellows, therefore, mustered as imposingly as they could, 
 and if one or two of the young women of the place happened 
 to have sweethearts who came from a distance — and especially 
 if they were likely to clear their way in a row — the courters 
 would probably be found joined with the brothers and friends of 
 their fair ones. Well, the " enterings " having been formed, and 
 the subscriptions duly paid, a rush-cart would be determined 
 upon. Such a farmer's broad-wheeled cart was to be bespoke. 
 Then, lads and lasses would at all spare hours be engaged in 
 some preparation for the feast. New clothes would be ordered; 
 and their quantity and quality would probably depend on the
 
 132 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 amount of money saved during the year, or on the work per- 
 formed in a certain time before the wakes. Jack would obtain, 
 if he could, " a bran new suit, wi' trindl't shurt," and Bess 
 would have her " geawn made wi' tucks an' fleawnces ; new 
 shoon wi' ston op heels ; new stockin's wi' clocks ; a tippit 
 wi' frills o reawnd ; monny a streng o necklaces ; an' 
 a bonnit made by th' new mantymaker, the prattyist 'at 
 ever wur seen, wi' a skyoy blue underside, an' pink rib- 
 bins." By "day skrike " in a morning, or by " neet- 
 gloom " in the evening, the jingle of morrice bells would be 
 heard along the lanes and field roads ; for the lads having 
 borrowed each his collar of bells at neighbouring farmhouses, 
 would hang them on their necks and come jingling them home, 
 waking all the echoes in the deep lanes, and the meadow 
 nooks, and the old grey solitary places, until the very air was 
 clamorous of the bell tingle and the musical roll of the crotal."^ 
 Eopes and stretchers would also be borrowed, and the rushes 
 growing in certain waste pieces having been marked out, and 
 when necessary bargained for with the owner of the land, 
 mowers were appointed, and a day or two before the com- 
 mencement of the wakes the rushes were cut down. An old 
 experienced hand was generally engaged to "make the cart," 
 that is, to lay on, and build up, and trim the rushes, according 
 to the design which is always adopted in such constructions. 
 The girls meanwhile would all be employed at over-hours 
 getting their own finery and that of their brothers or sweet- 
 hearts ready for the great event. Tinsel was purchased, hats 
 were trimmed with ribbons and fanciful devices ; shirts were 
 washed, bleached snow-white, and neatly pleated ; tassels and 
 garlands, and wreaths of coloured paper, tinsel, and ribbon 
 were designed and constructed, and a grand piece of ingenuity 
 and splendour, a kind of concentration of the riches and the 
 pomp of the party was displayed in the arrangements and 
 setting forth of " the sheet." This was exclusively the work 
 of the girls and women, and in proportion as it was happily 
 designed and fitly put together or otherwise, was their praise 
 or disparagement meted out by the public, a point on which 
 * A kind of cymbal,
 
 TEE WAKES. 133 
 
 they would probably be not a little sensitive. The sheet was 
 a piece of very white linen, generally a good bed sheet, and on 
 it were arrayed pretty rosettes, and quaint compartments and 
 borderings of all colours and hues which either paper, tinsel, 
 or ribbons, or natural flowers could supply. In these compart- 
 ments were arrayed silver watches, trays, spoons, sugar-tongs, 
 tea-pots, snuffers, or other fitting articles of ornament and 
 value, and the more numerous and precious the articles were 
 the greater was the deference which the party which displayed 
 them expected from the wondering crowd. Musicians were 
 also secured in good time ; a fiddler for the chamber dancing 
 always, and never less than a couple of fifers and a drummer 
 to play before the cart. But if the funds would allow, and 
 especially in later times, a band of instrumentalists would be 
 engaged, often a sorry affair certainly, but still "a band" to 
 swear to, and that would be a great thing for the ears of the 
 multitude. All true church-goers were duly apprised of the 
 wakes, as its date was cried by the bellman in the churchyard 
 whilst the congregation were leaving the church, on three 
 Sunday afternoons previous to its commencement. The 
 morning of the great day comes, and every one is in a state of 
 bustle and anxiety. Heads of families are bundling up their 
 work and hastening off to town in order to be back in time for 
 the opening of the wakes. And now, the rushes having been 
 mown are carted to the place where the cart is to be made. 
 The maker with his assistants are all present ; the wheels are 
 sunken in holes, and the cart is well propped to make it steady ; 
 the peeled rods and binders are set up so as to make the 
 structure steady, and to give the proper form as it advances ; 
 ale is poured out and drunk liberally; numerous youngsters 
 are playing and rolling about on the rush-heap, whilst others 
 are making of them small sheaves bound at each end, and 
 being cut in the middle with a scythe-blade are called 
 "bowts" (bolts); others again are culling the finest of the 
 rushes and making them into " bowts " of a superior descrip- 
 tion wherewith to form a neat edging to the front and back of 
 the structure. And so they keep binding and cutting and 
 piling up until " the cart " is completed, which now presents
 
 134 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 the form almost of a flattened bee -hive, with the ends also 
 flattened, and ornamented with a projecting edging of rush- 
 bolts, which gives them a quaint and trim appearance. The 
 sheet, before described, is displayed with all its wonder- 
 exciting treasures in front of the cart ; sometimes another 
 sheet less costly is exhibited behind, and when that is not the 
 case, letters and various devices in flowers are generally found 
 there. The top of the cart, or rush-heap, is stuck with green 
 boughs which wave and nod like plumes, and amongst them 
 one or two of the young men who have been the latest married 
 take their seats astride the load. The drawers, all donned in 
 ribbon finery and tinsel, now begin to make their appearance ; 
 some dozen or so of the leaders having bells around their necks. 
 The drum is beating, the music is blowing and snorting and 
 screaming, the gay tinkling of morrice bells is floating and 
 waking up the echoes. The children are wild with joyful 
 expectation, or astonished by the wondrous fairy scene. The 
 girls bepranked in their new pumps, kirtles, and bonnets, now 
 add beauty to the spectacle ; and on the arm of each may be 
 noticed the best Sunday coat and doublet of her brother, or her 
 sweetheart. The ropes are attached, the stretchers noosed 
 fast at proper distances ; all is ready. The music strikes up 
 louder ; the driver clears the way with his long whip, making 
 it give a loud and clear crack at every stroke — that being his 
 feat — the word is " Neaw, lads," and at one strong pull, and a 
 heave of the shafts, the wheels are dislodged from their socket 
 holes, and the cart is slowly drawn up to the level sward, 
 amid the loud shouts of the admiring gazers ; and so, with 
 music-clangour, and bell-jingle, and laughter, and words of 
 caution, as, " Howd on, lads," "Gently, lads," the quaint 
 and romantically fantastic spectacle moves towards the village 
 of its destination. 
 
 If the party can go to the expense of having a set of morrice 
 dancers, and feel inclined to undertake the trouble, some score 
 or two of young men, with hats trimmed, and decked out as 
 before described, precede the drawers, dancing in couples to 
 various simple country tunes, one of which may be measured 
 by this stanza : —
 
 THE WAKES. 135 
 
 \ My new shoon they are so good, 
 
 I cou'd doance morrice if I wou'd ; 
 An' if hat an' sark be drest, 
 I will doance morrice wi' the best. 
 
 In some later instances there have been processions of 
 banner and garland bearers, with all beautiful flowers, arti- 
 ficial or real, and apt and ingenious devices. A choice beauty 
 of the village may also, on some occasions, be induced to per- 
 sonate the Queen of the Wake, walking under a bower borne 
 by four of her companions, and preceded by dancers and the 
 other pageants described. But these spectacles I should 
 rather suppose to be of comparatively modern introduction in 
 this part of Lancashire. 
 
 Arrived at the village, other parties similar to their own will 
 be found parading their cart on the high road. The neighbour- 
 ing folds and hamlets, having been nearly deserted by their 
 inhabitants, all are there concentrated seeing the wakes and 
 partaking in the universal enjoyment. The highway is 
 thronged by visitors in gay attire, whilst shows, nut stalls, 
 flying-boxes, merry-go-rounds, and other means of amusement 
 are rife on every hand. Should two carts meet, and there be 
 a grudge on either side, a wrangle, and probably a battle or 
 two, settles the question, and they each move on ; if the 
 parties are in amity, they salute each other with friendly 
 hurras, the drawers holding their stretchers above their heads 
 until they have passed. Each cart stops at the door of every 
 public-house, which the leaders enter tumultuously, jumping, 
 jingling their bells, and imitating the neighing of horses. A 
 can of ale is then generally brought to the door and distributed 
 to the drawers and attendants ; those who ride on the top not 
 forgetting to claim their share. When the whole town or 
 village has been thus perambulated, the cart is drawn to the 
 green near the church, where the rushes are deposited — or 
 should be — though latterly, since the introduction of pews in 
 the church, they have generally been sold to the best bidder.
 
 136 EARLY DATS. 
 
 The moment the first cart arrives on the green the church 
 bells strike up a merry round peal in honour of those who 
 have thus been alert to testify their devotion; but as the 
 rushes are now seldom left at the church, so neither is the 
 ringing so strictly performed as it wont to be ; and, in fact, 
 though the name and the form are in some degree retained, it 
 is evident that attachment to our venerable state-worship has 
 far less influence in the matter than it had in the days of my 
 early life. 
 
 After disposing of their rushes, either by gift to the church 
 — in which case they became the perquisite of the sexton — or 
 by sale to the best bidder, the lads and their friends, sweet- 
 hearts, and helpers repaired to the public-house at which they 
 put up for the wakes, and there spent the night in drinking 
 and dancing. On Sunday some of the principal banners and 
 garlands, which had been paraded the day before, were dis- 
 played in the church; and on Sunday night the lads and 
 lasses again met at the public-house, where they drank, 
 smoked, and treated their neighbours and friendly visitors 
 from other public-houses. Sunday was also the great day for 
 hospitality, Eelations living at a distance, old friends and 
 acquaintances, being generally invited to the wakes, consider- 
 able numbers of well-dressed people would be seen in the fore- 
 noon entering the town from all quarters. Then, the very 
 best dinner which could be provided was set out, the ale was 
 tapped, and the guests were helped with a profusion of what- 
 ever the host could command. It was a duty at the wakes to 
 be hospitable, and he who at that time was not liberal accord- 
 ing to his means, was set down as a very mean person. Even 
 decent strangers who apparently had no fixed place of 
 visitation, would be frequently called in as they passed the 
 open door and invited to partake with the family and other 
 guests, and would be made entirely welcome to whatever the 
 house afforded. This was not the custom at Middleton only, 
 but at all wakes holidays in that neighbourhood, and at none 
 was it carried out with more genuine and hearty welcome than 
 at Oldham. The town would, during the afternoon of this 
 Sunday, be thronged with visitors ; private houses were mostly
 
 THE WAKES. 137 
 
 occupied, and the public-houses were crowded, whilst dealers 
 in nuts, oranges, and Eccles cakes vended their wares from 
 basket or stall, and shows, flying-boxes, and whirligigs stood 
 there, mute and still, as if in admonition of the vain, restless, 
 and wearying crowd which floated around them. Monday was 
 the day for hard drinking, and for settling such disputes and 
 determining such battles as had not come off on Saturday. 
 Tuesday was again a drinking day, with occasional race- 
 running, and more battles at night. Wednesday would be 
 spent in a similar manner. On Thursday the dregs of the 
 wakes-keepers only would be seen staggering about. On 
 Friday a few of the dregs of the dregs might be met with ; 
 Saturday was woful, and on Sunday all would be over, and 
 sobered people, going to church or chapel again, w^ould make 
 good resolutions against a repetition of their week's folly. And 
 thus would have passed away the great feast of " The Wakes." 
 
 From this time, as days began to shorten fast, candles were 
 lighted up in the loom-houses, and what was called " wakin' 
 time " commenced — not so termed from the keeping of the 
 wakes, but from the lighting up — the waking with candles. 
 
 When the fine clear nights of late August came, many were 
 the joyous gatherings of lad and lass on the broad open green 
 in front of the houses of Barrowfields. Two or three score of 
 wild, nimble, gleesome beings would assemble there, running, 
 leaping, wrestling, singing, and laughing, in that unalloyed 
 mirthfulness which is the especial blessing of innocent youth. 
 After the various groups had for a while pursued their several 
 sports, some one would call out — " Come neaw, lads an' 
 wenches, let's play together." Immediately the games would 
 cease, and all would be called together, and when they had 
 determined on what they should play at, dispositions would be 
 made accordingly. If it were " Hitch-hatch," all would lay 
 hold of hands, a lad and lass alternately, and a ring be formed, 
 the couples standing at arm's length, and making as large a 
 one as they could. One of the maids then went round on the 
 outside of the ring, with a handkerchief in her hand, which 
 she applied to every pair of hands, and then took away again, 
 repeating as she went round —
 
 138 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 " Hitch-hatch, hitch-hatch, 
 I've a chicken undermi lap ; 
 Heer I brew, an' heer I bake, 
 An' heer I lay mi clap-cake " — 
 
 laying the handkerchief at the same time on the arm of some 
 youth or maiden, and running away, in and out, across the 
 ring and round about, the one on whose arm the handkerchief 
 was left, following as quick as possible to catch her, and if he 
 or she succeeded in doing so, she must begin and perambulate 
 again, until she can contrive to slip into the vacant space left 
 by her pursuer, when she keeps the station and her pursuer 
 goes round as she did. This, of course, gives an opportunity 
 for a good deal of running and chasing and laughter, and of 
 endeavours to escape when overtaken ; which again necessi- 
 tates a pretty close hold to be had of the captive — not an 
 unpleasant one often — and much merriment until the play 
 proceeds. 
 
 If the play was " Bull-i'th'-Barn," a lad chosen to enact the 
 bull stood within a ring formed as before, and tried to break 
 through by running with all his force against the clasped 
 hands without using his hands to dissever them. The ring 
 would often give way without being broken, and his disap- 
 pointment would be hailed by shouts of laughter. Again he 
 would survey the ring, and choosing what he considered to be 
 a weak place, he would perhaps break through and take to his 
 heels, when the ring broke up and the whole followed him 
 helter-skelter, and after a smart run and a deal of hauling and 
 fun, he would be brought back captive, and either placed in 
 the ring again, or another be placed instead of him. 
 
 " Sheppey," or "Blackthorne," was another of our youthful 
 plays. Two or three of the best runners having been selected, 
 they took their station at one end of the green, whilst the 
 main body of their companions were at the other end. The 
 runners then shouted 
 
 " Blackthorns," 
 
 which was answered — 
 
 " Buttermilk and barleycorn."
 
 THE WAKES. . 139 
 
 Eunners— 
 
 ♦' Heaw mony geese ban yo' to-day ? " 
 Answer — 
 
 " Moor nor yo' can oather catch or carry away." 
 
 The two parties approached each other at a swift pace, and 
 the runners made as many of the others prisoners as they 
 could, taking them back to the place from whence they started, 
 when they also took part with the runners in the subsequent 
 game. Thus they kept running and taking prisoners until the 
 whole of the geese party were secured, when they divide, as at 
 first, and the play was renewed. 
 
 Other games used by the boys alone were leapfrog, running 
 races, leaping, and wrestling, which expanded our lungs with 
 fresh air and filled our veins with new, life-fraught blood, we 
 continuing our play untired until parents or guardians standing 
 at their doors called us to bed, and to an oblivious healthful 
 repose.
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 BONFIRES — SUPERSTITIONS — APPARITIONS. 
 
 The next holiday was on the Fifth of November, the anniver- 
 sary of the discovery of Gunpowder Plot. Most people ceased 
 from working in the afternoon, and children went from house 
 to house begging coal to make a bonfire, a distich of the fol- 
 lowing words being their form of application : 
 
 " The Fifth o' November, I'd hayo remember ; 
 A stick an' a stake for King George's sake ; 
 Pray, dame, gimmi a cob-coal, 
 To make a leet i' Lunnun cellar hole." 
 
 In addition to these contributions gates and fences suffered, 
 and whatever timber was obtainable from the woods and plan- 
 tations was considered fair game "for King George's sake." 
 At night the country would be lighted up by bonfires, or as 
 pronounced in Lancashire, " bunfoyers ; " tharcake and toffy 
 were distributed to the younger members of families, whilst 
 the elder clubbed their pence and at night had " a joynin' " in 
 some convenient dwelling. The lord of the manor made the 
 young men a present of a good two-horse load of coal, with 
 which a huge fire was lighted on The Bank near the church, 
 and kept burning all night and most of the day following. 
 The young fellows also joined at ale from the public-house, 
 and with drinking, singing, and exploding of firearms, they 
 amused themselves pretty well, especially if the weather was 
 favourable. Such were the principal games, pastimes, and 
 observances of the rural population of Middleton and its 
 vicinity when I was a youth. There were other observances, 
 
 110
 
 BONFIRES. 141 
 
 however, which were supposed to relate to the immaterial 
 world, to give an account of which would perhaps be consi- 
 dered too much out of the line of my narrative. I will, how- 
 ever, briefly describe two of them. 
 
 A young woman who wished to have a sight of her future 
 husband would walk three times round the church at midnight, 
 sprinkling hemp-seed, and repeating as she went : — 
 
 " Hemp-seed I sow, hemp-seed I sow, 
 And he that must my true love be — ■ 
 Come after me and mow." 
 
 When the spirit of the young man she was destined to marry 
 would appear and come mowing at her heels, and if she 
 stopped to scrutinise him over much she was in danger of 
 being cut down. So much for the gallantry of spirit mowers. 
 We know that according to old legends the two nights of 
 All Saints and All Souls were especially set apart for spiritual 
 appearances. That on the night of All Saints the spirits of 
 the blessed who in the course of the year should depart within 
 the parish were visible in their human forms at the parish 
 church, and that on the night of All Souls the spirits of all 
 those who should die, whether sinner or saint, were also 
 certain to appear in bodily shape. On one of these yearly 
 recurrences Old Johnny Johnson, who was then the sexton, 
 had an irrepressible curiosity to know which of his neighbours 
 should die, as well as to ascertain the amount of grave and 
 other fees and perquisites he was to receive during the next 
 twelve months, so, on the night of All Souls, he concealed 
 himself in the church, and watched the ghostly visitants come 
 in and go out and walk about the place, and a decent number 
 he had already counted up, which at the usual fee per head 
 would amount to a goodly sum. Still they kept dribbling in 
 one by one, and sometimes in couples, 
 
 •' Old and young, 
 Weak and strong, 
 Rosy — pale — 
 Faint and hale
 
 142 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 Come and go, 
 Passing slow ; 
 Life in death, 
 Not a breath. 
 Not a wail." 
 
 There sat old Johnny, chuckling and counting up his gains, 
 when at last a little old man made his appearance, and 
 Johnny at the first look knew him to be himself. He had 
 then seen enough, and with all speed he hastened to his home, 
 became very thoughtful, soon after sickened, and within the 
 twelve months he died. 
 
 As for the Parish Church of Middleton, every one in those 
 days admitted that there was not a rood of earth around it 
 which was not redolent of supernatural associations. My 
 poor aunt Elizabeth no more doubted these things than she 
 did the truth of every word betwixt the two backs of her 
 Bible. Often when on a winter's night we youngsters were 
 seated round the hearth, and my uncle was engaged elsewhere, 
 would she set her wheel aside, take a pinch of snuff, hutch her 
 chair towards the other hob, and excite our curiosity and 
 wonder by strange and fearful tales of witches, spirits, and 
 apparitions, whilst we listened in silence and awe, and scarcely 
 breathing, contemplated in imagination the visions of an un- 
 seen world which her narratives conjured up before us. Often 
 she would tell — for these tales were always new again — how 
 that the venerable servant of God, Mr. Wesley, being be- 
 nighted on one of his journeys, obtained lodgings at a lone 
 house, and on retiring to his chamber was followed by a huge 
 black dog, which he knew to be an unhappy spirit, to whom, 
 with a feeling of compassion, he flung his gown as a bed for it 
 to lie upon, which it did, and he then making fast the door, 
 went to sleep and had a good night's rest, and on awaking in 
 the morning the dog was gone, though the door remained 
 fastened, and no one belonging to the place knew of such a dog, 
 or had seen such an one about the premises. At other times 
 she would narrate the strange stories of Elizabeth Hobson, 
 who could not walk abroad by night or day without seeing the 
 spirits of departed persons ; who being affianced to a young
 
 SUPEBSTITIONS. 143 
 
 suitor, saw his spirit pass her in the street, and walk appa- 
 rently through the wall of a house, and thereby she knew that 
 he was dead, an account of which soon after came to hand ; 
 who made an appointment to meet a spirit at midnight on a 
 lonesome hill, whither she was accompanied part of the way 
 by devout persons, from whom, after earnest prayer, she 
 departed, and by whom she was seen ascending the hill after 
 being joined by others, whom, from her warnings, they knew 
 to be spirits ; who, after being on the hill a long time, during 
 which her friends were praying for her, returned and gave an 
 account of many things which she had seen ; of the spirits of 
 deceased neighbours and friends she had conversed with whilst 
 on the hill, but refused to divulge certain matters which she 
 stated she was immutably pledged not to disclose, and the 
 awful secrets of which she never could be prevailed upon to 
 utter. 
 
 In one of my aunt's communicative moods she told how her 
 grandfather Bamford, being in a delirium, attempted to destroy 
 himself, and was tied down in bed, where religious people 
 came to pray for him, when in order to convince them that all 
 their precautions were yain, and that the Evil One, to whom 
 he was given up, would let him have his will, he drew his 
 hand from the noose, as if he had been merely moving it in an 
 ordinary way, and pointing to a corner of the room told them 
 — to their great terror — that at that precise spot, and at that 
 moment, the dark spirit was waiting to do his slightest bid- 
 ding. That on learning this horrid fact — of which they had 
 not the least doubt — prayers were redoubled, and doctors were 
 called in, and the latter having bled the patient and forced 
 medicine upon him, he, through God's mercy and "the efficacy 
 of prayer," was restored and afterwards became a devout man. 
 Or she would tell how her sister Mary — a beauty in person, 
 and an angel in mind — died, in the bloom of her days, praising 
 God and blessing all around her ; or how her brother Abraham — 
 the pride of the family — having taken a mixture given him 
 by a quack doctor, died shrieking in torment. How James 
 gradually wore away, and Samuel died of fever, and Wilham 
 of consumption.
 
 144 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 On another occasion, I and she being alone in the house, 
 she gave me an account which made my heart to thrill and 
 the tears to gush from my eyes. She said no bereavement out 
 of her own family had troubled her more than the death of 
 my mother. " I was at home," she said, "here in Middleton, 
 and was sadly grieved that I had not seen her before she 
 died ; both 3ally Owen and I were troubled in our minds on 
 that account ; but it was no slight matter for the mother of a 
 family to leave them all well here, and to walk into a great 
 fever hospital which the workhouse was at that time. So we 
 judged it best not to go, but to offer up our prayers on her 
 behalf, and on behalf of thee and thy father, and all who were 
 sick. We always remembered you in our prayers, and daily 
 besought God on our bended knees that He would spare you 
 yet a little while, and two out of the four were spared. Well, 
 but Sally an' me cried many a time about thy mother — we 
 never met but we cried about her, and sometimes we blamed 
 ourselves for not goin* a seein' her, and sometimes we were 
 comforted by thinkin' we had done our duty. What troubled 
 us most was the uncertainty about the state of her soul. We 
 were hardly satisfied about that, and we next prayed that if 
 she was happy a token might be vouchsafed whereby we might 
 know that she was so. Still nothing happened, we kept 
 watchin' for tokens but none came, and months and months 
 passed away. At last, Sally was taken in labour, and I went 
 down from these club-houses here to th' Back-o'th'-Brow, and 
 a good time and a safe delivery she had — thank God ; an' 
 tow'rd eleven o'clock thy uncle William came to fetch me 
 home, an' we tarried till near midnight, an' as he sat smokin' 
 his pipe, I donn'd my cloak an' bonnet, and said I would be 
 going slowly up th' Bonk, and he would o'ertak' me before I 
 had gotten far on the way, for theaw sees I was rather slow at 
 walkin' i' consequence of my cough an' shortness o' breath 
 Well, I kept comin' slowly up an' slowly up, an' turning' to 
 see if he were comin', an' I kept creepin' end way till I'd 
 getten to the bottom o' th' church steps. It was as fine a 
 moonleet neet as ever shone eawt o' th' moon, as cleer very 
 nee as th' noon-day ; I could ha' seen to ha' gathert a pin off
 
 SVPEBSTITIONS, US 
 
 th' greawnd. Well, I stoode an' lookt back to see if he wur 
 comin', an' I seed him just meawntin' onto th' bonk, when I 
 yerd th' gate oppen behind me, and lookin' that way, I seed a 
 very fine, tall woman dresst o' i' sparklin' white, come through 
 th' gate an' walk deawn th' steps past me, and go streight 
 under th' trees tow'rd Summer Heawse. The moment I seed 
 her put her foot eawt to come deawn th' steps, that moment I 
 knew her to be thy mother." 
 
 "My mother?" 
 
 " Aye, thy very mother, or at th' least her spirit." 
 
 " I' th' name o' Goodness, aint, whot aryo tellin' me," 
 
 " I'm tellin' the' God's own truth, lad ; I seed her as plain 
 as I see thee this very minnit. The mother had a foote an' 
 ancle incomparable ; I could ha' known her ony time by seeing 
 her step eawt." 
 
 " And did you not see her face, then ? " 
 
 " Nawe, I didno'. I felt a kynd of awe, an' ere I could 
 look up, hoo wur past me." 
 
 "And whot then?" 
 
 " Oh ! hoo walkt streight forrud as if hoor gooin' tow'rd th' 
 Market-place, an' I turn'd me an' watcht her as lung as I 
 cou'd see her, under th' trees, an' through th' moonleet, and 
 through th' shadows, as fair as if it had been noonday. 
 ' Blessed be God,' I said ; ' yen's Han-nah ; hoo's happy, an' 
 I am satisfied.' " 
 
 " An' did you tell my uncle ? " 
 
 "Nawe; the uncle towd me. He coom op to me in a 
 minnit after, an' he said, ' Lisabeth, hooas yon fine woman 
 at's just gone past the' ? ' 
 
 " ' Why, did theaw see her, then? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' Aye,' he said, ' I seed her plain enoof ; hoo'r not so very 
 far off me, as hoo went deawn heer tow'rd th' Lodge.' 
 
 " ' Theaw'rt mista'en, lad; hoo went o' this reet side o' th' 
 Beawling Green, an' under th' trees,' 
 
 " ' Nay,' he said, ' theaw munno say so, lass, hoo went o' 
 this lift side o' th' Green; heaw cud I ha' seen her gooin' 
 tow'rd th' Lodge, if hoo'd gone under th' trees.' 
 
 " ' Well,' I said, ' that convinces me moor an' moor.' 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 " ' Convinces the' o' whot? ' 
 
 " ' 'At ween both seen a spirit.' 
 
 " * Nonsense, wench ! ' he said ; ' it wur nobbut a very fine 
 lady, o i' white. I seed her as plain as I see thee. Hoo walkt 
 heer deawn tow'rd th' Lodge quite natural. Some body happen 
 'at had been a visitin'.' 
 
 " ' Visitin' ! whot, at this time o' neet, or reyther mornin' ! 
 Beside, wheer cou'd hoo ha' come fro', an' wheer cou'd hoo 
 begooin' to ? There's no sitch fine foke heerabeawt.' 
 
 " ' True, lass, there isno', unless it's sumbody 'at's been at 
 th' Clockmakers.' 
 
 " ' Th' Clockmakers! yon's no company for th' Clockmakers, 
 as great foke as they ar. Yon's eawer Daniel wife spirit as 
 sure as I ston heer. I knew her the moment I set my een on 
 her. Thanks be to God 'at I seen her. Hoos comn fro' 
 heaven, an' hoo's gooin' back theer. " The Lord gave, and 
 the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord." ' 
 An' BO we turn'd an' coom through th' churchyard whom, an' 
 the uncle wur afterwards convinc'd 'at th' appearance must 
 ha' bin a sperit. An' when I towd Sally Owin, after hoo'd 
 gett'n better, we both went deawn on eawr knees and returnt 
 thanks for eawer onsur to prayer." 
 
 " Well," I said, " I'm glad you have told me of this, aunt. 
 I never had a doubt about my mother's happiness. I always 
 considered her as too good to go anywhere save to heaven. 
 What you have said has, however, made me still happier, 
 since you and Sally Owen, when she was living, and your 
 most intimate connections, would all be satisfied with respect 
 to my mother's spiritual state." 
 
 " Oh ! quite so, quite satisfied. Would to God 'at I wur as 
 sure o' my own salvation." 
 
 "Is it not strange, aunt, that I have often thought that 
 ■walk, under the trees and towards the summer-house, was a 
 very solemn place." 
 
 ' Hasto ever thought so, then ? " 
 
 " Aye, I've always felt strangely attached to the spot, and 
 have taken many a ramble there instead of going with the 
 others to play. Can it be that my mother's spirit haunts that
 
 APPARITIONS. 147 
 
 place, think you ? And that it would be fain to meet me 
 there ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, chylt ! the mother 's happy i' heaven, an' if theaw 
 expects to meet her, theaw mun prepare to goo theer." 
 
 " Well, I cannot tell how it happens, aunt, but I always feel 
 so calm and soothed when at dusk I walk alone round the 
 green, or sit on the bright grass under the trees. It seems as 
 if I had all the company I desire : I can converse better with 
 myself, as it were — can commune more deeply with my own 
 feelings and thoughts in that lone spot than in any other, 
 Middleton Wood excepted, and probably some of the lone 
 dells of Hopwood. I shall go there oftener." 
 
 "There's a deal o' sin committed thereabeawts ; pitchin', 
 an' tossin', an' drinkin', an' beawlin', i' summer time." 
 
 " Yes, but I go when the rabble are away — when nothing 
 is heard save the distant murmurs from the surrounding 
 habitations. There is something so quaintly hoary in the old 
 summer house, and the tall trees waving in the mysterious 
 twilight just before dark, that I feel as if I were almost in 
 a new existence. I shall go there oftener. My mother has 
 come there once, and she will come again if I wait for her." 
 
 " Tempt not God," said my aunt ; " the spirit may come 
 again if it is so willed."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LOVE DAWNINGS. 
 
 I CAN scarcely recollect a period of my life when tke society 
 of females was not very agreeable to me. I was now, how- 
 ever, approaching that age when this general partiality was to 
 become more individualising, and when amongst the mass 
 which I always contemplated with tender regard, some would 
 be found from whom I could not withhold a still warmer 
 sentiment. Thus were the young germs of love beginning to 
 quicken in my heart ; and instead of repressing or controlling 
 them, as I should perhaps have done, or have attempted to 
 do, had I had a wise adviser to counsel me, I abandoned 
 myself to delicious heart-gushings of romantic feeling, bowed 
 in silent but earnest regard to female loveliness, and became 
 soul and heart-bound — profoundly mute, however, except by 
 sighs and looks — to more than one, in succession, of the young 
 beauties of my acquaintance. Thus from an admirer of the 
 sex generally, I became the worshipper of its most lovely 
 forms in particular, and amongst those I was not slow to 
 discover some who to me seemed to surpass all other mortals 
 in beauty and modest worth. Such was the collier's dark- 
 eyed daughter who came every Sunday to school from Siddal 
 Moor : such the tall fair girl who, all blush-coloured, and 
 wild as a young roe, came from the meadow-top at Alkring- 
 ton : such the pale vocalist from my native suburb, whose 
 sable hair streamed like night-clouds around a statue of snow. 
 Such, also, were others, but why should I dwell on these re- 
 miniscences, seeing that I cannot look back and reopen my
 
 LOVE D AWNINGS. 149 
 
 heart and find it as it once was ; seeing that death has swept 
 some away ; that Time has bowed those who remain ; that 
 age has subdued love, and that beauty is in ruins. 
 
 My cousin Hannah I could have admired because she was 
 pretty, but she understood not my boyish endeavours to 
 please, and repaid them with rudeness, so there was soon 
 an end of romance in that quarter. Little Mima daily grew 
 in my esteem, as well as in beauty, and I felt that I was 
 likely to love her when she was more of a woman, but not 
 as yet. 
 
 It would have been a fact entirely at variance with the well- 
 known penetration of females in matters in which the heart is 
 concerned, if some of my fair Cynosures had not peneti-ated 
 the secret of my feelings. The quick eyes and the virgin 
 sensibilities of several of my young friends detected, as they 
 were sure to do, the state of my feelings, and then whenever 
 our eyes met we were covered with blushes, mutual acknow- 
 ledgments of a sentiment too delicate for oral expression. 
 And thus we kept meeting and blushing, and sighing at times, 
 and looking with tender regard, whilst with rare exceptions 
 the word love never escaped from our lips. My heart, though 
 I knew it not, was yearning for the accomplishment of its 
 dearest wish, and that was to be beloved by one worthy of my 
 esteem, as well as of my devotion. And thus had many a 
 young love- dream come and tormented me, and had passed 
 like the rest, when the long nights of winter having come, I 
 won a few kisses in playing at forfeits, or I was emboldened to 
 a word or two in playing at Hide-and-seek, or at Blindman's 
 Buff. Then winter was over, days lengthened, and spring 
 approached, when, one evening in February, we were all 
 sitting round the fire at my uncle's, having our bagging, and a 
 girl who lived at the next house, trying to open the door to 
 go home, found it jammed fast by something which stuck at 
 the bottom. She pulled it out and gave it to my aunt, and on 
 its being opened before us all, great was our astonishment at 
 beholding a valentine displayed. There were Cupids, and 
 darts, and bars of love, and birds and chains, and bleeding 
 hearts, all cut out, and coloured, and set forth in most
 
 150 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 approved form. There were also lines of writing all around, 
 and several verses and couplets in the middle. After a few 
 minutes spent in admiration of the pretty missive, there was a 
 general request to have it read, and I must own that I felt a 
 mischievous glee in the idea that it would be found to be 
 meant either for my bashful cousin Thomas or his sister 
 Hannah, at whose expense, in particular, I was wishful to 
 have a laugh. At length, after my uncle and aunt had 
 examined the ornaments, it was handed over to Thomas to 
 read, who began by reading the direction, which was, " To Mr. 
 Samuel Taylor, at Mr. W. Taylor's," whereupon there was a 
 general laugh at me, which I met by observing that the letter 
 could not be meant for me, since my name was not Taylor but 
 Bamford, and it was evidently intended for some person of the 
 name of Taylor, and that Thomas was most likely to be that 
 person. But when Thomas began to read the document itself 
 — which he did with evidently mischievous glee — I was covered 
 with confusion, and knew not where or how to look. " Eead 
 it ; read it," was the general cry; and so he read a number of 
 rhymes, and verses, and complimentary scraps, which removed 
 every doubt as to the valentine being intended for myself and 
 no one else. In the commencement I was addressed " My 
 dear Samuel," then I was described as " tall and straight as a 
 poplar-tree," next informed that — 
 
 and that- 
 
 " The rose is red, the violet blue. 
 The pink is sweet, love, so are you," 
 
 " As sure as grapes grow on the vine, 
 I'na your true love and Valentine," 
 
 each sentence or couplet being followed by a laugh from the 
 youngsters. My uncle enjoyed the scene in his own quiet 
 placid way, whilst my aunt affected to view the affair in a 
 very grave light. The paper was handed from one to another, 
 in order that they might identify the writing, and they all 
 mentioned some person whose writing it was like ; at length, 
 after much hesitation, I was allowed to examine the missive, 
 and as soon as my eye rested on the heading, I was almost
 
 LOVE DAWNINGS. 151 
 
 satisfied with respect to the person who had written it, but I 
 kept my opinion to myself. 
 
 " Well," said my aunt, taking an extra pinch of snuff, " it's 
 come to summut, at ony rate, 'at one conno' sit deawn to one's 
 meat i' one's own heawse, but we munbi haunted wi' yung 
 snickits comin' after thee, an' stickin' ther letters under th' 
 dur. But I'll get to know hooas writ'n it, gentlemon. Thy 
 feyther shall see this ; heest know heaw theawrt carryin' on ; 
 he shanna be kept i' th' dark ; it's none reet 'at he shudbe." 
 
 I protested that I knew nothing whatever of its coming. I 
 could not prevent its being put under the door, and as for the 
 writing none of them knew whose it was. 
 
 " But we win know," replied my aunt, still bent on torment- 
 ing me, though she could scarcely conceal the amusement she 
 derived from my embarrassment, "we win know. This papper 
 shall be sent deawn to th' skoo, an' laid afore th' mesters, an' 
 th' writin' shall be compar't wi' some o' th' copy books, an' 
 th' writer will then be fund eawt, an' yo' shan bwoth be browt 
 an' set ov a form, one aside o' th' tother." 
 
 The very idea made my heart sink within me, for I was sure 
 if the writing was produced at school, and the copy books 
 examined, the writer would be detected, and I was more con- 
 cerned by the thought of the writer being exposed than I was 
 by any care for myself. Instead, therefore, of being gratified 
 and elevated by the compliment which had been given to me, 
 I was both humiliated and unhappy, and I passed many hours 
 in no enviable frame of mind. The day following I asked my 
 aunt to give the valentine up to me, but she refused, and 
 persisted in saying my father should see it, and it should be 
 produced at the Sunday school. I therefore determined to 
 gain possession of it by any means I could devise, and accord- 
 ingly I stole up to her chamber one forenoon, and found it in 
 a pocket-book under her pillow, and after having minutely 
 conned it over, I destroyed it, and thus put an end to all talk 
 — whether feigned or in earnest — about its exposure in other 
 places. My aunt was now really displeased, and threatened 
 me with my father's severest reprehension; but I was never 
 better satisfied with anything I had done, inasmuch as I ha4
 
 152 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 secured the writer — whoever she might be — from the possi- 
 bility of any annoyance in future, on that account. In a short 
 time I expressed an intimation to Mima that I deemed her to 
 be the writer, but she denied it with seeming displeasure, and 
 I knew not then what to think about the authorship ; and 
 thus the occurrence was no more spoken about. 
 
 Let no one despise simple incidents like these. They are 
 the rufflings which mark human existence — the joys and 
 anxieties — the lights and shadows — of which humble life is 
 composed. 
 
 In consequence of the great dearth of corn which marked 
 the year 1800,* my uncle's family had to suffer in manner and 
 degree with the rest of their poor neighbours. "We dealt with 
 one of the best provision shops in Middleton, but the meal 
 which we got for our porridge was very often not fit for food, 
 whilst flour for dumplings or pies was out of all question. 
 Our bread was generally made from barley, and tough, hard, 
 dark-coloured stuff it was. Instead of wheaten flour, we had 
 a kind of mixture which was nicknamed " ran-dan," or 
 "brown George," and sad rubbish George proved to be; but 
 all was welcome, nothing was refused by us hungry lads, whose 
 only care was to get enough. Oaten cake, though made from 
 meal which was enormously adulterated, was so much a dainty 
 that we often took an opportunity for putting a piece of it out 
 of sight, as a delectable snack to be eaten at leisure. 
 
 The pinching " barley- times " were over, and flour was 
 selling at sixpence the pound, meal at fourpence, and potatoes 
 at a guinea a load. Yet such was the profusion of work and 
 the price of labour during the short peace of 1802, f that 
 plenty was in every man's buttery. Common seven-eights 
 calico, twenty-eight yards in length, was woven at ten shillings 
 and sixpence the cut. A young soldier who came over on a 
 two months' furlough, immediately set to the loom, and worked 
 with extraordinary quickness and perseverance : when his fur- 
 
 * The average price of wheat in 1800 was 110s. 5d. per quarter. It rose 
 to 115s. lid. in 1801, and fell to 67s. 9d. in 1802. 
 
 t The peace of Amiens, March, 1802. War was declared again in May, 
 1803.
 
 LOVE DAWNINGS. 153 
 
 lough expired, he got it renewed, and again set to work, and 
 when he returned to the regiment he took money with him 
 which bought his discharge. But this prosperity was of short 
 duration ; wages receded as fast as they had advanced, and 
 work became very scarce. War again raged fiercely, the nation 
 was to be invaded by a French army from Boulogne, and the 
 whole kingdom was bristling with volunteer bayonets, when 
 one afternoon I was rather surprised by an intimation that my 
 uncle and a neighbour were going to look at the canal at Slat- 
 tocks, and that myself and cousin Thomas might go with them 
 if we chose. We went, pleased enough of course, but I soon 
 lost my company, and returning home, found the town people 
 all out of doors with fife and drum, and the constables parad- 
 ing for volunteers. I immediately offered myself, and was 
 rejected on account of my stature. But Long Tom, an old 
 campaigner, insisted on having me ; he said I was a straight 
 thriving lad, and would make a fine soldier, and so at last I 
 was accepted, though the lowest of any in the ranks, and I 
 got a shilhng bounty, a billet whereat to spend my shilling, 
 and a black and red cockade. On being dismissed for the 
 night I went home, and had to encounter another lecture from 
 my aunt, who said it was the first time a cockade had ever 
 been worn by one of their family, and that I was in the way 
 to perdition. I bore her reflections very philosophically, con- 
 sohng myself with the assurance that I had only performed a 
 duty to my country, and as the corps were never called on — 
 not even to parade — I got through that great " act of sin," as 
 my aunt was pleased to designate my volunteering. 
 
 Meanwhile, on fine moonlight nights we enjoyed our wild 
 and mirthful games out of doors, laughing until the echoes 
 came back with laugh as gleesome as our own. Latterly we 
 had also been sometimes joined at our play by one or two 
 of our maiden acquaintance, who lived at a distance, and 
 whom, as a matter of decent attention, I felt obhged to ac- 
 company part of the way home, taking many pleasant walks 
 
 " By heather brown and meadow green," 
 
 which I was rather pleased to perceive was not at all agreeable
 
 154 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 to others who, until now, I had deemed ahnost indifferent to 
 anything which concerned me. I certainly had many com- 
 pmictions of conscience ; I thought, as my aunt said, that I 
 was getting on very fast in sin, and that if I did not turn over 
 another leaf of life, I should become quite abandoned. 
 
 But deeper involvements soon followed from a persuasion 
 which about this time took possession of me, and that was, 
 that I was far from being indifferent in the estimation of my 
 fair friend Mima. I remarked that whenever I went into a 
 place where she was one of the company, she was the first to 
 make room for me and offer me a seat ; that she always con- 
 trived to be near to me, and to be ray partner in play ; that 
 she always seemed pleased whenever I made my appearance ; 
 pleased when I won at marbles or at any other game ; and 
 latterly I had to thank her in my heart for a very agreeable 
 instance of her regard and solicitude when almost unheeded 
 by others as I sat ill in the nook. The kind inquiries, the 
 concern for my pain, the tender expression of her countenance 
 beaming at once wdth pity and beauty, more beautiful from its 
 goodness, could not fail to make an impression in which love 
 was born of gratitude, an impression which I neither strove to 
 conceal from myself nor to resist, since I now found that 
 besides her rare personal charms, she had, what was in my 
 estimation a still brighter charm, in the tenderness of her 
 innocent and devoted heart. 
 
 A young lad, a companion of mine, being deeply enamoured 
 of a coy lass who lived at Throstle Nest, he took the expedient 
 of inditing love epistles, in order to interest her indifferent 
 feelings towards his suit. In these occupations I frequently 
 assisted, and gave my advice, as well as accompanied him in 
 his night excursions, when he went to peep at her window, or 
 to deposit his love billets. I also confided to him the secret of 
 my attachment, and, when the season came round, we fre- 
 quently sat down at his parents' house, after working hours, 
 and penned letters and valentines to our several fair ones, and 
 sometimes also, by way of joke, to othf rs of our female 
 acquaintance. He was a neat writer, and an ingenious framer 
 of such things, and under his tuition I soon became as good a
 
 LOVE DAWNINGS. 155 
 
 proficient as himself. I now set my ingenuity to task, and 
 prepared a valentine the equal to which for painting, and gild- 
 ing, and writing, and scissors work, had never probably been 
 seen in Middleton, and this I gave with my own hand to 
 Mima, when she came to play at my loom at night. I had 
 seen too much of the chances of such things getting astray to 
 entrust this precious offering to other conveyance than my 
 own, I accordingly showed it to her first, and asked her opinion 
 as to its merits, when, with admiration not unalloyed by a 
 painful doubt, she inquired for what happy lass the beautiful 
 thing could be intended? and I in a whisper said, " For you, if 
 you can find in your heart to accept it for my sake, and as a 
 sincere expression of my feelings." With joy in her look, and 
 blushes lovelier than those of the queen flower of June, she 
 said, " I do ! I do ! " and with a smile all modestly radiant, she 
 placed it in her bosom, and went away. 
 
 So now we knew each other ; we were united in heart, she 
 was mine, and I was her own, but not one word of love 
 escaped from our hps. Days and weeks and months passed, 
 both of us happy in the assurance of mutual affection. I had 
 no companionship with any of the other members of her 
 uncle's family, and consequently I never went there except on 
 an errand to the shop. She, however, being the confidante of 
 my cousin Hannah, had a recognised privilege to come and go 
 at our house without notice, and whenever she chose to do 
 so, and seldom, indeed, a day passed, on which we were not 
 favoured by a visit from the little Hebe, who would have a 
 word of news for my old aunt, or a question to put to my 
 uncle, or something to mention to Hannah, but who never 
 went away until she had stood beside my loom, or tried to 
 weave ^r me, or fetched me bobbins, or moved my rods, or 
 spoken a word, or bestowed a modest glance, which said more 
 than words could do. And thus we continued, thinking and 
 looking unuttered things — heart united, soul blended, but 
 never speaking of love, never daring to let that fearfully ex- 
 pressive word escape from our lips, never daring even to meet 
 alone, when one day my aunt surprised and almost distressed 
 me by the information that I was by my father's direction to 
 depart that week and take up my abode in Manchester.
 
 156 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 And as I am now about to quit this humble roof, and to 
 launch on themes and scenes of a quite different description, 
 it may not be out of place if I here introduce notices of a few 
 scarce and original characters who were acquaintances of and 
 visitors at my uncle's house, during my sojourn in his family. 
 
 One of the most singular of these was Eichard Hall, a 
 leader amongst the Kilhamite Methodists. Eichard in his 
 youth had been a most reckless fighter and drinker, the master 
 and bully of the whole country side about Heywood, but 
 having attended a preaching and a meeting or two of the Old 
 Methodists, he was struck with remorse, became an altered 
 man, and joined the society ; and when the schism betwixt 
 Mr. Kilham* and the Conference took place, Eichard went 
 with the former, and ever afterwards adhered to that party. 
 At the time I first knew him, he was a grave and venerable 
 looking man, gracefully stooping, with thin dark locks, a very 
 dark complexion, a temper surpassingly dogged and immovable, 
 and withal a manner as humble, and a speech as mild as might 
 have become the veriest lamb. Old Eichard, however, I 
 believe was as sincere a Christian as many who make more 
 pretensions, but his modicum of grace had to act on a bodily 
 temperament of no common order, and amongst other beset- 
 ments thrown in his way by the " Evil One," no doubt, was an 
 enormous liking of savoury viands, at whatever time of day, 
 or in whatever manner he became cognisant of their prox- 
 imity. Eichard, however, was not selfish ; he was generous 
 of his humble store, and was at all times hospitable towards 
 preachers or poor brethren who came about dispensing the 
 Word in the neighbourhood. On one occasion he invited a 
 preacher to partake his Sunday dinner, and the invitation 
 was accepted with thanks. Meanwhile, the preacher was to 
 preach, and Eichard as his host accompanied him to the 
 chapel, where a goodly array of hearers awaited them. Well, 
 the prayer was made, the hymn was sung, the text was taken, 
 and the preacher expounded to the great edification of those 
 present. Eichard, however, was thinking of other things I 
 the old "Father of Sin," knowing his weakness, kept present- 
 * Founder (1797) of the Methodist New Connexion.
 
 LOVE D AWNINGS. 167 
 
 ing to his imagination the nice stuffed duck which was roasting 
 for dinner ; and such was Eichard's anxiety to have it quite 
 ready the moment the preacher returned, that he sHpped out 
 of the chapel and hastened home in order to make sure that 
 no time should be lost. His wife, however, who was a little, 
 expert, tidy woman, had the duck already cooked and the 
 dinner waiting, and Eichard, snuffing the delicious odour, 
 thought there could be no great harm if he cut a slice and ate 
 it, just to ascertain whether or not there was sage enough in 
 the stuffing. So he took a little of the duck and most excellent 
 it was ; then a little more, with some stuffing and apple sauce, 
 and that was delicious. Then he thought that as the duck 
 was ready, he might as well e'en make his dinner at once, and 
 there would be enough left for the preacher when he came. 
 So Eichard kept cutting and eating, and cutting and eating, 
 until, when the preacher returned, there was only the pickings 
 of the bones left for him. Eichard, now conscience struck, 
 made the best apology he could, which, I believe, amounted 
 partly to a confession of his besetting temptation, and partly to 
 an opinion that his friend had gone to dinner with some other 
 of the congregation. The preacher took all in good part, for- 
 gave his brother, advised him as to the future, and concluded 
 with a word of prayer. Eichard was greatly humbled, and 
 more guarded for a time, but to the last years of his life, 
 nothing gave him so great bodily satisfaction as "a nice 
 savoury chop," or a "bit of a frizzle." 
 
 He was blessed with two daughters, as dutiful and affection- 
 ate children they were as ever ate bread from a parent's hand. 
 They worked for and supported their eld father and mother 
 when they were unable to support themselves : they tended 
 them in their age and their sickness, nursed them whilst they 
 lived, and buried them with decency. One is still, I believe, 
 toiling with the world only to keep sinking deeper in poverty ; 
 the other met a sudden and dreadful fate. After having re- 
 ceived such attentions as led her to expect marriage by a 
 religious person, and having been abandoned by him, chiefly 
 in consequence of the envious interference of other religious 
 persons, she seemed to forget herself ; became less careful in
 
 158 EABL7 DAYS. 
 
 her attire, less guarded in her conversation, less cleanly in her 
 habits, began to smoke tobacco, then to take liquors in small 
 quantity, and at length, after a course of years, during which 
 she abandoned every propriety save that of modesty, she was 
 found one morning drowned in the mill-pond. If ever a young 
 woman began life with a deservedness to be happy, this was 
 the one ; but worth was rendered worthless, a body was 
 ruined — degraded — a soul all but lost. Let humanity shed a 
 tear for the fate of this poor unfortunate. 
 
 Once or twice a year, generally when days became short, and 
 cloudy, and stormy, and we had long nights to sit by the fire ; 
 at such a time of the year, and oftenest at the close of day, 
 would the door of my uncle's house slowly open, and an old 
 woman leaning on a stick, with her face half muffled, and her 
 person concealed in an old brown cloak, and with sundry rags, 
 bags, and pockets swaggering under her clothes, would enter. 
 Instantly we knew her voice and made room for her to sit 
 down, for "Old Ailse o' Bharla" was always a favourite at 
 my uncle's fireside. She had plenty of tales, chiefly of an 
 admonitory and religious turn ; she had " a remarkable gift of 
 prayer," had also been "unfortunate in the disposal of her 
 affection," was "rather out of her mind " as they said, and 
 spent her time in wandering about from place to place, seeking 
 rest, but finding none. Her father was a farmer of some pro- 
 perty, residing in Birkle at about the year 1745, and Ailse 
 used to take the week's butter to Bury every Saturday. At 
 that time she was a smart, handsome, young woman, and 
 happened to attract the attention of a young dragoon quartered 
 at Bury, who was himself of respectable parentage, and bore 
 a good character in the regiment. The soldier became deeply 
 enamoured of the Birkle beauty, and lost not much time in 
 making known to her the state of his heart. The very idea of 
 being beloved by a common soldier, Alice looked upon as an 
 insult, and she consequently treated his advances with con- 
 tempt. The young man tried all means to induce her to lend 
 a patient hearing to his supplication, but the high-notioned 
 maid could not be prevailed on to listen. The lover was 
 respected by many of the townspeople as well as by his com-
 
 LOVE DAWNINGS. 159 
 
 rades, and he engaged several of the former to interest them- 
 selves in the promotion of his suit, but all was in vain — the 
 proud beauty would not listen. The youth remained hopeless, 
 and in that forlorn state he marched with the regiment from 
 Bury to Scotland. From thence he wrote several letters to 
 friends in Bury, which described in touching language the 
 strength of his hopeless love and the deplorable state of his 
 mind, and probably some passages at least of these letters 
 would find their way to the damsel's ear. Whether, however, 
 it was from something which she heard at Bury, or from 
 some reproaches of conscience, or from " some dream or 
 vision," or some " apparition," or " love spell " — for she 
 seldom would converse on the subject even with her most 
 confident friends — she suddenly became violently desirous 
 to see the young soldier, and to make amends for the slight 
 and neglect she had practised towards him. She procured 
 a horse and money, and travelled to Scotland, to the town in 
 which she knew he was quartered. She entered the place, 
 and as she and her steed, all weary and travel-worn, went 
 slowly up the street, the sound of a trumpet playing a mourn- 
 ful air attracted her notice, and soon after she met a soldier's 
 funeral procession. She stopped her horse to allow a free 
 passage ; several of the troopers gazed on her intensely and 
 began to converse ; at length she noticed one whom she re- 
 membered having seen at Bury, and him she took the liberty 
 of asking where she should find her lover, when the man, 
 pointing to the bier, said that was his quarters, and the only 
 place where he was then to be found. She fainted, and would 
 have fallen from her horse ; the procession halted ; the 
 soldiers collected around her ; they knew her ; they pro- 
 nounced her name. She was taken care of whilst the funeral 
 was completed. After some time she returned home — an 
 altered woman — a faded rose, — lost in heart — lost in mind — 
 a dream interpreter — a spell solver — a religious monomaniac 
 — an object of pity and in some degree of dread to all who 
 knew her. Such was the tale of " Old Ailse o' Bharla "
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 HOPE STILL DEPERBED — NEW EMPLOYMENTS — NEW BOOKS. 
 
 On leaving Middletoii I went to live with my sister in Green- 
 gate, Salford, and attended once more the school of my father's 
 old Methodist friend, John Holt, of Oldham Street, with a 
 view to my improvement in writing and arithmetic, but my 
 day for learning was gone by, and I took quite as much notice 
 of certain pretty figures which sat in the girl's room opposite 
 to me as I did of those in my book, and so I got not much 
 improvement this time. Mima, however, was not forgotten. 
 I had written to my cousin Thomas informing him of my 
 situation, and in a postscript desiring him to remember me 
 kindly to J. S., but the letter fell into my aunt's hands, and 
 our secret was discovered. To add to my chagrin also, when 
 I went to Middleton Mima was nowhere to be seen, having 
 gone on a visit to Liverpool, so that instead of some faint 
 chance of an interview which I had ventured to hope for, I 
 got nothing save sly jokes and inuendoes about my love for 
 J. S., and I returned home sadly disappointed. 
 
 But the time for confirmation arrived, and I, with many 
 thousands of other young folks belonging to Manchester, 
 received the bishop's blessing in the old church. It was with 
 us a matter of some anxiety whether the right hand or the 
 left of the venerable prelate should be placed on our heads, 
 and it was my good fortune to receive the pressure of his right 
 hand, which was considered a propitious omen. The day 
 following the youth from the country districts were to be 
 similarly admitted to Christian communion, and as I knew 
 
 160
 
 HOPE STILL DEFEEBED. 161 
 
 that Mima would be with the Middleton party, I was in the 
 churchyard at an early hour, waiting with an anxiety which 
 made me indifferent to every other object. First one group 
 appeared, then another came up the Mill Gate, and many of 
 my old schoolfellows and playmates were amongst them ; but 
 the right one — the little cherry-blushing maid, with her light 
 auburn hair, and bright looks, and pale-blue frock, and straw 
 bonnet — was nowhere to be seen, and it was not until I had 
 waited and looked, and gazed down the narrow, crooked street, 
 and scrutinised each party as they approached — my sight be- 
 coming weary and my heart almost sick — that I at length 
 caught a glimpse of one amid a group of maidens who I 
 thought must be she whose coming I had so anxiously sought 
 for. Another glance, less rapid than the omen of my own 
 heart, told me that I was not mistaken, and the next moment 
 our hands met, and heart-throbbing, agitated, and happy, our 
 only words were mutual inquiries, confused and almost inco- 
 herent. My cousin Hannah, I found, was her companion, and 
 though I was always rather partial towards Hannah, in good 
 truth, I would she had at that time been in any other place. 
 She was, however, there, and I could not do less than behave 
 respectfully towards her ; it would have been unkind not to 
 have done so, a proceeding which, when a female was in the 
 case, was not to be thought of by me, was not in my nature. 
 And so, after the communion was over, we three formed one 
 company, and, after taking refreshment, spent some time in 
 looking through the wondrous old College, and in viewing the 
 shops in the square, and the toy-stalls in the Smithy Door, 
 where I made each of them a present of a breast-pin with an 
 initial, not all gold of a certainty, but as highly prized as if it 
 had been so, and had come from other hands. When the time 
 of departure arrived, I accompanied them a good distance on 
 the way home, in the hope that some accident would occur 
 which might detach my cousin and give me an opportunity of 
 uttering but one word to my enslaver, and of receiving her 
 assurance of affection in return, for of that I felt not the least 
 doubt ; but our attendant never left us for an instant, and I, 
 though again sorely disappointed, made up my mind to remain 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 as contented as I could, with the expression of kind looks, and 
 one tender pressure of her dear hand only. And so, "hoping 
 soon to meet again," we parted, that hope being destined not 
 to be entirely realised. 
 
 I was shortly afterwards placed in the warehouse of Mr. 
 Spencer, counterpane and bed-quilt manufacturer, whose rooms 
 were at the bottom of Cannon Street. I was Mr. Spencer's 
 only warehouseman, and my duties were to sweep the rooms, 
 to light the lire, to dust the counters, and to fodder my master's 
 horse, which was housed in a small stable in the yard. I also 
 gave out goods, and took them in from the bleachers when my 
 employer was absent, and on like occasions when a buyer 
 came round it was my duty to show the goods and to sell them 
 if I could. I was thus become a person of some responsibility 
 all at once, and the estimation which I attached to my situation 
 was not of the most humble degree. My wages were certainly 
 rather of the lowest, being — if I recollect aright — about six 
 shillings a week, but as my work was light and I was learning, 
 as it were, the warehouse business, my wages were considered 
 reasonable for the time being. My hours of attendance were 
 from eight in the morning to six in the afternoon in summer, 
 and to five in winter, with an hour at noon for dinner. My 
 master resided somewhere near Levenshulme ; he was punctual 
 in his attendance in the morning and his departure in the 
 afternoon. He was an exact and economical man, though not 
 a severe master ; he liked to have things done at a proper 
 time, and to find every piece, and book, and paper, and 
 wrapper, and string in its proper place ; and as I was active 
 and obliging and also took some pride in having the rooms 
 neat, and the stock in order, I did not often incur his censure. 
 His temperate and economical habits led him, as I understood, 
 generally to dine on his return home ; sometimes he would lunch 
 in town, and occasionally he would send me to the Cockpit 
 Hill for a fourpenny veal pie, which he took in the warehouse 
 as a lunch. I liked my master very well, notwithstanding his 
 careful habits and his rather distant manners ; I liked his 
 horse, however, better, when he and I had become acquainted. 
 He was one of that useful sort which can work either in a cart
 
 NEW EMPLOYMENT. 163 
 
 or trot under a saddle, and was very docile — only, if there had 
 been more riding for me and less rubbing, I should have liked 
 our acquaintance still better. 
 
 After being in the employ of Mr. Spencer some considerable 
 time, I got a situation, at the advanced wages of eight shillings 
 a week, in the warehouse of Mr. Thomas Eobinson, of Hodson's 
 Square, whose residence was at Walshaw Lane, near Bury, 
 and who carried on a manufactory there of dimities and quilt- 
 ings. He also had an agent who made calicoes for him at New 
 Church, in Pendle Forest ; Mr. Eobinson's town agent or sales- 
 man in Hodson's Square was a young man named W., who 
 had lately entered into Mr. Eobinson's employment from that 
 of his uncle, a draper, of Melton Mowbray. My warehouse 
 duties here were much the same as at my former place, only I 
 had not a horse to attend upon, as Mr. Eobinson, when he 
 came to town on Tuesdays and Saturdays, put up at The 
 Dangerous Corner Inn, and left his nag there to be hostled. 
 My work was, however, much more laborious than at Mr. 
 Spencer's, and consisted chiefly in carrying goods up and down 
 the stairs, in taking rather heavy parcels out to buyers in the 
 town, and in packing up for country delivery. 
 
 I cared little, however, about the weight of the work which 
 I was called on to perform, for being an active, clear- winded 
 lad, I was seldom really tired; but one piece of drudgery 
 which Mr. W. set me to do galled my feelings very much, 
 and more so because I neither deemed the manner in which I 
 was made to perform it necessary, nor the performance itself 
 at all within the intention of my contract with my employer. 
 Mr. W., as was quite excusable in a young man of his condi- 
 tion, affected great smartness in his dress, and had his mind 
 been as well cultivated as his person was draped, he would 
 have been a very intelligent gentleman indeed; but his manners, 
 pronunciation, and in fact every action and tone, betrayed the 
 rustic provincialist just come to the great mart of trade with 
 but one wish, one idea, that of gain, gain, gain. I, young and 
 inexperienced, and ignorant of the world as I was, could not 
 fail to draw comparisons betwixt my employer, the plain, un- 
 affected, but perfectly well-bred, well-informed man, and the
 
 164 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 young country buck whom he had selected to do his business. 
 Both of them wore top-boots, and as Mr. W. would have his 
 perfectly clean, he initiated me into the mysteries of making 
 excellent blacking and boot-top liquid, and then installed me 
 in the honourable office of shoeblack and boot-cleaner to him- 
 self. I felt this to be an encroachment on my condition of 
 service, but as I never imagined that Mr. W. would do less 
 than make me a handsome present when I became expert at 
 the job, I did my best to please him. Weeks and months, 
 however, passed, Mr. W. having the distinction of sporting 
 the cleanest and best polished boots in the town ; but not one 
 word did he ever utter having the remotest allusion to remu- 
 neration. Sometimes when he put them on and turned round 
 his foot to see how smart they looked, he would, in one of his 
 pleasantest moods, say, " Sam, thaw has done these very well," 
 or, " Sam, thaw has made these tops very nyst; they almost 
 look as well as new; " but never did my observant eye detect 
 his hand gliding into his pocket for a sixpence or a shilling to 
 give me for my trouble. And so when one morning he ordered 
 me to carry a slop-basin full of milk — for top-liquid — from his 
 lodgings in Salford to the warehouse, I refused, and told him, 
 once for all, I would neither clean tops nor black bottoms any 
 more. He looked a moment at me aghast and horrified by my 
 audacious rebellion, but finding me neither abashed nor tract- 
 able, he only intimated that Mr. Eobinson would have to be 
 informed of my insubordination. I, however, never heard 
 anything further respecting the matter, and probably Mr. 
 Eobinson was never made aware of the extra drudgery I had 
 performed. 
 
 About this time I was delighted by the acquisition of two 
 books, the existence of which, until then, had been unknown 
 to me. One was the second volume of Homer's Iliad, trans- 
 lated by Alexander Pope, with notes by Madame Dacier, and 
 the other was a small volume of Miscellaneous Poems, by John 
 Milton. Homer I read with an absorbed attention which soon 
 enabled me to commit nearly every line to memory. The 
 perusal created in me a profound admiration of the old heathen 
 heroes, and a strong desire to explore the whole of " The tale
 
 NEW BOOKS. 165 
 
 of Troy divine." To the deep melancholy of the concluding 
 lines I fully responded. 
 
 " Be this the song, slow moving tow'rd the shore, 
 Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more." 
 
 With Milton I was both saddened and delighted. His 
 "L'Allegro" and "II Penseroso" were but the expressions 
 of thoughts and feelings which my romantic imagination had 
 not unfrequently led me to indulge, but which, until now, I 
 had deemed beyond all human utterance. 
 
 ♦' Some time walking not unseen 
 By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, 
 Bight against the eastern gate. 
 Where the great Sun begins his state, 
 Rob'd in flames, and amber light, 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight. 
 * • * * « 
 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied, 
 Shallow brooks and rivers wide : 
 Towers and battlements it sees 
 Bosom'd high in tufted trees, 
 Where perhaps some beauty lies, 
 The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes," 
 
 were the very whisperings of the spirit ever present in my 
 day musings, and which brooded over my night dreams. Then 
 again in " Penseroso " the line — 
 
 " Call up him who left half told," 
 
 set my imaginative curiosity to work. What him ? who was 
 "him?" when did he Uve? where did he reside? and how 
 happened it that he 
 
 " left half told 
 The story of Cambuscan bold ? " 
 
 What a strangely interesting subject for thoughtful conjecture 
 was his " story half told," with its Cambuscan, and Algarsife, 
 and Canace, who, whether or not she was ever wived at all, 
 was a mystery impenetrable to me. " Samson Agonistes " and
 
 166 EARLY DAYS 
 
 " Paradise Eegained" were less attractive than were others of 
 the great bard's miscellaneous productions. His night witchery 
 of " Comus " was the very revel of poetry, 
 
 " The star that bids the shepherd fold, 
 Now the top of Heaven doth hold," 
 
 for instance, and 
 
 " Braid your locks with rosy twine, 
 Dropping odours, dropping wine,' 
 
 conveyed to my heart and my imagination ideas almost as 
 fascinating and dangerous as the spell which bound the fair 
 lady in her " marble venom'd seat," while the concluding lines 
 of the mournfully quaint " Lycidas " inspired me with those 
 pleasing anticipations which are always awaiting the behest of 
 healthful, active youth. 
 
 " Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills, 
 While the still morn went out with sandals gray, 
 He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, 
 With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
 Ajid now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills. 
 And now was dropt into the western bay ; 
 At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue : 
 To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new." 
 
 Oh ! John Milton ! John Milton ! of all the poetry ever read 
 or ever heard recited by me, none has so fully spoken out the 
 whole feelings of my heart — the whole scope of my imaginings 
 — as have certain passages of thy divine minstrelsy.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Why should unavailing love 
 Be kept like hidden gold ? " 
 
 Nevee, probably, were the reveries of love and poetry more 
 deeply indulged in than they were by me in these my young 
 days of visionary romance. My warehouse work was certainly 
 a laborious reality, but what then ? I was more than equal to 
 any fatigue which I had to encounter. I performed all I had 
 to do cheerfully, readily, and thoroughly, and the hours flew 
 swiftly, if not altogether pleasantly, whilst my deepest thoughts 
 were engaged in far other scenes, and the objects constantly 
 occurring to my mental perception were of a quite different 
 nature. Very often, whilst bending beneath a load of piece 
 goods, as I carried them through the crowded streets, or 
 wiping the sweat from my brow as I rested in the noon sun, 
 would I be unconsciously wandering in imagination in the free 
 forest glades with Bobin Hood, or 
 
 •' Over some wide water'd shore," 
 
 with Milton. Then, in such a place as Manchester, where 
 beauty adorned by graceful art appeared at each step, I 
 frequently encountered objects which led my thoughts far 
 astray; and not only was the hardship of my situation for- 
 gotten, but, the present overcoming the distant, she to whom 
 I had silently vowed my true and loyal troth, was too often 
 absent from my meditations. 
 
 My chief companions at this time were a lad of about my 
 own age named Booth, who was serving an apprenticeship to 
 
 1Q7
 
 168 ilAitLlt DAtS. 
 
 the business of a letter-press printer, and a young warehouse- 
 man named Fielding. After working hours we used frequently 
 in summer time to take our rambles in Broughton, and one of 
 our favourite spots was a piece of rough-broken ground lying 
 on the left of the first ascent of Stony Knows, and known by 
 the name of The Woodlands. Here were various out-of-the- 
 way footpaths, round green hillocks, and through winding 
 dells and hollows, with natural arbours of hazel and wild-rose, 
 and quaint cell-looking little nooks to sit in, where either in 
 the warm sun or in the shade, we could choose our seat ; 
 either in the breeze or under the wind that ruffled the gnarled 
 oak, and brushed the grey birch, and swept through the boughs 
 of the red-berried rowan, for such were the only woods 
 remaining, could we lie down, or sit up, or read poetry or 
 romance, or sing, or laugh, or talk over our own little love 
 affairs or those of others. Pleasant Sunday rambles were 
 these, on cool dewy mornings, or on fine sunny afternoons, 
 and vastly did we young joking, laughter-loving frolickers 
 enjoy whatever was enjoyable in our own simple, humble 
 way — from a scramble which should pluck a dog-rose, to a 
 race which should first win the smile of a milkmaid and 
 purchase the warm cream from her can. 
 
 On one of these occasions, I and a companion were taking 
 this very pleasant round, and wishing that some beautiful 
 apples, which hung on the other side of the hedge, were ours, 
 when thump went a fine one on my companion's back, and in 
 a moment after I was very near being hit by another. We 
 gathered the fruit and laughed heartily, being greatly pleased 
 with the joke, but were puzzled in what terms to thank the 
 donor, whose person remained beyond our ken. " Who's 
 thrown 'em?" asked one. "What's thrown 'em?" asked 
 the other. " Well, but mine's a good un," said the first 
 taster ; " An' mine's as good," said the second, " Thank 
 the thrower, whoever threw 'em," said the first speaker ; 
 " Aye, an' twenty times o'er were the thrower but a bonny 
 lass," said the second. " If she be a bonny lass, and she's as 
 good as she's bonny, she'll perhaps throw another," said the 
 first speaker ; " I shouldn't wonder," said the second. And
 
 TBE GABDEN WALL. 169 
 
 with that two more apples were thrown, and we heard a laugh 
 and just caught a glimpse of a fair young maiden hasten- 
 ing from the orchard and crouching beneath the apple 
 trees. Quick, however, as was her disappearance, it was not 
 so quick but I knew her to be the sister of one whom I 
 had seen in the town, and who had recently come in for 
 a very considerable share of my deepest considerations. 
 She whom we had seen was indeed a bonny lass, as fair 
 as alabaster, and with locks as dark as those of an " Ethiope 
 queen," whilst the one who had disturbed my equanimity was 
 older, taller, and bore in her manner and her features an 
 expression of sedate and comely beauty, the impression of 
 which I in vain tried to efface. To my poetic fancy she 
 seemed a near personification of Milton's " Nun " — 
 
 " devout and pure, 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure ; 
 With sable stole of Cyprus lawn, 
 Over her decent shoulders drawn ; " 
 
 whilst the sable stole which she wore, being in mourning, was 
 truly befitting her grave and modest demeanour. 
 
 After I had been in Mr. Eobinson's employ a considerable 
 time, he removed from Walshaw to Bent House, in Prestwich. 
 Here he had a small farm attached to his holding, and when 
 they were busy in the hay, at his request, I willingly went over 
 to help them during a week. In some time after he disagreed 
 with his farming man, and he then wished me to go to 
 Bent House and undertake the man's work. I hardly relished 
 this ; I was not satisfied of my ability to do the work 
 as it should be done. I liked my master, however, very 
 well, and his lady, and their little daughter " Mittey,'' 
 as we used to call her, when I carried her in my arms 
 during the hay season ; and as it was a pleasure for me 
 to do anything which pleased my master, considering also 
 that it was my duty to do so in every lawful thing, I 
 consented, for a time, to resign Manchester and its attractions, 
 and so take up my abode at Prestwich. I set about doing my 
 work in the best manner I could, and as " where there is
 
 170 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 a will, there is a way," I was not long in becoming 
 tolerably handy about my business. I had some notion 
 how to clean a horse before, and I soon learned how to 
 bed my master's neat tit down, and to rub the bits and 
 stirrups, and sponge the saddle, and bridle, and girths. 
 In the shippon I was equally active, except at milking, which 
 was done by one of the women. Knife cleaning I had to 
 learn, but that was easily done, whilst in the business of 
 boot-and-shoe polishing, the instructions which Mr, W. had 
 conferred on me came just to hand, as if this predicament 
 had been foreseen. Martha, the cook, a woman of mature 
 age, was very kind to me, for I was generally cheerful and 
 in good temper, and whenever she had to go anywhere 
 after darkness set in, being afraid of " spirits," I had to 
 go with her. The other cook, who came after Martha 
 left, was kind also ; so that I thought cooks were the best 
 creatures in the world. Nancy, the nurse, got blamed, 
 poor girl, for coming about the stable ; whilst Sarah, the 
 housemaid, a plain-looking, careful Yorkshire lass, soon 
 left, and her place was supplied by Mary H., the daughter 
 of a cottager residing close by, as thoroughly innocent and 
 sweet-looking a damsel was Mary as ever stepped in England. 
 My mistress got me to clean the plate, and next she wanted 
 me to wait at the table ; but that was a thing I could 
 never take up. I was thinking of far other things, and 
 always making some blunder, and at last Mary had to do 
 it instead of me. I had soon plenty of acquaintance in 
 this new place; there was Eobert B., who courted Mary, 
 and young Tummus C, who trailed the wing after Nancy. 
 Then there were milk customers from Eooden Lane, and 
 last, though not least to be thought upon. Old Wilde the 
 farmer, whose daughter Mary always welcomed me to a 
 seat by the fire. My mistress, though I could not please 
 her in all things, was a very kind and considerate lady 
 towards me. When I was attacked by a severe quinsy 
 she attended me herself, blistered my throat, dressed the 
 blister, prepared a gargle, and saw that I used it ; in 
 short, she did for me what none of my fellow servants
 
 THE OLD CONJUBEB. 171 
 
 could or would do, and she had the satisfaction of 
 receiving my grateful thanks after a short but severe crisis. 
 My master and mistress were both young people, and a 
 handsome couple they made, and with their two little ones, 
 they presented a group the like of which is but seldom 
 found in this world's scene. My mistress was very orderly 
 in her family arrangements, whilst my master was a steady 
 man of business, though not always fortunate. He made 
 no parade of religion, but read prayers before the whole 
 family every Sunday night. 
 
 On one occasion my master and mistress went on a 
 visit, during a week or so, leaving myself, the cook, and 
 the housemaid at home. One night the subject of fortune- 
 telling was talked about as we sat on the hearth, and it 
 was agreed that on the very next night I should accom- 
 pany the women to a famous seer of that description, 
 known by the name of " Limping Billy," who lived at 
 Eadcliffe Bridge. The thing was to be quite secret, and 
 BO we got Mary Wilde and another woman to keep house 
 whilst we were away, telling them, what indeed was true, 
 that we were going over to Besses-o'th'-Barn, and would 
 soon return. So away we went on foot, and through 
 Besses-o'th'-Barn, and over the top of Pilkington to Eadcliffe, 
 where we found the old conjurer domiciled up some steps 
 in a back yard. According to arrangement, the women 
 entered the place at once, whilst I retired to get a cup 
 of ale at a publichouse. So I waited here some time, 
 and when I supposed the secrets of futurity had been 
 unveiled, I mounted the steps, and without much ceremony 
 opened the door and entered the room. If my recollection 
 deceive me not, the apartment was a dimly lighted, roomy 
 place, with a close musty smell. Opposite the door stood 
 a plain uncurtained bedstead, containing what appeared to 
 be a bed, the colour of dirty sacking. A table with some 
 spoons and basins stood propped against the further wall, 
 an old oaken chair occupied a dark corner, a miserable- 
 looking fire glimmered in the grate, beside which, with his 
 knees almost up to his chin, seated behind a dirty, sloppy
 
 172 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 table, with a single candle burning, or rather flickering, 
 appeared the wizard. My two companions sat with their 
 backs towards me, and he with his bony fingers, taloned 
 with long black nails, kept turning round and peering into 
 a tea-cup, mumbling all the time words the meaning of which 
 I could not comprehend. 
 
 " Hooas theer? " said he, suddenly looking up and gazing 
 full at me with a malicious and angry grin. 
 
 " It's only me," I replied. 
 
 " Hooa arto," shouted the conjurer, " an' wot dusto want?" 
 
 " I'm waitin' o' these two young women," I replied. 
 
 " Then goo an' wait sumweer elze," he said, in a still angry 
 tone, " an' when they want'n the, they'n know wheer to find 
 the." 
 
 " Oh, it's only the lad 'at's comn wi' us," said one of the 
 young women. 
 
 " He may as weel wawk off at once," said the seer, " I'll do 
 no bizniz while he's i'th' place." 
 
 " Hee'l happen hav' his fortin towd," said the other girl. 
 
 "Hee'l ha' no fortin towd heer to-neet," said the con- 
 jurer. 
 
 " An' if it comes to that, I care no great deal either for you 
 or your fortin," I said, pretty well satisfied with what I had 
 observed, and coming out of the place. 
 
 More mortified than disappointed, I awaited the arrival 
 of the women in the street, when we adjourned to the public- 
 house, and whilst there partaking a glass of warm liquor, they 
 told me that old Billy had caught me laughing, and was very 
 augry at my daring to laugh in his presence. I admitted that 
 I certainly had been betrayed into a not very reverential 
 feeling when I saw them listening so demurely whilst the old 
 impostor peered into his dirty cup and mumbled his prog- 
 nostics. Nor, as I learned from various hints, was the 
 result of their inquiry such as they had hoped it would 
 be. One of them could not hear anything whatever 
 respecting a particular "old sweetheart," whose coming 
 she had awaited during years, but who never came ; whilst 
 the other, whose cheeks were burning, and ears almost
 
 A FIBST MEETING. 173 
 
 cracking, to be assigned to a certain " young man of a 
 fresh complexion and light hair," was inexorably awarded, 
 so said the cup, to one rather aged, stooping, and dark 
 haired. Neither of them, I found, was satisfied, and in order 
 to dispel their evil bodings, I ridiculed old Bill and his 
 trade until they joined me in laughing at their adventure 
 as well as my own, and so in this lively mood we set off 
 towards home, and arrived there better pleased with ourselves 
 and our journey than we had at one time expected to be. 
 I may mention, that in the end, the one got married to 
 her "old sweetheart," and the other to her "fresh com- 
 plexioned " young fellow. Whilst I was very near being a 
 prophet, old Billy proved an impostor, and the mirth of 
 our home walk was the wisest part of the whole affair. 
 
 One day when returning from Manchester, I was overtaken 
 in going up the Eed Bank, by a heavy storm of wind and rain, 
 and seeing before me an old woman muffled in her cloak, well, 
 thought I, the old creature shall, at any rate, have a share of 
 my umbrella, if she will. So I walked up beside her and said, 
 " Good mother, come and take shelter under this covering of 
 mine," and I stepped short that she might come under, when 
 at that moment looking up, she displayed a countenance the 
 very type of angelic loveliness, so youthful, so abashed, so 
 gentle, so innocent, and withal so serious, that I blamed my- 
 self for having accosted her in that abrupt manner, though 
 with the best of intentions. 
 
 " Lord, save us ! " at length said I, " that I should have 
 taken such an one as thee for an old woman ! " For as a 
 country lad, I was in the habit of theeing and thouing my 
 equals in years and condition. 
 
 "You shouldn't try your jokes on strangers," she replied, 
 with a look of reproof, and pausing in her gait that I might 
 pass on. 
 
 " If there be truth in human words," I said seriously, " I 
 could not attempt to jest with thee." 
 
 "Why not?" she inquired, "you seem rather apt at the 
 thing." 
 
 " Indeed I do often jest, like others of my condition, but if
 
 174 EABL7 DAYS. 
 
 thou will believe me, I could not do so whilst looking on a face 
 like thine." 
 
 " How then could you pretend to have taken me for an old 
 woman ? " 
 
 " I had not then marked thy bonny look, and the wind and 
 the rain had caused thy cloak to be so muffled, hood over 
 bonnet, that thou wert in a close guise. Besides, speaking 
 truly, I did think thou walked somewhat wearily up this hill ; 
 and I felt moved, for my own mother has travelled this road 
 in many a storm ; and I thought this is also somebody's 
 mother, sure enough." And then, when the fair being saw 
 that I was moved, she gave a pardoning look, and said : 
 
 " Well ! since you do not intend to banter me, I will confess 
 I did walk slowly, for I have a pain here," pressing her hand 
 on her left side. 
 
 " If, then, when thinking thou wert aged, I hastened to 
 show thee kindness, surely now I find thee to be young, and 
 passing fair also, I may be allowed to show thee respect. See 
 how the rain again pours, and how the wind blows, and how 
 the leaves are swept from the hedges. Trust me, lass, and 
 walk on this quiet side, and I'll break the storm, never fear." 
 
 And so 1 kept my stout umbrella to the wind, and she 
 walked by my side, her golden hair scarcely ruffled by the 
 wind. And when there came a flash and an astounding roar 
 of thunder, she stopped, trembled, and looked imploringly, 
 and I drew her arm over mine, saying, " Trust God, and fear 
 not. He who hurls the bolt can avert the blow." 
 
 Such was my first meeting, and such nearly the terms of my 
 first conversation, with my beautiful Catherine — the daughter 
 of a widow who kept a small farm in Crumpsall. 
 
 The thunder soon rolled at a distance, the rain began to 
 abate, the wind almost ceased, still, arm in arm, we proceeded 
 until we arrived at the top of Smedley Lane, where there were 
 stumps leading to a footpath across the meadows, and here 
 we parted, but not before an appointment had been made for a 
 second meeting. 
 
 Oft we met again, and took lonely walks in those pleasant 
 undulating pastures, and when her mother came to know
 
 PABTING FOB A TIME. 175 
 
 about our meetings, she said no one should marry her daughter 
 who could not fetch her away on his own horse. And thereat 
 I felt abashed, I thought I was sure enough presumptuous, 
 and that I had not any right to stand in the way of the old 
 mother's expectations on behalf of her daughter ; and so I said 
 at one of our stolen interviews, " How shall this be, dear 
 Catherine? " and she advised that for the present our meetings 
 should be discontinued. " My mother will become more 
 reconciled," she said, " and we shall become older, and better 
 settled in the world ; meanwhile, let us not forget each other, 
 but exchange tokens of affection, to be looked upon with kind 
 remembrance when we are distant." And we exchanged love 
 tokens ; and after a long interview, and many last words and 
 turnings again, we parted, and I went to Prestwich very down- 
 cast, and wishing I had a farm and a horse of my own, that I 
 could make a home for my dear Catherine.
 
 CHAPTEE XX 
 
 OTHER SCENES. 
 
 Soon after this my master gave up his mamifacturing concern 
 and removed to Manchester, and after a short stay there, he 
 commenced business as a shipbroker at Liverpool, where I 
 believe he died. On his leaving the Manchester trade, our late 
 bookkeeper and salesman, Mr. W., began business himself, 
 and I went with him as porter and warehouseman the same as 
 before. Our establishment was removed to High Street, and 
 we did much business in prints and calicoes, both grey and 
 white : a cheap bargain of any kind had always a good chance 
 of being taken up by my employer. Trade was now going 
 very well, and vast sums of money were speedily realised by 
 shrewd, active, and enterprising tradesmen, and of this class 
 my employer was certainly one of the most remarkable. 
 
 I continued my poetic readings at all leisure moments. I 
 procured and read speedily a complete Iliad in English. Some 
 of Shakespeare's works having fallen in my way, I read them 
 with avidity, as I did almost every other book, and though 
 deeply interested by his historical characters and passages, I 
 never either then or since relished his blank verse, or that 
 of any other poet. I never, as it were, could get the knack 
 of it; and as compared with rhymed poetry, it has always 
 seemed to me, indeed, 
 
 •' Like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag." 
 
 If any one wishes to see a play performed he has only to 
 walk the streets of Manchester, or any other of our large 
 
 176
 
 OTHER SCENES. 177 
 
 towns, and he may behold the perfection of either tragedy or 
 comedy enacted by performers who need neither prompter, 
 call-boy, nor rehearsal ; but all coming and going as regularly 
 as if the piece were a play " got up " and " put on the stage," 
 as the phrase is, " put on ready for representation." The 
 scenes are admirably painted — the machinery perfect in its 
 operations, of wonderful construction, and sometimes of most 
 awful effect. The actors might have been made for the per- 
 formance of their several parts, so aptly do they go through 
 them ; whilst the dresses, decorations, and all the accessories 
 of the piece, are sure to be wonderfully befitting. And with 
 such a stage as this, with its ever- varying reality before our 
 eyes, who can require sham repetition as an after-part ? Not 
 I at any rate. 
 
 Milton's miscellaneous works were still my favourites. I 
 copied many of his poems into a writing book, and this I did, 
 not only on account of the pleasure which I felt in their repe- 
 tition, and in the appropriation, so to speak, of the ideas, but 
 also as a means for the improvement of my handwriting, 
 which had continued to be very indifferent. The Odyssey and 
 -Slneid, which I also procured and read about this time, 
 seemed tame and languid, whilst the stirring call of the old 
 Iliadic battle trumpet was ringing in my ears, and vibrating 
 within my heart. In short, I read or attentively conned over, 
 every book I could buy or borrow, and as I retained a pretty 
 clear idea of what I read, I became rather more than com- 
 monly proficient in book knowledge, considering that I was 
 only a better sort of porter in a warehouse. 
 
 I was now a strong, active young fellow, fast rising into 
 a man, with somewhat of a will and a way of my own ; and 
 with a coolness of thought, and a steadfastness of purpose, 
 increasing with my years, and strengthening with my strength. 
 I had not yet become a beer drinker, but I could take my half 
 pot of porter whilst at work on a hot day without feeling the 
 effects of the liquor, and though I was not in the least quarrel- 
 some, but on the contrary was given to good-humoured jocu- 
 larity, I would as lief almost have had a battle on my hands, 
 in a right cause, as have been without one; and so in this line 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 EARLY DAIS. 
 
 I not unfrequently met with some rough amusement. I kept 
 still, however, adhering to my simple habits and diet, working 
 my work promptly, and perhaps zealously, and giving the 
 remainder of my time to the reading of my favourite authors, 
 to country strolls at eventide, or on Sundays, or to a good 
 swim or two in season at Sandy Well or Broughton Ford, 
 with my acquaintance. Seldom did my inclination or my 
 connections lead me to the theatre. That sort of thing did 
 not please me ; there was too much of tinsel and clap-trap, 
 too little of reality, of thorough natural freshness for my taste. 
 And when I did go, I never came away without an impres- 
 sion which spoiled all the rest, that I had been witnessing a 
 delusion. Neither my spare hours, therefore, nor my loose 
 change were often spent at the play-house ; my home-goings 
 were consequently more early and regular than they other- 
 wise might probably have been. I went to rest betime, and 
 rose clear-headed, and with a strength and buoyancy of limb 
 that mocked toil and weariness. My breakfast was generally 
 a basin of milk, with a good thick slice round a loaf toasted 
 and soaked in. My dinner I either took at the cook's shop at 
 the corner of Brown Street, where the Commercial Hotel now 
 is, or at the pie-house in Cockpit Hill, where in repay for my 
 free and cheerful discourse with the old lady, and my gentle 
 deference to the daughter, I was frequently offered the use of 
 a plate and knife and fork, and those were favours not accorded 
 to many. My supper would be bread and milk again. My 
 bed was a very humble but cleanly one, in the upper room of 
 a tall sombre-looking tenement occupied by one widow 
 Pickup and her daughter — a little pale, prim, automatic, 
 fastidious body, whose only solace now was in the artless 
 prattle of her young unfathered child. The house was situated 
 in a strangely isolated yard, bounded on all sides by a high 
 wall, or by the back walls of other houses, and approachable 
 only by a narrow covered passage closed by a door, and 
 leading out of another long alley called Ditchfield Court, 
 which latter place was accessible only by steps from that end 
 of that quaint and antique old street called Long Mill Gate, 
 which emerges in the open space, formerly known as The 
 Apple Market, close to the Old Church.
 
 OTHER SCENES. 179 
 
 From this part of the town, Strangeways, Broughton, and 
 the Cheetham Hill road being the most ready outlets into the 
 country, it not unfrequently happened that my steps almost 
 involuntarily took the direction of the latter quarter, and that 
 on many occasions when I merely purposed to stroll as far as 
 Smedley or Cheetwood, I found myself lingering upon and 
 retracing the footpaths on which Catherine and I had so often 
 strayed. A feeling of profound but benignly soothing melancholy 
 was at these times ever present, humbling my heart and 
 straightway reassuring it — 
 
 " Wounding as it were to cure, 
 Strength'ning only to endure." 
 
 On one of these occasions, when these sadly solacing 
 communings, protracted until night, found me wandering 
 like something lost, I was ecalled to consciousness by the 
 barking of a dog, and the flashing of a light, and the clapping 
 to of a gate, through which I saw Catherine pass swiftly 
 towards a dwelling at a short distance from the one she had 
 left, which was her mother's. I took my station under a 
 hedge and awaited her return, and when she approached, I 
 gave the same low whistle which she had often heard before, 
 and she stopped, holding up the lanthorn, and exclaiming, 
 " Bless us, lad ! can that be you ? " I came from my covert 
 and convinced her it was myself, come I scarcely knew how or 
 why, as I said, but hoping against despair that I might once 
 more catch a ghmpse of her dear form through the window, 
 or hear her voice, or at least see some one of the family who 
 I knew had seen her, and then I could return contented, 
 " Indeed," she said, taking the hand which I extended, "you 
 are very kind ; but how cold you are — you have been out in 
 the dew until you are wet and starved : wait a few minutes, 
 and I will make an excuse to come out again ; I have something 
 to tell you." And with that she disappeared through the gate, 
 and went into the house. She was as good as her word. In 
 a short time I heard her well-known step, and went to meet 
 her, and as I modestly embraced her, and expressed a thousand 
 thanks for this token of her kindness and confidence, she bade
 
 180 EAELY DAYS. 
 
 me hush, and leading me beneath some trees, said she believed 
 me to be worthy of her confidence, even of her affection, or 
 she should not have met me again, but that her stay must be 
 short, and that this meeting would perhaps be our last as 
 lovers. 
 
 It would be of little use were I to attempt to narrate the 
 particulars of all that was said on that mournful occasion. 
 The conversation of lovers is seldom interesting to any save 
 themselves. I urged, I pleaded, I besought, I even reproached 
 and again pleaded, with every persuasive which my unpractised 
 but heart-bursting emotion could pour forth, in order to induce 
 her to say that we should once more live for each other, but in 
 vain. All she would promise was that this should not be our 
 final parting, but that, whatever might be the consequence, she 
 would meet me once more. 
 
 The simple-minded but tenacious girl made known to me, 
 however, in the most kindly and confiding manner, the circum- 
 stances which had induced her thus unexpectedly to sacrifice 
 our mutual happiness. She, like the girls at Prestwich, had 
 been trying to look into futurity, and had given ear to the 
 prophecies of an old fortune-telling woman, who said " it was 
 not our fate to be united," "that if the connection was not 
 broken off one of us would die," " that an evil star was in the 
 table of our destiny," " that, in fact, if the acquaintance was 
 continued, I should prove false in the end." " And so," added 
 the distressed and almost terrified girl, "what must be, must 
 be." " It is of no use striving against the decrees of Provi- 
 dence." "It is a great misfortune, but ib might have been 
 worse ; we can still esteem each other, nay, love each other 
 as dear friends, even meet each other as friends in passing 
 through the world, and surely that will be enough. If we can 
 each be certain of one true ' friend in need and indeed,' we 
 shall be fortunate after all." 
 
 When I tried to reason her out of her delusion, she informed 
 me that the old woman was "infallible," and that before she 
 gave a final decision she always had access to the body of a 
 lady which lay embalmed in one of the rooms of a certain 
 great house which stood on the roadside leading to Manchester,
 
 OTHEB SCENES. 181 
 
 and that whatever she in consequence foretold, it was useless 
 to attempt to evade. 
 
 And so, with one fond embrace, and mutual prayers that 
 God would protect and bless us through life, we again parted, 
 and I, with my heart somewhat consoled by the assurance of 
 meeting her once more, returned to my quiet and solitary old 
 domicile. 
 
 I now became moody and melancholy, brooding over my ill 
 success in courtship, and wondering how it happened that love 
 like mine should go unrequited, I felt piqued also, and my 
 pride was wounded, that the fiat of an old woman should have 
 had more influence than all my entreaties. In my intercourse 
 with the fair sex, the emotions of the heart had hitherto been 
 my only offering, and now the unworthy surmise first occurred 
 that the offering had been too pure, that the heart and the 
 imagination alone of man could not suffice for womankind, 
 that the beings I had adored were not so entirely divine as my 
 poetry had painted them, and that, if I would be really loved 
 with a womanly love, mine must be of a less ethereal nature 
 than it had hitherto been. This notion I found to be the 
 confirmed opinion of some of my more experienced acquaint- 
 ance, who laughed at my simplicity, and with this dangerous 
 and debasing impression on my mind, I began to think there 
 would be but little sin in my acting differently from what I 
 had done. That persuasion had an immediate and injurious 
 effect on my conduct, and the consequences soon followed. 
 
 I first set about ridding myself of the influence which every 
 female, in whatsoever degree, had upon my feelings. I resolved 
 to love them all alike, and never more to give to woman the 
 power of inflicting pain such as I had endured. With the aid 
 of pride, which I summoned to my assistance, and a strong 
 resolve to be free, I flattered myself that I had accomplished 
 this feat pretty soon, and I began to breathe with greater 
 confidence. From all the female sex I had taken a distance, 
 one was as near to me as another, and none were near enough 
 to wound. I could gaze on beauteous woman without emo- 
 tion ; I could converse with her in terms of the coolest civility, 
 whereas my heart-moviugs would in past times have em-
 
 182 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 barrassed my uttei'ance, I wa^ no longer her slave ; and the 
 only duty I thenceforward acknowledged as owing to her was 
 to protect and please her, and in return, when so disposed, to 
 accept of her endeavours to please. But never again was she 
 to have my happiness at her disposal. So I became, as I 
 thought, a free-and-easy young fellow, with few things to care 
 about save the performance of my labour, the receipt of my 
 wages, and the partaking of such amusements as my humble 
 means afforded. A dangerous position was this for youth of 
 my present turn of mind to occupy. My father, whom I 
 frequently called to see, never failed to give me the best of 
 advice, and I deferred to it for the moment, but seldom did its 
 influence long remain after I had quitted his presence. To 
 three points of his advice, however, I have, I hope, adhered 
 through life, namely, to stand up for the right and fear not, to 
 be inflexibly honest, to avoid all approach towards presump- 
 tuous assurance, and rather endeavour to be marked for solid 
 worth. 
 
 Hitherto " fond and sinless love " had been my protection 
 against many temptations, but now that was gone I found 
 myself beset with inducements to vice which I had previously 
 deemed not worth a thought. There was a void in my exis- 
 tence, and it required to be filled up by some means. Small 
 tipples of ale became not unfrequent ; my company keeping 
 was more promiscuous ; my conversation less modest ; and my 
 deportment less reserved. Irreverent thoughts would obtrude 
 whether at church or chapel, and those places became mere 
 rendezvous, where this one might be seen, or that one might 
 be found, or where an hour or two might be spent as at a 
 theatre, in the show of fine clothes, and hearing the drone of 
 tranquillising music. In short, I was fast ripening into a 
 graceless young rulSan, loving no one as I could once have 
 loved ; beloved by no one as I would have been beloved ; and 
 preserving only so much of self-respect as guaranteed my 
 integrity, and the performance of my duties to my employer. 
 
 But a new allurement now crossed my path, and had it not 
 been that the instrument for trial was just the one it was, my 
 demoralisation might have taken a decided and fearful course.
 
 OTHEB SCENES. 183 
 
 One night, as I was proceeding home, a woman of the town 
 took hold of my arm, and desired me to go with her. I had 
 never been so accosted before, and as she walked on with me 
 the thoughts of being seen with such an one at my side 
 covered my cheeks with burning shame. Confiding, however, 
 in my own self-control, I took the dangerous resolve of hearing 
 what she had to say, and of observing what she would do. I 
 therefore suffered her to continue her conversation, and she 
 led me into less frequented streets, and by back corners, where 
 under the shroud of darkness her blandishments had well-nigh 
 shaken my virtuous resolves. Something she said about ** the 
 sweet air of the country," when I asked her if she came from 
 the country ? and on her replying that she did, I questioned 
 her as to where she came from, and did not my ears tingle, 
 and my heart leap, when she said " from Middleton." "Ah ! " 
 I said, " I come from Middleton." "Did I?" what was my 
 name then? I told her, when, uttering an exclamation of 
 joyful surprise, she would have smothered me with caresses. 
 I next questioned her as to her name, and seemingly incredu- 
 lous, she asked me if I really did not know her? I assured 
 her I did not, and she wept to think, as she said, that she 
 should have carried me in her arms when I was an infant, and 
 now that we should meet here and I did not know her. Who 
 could she be ? I again asked, and she mentioned a name at 
 the hearing of which I almost sank to the earth. She had 
 been bor'n and brought up at the house next door to that of 
 my parents ; she was the beloved child of their early friends 
 and associates ; she married when I was but an infant, and 
 her husband, when I could run about, used to make whip-cord, 
 and kites, and banding to fly them with for me. I knew the 
 man well at that time ; he was still living, and it not unfre- 
 quently happened that I was in his company when I went 
 over to Middleton. I was disgusted with myself and her. I 
 shuddered at the sin which I had well-nigh committed, though 
 she would have continued her blandishments, and even pressed 
 me for an assignation at another time. But my soul revolted, 
 and I got rid of her by paying for a glass of hot liquor at " The 
 Dangerous Corner " publichouse. Dangerous indeed.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 OLD FEELINGS AWAKENED — A VISIT, AND OTHER MATTERS. 
 
 Fortunately, however, for me, I was for the present some- 
 what recalled from this unsettled course of life by an incident 
 which, though trifling in itself, gave a startling impulse to my 
 dormant feelings. A young woman, an acquaintance of, and 
 near neighbour to, Mima, my young Middleton favourite, 
 accosted me one day in the streets of Manchester, and re- 
 proached me for having, as she said, forgotten the little 
 maiden, who, she gave me to understand, still retained a 
 tender remembrance of former days. Was that true ? was it 
 possible that she could cherish a kind recollection of one who 
 had been so long absent ? I asked. She said it was even as 
 she had stated. This moved the old pulses of my heart, and 
 awoke that tender feeUng of regard which had been too long 
 dormant. I entrusted the young woman with a kind message 
 to Mima, confirming it with a small token which I thought 
 would be acceptable, and I did not forget to make a present 
 of a gay ribbon to the bearer of this unhoped-for but welcome 
 information. I now resolved to see my fair agitator, at all 
 events, and to learn from herself, frankly and promptly if 
 possible, whether or not our former friendship was to be 
 renewed, or abandoned at once and for ever. I therefore went 
 to Middleton the Sunday following, and as Fortune I suppose 
 was just at that time not in a humour for throwing impedi- 
 ments in my way, I obtained an interview with the object of 
 my solicitude, and besides finding her as modest and be- 
 witching as ever, the very model of a little head-bowed, health- 
 tlushed Hebe, a lily rose-tinted, I had the ineffable pleasure of 
 
 184
 
 OLD FEELINGS AWAKENED. 185 
 
 receiving in her own words, with every grace of maidenly- 
 shame, an acknowledgment that I had long been, and still 
 was, regarded with a more than friendly interest by her. This 
 was enough for the present, and after making arrangements 
 whereby we might correspond by letter, I bade adieu to the 
 dear little girl, and walked back to Manchester in a state of 
 mind to which I had long been a stranger. I felt that in this 
 transaction I had, in fact, only performed a duty ; that my 
 early love had after all the most rightful claim to my affection; 
 that she was in every respect worthy of it ; and that, in this 
 instance as in many others, the performance of duty had been 
 my guide to happiness. I was again as deeply in love as ever, 
 only this time I was serenely contented ; my confidence was 
 greater, the void in my heart was filled, and I was happy. 
 
 I had been of opinion for some time, that my services to 
 Mr. W. were worthy of an increased remuneration, and I 
 mentioned the matter, but my employer could not be prevailed 
 upon to adopt my views, and so after the expiration of a 
 month's notice I left his service. 
 
 It was about this time that on going home one evening, 
 I saw a young fellow beating a girl in the street. 
 
 " Hallo, you fellow," I said, "what are you abusing that 
 girl for? " 
 
 " What's that to you? " said the blackguard, 
 
 " I'll let you see what it is to me if you lay a finger on her 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, you will, will you," said he ; " come on then." 
 
 So we set to, and in five minutes I beat him till he was 
 dizzy and had enough. I then led the girl from the crowd, and 
 as we were going she told me he had beaten her because she 
 could not supply him with money for his night's revel. Was 
 he her husband then ? I asked. She said he was not, and 
 gave me to understand that she was an unfortunate girl, and 
 that he had latterly been supported from the wages of her 
 prostitution. " He wanted some to-day," she said, " whereas 
 I have not tasted meat since yesterday morning." 
 
 " Not tasted meat? " 
 
 " Not one crumb," said the girl, wiping her bleeding mouth
 
 186 EABL7 DATS. 
 
 and tear- wet cheeks ; " not one single crumb has passed my 
 lips." 
 
 " If that be the case," I said, " thou hadst best come this 
 way ; " and so I led her to a cook's shop, where according to 
 her choice, she had a plate of hot pie, which I paid for and left 
 her eating it. 
 
 " Did I not promise that I would meet you once more," said 
 a gentle voice, as I stepped into the street. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Catherine ! " I said, " is that you." 
 
 " It is even me, and I have now redeemed my promise." 
 
 " Did you see me go in here ? " I said. 
 
 " I saw both you and your companion go in," she said ; "I 
 Qiarked you coming down the street." 
 
 " Dear Catherine, you seem unwell — you are agitated ; let 
 us seek a more suitable place." 
 
 " This place is very suitable, for all I now have to say is — 
 to bid you good-bye." 
 
 " Shall I not go with you ? " I asked. 
 
 • No, I have company here," she replied, pointing to an 
 elderly woman who stood at a short distance. "Farewell," 
 she added, " Old Lissy might have been fm-ther mistaken ; " 
 and with that she stepped over to the old woman, and they 
 both went down the Mill- Gate — one of them looking back, as 
 I perceived, ere they finally disappeared. 
 
 Poor Catherine ! Three months previously I could not have 
 believed that a meeting and parting of ours could have taken 
 place with so little emotion on my side. 
 
 It was now the season when Middleton wakes was ap- 
 proaching, and as Mima would have to come to Manchester to 
 buy a new gown, we arranged in all the simplicity of our 
 hearts, that she should call at my lodgings, when I would ac- 
 company her in shopping, and afterwards see her on the way 
 towards home. I gave my landlady to understand that a 
 young woman, " my cousin, from the country," would be 
 there that day. Well, I waited all the morning, but Mima 
 came not ; all the noon, but there was no appearance of the 
 expected one. Two, three, four o'clock were gone, and unable 
 to rest I kept passing and repassing from my lodgings to the
 
 A VISIT AND OTHER MATTERS. 187 
 
 street and back again ; still my " dove appeai'ed not at the 
 window ; " and during a pang which was not to be borne, I 
 rushed into the street, and paced, very probable like one 
 deranged, two or three times across the Baron's yard. In a 
 few minutes I controlled myself sulBciently to return, and was 
 preparing to stride desperately the steps of the entry, when, 
 looking up, who should be coming down, agitated and trem- 
 bling, but the dear one who had caused all my uneasiness. 
 " Eh, Mima ! " " Eh, Samhul ! " were our only exclamations, 
 as we stood gazing on each other, unable for a moment to 
 reciprocate any other token of pleasure. My old landlady and 
 one or two old neighbour women stood at the upper end of the 
 court, eyeing us and our motions with the knowing curiosity 
 for which persons of their condition are remarkable. " She's 
 Samhul's cousin from the country," said my landlady. 
 " Nay," replied another, "yonder are no cousins." " If they 
 are cousins," remarked a third, " they're cousins an' some- 
 thing else besides." 
 
 I wished Mima to stop and have tea, but she declined, not 
 liking the scrutiny of the old women, who had been putting 
 questions to her when she went up the court to inquire for me. 
 Besides she had two young girls with her whom she had left 
 waiting in the churchyard, so I went with her and we found the 
 girls, and after shopping and looking through the town, we 
 returned and rested at Tinker's Gardens, then a sweet bowery 
 place, and still as solitude on that week-day afternoon. Here 
 we took refreshment in one of the secluded arbours, and whilst 
 our two young companions strolled round viewing the gardens, 
 I and my fair one had a most agreeable opportunity for expres- 
 sing all that our full hearts permitted us to say. As night 
 approached, we left this pleasant place, and I escorted my com- 
 pany into the new high-road which was then in the course of 
 formation betwixt Manchester and Middleton. We knew not 
 bow to part, and I kept going further and further until we 
 arrived at Middleton, where having seen Mima and her com- 
 panions within a few yards of home, I left them and returned 
 to Manchester with as much happiness in my heart as a 
 human being could experience and live.
 
 188 EAEL7 DAYS. 
 
 The ensuing wakes at Middleton was probably celebrated 
 with a greater degree of finery and a more plenteous hospitality 
 than it had ever been before, or has been since : besides 
 banners, groves of evergreen, garlands of flowers, and dancers 
 numerous, not fewer than six bands of music paraded the 
 town, and eleven rush-carts. But Mima and I left all the 
 gaud, and the music, and the wonder-seeing crowd, to have 
 our lone walks in the woods. To us the wakes and everything 
 connected with it appeared as vanity unworthy of human 
 thought. Mima took her milking cans and I went with her, 
 but when we got to the woods the kine were not to be found, 
 so we left the cans at the milking booth — a shed of wattles — 
 and a most pleasant excursion we had in search of the cows, 
 and after rambhng long, often, indeed, forgetful of the beasts, 
 we found them at last, in a shady hollow, licking the tender 
 herbage that fringed a little rill. So we drove them to the 
 booth and Mima milked them, and then with her cans, one in 
 the other and gracefully balanced on her head, we returned to 
 the crowded street and separated. That evening, however, 
 we had another and a longer walk. Turning away from 
 " vanity fair," we sought the lone bypaths and sweet meadows 
 of Hopwood, where, whilst the jingle and hubbub sounded 
 afar off, we 
 
 " Wander'd by the greenwood-side, 
 And heard the waters croon ; 
 And on the bank beside the path, 
 For hours thegither sat, 
 In the silentness of joy." 
 
 And many a time since that happy eve have the same twain 
 been seated on that " Bank beside the path," in the muteness 
 of sorrow, as well as " In the silentness of joy."
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 SELF-DISPOSAL, BUT NOT SELF-CONTROL — FUETHER DEROGATION 
 AND CONSEQUENT TROUBLE. 
 
 At this time the trade was going remarkably well, and weaving 
 was a very profitable employment. I went back to live at 
 Middleton, and got a loom with board and lodgings at an old 
 acquaintance of my father's. Being now master of my own 
 time, I partook of country amusements with the other young 
 fellows of the neighbourhood, and frequently went out a- 
 hunting. After one of these gatherings when we had a very 
 hard run, during which I had footed it pretty cleverly, one of 
 the old hunters, Sam Stott by name, was so pleased with my 
 performance, that when the hunt was over he insisted on 
 treating me. We accordingly turned into the first public- 
 house we came to, and that happened to be the identical one 
 at Trub Smithy, at the door of which " Tummus' Cawve " was 
 unfortunately killed, which accident is so well described in 
 Tim Bobbin's celebrated " Lancashire Dialect." The day had 
 been excessively wet, which had not, however, prevented 
 a very large attendance at the hunt. The publichouse was 
 consequently crowded, but Old Sam contrived to make a way 
 into a corner, where he having ordered some " warm ale and 
 ginger," the best thing in the world, he said, after a wet day, 
 we sat drinking until our clothes were dry on our backs, that 
 being the only natm-al and proper way, as he insisted, in which 
 clothes ought to be dried, fires being intended for roasting and 
 boiling meat only, and to warm old women, but never meant 
 for the drying of hunters' clothes. So we made ourselves 
 comfortable, and as may be supposed, by the time oar clothes 
 
 iS9
 
 190 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 were dry, we were rather far beyond the line of sobriety. 
 This was, I beheve, my first decided offence of that nature, 
 and well had it been had it been my last. 
 
 This breach, slight as it appeared to me at the time, was 
 followed by grave consequences. It led to a new set of ac- 
 quaintances, to a wider and wilder range of enjoyment ; it 
 wonderfully loosened my notions of propriety, already too much 
 relaxed in one respect, and brought me to the conclusion that 
 " as a young man was not answerable for the conduct of those 
 whose company he kept, neither was he to be damaged by the 
 associating with them," that there was no great harm in 
 " doing as others did," and that " there were worse things 
 after all, than a young fellow getting a drop too much, now 
 and then." This was a pitiable state of mind for one of my 
 age to be in ; and though I did not, in consequence, become a 
 reprobate and a habitual drunkard, I became more easy 
 about the scandal and the sin of inebriety, and the path to 
 other transgressions was thus temptingly laid open. 
 
 One day I was startled by the sound of the fife and the 
 drum, and on going to learn the cause, I found the overseers 
 and constables at one of the publichouses, enlisting volunteers 
 for the " army of reserve." I immediately offered myself, and 
 was the first that was accepted. After that a number of 
 young men joined ; we got a shilling each and a cockade, with 
 as much ale as we chose to drink, and the consequence was 
 that, Hke the rest of my comrades, I went home in much the 
 same condition as that in which I returned from the hunting 
 bout. On the day following we had another meeting with the 
 town's officers, and after parading round the neighbourhood 
 with fife and drum, we enlisted as many as we wanted, and we 
 separated in the same state as we were in the night before. 
 After which we were never more mustered, or even called 
 upon ; and all the money expended, as far as the township of 
 Middleton was concerned, was entirely thrown away. Con- 
 stables and overseers had, in those days, a very straight- 
 forward way of doing business. On receiving an order, or 
 even a direction less tangible, from a magistrate or magistrate's 
 clerk, it was forthwith carried into effect. The magistrate was
 
 SELF-DISPOSAL, BUT NOT SELF-CONTROL. 191 
 
 everything, the ratepayers and vestry nothing, and money was 
 expended which was never inquired into afterwards. If the 
 minister, or some one or two of the " gentleman ratepayers," 
 put a question or so to the overseer when he met him, and the 
 reply was, " Oh, Mr. A. or Mr. B. the magistrate ordered it," 
 all would be right, and nothing further would be said about 
 the matter. These sort of affairs are managed somewhat 
 differently now in this year 1848, when I am writing these 
 lines. 
 
 It was at this time, whilst I was a recruit with my cockade 
 in my hat, that I first heard the song of " Jone o' Grinfilt," at 
 Manchester. It was a sort of doggerel that took well, being 
 just suited to current events and the taste of the loyally 
 vociferous multitude. We have now been at peace during 
 thirty years, and the multitude is still here, many-headed, 
 loud-tongued, as of yore, but where is the loyalty ? Here 
 absolutely it is not. With no English multitude is it to be 
 found. How, then, has it been banished, and whither is it 
 gone ? These are questions which I think are worthy of the 
 deep consideration of our philosophers and statesmen, and to 
 their elucidation I must leave them. One opinion, however, 
 I, humble as I am, may venture to propound, and that is, 
 there have been great faults somewhere, or all the ancient 
 loyalty of our working population would not have disappeared 
 and left, as it has done, in its stead, Irish felony in our towns, 
 and riff-raff Chartism in our villages. Assuredly there has 
 been enormous mismanagement somewhere, and our gracious 
 Queen, when she meets her faithful Commons, would do well 
 to put the question — What has become of the loyalty of that 
 "bold peasantry," once their "country's pride"? Is it 
 destroyed? Why has it been destroyed? — These would be 
 found to be potent and puzzUng questions, I think. 
 
 Having thus wended my downward course pretty rapidly, with 
 now and then a pang of conscience which was soon quieted, and 
 a flush of shame which was soon suppressed : having become 
 a hunter with the wildest, a lover of company not the choicest, 
 one no longer a stranger at the tavern, and a follower of the 
 fife and drum, the reader will scarcely be surprised at learning-
 
 192 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 that further humiliation awaited me ; and that during one of 
 my wild outbreaks, having obtained the company of a York- 
 shire lass, as thoughtless as myself, it was not long before I 
 became amenable to the parish authorities, for certain expenses 
 which were about to be incurred. 
 
 My old uncle and aunt, with whom I again lived, read me 
 some very grave lessons when the news of this affair broke 
 out. For my part, I was covered with confusion, and torn by 
 remorse, for I had early discovered that, had there been no 
 other female in the way, I never could have made up my mind 
 to become the husband of the one I had thus injured. I was 
 somewhat relieved, however, by learning that she took the 
 affair less to heart than many would have done, and that the ob- 
 tainment of a handsome weekly allowance was with her as much 
 a subject of consideration as any other. I say I was relieved, 
 but I never hoped, never attempted to palliate the wrong I had 
 done, or to evade the shame I had incurred. 
 
 One morning about Christmas, after being out spending the 
 night, I returned home and flung myself on the bed with my 
 clothes on. It was just breaking day when I heard the front 
 door, which I had left unbolted, open, and a rough voice shout 
 "Hallo!" I desired my cousin Hannah, who I had heard 
 was awake, and who slept in the same chamber with her 
 brother and myself, to ascertain who the person was, and she 
 tried to do so, but could only make out that it was some 
 strange person, and that he wanted her father. I being 
 dressed, went downstairs at once, and found a tall, powerful, 
 broad-set man standing with his back against the door-post, 
 and holding the door catch with one hand. I knew him 
 instantly to be Samuel Fielding, the constable, for the shutters 
 being closed and the place quite dark, I could see him against 
 the grey of the morning whilst he could not distinguish me. 
 " Whot," I said, " aryo wantin' mi feyther, then?" 
 
 " Aye," he replied ; " but dusno one Samhul Beamfort live 
 heer ? " 
 
 " Yoy he dus," I said ; " dunyo want him too ? " 
 
 •' Aye, I awnt him too," he replied, " thy name's Beamfort 
 isuoit?"
 
 FUBTHEB DEROGATION. 193 
 
 " Nowe," I said, "my name's Taylior, but Samhul's up- 
 stairs ; I con coe on him deawn, as yo want'n bira." 
 
 Meanwhile I had been getting my feet into my shoes, my 
 hat being beyond my reach, and now standing at the bottom 
 of the stairs, I shouted lustily, " Samhul ! come deawn, 
 theaw'rt wanted directly. Dusto yer, Samhul? come deawn." 
 " Yod'n better step in an' sit yo' deawn ; " I said to the con- 
 stable, " Samhul will be heer in a minnit." 
 
 The cunning old fox, however, would neither come in nor 
 sit down, so I loitered about, as it were, in the dark, humming 
 a snatch of a tune, and shuffling to and fro, betwixt the house 
 and the kitchen. 
 
 I could hear that some of the family were stirring upstairs — 
 in fact, my very unaccountable summons had awakened them 
 all. 
 
 " He'll be heer directly," I said ; " he's comin' : " and with 
 that I shot the bolt of the back door, flung it open, and darted 
 down the street, never stopping to look at another man who 
 made a grasp at me, and the wind of whose fist, as I sprung 
 past him, I felt on my ear. 
 
 Down the street I went, and this new foe at my heels. He 
 was one of the best "sprint-runners" in Middleton, but he 
 might as well have run after a hart-royal. I leaped the fence 
 in the lane, crossed the broad meadow, and was safe in 
 Middleton Wood by the time the disappointed official got 
 back, puffing and blowing, to the bottom of my uncle's stairs. 
 For it would seem the constables were not quite certain 
 whether or not the delinquent had escaped. By that time my 
 uncle was coming down, as was his wont, part dressed, when 
 the officers eagerly inquired where Samhul was. 
 
 "Marry," he said (a common exclamation), "I reckon he 
 went eawt at th' back dur, an' I couno tell where he is neaw." 
 
 " Wur that really him, then? " asked the constables. 
 
 " Well, I believe it wur," said my uncle, laughing till his 
 sides shook as the two worthies hurried into the street. 
 
 By that time, however, I was walking leisurely towards 
 Prestwich, where I arrived at breakfast-time, just as Mary 
 Wilde and her father were sitting down to their porridge. 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 They were very glad to see me, though surprised that I came 
 without hat. I, however, explained my circumstances as 
 briefly as possible on account of Mary. I got a breakfast with 
 them, good enough for a king ; and the kind girl cleaned my 
 shoes, and washed my stockings, which were covered with 
 mud. She also borrowed me a hat, and after dinner, being 
 again in travelling trim, I went to my father at Manchester, 
 who, after a sound rating, made all things right with the 
 overseers, and I returned to Middleton.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A LONG JOURNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 
 
 But I had become strangely unsettled, and it was time that a 
 change of some sort should take place. I again left Middleton, 
 and seeing bills up at Manchester that a number of young men 
 were wanted for the coasting trade betwixt South Shields and 
 London, I engaged with a person appointed to make contracts, 
 and after parting from my father, who went down on his knees 
 and prayed earnestly that God would recall me from sin, I 
 went through Middleton, bade adieu to Mima, who was heart- 
 broken ; and mounting a coach at Oldham, I, with seven 
 others — volunteers like myself — reached York that night, and 
 stopped there. The morning following our conductor led us 
 through that wonderful structure the Minster, after which we 
 mounted coach again, and finished our second day's journey 
 at a large inn at Sunderland, where we again stopped all 
 night. 
 
 My companions were chiefly lads from factories and dye- 
 houses : a rude and simple set they were, and, I believe, pretty 
 honest also. I know not how it happened, but certainly the 
 people of the house seemed to feel an interest in my welfare. 
 They knew for what service we were destined, and I received 
 more than one hint that I should repent of the step I was 
 taking. The cook and the bustling old waiter both seemed to 
 think that I was cut out for something else than a sailor, and 
 they dropped privately certain ominous intimations about 
 hardships, and dangers, and impressments. At last I was 
 given to understand that if I would remain at the inn, and 
 make myself useful in whatever I could do, my conductor
 
 196 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 should be satisfied, and I should be well treated, and be 
 protected from the press-gang ; but thanking the motherly- 
 looking hostess for her kind offer, I declined it, and went 
 forward with my party to South Shields. 
 
 Here we were quartered at a pubUchouse by the quay side, 
 and at night slept on board a brig which lay alongside, my 
 bed being made of sails spread on the floor of the half deck, 
 with a coil of rope for my pillow. In the course of a few days 
 we signed indentures to serve Nicholas Fairies, Esquire, 
 during three years, in return for which we were to have £20 
 per annum, ship allowance, and protection from impressment, 
 every man receiving at the time a document from the Admiralty 
 which was to be his protection. Our ship was the brig ^neas, 
 Matthew Peacock, master; and after having received our outfit 
 of clothes and sea stock of groceries and other articles, we took 
 on board a cargo of coal, and heaving our anchor, we sailed 
 with the night tide, and were soon out of the harbour. Five 
 of our Manchester party, with some old hands, formed the 
 crew of this vessel ; and after the anchor was secured, the 
 spars lashed, and the sails set, the watch was called over, and 
 I, being on the captain's watch, went below with the rest ; 
 the mate, William Peacock, the captain's son, a fine young 
 seaman, remaining on deck with his portion of the crew. And 
 thus was I, at last, a sailor on the North Sea. 
 
 From what appeared to me to have been a very short sleep, 
 I was aroused by three thundering knocks and a hoarse shout 
 down the hatchway, " Starboard watch, ahoy." I was on 
 deck immediately, indeed I had not undressed, but had slept 
 on my old bed of sail and rope. Our captain was standing 
 near the companion, and after rubbing my eyes I saw the 
 shore with its green hills and homesteads on our starboard, 
 or right hand, whilst the open ocean lay glistening and 
 heaving beneath the new light of the morning on our left. I 
 was not long, however, in discerning that several ships seemed 
 to be crossing towards the course we were steering, and from 
 a sense of duty, pointing them out to the captain, I asked him 
 whether they were not French? Though he was not much 
 given to pleasantry, he pretended to be of opinion that they
 
 A LONG JOUBNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 197 
 
 possibly might be " Frenchmen," and asked what I thought 
 should be done in case they were? "Well," I said very 
 simply, "I reckon we shan hato feyght 'em then." "I 
 suppose we shall in that case," he said. " An' so. Captain," 
 I continued, " hadno we better be gettin' th' cannons ready," 
 alluding to two carronades on the quarter-deck, and two stern 
 chasers. This answer so diverted him that he gave a hearty 
 laugh, and afterwards I was rather a favourite with him. 
 
 When we were off Eobin Hood's Bay, one of the stern guns 
 was fired, and in a short time a fishing cobble came alongside, 
 and the captain went ashore. His family lived there, and as 
 it was probable we should go from London to Montreal for 
 timber, he wished to bid them good-bye. In a short time he 
 returned, bringing his wife with him ; a clever, good-looking 
 woman she was. She took leave of her son, and the captain 
 saw her back on shore, and then coming on board, we set sail 
 and again made for the open sea. We had scarcely got from 
 under the rocks of the bay, when the wind began to blow 
 against us, and we had a threatening sun-down, and a terrible 
 night — at least, so it appeared to me. I was awoke at one 
 time by three thundering knocks as before, followed by the 
 summons — "All hands, ahoy," and on getting on deck the first 
 circumstance that took my attention was that waves, having 
 the appearance of streams of fire, were breaking over the bows 
 of the vessel and sweeping the deck. In a moment I was up 
 to the knees, and I actually jumped, thinking I should be 
 burned, but I soon found out my mistake. The scene on deck 
 was such as made us young seamen feel very grave. There 
 was the vessel, climbing, as it were, up the huge billows, and 
 next plunging headlong as if she were going to the bottom at 
 once. Then the horrid tempest of waves uprushing, and of 
 winds down-sweeping, filled space with their terrible howl. 
 The hoary old deep moaned as it were rent into chasms, or 
 sobbed as it closed weltering and rose into precipices. Then 
 would be a momentary lull, and presently the tremendous 
 strife would be renewed, as the heavens would at last rend 
 the deep from its bottom, and the deep would bury the heavens 
 in its abyss. Nothing else was heard save the thousand frightful
 
 198 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 tones of the wind amongst the rigging — tones more appalling, 
 if possible, than the roar of the giant storm. When the 
 captain's voice was at last distinguished, he was giving rapid 
 orders to the men to secure the sails and haul taut the ropes. 
 We young ones were not sent aloft, and we were but of little 
 use on the deck, except in helping the seamen to pull such 
 ropes as were pointed out to us. All that night the storm 
 continued, the waves continually breaking over us, and all 
 hands constantly on deck. We then began to compare our 
 present situation with those we had left, and most of us would 
 have made any sacrifice, short of life, to have regained our 
 humble homes on shore. For my part, when daylight came, 
 and I beheld Whitby Abbey, and next Scarborough Castle, 
 rock-grafted on their stubborn heights, and steadfastly secure 
 amid the drifting clouds, I should have deemed myself fortu- 
 nate had I been cast even naked amid their dark and frowning 
 ruins. I thought of my father and his earnest prayer — I 
 thought of dear Mima, and was not left without hope. One 
 consolatory reflection opportunely occurred, and that was — 
 that I stood as good a chance of outliving the storm as did my 
 shipmates — and that whilst there was a chance it was of no 
 use to despair. And so, as the saying is, " setting a hard 
 heart agen hard wark," I did my best towards bearing a hand 
 wherever I could be of use. This our second day was almost 
 as stormy as the night had been, and bitter cold. The shrouds 
 were coated with ice, and the hands of us landsmen were blue 
 and benumbed, notwithstanding which, when the men had to 
 go aloft to handle the sails, I and a Welsh lad mounted with 
 them, but the men sent us down, saying we could not be of 
 any use, and if we went on the yard we should only go over- 
 board. So we came on deck, and worked as well as we could 
 there ; but our willingness to share danger and hardship with 
 the old seamen got us more favourably looked upon. The 
 storm continued all this day and all night again. The captain 
 began to serve out grog, the seamen muttered to each other, 
 and exchanged cheerless glances. The pumps were set to 
 work, as the vessel was said to have too much water ; and we 
 landsmen were useful at this labour, in doing which we also
 
 A LONG JOUBNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 199 
 
 kept ourselves warm. On the third morning the wind began 
 to lull ; it also changed to the north, and after a pleasant run, 
 we anchored in Yarmouth Eoads. 
 
 The storm had done much damage all along the coast, and 
 in sailing betwixt Yarmouth and Lowestoft, we counted no 
 fewer than nineteen vessels, of various descriptions, which had 
 been driven on shore. We now went smartly before the wind, 
 and soon had the Essex coast on our right, and the Kentish 
 one on our left, entering the mouth of the Thames. And now, 
 after getting a little inland, such a paradise opened before us 
 as I had never previously imagined could exist in England. 
 Splendid villas amid groves, fairy-looking little bowers, sweet 
 nestling places for happy families, peeping behind verdant 
 shrubberies, or glimmering all white in shadowy vistas; the 
 gently waving foliage was of a living, new-made green, whilst 
 the shorn sward that came sloping to the water's edge was of 
 an emerald brilliancy, and hung lipping the waves as if it 
 would suck them for ever. 
 
 On the first Sunday after our arrival, we apprentices were 
 indulged with a walk on shore. Being provided with Admiralty 
 protections, and instructed how to act if we were molested by 
 the press-gang, we first made our way to St. Paul's, where wo 
 stood beneath the wondrous dome, twice the height of our 
 top-gallant mast, and with almost awful surprise, expressed 
 our doubts of the strange things we heard about the whispering 
 gallery ; for we did not go up, the state of our finances would 
 not allow that. Next we went to Tower Hill, and viewed the 
 moat, and walls, and battlements of the tough old fortress, our 
 finances, as before, preventing us from going inside. West- 
 minster Abbey was the object which next attracted us, and 
 here we stayed viewing the monuments, many of which were 
 in commemoration of authors by whose works I had been 
 delighted. Ah ! and did I not stand, with long-looking and 
 tear-wet eyes, before the tablets of my old Homeric Pope, and 
 my divine Milton, my companions asking at last why the 
 sleeve of my jacket was put so often in requisition, and I 
 replying by telling them what wondrous books these two had 
 written, a reason which soon satisfied my comrades, who, the
 
 200 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 "Welsh lad excepted, neither knew nor cared anything about 
 books. So having wandered about the city till we were tired, 
 we got some refreshment at a publichouse, and then returned 
 to our ship. 
 
 In due time our cargo was discharged, and we took in 
 ballast, after which we weighed our anchor, and dropped down 
 the river, and instead of taking our course for Montreal, as we 
 had at one time expected we should, we steered back the same 
 way as we had come, and, after a short and pleasant trip, again 
 entered the Tyne and anchored at South Shields, where we 
 again took in coal, and again returned to London. 
 
 The name of our vessel, as before mentioned, being the 
 jTJneas, I took an opportunity one day of leading our mate 
 into a conversation on the subject, when he narrated the old 
 tale of iEneas carrying his father on his shoulders out of the 
 ruins of burning Troy, and said there was a book in the cabin 
 which told all about it. Was there, I said, what was the 
 name of the book ? The name of the book, he said, was the 
 J5neid. Ah ! that was a famous book ; once I had read it, 
 and would now like to read it again. As for that, he said, he 
 could not make me a promise, but sometime when his father 
 was ashore, he would let me see the book. So accordingly 
 one day, after we had put his father ashore, he beckoned me 
 into the cabin, and there, lying on a table in a kind of state, as 
 a family Bible does at the head of a cottage, he showed me a 
 handsome, old-fashioned looking folio volume, which indeed 
 I found to be the Mneid in Enghsh, with notes. I would 
 have sacrificed anything almost for an opportunity to examine 
 the interesting volume, but the mate seemed to think he had 
 indulged me enough, and so I thanked him, and with- 
 drew. 
 
 I was always the first of our party to go aloft, and I could 
 soon mount to the top-gallant mast without going through 
 " the lubber hole." I also became expert at furling and 
 reefing, working with the other hands at whatever had to be 
 done aloft. At handling the braces I was also pretty clever, 
 and at the windlass, the capstan, or the pump, I was as 
 good as any on board. I was also the bow oarsman of the
 
 A LONG JOUBNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 201 
 
 jolly-boat, and generally attended the captain when he went 
 on shore. 
 
 The perils attending a sailor's life are no doubt many, but 
 those which have to be encountered on this coast are pro- 
 bably far greater than are presented on any other coast of our 
 island. The perils, however, are almost as nothing when 
 compared with the hardships which young sailors in this 
 trade have to endure. Hence, mere danger is not so much 
 thought of by them, and anything which interrupts the wear 
 and tear which they daily undergo is felt to be a relief rather 
 than a misfortune, and is accepted accordingly. Thus it is that 
 our unconquerable sailors are made, and such is the rude and 
 ruthless school in which they are nurtured and brought up. 
 With them, a battle or a storm is little more than a divertise- 
 ment, the increased labour for the occasion being forgotten in 
 the excitement of action. The hardest workers will always 
 be the hardest and best fighters ; — hardest because assured 
 and persevering, and best because, whatever situation they are 
 placed in, mind is ever present directing to the best effect. 
 None, save a working nation can, therefore, ever conquer 
 England. And where are such workers as ours to be found ? 
 Let us then cherish our workers. Let them be anxiously 
 cared for, they are the strength and the defence of the country, 
 and of everything within it which is worth defending. Let 
 them never have less than plenty of all comfortable requisites, 
 whatever other class is stinted. Let them be accepted with 
 respect, so long as that respect is merited. They are all 
 fellow-men ; the honest hard-handed ones are the noblest of 
 men in God's High Court, and that is high enough for any 
 ambition ; and, take ours for all in all, with their faults and 
 depreciations, the wide world has not, in this our day, such 
 another race as that which guards the shores, and labours on 
 the fields and in the manufactories of Old England. 
 
 In one of our voyages, or rather trips, as we used to call 
 them, we passed through a fleet of ships of war, which lay at 
 anchor in Yarmouth Eoads. We expected being overhauled for 
 hands, but were not, and we sailed forward without stopping. 
 The sight of those huge floating masses, instead of inspiring
 
 202 EABLY DAYS, 
 
 me with chivalrous feelings, called forth those of a quite 
 different description. I looked upon them as so many prisons 
 where men were hopelessly confined, and punished according 
 to the caprice of unreasonable and irresponsible taskmasters. 
 The bit of smart discipline which we now and then had on 
 board our own little craft gave me an idea of what these great 
 fire-belching concerns must be. Our old sailors also had given 
 us a few lessons respecting the manner in which order was 
 maintained in those communities, and as I eyed them unseen — 
 for our captain ordered us not to show ourselves — I almost 
 shuddered at the idea of becoming one of their crew. The 
 fleet, as a whole, was certainly a noble spectacle to behold. A 
 demonstration of that sublimely audacious spirit by which 
 Britain proclaimed to the world, " I reign ! " and the world 
 submitted. But its details I could not contemplate without 
 a shudder, and I secretly wished that I was beyond the chance 
 of having some day a closer acquaintanceship forced upon me. 
 On our return trip the fleet was still there, but considerably 
 augmented by transport ships having troops on board. A large 
 number of coasting vessels were now returning to the north, 
 and as they approached the fleet nearly every vessel was 
 brought to and boarded, the best of the hands being trans- 
 ferred to the ships of war. From the vessel which immediately 
 proceeded ours several hands were pressed, but it so happened 
 that when ours came to pass, both the guard boats were full, 
 and were taking their prizes to the ship appointed to receive 
 them, whilst in the hurry of the moment we got clear through, 
 and so escaped that very unpleasant visitation. 
 
 I had now perhaps made some half-dozen trips betwixt 
 Shields and London, and having seen enough of a sailor's life 
 to banish the romantic notions with which the popular songs 
 of the day had invested it, wishful also to enjoy once more the 
 sweets of liberty whilst yet its attainment was possible, I 
 secretly determined on leaving the ship whenever an oppor- 
 tunity occurred for my doing so. On our next arrival at 
 London, therefore, with a view to disguise my intention, and 
 render my flight doubtful, a day or two before we were to pro- 
 ceed to sea again, I laid in a good stock of groceries, and what-
 
 A LONG JOVRNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 203 
 
 ever other matters it was our custom to procure. I washed my 
 linen, mended my clothes, and placed everything in excellent 
 order in my berth, so that when the captain and my ship- 
 mates went to examine it, as I calculated they would when 
 I became absent, they might find a complete preparation for 
 my going to sea with the vessel, and in consequence be im- 
 pressed with the idea that I was not a voluntary absentee, but 
 that I must have been crimped into some of the sponging- 
 houses, and smuggled on board a king's ship. This, I sup- 
 posed, would cause an advertisement to be immediately put 
 out, or a hue and cry to be issued after me, and inasmuch as 
 the most probable course which the captain would take would 
 be to make a day or two's inquiry in such places where he 
 would suppose I was most likely to be found, I should thus, at 
 any rate, have a decent start of my pursuers, if, indeed, after 
 such a loss of time, they should deem it worth their trouble 
 to follow at all. My plans being thus arranged, I one evening 
 asked permission to go ashore for the purchase of one or two 
 articles which I still wanted. The permission was readily 
 granted, and the boat landed me opposite to Bell- wharf pier. 
 I immediately proceeded to Katcliffe Highway, and after pur- 
 chasing a pair of stockings — my own having been left on 
 board as a blind with my other things — I entered an eating- 
 house, and there spent some time till dusk was pretty well set 
 in. I thence went into the city, to St. Paul's, inquiring my 
 way into Aldersgate Street, and when there I ventured to 
 accost a respectable-looking person and requested him to be so 
 kind as to direct me towards Islington, which, of course, he 
 did, and I passed through that suburb without stopping or being 
 questioned. An officer, in naval uniform, whom I met, cer- 
 tainly took more notice of me than was quite to ray liking, but 
 he passed on and did not speak. I next inquired the way to 
 Highgate, knowing that if I got there I should be on the direct 
 great northern road, and at Highgate, whilst stopping at 
 a publichouse, I ascertained that the next place on my route 
 would be Whetstone, and the next after that Barnet. I ac- 
 cordingly walked through "Whetstone and through Barnet 
 without stopping. I now considered myself fairly launched on
 
 204 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 my journey. I had been fortunate in getting clear of the 
 vicinity of the shipping and of the city without being ques- 
 tioned, and was now ten miles from St. Paul's. I once more 
 breathed the sweet country air ; the smell of mown meadows 
 sometimes came across my path. I had seven shillings iu my 
 pocket, and though as yet uncertain of my success, I was full 
 of hope and delighted with the present enjoyment of freedom. 
 I had not gone far, however, before I became somewhat em- 
 barrassed, the night was getting far advanced, the country 
 less populous, and I was uncertain both as to the name of my 
 next stage and the course I should keep. I had not gone far, 
 however, before I met a man to whom I put the necessary 
 questions, and who told me to keep on the broad highway, to 
 the left, and that the next town of any note which I should 
 arrive at would be St. Albans. I thanked the man for his in- 
 formation, when he said, " Stop; I know what you are, and 
 what you are about." 
 
 " Do you ? " said I, rather surprised, but in a good-humoured 
 manner. 
 
 " Indeed I do," replied the man ; " you are a sailor, and are 
 running away from your ship." 
 
 "You might be a wizard," I said, "for what you say is 
 perfect truth." 
 
 " Well, now," said he, " as you have been as candid as I was 
 frank, I'll tell you something which may be of use to you." 
 
 I thanked him. 
 
 " At St. Albans," he continued, " a party of marines are 
 stationed, who press every sailor that appears in the town. 
 They even press them off the coaches, or other vehicles, if 
 they get a sight of them. Through St. Albans, however, you 
 must go, and you will be pressed if you appear in the streets ; 
 you must, therefore, get through the town without being seen, 
 if possible. Fortunately it may be done. In a short time you 
 will overtake a waggon which carries goods on this main road. 
 You must get to ride inside of it, get stowed amongst the 
 packages, and never show your face until you are clearly on 
 the other side of the town." 
 
 I thanked him most gratefully for his information, and
 
 A LONG JOURNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 205 
 
 begged that he would not mention to any one having seen 
 such a person as myself on the road. He desired that I would 
 make myself easy on that score, and so with expressions of 
 thankfulness on my part, and of kindly wishes on his, we 
 separated. 
 
 It was now about midnight, all was still and silent on the 
 road. I was about eight miles from St. Albans, and by the 
 time I had shortened the distance by three I overtook the 
 waggon, the tail of which being full of soldiers' wives and 
 their children, I could not get in there ; the driver, however, 
 offered me a snug place in the hay-sheet — a large and strong 
 horse-hair cloth which fastened in front of the vehicle, and 
 presented a resting-place as comfortable as a hammock, and 
 quite large enough to conceal me. I, therefore, got into my 
 hiding-place, and was almost instantly fast asleep. I must 
 have ridden about four miles, though to me it seemed but a few 
 minutes since I got in, when the driver awoke me and asked 
 which road I was going when I got through the town ? 
 
 " Why the main road, to be sure," I said. 
 
 " Yes, but which main road ? " asked the man. 
 
 " The main road down into the north ; into Lancashire," I 
 said. " There is none other, is there ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the man, " there is the main road to 
 Bedford and those parts, and that's the road I'm a-going." 
 
 Instead of saying, " Well, drive me to Bedford then, or 
 anywhere else, so you don't land me here in sight of the press- 
 gang; " — instead of so considering in my own mind, I might 
 have suddenly become demented, for I alighted from my 
 covert, and shaking the hay-seeds from my clothes as well as 
 I could, I gave the man some copper, and walked right into the 
 broad street of St. Albans. 
 
 Had I been acquainted with the topography of the country, 
 the road to Bedford was the very road I should have taken 
 after being once at St. Albans. But as it happened, I was 
 ignorant of these things, else the main road was the one I 
 should have most avoided. After all, however, though the Old 
 One himself seemed to be leading me, it was, perhaps, for the 
 befit.
 
 206 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 It was a very fine summer's morning, and being Saturday, 
 the market-place was occupied by numbers of country people 
 Betting out their standings of butter, eggs, poultry, and vege- 
 tables. Directly through the midst of these market people lay 
 my way, and I stepped it with seeming equanimity, and as 
 much of real indifference as I could muster, for, after all, as I 
 reflected, if the very worst happened, I should only be dis- 
 appointed in present hope, and be sent on board a ship of war 
 as many hundreds had been before me. So I walked forward, 
 the people almost lifting their eyes in wonder at seeing a 
 tall, gaunt, weather-browned sailor traversing that perilous 
 ground. 
 
 I had got clear of the market-place, and was proceeding 
 down a flagged footpath leading to the outskirts of the town, 
 and already breathing more freely, when the sound of a light 
 slip-shod step approached behind me. I thought it was some 
 servant girl going out for her morning's milk or hot-roll, and 
 never turned my head. A slap on the shoulder, however, and 
 the salutation, " Hollo, shipmate," caused me to face about, 
 when what should stand before me but a marine, in his blue 
 over-coat and girdled hat without feather. 
 
 At that moment I felt as little ruffled as if we had been old 
 acquaintance, determined, however, not to be taken if either 
 presence of mind or resistance could prevent it. 
 
 " Hollo, shipmate," said I. 
 
 " What are you ? " asked the man. 
 
 " "What am I ? I'm a servant," I replied. A term* not used 
 in the Eoyal Navy, but by which persons under contract are 
 distinguished in the trade of our Eastern Coast. 
 
 " A servant ? — what's that ? " 
 
 " Why, a servant — that's all," I replied. 
 
 By this time three other marines had joined us. 
 
 "Where's your pass, to pass you through the country?' 
 asked the first man. 
 
 " I have no pass," I said ; " I'm a free-born subject of this 
 kingdom, and can travel this or any other high-road without 
 carrying a pass at all." 
 
 The men looked at each other, and then at me. They could
 
 A LONG JOURNEY AND A NEW LIFE. 207 
 
 not comprehend the reason of my cool manner and unusual 
 language. They had no idea of free-born subjects, nor of 
 sailors travelling without passes, 
 
 " Then you have no papers ? " said the first man, who seemed 
 to be the superior of the party. 
 
 " Why, as for that," I said, " I daresay I can show a kind 
 of a small matter which will, perhaps, satisfy you for the 
 present." Saying which, I took my protection from an old 
 black pocket-book which I carried in my hat. 
 
 "Oh, if you have any written papers to show," he said, 
 " you must go with us to our captain, I can't read writing." 
 
 So much the better, I thought, and straightway displayed 
 the document at length, knowing if it could do me no good, 
 neither could it do me any harm. " Do you see that ? " 
 I asked, pointing to the broad seal of the Admiralty, stamped 
 with an anchor. 
 
 " Oh ! be d — d," said the man ; •' you have been discharged 
 from a man-of-war." 
 
 " Why, you lubber," I said, in a half-familiar way, " do you 
 think if I hadn't I should have come here? " 
 
 " Ah ! he won't do," said one or two of the party. 
 
 " You may go about your business," said the first man, 
 turning to walk off with the others. 
 
 '• Ahoy, there," I said, "are you going to stop a shipmate 
 on shore this way, without standing so much as a glass of grog 
 for him? " 
 
 " You be d — d," said the corporal, and hastened up the 
 street to join his comrades. 
 
 Several decent-looking farmers, who had left their produce 
 in the market, stood in the cart-road watching the whole 
 proceeding, and when the marines had left, they said, "Well, 
 young fellow, you are the first blue- jacket that has slipt 
 through the fingers of yonder scoundrels this long time." 
 I entered into friendly conversation with these men, and as 
 they were going my way I had their company on the road 
 as far as Eedburn, where, after partaking with them a glass or 
 two of ale, we parted. 
 
 I next passed through Hemel Hempstead, Market Street,
 
 208 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 and Dunstable, always concealing myself, as well as I could, 
 when I heard a coach coming either way, until it passed. At 
 Hockliffe I rested some time, and had a good sleep behind 
 a hedge. I thence went through Woburn, and afterwards 
 through Newport Pagnell, and when night came, and the glow- 
 worms were shining in the hedges I found myself opposite 
 to a small lone publichouse, near the village of Stoke Gold- 
 ington, in Buckinghamshire, and about eleven miles from 
 Northampton.
 
 CHAPTEB XXIV. 
 
 JOURNEY PURSUED — ADVENTURES — DIFFICULTIES — HOME. 
 
 Into this humble hostelry I entered and got some bread and 
 cheese and ale for supper. The house appeared to be kept by 
 an elderly couple, with a woman servant, and when I men- 
 tioned my wish to stop there for the night, they said they 
 could not find me a bed in the house, but if I would put 
 up with a good litter of straw in the stable, I should be 
 welcome to rest there. I accepted their kind offer with 
 pleasure, and lay down, thanking God that I could rest 
 without the hated " Starboard watch, ahoy " breaking my 
 slumbers ; and save that once or twice I was awaked by rats 
 tripping over me, and by the cackling of fowls and the quack- 
 ing of ducks, a king never enjoyed sounder repose. In the 
 morning, it being Sunday, I brushed my shoes, washed myself 
 well at the pump, and turned my linen the cleaner side out, 
 after which I got a basin of milk and bread for breakfast, and 
 demanding my shot, the old folks told me I had nothing to 
 pay, and so with truly grateful thanks for their kindness I 
 bade them farewell, and continued my journey. 
 
 It was a lovely morning, and my way lay through a tract of 
 country which at every bend and undulation of the road, pre- 
 sented some object, or group, or opening upon scenery, which 
 was continually suggestive of the fact, that this was indeed 
 a land where men and women knew how to live and be happy 
 at their own homes. Here, on one hand, would be a sub- 
 stantial farmhouse, with its open door displaying much 
 plenty within, its strong-limbed hinds feeding the horses 
 or cleaning the stables, and its ruddy-brown damsels milking 
 
 VOL. I, 14 209
 
 210 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 the kine, which stood sleepily lashing their tails on their backs 
 or flapping their ears in the sun. The next habitation would 
 probably be a little white cottage, with a low door, and small 
 leaded windows shadowed by vinery, and the eaves of the 
 thatch slouched down, as if to prevent the wind from up- 
 turning them. A whine and a grunt would be heard in the 
 sty, and a broad garden, darkened at one end by fruit trees, 
 would be abundant 
 
 "Of herbs and other country messes." 
 
 Next a clear tiny rill comes trickling by the road-side ; 
 soon we are under a tall young wood, with an old tree here and 
 there matted with ivy or robed in hoar lichen. Soon we per- 
 ceive a house of the higher order, with its palisades, its 
 gravelled walk, its bright evergreens, its clean steps, and its 
 stately and decent quietude ; although if the white blinds were 
 rolled up instead of being down, it would seem all the more 
 frank, cheerful, and Christian like. Next, perhaps, we have a 
 glimpse of a spire rising above tall trees, or the turret of 
 a grey old-looking bell tower sends forth its summons to the 
 villagers for their morning's devotion. Wending on our 
 journey, hills and vales, with meads, pastures, and green crops 
 spread all over their ridges and down to their brook margins, 
 are laid out luxuriantly before the ever-pleased eye ; whilst far 
 off, in the opening of hoary old woods, are seen tower and 
 battlement of some lordly hall. Such, O England ! are the 
 objects constantly presented to the eye of travellers amid thy 
 rural scenes. Such are the cause and the results of thy 
 true greatness. First labour and its reward, from which follow 
 plenty, peace, reverence, obedience, order, security, opulence ; 
 and, as a consequence of these, encouragement to continued 
 exertion. Cherish, then, these elements of giant power for the 
 sake of their inestimable results, which are the guarantees 
 of untold blessings for all. Promote honest labour. Honour 
 it wherever or however found. Have respect to the horny hand 
 and the dewy forehead, and oh ! with kindliness endeavour to 
 attach the heart which has the courage to encounter peril, 
 hardship, and stringent toil day by day, without a murmur,
 
 JOUBNEY PUBSUED. 211 
 
 and without a wish, save only that it may be duly rewarded. 
 Yes ; be just, noble England, to thy sons of labour. Then, so 
 long as thy rock foundations endure shalt thou be happy : the 
 conservator of thy own strength, the arbiter of thy own 
 destiny. 
 
 Through such a country as this, and breathing an air 
 sweeter than which none ever wafted over Paradise, had 
 I walked some five or six miles, when the bark of a dog, and 
 the appearance of sundry low tents, a horse, a mare and her 
 foal, an ass or two, a heap of panniers, a lurcher and a couple 
 of terriers, pans, pots, and a kettle on a fire, which a lad was 
 blowing into red heat, made me aware that I was, for the first 
 time, about to behold a family of gipsies, in their favourite 
 state of encampment. The tribe consisted of three stout men 
 and as many women, one of them very old and deformed, and 
 one, a superb being, with majestic golden pendants, that 
 touched the crimson hood on her shoulders ; a coil of luxuriant 
 hair lay across her knees, as thick as a mainshroud and as 
 glossy as a skein of silk, whilst her magnificently black and 
 darkly shadowed eyes were like two gems, light-emittent 
 through midnight. Two of the men and one female were 
 asleep in tents, some children were also at rest, a boy or two 
 were engaged with the dogs ; the horses and the asses were 
 pasturing, one man was smoking a short pipe, and skinning a 
 rabbit the while, the queen sat plaiting what seemed to be 
 a girdle of many colours, and the old one was tending a cake 
 in the embers. A young damsel sat there — a beauty such as I 
 had never before beheld, not even in Lancashire, for she was 
 different from them all, though not surpassing — nothing human 
 could do that — but this had a feminine grace, and a faultless 
 beauty of a type which was entirely new to me. A scarlet 
 strap and a short sleeve were the only covering to her 
 shoulders, her neck and arms being entirely bare. Over the 
 front of a laced bodice of various hues, hung a small bib of 
 fine linen, which so far covered her bosom as modesty required. 
 A green kirtle bound her waist and fell below her knees, 
 leaving her legs and feet, which were models of symmetry, as 
 innocent of hose or pumps as they were at her birth. Her
 
 212 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 complexion was a clear olive, whilst her features I can only 
 describe as being strikingly impressive from their beauty, and 
 much like those which I had seen in the portraits and on the 
 statues of Oriental nymphs and goddesses of antiquity. Her 
 hair, of raven lustre, was plaited and wreathed on her head, 
 where it was bound with ribbons of bright and grave colours 
 mingled, and held by a comb, and thence dividing, fell in 
 graceful locks over her shoulders, and below her bosom. She 
 was on her knees, sipping broth from a china basin, and with a 
 silver spoon. I accosted the party with the usual salutation 
 of "good morning," to which the man and the two women 
 replied. We chatted as I stood there respecting various 
 matters, as the road, the weather, fellow wayfarers whom I 
 had met, and things of that kind, and in the course of our 
 conversation the man informed me that my best way to 
 Leicester would be through Welford, and not through Market 
 Harborough, which was the more common route. After 
 satisfying my curiosity as well as I could consistently with a 
 decent observation, I bade them good-bye, and was coming 
 away when the mistress of the party, or queen, as I may call 
 her, asked me if a mess of broth would be acceptable. I 
 had been thinking before that never had broth smelled so 
 temptingly as this did ; I therefore expressed my thankful 
 acceptance of her offer, and taking a seat on the sod I partook 
 of a breakfast such as I had little expected to find at such 
 a table, for besides the broth, the young nymph, by direction 
 of the queen, placed before me bread, cold mutton, fowl, 
 cheese, with mustard, and green onion as a relish, so I laid 
 to as freely and as plenteously, according to my wants, as ever 
 did alderman at a corporation feast. My kind entertainers 
 seemed the more pleased the more freely I partook, and after 
 making a most excellent meal, during which I was neither 
 annoyed by many questions, nor embarrassed by ceremony — 
 for they mostly spoke to each other, and that in a language I 
 did not understand — I again expressed my sincere thanks and 
 pursued my journey, deeply interested by the scene I had 
 quitted, and particularly so by the two amazing beauties I had 
 beheld.
 
 JO UENE Y P UBS UED. 213 
 
 Northampton, a garrison town, was the next place through 
 which I had to pass, and as a recruiting party of marines was 
 stationed there — as my friend the gipsy had informed me, 
 though whether or not they had orders to press he could not 
 tell — I waited outside until the quiet hour when people had all 
 gone home from church, and had got seated at their dinners, 
 before I essayed the perilous experiment of walking through. 
 The wished-for time soon came, the bells had all ceased tolling, 
 and the streets were nearly deserted, when I stepped at a 
 leisurely calm pace, as if in no great haste to be gone, along 
 the clear broad causeway of that neat and cleanly town. 
 Everything seemed to my wish ; it was a hot day : the sun 
 glared on the pavement and against the windows ; the blinds 
 and curtains were nearly all closed ; the doors were open to let 
 in air, and I could hear the children laughing, the mothers 
 scolding, and the knives and forks clattering as the good folks 
 were partaking their happy meal. I envied them not, I only 
 wished in my heart that every soul in the place might be 
 compelled to eat, and never cease eating, until I had walked 
 clear and far away of that burning pavement and blistering 
 flag-road ; and in sooth I began to think it certainly would be 
 so, the streets were so quiet, when all at once, pondering as I 
 went, and with my hat pulled over my brow, I found I was 
 approaching a marine, who was crossing me at right angles. 
 I would have given the world if the fellow had only been hke 
 the tovTns-folks, quietly employed with his pudding, instead of 
 being where he was, but I took care not to betray any outward 
 sign of either alarm or dissatisfaction. He was alone, and no 
 other person was in sight, and if he stopped me, and my old 
 protection trick failed, I had nothing to do, but either to out-run 
 him, or knock him down, or both, and so decide the matter. 
 These thoughts, however, and thase resolves, which came as 
 quick as a throb, were no sooner present, than, to my surprise 
 as well as satisfaction, the man merely looked at me in an 
 ordinary way, and nodding, said, " Good voyage, shipmate," 
 to which I readily replied, " Good quarters, shipmate," and 
 each passed on. 
 
 And now, as the protection which I have once or twice
 
 214 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 ineutioned will not be any more alluded to, I may as well 
 explain, that these documents which were given to apprentices, 
 were no protection at all save whilst the apprentice was 
 on board the ship to which he belonged, or if on shore, 
 was engaged in the lawful service of his master. If the navy 
 was greatly short of hands, as in the expedition we passed in 
 Yarmouth Eoads, for instance, not only apprentices were seized 
 despite of their protections, but even carpenters and mates of 
 coasting vessels would sometimes be made free with. In my 
 case, therefore, who was absconding from my service, the 
 document, had it been perused, instead of being a protection 
 would have been a detection, inasmuch as it would have 
 required a degree of ingenuity beyond my command to have 
 shown why I, an apprentice on board a coasting vessel on the 
 North Sea, should be found traversing the streets of St. 
 Albans, or of Northampton, the king's veritable terra firnia — ■ 
 instead of being on his other element, the ocean. 
 
 This escapade was a great relief to my mind, since having 
 now passed this second garrison town I had not much fear of 
 being interfered with by press-gangs, though, wherever there 
 was a party of marines it was possible that I might be 
 questioned. The weather was, as I have intimated, that of a 
 truly English summer's day. Towards evening, when the heat 
 was mitigated to a joyous coolness, came a breeze that swept 
 odours from the wild rose and the honey-bine. Then, by the 
 hill-sides, or along the valleys, or up the meadow paths, 
 appeai-ed young and happy couples, the lads in their clean 
 smock-frocks, and the lasses in their new pumps, smart caps 
 and ribbons, and all seemingly so full of happy, contented, and 
 hopeful love, that the tears dimmed my eyes as I looked 
 towards them. " Ah I " I thought, " and will not I be walk- 
 ing with one as dear auJ as bonny as any of them before 
 long." And thus as I wandered forward waned that sweet 
 Sabbath eve, and small indeed was the amount of " cash in 
 my locker," wherewith to procure a lodging, but on I went, 
 and I must have passed some seven or eight miles beyond 
 Welsford, when it being nearly dark, I stopped at a good- 
 looking publichouse, and after paying for a glass of beer,
 
 ADVENTURES. 215 
 
 which took nearly the last copper I had, I asked the landlord 
 if there was not a snug corner in his stable or hay-loft in 
 which I could be allowed to rest till morning ? He said the 
 cattle all slept and pastured out, and he had not so much as a 
 lap of straw on the premises ; but if I would walk on a couple 
 of miles or so, I should arrive at a place called Wigston, where 
 the yearly feast was being held, and if I only got amongst the 
 young fellows there, I would have all I wanted, and that too 
 for nothing, So thus discouraged in one respect, and encour- 
 aged in another, I again commenced my journey, and walked 
 a long way, the eve settling into darkness, and not a glimmer 
 from a house, nor the bark of a sheep-dog, nor any other 
 indication of inhabitants to be seen or heard. I kept on in 
 this way until I became quite tired, and looked in vain for 
 some barn, or outhouse, or cattle-shed, in which I might lay 
 down, but not a vestige of cattle or cattle-shed was to be 
 seen. Not even the tinkle of a sheep-bell could be heard in 
 that vast stillness. At length I thought I espied something 
 like swathes of grass on the other side of a low fence, and 
 climbing over, I found them to be what I expected. I 
 straightway therefore commenced making my bed, and collect- 
 ing a number of swathes together I lay down on part of them, 
 and pulled the remainder over me until I was pretty well 
 covered, and so, with a bunch under my head for a pillow, 
 and my hat for a sleeping cap, I bade good-night to one star 
 which hung winking above, and in a moment care was no 
 more. "When I awoke it was broad day, and the lark was 
 singing overhead. I jumped up, shook off the dewy grass and 
 clover, and thanking God for so excellent a bed, with freedom, 
 I leaped over the fence, and pursued my journey. 
 
 It was now evident that unless I could hit upon some plan 
 whereby I could procure sustenance on the road, my travels 
 must soon cease. My last penny had been expended that 
 morning in the purchase of a cake, and I had not a single 
 halfpenny towards carrying me eighty-six miles. As for 
 having recourse to dishonest means, that never entered my 
 thoughts, whilst to beg I could not yet bemean myself. Some- 
 thing, however, must be devised, and as I wore under my
 
 216 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 trousers a pair of stout woollen drawers, nearly new, I 
 concluded on selling them, if I could meet with a customer ; 
 and accordingly I went over the hedge into a quiet little 
 corner, and stripped off my di'awers, tying them up in a small 
 pocket handkerchief which I had taken care to preserve. I 
 was so entirely satisfied with this proceeding, so easy with 
 respect to present means of subsistence, that I fell into a 
 profound sleep, and so continued during a considerable time. 
 On arriving at Leicester, I stopped at a clothes shop, at 
 the door of which an elderly female stood, of a very decent 
 appearance. I accosted her, and entering the shop, offered 
 her my drawers on sale. She examined them, and asked how 
 much I expected for them ? Well, I said, I should not be 
 very particular, but I thought they would be cheap at two 
 shillings. 
 
 " Two shillings ! " said the dame — her keen eyes fixed upon 
 me — " Why, young man, I would not give two shillings for all 
 the clothes you have on your back." 
 
 I said I was sorry to hear her say that, but how much 
 would she give then. 
 
 " You are a sailor I suppose." 
 
 " I am, or at least have been," I replied. 
 
 " I have a son that is a sailor also," she said. 
 
 " I wish him a safe return then," I repHed. 
 
 " Aye, a safe return, with plenty of prize money," she 
 quickly added. 
 
 " Be it as you wish," I replied. 
 
 " Are you going to see your friends? " she asked. 
 
 " I'm going to stay with them I hope. ' 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," said the dame. " I'll 
 just give you sixpence for the drawers, and that's what I call 
 dealing handsomely with you." 
 
 " Could you not give me something more, mother," I said, 
 trying to soften her by that tender appellation, though but 
 with small hope of success. 
 
 " Not one half -farthing more shall I give, if you talk till 
 night," said the dame, "and if I ever get the money back 
 again, I shall be lucky."
 
 ADVENTURES. 2l7 
 
 I still chaffered with her, trying to obtain a small advance, 
 but it was of no use, and considering that I naight dodge 
 round the whole town and be no better, I resigned the 
 drawers. 
 
 " Where's the napkin they were tied in ? " she asked. 
 
 " It's here I replied," showing it. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " I must have that you know, I bid at the 
 whole lot." 
 
 My anger was equalled only by my disgust — the Uttle napkin 
 was very dear to me — and taking up the drawers I was about 
 replacing them in the napkin with a view to leave the shop, 
 when judging as I supposed my purpose, she threw down a 
 sixpence, saying, " Give me the drawers : if you were my own 
 son I could not behave better to you." 
 
 I first secured the sixpence, and, then putting down the 
 drawers, said, " God help the son who has such a mother as 
 you to come to," and left the place. 
 
 My next business was to buy a small loaf, which I soon did, 
 and eat it with a voracious appetite as I went on my way. I 
 proceeded down the street and out of the town without being 
 once annoyed by the appearance of either marine or recruiting 
 party. I passed through Montsorrel and Loughborough with- 
 out stopping, and took my rest and a draught of porter at 
 a small publichouse beyond the latter place. After this, 
 towards evening, I met a company of women coming from the 
 hayfield; they were disposed to be merry, and dancing and 
 singing with their forks and rakes on their shoulders, they 
 formed a ring around me. At length one of the youngest of 
 them sung a snatch of a popular song : 
 
 " I will be sure to return back a^ain 
 If I go ten thousand miles, my dear, 
 If I go ten thousand miles." 
 
 They next produced a keg and a basket, and the kind 
 creatures made me sit down amidst them, and partake of their 
 brown bread and hard cheese, which I did heartily, and 
 quenched my thirst with a good draught of their home-brewed
 
 218 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 ale, after -which, with many thanks on my part, and kind 
 wishes on theirs, we separated. 
 
 If I could have made up my mind to begging, here had been 
 a fine opportunity for trying my talents in that line on these 
 kind and sisterly beings, but I could not find in my heart to 
 inform them how sorely I was distressed : and though I knew 
 that unless I either solicited relief on the road, or some unfore- 
 seen assistance came to hand, I must at least endure two days 
 of horrible starvation and fatigue, I could not humble myself 
 to the act of craving charity. So still cherishing a kind of 
 irrational and gloomy hope beyond hope — whilst my bene- 
 factors returned to their cheerful and welcome homes, I 
 advanced into the shades of evening, and the grey and solemn 
 stillness of a summer's night had enshrouded all around when 
 I arrived at the village of Shardlow. 
 
 At one little window only could I see a blinking light. I 
 knocked at the door, and it was opened ; an old couple who 
 were preparing to retire to rest seemed somewhat alarmed at 
 my entrance, so I hastened to make known to them that I was 
 a stranger on the road, and would thank them to direct me 
 either to a hayrick or a cattle-shed, where I could find shelter 
 for the night. They commiserated the hardship of my lot in 
 being necessitated to ask such a question, and directed me to 
 a stable connected with a publichouse a little farther on the 
 way, the residents of which would probably be gone to bed. ' I 
 thanked the old folks, and without much trouble found out the 
 house and the stable alluded to. All was dark and silent 
 around; the stable was quite unoccupied, and not a straw, 
 nor a lock of hay could I find within the place. I tried to 
 make the manger my sleeping berth — not without a grateful 
 remembrance of the one at Bethlehem — but I could not fit my 
 shoulders to the trough, and sleep being denied me there, I lay 
 down on the bare pavement below, thinking, carnal though I 
 was, that if the manger once served as a bed for a heavenly 
 Lord, the stones beneath one might even suffice for a wander- 
 ing sinner like me ; and so I stretched my wearied limbs on 
 the floor and fell asleep. In the morning I rose as refreshed 
 as if my bed had been one of down, and leaving my sleeping
 
 DIFFICULTIES. 219 
 
 apartment in as tidy a condition as I found it, I quietly shut 
 the door after me, and continued my journey. I spent my 
 last penny in the purchase of a cake as I entered Derby, and 
 as penny cakes were rather small concerns in those days, mine 
 was quickly devoured. 
 
 I passed through the town without stopping, and soon found 
 myself once more amid the beautiful scenery of which our 
 island is so rife. After walking a mile or two I overtook a 
 little crabbed-looking middle-aged man, who, notwithstanding 
 that he limped on one foot, and travelled with a stick, got over 
 the ground rather cleverly. I soon found out that he was a 
 stay and corset-maker by trade, was a great professor of 
 religion, and was going to Manchester, as he said, to pick up 
 a penny in the way of business, and " to speak a word to the 
 heathen," when opportunity offered. And now, I thought to 
 myself, if this man has only money enough about him to carry 
 us both to Manchester, and will undertake to provide for me 
 on the way, I shall look upon him as one sent by Divine provi- 
 dence. I was not long in ascertaining that he had the means 
 to assist me, and then, in return for his communication, I gave 
 him a short history of my adventures, without letting him 
 know the whole truth, and concluded by a proposal that as we 
 were both journeying to one town, we should keep company, 
 and that he should furnish the means for my very frugal sub- 
 sistence till we arrived there, when I would introduce him to 
 my friends, who would thank him for his kindness, and amply 
 repay him besides. The prospect of turning a good penny on 
 the road appeared, from the manner in which I stated the case, 
 so plain and certain, that the little man assented to the pro- 
 posal, and we jogged on to Ashborne, where he paid for a 
 basin of milk, and a pennyworth of bread for each, and this 
 was our breakfast. Soon after leaving Ashborne, we fell into 
 company with a private of light dragoons, going home on fur- 
 lough. At first his presence was not very agreeable to me, 
 but I soon had reason to conclude that he had not, for the 
 present at least, any designs of entrapping me, so we three 
 journeyed together. We now began to mount the hills over 
 which we had to pass to Buxton, and a long, dreary twenty-
 
 220 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 four miles the journey would be, as I was given to understand. 
 The day was very hot, and I required refreshment in order to 
 enable me to support the heat and fatigue, but I found my 
 commissary was not going to be at all prodigal of supplies. In 
 walking about ten miles he paid for one gill of sorry treacle 
 beer only, and shortly afterwards, finding I could not keep 
 pace with my comrades, I sat down on a knoll by the road- 
 side, and they went forward, disappearing over the long moors. 
 After some time, having got a draught of blessed water at a 
 little rill, I made an essay to proceed, and had not gone far ere 
 I arrived at a large inn and posting-house called New Haven. 
 A haven it was indeed to me. I asked one of the stable men 
 for permission to lie down on the hay-baulks, which he civilly 
 granted, and there I remained sleep-bound until far in the 
 afternoon. On awaking I set forward again, quite refreshed 
 and in good spirits, and was the more anxious to get to Buxton 
 since I should then be only twenty-two miles from home, a 
 distance which I thought I should be able to walk with the 
 refreshment of water only, should chance not throw in my way 
 a particle of solid food. Encouraged thus by the consciousness 
 of being almost on the verge of my native county, and of being 
 now traversing the tops of some of those hills which I had 
 so often contemplated from our play-ground at Middleton, I 
 stepped forward with a light heart, over a country of waste 
 and cheerless moors, and of rolling, billowy hills. Though 
 greatly fatigued, as much probably from the heat of the three 
 last days as from the want of food, I continued, with many 
 cheering anticipations, to urge my feeble steps in the direction 
 of my hoped-for resting-place for the night, though God only 
 knew what sort of a resting-place that was to be. Another 
 opportunity now occurred for my asking charity, and I made 
 up my mind to do it. It was a secluded place in the bottom 
 of a valley. I was descending one side, and a gentleman, 
 mounted and walking his horse at a quiet pace, was coming 
 down the other. We met nearly at the bottom, and I looked 
 at him and Ufted my hat, but when my hand should have been 
 extended, and the words of supplication should have passed 
 my lips, I could not do either the one or the other, and the
 
 DIFFICULTIES. 221 
 
 gentleman, merely nodding in return to my civility, passed 
 on. 
 
 Shortly after this I began to feel sickly ; my head became 
 confused, and I sat down merely as I thought to rest and take 
 breath, but I probably fainted, since when consciousness re- 
 turned night had completely set in. I however got up as well 
 as I could, and again put my now stiffened limbs in motion, 
 and had not proceeded more than a mile ere I became aware 
 that I was approaching numerous habitations, and pressing 
 forward I was soon at the entrance into the village of Buxton. 
 
 My first endeavour was to discover, if I could, a stable or 
 outhouse of some sort, in which I could take up my lodgings 
 — the last of the sort which I should want on my present 
 journey. I had not hovered about the street long ere I espied 
 a ladder reared against what appeared to be a hay-loft^ so 
 I crept up as daintily as if I had been mounting to a curtained 
 bed of down, and found to my great joy that I was on a boarded 
 floor, well stored with hay. Here, then, was my bed at once, 
 and now all my troubles were over. I was groping about for 
 a place to make my bed, when, as sudden as a flash, I fell 
 through the floor, and found myself lying on my back in a 
 lower place. I was rather confused at first, and scarcely con- 
 scious of what had happened, but was soon made aware that 
 something was vastly wrong by screams of murder, with occa- 
 sional prayers and imprecations. Presently a door opened, 
 and several men entered the place with lights, when I found 
 that I was lying in the stall of a stable, with my legs across 
 the body of a female, who continued making a great noise, and 
 whose dress was not in the most decorous condition. Though 
 shaken by the fall and still confused, I immediately got upon 
 my feet, when one of the men, holding a lanthorn to my face, 
 demanded to know why I brought my strumpet into his stable. 
 In vain I protested that I knew nothing whatever of the woman. 
 He insisted that I did, and that probably I should have laid 
 hands on other game also if I had found anything worth 
 carrying away. To this insinuation I had no reply save a 
 repetition of the assertion that I was innocent, and I added 
 that I only became aware that any living being was in the
 
 222 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 place by the accident of falling through the hole in the floor 
 above, which I pointed out, and also stated my motive for 
 going there. By this time the woman had risen from the 
 straw, and was busy arranging her dress. 
 
 " Why," said one of the men, " is not that the girl that has 
 been in company with the limping fellow and the soldier all 
 night ? " 
 
 " The very same," said another. 
 
 " Oh ! I see how it is," rejoined a third — " where is the old 
 fox concealed? he has not been in the tap-room since this 
 woman left it." 
 
 " He's somewhere in the place," said one of the men. 
 
 " He'll be found not far off," said another. 
 
 Instantly they began to search, when a slight noise in the 
 next stall led them to look that way, and they discovered a 
 pair of legs sticking out from under some straw. 
 
 Straight that hunting note which is raised on the taking of 
 a fox was shouted by half-a-dozen voices, and seizing the legs, 
 they pulled out my little lame friend, the stay and corset 
 maker, with whom I joined company that morning. 
 
 " Here he is, sure enough," said one of the men, when they 
 had done shouting. 
 
 " The old dog bagged alive," said another. 
 
 " Well, how has this come about? " asked the owner of the 
 place. " V/hat account can you give of yourselves ? " he con- 
 tinued. 
 
 Here a scene and a dialogue ensued, which, however divert- 
 ing it might be to those present, I will take the liberty to omit 
 from my narrative. Suffice it to say, that the landlord cleared 
 the place, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, the 
 whole of the party, the woman excepted, entering the public- 
 house to which the stable was attached, and from whence the 
 greater part of them had issued on hearing the noise. Here 
 several persons were drinking, smoking, and singing in a kind 
 of kitchen or family room, and amongst them, drunk and nearly 
 asleep, was my other fellow traveller of the morning, the young 
 dragoon. The stay-maker was now sadly bantered on account 
 of his adventure, and at last, iu order to make his peace with
 
 DIFFICULTIES. 228 
 
 the landlord and the company, he paid for a quart of hot ale 
 and gin, of which I took one or two small glasses, though I 
 would much rather have had something to eat. 
 
 After I had sat in this company a considerable time, weary 
 and longing for repose, I espied an opportunity to slip out of 
 the place, and again mounting the ladder to the hay-loft, I 
 made sure of not falling through that time. Quickly was I 
 oblivious of all care, and did not awaken until the morning 
 was far advanced. On descending from my bed I inquired 
 about the soldier and the stay-maker, and being informed that 
 they had started three hours before, I turned my steps through 
 the village and followed them. 
 
 Wearily, and rather faintly, though with a good heart, I 
 mounted the hills which enclose Buxton on the Lancashire 
 side, and then, with greater ease, I began to descend the long 
 road down to Whaley Bridge, my only refreshment being now 
 and then a draught of water from the small mountain rills 
 which trickled through their rock channels on the moors. 
 After passing Whaley Bridge I began to ascend, slowly 
 enough, the steep old road to Disley. The day was again 
 very hot, and when I had mounted this hard path of the olden 
 time to a considerable distance, I rested on a stone wall oppo- 
 site some cottages, at the door of one of which I soon espied 
 an old woman winding bobbins. I asked her for a draught of 
 water, when she immediately rose to oblige me, and brought 
 forth a basin of delicious butter-milk. I thanked her most 
 gratefully, and as I stood leaning against the doorpost, much 
 fatigued, she asked if I could eat some oaten cake, and on my 
 saying I could with pleasure, she invited me to come in and 
 sit down, and speedily presented me with half of a good sub- 
 stantial cake, baked thick and without being riddled. I 
 quickly dispatched the cake, when the old woman — a fine- 
 looking old mother she was — casting on me a glance of 
 womanly feeling said, " Bless me, lad — for thou art somebody's 
 lad, I dare say — thou hast been famished, almost dying of 
 hunger, I'm sure; couldst thou eat another piece of cake?" 
 I said I could, and informed her that this was the first food I 
 had tasted since I left Ashborne the morning previous. She
 
 224 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 accordingly gave me the other half of the cake, part of which I 
 ate, and the remainder, with some cheese, she made me put 
 in my pocket as a snack on the road. 
 
 Blessings on the memory of that kind old woman ! I 
 thought she was much like what I remembered of my own 
 mother, only more aged. I stole many a look at her as she 
 moved about the house. Blessings be ever with her memory ! 
 
 After leaving this cottage, refreshed and somewhat rested, I 
 was soon at Disley, and from thence I passed through Bullock 
 Smithy * and Stockport to Manchester, where I arrived at 
 dusk, and took up my quarters at the house of a friend until 
 night had set in, when I visited my father and other relations, 
 and was received by them with a joyful welcome. I thought 
 it rather strange, however, that they expressed not any sur- 
 prise at my return, and on further conversation I learned that 
 my kind friend, the little staymaker, had visited them the 
 same day, and had prepared them for my coming. He had 
 made them quite easy respecting my condition, having told 
 them that he had advanced me money sufficient to carry me 
 home comfortably, and that I was coming on at my leisure. 
 The rascal was consequently very well received by them, and 
 went away trebly repaid for what he said he had advanced to 
 me. My father, however, though he abhorred the fraud and 
 the deception, said, " Never mind the money, ' My son was 
 dead, and is alive again, he was lost, and is found.' " 
 
 And now, if we would derive a benefit beyond the mere 
 amusement which the perusal of this book may afford, we 
 should here pause and survey that career of life which I had 
 lately been pursuing, and then note down the events which 
 followed from it. The dangers, the hardships which I had 
 undergone, and many of them I have not set down, not liking 
 to amplify on such matters, were only the natural results of a 
 course of parental disobedience, and a disregard of conscien- 
 tious warnings, which, like good angels, would have turned me 
 from the path of error — of sin — but I would not. 
 
 From such a course what could be expected save a retalia- 
 tion of evil for the evil I had committed ; for as surely as night 
 * Now Hazel Grove.
 
 HOME. 225 
 
 succeeds day, as certainly as death comes after life, so inevit- 
 ably does good beget good, and sin produce misery. Let the 
 reader then, the youthful one especially, who seeks to benefit 
 by the reading of this book, note what, in my case, followed a 
 vicious irregularity of living ; and then, if he would escape 
 providential chastisement, let him, with a steady determina- 
 tion, eschew evil, on the track of which chastisement quickly 
 follows, and is never turned aside. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 WAREHOUSE WORK AGAIN — READINGS — CATHERINE. 
 
 Having now had enough of an unsettled life, at least for the 
 present, I endeavoured to obtain constant employment, and a 
 regular situation, in a warehouse, and shortly I got an engage- 
 ment in that of Messrs. Hole, Wilkinson, and Gartside, an 
 eminent printing concern, whose works were at Cross Hall, 
 near Chorley, and whose sale warehouse was in Peel Street, 
 Manchester. Here my business was to unlock the warehouse 
 at morning, to kindle a fire in the counting-house during 
 winter, to sweep the floor, to dust down the desks and tables, 
 and generally to make the place tidy and comfortable against 
 the arrival of the book-keepers and my employers. My next 
 morning's job was to sweep the floors of the sale-rooms, to 
 dust the counters, benches, and shelves, to lay all the prints 
 straight, and place them in regular piles according to their 
 several sorts. My own place, the packing-room on the upper 
 floor, was next to be swept and made ready for work ; and the 
 like having been done to a small print-room adjoining, I either 
 took a seat in the counting-house until relieved by the book- 
 keeper, or I remained at my own desk in this upper storey. 
 This desk was a snug concern, or at least so I deemed it. It 
 was furnished with writing materials, convenient drawers and 
 recesses ; a ruler, a penknife, a folding-up slate and pencil, and 
 on it were deposited a file, with notes from the sale-room of 
 every parcel of goods which I had to deliver or pack ; a book 
 in which every parcel or pack which had to go by carrier was 
 entered and signed for by him ; and a smaller book in which 
 
 226
 
 WAREHOUSE WOBK AGAIN. 227 
 
 ■were noted down, and duly signed for, every parcel of goods 
 which was delivered in Manchester. Such was the routine of 
 my duty on three mornings in the week, and such the place of 
 retirement which was my own peculiar right when not called 
 to action by the requirements of my situation. 
 
 My employers were George Hole, a son of an extensive 
 farmer near Newark-on-Trent, who managed the selling 
 department of the concern at this Manchester warehouse ; 
 John Wilkinson, a manufacturer, who attended to the buying 
 of the cloth necessary for the concern ; and Henry Gartside, a 
 first-rate practical printer, who managed that branch of the 
 business with great ability. On the mornings of Monday, 
 Wednesday, and Friday, the warehouse was opened at seven 
 o'clock ; and on the three market mornings of Tuesday, 
 Thursday, and Saturday, it was opened at six o'clock. By 
 half-past six a large cart, drawn by two stout horses, would be 
 at the door. Before seven, Mr. Hole and Mr. M., the sales- 
 man, would have arrived, and would probably find from a 
 dozen to a score of country drapers chatting and walking about 
 in the counting-house, the lobby, and the sale-room. Exactly 
 at seven o'clock the sheets were thrown off the cart, and the 
 delivery commenced. Mr. M. counted the pieces by twenties, 
 and placing them on my shoulder I carried them upstairs, and 
 threw them down on a clean white cloth, which was spread on 
 the floor of the sale-room. A scramble then commenced 
 amongst the buyers which should get the most pieces ; some- 
 times they met me at the sale-room door and tore them off my 
 back ; and many a good coat have I seen slit up, or left with 
 the laps dangling, after a struggle of that sort. The pieces 
 having all been delivered in this manner, the old carter drove 
 off to put his horses up, whilst Mr. M. hastened to assist in 
 the sale-room, and I, from a wish to be as useful as I could to 
 my employers, also attended, handing pieces to the customers, 
 and now and then taking occasion respectfully to point out a 
 piece which was a better one than common. For having 
 naturally a taste for objects of a beautiful or striking descrip- 
 tion, I soon acquired a tolerably correct judgment of prints 
 also ; and though I made not any parade of my talent, I had
 
 228 EARLY DAYS. ' 
 
 not been accustomed to prints long ere I could form a rather 
 sure guess whether or not a style of work would sell. Such 
 was a print delivery and a morning's sale at a Manchester 
 warehouse in the year 1808. 
 
 The pieces which had been selected were left doubled up, 
 piled in lots, and ticketed with the name of the buyer. Mr. 
 Hole and Mr. M. would then go to breakfast, and if a buyer 
 who had missed the delivery came in, I showed him the pnnts 
 which were left, when he selected what he approved of, gave 
 his name, and I piled and ticketed them the same as the former 
 lots were. 
 
 By this time the book-keeper would have arrived, and I 
 went to breakfast, and on my return would be despatched to 
 the post-office for letters. The way-bill of articles wanted for 
 the works was next put into my hand, and I went round to the 
 chemists, the drysalters, the block-makers, the engravers, or to 
 any other parties who had to supply materials to go back by 
 the cart, and ordered whatever was required. I next delivered 
 all lots of prints purchased by Manchester houses, or ordered 
 to be left with them for package with other goods. The cart 
 was next loaded for its return, and by the time that was des- 
 patched the old church bell would have dropped ringing one 
 o'clock, and the doors were then locked and we went to dinner. 
 At two o'clock we again opened, and I commenced my after- 
 noon's work by carrying up to my packing room the first lot of 
 prints that, having been entered in the day-book, was ready 
 for being sent off. That lot having been packed, or trussed, 
 and neatly marked — at which feat I soon became no common 
 hand — the other lots were successively made up in their 
 respective forms, and, having been entered in the carrier's 
 book, were duly signed for by him, and sent to their several 
 destinations. By this time it would probably be five or six 
 o'clock in the evening, and the goods which had been ordered 
 for that day having been all disposed of, our employers would 
 retire at tea-time, and at six, after I had carefully raked out 
 the fire, closed the shutters of the counting-house, and walked 
 round the rooms to see that all was right, I and the book- 
 keeper — if he was present — locked up the warehouse, and I
 
 WAEEEOUSE WORK AGAIN. 229 
 
 took the keys to Mr. Hole's residence in Faulkner Street, and 
 BO terminated my employment for the day. 
 
 I have been thus particular in describing the transactions of 
 one market day, inasmuch as that description may suffice for 
 those of any other market day of the busy seasons of spring 
 and autumn, when new patterns and styles of prints were 
 produced in the market ; and inasmuch also as that I am 
 rather of opinion that morning sales, like the one I have de- 
 scribed, are no longer known in Manchester, nor ever will be 
 again. 
 
 I was well satisfied with my situation, and used my best 
 endeavours to please my employers, and to promote their 
 nterest in every way which my humble condition permitted. 
 Nor were they unmindful of my exertions, and I had not been 
 long in their service before they voluntarily advanced my 
 wages from eighteen to twenty shillings a week. This was a 
 great encouragement to me, since it gave me to understand in 
 a most pleasing manner that my endeavours were appreciated. 
 I continued those endeavours, and in a short time my wages 
 were increased to a guinea a week. 
 
 As spring and autumn were our only really busy seasons, I 
 had occasionally, during other parts of the year, considerable 
 leisure, which, if I could procure a book that I considered at 
 all worth the reading, was spent with such book at my desk in 
 the little recess of the packing-room. Here, therefore, I had 
 opportunities for reading many books of which I had only heard 
 the names before, such as Eobertson's "History of Scotland," 
 Goldsmith's "History of England," Eollin's "Ancient His- 
 tory," Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Eoman Empire," 
 Anacharsis's "Travels in Greece," and many other works on 
 travel, geography, and antiquities. I also enlarged my ac- 
 quaintance with English literature, read Johnson's "Lives of 
 the Poets," and, as a consequence, many of their productions 
 also. Macpherson's " Ossian," whilst it gave me a glimpse of 
 our most ancient lore, interested my feelings and absorbed my 
 attention. I also bent my thoughts on more practical studies, 
 and at one time had nearly the whole of Lindley Murray's 
 " Grammar " stored in my memory, although I never so far
 
 230 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 benefited by it as to become ready at parsing. A publication 
 of a different description also fell in my way. Mr. Hole was 
 a reader of Cobbett's Weekly Eegister, and as I constantly saw 
 the tract lying on the desk at the beginning of the week, I at 
 length read it, and found within its pages far more matter for 
 reflection than, from its unattractive title and appearance, I 
 had expected to find there. The nervous and unmistakable 
 EngHsh of that work there was no withstanding. I thenceforth 
 became as constant a reader of Cobbett's writings as was my 
 master himself, and was soon, probably, a more ardent ad- 
 mirer of his doctrines than was my employer. As I generally 
 attended the counting-house when the book-keeper and sales- 
 man were absent — unless called out by other employment — I 
 had many opportunities for these perusals. I seldom indeed 
 failed to examine whatever book I found upon the desk, and if 
 I happened to be left to lock up at noon, which would some- 
 times be the case, I would hasten to the next shop and buy a 
 cold lunch for dinner, thence return to the warehouse and lock 
 myself in, that I might have an opportunity for examining 
 some book which had attracted my attention. And in this 
 way, during nearly all the four years which I passed in the 
 employ of this firm, I continued to examine or to read every 
 book which fell in my way, or which I could readily pro- 
 cm"e. 
 
 Such was the manner in which I was employed whilst with 
 Messrs. Hole, Wilkinson, and Gartside, namely, alertly busy 
 during two months each of spring and autumn ; occasionally 
 busy at other times ; and with a comparatively small amount 
 of warehouse labour during the remainder of the year. Our 
 early openings gave us a good start of the day ; everything was 
 understood and done promptly, and when our neighbours were 
 hurrying and packing to get ready for the carriers, we, having 
 cleared all off, would probably be closing the warehouse. 
 Very rarely indeed did we stay after six o'clock ; not unfre- 
 quently did we close at half-past five, and sometimes we shut 
 up at five. I then went to my lodgings, got tea, washed and 
 put on some better clothing, and spent the evening either in a 
 country walk or a stroll in the town. Those were some of the
 
 BEADINGS. 231 
 
 most satisfactory days which I had experienced during a long 
 time. 
 
 Not unfrequently my evening walks would extend as far as 
 Middleton, for the separation which ensued on my going to 
 sea had not in the least degree diminished my regard for the 
 dear object of my affection, whilst on her part it seemed only 
 to have increased her attachment. Again, therefore, we had 
 our walks through the leas of Hopwood or Middleton. Some- 
 times, on fine Sunday afternoons, we would ramble as far as 
 the wood-crowned Tandles — ancient fire-hills — and descend- 
 ing by their romantic footpaths into the sunny valley, and 
 thence through the shadowy, mysterious, old Druid-haunted 
 wood, returned to Middleton at the closing of another blessed 
 day, my heart repeating, in reference to the scene in 
 Northamptonshire, " Ah ! and have not I been walking, 
 as I thought I would, with one as dear and as bonny as the 
 best of them ! " 
 
 Having heard that one of my fellow apprentices on ship- 
 . board had returned, and was living at Cheetham Hill, I took 
 an opportunity for going over there, in order to find him out. 
 At the door of a small cottage, the site of which is now 
 enclosed in a shrubbery, stood an old woman whom I thought 
 I must have seen before. I looked again, and who should she 
 be but the mother of my once dear Catherine ; but oh, how 
 altered ! aged, attenuated, and sadly humble in her apparel ; 
 humble in the material, but still proud and particular in its 
 cleanness and the formality of its adjustment. I at once 
 determined to speak to her, and as a pretence for so doing I 
 crossed over the highway, and asked her if she could inform 
 me where the person I was in search of lived ? With a quick 
 and inquisitive look, which I seemed not to notice, she scanned 
 me over, and said she did not know the person I was asking 
 about. 
 
 Lingering a moment till my look met hers, I said, in affected 
 surprise — 
 
 " Surely I should know your features ; are not you Mrs. "W. 
 who once lived at a farm in Crumpsall ? " 
 
 "I am," she replied.
 
 232 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 " And will you permit me to ask one question, which I 
 assure you is not prompted by curiosity, but arises from a 
 sincere respect for the person I would ask about ? " 
 
 Here I heard a slight coughing within the cottage, and the 
 old woman leaned her arm, which was now tremulous, against 
 the door-frame. 
 
 " "What is your question, young man? " asked she. 
 
 " I wish to know how your daughter Catherine is ? " I 
 replied. 
 
 " Catherine is very poorly," said the old woman ; and look- 
 ing at me again, " does Catherine know you ? " she asked. 
 
 " She did know me once," I said, " and I think she cannot 
 have quite forgotten me yet." 
 
 " I think I know now who you are," she said, with a more 
 satisfied manner. 
 
 " Perhaps you do ; I have no objection that you should 
 know me," I said. "But pray, where is Catherine then, if 
 she is so poorly? " 
 
 " She is here," replied the old woman. 
 
 " Might I be allowed to speak to her? " 
 
 " Yes," said the dame, " there cannot be any harm in that 
 now. Only" — whispering in my ear — "do not speak loud, 
 nor say anything that may fluster her, or put her out of the 
 way." 
 
 "God forbid," I said, entering the cottage with a careful 
 step. 
 
 Catherine was seated in a low chair near the fire, a pillow 
 was behind her head, and her left arm rested on another, 
 which lay on a white table, on which also were a prayer-book, 
 open, another small book or two, and some fruit. 
 
 The moment I entered the room there was a brightening in 
 her eye, and a flushing on her cheek, but instantly, seeming to 
 check herself, she appeared calm, and motioned me to come 
 near. 
 
 The old woman placed a chair for me, on that side of the 
 table where her arm lay, and doffing my hat, and wiping my 
 forehead, and eyes also by the way, I sat down, and taking 
 her hand gently in mine, I said —
 
 CATHERINE. 233 
 
 " Dear Catherine, I am truly grieved at seeing you so 
 unwell." 
 
 " Ah, Samuel ! " she said, " are you come at last? I did 
 not expect this ; I dared not hope for it." 
 
 " Why not, dear Catherine ? '' 
 
 " I thought you were too happy elsewhere ever to think of 
 me." 
 
 " Indeed, I have been very happy, and very unhappy also, 
 but I have never ceased to love you as a sister — as a dear 
 friend." 
 
 " That is quite enough," she said, " since I have now no 
 love to bestow, save that for my Eedeemer." 
 
 " Are you happy ? " I asked. 
 
 " I am," she replied, "very happy. I know that my time 
 in this world is short, and I am prepared for the change, but 
 I wished to see you, God permitting, and now you are come 
 at last, and I shall have done with things of this world." 
 
 " Dear Catherine," I said, " I am glad that I have come 
 then." 
 
 She then desired me to state particularly how it happened 
 that I was in the company of the young woman with whom 
 she last saw me at Manchester ; and I thereupon narrated the 
 circumstances exactly as they occurred. She then said she 
 was satisfied, for that my account corresponded in every par- 
 ticular with that given by the girl herself. I asked her if she 
 had seen the girl, and she said she had met her one day, some 
 time since, on the road to Manchester. The girl was travel- 
 ling with wares in a basket, and she having become a customer, 
 led the girl into conversation, and at length asked her if she 
 remembered coming down the Mill Gate with a young man, 
 and being, led by him into a cook-shop. The girl, she said, at 
 once acknowledged the fact, and gave the same account of the 
 circumstance which I had done. And now, Catherine said, 
 she had only to ask my forgiveness for having thought wrong- 
 fully, and perhaps injuriously of me. 
 
 I said I had nothing to forgive her for, but if she wished me 
 to say the words, why then I as freely forgave her as I hoped 
 to be forgiven. She said we had both been sulferers. That
 
 234 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 dangerous old sibyl in whom she had placed her confidence 
 had misrepresented my actions, and abused her too easy belief. 
 But it was now all over, and she had only to implore me to 
 prepare for the same great change which she had shortly to 
 undergo. Sooner or later I should have to come to the same 
 state, and I should then find it a blessed thing so 
 
 " To have lived that I might dread 
 The grave as little as my bed." 
 
 I asked her if she was quite prepared for the change. " Oh ! 
 quite prepared," she said, "blessed be my Eedeemer." 
 
 She leaned back, rather exhausted. Her mother motioned 
 me not to speak any more. Catherine gave me her hand 
 again. I felt the pressure of her burning fingers, and placing 
 them reverentially to my lips, I intimated that I would shortly 
 come again, and withdrew. On my second visit, with a small 
 present of fruit and confectionery, Catherine was too ill to 
 speak, but she knew me, and held out her hand. Her cheeks 
 kept blushing and paling, and her eyes were almost painfully 
 brilliant. On my third visit she was in her coffin, shrouded 
 and knotted with white love-ribbon, and decked with sweet 
 herbs and flowers. Her mother stood weeping behind the 
 curtain, and the attendants were downstairs, so I touched her 
 cold forehead and pale cheek with my lips, and placing one 
 little memorial on her bosom, I took my last look and came 
 away.
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 BOBEET BUKNS — A WEDDING A EIOT. 
 
 At the time when I was in the employ of Messrs. Hole, 
 Wilkinson, and Gartside, it was the custom for porters and 
 warehousemen, such as myself, to go round on New Year's Day 
 a Christmas-gifting, to the block-makers, engravers, carriers, 
 and others employed by the firm. On the first New Year's Day 
 of this my servitude, I refused to exercise this privilege, and 
 so lost my Christmas gifts for that year. The porters of the 
 neighbourhood could not comprehend the motives for such an 
 act of disinterestedness and independence ; and when we fell 
 into company, which we sometimes did, at Dolly Burton's, 
 who kept an excellent tap at the " Eed Lion," in Church 
 Street, I was lucky if I did not hear my self-denial characterised 
 in disparaging terms. They said I could be nothing less than a 
 fool, to miss a legal and honest chance of putting a pound or two 
 into my pocket, for the trouble of a forenoon's walk ; and they 
 talked to me so, that, in sooth, I began myself to think I was 
 not so bright about the head as some folks. Accordingly, the 
 next New Year's Day I went with two others on that, to me, 
 distasteful errand, and in about three hours I had pocketed 
 thirty shillings. But I resolved never to go again. There 
 was so much humiliation mixed up with the thing, that though 
 the money was useful, I felt self-reproached when I reflected 
 how it had been obtained. So there was no more New Year's 
 gifting for me. 
 
 I think it was about this time that Chatterton's life and 
 poems fell in my way. They interested me very deeply, 
 though I could not help believing that his account of the 
 
 235
 
 236 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 Eowley manuscripts was scarcely credible. Burns's life and 
 writings next fell into my hands — Robert Burns, the Scottish 
 ploughman, of whom I had heard mention made so often, and 
 yet, strangely enough, had never read one sentence. Well now 
 the poems, and an account of the manner in which this gifted 
 man wore out his life in this world, were before me. And did 
 I not sit down, beside my quiet desk, under the skylight, and 
 xead, or rather compress to my very soul, every word of that 
 precious book ? Aye, through, and through, and through 
 again did I note it, line by line, and sentence by sentence. 
 And this man, whom methought I saw before me as plainly as 
 if he had stood there, was Robert Burns, the deathless-named, 
 the world-wide famed Robert Burns. There he was, a tall, 
 stooping, lank-haired, weather-browned, dreamy-eyed, God- 
 crowned, noble-minded ploughman. And this, too, was of his 
 writing, of his soul uttering; this " Lass o' Ballochmoyle " 
 was one strain of his never-dying melody ! If this be really so 
 — if this be indeed his poetry — what can these sensations pos- 
 sibly be, which awaken within me whenever I read a true 
 poet's verse ; these strange and undefined emotions which have 
 brooded over my heart ever since I knew what love and poetry 
 were. If these expressed sensations of the noble poet peasant 
 constituted his imperishable wreath, what could these unex- 
 pressed but somewhat identical feelings of mine be, save 
 poetry without the form — a spirit without the body. What 
 then, methought, if I tried to throw them into form? what if 
 I dared an essay to give them utterance in verse ? Burns 
 thereat looked kindly — or so I dreamed — and with a sweet, 
 strong voice said encouragingly, " Try mon, and fear not." 
 So I tried, and the result was such that when vanity whispered, 
 " I also am a poet," I knew not that it was vanity ; and from 
 that time I became an occasional writer of verse. 
 
 So greatly was I pleased with the character of Burns that in 
 accepting him as an example I made a too faint distinction 
 betwixt his genius and his failings, and in striving to emulate 
 the one I sometimes fell into an imitation of the other, which 
 was quite a different thing. My visits to Dolly Burton's 
 became more frequent, after warehouse time, and were occa-
 
 EOBEBT BUENS. 237 
 
 sionally prolonged beyond the limits of sober refreshment. A 
 few clerks, tradesmen, and some of the better sort of porters, 
 used to meet in the little parlour there, and after discussing 
 the news of the town, or of the nation, during which pipes and 
 glasses were replenished pretty freely, and joke and banter 
 were not spared, singing would commence, and a strange thing 
 would it have been indeed had it terminated without 
 
 •' Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
 A cuckold coward loon is he ; 
 Wha first beside his chair does fa, 
 He shall be king amang us three." 
 
 But then, Mother Burton's ale was of so excellent a tap, 
 and she was so kindly an old landlady, at once discreet and 
 obliging, that we respected her as much as we liked her ale, 
 and there might be something in that also which detained us. 
 But whatever was the cause of our frequent meetings, whether 
 the ale, or the landlady, or the music, or all together, it would 
 be greatly probable indeed, that before we separated a 
 couple or two of our cronies would be in a condition to enact 
 Shanter or Souter Johnny on their way home. 
 
 I was not so unreflective as not to perceive to what this 
 course must inevitably tend, and with a view to put an end to 
 it at once, I resolved to marry. This was the more likely to 
 be effected without much difficulty, inasmuch as my courtship 
 had been duly paid, and it was long now since my intended 
 fair had entertained any other expectation than the one I 
 now purposed to accomplish. So one forenoon, when she 
 came to Manchester on an errand, I asked leave out of the 
 warehouse for an hour, and having met her at a place appointed, 
 we proceeded to a goldsmith's shop, and I contrived to fit her 
 neat finger with a ring, worth nine shillings, which she folded 
 in tissue paper, and then in another paper, and next wrapped 
 in a huzzif, tying it round and round with the tape band, and 
 next placed it in a pocket-book which she carefully folded and 
 conveyed to the very deepest recess of her pocket, feeling again, 
 to make sure that it was there. This important business being
 
 238 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 settled, I helped her to mount her little tit Trim, bade her 
 good-bye for the present, and seeing her off at a trot towards 
 home, I returned to my work, happy in the certainty that 
 when I was wed, I should have a wife who would create for 
 me an ever- welcome home. 
 
 The banns had been duly published, the day agreed upon, 
 and all was ready. So I made an appointment with my 
 friend Booth to rise early on Sunday morning, and take a 
 good swim in the river before I went to meet my bride and 
 her friends. Booth and I were up betimes, and as speedily in 
 the water at Sandy Well, luxuriating in the cool element most 
 gleesomely, when what should start us from our enjoyment 
 but the sound of the old church bell ringing seven o'clock, 
 within a quarter of an hour of the very time at which we 
 should have met Mima and her company at Harpurhey. We 
 had been mistaken in the time an hour. So we put on our 
 clothes, and hastened towards the place appointed, but before 
 we arrived there we espied the party coming on the road, and 
 meeting them, we all came to Manchester, in a very good 
 humour, as wedding folks ought to be. After breakfasting at 
 my sister's in Greengate, where I lodged, we proceeded to the 
 Old Church, and lo ! when the ring was produced, the bride's 
 finger was so swollen with walking, that the ring could not be 
 passed over the joint. The minister, who was the Keverend 
 Joshua Brooks, seeing that the ring was not placed according 
 to custom, began, as he read the service, to thumb it with his 
 nail, in order to force it over. I was afraid he would hurt the 
 dear little woman, and was about to remonstrate, when he 
 suddenly quitted us, and hastening to one side of the com- 
 munion rails, he gave a boy who stood leaning against them 
 a smart box on the ear, and then, without saying a word, he 
 returned to us. Meantime, in order to prevent his further 
 annoyance, I had taken hold of the whole of the finger, and 
 held it with the ring on in my hand. But he now attempted 
 to thrust my hand away, and tried to commence forcing the 
 ring up again. 
 
 " Let the ring go over," he said. 
 
 " It can't go further," I replied, " her finger is swelled."
 
 A WEDDING. 239 
 
 '• It can go further, and it shall go further," said the irritable 
 little being, and I, almost as irritable, said quickly, " It sha'n't 
 go further." 
 
 " Oh ; very well," then observed he, " stand down, you are 
 not man and wife until I have bestowed the benediction." 
 
 " Benediction ? indeed ! " thought I, " a blessed benediction 
 it must be that has to pass those lips." 
 
 However we stood back, and as he had finished the cere- 
 mony for us, except the benediction, he went through the 
 same form with four or five other couples, after which the 
 clerk ordered us all to kneel down ; we of course kneeled with 
 the others, and the benediction having been bestowed indis- 
 criminately, we rose from our knees, and I suppose each 
 bridegroom did as I did, for there was a sound of kisses in the 
 place. 
 
 " How stupid you were," said the reverend personage, when 
 we went into the vestry to sign the registers, and to pay the 
 fees — No, I had forgotten, the fees were paid beforehand — 
 " How stupid you were," said he, " not to let the ring go on 
 the finger." 
 
 " The ring was on the finger," I said. 
 
 " Yes, but not properly; not over the joint." 
 
 "That is not required," I said. "Besides, the finger was 
 swollen, and it was painful." 
 
 " But the ring is over the joint now," said he. 
 
 " Yes, but not through your endeavoiirs ; and whether it 
 were or not you had no right to interfere in the manner you 
 did. The ring was on the finger, and the form of solemnisa- 
 tion does not require more." 
 
 " Pho, pho, man," said he, "sign the book; sign the 
 book." 
 
 Both Mimi and I signed the book. Thus we were married, 
 and I was happy. 
 
 The morning following, I opened the warehouse, and pre- 
 pared it as usual, and the remainder of the day was given me 
 to keep my wedding on. Mima and I went to Middleton, and 
 whilst we sat at a merry tea party at my uncle's, a being 
 which was dearest to me of any in the world, Bave my wife,
 
 240 EAELY DATS. 
 
 was brought in, and presented. A young girl held in her arms 
 a sweet infant, just of age to begin noticing things. It fixed 
 its good-tempered look upon me, smiled, and stretched forth 
 its hands. " Bless thee," I said in my heart — taking it in my 
 arms, and pressing it to my bosom — " Bless thee, my dear 
 babe, though my coming has been late, and after long looking 
 for, I will be a kind father to thee. Yes, though a proud and 
 supercilious world may view with contempt the misfortune of 
 thy birth, the more it disparage thee, the greater shall be my 
 love. Bless thee, my little innocent," and I held it fondly, 
 for my heart yearned towards it. Meanwhile, as if its mother 
 had heard what my heart alone spoke to my child and to God, 
 she sat looking at us through trembling tears. I gave the 
 babe to her, saying kindly, " Dear love, be happy. The 
 fault was mine, and it shall be my life's endeavour to repair 
 it." 
 
 Soon after this we commenced housekeeping at Manchester, 
 and a brief period having elapsed, my wife and child again 
 returned to live at Middleton, I generally, in summer time, 
 walking over after warehouse hours ; in winter visiting them 
 twice or thrice a week, and always spending my Satui'day 
 nights and Sundays at home. I was now a settled family 
 man, serving my employers duly, and, God knows, I can with 
 truth say, that I served them honestly also. My greatest 
 ambition was to please them, and to provide for my family, 
 and as I was tolerably successful in both objects, I was as 
 happy as a mortal need be in this world. 
 
 It was about this time, that the authorities and some of the 
 ultra-loyal inhabitants of Manchester made their first grand 
 political mistake, which occurred within the sphere of my 
 observation. Charles "Wood, I recollect, was Borough reeve 
 that year, and a placard with — if I mistake not — his name 
 appended, was exhibited, calling on the inhabitants of Man- 
 chester and its vicinity to meet in St. Ann's Square, for the 
 purpose of passing a congratulatory address to the Prince 
 Kegent, afterwards George IV. On the day appointed there 
 was a large muster of people from the neighbouring towns and 
 villages, and the original concocters of the measure, fearing
 
 A moT. 241 
 
 they would not be able to carry it, kept entirely away, and 
 abandoned their intention altogether. The crowd, seeing 
 there was not to be any meeting, formed a ring in the square, 
 and appointed a chairman, and passed some resolutions of a 
 tendency contrary to those originally purposed to be carried. 
 Meantime, groups of people wei'e in other parts beginning to 
 commit excesses. About half a dozen, who from their ap- 
 pearance seemed to be countrymen, accosted a gentleman at 
 the entrance from Exchange Street into the square, and after 
 some opprobrious expressions they laid hands on him, and 
 then began to strike him with sticks which they carried. He 
 tried to escape into some of the shops, but the doors and 
 windows being mostly fastened he was disappointed. The 
 men continued striking him ; his hat was knocked off, and on 
 his head, which I saw was a little bald in the front, he re- 
 ceived several blows. My feelings and partialities had hitherto 
 been all on the side of the populace, but I could not witness 
 this cowardly outrage without feelings of indignation and dis- 
 gust. Pushing in amongst them, " For shame, men," I said, 
 and warding off two or three blows, I received several on my 
 arms and shoulders. At that moment, some one in a shop, 
 opening the door, as if to see what was the matter, the gentle- 
 man slipped in, and the door was again closed and bolted in 
 an instant. 
 
 Just then a gi'eat shout was set up near the Exchange, 
 and the whole party hastened off in that direction, I following 
 leisurely. When I got there a number of fellows were throw- 
 ing chairs, tables, and benches through the windows above the 
 post office, and the furniture being quickly broken up, the 
 fragments were used in smashing the lamps, and front 
 windows of the building. Another party of the mob were in 
 the large room, breaking and destroying everything that 
 stood in their way, or that excited their spirit of mischief. 
 Fragments of tables and chairs were hurled through the 
 windows into the street, and thence back again; the costly 
 chandeliers were shivered to atoms, and at length, a heap of 
 straw was piled up and set on fire. At this juncture the police 
 and a party of the Cumberland militia arrived ; the fire was 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 EAULY DAYS. 
 
 extinguished, and several of the rioters were taken into 
 custody. A troop or two of the Scots Greys soon afterwards 
 made their appearance, and began clearing the streets, when, 
 it being then warehouse time, I hastened to my work.
 
 A CRITICISM — MIDDLETON FIGHT — A PARTING — COXCLUSION. 
 
 In the exercise of my talent for verse-making, I had so well 
 pleased myself that at length I determined to test the merit of 
 one of my productions by offering it for publication, in the 
 Manchester Gazette. The office of that paper was then at the 
 top of Hunter's Lane, and William Cowdroy was the editor ; a 
 gentleman of whom I had a very high opinion, for, though he 
 was rather satirical, and at times, somewhat crusty with his 
 correspondents, he on the whole, evinced an encouraging 
 spirit ; at all times he exhibited a quick and just perception, 
 and to his judgment, therefore, was this piece of mine sub- 
 mitted. It was a description, in verse, of my first visit to 
 Oldham, and described in an ironical strain the interior of a 
 cottage at Priest Hill, and scenery in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood. It was in the Lancashire dialect, and commenced 
 as follows : — 
 
 " 'Twur on a Sunday afternoon, 
 I ilon'd me shoynin' Sunday slionn, 
 An off I seet wi' Jim an' Jack, 
 We beawnc'd to Owdham in a crack." 
 
 After the description of the place, which was certainly dog- 
 gerelish, it concluded with this stanza : — 
 
 " An' neaw yon meawntuns hee and far, 
 Curtain'd the god o' day ; 
 Gone to the west his feyery car, 
 
 An sunk his blazin ray. 
 Wi evening mild, we tripp'd the plain, 
 An' merrily hied us whom again." 
 •243
 
 244 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 I put it in the letter box, and on the Saturday following a 
 note to correspondents desired the writer to call at the office. 
 Accordingly, on an evening of the week following, I, in a state 
 of mind betwixt doubt and assurance, called, and was shown 
 into a room, where I awaited the appearance of the literary 
 Solon as if death or fate had depended on the issue. At 
 length he came, a man about sixty years of age ; of middle 
 height and somewhat fat and fussy ; his complexion was a 
 little rubicund ; his nose, with spectacles on it, somewhat 
 snubby ; bis eyes, as he looked under or over the glasses, grey 
 and piercing ; and his general appearance and manner that 
 of one possessing power, and disposed to use it in his own 
 way. 
 
 " Well, young man," said he, holding his head back, and 
 looking at me, " what is the business you are come upon? " 
 
 I said I was come about a piece of poetry. 
 
 " "What poetry ? " asked he. 
 
 " It was a piece entitled ' A Trip to Oldham,' and the writer 
 was requested to call at the office." . 
 
 " Are you the writer of that? " he asked. 
 
 I said I was. 
 
 " And how the d 1 could you expect that I should give it 
 
 a place in my paper ? " 
 
 I said I hardly did expect so much as that, but I hoped to 
 obtain his opinion as to its merits. 
 
 " Well, then, my opinion is that it has no merits," he said. 
 
 I said I was but a young hand at verse making, and if he 
 would state whether it was the subject, or the manner of 
 treating it, which rendered the piece objectionable, I should 
 feel obliged. 
 
 " Oh ! both are objectionable ; it is trumpery doggerel 
 throughout. Here is your paper, and I hope you will never 
 offer me any more such." Saying which, he took up the 
 candle, and went out of the place, leaving me to grope my way 
 down the lobby and out at the door as well as I could. 
 
 Such was the first reception which my verses met with from 
 a Manchester editor. Sorely indeed were my expectations 
 disappointed, and sadly humbled was my ambition, yet I was
 
 A CBITICISM. 245 
 
 not disheartened, " This being a failure," I said to myself, as 
 I was going down Hunter's Lane, " I must e'en try to do better 
 the next time, as many a poor genius has done before me. 
 And notwithstanding what the critic has said, I am as certain 
 as I am of my own existence that there are redeeming passages 
 in the poem. He does not understand it. It is written in a 
 rude dialect. He is testy and out of humour. And besides, 
 he is no Solomon after all." Thus I criticised the critic, and 
 settled the matter, in my way. 
 
 One afternoon we were astonished and alarmed at the 
 warehouse by a report which had come into the town that 
 the power-loom manufactory of Messrs. Burton and Sons, at 
 Middleton, had been attacked by a numerous mob, with the 
 intent of destroying the machinery, and that several of the 
 mob had been shot dead, and a number wounded. As soon 
 as we had locked up for the evening, I, of course, hastened off 
 to Middleton, and on my arrival found the report to be true. 
 
 About two o'clock on the afternoon of this day (the 20th of 
 April) the inhabitants of the town were surprised by the 
 appearance of numbers of men, many of them armed with 
 sticks and bludgeons, who simultaneously arrived in the town 
 from various districts of the surrounding country. Several 
 provision shops in the upper part of the town were entered 
 and plundered of bread, cheese, bacon, and groceries, and in 
 some instances plunder was prevented by presents of money. 
 The mob seemed to arrive from all parts at once, and the 
 smaller parties having formed into one main body in the 
 turnpike road, the whole proceeded to the lower part of the 
 town, and there joined another large crowd, which seemingly 
 had been waiting for their arrival. In this year — 1812 — there 
 had been much destruction of machinery in various parts of the 
 manufacturing districts of the kingdom, and when the infatua- 
 tion spread into Lancashire, the power looms of Messrs. Burton 
 seem to have attracted the early attention and hostility of a 
 great portion of the hand-working operatives, who, by means 
 of secret delegations, held frequent private meetings for the 
 purpose of concerting measures for the stoppage or destruction 
 of the obnoxious machines, Of these proceedings the Messrs,
 
 246 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 Burton were probably informed, since a number of their weavers, 
 dressers, and overlookers had been for some time drilled to the 
 use of firearms within the mill. A piece or two of small 
 ordnance were also placed within the yard, opposite the main 
 entrance, and such other precautions had been taken as were 
 deemed necessary for the defence of the place. These measures 
 were superintended by Mr. Emanuel Burton, who was greatly 
 respected by the workmen, and had inspired them with a 
 portion of his own spirit of resistance. 
 
 On the report reaching the factoi-y that the mob was coming, 
 the works were stopped, and all the hands, save those detained 
 for the defence of the mill, were sent home. The mob, after a 
 short delay in the market place, proceeded to the bottom of 
 Wood Street, where the factory was situated, and halted in 
 front of the building, and a score or two of boys who led the 
 mob set up a shout, and began to throw stones and break the 
 windows. A number of discharges from the mill followed, but 
 as no one seemed to have been hurt another shout was set up, 
 and the cry went round, " Oh ! they're nobbu feyerin peawther; 
 they darno shoot bullets," and the stone throwing was recom- 
 menced. Other discharges from the mill now took place, and 
 some of the mob who had experience in such matters remarked 
 that the crack was different, and that ball was being fired. A 
 moment only confirmed this opinion, for several were wounded, 
 and three fell dead, on seeing which the mob fled in all direc- 
 tions. In a short time a troop of the Scots Greys were in the 
 town, and they were quickly followed by a company of the 
 Cumberland militia. The streets and lanes were then cleared, 
 after which the horsemen returned to Manchester, and the 
 militia took up their quarters in the mill. 
 
 The number of the wounded on this unfortunate occasion 
 was never truly known, but it was soon ascertained that four 
 persons, all young men, had been killed. Joseph Jackson, 
 sixteen years of age, and David Knott, aged twenty, both from 
 Oldham, were killed at the end of Chapel Stx'eet; John Siddall, 
 of Eadcliffe Bridge, aged twenty-two, was killed lower down 
 the street; and George Albison, a young man from Ehodes, 
 was wounded whilst going along the highway, and shortly
 
 MIDDLETON FIGHT. 247 
 
 after bled to death, there being no surgical aid promptly at 
 hand. 
 
 On my arrival the streets were all quiet, the doors closed, 
 and the alehouses silent. People's minds were, however, sadly 
 agitated, and fierce denunciations were uttered against " Bur- 
 ton and his shooters," whilst very little anger was expressed 
 against the men who had plundered shops. In the coat pocket 
 of one of the killed was found a half-pound of cux'rants, the 
 fruit, no doubt, of such plunder. 
 
 I state these things because they are facts, and not from any 
 feeling which I now have, one way or the other, except for 
 truth ; though at the time I entertained perhaps as strong a 
 dislike towards the "shooters" and their employers as did any 
 man in the town. 
 
 My dear wife and child I found safe at home, but greatly 
 was I alarmed, and exceedingly thankful, when I learned that 
 my wife, in her curiosity to watch a mob, had gone down the 
 town, and, with another thoughtless woman or two, had stood 
 at the window of a cottage nearly opposite to the factory, 
 within range of the shot, and only a few yards from the spot 
 where one man was killed. I gave her a lecture for so doing, 
 the first perhaps since our marriage, and being convinced of 
 her folly, she promised never to transgress in that way again, 
 and I daresay she never has. 
 
 The morning following this eventful day I went to my work 
 at Manchester, as usual, and in the afternoon we were again 
 startled by the intelligence that a mob larger than that of the 
 day before had visited Middleton, and had burned the dwelling 
 of Mr. Emanuel Burton and those of several of his workmen 
 to the ground. On my way to Middleton that evening I met 
 individuals on the road who were returning to Manchester 
 with fragments of picture frames and mahogany goods in their 
 hands. The mob had indeed been desperately bent on destruc- 
 tion that day, but, more wary than on the day preceding, they 
 had divided their forces, and whilst one strong party threatened 
 the factory, and by that means detained the militia at that 
 post, others went to the houses of certain of the workmen who 
 bad defended the factory the day before, and not finding them
 
 248 EABLY BAYS. 
 
 at home, had piled their furniture in the street, and had de- 
 stroyed it by fire. In this manner the furniture of one cottage 
 at Back-o'th'-brow, and that of two others at the Club houses 
 was destroyed. The mob, it should be understood, was on 
 this day armed with guns, scythes, old swords, bludgeons, and 
 pitchforks. A party of colliers from the neighbourhoods of 
 Oldham and Hollinwood carried mattocks, and with these 
 tools were in the act of knocking the end of a house down, 
 when they were called off to another place. For whilst these 
 outrages were in progress at Back-o'th'-brow and Club houses, 
 another party of rioters set off towards Ehodes, and it was to 
 aid these latter that the colliers w^ere called away. The house 
 of Mr. Emanuel Burton, at Parkfield, was the first object 
 which attracted their vengeance. It had been abandoned by 
 the family, and the mob immediately ransacked the cellars and 
 larder, the younger ones crunching lumps of loaf sugar or 
 licking out preserve jars, whilst the older hands tapped the 
 beer barrels and the spirit bottles, or devoured the choice but 
 substantial morsels of the pantry or store-room. This part of 
 the business having been accomj)lished, the work of destruction 
 commenced, and nearly every article of furniture was irretriev- 
 ably broken. Amongst the rioters were two sisters, who might 
 have been taken for young Amazons, so active were they in the 
 pillage, and so influential in directing others. To some of those 
 around them they were, however, known only as " Clem " and 
 " Nan," the two tall, dark-haired, and handsomely formed 
 daughters of a venerable old weaver, who lived on one of the 
 borders of the township. These two were in a room, the 
 windows of which were hung with light muslin curtains, and 
 a sofa, with a cover of light cotton, was also in the same room. 
 Nothing further in the way of breakage remaining to be done, 
 and these two being the only ones in this room, " Come," said 
 one to the other, "let's put a finish to this job," and taking 
 up a shred which lay on the floor, she lighted it at the fire 
 which had been left burning in the grate. In a moment the 
 sofa was on fire ; the sofa set the curtains in a blaze, and sofa 
 and curtains communicated the flames to the floor and window, 
 and at the expiration of probably half an hour not a beam nor 
 £t bQard remained uncousumed in the whole building.
 
 A PARTING. 249 
 
 The next place intended for destruction was the mansion 
 and farmstead of Mr. Burton, senr., at Ehodes, and only a 
 very short distance from the scene which has just been 
 described. A part of the mob was already hovering about 
 the grounds, and some individuals had advanced into the yard 
 and begun operations, when a tumult and a clatter of hoofs 
 caused them to look around, and they beheld the Scots Greys 
 close upon them. Their flight and dispersion were the work 
 of an instant, and this valuable property was saved. 
 
 Whilst the Greys were dispersing the mob at Park House 
 and Ehodes, others of the same regiment, assisted by the 
 Militia, were clearing the rioters out of Middleton, which they 
 did speedily and effectively. In the performance of these 
 services, however, greater severity was exercised than had 
 been the wont of these two corps on former occasions. A 
 man named John Nield, from Oldham, was shot through the 
 body by one of the Greys whilst attempting to escape near 
 Alkrington Hall ; another man was shot by one of the Greys, 
 and left for dead, near Tonge Lane ; a woman, also, who was 
 looking through her own window, was fired at by another of 
 the same party, and a bullet went through her arm. But a 
 Serjeant of the Militia earned deathless execration by shooting 
 an old man, named Johnson, from Oldham. Johnson had 
 never been nearer to the mob or the factory than the Church 
 publichouse, where he had sat in the kitchen with the family, 
 and had smoked his pipe and drunk a glass or two of ale. 
 Towards evening, when it was supposed that all the disturb- 
 ance was over, he strolled into the churchyard, and was 
 standing with his hands in his coat pockets, reading the 
 inscription on a grave-stone at the steeple end, when a Serjeant 
 and private of the Militia, having ascended the Warren, caught 
 sight of him from amongst the trees ; the Serjeant went down 
 on one knee, levelled, fired, and killed the old man dead, the 
 ball passing through his neck. 
 
 A number of shots were fired at the soldiers during the 
 pursuit, but none of them, I believe, were wounded, except 
 from casualties with their horses. A number of persons were 
 made prisoners duri)ig the riot, and subsequently many left
 
 250 EARLY DATS. 
 
 the country for a time. The two Amazonian damsels escaped 
 seizure, and few only of the real leaders were ever prosecuted ; 
 whilst several who had as little to do with the outrage as I had 
 myself were, on the information of a bad, half-crazed, but artful 
 doxey, named Kent, lodged in jail, tried, found guilty, and 
 sentenced to long imprisonments. 
 
 And now, friend reader, I have to return to my own affairs, 
 and to relate an incident, which, next to my grandfather's 
 rejection of Madam Ann Bamford's overtures, and my father's 
 refusal to let me learn Latin, had probably a greater influence 
 in determining my subsequent condition than had any other 
 event of my life. I allude to the circumstance of my leaving 
 the employ of my old masters, in Peel Street, and to my 
 preference of a country residence with domestic employment, 
 which consigned me at once to a life of independence, with 
 alternate ease, exigency, and poverty. 
 
 Our young gentleman, Mr. M. the salesman, having been 
 recently married, and become a housekeeper, it happened that 
 he wanted a load of coals, and as I was always glad to render 
 him a service, I undertook to get him a load of real Oldham 
 Black Mine. We had been very slack at the works of late, 
 and the cart had often returned almost without any load, and 
 as no intimation had been given me of a change in that 
 respect, I went out after breakfast, although it was a market 
 day, and bought the coals for Mr. M., and saw them delivered 
 and paid for. On my return to the warehouse, the cart had, 
 to my surprise, been waiting to be loaded with grey goods. 
 On my meeting Mr. Hole in the passage, he looked displeased, 
 and asked where I had been ? I told him, and he said I was 
 neglectful ; that I ought not to have gone off when I knew the 
 cart would have to be loaded, and if I could not attend to 
 their business better I had best look out for another situation. 
 I merely replied that I had not been wilfully neglectful, for 
 that I did not expect the cart would have to be loaded that 
 day ; and so I went to work, and had the cart loaded and off 
 in quick time. Those expressions of my employer sunk deep 
 into my mind : they sorely wounded my feelings. I pondered 
 them over and over, trying to discover some ameliorative
 
 CONCLUSION. 251 
 
 meaning in them, but as I could not disguise or qualify their 
 intention, I told Mr. M. at the week's end that I understood 
 Mr. Hole's words as a notice to leave, and that I should 
 accordingly do so at the expiration of a month. 
 
 I am not assured that Mr. M. said anything in my favour 
 to my employer respecting this business, though I daresay he 
 would not omit so fair a course. Nothing, however, w^as said 
 to me, until the month was out, when Mr. M. said they were 
 not yet suited with a man, and it would put them to great 
 inconvenience if I left at that time. I accordingly stopped 
 another fortnight, and as they were not yet prepared, I 
 stopped another week and then left the situation. 
 
 As trade was now going well, work for the loom was readily 
 obtainable, and good wages were given. After, therefore, 
 I had made up my mind to leave, I turned my attention to 
 employment of this sort, purchased looms, bespoke work for 
 myself and wife, who had become tolerably handy at the 
 business, so that when I left Messrs. Hole and Co. I was in a 
 degree pledged to become a weaver. 
 
 I should, however, mention that, pursuant to my habit of 
 versifying on nearly every occasion in which my feelings were 
 interested, I had composed a couple of stanzas on this 
 momentous event, which stanzas, on the day of my departure, 
 I wrote on the slate on my desk, and left them there. They 
 were as follows : 
 
 " To-morrow's sun beholds me free, 
 
 Come uigbt, and I no more will own 
 A master's high authority, 
 
 Nor bend beneath his angry frown ; 
 But to my native woods and plains 
 I'll haste, and join the rustic swains. 
 
 Gay printed ' fancies,' ' plates,' nor ' chintz,' 
 
 No more with wonder shall I view, 
 Nor criticise the various tints 
 
 Of pink or azure, green or blue, 
 Save when I pluck the flow'ret sweet 
 That clasps my lonely wandering feet," 
 
 A farewell, I may surely be allowed to say, quite poetical, 
 and sentimental enough for a hard-fisted warehouse porter.
 
 252 EABLY DAYS. 
 
 "Well ! on the Tuesday after I had left, I went to Manchester 
 about the work I was to have, and as one warehouse which I 
 had to call at was in Watling Street, and another was in 
 Marsden's Square, I must go past my old warehouse or take a 
 circuit, and I chose the direct road. When I got into Peel 
 Street, old Bob, the carter, who was never very active, was 
 sadly hobbled in the loading of carboys and other unhandy 
 articles, and as I stopped to inquire how he was, he asked me 
 to lend him a hand, and I did so. My place had not yet 
 become occupied by another, and Mr. M. seeing me helping about 
 the door, called me in, and asked me where the scissors were 
 with which we used to cut patterns ? So I found them, and he 
 desired me to take them to Mr. Hole, who was upstairs in the 
 sale room, and that I did also. Mr. Hole, on seeing me, was 
 quite free, and asked very kindly how I was, to which 
 I replied in that tone of becoming respect which I never could 
 suppress when treated with proper regard. He sent me up- 
 stairs into the smaller print room for some pattern shreds, and 
 taking a passing glance at my little recess and the desk, 
 I noticed that the slate was removed, an intimation to me 
 that the place had been overhauled, and my verses probably 
 discovered. I was therefore the less surprised when on my 
 return to the sale room Mr. Hole asked me whether or not 
 I had got another situation ? I said I had not got another. 
 He asked whether I had any expectations of one, and I 
 replied that I had not yet made any application. Because, 
 he said, " You are qualified for a more respectable situation 
 than the one you have had with us, and if you think proper to 
 look out, and apply for one such as I have alluded to, I will 
 give you a recommendation, with which you will not need to 
 be ashamed in asking for one highly respectable ; and as you 
 are at present disengaged, if you choose to come back and 
 stop with us until something more befitting you offers, you 
 will find everything agreeable as heretofore." I thanked him 
 in terms of fervent and sincere gratitude ; stated to him what 
 were my views relative to present employment, and said that 
 should I have occasion to change my plans, and to revert to 
 the prospects which he had opened before me, I would, with
 
 CONCLUSION. 263 
 
 every sentiment of grateful respect, hasten to avail myself of 
 his kind assistance. 
 
 He said he was afraid I v?as acting on a mistaken view of 
 what was most conductive to my welfare, and he should be 
 glad if I did not regret it hereafter. 
 
 I said I hoped I should not, and that at any rate, for the 
 present I should be happy with my family. 
 
 And so, with mutual kind wishes, we parted. 
 
 And here, for the present at least, must the reader and 
 I part also. A narrative of the course of my life from 1813 to 
 1816 may perhaps engage my pen on some future day. Mean- 
 time, the reader may be given to understand, that having, on 
 my leaving Manchester, secured plenty of material for the 
 loom, my wife and myself working in one place, she soon 
 became an expert weaver, and we were as happy, probably, as 
 two human beings of our condition could be ; our little girl, 
 the light of our eyes, and the joy of our hearts, playing beside 
 us. Afterwards we went to reside with my wife's uncle and 
 aunt, she assisting the old people in the house and shop, and 
 I, on the recommendation of Mr. Hole, taking the situation of 
 putter-out to weavers at Middleton, for Messrs. Dickinson and 
 Wilde. Afterwards they offered me an engagement at their 
 warehouse in Manchester, which I declined. Subsequently, 
 for a short time I was engaged in the bookselling or publica- 
 tion business ; and, in 1816, was a member of a Committee of 
 Parliamentary Reformers, and secretary to the Hampden 
 Club, at Middleton. Should the reader, during any leisure 
 moment, wish to hear my narrative resumed, he may consult 
 my book entitled " Passages in the Life of a Radical," and if 
 that does not suffice, but he wishes for further acquaintance, 
 he may peruse my " Walks in South Lancashire," which I 
 purpose shortly to resume. Those walks may perhaps lead us 
 to " The End," after which some abler hand will probably 
 take up the task of marker for history, which I have so im- 
 perfectly performed, 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
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